Disclaimer: Nyet, I don't own One Piece.

The Whitebeards had lost a lot at the War of the Best. On the Mini Moby, Marco was pouring over documents, figuring out winds and streams and the appropriate calculations. They wanted to make Blackbeard pay, but it would still take a little while until they could gather their resources and allies and get to do an all-out attack. Not that it helped that the traitor had the devil's luck in hiding from them. Closing his eyes in resignation at having no one like Oyaji around any more to bounce ideas off of and get scolded for getting ahead of himself and possibly leading his remaining siblings into a war that they couldn't afford to lose, Marco put down his glasses and then his head into his hands.

How far ago seemed the moment where, just last year, Thatch had joked around with Ace at the railing and made meals that were feasts for the eyes and the mouths and been alive to call even Marco names that he just knew all his brothers would emulate from then on. The pineapple jokes had been grating on his nerves, but oh, how he wished the chef was there to make them still.

And Ace… their fiery brother shouldn't have been allowed to chase the traitor like that. It wasn't the first time that the First Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates regretted past choices and it wouldn't be the last. They'd lost too many, they'd lost way too many good souls in that blasted war.

Deciding he needed a change of air, he stood up from his chair, gathered the documents and put them aside for now, headed to the door and opened it. Stepping outside, he was met with laughter – and was promptly transported back onto the deck of the Moby Dick, where he could remember hearing that particular laugh last, surrounded by the ocean breeze and Thatch and Oyaji-

His mind brought him out of the past soon enough, as a body stormed past – one of Rakuyo's division, wasn't it? –, another one halting just before barrelling into him. An eyebrow rose at the unusually reckless behaviour of the two, prompting an answer without him saying anything. "Ah, Commander Marco! We were just on our way to the galley! Want to join us? Some of the chefs have decided that Commander Tha-ah- that the birthday tradition was going to be continued! There's cake and everything!" The accompanying grin was, quite honestly, a refreshing thing to witness.

Marco knew about the "birthday tradition", as the divisions had dubbed it quite some time ago. Seeing as there were so many of them, it had been decided long ago that they'd do one birthday party per month to celebrate together. Said birthday parties tended to degenerate into loud and rambunctious feasts where the chefs regularly outdid themselves, with drinking games etc. Naturally, the Division Commanders' birthdays and the captain's were celebrated apart from the others', so sometimes there could be up to three birthday parties held per month.

Those were… celebrations, something to look forward to, in bleak times as in happy ones. Marco hadn't known how much he'd needed a pick-me-up until he'd entered the galley. His mood lifting considerably at the antics of some of his brothers, he sidled up to Vista, who was enjoying a beer off to the side of the controlled chaos. A member of the former Fourth Division passed by and pressed a mug filled with an undiscernible substance into his hands. Ale, most probably, judging by the smell.

"Cheers." Vista held his beer up to be clunked against and Marco answered in kind, "Cheers."

"This has been going on for the better part of the last half hour by now. Think they'll move out the cake sometime soon?" a comment from a passing pirate drew his attention for the blink of an eye. The kitchen entrance wasn't far away from their position and they could see the cooks scuttling about here and there, preparing things for the hungry and expectant pirates. He sat back to watch.

They had all needed that, this brief moment of respite in-between the aftermath of one war and the preparation of another. "Happy birthday." Marco said to no one in particular, raising his mug.