She couldn't believe it. She didn't want to believe it. Her eyes scanned the front page of the newspaper over and over again. There was no way that Whitebeard, one of the strongest pirates in the world, was dead. She felt tears began to well up in her eyes. According to the newspaper, Ace was also a victim of the bloodshed at Marineford. She felt a lump rise up in her throat.

"He was still so young," she thought as a few tears slipped down her cheeks.

It was quiet. Most people were still asleep in their beds since it was still early in the morning, but Josie had always been an early riser. She stood on her porch, newspaper in hand, as the reality of the situation hit her and sobs racked her body.

"Those damn marines," she said to herself as she looked over to her left. Her house was by the docks of the quaint island that she called home. Right next to it, on a tall pole, flew a black flag—on it was a skull white a whitebeard above its mouth. It was Whitebeard's jolly roger; it served as a warning to other pirates. It said that this island was under the protection of the great emperor of the sea.

"Not anymore," Josie thought to herself. Her heart ached as she remembered all the times that she had spent with Whitebeard and his crew. It would never be the same. She sniffled as she let her tears subside.

"Marco," she whispered to herself as she wiped away the fallen tears. She turned to look to her right—to the docks and the open ocean. "I can't imagine what you must be going through right now," she said to herself.
He had been closer to the two than she was. They were his family—his brother and father. And he had just lost them both at once. And she knew, as well, that he still wasn't fully over Thatch's death yet. He couldn't have been—not the way he was; not the way that she knew him to be. She hoped that for his sake, this was not something else that he would try to keep in.

"Please be okay," she whispered.

She wanted to call the man. She could have. She had the means to: a den den mushi and his number. But she thought that perhaps now wasn't the best time. Perhaps she should wait. Perhaps he should give him some more time.

In the meantime, she thought, I should help prepare the town. She may not have been a pirate, but she knew pirates so she knew that Whitebeard's death would only cause chaos, especially on an island that was Whitebeard's territory—had been his territory for a good two decades. It wouldn't be long before pirates showed up with the idea that, with the great pirate now dead, this island would be ripe for looting. She had to protect the island. And she had to protect that jolly roger. Dead or not, she would not let anyone disrespect the man by removing his flag.

***

He was devastated. His heart was aching in a way that his Phoenix fire couldn't heal. His family was falling apart at the death of their brother and father: Ace and Whitebeard. Their crew's head had been cut off and now they were just writhing around, covered in tears.

He couldn't help but blame himself. He should have been paying more attention to his captain, he thought. He should have taken the blow instead. Unlike his captain, he could have healed. He should have been paying more attention to Ace too. His brother, Luffy, had freed him from his sea stone handcuffs, but Marco should have known better. He should have known that he shouldn't have let his guard down because of that.

"If someone had to die," thought Marco, "it should have been me."

He was racked with guilt and grief and the responsibility of his remaining crew. He had let a few tears fall back at Marineford, but that was it. He appeared to be coping well on the outside, but, on the inside, he felt so heavily weighed down. As if he was sinking in the merciless ocean that he was so used to sailing on.
Marco let his eyes travel over the graves of his two fallen comrades. He was glad that they were able to leave with the bodies. He may have not been too fond of the red-haired emperor, but right then he was grateful that Shanks had shown up. It was because of him that they were able to take the bodies and give them the proper burial that the two men deserved.

"We'll be taking our leave now," spoke up a voice from behind him. Marco turned around to see Shanks—the frown on his face looked out of place on the perpetually smiling pirate. Marco nodded at the red-haired man and thanked him for what he had done for them. Shanks said one final thing before he left—something that completely caught Marco off-guard.

"I know what it's like to lose your captain," said the red-haired man. "But don't let it consume you. If you need to step away, then do it." And then he walked away, leaving Marco to his thoughts.

"Could I really do that?" he thought. "Could I just leave? Everyone else needs me." He looked over at his mourning crewmates—some with tears still streaming down their faces, others with only tear stains and red eyes left behind, but they all shared one thing: the look of utter devastation that littered their faces. They were all broken men right now.

"But what could I do for them?" He thought. "Do they really need me?" Marco looked away from his crewmates and up at the sky. He realized that he didn't want to be there. He was hurting too and watching everyone else in pain was not helping him. He wondered if he should heed the red-haired pirate's advice. Maybe he should leave. At least for a little bit. Maybe it would do them all some good. Maybe they all needed their own time to grieve. Maybe they all needed to remind themselves of what good was left in the world for them.

"But where would I go?" He thought to himself. "Where do I wanna be?" He closed his eyes and immediately pictured a certain island, which he knew held a certain woman on it that would be waiting for him—like she always had. He wondered if she had seen the news. She wasn't a Whitebeard pirate, but she was still family. Their deaths would affect her too.

He thought about her soft skin and her warmth. He thought about her dark hair and bright eyes. He thought about her radiant smile and, with a deep breath, he made a decision.