Marco gets you back to Dadan's, keeping his hands on the wheel after he parks. It takes you a moment to notice because you expected him to step out at get the door, but once understanding hits you, you almost choke. He's very pointedly making the leather banding on the wheel creak, giving you a very subtle kind of pleading look.

"You can come open my door if you wa-." You don't even finish your sentence and he's out of the car, walking around to the other side as you laugh. He opens the door, offering his hand, and you take it, an amused smile on your lips.

"Let's do something Christmas Eve." He offers, as he ascends the porch steps with you. "Exchange gifts, just the two of us. I'll get one of the guest houses tidied up and we won't have to worry about rug rats or anything else."

"Getting away without going away?" You muse and he smiles.

"Exactly. We'll have our own space for a day, and we don't have to worry about bars, or cars, or anything else." He holds onto your hands, standing in front of the door. "Just you, me, a stocked kitchen, and a fireplace."

"Are you going to cook for me?" You question and he smiles.

"I'm no Thatch, but I'll do my best." He replies.

"A date then," you agree. "I can use the next couple of weeks trying to sort out a gift."

Marco leans in and kisses you. "Whatever you choose will be perfect, but the only thing you need to get is a bow, pretty bird." He says with a wink before heading back to his car.

He knows he's left you stuttered on the porch, realization making your face flush before you head into the house. The day had been a mess of emotions and unexpected events, but in the end he was glad for it. You knew his greatest secret, and while it hadn't been the way he wanted you to learn about it, he did trust you to know about it.

You'd spent years looking out for him. Marco was the runt in his family, and it wasn't like he got picked on for it, not in a way that he needed protecting from, but it was always you.

You that carried him across the log because you didn't want to see him fall again. You that had half hauled him out of the ravine the few times he did fall off the log, Thatch and Izou pulling the branch at the top. Getting him out with a twisted ankle, or a broken wrist had always been a fiasco. But you never told him to stay home, never said it was his fault. You never complained about his being there despite it all.

His brothers were his brothers, but you didn't have to worry about him, you didn't have to accept him, clumsiness and all.

As his friend you were beautiful, fierce, almost ethereal. Looking back he was sure you were scared of plenty of things, but you stood your ground against the world - and it looked so much bigger back then. Your beauty wasn't in your looks, it was in the way you stepped forward every time you wanted to step back.

It was in the grip of your hand in his, and in the torch you held as he walked with you, steel pipe in hand, ready to defend you both.

You were the light in the dark, and he would make sure that you stayed lit.

Childhood gave way to puberty, to months beyond and Marco struggled so much. Wrestling with ideals of love, trying to sort out different kinds of beauty and why his heart seemed to claw its way into his throat every time you smiled. Should he say something? Was it wrong?

Was it worth the risk?

It wasn't him who took steps forward without fear, that was you. Marco followed and protected. As he grew older he protected more, but the decisions he made and the steps he took were shaped by Pops. Shaped by you. It wasn't his will, he wasn't even sure what his will was.

What did he want from this life?

You seemed to know, so he tried his best to know. To be sure. To be able to keep pace with you so he could continue to protect you. So he could see what sights you saw, illuminating the world as fearlessly as you had the backwoods. But you weren't going to stay, not in this town.

Not in a town that became smaller and smaller the older you both grew.

And he didn't know what he wanted, aside from you, so he stayed quiet. He didn't want the weight of his heart to hold you back. He didn't want to risk you choosing him and then settling in ways you thought he needed, in ways that would stifle you.

Not until he knew.

His first year at the academy didn't give him the answers he needed. It gave him experience sure, plenty of that. It gave him people he didn't regret meeting, but he couldn't help but hold them up to you. It wasn't fair to them, and he knew that, so none of the people he met lingered for long.

Shanks did. Still calls to keep in touch, but he knows. He and Buggy get along well enough, and maybe it was Marco who helped them get there, or maybe they would've been fine on their own, but he considered them friends still. But there was no other space for him there.

Where he belonged seemed to be at the head of the family business, but he had no passion for it. No desire to helm it, no ambition to drive it, and his family, further into success. It would be nothing more than a shackle, and that would become resentment.

He did not want to resent his family.

It was during the trip that he finally figured it out.

Well, figured it out well enough to know he could work with it, even if the details changed here and there. Figured it out enough he didn't have to worry about holding you back, and even more than that he'd be able to support you. All he wanted was to be able to lift you up, and if he was really lucky he could help you reach new heights.

Then he ate the fruit, and all his revelations meant nothing.

They were rare. So damnably rare. His more than the anything else, as far as Pops knew. A power the government would want, a power they would fear, a power that could threaten the safety of everyone around him.

What Marco wanted from this life had been decided for him.

He doubled up his coursework at the academy and used the curse of this power to complete his work in two years instead of four. Then he took a position with his father's company that would keep him as far away from the town, and you, as he could physically be. A job that kept him on the move.

In the quiet spaces of all the places he saw he practiced. He learned control. He experimented. He found the most isolated nooks and crannies of the world and let out everything he held inside otherwise. The power of the phoenix, his anger, his rage, his sorrow, his frustrations. Things he never let anyone else see.

He couldn't let go of you.

Even though he knew every time he called back home it was possible. It was possible that the next conversation would include "I just heard that our little warrior's settled down. Who would've guessed?"

You'd get engaged, or married, and tell Dadan, and she'd tell Pops, and Pops would tell him.

He knew it was just a matter of time, but it didn't matter. He couldn't let go. It wasn't even a matter of being unwilling to try. You stayed in his heart, waltzing right back in like you'd owned the place from the moment you told him your name. He didn't need romantic love from you, he just wanted to be able to support you. To be in your life as your friend, as your lover, as your business partner if that was all it was!

But the risk. The Phoenix protected him impeccably, but if he brought danger to you...

It was Pops, on his death bed, talking to Marco in the quiet hours of the early morning, that helped him decide. The wisdom of Oyaji, as he and his siblings called it, had never led them astray.

"You've grown," he said. "In strength. In convictions." Marco kept his hands on his father's. Pops was a big man, pushing nearly eight feet in height he was broad shouldered. He'd always seemed to be something inevitable to Marco. Like a force of nature, uncontrollable and benevolent only because you survived. Kind because Marco and his brothers were safe on his shoulders.

Unending in the way mountains stood forever.

"The phoenix... is only a burden until you master it. And you have." He had smiled. Pops smiled more at the end. Said it was because his children were strong, and he didn't need to worry about them anymore. "Enough to protect." He asserted when Marco had wanted to argue.

"Living is a risk, my son. Whether you're rich or poor, whether you're surrounded by family or alone. Risks are inherent in everything. Sometimes the risk are many, sometimes they are few. Whether they seem irrelevant, or unavoidable, they are going to be there.

"The point... is that no matter how you live... there will be risks." He reached out and tapped a cool finger into Marco's forehead. "But you must live."

"Now... are you living?"

The ensuing conversation had turned into Pops practically bellowing at him, setting off alarms and coming fully out of the bed. Marco had never been in a shouting match with his father in all of his life, until the man's last days. The nurses couldn't calm him down, and Pops full body threw any other children who tried to come in out. It was a conversation between he and Marco and either Marco was going to learn the lesson Pops was trying to teach him, or the old man might start throwing fists.

But at the end of it, he knew. Knew what he wanted, and what he needed to do to have it.

He was almost too late. In a sense he was too late. If Perospero hadn't messed up, his chance wouldn't have come. He could've supported you as a friend, he could've protected you as the Phoenix. He could've done a lot of things if you'd ended up with someone else, and he would've still been able to be happy with you.

But Marco couldn't deny that it wouldn't have been the same.

Parking the SEL in the garage, he is met by Thatch and Izou who were already waiting for him. Neither look like they've been waiting long, but Thatch's hair is down and Izou's beloved kimono is freshly done up.

"How'd she take it?" Izou asks.

"... Exactly as you expected." Marco admits. "It didn't change anything." He can feel the told-you-so rolling off the two of them, even if neither said it. It had been a large part of his only argument with Pops. "The hit man?"

"Weaselly bastard got away." Thatch snarls. "I swear he turned into mud once he got outside."

"Damn useful ability for an assassin," Izou tuts in frustration.

"It's the seastone equipment then, yoi." Marco says and the others nod.

"And haki. I'm just glad Pops could teach most of us. Every group has at least one." Thatch admits, swinging a small bag he has idly by the draw strings. "We let the ones on the house know. You won't have to worry about her, Dadan or the kids."

"Haruta's going to cover the shop while you're recovering," Izou explains, the three of you walking out of the garage and toward the back of the manor. "We have an order of medical supplies coming in to complete the story, and a shadow donation scheduled to off load excess because of it."

It felt like a bit of overkill just to keep the story believable, but Marco appreciated the effort. Even more so because his brothers had taken care of pretty much everything while he'd been with you. As much as it could feel like everyone leaned on him, he had to admit he received just as much support.

Thank the seas for that.

"Vista wanted to know where you were going to start." Thatch asks, as they make it past the gardens and move into the woods behind the manor.

"Big Mom," Marco says matter of fact.

"Without backup?!" Izou snarls, grabbing his arm. "Don't be a fool."

"Her ability is useless if you're not afraid of her, yoi." He asserts coolly. Marco's eyes shift down to Izou's grip on his arm, but he doesn't pull away. "She's been sitting back running that company for decades."

"Don't you dare underestimate her. Even Roger acknowledged her strength." Izou presses, releasing his grip and crossing his arms, irritation painted on his face. "I get wanting to go for the heart of the matter, but try something that doesn't make me want to shackle you to Pop's grave."

There were plenty of people in his family who could stop him. Pops taught most of the boys how to use haki to fight because it meant they could protect themselves and those around them easier. Once Marco ate his fruit, it also meant that his brothers could do what most people couldn't - restrain him.

Not that he wouldn't heed his brothers on his own, but he was angry. Furious. And he knew exactly where to direct that anger.

Fire flickers around Marco for a moment before he sighs. "What do you suggest then?"

"Start with a statement." He says, holding up his phone. "There's almost a hundred Guardians in this town and no neutral ground. Let the threats know that she's underpaying them. To back it up, you and I can haul the tags back to The Hub." He suggests as Thatch holds up a bag.

Marco looks between the two in irritation.

"Been planning this since things started, I see."

Izou's smile is devious, and unapologetic. "Of course I was! Tate's been doing surveillance since the Feast, and it turned out to be a wise decision. The whole west wing's was on border patrol after that pinky incident, and in the end we only had to make five reservations." He declares, giving Marco a look like he's almost insulted to be underestimated like this.

"There's thirty tags in that bag. Twenty-five redeemable tokens." Izou continues, watching the gears work in Marco's head. "Don't make me fight dirty, Marco. We have plenty of options - far less riskier ones than your suicide mission."

Marco furrows his brow in aggravation and looks down at Izou. Something in Izou's expression is enough for him and he puts his hands up. He isn't sure if the man's going to pull out seastone cuffs, or if he's going to drag you into the conversation, but he doesn't want to deal with either option.

"Fine, yoi. Fine then." He agrees. "We'll take the tokens to the hub, send the word through. I'm going to reach out to Katakuri about the guy with the knife. Someone with a devil fruit like that isn't going to be motivated by such a low bounty."

"Thirty known fruits left in the world, that kind of logia would be a billion berri ticket easy." Thatch sighs. "She might be worth the moon to us, but yeah, that ticket's too lean."

Izou takes the bag from Thatch. "Alright, change already. We can head to the cabin, and leave from there. Get this job done and get you back into the arms of your lady love."

Teal and gold flames swirl around Marco, changing his form from human to a large bird made of fluffy, feathery flames. "Any of the guest houses still unspoken for?" He questions, flattening down so Izou could climb on easier.

"Three or four," Thatch hums, giving Izou a hand to get sorted on his brother's back. "Need me to lock one down for you?"

"If you would." Marco straightens up, more than matching Thatch's height even with Izou on his back.

"You know, I told her to kiss you on New Year's Eve," Izou grumbles. "Not-wuagh!" The indignant sound from Izou is lost in a string of curses as Marco takes off roughly. He can hear Izou's go on for a solid twenty minutes, even if the wind keeps him from hearing exactly what he's saying.

Maybe when he gets back, he could buy a few dozen extra sprigs of mistletoe.