concoursec | Settling In

Entry tags:

Settling In

Characters: Thatch and Marco
Location: Thatch's Room
Rating: PG-13 for cursing and bromance
Open/Closed/Finished: Closed
Summary: On the eve of the battle, Thatch finds some comfort with an old friend.

Thatch rested his arms on the back of the too small tub, and tilted his head back to blow a stream of smoke to the ceiling. Man, what a day. He hadn't expected to be tossed into a maelstrom the minute he stepped into Balamb-- and the battle wasn't even part of it. Well, battles never were. They came and went. You fought them, you lost some, you won some, you mourned, you celebrated.

Nakama, on the other hand. Marco on the other hand. Shit. He lifted the cigar to his mouth and took another draw of the precious rose scented tobacco. Rare in Trabia, but not Balamb, thank everything. Not that he was much of a smoker but he liked to indulge once in a while and he had been running out of indulgences.

He stretched and cursed as he stubbed his toe against the wall, kicking it in frustration. Damned tiny bathroom. Damned tiny everything. He needed to commission a new tub, a new bed and desk that he could actually fit under because everyone seemed to be in the size toothpick and under.

Not that he could complain, Namur was in a much smaller boat and had to share one besides. He closed his eyes and ran more hot water in the bath to stir up the lavender bubbles and relaxed again, leaning his head against the wall.

If he knew his Marco.

And he did.

The sparkly chicken would be here soon.

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"Oi," Marco deadpanned, "Don't kiss my forehead, if you're going to kiss me, do it right bastard," he smacked Thatch's ass and gestured to the window. "Think you can fit through that holding around my neck?"

"A forehead kiss is all you're going to get, damned horny toad and HA I can barely fit out the window with myself." He eyed it carefully. "I'm going to have to jump."

Which, frankly, sounded fun. Also, he refused to react that obvious ass slap because he saw Marco's swing and knew its trajectory. He wasn't a swordsman born yesterday and he hoped his phoenix brother felt a little bit of pain from his buns of adamantium.

Edited 2013-06-18 06:13 (UTC)

"I'm not horny," Marco smirked lazily as he fluidly switched into phoenix and the bird from along with it, "Perk of being married. Besides just be grateful you missed spring here. I will never get used to that. Okay, I'm jumping first. Don't leap until I'm ready to catch you. We don't need a repeat of that other incident. My neck isn't a good place to break falls."

Marco glanced at Thatch from the window and quickly etched the sight into his mind. Thatch really did look older. To match the aged scar on his back from Blackbeard, and five years in this world. It was strange. Marco had been away from his nakama for a long time now, but Thatch was the one he really had missed the most. His father and Ace, Marco had been able to see during that time, but Thatch he'd really believed was gone forever. And more, Thatch had been more than just his best friend and brother and fellow commander for years. He'd made Marco who he was now, just as much as Whitebeard had. But where Edward Newgate had been seventy-two years old, Thatch was young yet. Had Whitebeard been thinking of Thatch when Squardo tried to sacrifice himself? Marco had.

"I'll always catch you," Marco promised quietly before he jumped out. It was probably a strange thing for someone else to say, but he knew that Thatch knew that Marco was always a little weird. Price of being a phoenix and well, Marco.

Edited 2013-06-23 10:26 (UTC)

"Of course." He laughed. "You always have." But Marco was gone. Maybe he'd heard him, maybe not, but ah, that was fine. It was no big deal because they where nakama. He went to the window and looked down, Marco flying just slightly below, glittering blue in the night. Thatch placed a hand on the sill and felt it, creeping up.

Oh shit. Oh shit not now. Not now not now. His palms went damp and his fingers shook against the casement as his heart slammed in his throat. It was Marco. He wasn't...he wasn't afraid. But the weight came, like an elephant sitting on his chest, his vision narrowing to the lost blue

fuck shit he couldn't do this he couldn't do this he couldn't breathe. Fuck fuck fuck. He clawed at his neck to pull the scarf free but it wasn't there. Just skin. Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT

But he was on the floor, wheezing sharp in his own ears. Couldn't even stop shaking. His heart was going so fast he could feel it shake his whole body.

He didn't want to die!

Marco circled, waiting for Thatch and when Thatch didn't come, he got worried. Very worried. Was it all an illusion after all? He flew back to the window and perched on it. Even compressed, he filled up most of the frame. "Forget something?" he gave a worried chirp. It sounded deadpan, flat, but for Thatch it'd be nothing short of Marco expressing fear as much as the phoenix nearly never did.

Seeing Thatch on the floor though, Marco got even more worried and hopped inside to check on his brother. "Hey..." a small whistle and blue wings went around Thatch to protect him from invisible harm.

He shoved Marco away without thinking about it. Without even processing. Pushing out as a jolt of something went through him. He was whistling but Thatch couldn't understand. He tried to bully his brain into working, into making sense of it but it felt like he'd been ducked in ice water.

No. Why did Marco have to see this? It was so damn embarrassing. He tried to crack a smile as he shoved himself against the wall, tilting his head so he could breathe better. It didn't work. He could only gasp like a damn fish.

"S...sorry. Go...got poison...poisoned by...some...something in Bal-- Trabia..." He grinned. "Should...go away...soon."

Marco switched back to human and didn't smile in return. "Don't lie to me," he insisted calmly. "Talk to me idiot. You think I'm worried now? I'll worry more if you don't tell me the truth. What's wrong?" Finally, slowly, Marco blinked and knelt down in front of his brother. He didn't look concerned, just even, calm, deadpan, unflappable. Like he had to be, like he was supposed to be. "Is it flying? We can take a car if you want... but you'll have to drive. Or we could ask Grell to snap us over there, but I was thinking just the two of us for tonight, eh?" He reached out a hand and slowly poked Thatch's forehead. "Talk me to me. What's wrong? Something to do with the wound on your back? Lungs?"

He wanted to say yes it was flying. Or driving. Or anything but what it was. He ran a hand through his damp hair, vaguely aware his hat had fallen off somehow...somewhere and looked away, still shuddering for breath, listening to that smooth, familiar, deadpan. Comforting. Marco moved and Tatch glanced at him then smirked as he poked his forehead.

Something to do with...with that...no... No because....no because it wasn't... Well it was there he couldn't deny it. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on Marco's shoulder. Smaller than his own but strong nontheless.

"When--" he swallowed. "When I first came to Balamb, I was a mess, you know? They...the thought I was going to die. Heh. But I...I had these...things. For no reason. I couldn't stop shaking. Sh-shell shock I thought. Then the nightmares s-started and I couldn't-- Figured-- any place was better and-- I got better."

Ah damn his eyes were watering.

"And then...Namur came..." he gave a choked laugh. "Poor guy... I...I..." But he couldn't finish. He swallowed again. "S--sorry, mate."

So he remembered. He knew. But that meant Thatch really was living on after the fact. It wasn't a second chance, but it meant Marco could keep protecting him a little longer. He nearly crushed Thatch in his return hug and rested his on head on Thatch's shoulder. He wanted to tell Thatch not to apologize for that. No one should ever have to feel guilty for dying, jeez. But Marco understood why. Thatch understood better than anyone how much it would have hurt Marco to be left behind. To go out early like that. Thatch really had been one of the only people in the world who could get through to Marco sometimes. Who could understand both Marco and everyone else's perspective and cohesively translate the two. If Marco was named after a god of war, he'd always thought Thatch would be his tactician forever.

"We're sorry. None of us knew, eh? And if we had, would we have even said anything?" A brother. To doubt a nakama was unthinkable. They'd survived the New World by trusting each other. That was why Blackbeard could get away with it. "Ugh and you know Shanks came to tell us that he told us so? Fucking punk." Marco still was annoyed, but since Shanks was trying to save Ace's life -- by going about it all wrong -- and then built the memorial for Whitebeard and Ace next to each other, Marco couldn't completely hate him. "I'm not... a good first mate, eh? I'm trying to trust people still and I just want to hibernate. Even our own allies... I almost snapped and killed Squardo at some point." It was hiding a lot of details, but it was all true at least.

"It'll be okay," Marco gulped. "We can get through it together now. So it'll be okay," he clung to Thatch as though worried he'd lose him again. "Hah, no wonder you haven't been surprised I've stuck to you like glue, eh?" He wanted to ask him not to go. Yet again. For a thousandth time. But it was all right. Even if he lost Thatch again; no, when he lost him, at least he'd have had an extra day. An extra hour. An extra anything. "Don't be sorry, just..." it hurt. It hurt that Thatch couldn't go back to the Grand Line. It hurt that Thatch had been suffering where Marco couldn't know to reach him. It killed him that the one time Thatch needed it most, Marco hadn't had his back. Nakama were always supposed to guard each other's backs. Thatch had always protected his and Marco hadn't been able to guard Thatch's in return. "Stay. Let me guard your back here, and we'll move forward together."

Price of being a phoenix. Marco didn't want to move back in time. To do so just meant repeating it in a loop. He wanted to move forward and take everyone with him.

"Sorry for what?" The words came out distantly as if someone else was speaking. He smiled and pushed the cold back where it belonged and slipped his arms around Marco, letting his words flow past. Not really paying attention. Something about Shanks. Well, he'd never really gotten along with Shanks, but Thatch had always thought he was a pretty decent guy all told. He chuckled at Marco's words, though the sound grated in his throat.

"Here? I'd prefer home, thank you. Where I belong. The endless blue sea and Pops' flag flying high." More than anything, he wanted to see that again. To smell the sea air. Hear the laughter and chatter of nakama. Sit beside Pops and drink with him, watching Marco perched proudly on his shoulder.

"One day, eh? We'll all go home together."

Edited 2013-06-24 10:07 (UTC)

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."

That smile and that question and it was all Thatch could do not to punch Marco in the face and keep on going. A fresh wave of cold washed through him and the overwhelming desire to see him bleed nearly choked him. He smiled, somehow, and pushed Marco to the side so he could get up and move to the kitchen.

"I could use a beer or two," he said, his voice tight as he looked into the near empty fridge. Beer was nearly all there was right now. Though... "You want some stir fry?"

"Always," Marco frowned more. Thatch was definitely in a bad state. And it was his Thatch. Not some version with a different life. The same evasive Thatch who was just as bad about confronting the truth as Marco was. This was going to be a picnic. Marco set up some basic green tea to brew and sat his brother down... and promptly sat on top of him to hold him in the chair. There was only one way to force Marco or Thatch to talk about things they didn't want to, and that was to literally force them.

"Please don't make me do this," Marco regarded Thatch calmly, but seriously. It wasn't fair of him to ask though. He knew Thatch must not want it either. Certainly no more than Marco. "Thatch... Just remember all right? We promised. I love you. If you hurt, I'll hurt with you. Your pain is mine." How many months had he spent in mourning? Wearing black? He'd refused to go back to even purple until he had to be brave in front of the crew, to try to save Ace, and the minute he was in the garden, he went back to black.

"Grell's a shinigami. She has a list of the dead. It's a comfort, eh? I can always know who's still safe. Talk to me. You won't feel better until you do, and I won't stop being an anxious birdie until then, aye? Don't tell me you forgot that in just five years." He reached over and poured a cup of tea to hand to Thatch, though he still didn't climb off the man.

Edited 2013-06-27 21:42 (UTC)

He knew what Marco was going to do as soon as the phoenix sat him down and sat on him. He could try to dislodge him but that would be far more effort than it was worth as Marco would just keep pinning him until he was satisfied. So, fine. The phoenix could sit on him all night if he wanted.

He pulled back from Marco's words, trying to force himself into not understanding them. Just meaningless syllables. He didn't take the tea and instead folded his arms and stared off into the middle distance, letting everything else fade away, fuzz into nothing.

Marco arched an eyebrow.

Not the silent treatment.

Yup. That sure was the silent treatment.

"You know," Marco scowled, letting his deadpan slip entirely. "I still owe you a beating for teaching that to Ace."

"Luckily, Portgas taught me a few things too," Marco smirked evilly, and his aura was nothing short of menacing.

Marco wet a finger and quickly rubbed it inside of Thatch's ear. Enjoy your wet willy, bro.

"Too bad I can't pull off his puppy-eyes look, then you'd never be able to resist, eh?"

Marco sighed, fully resigned. "If you don't want to talk about it now, we won't. But it will happen eventually, and the more you push it to waiting, the more I'll have to fill in the blanks. And giving you time to come up with lies won't be enough, eh?"

His stern big brother expression didn't last long though before Marco just glomped Thatch in a hug and snuggled against his chest, purely unabashed. "I missed you, stupid. Quit holding out on me. I'm not allowed to hide away in some cave, what makes you think I'll let you take all my bad habits for your own? We know better now." He knuckled both hands to Thatch's temples, needlessly careful of the hair, given the hat. "Was it something here?"

"Ah! Damnit that's gross!" Thatch snapped, batting away Marco's hand and trying to rub the spit away. Guh. Who the hell taught Ace that trick? He'd kick their asses twice over. He glowered at Marco as the first mate knuckled his head. He knew Marco knew what it was. He knew it. Why did Thatch have to-- No he wasn't going to. That was just something that wasn't going to happen. He fucking refused to believe any of it and that was just the way it was going to be.

"Don't you have a wife to get home to?" He was going to shut this bastard down one way or another. Even if-- Even if things got a little regrettable-- It was better then-- better than anything else.

"I know, right? I kicked Ace overboard the first time he did that to me. The second time he just straight up used his tongue and I forgot what I was yelling at him for. God damn brat," Marco was deadpan, but there was mixture of annoyance and amusement in his tone.

He fluttered his eyelashes at Thatch. "She knows where to find me. It's her night out with the boyfriend." That was a joke, but Marco didn't stop joking for much of anything usually.

"Talk, Skyscraper Hair. We can talk about the scar, we can talk about the panic attacks, we can talk about the last five years in this world, but talk."

Yeah. Ace was like that. Thatch could feel himself softening up just at the nostalgia and chuckled weakly at the joke. He felt a knot unwind in himself as Marco gave him a way out and took a sip of tea before resting his chin on the top of Marco's head.

"Damn liar. Grell isn't out with the boyfriend because I'm right here." He rested a casual arm across Marco's lap, just for the presence of it and looked at nothing in particular. "The attacks pretty much started the moment I got here. Got a little worse when Namur came along and then got better over time. Not much more to say, though, really. I haven't done anything. Mostly just studied and worked. That kind of thing."

It had been easier to just be buried in his room. Less to think about. Less to be jealous of.

"Careful, we might drag you into a threesome with talk like that," Marco joked back with a grin.

Still, he mused over the next words. It was a lot of truth, even if he was hiding something. Marco nodded and leaned back against his brother. "So maybe it's flying with me that triggered another?" He didn't frown, but he was a little worried. His favorite brother had nerves about flying alone with him? Ideally there shouldn't be a safer place in the world. "Hey." Marco shifted in Thatch's lap and turned his arms into wings to wrap in a tent over Thatch's head. "Still worried?"

"Don't tempt me." He missed this bantering. The half joking tone of it all. He smiled at the blue flashy fiery wings that appeared around him, bathing everything in an uncertain blue light.

"Hell if I know what triggered it. I want them to stop." He closed his eyes but still saw the light there behind his lids, however faintly."When I first got here I'd get them...I don't know, three, four times a day? Everyone probably thought I was a nervous wreck. Heh. But by the time I got to Trabia it had gotten better."

After he'd gotten used to Namur being around. After he'd stopped wanting to punch him in the gills and run. He'd turned into such a damned coward after all. He opened his eyes a little at Marco's question.

"Worried about?"

"But tempting you is the whole point, eh? Would showing you our dungeon tempt you more or scare you off?" Marco carried on cheerfully and squished his hug a little.

"Oh, I don't know. Worried about jumping, flying with me, being alone with me, traveling through the air with only myself between you and a certain death. Panic attacks get triggered by something, matey."

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