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When he learned of his father's death, Teach wept every night for a week. Then, a void formed in his heart, a clenching tightness… until anger consumed him, and he thirsted for revenge.
And that revenge had never seemed so close when the great pirate Whitebeard took him aboard his ship. Edward Newgate, his father's former first mate… Bah! First mate, you say! Where was he when his father was killed? Whitebeard wasn't the murderer, but he was responsible, like so many others. Like Roger, like that damned dog Garp. But if what they were saying was true, it was Figarland Garling who had murdered his father. The strong, the feared Rocks D. Xebec, the man whose name he would have wanted to bear if its mere meaning couldn't cost him his life.
“What are you doing, tearing pages out of your book like that?”
Teach jumped and turned toward the low wall behind which he'd been hiding. There stood Marco, that miserable little jerk who seemed to be constantly sucking up to his "Pops." Teach hadn't noticed that he'd torn out some pages: he'd tried to understand, without success, he'd gotten angry, and finally had to relive all the hatred burning inside him.
"Nothing at all," Teach growled. "Leave me alone." Marco looked at him intently, then jumped over the wall to approach Teach. "What are you reading?" "Nothing at all! It's none of your business!" Marco's eyes widened. "You're not exactly trying to fit in. You've been traveling with us for a week already, and the only thing we know about you is your name..."
"That's already too much," Teach grumbled. “Come on, don’t you want to tell me what you’re reading?” Teach sneered. “I don’t know, I just stole a book at random, but I can’t read.” Marco didn’t seem surprised. In fact, it was quite common to find pirates who couldn’t read, even more so aboard the Moby Dick where the vast majority of the crew were orphans from the criminal underworld.
“I know how to read. Would you like to learn? I could Teach you.” Marco chuckled at his joke, which Teach found completely ridiculous. “I don’t need your help.” Marco stopped laughing. He said nothing more and remained frozen for a few moments. Teach took this as an indication that he was bored and would finally leave him alone, but then Marco sat down next to him and pointed to a word. Before Teach could even yell at him, Marco spoke: “It says ‘Sun.’ Look how the word is formed…”
Teach was so shocked that he didn’t even argue. He had pushed him away, and now Marco was teaching him how to write Sun. Marco continued with other words as if nothing had happened, and Teach, instead of protesting, ended up listening.
Learning to read probably wasn’t so bad after all.
_____
“These crates need to be carried up. Could someone take care of it?” Teach immediately volunteered. Why volunteer to do a task alone? Well, Teach wanted to be alone. Since he had “brothers,” his private life had completely disappeared. Teach was fed up with the incessant noise he had to deal with every day.
In the distance, they were laughing. Rakuyo, Izou, Vista, and Marco. To tell the truth, Teach envied them a little, them and their beautiful friendship. Teach couldn’t socialize anymore. Since his mother’s death, he constantly had to cheat people or steal to survive, and the concept of friendship was foreign to him.
Marco turned toward him, feeling the weight of Teach’s gaze on them. Teach quickly focused on the crates he had to carry. Ah, here we go again! He was walking away in his anger and melancholy once more. Even though Teach didn't want to socialize, he certainly didn't want to get a reputation as the "weird guy from Moby Dick."
Teach lifted the first crate and started walking. Then he heard a noise behind him: Marco had arrived and also grabbed a crate. The blond gave him a beaming smile, "Wait for me! It's no fun carrying these crates all by yourself, don't you think?" Teach rolled his eyes, "I wanted to be alone." Marco nodded, "Of course. I won't bother you. I'll just help you out."
Teach didn't believe it for a second, because Marco was talkative, too talkative. A real chatterbox. Teach had sometimes wanted to slap him and his cheerful disposition. Ever since Marco had tried to teach him a few words, they hadn't really interacted.
It took them an hour to pack up all the crates. An hour during which Teach and Marco didn't speak. Teach's thoughts were entirely focused on Marco, wondering what could have motivated him to help. Out of pity? Just to help the crew? Teach expected Marco to bombard him with questions to try and start a conversation, but nothing.
"Marco?"
"Hm?" "I'm sorry." "Why?" "You could have gone with the others instead of helping me. Why are you here feeling sorry for me?" Teach's words were cold, even if it was an apology. Marco shrugged. "It's not pity. Honestly, I like the way you come across. I feel at peace because you don't ask for anything, you don't demand any attention. It's like I'm resting."
Teach expected anything but this.
_____
Okay, fine. Maybe Marco wasn't just a suck-up and annoying kid after all. In fact, Teach found him nice. Interesting, not too pushy, adaptable to the situation, to Teach's emotions, and possessing unparalleled empathy that led him to understand Teach as if he were an open book.
Take, for example, that day when Teach was furious because of what he considered an injustice: Marco had expressed what Teach was thinking deep down without them having discussed it beforehand. That time when Teach was tired of his daily chores, Marco had taught him the alphabet in a playful way. That day when Teach just wanted to take some time to relax, Marco had encouraged him to lie down under a tree and sat beside him, only speaking to answer Teach's questions.
So it was only natural for Teach to confide in Marco about his passion for drawing. Marco's face lit up. "That's great! You should buy a sketchbook." Teach foolishly did as Marco had told him: he bought a sketchbook and drew every day. Whenever he was alone with Marco, he would take out his sketchbook and show Marco his drawings, who seemed to love what Teach drew.
In fact, Teach was quite talented at drawing. But he had long been told that it wasn't compatible with his dream of becoming a pirate, so he had stopped. Marco had given him the energy and motivation he needed to start again.
One night, he even drew the phoenix, depicting it in a swirl of feathers, with a certain grace and a fierce air. After all, that's how Teach saw Marco. He sighed as he closed his sketchbook, cursing himself inwardly for having drawn it.
Teach hid his sketchbook under all his belongings, so he didn't expect someone from his division to find it and show each drawing to the entire division. Teach was as white as a sheet. These guys didn't seem to know that the sketchbook belonged to him, so they didn't hold back from mocking the person holding it.
The worst part was when the group finally stumbled upon Marco's drawing. The one holding the sketchbook threw it to the ground and shook his hands, wincing. "Ugh! Looks like our artist has a crush on Marco... I told you guys, he's definitely a wimp!"
After that, one of the guys picked up the sketchbook and threw it into the sea.
Teach had laughed along with them the whole time, not admitting he was the famous artist. He felt bad when they threw the sketchbook overboard, but did nothing to stop them. But most of all, he felt betrayed.
Yes, okay, he had drawn Marco. But it wasn't like he had drawn him naked in a compromising position. In the drawing, Marco looked more like he was about to kill an enemy. Teach wasn't a wimp. He wasn't in love with Marco.
…
He wasn't, was he?
Teach told Marco he had simply lost his sketchbook. And he claimed he didn't want to waste his money on another one. Marco seemed disappointed, but it was better than facing a wave of unjustified hatred from this falsely friendly crew.
_____
Since Marco took command of the Whitebeard Pirates' first division, he had so much work that he no longer had time to spend with Teach. In fact, he no longer had time to have any fun at all.
Many people questioned Teach's status as Marco's best friend, pointing out that Izo or Vista were much closer to him than Teach ever would be. But Teach didn't listen: Marco confided in him openly, while he wore his ridiculous "pillar of the crew" mask in front of everyone else. These people didn't know how close their relationship truly was.
Teach's heart broke watching Marco work so hard. Sometimes, Marco was engrossed in reports while the others were out partying. And the worst part was, it didn't even seem to bother him. Probably because of his Devil Fruit, which surely gave him an incredible stamina for hard work.
Marco was, by definition, the best right-hand man there was. He was, despite his young age, the crew's chief medical officer, and the only doctor who actually fought. He was in charge of all the charting and navigation, he handled the crew's administrative side, divided the spoils, managed the budget and inventory, the equipment…
And faced with all that, Teach wondered what the other commanders were doing. And the answer was: absolutely nothing. Okay, Thatch was the cook. He prepared a few pots of food and probably worked two hours a day. And the worst part was, he had the nerve to say he was working hard.
The others also claimed to be working hard, "managing their divisions." Teach was almost offended that none of them had seen how hard Marco was working. In addition to all his duties and managing the first division, the technical division, Marco indirectly led the second division.
In theory, the Second Division had no commander, but without a leader, it was chaos: Whitebeard had instituted a "test," which had to be passed to gain command of the division. However, no one had ever passed this test or proven worthy of leading the Second Division.
In the absence of a commander, Whitebeard himself was in charge of the division. But in reality, it was Marco who gave the division some of the orders.
In short, Marco was a machine. And people didn't even realize it. For example, Thatch, laughing as he cooked with other members of his division. Lighthearted. Knowing that in less than an hour, he would have some free time.
Marco entered the room, looking annoyed. "Thatch, we'll be ashore in less than a day, and you still haven't given me the list of supplies we're missing." Thatch turned to him and patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, Marco! I’ll do it after we eat.”
Teach groaned. The truth was, Thatch would never do that damn inventory, or rather, he’d do such a sloppy one that Marco would have to start all over again, as if he had the time.
Teach had had enough.
Marco was overexerting himself. But because of his Devil Fruit, he probably wasn't aware of it. Teach wanted him to rest, and at the same time, for the others to realize that without Marco, the crew was in danger of collapsing.
Marco collapsed too. In front of everyone, during the meal, he fell headfirst onto the deck, gasping for air and covered in sweat. Thatch and Vista rushed to his side, shouting his name in concern. When a nurse offered her perspective, she stated that she didn't know the reason for this sudden weakness, but that Marco should consider himself lucky not to be between life and death. Teach froze, struggling to catch his breath. After all, it was his fault Marco was in this state.
Marco had a high fever and was in a semi-conscious state. All the commanders took turns at his bedside, and, as expected, it only took one day without Marco for the situation aboard the Moby Dick to become critical.
The most serious injuries couldn't be treated, coordination between the different divisions had broken down, and supplies were dwindling at an alarming rate. Even with all their combined efforts, the division commanders couldn't calm the situation.
"Wow, can you imagine what Marco is carrying on his shoulders?" Teach smiled faintly at the murmurs praising Marco's work on board the ship. What he wanted was happening. But he was consumed by anguish, by the fear that Marco would never wake up.
It had taken some painful persuasion to convince Vista to take over at Marco's bedside. Only the commanders were allowed, but given Teach's seniority within the crew, Vista had finally relented. Teach sat down next to the dripping Marco and took his burning hand.
Teach thanked his lucky stars when Marco woke up while he was still beside him. Marco didn't even have time to say anything before Teach spoke first, "I'm sorry, so sorry..." Marco tried to sit up, but realizing he was too weak, he changed his mind, "...Why on earth are you apologizing?"
Teach hunched over. “It’s my fault. I poisoned you.” Marco’s eyes widened. Teach continued, “I was sold a plant that was supposed to be able to penetrate your phoenix’s immune system. But I didn’t think it would be this bad… I just wanted you to rest for a few days, not be on the brink of death. Will you ever forgive me?”
Marco let the silence hang for a full minute, then smiled weakly. “You’re such an idiot. Thanks.” Teach looked up. “I don’t blame you,” Marco continued, “But don’t do it again, okay?” Teach nodded frantically before hugging Marco’s small body tightly. Marco let out a small, plaintive moan before gently stroking Teach's back. "It's okay, alright? You don't need to cry..."
Teach froze and covered his face with a hand. Marco was right; he was crying.
Teach had cultivated a legend about himself as a man who had never slept and had never cried. The first part was false. But the second part was true: he had never cried. Not on the day he was born, not when his father died, not when he broke his arm.
And yet, here he was, crying. For another human being.
_____
Marco had finally recovered from his illness, and even though he still worked a lot, Whitebeard had finally delegated some of his tasks to the other commanders. Besides, his illness had allowed him to recover, so all of Teach's objectives had been achieved. Marco had kept the poisoning a secret, claiming he'd probably just had a bout of exhaustion. No one had believed him, and he knew it, but at least no one bothered him about it.
Time passed, and Teach reflected on his feelings. For Marco? Damn, he was in love. For the rest of the crew? Damn, he wanted to destroy them. Time passed, and many little incidents had fueled his hatred for this crew with every fiber of his being.
But lately, his murderous urges had been directed elsewhere.
That damn red-haired pirate.
So jovial, so… Oh, how Teach wanted to punch him! The rare times he boarded the Moby Dick, he acted as if he owned the place, but above all, he took too much interest in Marco. Far too much. Luckily, Marco seemed more than annoyed by Shanks's incessant teasing and his demands to join his crew.
Even so, Marco's hatred seemed so intense that it must be hiding something. Marco wasn't just irritated. He seemed disgusted.
That day, Shanks was on the ship. Marco had locked himself in his cabin, and Teach followed him. "Marco, talk to me... You seem to hate Shanks. Has he done something?"
Marco sighed, “Not really, no… My hatred for him is unjustified. It’s just that… When I look at him, I can’t help but think of his asshole of a father.” Teach frowned. Marco had already told him about being a slave to the celestial dragons, but he had never explicitly spoken about that period of his life.
“Who?” Teach asked. “Who is his father?” Marco sighed again. “It’s Figarland Garling.” At these words, Teach froze.
Figarland Garling, the man who had killed his father.
As if in a trance, and not really realizing what he was doing, Teach stood up. “Teach?” Teach left the room and went out onto the deck, where his eyes fell upon his victim. He unsheathed his claws and charged at Shanks, who, surprised by the attack, could only dodge just enough to prevent it from being fatal.
Teach's vision blurred, and he didn't react to the shouts as he was slammed to the ground… He would probably regret it, but he didn't care as much as he could disfigure this guy. Shanks glared at him, and Teach chuckled, pleased with himself for having wiped the cheerful expression off his face.
Whitebeard would forgive him anyway. He always did.
_____
Marco had too many friends. Teach, selfishly, wanted Marco all to himself. But there was nothing he could do. So, he simply cursed all the troublemakers inwardly.
Like the new kid, Ace. Damn, Teach hated him.
There were two reasons for this. The first was that he wouldn't stop clinging to Marco, like a son clinging to his father. Marco seemed amused, but Teach wasn't touched at all. He wanted to see him die, with his stupid good humor.
The second was that this bastard was the new commander of the Whitebeard Pirates' second division, and without even taking the infamous test, which was supposed to be mandatory. Teach had never attempted the test, but he felt a modicum of compassion for all the guys who had tried it before.
But it didn't matter. Anyway, Teach would betray them all soon.
_____
The moment had come, and Teach felt like killing himself.
On one hand, there was the Devil Fruit he so desperately wanted, the promise of formidable power, of absolute control.
On the other, his precious friendship with Marco.
Teach had already considered kidnapping Marco and taking him away, far from everything this crew was about to face. But he knew that wasn't the answer. Marco would resent him for the rest of his life. His place was with Whitebeard and his idiot sons. So be it.
To succeed in his quest, Teach had to convince himself that Marco was just like the others, an arrogant little bastard. All that was left for Teach to do was kill that moron Thatch and seize the fruit…
Speaking of the devil, Thatch was alone in the kitchen at night. The perfect opportunity. Besides, what was he doing there? Was he working? Hmm, definitely not.
“Thatch.” The cook turned to him. “Teach! What are you doing here so late?” Teach shrugged. “I can’t sleep. And I heard you, you don’t seem to be either.” Thatch burst out laughing. “No, indeed. I’m consulting an old cookbook I bought at the market last time. Did you know that certain medicinal plants…”
Teach didn't listen to Thatch's monologue; he waited until his victim's back was turned, then drew his blades and killed him. Thatch hadn't even screamed. It was Teach, bursting into laughter, who had attracted attention. He then quickly ate the fruit that was his and fled before anyone could stop him.
_____
Marco woke with a start from the noise outside. He seemed to be sleeping soundly in his bed; it was strange. He had no memory of the previous day: what had happened to him?
In his hand was a small piece of folded paper. Marco sat up and unfolded it: a drawing. A drawing by Teach, certainly, depicting him. A graceful and dangerous phoenix.
Marco broke out in a cold sweat: something was wrong. He rushed out of the room and grabbed a brother who was running up to him to ask what had happened. “We don’t really know… Thatch was found dead, and Teach ran away.”
Marco felt himself falling. He couldn’t hear anything around him anymore. Teach had… killed Thatch? But how was that possible? Teach was so nice. And Thatch… Marco couldn’t grasp that he would never have the chance to speak to him again.
Marco blamed himself for not being aware when it all happened. Then, he realized that Teach was probably involved. The drawing was proof of that.
Marco felt like crying. He felt betrayed. His best friend had committed a horrible crime: killing a brother. All the sympathy he had felt for Teach vanished, leaving only hatred and a terrible thirst for revenge…
_____
Thatch was dead. Ace was dead. Pops was dead. They, along with a good hundred of his brothers. And now, the survivors fell one after another before Teach's indomitable power. There was nothing left to do to win: it was over, they had lost. All Marco could do was try to save what remained of his companions.
“Vista! I'm going to throw myself at Teach, and my attack will keep him occupied for about ten minutes! Use that time to get out of here!” Vista seemed terrified. “Marco, don't you dare do what I'm thinking! You'll die!”
Marco knew it. His ultimate attack, “Phoenix Explosion,” unleashed all the energy accumulated in his body. Those around him were trapped in a blue tornado and ultimately perished, sucked into the vortex. Teach probably wouldn't die, and Marco, if he survived, would be completely at his mercy. This attack to save his brothers would be his death warrant.
But he had no choice. Everyone was going to die if no one did anything. His life was meaningless if his sacrifice could save his people. Vista knew that nothing he said would stop Marco. So, swallowing hard, he turned his back on Marco. "At your service... Captain."
Marco cringed at the title. It didn't suit him at all. He wasn't supposed to be the leader.
Marco spread his wings, then lunged at Teach, who, seeing him coming, burst out laughing. "No way! Are you playing kamikaze, Marco?" Marco chuckled. "Exactly."
Marco then unleashed a phenomenal burst of energy, and saw Teach's face turn horrified before he lost all vision. His body was in agony; it felt as if thousands of knives were piercing him every second.
It took him no more than ten seconds to lose consciousness.
_____
It was an undeniable victory. Teach had won hands down. The Whitebeard Pirates had fled. All that remained was their new captain and their savior, half-dead at his feet. Teach should be laughing his head off, raising his fist in victory, and yet…
And yet, Teach couldn't even manage a smile.
Marco, wherever he went, whatever he did, even if it was his own choice, seemed to be suffering terribly. Why was he always the one who had to endure it when others should be able to rely on him?
Teach recalled a scene from about ten years ago, in which Marco had spent twelve hours operating on a man, before leaving the infirmary shaking his head, his face grim. The man's best friend had punched Marco, hurling insults at him, blaming him for his friend's death. And Marco hadn't reacted. He'd let the other guy, the scum, the vermin, beat him again and again to soothe his pain.
Van Augur arrived beside Teach. "Well, what a spectacular tornado! Now you have a Mythical Zoan. It's..."
"Ridiculous? Yes, exactly."
Van Augur, along with all the members of Blackbeard's crew who were nearby, stared wide-eyed. What was happening to their leader?
Teach ignored the scrutinizing stares and stepped toward Marco, knelt down, and placed his hand on the cheek of his beloved. Marco was breathing shallowly: in a few hours, his Phoenix would be strong enough to heal its host. Teach's throat was dry. Tears streamed down his cheeks despite himself. “Damn it, Marco,” Teach swore, “You piss me off so much! No matter how hard I try, I just can’t hate you.”
Teach leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on Marco’s lips before standing up and leaving, followed by his stunned crew: their cruel captain had just cried.
Marco didn’t need to know what Teach was feeling. Teach couldn’t do this to him. Marco needed to rest, withdraw from the world, and slowly heal the scars the world had left him. Teach was nothing but an obstacle to his happiness.
“My love…”