Chapter Text
Shanks found his hand remarkably steady as he dialed a familiar number on his transponder snail. There was a lot of yelling outside his quarters, and the masts creaked as Snake pushed the Red Force to her limit away from Elegia. Hongo was by his bed, carefully dribbling what little antidote remained in their stock past Uta's bloodless lips.
Someone picked up after two rings, and Shanks didn't bother with a greeting. "Marco," he said, "I need your help."
"Shanks?" Marco said his name sleepily, like he'd just woken from a pleasant dream, but Shanks didn't even have the presence of mind to appreciate one of his favorite sounds in the world. The moment Marco processed his words, he was wide awake. "Of course," the Phoenix said, all sudden, disciplined calm. "What can I do?"
The relief that flooded Shanks was overwhelming. This must have been how the Whitebeard Pirates felt, every time their first division commander stepped up. "Wake-shroom antidote," he said urgently. "Do you have that on hand?"
There was a brief silence on the other end as Marco took an internal inventory. "I have some," he confirmed. The Whitebeard Pirates had a big part in developing the treatment, after all. More urgently, "Shanks, did you eat wake-shrooms without antidote on hand?"
"Not me. My daughter."
"Your—" Marco cut himself off with a growl, one that promised an earful once they were out of the woods. He pivoted quickly to ask, "Where are you?"
"I'm on my way from Elegia."
"I have your vivre card. Put Hongo on."
A quick shuffle on the other end, then Hongo's voice came through. "We gave her about a eighth-dose of the antidote but she's fading fast, Marco. It's all we had."
"Get her on an IV, and 2mg per kilogram of your strongest antifungal." Marco tucked the receiver between his shoulder and his ear as he popped open his medicine chest and sorted through the vials, pulling two. While he filled and capped syringes with the solutions, he continued giving instructions to Hongo. "Don't worry about organ damage; there won't be any organs to save if we lose her now."
"Heard."
"Chest compressions if her heart gives out," Marco added, making just one round through his house to ensure that nothing would burn down in his absence, "and keep going until I arrive. Have Roux blend up limes, carrots and whatever seeds and nuts you've got in some water, then give her as much of that as you can without aspirating."
"On it."
It was a beautiful day on Sphinx, but weather in the New World was unpredictable. Marco didn't expect that to hold for long. "Where's Snake?" he asked once Shanks was on the line again, and then the snail was passed immediately to the Red-Haired Pirates' navigator.
"Right here," Building Snake reported.
"What's the quickest route to Elegia from Sphinx by air?"
"You should be able to catch the Sciolto Stream if you head north from Sphinx, follow it, then swerve west to intercept us in the Agitato Current."
"Your travel time?"
"Two and a half days."
"Should take me about three hours to reach you."
Snake barely had time to say, "We'll be waiting for you," before the call disconnected from Marco's end.
"Captain's quarters!" Beck called out to Marco as soon as he was within earshot. He had the door to the cabin held open, and stood out of the way as the Phoenix wheeled in the air and blazed through the entryway. Marco was barely through when that mass of cool blue flame shifted back into a man; pirates dove out of his way as he made a straight line for Shanks's quarters.
Hongo looked up in relief as Marco arrived, and he scrambled to his feet to make room around Shanks, who was kneeling over a young woman on the floor. "He's been at it for an hour," Hongo told Marco, looking as though he wanted to step in, but Marco couldn't find fault with Shanks's steady, firm chest compressions. It couldn't have been easy with only one arm. "She's got 110mg of our strongest antifungal in her already," Hongo reported. "I'll prepare the sickbay."
"Keep going," Marco said to Shanks before the captain could acknowledge him. He joined him on the floor as Hongo dashed out of the room, took both syringes out of his sash, setting one aside and then immediately administering the other through the line in her wrist.
Then Marco transformed completely, taking up nearly half the room as he wrapped his wings around Shanks and his daughter.
The phoenix, while huge and fast, was useless for offense. It could carry a passenger easily in its talons, but couldn't extend the claws properly in a dive to gouge. Its beak was handy enough for eating soft fruits and berries, but couldn't tear flesh or bite with any real crushing force. Marco only ever attacked as a mostly-human exactly for that reason; the mythical bird didn't have any weapons. It was, to its core, a creature that healed.
Marco was the pirate, one who had no qualms about using sharp talons to strengthen his kicks or percussive blue fire to launch his enemies across a battlefield. Each time he moved with intent to kill or injure, he had to fight the phoenix's instinct to flinch away.
Right now, with a dying girl at the center of their billowing blue flames, they were on the exact same page. Marco didn't know how long he stayed there, feet folded under his belly and pouring all that cool fire into her struggling body, but eventually Shanks sat back on his haunches, shirt soaked through with sweat and Uta breathing on her own in front of them.
Marco had a closer look at her then, her ashen face and sunken cheeks. It was hard for him to imagine her as the source of that powerful, melodic voice he'd been listening to less than a day ago with the village kids, but it was easy enough to picture her as Shanks's daughter. He was too tired to even express his surprise.
Shanks let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Marco," he said, voice shaking, "I owe you everything."
The bird blinked sleepy eyes back at him. Marco ruffled his feathers, then extended his neck and gently bumped Shanks on his temple with the side of his beak. "Considering all you've done for me," he answered, "let's just call it even."
Shanks laughed quietly, relief and fear and gratitude in the sound. "You're always on time when I need you," he murmured, burying his face into the feathers at the base of Marco's neck and slumping tiredly against him. "Wish I could've returned the favor."
Marco wanted to give him a moment, he really did. Shanks had probably just experienced the scariest thing that would ever happen to him, and he was completely drained from the exertion of chest compressions for an hour straight. The motion itself wasn't taxing for a pirate of his caliber, but the panic of nearly losing his child would have taken its toll. "Let's get her into your sickbay," Marco said, shifting back to human so he could stand, scoop the girl up and head straight for the Red Force's infirmary.
Shanks nearly toppled over at the loss of his supporting wing, but quickly clambered to his feet as well.
Hours later, Marco and Hongo were bent over a stack of papers on which Marco was scrawling a bunch of notes. "Wake-shrooms' mycelium colonizes the body," Marco explained, "and, among other things, blocks melatonin receptors, which keeps you from going to sleep, and it also somehow prevents mass cell death in the digestive tract, which is usually what kills people when they come up on ten days without sleep."
Hongo nodded along as if he understood, which Shanks was sure that he did; he was an extraordinary doctor for a man with no formal medical training and whose main area of expertise was information-gathering.
Hongo learned medical procedures quickly, was skilled at research and talented at improvisation, but he didn't hold the vast stores of medical information in his head the way Marco did. He had too many other responsibilities to devote himself like that, and Marco only managed it on top of his other duties because he was The Phoenix, who could get away with sleeping significantly less than most people.
"Wake-shroom antidote is a dose of anti-fungal to clear out the mycelium," Marco continued, "and glutathione which neutralizes the free radicals in the gut that build up while you don't sleep. Without the mycelium inhibiting them, they wreak havoc on your cells."
Hongo glanced at Uta, who was still hooked up to an IV drip that pumped nutrients directly into her bloodstream. "How do you..."
"Know all this? We were able to run experiments on me to see its effects, since I could just recover if something went wrong." Marco flashed him a sympathetic smile, acknowledging the advantage the Whitebeard Pirates had on nearly every other crew in terms of medical care, as they had a willing human subject for most experimental treatments who didn't experience permanent consequences. "We worked out the antidote 'cause the crew occasionally used wake-shrooms for extended shifts when caffeine wasn't cutting it. The build-up of toxins in the brain starts to affect judgment after a while though, so it's usually a last resort."
"That's why you had Roux make that smoothie," Hongo said. "It was all antioxidants."
"Right. I know the Red Force doesn't keep antioxidants in concentrate on board, but it would've started the work and kept her going long enough for me to arrive and give her a proper dose." Hongo had never tried to hide the Red Force's medical inventory from Marco, but he couldn't mask his shock that the other doctor knew it off the top of his head just like that. Marco ignored his reaction to conclude, "Then I could just use my flames to amplify the effects of the medication once they were in her system. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn't have worked quickly enough to prevent permanent damage."
Shanks was usually much more interested in the doctors' conversations but for the first time since Marco met him, he looked defeated. Even after Roger's execution, through all the snot and tears, he hadn't looked so worn down. Marco was uncharacteristically tempted to comfort him, but he had other work to do before he could take time for Shanks. He knew the other pirate would understand.
"At this point, we just monitor her and keep the IV going?" Hongo asked.
"Yes. If she crashes, call me in. We're still on a course to Sphinx?"
"Aye."
"I don't think she'll need any surgery," Marco said thoughtfully, "but you're welcome to stay on Sphinx until she's recovered. It's safe enough."
"Boss?"
Shanks dragged his hand down his face, looking haggard. His voice was dull, but he mustered a smile for Marco. "I'd appreciate it," he said.
"Of course." Marco pressed the heel of his palm into his temple, grimacing. "I need... a little time, but I'll take her there as soon as possible."
"We sailed from Elegia with a coffin on deck," Shanks told him, "so as far as the Marines are aware, she's dead. Once you're off, we'll hold a funeral and sink a few ships to keep them distracted."
Shanks didn't leave Uta's side for the next few hours, even though Marco was confident enough of her condition to wander away and check on the rest of the crew. Beckman was as torn up about the whole situation as Shanks, referring to Uta as 'our daughter' when Marco finally had a chance to sit down and pry the story out of him. He was less cagey than Shanks about what had happened, and gave Marco the details that his captain had clammed up about.
The two were, for once, out of sync with each other and Marco had no qualms about taking advantage of that. They were too distraught over Uta's condition, and Beck was used to information exchange with Marco, knowing it wouldn't be used against them even if Shanks would have preferred to keep the girl's part in the massacre on Elegia under wraps.
It was taking everything out of Marco not to ask Beck why the hell he allowed Shanks to do something as stupid as leave their daughter on the burnt-out husk of an island she had destroyed within reach of the catalyst of that destruction. Any moderately well-adjusted adult could've told them that was a terrible idea. Beckman trusted his captain too much sometimes when he should've been fighting him, but Marco supposed that was the role of a first mate.
He chose to direct his ire where it was most deserved— at Shanks, who knew he was in for the reprimand of his life and seemed to be expecting it at any moment, giving Marco apprehensive looks every time he was addressed.
But Marco's bedside manner had improved a lot since he was in his twenties, and he'd learned from his father in the years since. It was much more effective to let Shanks stew on his mistakes, imagining all the things Marco would say to him instead of confirming his fears and actually yelling at him, no matter how much he wanted to. I'm not mad, was the move, I'm just disappointed.
Instead, he spoke briefly with Shanks and then air-lifted Uta back to Sphinx on a stretcher that Limejuice had fashioned for them.
Two days later, the Red Force dropped anchor in the port. After a meeting with his officers Shanks and Beckman set off, making good time over-ground, and they arrived at Marco's house in time to catch him eating lunch in his office.
Uta was tucked under a thick blanket on the hospital bed by the window, all clean sheets and sterile white linens. She slept peacefully as Shanks's eyes lingered on the collar of the too-large shirt she'd been changed into, no doubt one of Marco's that would serve as a makeshift gown on her tiny frame. All the mud and dirt had been cleaned from her hair and face, the only thing he could see of her. Shanks apprehensively pulled the corner of the blanket up, glimpsed her bare calves (that shirt was huge on her), and flipped the covers back.
Marco put both hands up with a wry smile, palms out, when Shanks turned a look on him. "I asked some of the village ladies to help," he said before Shanks could do something irrational, like tell Marco to keep his hands off his daughter. "They'll keep quiet."
It would've been an insane thing to accuse him of, as Marco only ever put his hands on Shanks (at his request) and even if he had been the one to clean and change her, it wouldn't have mattered. Shanks trusted Marco as close to unconditionally as he was capable of.
Still, he felt his gut unclench. "Has she woken up?"
"It'll be a while yet. My flames accelerate her natural healing, but it eats up her stamina, too." Marco stood up from his desk, blue fire engulfing his hand as he approached, and he rested it gently on her forehead. The flames only lingered for a few seconds when he pulled his hand away. "She's in a recovery phase right now."
Shanks frowned. "What about before?" he asked. "On the ship? She definitely didn't have stamina then. You healed her anyway."
"I'm still recovering from that. I can force it, but it'll do more harm than good."
For the first time since they met up again, Shanks had a good look at Marco. The Phoenix had pushed himself three hours at maximum speed to intercept the Red Force, depleted all his regenerative flames to stabilize Uta, and then carried her back to Sphinx. Since then, he'd continuously monitored her condition and regularly applied whatever flames he could whenever he could. He wasn't visibly injured but he had dark circles under his eyes, something that only appeared when he took more damage than he was able to heal away.
"If it can't eat up your life force," Shanks guessed, "it'll start consuming hers?"
Marco's expression was pained. He looked for a second like he wanted to go into detail, but quickly decided that he didn't have the time or energy for that. "More or less," he conceded. The flames were in many ways not so different from magic, but even magic couldn't overcome conservation of energy. "If I could work miracles," he added wistfully, "Pops and Ace would still be here."
"I'm sorry," Shanks murmured, stepping in close to curl his arm around Marco's waist. His palm landed on Marco's hip, thumb stroking along the sharp jut of it through his shirt as he silently noted how loose the material felt on him. "That wasn't fair of me," Shanks said contritely, "I know you're doing everything you can."
Marco relaxed into him, shivering slightly. Shanks was too stressed to even make a comment about ruffling his feathers.
"Marco," he said instead, "I need a favor."
"No," Marco answered.
Shanks made an indignant sound. Marco hadn't truly rejected him since Marineford; he'd fulfilled every sincere request Shanks had made of him to the point where Shanks second-guessed himself every time he asked for something, wondering if Marco only agreed out of some sense of debt. Maybe he had been too paranoid. "You don't even know what I was gonna ask."
"If she can stay with me," Marco said, "while you run off with your tail tucked between your legs?"
"Observation is cheating."
"Shanks, I didn't use Observation. I just know you."
Shanks met his gaze with a harsh look. "We both know cutting an' running isn't my style," he said, threateningly soft. Bigger men than Marco have run screaming from that tone.
And Marco wouldn't have described what Shanks intended to do as cutting and running, but he was certainly planning to do a non-zero amount of running. As much as he liked to tease the younger pirate, Marco was deadly serious in return. "But you've made the decision that you know what she needs better than she does," he said, "and maybe you're right, but it's not what she'd want. Doesn't Uta have the right to decide that for herself?"
Shanks looked, suddenly, wounded. Pleading, "She doesn't want to see me, Marco."
"Do you know," Marco said severely, just a step down from true anger as he stepped out of Shanks's hold, "what I'd give for one more minute with my father? How it'd feel if he could be here, but chose to leave?"
"That's different—"
"Don't do that to her." Marco pulled himself away when Shanks reached for him again, brows furrowed and shoulders tense. "You don't have to stick around forever, but didn't this all happen because you handed her off to someone else and left?"
Leave it to Marco, Shanks thought with a grimace, to dig his talons right into the freshest wound.
"For once in your life," Marco said softly, "Shanks, stay."
He wouldn't ask that of Shanks for his own sake, no matter how much Shanks wanted him to; the Phoenix wasn't in the habit of making wishes he knew could never be granted, so Shanks settled for the lingering kisses when he had to leave, the sweet reminders that he would always be welcome on Sphinx. He knew that Marco's were the best possible hands he could leave Uta in, especially if the man was already emotionally manipulating him on her behalf.
"She knocked the fucking antidote out of my hand," Shanks told him at last, voice tight. "That's what she chose."
It was humiliating to finally name it in front of the other pirate, to say out loud that he'd failed so thoroughly as a father that she'd prefer death over returning to his crew. He wanted to let Marco think that they had simply not gone to Elegia with a full dose of the antidote, rather let him believe that he'd been careless. It hurt to explain that to a man whose father had been the strongest man in the world, whose children were raised with such care and wisdom that in Shanks's darkest hour he could call on Edward Newgate's son and know that he would be in good hands.
But he thought it might have impressed upon his old friend that he had come to his conclusion after a lot of thought, and that it wasn't an impulsive decision made out of fear. He knew, simply, that Marco would succeed where he had failed.
They've always complemented each other in that way. When Marco didn't have the brute strength to overcome his enemies, Shanks would lend his own. When Shanks needed versatility, he went to Marco. Shanks could deliver blunt truths, and Marco could gently make them stick. Shanks could bring his daughter to Marco, and Marco could save her life.
Marco's eyes were sympathetic, but his tone was dry. "Wake-shrooms are known to dramatically alter a person's judgment," he pointed out. "See what she says when she comes to, and we'll make it work."
Shanks huffed, dug the pads of his fingers into his eyes and discreetly flicked away the wetness that had gathered on his lashes. "It's really hard to have an emotional moment around you," he said breathlessly, "you know that?"
"Your daughter has reality-warping powers. I don't know if I can handle that on my own, and I'm not leaving the safety of this island to chance." Marco shifted, pulling Shanks in front of him to face Uta, and then back against his chest. "I need my human meat shield," he added, muffling the words into the hair at Shanks's temple.
Shanks knew he was being offered an excuse to spend more time with his daughter. Marco was kind like that, taking the choice out of his hands. He leaned back into the arms that looped over his shoulders, tucked his head into the crook of Marco's neck and sighed, "You're sweet, Bluebird."
As always, Marco couldn't resist a jab. "Redhead," he said, playfully now that he'd received Shanks's implicit agreement, "take responsibility for your spawn."
"Oh, I—" Shanks broke off with a laugh. "We found her, actually. In a treasure chest."
A moment of silence, then Marco pulled away to crane his neck around and look incredulously into Shanks's face. He was one of the few people left in the world who knew how Shanks came to sail with the Pirate King. "That's a hell of a coincidence," he said, "even for you."
Shanks smiled softly. "It felt kinda, meant-to-be, y'know?"
"And you're still trying to leave?" Marco asked, not unkindly. "Who are you trying to punish, Shanks?"