It had been going smoothly. The day was bright and clear, the deck of the Moby Dick was a flurry and frenzy of action. Filled with his father’s booming, hearty laughter, and the chatter of his many siblings, it was one of those days.Thatch had recently been sent out on a mission to one of the islands under Pop’s protection, and was due to return today. Marco felt a tug on the corners of his lips at the thought of his dearest and closest brother, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he could be -literally-. There was a shout from the Lookout stationed on Crow’s nest. Thatch was coming home.In half an hour, the little Sailboat had docked with the Moby, and Thatch climbed aboard to the roaring welcome of his brothers. Marco watched from his spot by Pop’s chair, a fond smile in his eyes as Thatch greeted, bantered and laughed with his family. It was as if he never left.“Gurararara! Welcome Home, Son!” Whitebeard’s warm voice reverberated throughout the ship.Thatch’s eyes focused upon him. “Pops! Marco! How are ya, you feathered pineapple.” Thatch bounded over to Marco and slung an arm over his shoulder, ear-splitting grin lighting up his face. “Miss me?”“As if, yoi. I managed to get more work done without your constant annoying ass badgering me all the time.” He smirked, for once not minding the jab. Thatch mocked-gasp and placed a hand over his chest, the other clutching a wooden chest under his arm. “Why, Birdy, how could you! You love my ass, admit it!”“Burnt and on a stick, maybe.” But there wasn’t really any heat to it.“Gurararara! Good to have you back, Son!”“Pops!” Thatch turned to Whitebeard. “It’s good to be back. You wouldn’t believe what I found!”There was an excited gleam in his eyes that for a moment had Marco wondering if he should be afraid. No, just no. Marco wasn’t afraid, he never was. He was still curious, however.“Well, yoi? What did you find, yoi?”Thatch grinned, patting the box under his arm. “A devil fruit!” With that, he opened the chest and brought out, sure enough, a genuine devil fruit. It was purple, with the trademark swirls adorning its surface. It was round, shaped almost like a bunch of large oversized grapes.“See, Pineapple? It looks just like a pineapple!” Thatch crowed. Does it, yoi? Marco wondered.“So I thought of you and decided to take it!” Thatch frowned. “I don’t know what it is yet. Haven’t had the chance to find out.” Then he brightened, “Oh, but I will tonight!”“Zehahahaha!” Marco could never explain it, but from the first moment he had heard Teach’s laugh, he had always had a slight shiver running down his spine. He had always brushed it off, and simply chalked it up to the unusual manner of laughter. After all, Marshall D. Teach was their ship-brother, and would never harm them, right? Right.“Nice fruit you’ve got there, Commander Thatch. What are you gonna do with it?” Teach plodded over.Marshall D. Teach had been a strong candidate for the Second Division Commander, but had refused on the grounds that he was not ready yet. The position had then been given to a member of the second division, Davi Jonez.“I don’t know, Teach. First, I have to find out what fruit it is first. Then, well...” He shrugged. “I will sell it. I don’t wish to lose my ability to swim, and I can survive just fine without a devil fruit.”“Gurararara, You can do with it whatever you see fit, Thatch. You found it after all.”Thatch grinned, “Right!”Then, celebrations proceeded and Thatch was soon surrounded by all his ship mates and his fellow commanders.Marco couldn’t put a finger on it at the time, but he had seen something in Teach. A glint in his eyes that since then, had been lingering in the back of his mind. Marco had, as with everything he had done when it involved Teach, shoved it aside and away. Now, when he thought back on it, it had seemed so obvious. That gleam in Marshall D. Teach’s eyes had been malicious, cruel, evil.He had been too ignorant, too relaxed, and didn’t consider the possibility of a betrayal; couldn’t even fathom it. He had been too confident, too reassured that the prospect of family, with Pops, was enough to contain and control any thoughts of defection.Marco had paid dearly for that oversight, a cost so high, it ate away at his heart, and his mind. For he was the First Division Commander, the first mate; how could he not see it coming? He should have been stronger, faster, and more alert. Then maybe, just maybe, Thatch wouldn’t be comatose, and fighting for his life.