Okay, so here's my contribution to Day 1 of the Whitebeard Crew Week on tumblr. Due to personal reasons (I'm going on an unexpected vacation this week :D) I won't be posting stuff for every day, as updating from the phone is plain horrible (and I actually haven't managed to do it on AO3), but I do have a couple more things aside from this one.

Story beta-read by Aerle :)

Oblivion

For many years, birthdays had been notorious events for the Whitebeard Pirates. During the first few years, they had thrown a large party for every member of the crew. Later, when they were with too many people for that to be a viable option —parties were fun, but they couldn't have a large one every single day— they had adapted: there was a massive monthly birthday party, and every day there was someone celebrating a birthday, usually with the closest people to the person. Originally, the only person whose birthday they had intended to celebrate separately had been Pops, but it hadn't taken long to decide to add the commanders' birthdays to that list.

It had been precisely today —or, more accurately, this date— what had first brought up the idea that the commanders' birthdays should be celebrated. Because, after all, Marco's birthday had always been one of the largest events in the crew. It had been the first one they had ever celebrated, back when they didn't even amount to half a dozen rookies following a crazy dream, and it had, over the years, turned into a competition of seeing who could irritate Marco the most without dying during the attempt.

Not this year.

Marco's birthday wasn't the first one since things had gone wrong —it had been over three months since Thatch's death, almost two since the war— but Jozu thought today was the gloomiest day they had lived through since that first week after the war. Then again, it could just be the contrast with last year.

Last year, there had been booze and chicken-shaped cookies flowing; last year Ace had fallen asleep on the birthday cake while trying to steal a bit of it before Thatch gave anyone permission to eat it; last year, by this point Jozu was tired because Izo had enlisted him to help clear a larger room for Marco to work on his maps and keep them more comfortably, because the old one had been overflowing with them —now that room and all of Marco's maps and logs were gone— and they had spent a week sneaking around to get the job done without Marco noticing; last year, they had been a happy family getting roaringly drunk, and then cursing Marco the next morning because he, who couldn't get drunk and much less hungover, found some sort of perverse pleasure in waking them up early and speaking loudly, and not even Pops' threats could dissuade him.

This year... this year, Marco had marched into the mess hall, taken an entire crate of bottles of beer —they had stopped buying stronger stuff after a few people tried to drink themselves to death— and growled at them that he would beat the shit out of anyone who disturbed him. Then he had disappeared into his room.

It was early evening already, and nobody had seen him.

Jozu had been working as the unofficial first mate these past few months —Marco refused to be called 'captain', so officially, he was still the first mate— and had been keeping an eye on things. Until a few minutes ago, when he had asked Vista to take over.

Now Jozu was standing before Marco's door with a plate of sandwiches in one hand. Marco may say that he didn't need to eat due to his powers whenever someone asked, but Jozu didn't give a fuck that it was true: he was sick of watching him just toying with his food and barely eat anything.

Marco might be able to appear calm and fool almost everybody into thinking that he was alright, but Jozu knew him too well. He could read even that bored mask of his.

He knocked.

There was no answer. Nor was there one the second time.

Jozu decided to go in anyway. If Marco was asleep, he would just leave the plate on the nightstand and let him be, but it was just as likely that Marco was simply ignoring him.

Jozu pushed the door open. They didn't have locks, they were useless on a ship where most people could pick or just break them.

"Marco?" he asked as the door opened.

The room was darkened, but there was enough light for him to see inside. Marco was on the floor, lying on his side with his back to the door and a half-empty bottle of beer by his head. The floor was littered in empty bottles, and there wasn't a single full one in sight. Weak beer or not, anyone else would be unconscious by now. Or in a coma.

"Marco?" Jozu called him again, stepping fully inside. He closed the door. Marco's shoulder twitched. "What are you doing?"

"N'thin'."

The shock was so great that Jozu almost dropped the plate. He barely remembered to leave it on the desk before hurrying to get before Marco.

"What are you...?" He trailed off when he saw the metal cuff clasped around Marco's wrist, the index finger of his other hand absently tracing it. "What have you done?"

Jozu dropped to his knees before him and reached for the cuffed hand. Marco didn't move. A brush of the metal was enough for his strength to weaken.

"Couldn' get drunk," Marco said softly. "I want'd t' forget."

Jozu's stomach fell. He remembered all the times he, or anyone else for that matter, had gotten drunk for that same reason. Marco hadn't, not even once. He had always been there. Steady.

"It doesn' work," Marco whispered, and looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks damp, and for a moment Jozu saw the kid who had been forced to grow up too soon and too fast that he had first met so many years ago.

"No, it doesn't," Jozu agreed. He reached for Marco and helped him sit up. He glanced around for the keys, but stopped himself.

Marco had done this, conscious of the effects it would have. He had wanted to get away, even if only for a short while, and Jozu wasn't going to take that away, no matter how little it had worked.

Instead, he drew Marco closer and embraced him. Marco clung to his shirt.

"I miss them," Marco confessed. Jozu realized that, though he had already known, this was the first time he heard Marco say it out loud.

"Me too."

Jozu had held Marco like this once before, back when Marco had been little more than a kid and had had a nightmare Jozu had suspected to be a memory. The next morning Marco had pretended nothing had happened, and Jozu had let him.

"I don' want t' be a capt'n."

Jozu wasn't going to let him pretend this time.