He still felt the same nausea, that had plagued him for the last two hours, since he'd been informed of the news. The same rolling cold that lay coiled in his guts. And the same grief that was wreathed in dim disbelief, as he sat in a wooden chair with his head in his hands.
Thatch wasn't..
Teach really hadn't..
It didn't feel real. He could still see Thatch's easy smile. Hear those often amused tones tease and ruffle his nerves. Remember the way he used to make him laugh over and over and over again under that bright blue sky that went on forever and ever and ever and ever..
He started, at the sudden hand on his shoulder, and realized Marco had been talking for some time.
"Ace..listen, don't do anything. Pops wants to talk to you first."
After all these years, Teach really had..
And Thatch really was..
He looked up at the naked concern in Marco's eyes and felt something grow colder and colder inside him until it was burning.. and shattering and snapping himself into a thousand irreparable pieces.