Chapter Text
Salt on the breeze; ocean birds carrying their song across the water; the waves washing up against the Moby; the distant hum of voices across the ship.
Whitebeard didn’t think there was anything that came close to the satisfaction and contentment these things brought him.
The sun was harsh on the deck this afternoon. Even behind his eyelids, Whitebeard could feel the rays pierce into him. He was drifting off, letting the ebb and flow of the waves lull him deeper into sleep. It would help with the way his chest seemed to ache--the familiar yearning seemed misplaced amongst his many treasures. Sleep would help remedy the pain, if not briefly.
A familiar flicker of blue flames pulsed behind his lids. Seems that rest would not come easy for the moment.
His eyes were opening before Marco could wake him. The doctor gave him a sympathetic look hidden behind a smile. “Sorry for the wait, Pops. Stock has become a little low. We'll have to get more dosages from our next island.”
As Marco hooked up a small vial to the IV drip, Whitebeard let out a hum and closed his eyes again. He could feel the medicine begin to make its sluggish way into his veins. Maybe it would continue to sink into him, dull the confusing thrum behind his lungs.
Voices approaching kept him from going back under.
“I'll bet three hundred Beri you won't get some."
"Three hundred? Why the hell do you have such low confidence in me?"
"Ace has a point. I'm betting five hundred."
"What?!"
Whitebeard's smirk was soft. His sons were relentless in their bets against each other, another one of their childish games. It must be a particularly bad one if Ace was involved.
Marco's chastising voice spoke. "Keep it down over there. These are still technically siesta hours. Get lost for another fifteen minutes."
Shuffling and low murmurs were heard before the chatter disappeared completely. While Marco went back to work, Whitebeard chose to open his eyes, letting them study the sails above. His mind was drifting again.
Marco noticed. "Anything on your mind, Pops?"
Whitebeard smirked down at him. "Loaded question for one like me."
The sun reflected off Marco's glasses, hiding the look in his eyes but showcasing his knowing smile. "Perhaps some specifics can be shared."
Whitebeard stretched both his limbs up over his head, expanding his rib cage. It gave him time to consider his answer. After settling back into his chair, he cast his gaze out onto the horizon.
"I find myself...in a discomfort of some sort."
Ever the attentive physician, Marco came a little closer, brows furrowing. "What do you mean? Are you in pain? How would you rate it?"
Whitebeard gave a shake of his head. "Not like that. It's different. It's almost like a craving." He rubbed his chin. "It's strange, isn't it? I've never wanted for nothing in so long. I have everything I've ever wanted. And yet..."
He trailed off, discouraged at what he was saying. His thoughts sounded absurd now that he was voicing them. Maybe Marco wouldn't understand. "Forgive me, Marco. I think I am putting words to my selfishness."
Marco gave a small chuckle. "Nothing to forgive. We're all selfish creatures under the sun." He flew up to sit on one of Whitebeard's arm rests. "What is this craving you're feeling? Anything I could help satiate? Food, spirits, medicine, an island--anything like that?"
Whitebeard pondered. He didn't think it was any of those simple things. He withdrew internally to the sore spot in his chest. Maybe there was a memory somewhere, deep into the recesses of his mind, back when he was an orphan; he couldn't recall it. Something similar might have been experienced during his time on Xebec's crew. It was something visceral; something just close enough but not quite in reach; something in a passing glance or a brush of an arm; a soft glow as warm as fire but providing more comfort.
Whitebeard began smiling, the truth so much more simple yet far too complicated. It might have been humiliating if it wasn't so valuable in his mind.
Before he could give his answer, a voice was carrying from the crow's nest. "Pops! I see an island on the radar! Located northwest!"
Marco leapt up from his seat, looking to the log pose needles on his wrist. "Must be one with a hidden magnetic field." He glanced up at Whitebeard. "What do you think, Pops? Would be good for a supply stop."
Whitebeard was somewhat grateful for the interruption, unsure if he wanted Marco to know about his undiscovered truth just yet. "Aye. Let's investigate, shall we?"
"I'll let Shuragashi know to head that way." Before he took flight to the helm, he gave Whitebeard a kind smile. "We can talk about this craving later, yeah? I won't forget."
As Marco left, Whitebeard leaned back in his chair again, eyes back to his sails. Marco was a good man, reliable through and through, but Whitebeard hoped his son wouldn't remember. Perhaps this would be something private, something his family wouldn't need to know. He was already blessed beyond measure; what was one small sliver of yearning? Nothing a good ale wouldn't cure.
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