TW: anxiety, panic attack, unhealthy thoughts.
He's in the bath when it happens. It's early, early enough that Luffy's still snoring away, and Marco had only heard Sanji's soft footsteps in the kitchen as he made his way to the bath. The ship is dead silent, and it makes Marco uneasy. Then again, when it is rowdy, it makes him anxious as well. There's not a lot that doesn't put Marco on edge these days anyways.
The Sunny is somewhat comforting. Bright and warm and filled with people where Marco's confinement had been cold and clammy and clinical and... Breathe.
Marco has his space, which is something he feels regularly guilty about, but Chopper reminds him in their daily chats that Luffy owns this ship, and he can do whatever he wants with it –including giving Marco his own room. (There are other reasons like his comfort and his health, and he deserves some form of special treatment after what he's been through until he gets better, but those always sound hollow. Mainly because if Marco's Devil Fruit hasn't healed him, can he even be fixed?)
He's been in the Sunny Go a couple of weeks now, and it seems like it's been ages, but Punk Hazard is never far, neither from his thoughts nor his heart. Marco doesn't think it ever will, and he knows, he knows he is still on board.
Marco doesn't always feel like his soul is trying to flay off his skin, not always electrified in frightening memories, blurred between a nightmare and reality, present and past. One day, Nami had taught him how to take care of her tangerine trees, she'd been rather tough on him too, keeping a careful eye on Marco's hands as they took care of the weeds. Then she'd given him two, free of charge for his help. (He'd been on the Sunny long enough to know what a gesture it was, coming from the stingy navigator.)
The sun had been blinding, only an hour after lunch had most of Sunny's occupants dozing and dazed from another one of Sanji's impeccable meals. Marco had to apologize to his brother, but the Straw Hat's cook is something else. Nami had been wearing a hat, and Marco had helped her put sunblock on.
"You should put on some too," she'd told him. She looked like she was going to the beach more than a pirate, in some gardening gloves, a bright red bucket hat, and a string bikini.
"I don't burn," he replied. Nami pursued her lips.
"Doesn't matter."
"What, but-" His protests fell on deaf ears. The woman maneuvered him into removing his shirt, and in moments her soft palms were spreading the sticky liquid all over his back. Marco had never been a fan of anything going on his skin, and it'd been decades since he'd put creams on. He didn't need them.
He tenses up under Nami's touch, unused to such a caress, but he thinks that's probably the point when Nami doesn't say anything. She's careful and detailed as she covers his shoulders and then moves in front of him to continue on his front, smearing the tattoo in white briefly before evening it out on the skin.
"Do you always force sunblock on your guests, yoi?" He doesn't want to sound rude, but the moment is feeling a little too raw for him right then, and he doesn't understand why someone putting sunblock on him is making him so off-balanced.
"I put sunblock on everyone in this crew."
"I'm not part of this crew, though." Nami huffs a breath, her movement momentarily more forceful as she reaches down for Marco's belly button. Marco believes she's done this hundred of times, if only for how effective she is at doing it. Gesturing for him to raise his arms away from his body, giving her further access.
"You're still Nakama."
"You barely know me," he protests. Marco's unsure of what he's trying to convince her of.
"That's how it was with everyone when they got here," she dismisses, "now come on, my trees don't take care of themselves." She continues to talk to him as the two of them water and prune them into perfection.
"I've never taken care of a plant before," he warns.
"You look relatively responsible and sensible, and that already offers you an advantage over most of this crew. The only other people here who know how to do it are Robin and Usopp. I like the idea of you knowing too, in case I'm ever far from Sunny too long." She shrugs. "Besides, not knowing how to do something is just all the more reason to learn."
It's not like there's a ton for Marco to do anyways.
"Okay, yoi." She looks at him as if gauging if Marco's really up for it before nodding satisfactorily. The older man isn't sure what she sees, considering he feels pretty indifferent about the whole endeavor, but it seems to be enough.
It turned out a dirty, demanding, and very relaxing task.
"Usopp thought I was crazy for taking trees out to see with me, and now he has his own garden," she confided, as the sniper in question joined them.
"I mean, the Merry wasn't as plant-friendly as the Sunny, though she did take good care of your tangerine trees," the curly-haired man mutters, putting on his own gloves. "I still cannot believe they've made it all the way here from the East Blue." That does perk Marco's interest.
"They come from East Blue?" Nami seems surprised at the question, maybe because Marco rarely speaks without being spoken to.
"They're from an orchard that belonged to my mother, I took them with me when I left with Luffy." Marco looks at the trees, deceptively resilient plants, these ones.
"They really are!" Ussop agrees, and Marco realizes he must've spoken out loud.
"Naturally," Nami boasts, "I've been taking care of them!" Amusement blooms in Marco's chest.
He's helped Nami with her trees regularly since then, and it has organically expanded to Usopp's little garden as well.
"Don't let her take advantage of you," the sniper had joked, "Nami's too good at making people work for free!"
"Did you say something, Usopp?" The lilt to her voice is dangerous as it drifts from the other side of the little forest, and Usopp swallows. His eyes are smiling as they meet Marco, a what can you do, right? written in his brow. "We need to get you some gloves, now that you're part of the gardening squad."
"My hands don't really need it," he explained.
"Not the point," Usopp replied.
Marco decides he will check on the garden after his shower, he does have new gloves to put to use now.
The bathroom is stifling when he goes in, and Marco gives the empty place a cursory thought, his eyes rest briefly on the bathtub. Marco used to love baths before, but now he couldn't even think of the feeling of weakness, of his strength being sapped away and being unable to move. He's incapable of subjecting himself to the mercy of his greatest weakness. (It's impossible, but his hip bone throbs). Marco starts feeling faint.
The episode comes out of nowhere.
One second Marco's taking off the white sweatshirt he wore to bed and putting his toiletries nearby and the next, there's all-consuming panic, splitting him apart. It's like there are two sides to him.
One side takes into account his labored breathing, and the blackness creeping into his vision, processes how the world goes out of focus and how cold sweat breaks out all over Marco's skin and thinks. It's a panic attack. You're not really suffocating, this is mental first and then physical. Hold your breath. Count backward from a thousand. Find 5 things you can see, four that you can see, three that you can…
Scores of advice to help himself cross his mind, and Marco tries, he really does, but his breathing doesn't ease, and his vision starts swimming. Marco's swaying, he thinks, maybe?
While one part of his mind is narrating the events and word-vomiting every panic attack-related fact Marco's ever read, there's another, more prominent side of him in charge.
That Marco has only one coherent thought:
I'm dying.
The spacious bathroom shrinks into him, swallowing him, but at the same time, Marco feels lost in the middle of nowhere. There's screaming inside his mind and the cold, cold emptiness that Marco's never going to be able to forget. He twists open the doorknob, thinking of Luffy and his bed and thinks that maybe if he makes it there, it'll be okay.
Maybe if he just, if he can't make it to…
But there are no legs to support him, none, trapped in the dark, splintered beyond recognition, there's nowhere for Marco to run.
.
.
.
It's pain that wakes him up, sharp like a blade. It only lasts a couple of seconds, but it's enough to wake him up. There's warm wood in front of him, firm underneath him as the flame subsides, the wetness on his forehead gone in the cool caress of his ability. There's a terrifying second where Marco isn't sure what happened.
"-rco! Marco!" A person is sliding next to him, turning Marco around facing up and not buried into the floor. I must have blacked out, he realizes. Marco's never had a panic attack before, but working himself up enough to pass out it's a bad thing. Reflex syncope. Marco takes a hand to his head, he's sure he'd been bleeding, but of course, nothing's left. Cold settles inside him. Of course, his injury is gone, of course, it is. That's what Marco does, isn't it? Heal? Rise from the ashes like a Phoenix?
(What a rotten joke.)
He's exhausted and sweaty, and his heartbeat is speeding up again. Someone grabs his hand, roughly and with intent. They are smaller than his own, incredibly rough, and they pull with such insistence that Marco starts resurfacing slowly. "Marco, is everything okay? You passed out. You're safe, on the Sunny. Remember?" Marco was going to shower.
"I… I think I had a panic attack." He says it out loud because Marco can hardly believe it's real. He starts sitting up, finally bringing a tanned face into view. Ussop's expression is lined with worry, but his posture is open and kind. He doesn't push Marco and doesn't speak beyond his assurances of safety. Later, he'd appreciate his quiet support and lack of prodding significantly more than right then. Right now, there's little he can focus on other than trying to take even breaths.
Luffy is still snoring away when they make their way to Marco's room, but he blinks awake when they enter. He frowns but doesn't ask. Marco climbs back in bed as Ussop leaves in search of Chopper. The younger man turns to Marco, careful to not crowd him and stretches one hand to rest on Marco's stomach. There, soft circles brand themselves into his skin, and Marco cries. It hits him all at once.
He's terrified of feeling like that again.
"I can't go back," he whispers to a scarred chest, "I can't, Luffy, I can't. I can't go back."
"You're not going anywhere," the younger man promises. Marco wishes he could believe him.
He doesn't leave the room for days, and there's no checking up on the garden.
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