Work Text:
The ocean lays still, only a light breeze laps up small waves against the keel of the ship. The small swell of the sea makes the ship sway, the glasses on the shelves clinker from time to time as they slide around.
There are no patients in the medical bay; Marco had fled the suffocating heat of his room a few hours after midnight, once he realized the night wouldn’t bring any more sleep for him.
So here he sits, in the unusual quiet of the morning, taking stock of all the medical equipment. The light lit next to his workspace had flickered out a few hours ago, just as the sun had risen over the horizon. Thatch would probably scold him for overworking himself again.
Marco doesn’t trust the peace and quiet. The ocean barely lays this calm without preparing for a storm, especially on the grand line. Same goes for the crew: he trusts their tranquillity even less than mother nature’s.
Tate shoots a smile his way when she brushes past him, pushing another box of medical equipment onto the shelves. She’d appeared around an hour ago, ignoring his sleep-deprived grumbling, and gone to work as usual. “That’s an awfully serious look you got there, doc. Did I miss something or are you in your head again?”
He leans back, a sigh leaving his lips. He’s worked alongside her for a few years by now: of course, the ever-so-observant nurse would notice his brooding. “Can’t remember the last time it was so quiet without the crew planning something that might go horribly wrong”, he admits, rubbing his hands down his face as if he could wipe off the dark circles under his eyes.
Especially with the new kid on board. Marco isn’t quite sure what Whitebeard sees in him: so far, he’d spent the last two days constantly trying to kill Whitebeard. And consistently failing.
Tate laughs at him, hands smoothing out her pink uniform from non-existent wrinkles. “I do. But it included a lot of alcohol and you had been affected as well.”
Marco doesn’t even try to hide the roll of his eyes: “Alright, the last time it was this quiet without most of the crew passed out blackout drunk or hungover.”
Tate only nods, giving a hum in agreement. “Best to enjoy it while it lasts”, she smiles at him, snatching the inventory list he had been compiling from his desk. “I’ll finish up here, doc. You go and enjoy some sunshine; it’ll do you good.”
He knows there’s no arguing with the nurse but makes a point of shooting her a heated glare before she ushers him out of medical.
It’s still somewhat early morning, the sun having risen already but nowhere near the zenith. The light breeze cancels out the glaring hot sunshine for now, and he already loathes the heat which will most definitely become unbearable a few hours from now.
He toys with the thought of checking up on his division, making sure they’re all busy with their duties: after a few moments, he abandons the thought again. He knows his men well enough; they wouldn’t dare slacking off with him on the ship.
Instead, he lets blue flames wash over him as he spreads his wings, stretching the appendages like a lazy cat in the sun would. The breeze catches in his feathers, and with a single, powerful flap of his wings, he’s airborne. (Of course, he could use the rig to climb up to the crow’s nest: but where would be the fun in that?)
One of the navigators of the second division gives a startled yelp as the phoenix lands right in front of him, obscuring his view through the spyglass.
Marco shoots him a smile, noting how the rest of the navigators are busy inside the small room up on the crow’s nest mapping the area.
“Find something interesting?”, he asks the nervous navigator next to him, letting his wings vanish again, stepping down from the railing as claws melt back into feet.
The navigator nods, handing him the spyglass. “Small ship, flying our flag.” His voice sounds excited.
Marco doesn’t hide the smile on his lips. “I see it”, he agrees. “Must be Nate.”
The navigator nods. “Two days later than expected”, he grumbles. Seems like the second division had been worried sick over their crewmate.
Marco gives a laugh. “Did you doubt her?”, he jokes, handing back the spyglass. “Better tell Thatch to prepare, the boys are going to expect a feast to celebrate.”
The young man gives him a short salute before disappearing down the rig.
°°°
Marco isn’t sure what surprises him more: the fact that half the crew stop their work to greet Nate back, or the fact that they let her tie her boat to the Moby and climb on-board herself before she’s swept into the first hug of many.
It’s not often only one of their crewmates is sent to scout out an area alone: however, Nate is often the one chosen for that role. There just aren’t many women on the crew, most of them being the nurses, and Pops would never allow them getting into danger. Nate is just the right amount of innocent-looking- and able to protect herself if needed- to take over the scouting missions.
Marco only stands by and watches as she gives a yelp in surprise, followed by laughter washing over the small crowd. “Guys, it’s been two weeks, not two months”, he can hear her wheeze out, but the complaint falls on deaf ears in the excitement. Marco feels a smile spreading on his lips as his siblings bicker around, some already scolding her for making them worry for returning later than agreed on. It might be the fact that she’s a woman, or because she’s been with them for almost ten years now: but most of the siblings are even more protective of her than any of the others.
It takes a few minutes until the excited pile of pirates finally spits her out. Nate stumbles, barely catching herself. She grins up as she spots him, cheeks red from excitement and smile so bright it rivals the sun. “Marco!”
She laughs, flinging herself at him as she had done with so many others of her siblings. He only smiles, pulling her closer. “Hey there. Glad to have you back.”
Her sun-bleached hair smells of her telltale cinnamon and oranges, mixed in with the smell of sea salt and sweat. It must have been an exhausting trip.
She grins, pulling back to look at him. “Mhm. Been a while.”
He gives her a once-over, checking for any wounds on her body. Apart from the exhaustion pulling her shoulders down, she looks fine. She gives a huff in annoyance, dutifully stretching her arms to her sides and spinning in a small circle before giving him a tired smile. “I’m fine, I promise.”
He rolls his eyes at her, patting her shoulder. “Go on then.”
She shoots him one last bright smile before disappearing between their brothers again, no doubt off to report to Pops. The crowd of pirates slowly disperses, some sheepishly looking Marco’s way as if they expect to be scolded for leaving their post. The phoenix ignores them as he brushes past, his mind already back in work-mode and going over all the tasks he still has to work off today. He groans and brushes a hand through his unkept hair. He really needs a coffee first.
°°°
The light is dim in the room, a stark contrast to the glaring sunrays outside. The sound of constant fizzling Whitebeard’s oxygen-mask makes reminds her of the mosquitos that had been swarming around her head anytime she tried to sleep out on the sea. The coffee table between them barely reaches his knees; she has both her elbows leaned against the smooth, wooden surface.
“Not much new”, Nate admits, taking a sip from her teacup. The heat burns its way down her throat, and she bites back a wince.
Whitebeard only shoots her a sympathetic look, choosing to blow at the steam of his own cup instead.
She isn’t too sure which witchcraft Tate had resorted to, to make Pops switch his booze for tea; she makes a mental note to ask her about it, nonetheless.
“Some new rookies. Marines are swarming those islands in the East”, she rambles on, pointing to the different islands she had noted down in her notebook lying on the table between them, “couldn’t quite figure out why though. I’m guessing a new settlement judging by all the materials they brought along.”
Whitebeard hums in agreement, freezing mid-sip and swiftly setting his teacup down. “One moment”, he mumbles apologetically.
Nate doesn’t even have the time to ask what for as the wall next to them explodes, wooden splinters and flames charging towards them. She barely sees the young man having jumped straight through the wall; his form is drowned in fire, the heat of the flames momentarily hits her face, and she instinctively recoils. It only lasts a second where the ball of fire charges at Whitebeard. She blinks, and the threat is deflected with a simple wave of his hand.
Nate only stares as Whitebeard picks up his teacup again, blowing at the steam and taking a small sip. He pulls a face. “Needs a shot of rum”, he mumbles under his breath.
Outside, soft cursing can be heard. She can see some of her brothers walking past, chuckling as they pull a young man to his feet where he had crashed against the railing.
“The hell was that?”, she shifts her attention back to Whitebeard, who had taken it upon himself to pour rum into his tea.
“That? Ah. New recruit.”
“Doesn’t look like it.” She stares through the hole in the wall again, where her brothers pat the strange guy on the back and lead him away, even though he looks like he would rather jump ship than go with them. The hat dangling from his neck does look familiar, though. She’d seen it on some wanted posters before. “Isn’t that the rookie you mentioned a few weeks ago?”, she asks, eying Whitebeard again.
He only gives his typical, booming laugh. “Yes. Rambunctious young man.”
“He doesn’t look like he wants to join.” She raises her eyebrows in question.
Whitebeard’s smile softens ever so slightly. “He’ll come around.”
Nate only shakes her head at him in disbelief. “Sometimes I seriously question how you’ve survived on the Grand Line for so long, Pops.”
He shoots her a smile, sheepishly sipping his now more-rum-than-tea. “About those islands?”, he brings the conversation back to the topic on hand.
Nate only sighs, looking down at her notebook again and pointing at the next island she had scouted out.
She’d ask her brothers about all this later.
°°°
Marco leans against the railing, enjoying the mild evening breeze in his hair.
The afternoon had went by in a flash, he can barely remember what he'd been working on all those hours. Not enough, a small part of his brain intercepts: he tries to shut it down. There's always more work to be done around here.
Thatch had once again outdone himself, and Marco tries not to scold him for using up so much of their food supply. The longer he stares at the long dining table in distaste, with all the mouth-watering dishes, the more he concludes to leave that problem for tomorrow.
It must’ve been an hour ago he had brought Ace some food. The poor guy had looked completely exhausted, scrapes and bruises covering his body (nothing too serious, his inner doctor noted).
His question still bounces around his skull.
‘Why do you call him Pops.’
He wonders if he ever had someone to call family before, judging by his reaction. He’d left as soon as he noticed Ace started crying. Looked like he might need some time to sort out his feelings by himself.
“Where your thoughts at, ‘co?” Nate bounces up next to him, eyes wide and giddy: she’s clearly drunk. While her fighting skills have greatly increased over the years in the family, her alcohol tolerance hasn’t. “You’re brooding again”, she chuckles, leaning into his side. Her breath smells like sake, her voice is hoarse from yelling alongside their brothers for hours on end already.
He only sighs, not stopping her as she wraps her arms around his middle. Her skin is ice-cold against his. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s freezing with all the alcohol in her system. “How much did you have to drink?”
Nate only hikes her shoulders, humming content against his ribcage. He’s not going to get an answer; most likely, Nate herself doesn’t even know.
“Any reason you’re clinging to me right now?”, he tries instead. She gives an unintelligible mumble, before sighing. “Tired.”
“Alright.”
He manoeuvres her around until he can sit down, back leaning against the railing. She uses the opportunity to shimmy closer to him, giving a satisfied hum and going boneless against his side.
He only gives an amused chuckle, pulling her closer so she doesn’t slide down onto the floor. His hands automatically start combing through her hair, the short, wavy strands of blonde tangling around his fingers.
The laughter and shouts of the crew fill the air, the music mixes with their voices and the sounds of the ocean. Others might deem it too loud, too annoying: to Marco, it’s more relaxing than complete silence. Some of the crew tend to refer to him as their ‘Mother hen’ behind his back. He’s still not quite clear if he should be proud or annoyed at the title (especially considering he’d heard that nickname shortly after being called a ‘flaming blue turkey’ by Vista), but there is some truth to it. He feels as if he can only relax knowing all of the crew safe and sound.
“You haven’t told me yet how your mission went”, he tries for conversation.
“Went alright.” She gives a long sigh. “Some rookies were hellbent on taking on the Marines on the second island in the East. The whole island was on high alert for days after that.”
Marco raises his eyebrows in concern. “Did you get recognized?”
“Don’t be stupid.” She rolls her eyes at him, as if annoyed he even dares to doubt her abilities. He gives a short chuckle, scratching the area at the base of her skull as apology. She gives a noise of approval, before leaning back against his side. “Did take me longer than expected because of that”, she mumbles against his side.
“Did you get all the information you wanted?”
Nate nods shortly. “Relayed the info to Pops and Jozu already. Maps of the area should be done by tomorrow evening.”
Marco gives a short huff in amusement. “Don’t overwork yourself.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
“Touche.”
Nate hums in agreement. “You haven’t told me we got a new recruit”, she changes the topic.
Marco smiles down at her. “Met him already, have you?”
“He jumped through Pops’ wall.”
“Did he, now.”
“Mhm. Tried to kill him. Stupid.”
Marco gives a small chuckle. “He’s working through some things right now.”
“Yeah?” She frees herself from the hand still in her hair, looking up at him. Her eyes are slightly unfocussed, freckles almost invisible behind the alcohol-induced redness in her cheeks. “Like what?”
Marco shakes his head slightly. “Not my business to discuss”, he scolds her gently. “Maybe he’ll tell you if you ask him about it.”
She only grins at him. “Oh, yeah. ‘Hey, weird flamey guy. Saw you trying to kill Pops today. So, what’s your deal?’”
Marco laughs at her. “If that’s how you’d approach the topic, I’m starting to doubt why we send you out for information runs.”
Nate rolls her eyes, burying herself into his side again. “I’m drunk. Doesn’t count.”
Marco gives a short nod. “You need some rest”, he mumbles. “Must’ve been two long weeks. You look exhausted.”
She doesn’t answer, but the absence of one is answer enough to him. “Judging by those- “She points up towards the dark circles under his eyes, “- it wasn’t any different here.”
He moves to stand, pulling her up alongside. “Don’t turn my bickering against me.”
She sighs, following him as he pulls her along towards the sleeping quarters. He hears her mutter something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘mother hen’. He lets it go, for his own sanity.
They’re halfway to the quarters when Nate gives a short grunt of annoyance, digging her heels into the ground. Marco stops, shooting her a questioning look. The young woman only stares at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water a few times. Finally, she sighs, shoulders sagging down. “…can I sleep at yours?”, she mumbles, gaze trained down on her feet.
Marco tries to hide his surprise, giving a stiff nod instead. It’s been a while since she asked. “Of course.”
He tries to ignore the worry nagging at his insides. She’s been gone for two weeks, maybe she just missed him. Normally, she asks when something happened that upset her.
Last time, it had been after Marco had intercepted a cannon ball aimed at the ship. His phoenix form had regenerated the damage to his body within seconds, yet he had spent a good hour in the evening laying in bed with her, while she traced the pieces of his body that had been torn down to the bone mere hours ago with trembling fingers.
He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He knows Nate can smell the distress on him anyway, if the way her hands cling to his arm is any indication.
His room still holds the heat from throughout the day, and he opens the windows to let in some of the cool night air. Papers are scattered all over his desk, and he sweeps them to the side as if to hide his workaholic tendencies.
Nate gives an amused chuckle but doesn’t mention it.
Marco goes to shrug off his shirt and shoes, turning his back to Nate as she also slips off her shoes, although clumsily thanks to the alcohol.
Only when they are both in bed, him lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling and her lying on her side cuddling the blanket to her chest, he finds his voice again. “Everything alright?”, he asks.
She gives a short hum in answer: he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to count it as a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.
“I worry about Pops”, she admits. “And you.”
He raises his eyebrows in confusion. “Me?”
“If Pops were to die”, she mumbles, “I know you’d blame yourself.”
He sighs. “You think so?” Normally, he tries to ignore the thought of Pops dying. They all know he’s not getting better but admitting it out loud would make it tangible.
“I know.”
When he looks over at her, she’s eyeing him with unmasked concern in those green eyes.
Marco gives a long sigh, rolling to his side to throw his arm over her. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
The grumble she gives in answer lets him know she doesn’t agree. Nonetheless, she shuffles closer into his side, inhaling his scent none too stealthily.
He’s just glad it hadn’t been anything more serious that led her to want to sleep here.
°°°
It’s still early in the morning when Nate slowly comes to, headache spearing into her eyes as soon as the first rays of sun reach her retinas. She gives a low groan in pain, digging the palms of her hands into her eyes to block out the offending light.
A low chuckle sounds from her right side. “You’re up early.”
She gives an annoyed grumble, forcing herself upright. “Says you. Did you even sleep last night?”
She forces herself to squint at Marco. He’s seated at his desk, already filing through papers. The lamp on his table is pushed all the way to the side, so he probably only started working at sunrise.
A glass of water and some pills are pushed into her hand. “Drink up. Doctor’s orders.”
She rolls her eyes at him, immediately regretting it as the room spins.
“A few hours. Someone refused to let go of me, so I had to endure my night in bed today”, he answers her previous question as she gulps down the pills.
“Very sorry to hear that.”
He gives a short bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Feel free to go back to sleep until the painkillers kick in. Most of the crew is still recovering as well.”
“Without my favourite pillow? Nah.” Nate forces herself to sit up, waiting until the dizziness subsides. “What’s on the agenda for today?”, she asks to distract herself, motioning at the papers on his desk.
Marco leans back, tapping his pen to his chin, lost in thought. “Gonna have to talk with Thatch to take inventory of the pantry after yesterdays feast. The nurses are handling the crew who drank too much right now. Two with slight alcohol poisoning, you’d think they’d have learned by now.” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “I’ll be checking in with your division later, we’ll have to plan our route accordingly. The storm last week damaged the main mast, it still hasn’t been fixed. Would be great if we could find a pirate-friendly island around here, so we can get it fixed and restock on supplies at the same time.”
“Mhm.” Nate gives a light nod. “I’ll do that. Just come by after lunch, we should have it figured out by then.”
Marco raises an eyebrow in question. “Sure? You look like you need a bit more rest before throwing yourself back into work.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.” Nate moves to stand, stretching like a lazy cat in the sun. The painkillers are already working, thank god. “I’ll go bother Thatch to make me some coffee. Should be good to go afterwards.”
Marco only sighs. “Alright. Thanks.”
“No problem.” She slips her boots back on, grabbing an empty sheet of paper from Marco’s table and copying the requirements needed for their next stop onto it.
Marco gives a short wave of goodbye to her, and with a short “See you later”, she’s off.
To her positive surprise, Thatch has already prepared a large pot of coffee, knowing the crew’s post-drunken night cravings better than anyone else on the ship.
He only laughs when Nate leans back and gives an approving hum after downing her coffee in one go, ignoring the way her stomach churns at being given more liquid, as if unsure if its owner is trying to poison them again.
Thatch puts down a bowl of cereal in front of her, reminding her to only eat ‘little at a time’ before he’s gone again and hurrying through the kitchen.
She honours his request, taking little spoonful’s of slightly soggy cereal as she watches the commotion in the kitchen.
It’s never quiet in here: the cooks are always busy, be it preparing the next meal or washing the mountains of dishes from the last one. It’s moments like these, where she watches the hectic scurrying around and slightly annoyed yells over burned pots and pans, when she’s grateful to have joined the second division instead. She’d take charting maps in the quiet of the crow’s nest over stressing about broccoli every day.
She finishes her breakfast, dutifully bringing her bowl to the sink; the chore boy shoots her a thankful glance but doesn’t let her wash her own dish. He takes the ceramic from her hands and shoos her out of the kitchen.
Thatch is already refilling her coffee cup, shooting her a smile. “Better?”
Nate nods, taking the cup from him. “Way better.”
He hums happily, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re on your way to the crow’s nest?”
“Jep. What gives?”
Thatch signals her to wait, disappearing behind the kitchen counters, only to reappear with a plate filled with different breakfast dishes in his hands. “Mind dropping this off at the quarters? Ace hasn’t had anything to eat yet.”
Nate shoots him a confused glance but takes the plate, nonetheless. “The new guy? That Pops kidnapped?”
Thatch shoots her a sheepish smile. “Yes, exactly that one.”
“Sure, no problem. Not sharing my coffee though.”
Thatch rolls his eyes at her. “I’m aware of that fact.”
He shoos her out of the dining hall without another word (his mind probably already occupied with planning lunch).
Nate takes a sip of her coffee as she strolls over deck, enjoying the sunshine now that the light doesn’t feel like it’s trying to pierce her skull anymore. Whatever painkillers Marco had given her, they did their job.
She gives three sharp knocks on the door of the men’s quarters before kicking the door open. Marco had mentioned yesterday that they had forced the new guy to sleep in the quarters, after he refused to be anywhere near them on the ship. She still has the mental image of her brothers dragging a fully grown man to bed, scolding him for trying to sleep on the floor. Sounds like her family, alright.
She notices him sitting against the wall next to one of the hammocks, picking at his fingernails and staring at the appendages as if they had personally offended him. Apparently, he hadn’t noticed her walking in.
She sighs, dropping the plate of food before him. He visibly jolts, eyeing her suspiciously. Nate can’t help the smile spreading on her lips. “Morning, sunshine!”, she can’t help but taunt. “Thatch told me you skipped breakfast, so he made me deliver you some.”
He eyes the plate in distaste. Nate sighs. “Thatch is too much of a softie to be offended if you don’t eat, but I’ll be on his behalf.”
Not a word, but he picks up one of the breakfast sausages to take a bite. Nate gives a small smile and sits down next to him, sipping her coffee. “You’re a weird one, aren’t you”, she mumbles under her breath and continues louder, “Marco already mentioned you don’t talk much. It’s alright, he doesn’t either when he’s in work mode.”
She takes another small sip, checking the list she had scribbled down in Marco’s room before. She notices Ace throwing her a suspicious look. She chooses to ignore it. Her mind drowns out his presence for a while as she mentally catalogues what work still needs to be done today. Only when ceramic clinks against the wooden floor, she looks back up.
Ace had pushed the plate away from himself, no crumb of food left on it. She smiles, pocketing the note again. “You’re Ace, right? Fire Fist?” No answer. She sighs. “I’m Nate, by the way. Nice to meet you. You know. Without the whole fireball ordeal.”
His eyes meet hers for the first time, he raises a questioning eyebrow at her. She notices him taking her in, eyes tracing her from head to toe. “You sound like a girl”, he mumbles. Almost confused.
She can’t help the chuckle escaping her lips. “…maybe because I am?”
“You say your name is Nate.”
“Ah, yeah. Short for Natasha.”
His eyebrows shoot up in understanding, his mouth forms a soft ‘O’ in realization before he returns to his stoic self. He only nods, eyes tracing down back to his own fingernails.
When he doesn’t answer anymore, she leans forward on her legs. “Nice to hear your voice, by the way.”
He scoffs at her. “Didn’t know Whitebeard allows women on his crew”, he snarls.
“Well, the way you’ve been beat up by him a few times by now I’m sure you’ve met the nurses already.”
“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes sarcastically. “They all wear pretty uniforms.”
“So, you must’ve guessed already that I’m not a nurse.”
He doesn’t rise to the bait. “Pretty sure he doesn’t allow women cause they’re too weak.”
Nate chuckles, eyes crinkling around the edges from amusement. “Yeah. He’s old-fashioned like that. Can barely fault him for that though, now, can I? He is old, after all. Ancient, dare I even say.” She sighs, staring through the porthole, out into the sun. “You’re right. His reasoning for not allowing women is because he thinks they’re weak. If you can proof to him that you’re not, he doesn’t have any objections though. Pops can be quite reasonable after all.”
He rolls his eyes in annoyance. “Yeah, right. You look pretty weak to me.”
“Says the guy that can’t even land a single hit on Pops.”
His left eyebrow twitches. Bingo. She hides her grin behind her coffee cup.
“What’d you do to fool him into thinking you’d not be a burden anyway?”, he grumbles, pulling his knees up to his chest and leaning his arms onto them.
He is good-looking, Nate decides. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him the first time – he had been smashed through the wall within seconds of appearing in a blazing hot fireball, after all – but with his dark hair, small freckles on his cheeks and muscles on display, not even the bruises and that stupid cowboy hat could hide the fact that he was, in fact, kinda hot.
“Well. I punched him”, she hums.
His eyes widen comically large, staring her down. “You. Punched Whitebeard.”
“Mhm.”
The look he gives her is somewhere between disbelief and amazement: after a few moments, a smirk settles on his lips instead.
It’s nice seeing the emotion reach his eyes, even if it probably means she should turn tail and run before he gets any stupid ideas.
°°°
When Marco finally appears in the crow’s nest a few hours later, most of the division have already finished their work for the day. Nate is still hunched over an unfinished map from the region up ahead, chewing on the blunt end of her pencil as if it were chewing gum.
Marco doesn’t bother her further, going over his plans with another one of their brothers. The second division had been busy with research all day, relaying all the information he had asked for without hesitation.
“We should be able to dock in the next two days”, Igor says.
Marco nods, eyes tracing their path on the map once again. “Good work”, he hums. “Make sure they stay on course. That’d be all.”
The pirate beams at him, giving a quick salute and leaving the crow’s nest.
Marco sighs, leaning back against the edge of the table. “Thanks”, he says in Nate’s direction. She only hikes her shoulders, eyes still trained on the map in front of her. “I only relayed the information. Igor did most of the planning anyways.”
“I’m surprised he stayed behind so long. Aren’t you all always moaning about how he keeps slacking off?”
She snorts a laugh, tracing another small island onto the paper. “Oh, he’s motivated alright, if he sees the opportunity to impress you.”
Marco hums in agreement. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Her eyes lift from the paper for a second, mischievous glint in her eyes. “Right. So, I hear that for some reason, you really want those maps over there to be cleaned up by tomorrow….” She jabs her thumb at a few half-dried maps in the corner, most of the islands on them only sketched in.
Marco only shakes his head in amusement. “I’m not abusing my status to make others do your work.”
Nate only hikes her shoulders, focus trailing back to the work at hand. “Worth a shot.”
“Mhm.”
It grows quiet between them as he checks the route Igor had come up with again, just to make sure. He next time he looks up, Nate has hung up the still-drying map, working on a smaller one: apparently of the regions she had scouted ahead the last two weeks, if the glances she keeps throwing at the messy sketches in her notebook are anything to go by.
“You talked to the new guy yet?”, he tries himself at small talk. Thatch had mentioned at lunch that he had sent Nate to bring him some food. Marco is still surprised that there hasn’t been a single assassination attempt on Pops’ life all day. Apparently, their little chat yesterday evening had struck a nerve in the young pirate.
Nate looks up only to raise an eyebrow at him: then, her attention is back on the map while she nods. “Mhm. Quite the jester.”
Marco gives a short laugh. “Oh? How so?”
“Well. He started questioning why a woman is on Pops’ crew. Ended with challenging me to a duel.”
“Did he now?”
“Yeah.” Her tone is slightly bitter.
“You agreed?”
“Jep. I’ll probably just chug some sea water his way. He never specified that it had to be a fair duel”, she mumbles, hiking her shoulders as her pen continues to dance across the paper to a rhythm only she hears.
Marco laughs. “You’re cruel.”
“Say what you will, I call it smart.”
He shakes his head in amusement. “I see, you’ll get along well.”
°°°
‘You’ll get along well.’
Marco’s words bounce around in her skull as she sits on deck, chest heaving for air and her glare directed at a certain young man that seems to be the cause of all troubles on ship nowadays.
Ace looks even worse for wear, still hackling up water next to her, dripping from head to toe.
She had expected for him to be pissed when she had hauled a bucket of seawater at him: what she hadn’t expected was for him to blindly tackle her. And, in the process, make them both go overboard.
Izou hands the two of them towels, and Nate moves to stand, legs still wobbly from exhaustion. “Not to say I’m against equality”, she rasps out between breaths, “but I’d really appreciate if someone else could save that idiot from drowning next time.”
Hauling 200 pounds of limp devil-fruit user back on board wasn’t exactly something she’d like to integrate into her daily life.
Ace coughs again. “You started it!”, he snarls.
“I sprayed you with water, I never forced you to go in the ocean!”, she snarls back.
They stare at each other, still dripping wet and heaving for air.
The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. Ace moves, the muscles in his arms strain: Nate feels herself go rigid, expecting him to launch himself at her any second.
Ace leans forward, head hanging low, chest shaking.
It takes her a moment to realize he’s not coughing up more seawater.
Fire Fist is laughing.
“So stupid”, he manages to rasp out between breaths, laughter still shaking his ribcage.
The crew around them grows quiet in confusion.
The moody new guy that had tried to assassinate Pops more times than they can count, full-on belly laughing after being dunked in the ocean?
The confusion only lasts for a few moments though: they decide to join in, one by one, until there are about twenty people laughing for no reason on deck.
Nate manages a raspy laugh between still laboured breaths, shaking the salt water from her hair. “Stupid”, she agrees with Ace, watching as her brothers haul him back to his feet without him snarling at them for touching him.
Only when Marco reprimands them to get back to work, they slowly disperse again, smiles still on their faces.
No one is surprised when Ace decides to join them a few days later.
They do take the opportunity to celebrate once again, though. Marco gives in with a sigh, reminding Thatch to tally up their food usage for the next supply run.