Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece.

Warning: Contains spoilers for manga chapter 909.

At night, his home was intolerably quiet.

When all of the villagers had gone back to their homes to be with their families and sleep the rest of the dark sky away, Marco was left alone in his small house with nothing more than the ghosts of his companions. Memories of their joy plagued his thoughts. Everywhere he'd turn, he'd see one of them. Anything he'd do—even something as simple as brewing a cup of coffee—he'd hear one of their comments from a time long since passed when he'd do mundane things like that with them. They were more than comrades, they were family.

While he adored silence, he hated how it could go uninterrupted for so long. He hated how there was no one on this island that could ever truly understand him and all that he'd gone through. Each fight that made him stronger; that intangible rush of excitement when anchoring on a new island; how sobriety naturally wore away along with the sun because of his ever-rowdy brothers; most of all, how laughter would come spilling out from every part of the Moby Dick, no matter the hour. It was only when his old friends came to visit that he truly allowed himself to let loose. But those instances were few and far between, and becoming fewer now as they all settled into whatever new lives they'd chosen for themselves.

Oh, Marco knew that if he called for them, then they'd come running. But it wasn't the same. It never would be.

He could join them, he supposed.

But Sphinx was his last remnant of Pops. Someone had to stay here, and who better than the crew's First Division Commander? Whitebeard's first mate? Marco had been there since the beginning. It was only right that he stayed long after the end.

He'd never willingly leave this place. Not until his body was bloody and broken, and the village turned into ashes before his very eyes. He swore to protect this place to not only his old crew mates, but to himself. He'd be damned if he broke another promise with himself. His pride as a former Whitebeard pirate would wail in a corner if he so much as tried.

But still… the sea called out to him.

Just before dawn, Marco swore that those bottomless waters whispered in his ears—a call to return home. To his true home. He listened sometimes, but he only got as far as the shoreline. His footsteps would halt just as they passed the waterfall that hid Sphinx village from the rest of the New World. His stuttering heart would ease into a pace less urgent. His thoughts would waver, then go blank, until he was left standing there, unable to take another step. He would wait there until the sun rose, spearing rays of white light across the surface of the water to make it shine green, and then he would leave. Because he didn't want to be there as all of the living creatures within the water and flying over the sky awoke, connected by the rising sun. His heart ached enough. There was no need to purposely stand there and torture himself with a view that he so desperately wanted to be a part of.

Marco loved the ocean.

It was salty and wild and true in a way that so few things were nowadays. The ocean might've been a dangerous place, but no one ever said that freedom was cheap. How strange, that a grave for so many—including those from his own family—would be what he'd call home. There was nothing solid in the ocean, however. It rose and it ebbed, changing the world. It gave him no stability, and with his crew gone, he needed stability. Marco needed something solid to embrace; needed something more than an open sea and twinkling stars.

He needed his Pops back.

That was impossible though. The dead remained lost. Sure, there must've been Devil Fruits out there that could refute that truth, but that wasn't something Marco was particularly interested in. The line that separated life from death was a slippery one. He'd seen men fall victim to that divide on more than one occassion. Marco would rather die than go mad in some misguided attempt to bring back those he missed. He wasn't that weak… or that desperate. Besides, he knew that his comrades would hate anyone that risked bringing back a shell of the great man that was Edward Newgate.

So, when he was feeling particularly lonely, Marco settled for visiting his captain's grave instead. On the days that he was lucky and received a visit from his friends—or her—he didn't linger by Pops' or Ace's graves for long. He'd apologize of course, and sometimes he swore that he felt them pushing him away.

Go back to them, they whispered. Go back to the sea.

He wouldn't. Not yet. He'd be called soon to play an important role—that much he knew—so he wanted to stay here until that day came. He was okay. Really, he was. He'd just gotten a bit more sentimental with age. The love of his life, for all of her wit and stellar compliments about him, had once openly compared him to the fine grit of a shark's skin. Rough and stubborn on one side and smoother on the other. Marco didn't fault her for that comparison. He could be hostile and downright aggressive when he wanted to be. But recently, both parts of him were smoothening out now. He blamed it on her.

Aiko smelt like the ocean. Like home. All pirates did, he supposed. She carried the scent with her in a way that had worn off on him. He envied her for that.

Marco looked away from the newspaper he had in his hands and across his tiny house to find Aiko curled up on his bed. She'd moored yesterday evening. Aiko appeared on his doorstep right when he was surrounded by bickering children and an old couple that liked to cook for him in the afternoons. Everyone fell quiet upon her entrance. She visited him fairly often, though she never introduced herself to the people within the village, perhaps not wanting to grow too attached, knowing she'd leave quickly after… or maybe it was because she wanted to spend every minute of her time with him. Marco wasn't certain. But either way, her eyes were only focused on him when she entered.

She leaned against his doorway with a familiar pack on her shoulders and a bottle of amber liquid in her hands. It had skulls and cross bones on the label, followed by words written in a tongue that he couldn't read. Somehow, he just knew that it would knock him out cold should he ever be foolish enough to drink it on his own. The Red-Haired Pirates hated weak booze.

… Pops hated it, too.

His heart had skipped—hard—when she called his name from the doorway. A season had barely passed since her last visit, so he was surprised to see her again so soon. For a moment, he had wondered if maybe he was dreaming. Had he gotten a fever? No, he didn't get those anymore. Before he could find an answer, the questions were replaced with more rational ones. Like if Shanks had a problem with her always running off to find him. But he quickly dismissed those, too. It didn't matter if he did. All that mattered was that she was with him now.

Aiko had looked to the side, where a chest high stack of crates sat gathering dust, while Marco ushered everyone outside of his house with a pleased grin. The look on his face kept them from questioning him any more than necessary. His expression only brightened when she opened her mouth to speak.

"You're popular, huh?" Aiko commented once they were alone. "I bet the women like you, too."

"I wouldn't know, yoi." He smiled at her again. "I don't really notice those things."

"Oh?"

"Because you're on my mind a lot. It isn't good for my heart."

She had finally returned his grin after that, and before he knew it, she was in his arms. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment at his remark, even as she pulled him down for a kiss. Marco whispered assurances and tender words against her lips because if his journey with her had taught him anything, it was that actions existed to prove words, not sit in place of them.

But that was a memory for another time. One that he could look back on when he was alone again and trapped with his thoughts; when Aiko wasn't asleep on his bed with her body half-exposed before his eyes. After so many years, the sight of her still never failed to take his breath away. His gaze focused on her almost instinctively. They followed her movements, no matter how slight. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she did the same.

Marco drew nearer when Aiko suddenly shifted.

The way she roused was slow. Her eyes fluttered open, before she blinked in that disoriented way that only happened when someone woke in an unfamiliar place. But then, those honey-colored irises brightened, and when she stretched her arms high above her head, he couldn't help but settle into the scant space beside her that he'd left no more than twenty minutes ago. It was already cold. Though his presence warmed it back up nicely.

His bed was small. The mattress was much harder than he would've liked. It was made for utility, rather than comfort, but she didn't complain. Besides, he believed that she secretly preferred bundling closer to him anyway.

"When are you leaving, yoi?" he suddenly asked because he'd forgotten to when she first arrived, and he wanted to make sure that he treasured their time properly.

Aiko made a sound of disapproval in the back of her throat. "I just woke up. Let's not talk about that."

"Soon, then." It wasn't a question.

"My voyage isn't over," was her answer.

It wasn't an excuse, but it wasn't exactly a defense either. It was just a fact of life. Marco took it in stride. He knew better than anyone the life of a pirate at sea.

"I know. You don't have to explain, yoi."

She paused, then tacked on, "Neither is yours, Marco."

He didn't respond. There was no need.

Because that, they were both certain of.

Her captain was alive and well. She had many adventures ahead of her. But just because his own captain had passed, didn't meant that his journey on the Grand Line had finished with him. It would be a long time, before his days as a pirate were truly over. Marco would return to the New World's waters once again to wreak havoc upon the order of the world. It was just a matter of when.

All he knew was that it wasn't now—and it wasn't any time soon.

So, he just stared at her with half-lidded eyes. The air around them was lazy, as it usually was in the early hours before morning arrived in earnest. Even the immense heat that so often stewed between them was tepid. Cold and forgotten like his dinner whenever she suddenly came home to him.

Aiko was so bright. It was as if a light suddenly shined gold whenever he faced her. Just the sight of her was enough to make his eyes soften and his chest swell with warmth. He didn't know the exact day or time she'd be leaving, but…

"Stay a little longer, yoi."

"Anything for you, Phoenix."

No hesitation in that answer. No split second to ruminate over what to say. Just an agreement. A promise easily given to the man she loved; the man that longed for her beyond imagine whenever she left him behind to wander the open sea. The words made him feel like a beast finally seeing sunlight after being buried underground; like an eagle unfurling its wings after ages of captivity.

There was a brief lull in his movements, a momentary pause where he simply stared at her, etching her expression to memory. But then it passed, and before he knew it, he was bending at the waist, closer, sinking over her, helplessly drawn like a line had yanked him forward. It was a simple thing then to return her half-smile, to match the intensity of her gaze, to acknowledge the bubbling tenderness unfurling like late petals in spring between them.

He kissed her, and she grinned into his mouth in a way that he would never forget.

She's so…

The thought cut off like a blown candle when her tongue suddenly danced with his. He needed more of her. Marco wrapped his hand around the back of her neck to angle her face up, so he could get his fill. She allowed it, simply because she wanted him, too.

The realization that she did; that she'd come running to him if he so much as said he missed her over the DenDen Mushi, made his heart beat wilder than all of the times he was offered riches beyond comprehension during his days as a Whitebeard Pirate.

She, more than anything else in the world, made him happy.

Two years had passed since he lost the one place he belonged to within the vastness of the ocean that he so ardently adored. It felt like years. Like seconds stretched into eternity. But it was funny how the picture of belonging shifted into something else entirely in his mind whenever she appeared on his doorstep. Because in that wonderful moment, when his entire world had become compressed into the confines of his bed and he was treasured beyond reason by the woman he loved, he could say with certainty that he'd finally found a new place to call his own.

Perhaps, one day, he'd follow her back out into that terrifying sea, so they could sail the edges of the world together. They could make new memories to replace all of the ones that ached. He'd never suffer another lonely night if she was by his side.

But for now, for the moment—

This was enough.

A/N: I released a short Kid/OC birthday collection if you guys are interested. Also, Marco showing up in the manga broke me. Thus, why this is here after all these years. Hope ya'll enjoyed it.

The entire series is undergoing sporadic edits. I'm tired of cringing from reading it. Should a chapter be edited, I'll add an edited note along with a date at the very bottom. The title will also change from "chapter no." to just a regular number. I appreciate everyone's support (and apologize for my horrid writing back then, haha!)

Please review.

Blob80 out.