could you do something like marco cross paths with the new mera mera no mi’s eater two years after marineford?

midnightluck:

He hears the rumors somewhere in the New World. There’s a competition, they say, with the Mera Mera up for a prize.

He doesn’t go. He can’t.

There’s something about fire, these days, that dances like pain and tastes like failure. At least his wings are blue, but the orange and yellow and red haunts the corner of his eyes constantly, reminding him of what he’s lost.

He doesn’t like fire much anymore.

And then someone passes along a whisper of a story of a rumor, of a new fire user. He won it, fair and square, but it makes Marco’s blood rise all the same. This stranger may have earned it, but it isn’t his.

Still, it’s one rumor out of many, and easy to ignore, especially when he’s got so much to do all the time, trying to keep his family together. He’d been running the day-to-day stuff already, but with Pops…without Pops, it’s harder to keep things from falling apart.

And then one day Haruta brings someone across the deck to meet him. He’s swamped, trying to shift forces around to maintain their protection on their islands, they’re running low on water, and Marco hasn’t sleep in a day and a half, and here’s some guy just showing up to cause more trouble.

Marco tries not to be curt, he does, but the guy sticks out his hand and says, “Hello, Marco,” and Marco takes it and it’s warm.

It’s warm in a way he knows too well, and his tightens his grip instead of letting go. “Tell me,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “Did you want the Mera Mera Fruit for the power or the fame?”

The guy looks up and meets his eyes steadily, not flinching from the pressure Marco’s putting on his hand. “Neither,” he says. “I wanted it to keep my brother’s memory alive.”

Marco lets go suddenly. “Brother?” he asks, blinking a bit, and he barely notices Haruta slipping away to leave them alone.

“Brother,” the guy says, and sets one hand aflame in the easy casual twist that Marco’s seen a million times before. They both stare at it as it dances on his fingers.

Marco reaches out but hesitates in the heat aura surrounding the flame. “Did it work?” Marco asks.

Ace’s brother nods. “It feels like him,” he says, and the fire jumps a little higher.

Marco dips his fingers in to rest on the gloved palm, and oh. Oh. It really does.