The words cut Marco like a knife, though he refused to flinch or show it. Go home together? That had been his goal. But after meeting Lieutenant Monkey D. Ace, his dead father, and now Thatch here? No. That was no longer Marco's goal. He wanted to growl in frustration. Did Thatch mean to heaven? Some sort of afterlife Marco couldn't enter to join him? You mock my pain. A line from the Princess Bride came to mind, but Marco didn't say it.

"Aye, someday," Marco smiled softly despite how much it hurt. Someday he'd rejoin the dead? Maybe. But who could say when. And in between then, Marco had to live through the hurt a hundred thousand times more. Every day a reminder of the fallen, of those Marco couldn't save, could no longer continue his journey with. Just like Thatch hadn't jumped, back in their world he wasn't there to continue the journey. He wasn't five years older like this.

"So how did you get that nasty scar anyway, eh?" Marco knew the answer. The truth of it. But if Thatch didn't think he got it from dying, then he needed to know how Thatch thought he got it. "That's what we're sorry for, eh. Not being there. Not being here for you."