Hello again! I've run into very few stories about the Whitebeards the night before Marineford, so I thought I'd take a shot at it. I'm not really using the fanfic ideas for the characters, mostly because I feel like only Thatch, Marco, and Izo have really been fleshed out there. I went back and forth on Marco being older than Whitebeard, but for the moment am going with younger. That's an even odds thing in my eyes. Also, this was largely based on how big Luffy's impact is to the morale of the Whitebeards at Marineford. I think we underestimated the Yonkou because the Whitebeards weren't at their best when we saw them. I've always found it jarring just how much they are encouraged by Luffy's arrival.
The first paragraph talks about the weight of the word war. It's something my grandma - who was a teenager in London during the Second World War - talked to me about years ago. She hated the way people used the word war so freely instead of conflict or other applicable terms. War to her was bombings and neighbours dying by the dozens and millions of deaths over years. I think people are using many words too freely and undermining the words for the people who really need them. There are some words I believe should be both painful to speak and painful to hear. If we were to look at the meaning of the words we use, then 'damn you' would be the most offensive thing I could think of (what beats eternal damnation?), but people don't examine the words they use. Hopefully those of us in the writing community can make the effort to do so.
Anyways, rant aside, I haven't gotten many reviews since I posted the oneshots. If there's something that you feel has changed in my writing style or you don't feel I'm writing as well, please let me know! Constructive criticism has value! Take care & enjoy!
Marco watched the horizon. The sun set, disappearing behind the water in a gentle wash of pastel colours. Even the waves were calm, as though stilled in anticipation of the coming war. He had been in countless battles over his long life, but very rarely was a conflict large enough to carry the weight of the word war. There was a heaviness in his stomach; not fear, he knew the many flavours of fear, but foreboding, which was in many ways worse. He may not have his father's profound intuition, but he had developed some over the years and the warning weighed on him. He swung his legs over the edge of the crow's nest, knowing that this was the last sunset many of his brothers would live to see. It may very well be the last sunset the man he called Pops would live to see, as well.
"Marco," his father called out from his chair, not needing to raise his voice in the near silence of the deck. Marco jumped down, turning his arms into wings to break his fall, before landing on one knee before the strongest man in the world.
"Pops," he answered, meeting his eyes. There was a whole history between them, a story of tears and laughter and love and loss - because they hadn't always been the strongest, and even once they were, it was impossible to keep everyone safe from everything - and Marco hid nothing from Edward Newgate.
"It's always the youngsters who get into trouble," Pops commented with a wry smile, and Marco couldn't help the answering grin that came to his lips. He had been a troublemaker once; being skilled and having a Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit had taught him pride, but it was Edward Newgate, the strongest man alive, who had taught him humility, a gift he cherished every day. A true captain, in Marco's eyes, taught his crew the humility of standing before someone more worthy than themselves and the pride of being acknowledged by them. His captain - his father - was the best.
"Ace has always had a flare for the dramatic," Marco agreed, earning a chuckle from Pops.
"Check on your brothers for me?" Pops asked. Marco nodded; he had been planning on doing so regardless. He was sure the other Commanders sensed something wrong too, and he would be there to reassure his brothers. He was the First Mate of the Strongest Man in the World and he didn't falter.
"You'll need to hide that better," he commented, glancing at the sake by his father's chair as he got to his feet. The man simply laughed.
"The kids need to ease up a little. No harm in an old man having a little drink."
"I don't think they'd mind if it really was a little drink," Marco replied, taking his leave to the sound of his father's laughter. The corridors of the Moby Dick were silent, and Marco went to check on the Commanders first; he had the First, Second, and Fourth Divisions to command, and knew that would take time.
"Jozu?" He asked, tapping on the door.
"Come in," his brother grunted. Marco turned the knob, unsurprised to see Jozu sitting in front of his macrame project. A glance to the corner of the room showed his brother's battle armour polished to perfection. "Shit!" Jozu exclaimed, frustrated.
"You need anything?"
"Could you pinch this section here?" Jozu asked distractedly. Marco stepped in and, as he had countless times before, pinned the section for his brother. He knew that sometimes the newbies gave Jozu flack for his hobby, but he found it calming and that was all that mattered to Marco.
"Who's this one for?" Marco asked, because eventually everyone was gifted with something.
"Ace," Jozu replied solemnly. "I never got around to making him one before."
"You can give it to him tomorrow," Marco assured him. Jozu looked up for the first time and met his eyes.
"I will." Knowing there was only so much he could do, Marco turned and headed for the door.
"Let me know if you need anything," Jozu said as Marco opened the door.
"I will," he echoed, not turning around because he knew Jozu would be embarrassed by how soft his smile had become. He continued down the corridor, past Thatch and Ace's empty rooms, ignoring the way his heart ached, as it always did, when there were empty rooms on the Moby. Tomorrow, he told himself, one of those rooms will be filled again and Ace will be home with us.
He knocked on Vista's door, entering at his brother's grunt. Vista was at his desk, examining his swords, as if he didn't always maintain them, as if he hadn't been polishing and sharpening them since Ace's capture had been announced.
"Need anything?" Vista asked before Marco could.
"That was my question," the blond replied with a slight smile.
"My division is settled." Marco waited, knowing there was more to come. Vista glanced up at him, a touch of hesitance in his eyes. "I know it's not what we're there for, and it's not really important, but is it wrong of me for me to be excited about crossing swords with Mihawk tomorrow?"
"No," Marco replied firmly. "He's held the title of best swordsman for years. Of course you'd like to test yourself against him." Vista's shoulder's relaxed.
"Thanks, brother."
"That's what I'm here for," Marco answered warmly, letting himself out. No one answered when he tapped on Blamenco's door, but he was nearly certain he knew where his brother was, and continued to check on Rakuyo unbothered.
"She won't eat," Rakuyo whined, looking despondent when he walked in.
"If you don't eat, you won't be strong enough to help us save Ace," Marco explained, because talking to a spiked flail was old hat in this crew. Sugar - and he'd never wanted to hear the reasoning behind that naming selection - stared at him before accepting the metal Rakuyo had been trying to feed her.
"Thanks, Marco," his brother said with open relief. Marco smiled back.
"No problem. Anything else I can do for you?" Rakuyo shook his head.
"Nah, the boys are antsy, but they don't want a Commander hanging over their shoulder. They'll hold tomorrow."
"I know," Marco assured him. "We have a good crew."
"And a great First Mate," Rakuyo finished. Marco wasn't easily flustered, but there was warmth in his chest when he smiled back. Maybe he wasn't just comforting his brothers this evening. He headed to the door with a wave.
"Come in," Namur rumbled when Marco tapped. Marco stopped in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He stood in silence waiting for Namur to speak.
"It should have been me," Namur confessed after a while. "Boss Jimbei is in Impel Down with Ace instead of me, his own brother."
"Jimbei makes his own decisions," Marco replied, "and you'll be with us tomorrow when we save Ace."
"What about Boss Jimbei?" Marco knew enough to understand that focusing on what Ace and Jimbei had likely been though wouldn't help anyone.
"Pops and King Neptune have already spoken. King Neptune will petition the World Government for his release as soon as the war is over."
"I understand. I'll thank Pops when I go up." Marco smiled and nodded.
"Anything else I can do for you?"
"No, thank you." Marco continued on. He raised his hand to knock on Blenheim's door, but, recognizing the silence, paused before his fist landed. Foregoing the formalities, Marco softly opened the door. Blenheim sat in the middle of the floor meditating, but opened his eyes when Marco entered. They held each other's eyes for a long minute before Marco nodded and headed back out.
His next visit was to Curiel's room; a stark contrast to Blenheim's, Curiel, Blamenco, Kingdew, and Atmos were gathered around playing poker. He knocked sharply to cut across their laughter.
"Come in!" Blamenco called out.
"Since when is it your room?" Curiel asked, looking at his brother.
"Since you're about to loose it to me in a game of poker," Blamenco replied without pause.
"You want to be dealt in, Marco?" Atmos asked. Marco raised a brow.
"You want to loose?" His brothers laughed good-naturedly.
"I'm on a winning streak, Marco!" Blamenco crowed.
"I'd hate to be the reason that ended, Blamenco," Marco parried.
"You're just afraid!" He protested, making Marco smirk. Something about Marco's smile made Blamenco's eyes narrow in irritation. "You are!"
"Of course I am," Marco agreed, making a point to be as patronizing as possible and earning laughter from his other brothers. "I was coming around to see how your divisions are doing, so you're spared for tonight." The four of them shrugged.
"There are some nerves, but seeing their Commanders relax will help them relax, as well." Marco snorted.
"Right." He shook his head in fond exasperation as he left.
When Marco found Haruta's room empty, he took a minute to think about where his little brother would have gone. His feet carried him to the Commander's training room. It was small and Haruta was one of the only people to use it anymore, but Marco knew his little brother was proud and preferred to practice in private. The weight of being a Division Commander weighed heavily the young boy and this would be by far the largest conflict he had been involved with. Marco stood on the edge of the room, observing. His brother had pulled out the lightest of the targets, one that's blown off course by the slightest of breezes, which helped train him for some of the more unconventional movements Logia users adopted. Haruta's form was good and he was constantly improving, but sweat dripped form his body so he had obviously been at it for a while. Marco moved quickly, stopping the sword before Haruta could slash his target with a haki covered arm. He could, of course, heal if Haruta cut him, but knew his brothers got upset when he took a blow even though they knew he would be fine.
"Marco!" Haruta exclaimed, jumping back, not having noticed him.
"You're doing well," Marco said, putting a hand on Haruta's shoulder, "but you won't be if you overdo it now. Save your strength for tomorrow."
"I didn't notice you," Haruta moaned. "That could get me killed in battle."
"It could," Marco agreed, because he pretending otherwise was deadly, "but you're not fighting this war alone. We'll be there with you, as will your Division."
"You're right." Haruta accepted the correction, straightening.
"You're improving," Marco assured him. He ignored the sweat and wrapped an arm around the youth, guiding him towards the baths. "Take a long bath and massage those muscles; you can't afford to be sore tomorrow." He felt Haruta take a few deep breaths while allowing himself to be led along.
"How are you always so calm, Marco?" Marco stared ahead, considering the question. They had reached the baths before he had settled on his answer.
"I trust everyone to do their best," he replied, making Haruta shift to look at him. "I've lost everything before, but I was able to get back up and keep going. I know I have the strength to keep going no matter who I loose. People will die tomorrow," Marco acknowledged, his chest tight at the thought, "so we'll all loose, but every single one of us is choosing to go knowing that. We're all going to try our best and bring Ace back. No one can do more than their best." Haruta frowned, considering. "Have you been slacking on your training?" Haruta's head snapped up.
"Of course not!"
"Will you do your best tomorrow?"
"Of course I will!"
"That's all any of us can do, Haruta." Haruta met his eyes and his shoulders eased.
"Thanks, Marco."
"What are brothers for?" Marco asked, smiling warmly at him. He left to let Haruta get settled in the bath and went to visit Jiru. Fossa opened the door to his knock.
"What can we do for you, Marco?"
"Just doing my rounds," Marco told him, glancing at Jiru who was studying the go board intently.
"Whoever called him Speed Jiru has never seen him play go," Fossa commented wryly, seeing the direction of Marco's gaze.
"Shut up," Jiru replied, not looking up. "I'm concentrating." He carefully made his move before turning to Marco. "You tucking us in, big brother?" Marco smiled.
"Do you need it?" The two men snorted. "I just wanted to see if everyone was settled."
"My Division is all fired up," Fossa said. "Some of them are shuffled in from the Spade Pirates and they're out for blood."
"Mine's calmer than that, at least," Jiru murmured. "I've had to order a couple of them to bed or they would be up all night trying to anticipate Sengoku. Whatever comes tomorrow, we'll deal with it." Marco nodded.
"Would you two mind checking in on Haruta in an hour or two? He's in the baths working out stiff muscles." His brothers smiled in understanding.
"Working out some nerves in the training room?" Marco nodded.
"Boy's too hard on himself," Jiru commented. "We'll make sure he looks after himself tonight." Marco nodded in thanks and headed off to check on the last Division Commander, Izo.
"Marco," Izo said opening his door, wrapped in a dressing gown. "What can I do for you?"
"Just wanted to see how you're doing," Marco replied.
"Please, do come in," Izo invited, making Marco hide a wince and step through the door. Izo closed the door before turning to meet Marco's eyes. "Is Pops planning on dying tomorrow?" The question no one else had been bold enough to tackle.
"I'm not certain," Marco prevaricated, watching irritation flash across Izo's face.
"You haven't asked," Izo accused.
"No," Marco agreed, "and I won't, Izo. We're going there for one reason, and one reason alone."
"Of course we need to rescue Ace!" Izo exclaimed. "But that doesn't mean I'm ready to bury Pops."
"Pops can't fight old age forever. Even if he doesn't die tomorrow, he will die soon."
"It's gotten that bad?" Izo asked heavily. Marco nodded, holding his eyes. "I don't want to loose him, Marco. I'm not ready."
"We'll never be ready," Marco told him gently, "but it'll happen one day and we'll have each other when it does." Izo turned away and wiped his tears with a tissue.
"It's annoying when you're right," he mumbled. Marco raised a brow.
"I must be annoying quite frequently, then." Izo instantly rose to the bait.
"As if! I commented because it never happens!" Marco didn't even bother addressing the lie; the banter had done them both good. "Ace isn't ready to be Captain," Izo pointed out, as if Marco wasn't aware of the fact.
"Not yet," Marco agreed, "but he won't be alone. He'll grow into it, given time." Izo took a deep breath.
"Then we need to get our little brother back so that he gets the time he needs." Their eyes met, equally resolved.
"I'll see you in the morning, Izo."
"Goodnight, Marco."