No Time To Crank The Sun

by VIKAN

Summary:

He’s surrounded by strangers, but they’re all trying to convince him otherwise. Or, Zoro faces a mysterious and relentless challenge that he just can’t wrap his head around.

Notes:

• Translation into Español available: 𝐍𝐎 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 by eridiheaven

Chapter 1: The Girl

(Note that this story does NOT consider Filler to be canon. Follows manga storylines purely. No spoilers.)

CHAPTER ONE

He knows someone is approaching him without having to open his eye.

It's not about hearing footsteps or feeling the deck shift under someone's weight. His alert comes from something less obvious, a sense that's all his own—sometimes it's a change in the air, other times a barely-there pressure that seems off.

This time, a faint twitch in his mind wakes him up, a warning signal built from years of danger. Someone is coming closer, but Zoro doesn't move. Not just yet.

He's laid out on the Sunny's deck, looking like he's deep in sleep. He's not asleep anymore, but he keeps up the act, eyes closed, breathing even.

The day wraps around him in a cocoon of warmth, the sea murmurs in soft, soothing tones—a deceptive peace. Zoro, seasoned and astute, knows better than to equate the day's gentleness with safety. 

There's a stranger on the ship, getting closer by the second.

His senses tell him that it isn’t Luffy or Usopp sneaking their way over to pull a prank on him. It isn’t Sanji stomping over to kick him awake, to tell him lunch is ready. Isn’t Robin coming to ask him if he’d rather sleep inside and away from the sun’s rays.

And where are the others, exactly? he wonders, his memories still a bit muddled from sleep. He expands his senses, searching for his crew – ah, there – half are scattered around the docked ship, doing whatever mindless tasks they do to shelve their boredom.

The other half of the crew are exploring the island carelessly, last he remembers. Luffy’s with them, Zoro recalls. There was talk of Marines vacationing here, on this island. Maybe he pissed them off and started some brawl. Zoro strains his senses further but can’t locate any type of disturbance happening on that end.

So, this stranger is acting alone, Zoro finally deduces. What a dumbass.

This person is getting closer now, close enough that Zoro can hear their footsteps. They’re making no effort to make themselves unknown.

Zoro tries not to frown. Why can’t someone else deal with this? Clearly this person is an amateur, to think they can board this ship alone and sneak up on him, of all people.

But then again . . . they did manage to get on the deck without anyone noticing. And if they’ve decided to challenge me voluntarily, then they probably have some confidence in their ability. Zoro was never the type of fool to underestimate an opponent, after all. Even one who overestimates themselves.

A threat – his senses finally conclude. Fine. I’ll take care of it.

Tap, tap . . . tap, tap . . . their footsteps are light and slow.

He keeps his eye closed, waiting for the intruder to get closer. The element of surprise is always on Zoro’s side.

Tap, tap . . . tap, tap . . .

His senses are screaming at him now, danger, danger, danger!

But Zoro is a patient man.

He waits for the perfect moment to catch this person by surprise . . .

Tap, tap . . . tap, tap . . .

Now.

His eye snaps open.

He pulls a sword from its hilt in a flash, swings it towards the intruder, then lets the tip of the steel abruptly stop just mere centimeters away from their neck.

The person freezes like a deer caught in headlights.

It’s a girl.

Young, somewhere around Zoro’s age, maybe younger. Her hand is outstretched, like she was reaching for him, but now it’s unmoving. Her eyes are wide at the sight of the sword. There’s fear in those eyes. Fear and confusion. Zoro is undeterred.

“How did you get here?” Zoro asks, not waiting for her protests or pleads.

He doesn’t stand up, keeps the sword pointed at her. She looks weak; there’s no way she could overpower Zoro in terms of strength, but he doesn’t let his guard down. In the New World, nearly everyone has a trick up their sleeve.

He watches the girl’s face. It twists, from bewilderment to uneasiness to even more confusion. “W-What?”

Feigning ignorance, huh. Zoro stands up. The girl takes a step back.

“How did you get on the ship?” He asks again, because if this girl was able to sneak on without any of them knowing, without Zoro knowing, then that means they are susceptible to even more danger. There could be others on-board who can mask their presence like she did.

“What . . .” Her eyes keep jumping from his face to the sword. The sight of it alone seems to have her stunned; she’s as tense as a dry leaf. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“This – this isn’t funny, Zoro,” She manages, her voice faltering. She knows who I am? He thinks. Probably a Marine. “Just, can- can you put the sword down already?”

She’s trying to replace her fear with irritation, Zoro notices, but it’s a weak attempt. There’s a stammer in her voice, ruining the bravado she’s aiming for.

He takes another step forward, lets the edge of his sword touch her neck, lets a trickle of blood flow down. “I told you, I won’t ask again – “

“What the FUCK?”

Sanji comes at him like a whirlwind of color; he crashes between them, kicking Zoro’s sword down and pushing the girl behind him in a flurry of movement. Zoro lets his sword fall, but he doesn’t let go of it.

“What the FUCK are you doing?” Sanji practically screeches.

He doesn’t wait for an answer; he glances behind him, checking on the girl. “Are you alright?” She’s got her hand on her neck. A sliver of blood runs between her fingers. She’s pale, shaking. She manages a small nod, her eyes never leaving Zoro.

Zoro frowns at the exchange. Sanji turns back to him, rage seeping from every corner of his face. “Are you out of your fucking mind? What the fuck was that about!?”

Zoro rolls his eyes, sheathing his sword. “Relax,” He grunts, crossing his arms. Figures the stupid Chef would come between them; the Devil could be a woman and he’d still try to defend her to his last breath. Whatever. Zoro will let him have this one. Not like the girl was going to give a good fight, anyway.

He jerks his head towards the girl, asks, “You know her?” But Zoro could guess the answer to that. Probably some random local they met while he was asleep. Undoubtedly hitching a ride or grabbing a meal or whatever hospitality one of his crewmates offered. They tend to do that a lot.

But Sanji’s reaction tells him neither one of those scenarios is the case. “Do I know her?” He repeats loudly, half disgusted, half dumbfounded. “Do I know her? Did sleeping in the sun burn a hole through your shitty brain? Are you that goddamn stupid!?”

The animosity comes faster than Zoro expects. “Watch it,” he growls, his hand hovering on the sword’s hilt.

“No, you watch it!” Sanji snaps, and Zoro is momentarily taken aback at how real his anger is. Usually it takes a few more jabs before Sanji gets that look on his face. “Asking stupid questions like ‘do I know her’, what the hell – and attacking her! You attacked her! I saw you! What the hell, marimo!? I should break your neck for pulling a stunt like that!”

Now his hand does grip the sword’s hilt. “Keep yelling and I’ll cut your tongue clean out of your mouth!” He never thought the cook’s voice could reach such a high pitch. It’s giving him a headache. “And calm down. It’s barely a cut,” he says about the girl. “If I wanted to actually cut her, her head would be rolling on the floor long before – ”

Sanji kicks him. Hard.

The leg swings in wide arc and comes smashing down at him like a bullet, so fast that if Zoro’s instincts hadn’t warned him to raise his sword he would have definitely come out of this with a dislocated shoulder.

Leg and steel collide in a loud CLANG! sound, and Zoro is pushed back. He doesn’t let the deadlock last; Zoro swings his sword down, pushing them apart roughly.

“What the fuck!” He shouts, because that wasn’t a sparring kick like he usually receives when he baits the cook. That was the type of kick he would dish out to an enemy. Zoro pulls out another sword. This dumbass finally lost his mind.

The girl finally finds her voice. “Sanji-kun. Sanji-kun!” she says pleadingly. “Don’t, please! Just stop!”

Zoro frowns at choice of honorific. So they do know each other, he realizes. But even while knowing that, he still feels like he’s missing something here. He adjusts his grip on the swords. Something’s going on with these two.

Sanji doesn’t look at her. His glare burns daggers through Zoro. “I’m sorry, Nami-san, but I won’t let him get away with hurting you like that.”

Zoro scowls at the dramatics. “I barely grazed her.”

Sanji’s leg twitches. “You think this is funny!?”  

But the girl grabs Sanji’s arm before he can charge again.  “Wait!”  She gasps quickly. “Wait. Sanji-kun, just wait,” she says hurriedly. She glances at Zoro cautiously. “I . . .  don’t think he’s joking.”

Sanji bristles. “That doesn’t make it better!”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What the hell is going on,” Zoro interrupts loudly. His headache is getting more prominent now. He points his sword at the girl. The gesture makes her flinch and Sanji bristle. “Who the hell is she, cook?”

Sanji looks like he wants to charge at him all over again, but the girl’s grip on him is unrelenting. “Are you blind as well as braindead? That’s Nami, you fucking dense asshole!”

Zoro frowns. “OK.” He says slowly, as if that answer was helpful. “Then who the hell is Nami?”

“Who –“ Sanji chokes on the word. He can’t even bring himself to repeat the question. “Who’s – who – what are you saying? That’s Nami! Nami!”

Zoro grits hit teeth. “Repeating her name isn’t an answer.” He asks instead, “Why is she on the ship?”

“Zoro,” the girl says cautiously. She’s looking at him directly, searching his face. The way she says his name with such familiarity makes him uneasy. “You . . . you really don’t know who I am?”

“Am I supposed to?”

“What the fuck,” Sanji growls, looking between the two.

Then slowly, as no one says a word and the sound of waves splashing and gull squawking fill the air, Sanji’s face begins to change. It changes to the awestruck one identical to the girl’s. Then it changes again, as if he’d just made some horrific discovery in his mind.

Then he says, “Wait, what the fuck?”

---

 

Chapter 2: The Problem

CHAPTER TWO

---

"What do you mean he doesn't know her?"

Zoro inhales sharply. There's a roaring in his ears. His insides are cold, his body tense. He blinks, feeling his blood pumping inside him furiously.

"Do you want me to draw a fucking picture for you, shitty longnose?"

He lets out a breath. It comes out thin and shaky. He swallows, willing himself to be calm and relaxed. He feels like he's been falling through the air and had come to an abrupt stop.

"You know what, yes I do! Because this doesn't make any sense!"

Zoro is sitting in the dining area, surrounded by his crew. No, not everyone. His eye scans the room quickly and he takes stock of Sanji and Usopp, who are shouting hotly over one another, and Robin and Franky, who seem to be losing their patience in their own respective manners.

Oh, and that girl. Nami.

Why is she still here?

The room is loud. They keep shouting over one another, the noise bouncing from the wooden floors to the table to the chairs and against Zoro's ears. Their voices are sharp and their emotions vary – anger, confusion, annoyance, impatience. It is dizzying when combined.

Sanji paces around the long table, aggressively pinching his cigarette. "Whether it does or doesn't make sense isn't the problem here!"

What crawled up his ass, Zoro wonders, annoyed. He rubs his face. Even with only half the crew inside, the room feels overly crowded. I should have just stayed on the deck. He wonders why he didn't.

Robin is the only one seated, but her voice carries as if she stands over all of them. "Cook-san, please calm down. We cannot make progress if we're panicking and emotional."

Sanji's pacing leads him to Zoro, and he jolts as he shouts, "How can I be calm when this dumbass is running around attacking Nami-san!"

Oh, so that's what crawled up his ass. Zoro smacks away the cook's pointed hand. "I didn't attack her, idiot! She's the one who snuck up on me!"

Sanji gaffes, "So your reaction was to try and cut her head off, you dumb –" at the same time the red-haired girl says, "I wasn't sneaking up on you! I was coming to wake you up! And that's not even the biggest issue here, we –" and then Usopp yells, "Can someone please just explain this to me because I'm not –"

BANG! Franky slams a metallic hand on the table.

"Oi, oi, OI!" He bellows, his tone holding no playfulness. "ENOUGH! Quit with the shouting now, will ya!?"

Faces cringe at both the volume and the irritation of Franky's voice. It isn't every day that he, of all people, needs to cut the nonsense and get everyone back on track.

Zoro huffs, but abides.

Sanji is glaring at him from across the table, so Zoro glares back. The girl is standing next to the stupid chef. Her arms are crossed – no, she's hugging herself, as if she's cold. The glare on her face is cold, too. Usopp is near them as well. He doesn't seem to mind being in such close proximity to her. Zoro frowns. Well, at least Usopp isn't glaring at him.

When the silence extends, Franky nods, saying. "Robin-sis is right. Yelling and screaming ain't gonna solve anythin' here. We just gotta rework this a bit, take it one step at a time." He looks around, "Ya'll wanna sit down?"

The heat from outside has followed them inside, making the large room feel tight and stifling. The ship rocks uneasily. When they're all seated, Zoro realizes there's no one sitting on his side of the table. There aren't any plates or glasses on the table either – it has been left bare. Is this supposed to be some kind of interrogation, or intervention . . . ?

"Thank you, Franky," Robin says after a long beat. She sits at the head of the table with a troubled expression. "This is a distressing and unique situation, I understand. But let's try to resolve this without any conflict."

"Resolve what?" Zoro groans, not taking too kindly to what she was implying. "There's nothing here to resolve – why are you guys making such a big deal about this?"

And of course, the damned cook has to butt in – "Because it is a big deal, you brain-dead moron!"

"No one asked you, asshole!"

Robin glares at them. "I said without conflict. Both of you need to settle down. I would rather not have to forcefully restrain you like children." Her voice is sharp. It conjures another bout of silence.

She gestures towards him. "Zoro," she says his name patiently, as if speaking to some tantrum-throwing brat. "The problem here is that you've forgotten Nami."

Again with this? Zoro grits his teeth. "I haven't forgotten her. I don't know her."

A roar of exclamations erupts. They talk over one another again, loudly and with more fervor. Zoro is furiously confused. Why the hell is everything he says challenged so heatedly?

At the smallest gap of quiet, Robin manages to tell him, "Then that makes two problems."

No one disagrees with her. Are they serious? He feels like throwing his hands up in frustration. "So, what? I'm not allowed to not not know people?"

"She isn't . . . " Usopp says hesitantly. He looks at Robin, and she beckons him to continue. "She isn't just people. She's Nami. You know? Nami."

Zoro rolls his eyes. "Saying her name to me a million times isn't going to make me magically know her."

When three mouths open to contest him, he does throw up his hands. "This is ridiculous! Since when was me not knowing people such a big deal? You guys are always bringing people on board when I'm not around and have never acted like this, like it was the end of the world or something."

He might as well have been speaking in a foreign language; dumbfounded expressions are exchanged. "Zoro-bro. You're not getting it. Nami-sis ain't someone we just picked up. You know this. She's our navigator. She's this crew's navigator. This isn't supposed to be brand new information to you."

Zoro opens his mouth, but the absurdity of that statement nearly leaves him speechless. She's our navigator? "Uh. No, she's not."

Sanji gestures dramatically to him, speaking to the others, "See what I mean now?"

"Would you shut up already?" Zoro snaps. "None of you guys are making sense. So I don't know her. Fine! Whatever. Big deal. Her name's Nami, right? There, now I know her. She's the new Navigator? Great, that's that. Can you guys relax now?"

"But that's the thing, Zoro!" Usopp grouses. "This isn't –"

The girl – Nami – suddenly stands up.

Her chair is nearly knocked over. "I am this ship's Navigator," she says through grit teeth. She is staring at him intensely, her hands balled into white knuckled fists. "And I always have been. Since the very beginning. Who do you think brought you to the Grand Line? To the New World? It was me. It was only me and you know that."

It was Zoro's turn to be dumbfounded. Is she delusional? He isn't very appreciative of the cutthroat tone of hers, either. He tells her snidely, "We've never had a navigator, lady, so I don't know what you're talking about."

He looks around and realizes that the odd looks are being directed towards him. "Are you guys serious? Are you really buying this?"

Nami steps back sharply, this time knocking over chair. "I can't do this," she says tightly, pushing past Usopp. "The barrel of a gun looks at me with more familiarity than he does."

"Nami-san!" Sanji calls after her, but she heads straight for the exit.

When she pulls the door open, Luffy, Brook, and Chopper are on the other side.

Everyone stills.

Chopper's hand is extended, reaching to push open the door at the same moment Nami pulled it.

"O-Oh!" He exclaims, stepping back.

Nami is frozen in her spot. Her eyes fix on Luffy, and she opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out. Eventually, she snaps herself out of her daze and pushes past the three of them without a word.

The open door allows a stream of light into the room. The sounds of waves splashing, and seagulls screeching are louder paired with the uncomfortable silence Nami's abrupt exit leaves behind.

No one says anything for a few seconds, so Chopper stutters. "U-Um." He looks unsure on whether to follow Nami or to enter the room. "Um?"

Zoro huffs loudly and sits back in his seat, crossing his arms. He can feel Sanji's eyes glaring at him but Zoro doesn't care. Why should he? Just because the girl is upset he didn't buy her lies doesn't mean shit to him.

Brook clears his throat loudly, his bones creaking. "Ah . . . is everything all right? The tension in here is absolutely chilling."

His afro nearly touches the top of the frame as he stands at the entrance. He's carrying a sack over his shoulders, probably a heavy one too considering he's using both hands. His shoes and the bottom of his pants are muddled with mud.

Usopp rubs his arms. "Er, how do I say this? We kind of have a . . . problem?"

Luffy pokes his head between Chopper and Brook's bodies. His hair is completely disheveled, as if he'd been running and slingshotting himself like a madman. He was definitely being chased, Zoro thinks. Definitely started some ruckus before getting here.

"Eh? Why are you all here without any food? What's going on? Sanji, where's lunch?"

It doesn't take long for Sanji to get his bearings and chase after Nami, like the pathetic pushover that he is. But before he disappears through the door he makes sure to turn to Luffy and say, "You wanna know what's going on? Your shitty swordsman is broken, that's what going on."

"Eh?" Luffy says when Sanji shoves past him.

Yeah, go right on and fuck off, Zoro thinks, watching Sanji's retreating back with resentment.

"My, my," Brook says to fill the void. "Everyone seems to be in such a sour mood today."

"Wait, broken?" Chopper says, stepping down. "Zoro, are you hurt? Did you break a bone? Did you break more than one bone?"

"Would you like to borrow one of mine?" Brook offers.

Usopp says, "Not that kind of broken, exactly. More like . . . " He brings up a finger to his head, moving it in circular motion.

"Oi," Zoro snaps.

Robin taps her finger lightly on the table, getting their attention. "Everyone. I think it would be best if you all sat down. Especially you, Captain-san."

Brook and Chopper look at Luffy, who only shrugs at the call out. They shuffle into the room. Luffy sits atop the table, his feet crossed. He keeps shooting the oven a sad glance, pouting. Brook and Chopper sit on either side of him, and the little reindeer keeps extending his neck to give Zoro a full checkup with his eyes alone.

Zoro puts his elbow on the table, propping his head up with his palm. This is so stupid, he thinks. Why does he have to stay here and listen to them spout this bullshit all over again? He should just leave, just like the cook did.

But then Luffy looks over at him and snickers, "Ehihihi! Zoro, you're in troooouble!" and Zoro growls, because damn it, Luffy is actually sticking around and paying attention. There's no way in hell he can leave now. Damn it. Zoro settles in his chair, glowering.

Robin speaks without preamble. "You all came at a prudent time. We seem to have a strange problem at our hands – it appears that Zoro is suffering some sort of selective amnesia. He's completely forgotten who Nami is."

Chopper's eyes widen. Brook puts a hand to his mouth, scandalized. Luffy cocks his head.

"Oh, come on," Zoro grosses. "Don't tell me you guys are in on this shit, too?"

"A-Amnesia?" Chopper parrots, eyes wide, while Luffy mispronounces the word entirely, "Em – knees – sha?"

"Oh dear," Brook says. "That is a problem. No wonder Nami-san was in such a foul mood."

Luffy hums. "I don't get it. What's that word mean?"

"Amnesia means memory loss, Luffy-san," Brook murmurs, then louder, "How is that possible?"

Zoro growls. "It's not possible because I didn't lose anything!" He drops his hand on the table loudly. "Look, if this is some stupid prank of yours – " he shoots a dark look at Usopp, who yelps and hides himself behind Robin – "then you better knock it off because now I'm really getting pissed."

That's a lie considering he was pissed from the very start. But now he's royally pissed because this bullshit is spreading around to the whole crew. Why are they still hung up on this?

"This is not a prank, Zoro," Robin tells him, unfazed by his outburst. "But, I believe it's time to confirm it. Would you allow me to gouge exactly how correct I am in my assessment by asking you a few questions?"

Zoro frowns, knowing damn well that she wanted to interrogate him with leading questions. He absolutely hates when she plays with him with her little word games, and is about to tell her that, too, but from the corner of his eyes he can see Luffy, who's looking over at him with interest and curiosity.

Zoro sags into his seat. "Fine, whatever."

Robin looks relieved, as if expecting some push-back. "Thank you. Everyone, please remain quiet and try not to interrupt while we speak. Zoro, my questions might seem ridiculous and simple to you, but nonetheless I would appreciate if you could answer them as truthfully as you can."

He waves his hand flippantly. "Fine."

The room quiets as Robin gathers her thoughts. "For this moment, imagine this ordeal never occurred. Can you please list off the names of the members of this crew and their respective roles? Let's start with you."

He quirks an eyebrow. A ridiculous question indeed, but Zoro humors her. Knowing Robin, there's definitely a multilayered reasoning behind her choice of questions. "Right – there's me, Zoro, the Swordsman. Then Luffy, Captain. Sanji's the cook, Usopp's the sharpshooter, Chopper's the doctor, you're the archaeologist, Franky's the shipwright, and Brook's the musician."

He doesn't trail off, but everyone is leaning in their seat as if he has more to say. He has nothing more to say. He's answered the question. They're expecting me to say that girl's name, but she has nothing to do with the question.

Robin nods. "And that's all?" She asks, but her tone implies a statement.

"That's right."

Luffy has his fingers spread, counting along with Zoro. He looks confused. He opens his mouth to ask something, but a hand blossoms from his shoulder and covers his mouth.

Robin asks, "Zoro, what's the name of this crew?"

"The Straw Hat Pirates."

"And the name of the ship?"

"Thousand Sunny."

"And who is the Straw Hat crew member that navigates the Thousand Sunny?"

"There isn't anyone, because we don't have a navigator."

"Surely there must be someone that has been keeping this ship on course since this crew's inception?"

Zoro shrugs. "I don't know. Franky sometimes, I guess. The ship just moves as it does most of the time."

"Wouldn't that be nice," Franky mutters under his breath.

"Zoro," Robin says. "What would you say if I told you that Nami, the girl with the long, red hair, is the navigator of this ship and the ship before it? That she is a member of this crew and has been from the very beginning – that she was recruited immediately after you and has joined us in every adventure we've had in East Blue and beyond?"

The room holds its breath. Zoro can feel their anticipation on his skin. "I'd say," he drawls. "That that's a load of crap. Usopp was the one recruited after me. I've never seen that girl in my life before today."

"Interesting," Robin murmurs.

Chopper sputters. "In-Interesting? Robin, this is serious! He – he forgot about Nami! He's got amnesia, or – or worse! He needs a doctor!"

"Exactly," Robin says. She spreads her hands, looking at Luffy. "And this is the problem we face."

Another scowl from Zoro. "I don't have amnesia or whatever. I know what I know, and right now I know that you're all acting insane. Was there something in the water? Or did that girl do something to you that's messing with your heads?"

Usopp looks flabbergasted. "Don't you think it's more believable that you're the one that's acting crazy rather than all eight of us being the ones that are crazy?"

"No. I never forget a thing," he announces defiantly.

Brook puts a skeletal hand on his arm, says, "Your stubbornness is admirable, Zoro-san, but I believe now you should take our word on this. We all know and love Nami-san. She is a precious member of our crew. This is knowledge that you've had – ah, well, you had it a few hours ago, even! Do you recall? You were having a rowdy banter with Nami-san just this very morning!"

Zoro frowns at the musician. "No, I wasn't."

Usopp perks up. "T-That's right – you guys were fighting this morning! She wanted you to stay on the ship but you didn't. You guys were going at it like cats and dogs."

"So it's safe to say that whatever happened to him to make him like . . . this . . . . happened after he left the ship." Franky hums. "Usopp-bro, you went with him into the island, right? Did anything happen?"

Usopp scratches his head. "Ah, well, no . . . we went into the forest, and I was doing some beetle hunting, and he was just sleeping against a tree. We were barely out for a few hours before we went back, and then he just slept on deck."

Zoro remembers that. It was right after they docked the ship. Usopp wanted to explore the forest, and Zoro wanted to stretch his legs, so they went together. It was completely uneventful. Zoro got bored enough to take a nap on the disgusting dirt floor, and after an hour or so Usopp roused him and they headed back to the ship so Zoro could resume his sleep. Nami was not part of any of those events.

Robin says, "Perhaps he was out in the sun too long? It is a rather hot day today."

Chopper nods. "Could be heat exhaustion – its symptoms are usually mental confusion and hallucinations if severe . . . he could be displaying those symptoms in a unique way, like a specific loss of memory, in this case, forgetting Nami. Though I've never heard of a case like that . . . " Chopper looks at him. "Do you feel dizzy or overheated? Any headaches or numbness."

Zoro rolls his eyes. "I'm fine." It's you guys that need to get checked out, but he doesn't say that.

Luffy is pouting. He finally speaks up, and when he does, eyes lock on to him expectantly, each pair hoping his words can somehow dispel the situation. "Ahh, I don't really get what's going on. Zoro's sick with something that's making him forget things, and that made Nami mad?"

Usopp nearly falls off his chair. "Pay attention when things are serious!"

Luffy crosses his arms. "If Zoro's sick then Chopper can just fix him up, right?"

I'm not fucking sick, Zoro wants to say, wants to scream out, shout to each of their faces, announce to the whole damn world. But he doesn't.

Eyes dart to Chopper. "W-Well, sure, if it's heat exhaustion then water and rest is the best way to cure it – "

He doesn't sound sure. Because he knows there's nothing wrong with me, he thinks – hopes. But now that Luffy's clung to the idea, Chopper needs to act on it.

Luffy claps his hands. "There ya go. Zoro's going to drink water and go to sleep, and then he'll be all better. Then he'll go and tell Nami sorry for making her cry, and no one will be mad at anyone anymore. Sound good?"

Was she crying? Zoro thinks, not remembering that part. Probably when she was standing in front of Luffy. The rubber bastard has a soft spot for crying victims – did she know that somehow and use it to manipulate him? Is she that crafty?

No one says anything, but Luffy takes that as mutual agreement. "Cool! Now, ahhh, there was a reason why we came back to the ship so early . . . ." He taps his chin, his face scrunched as he dives deep into his thoughts. "What was it . . . what was it . . . what was it . . . "

Chopper jumps. "OH! That's right!" His fur seems to rise in his sudden panic. "You GUYS! Luffy beat a guy in arm wrestling and won all his money but it turned out it was a Marine and now he's mad and coming to attack us with his troops!"

Brook shifts, the sack over his shoulder clinking with their earning. "Oh dear, that completely slipped my mind! Ah, but I don't have a mind! Skull joke! Yohohohoho!"

Usopp grabs his head, "Are you kidding me! Now? How convenient is that?"

"We can take on a few marines, no problemo." Franky says, cracking his knuckles.

But Robin shakes her head. "This is a relatively peaceful island, occupied only by humble villages. We shouldn't cause a ruckus and disturb the people, else we'd bring more trouble to them. Let's pull a tactical retreat for now, and return when things are a bit more peaceful. I don't want to leave this island until our current predicament here is solved." Her eyes linger on Zoro before gliding over to Luffy. "Is that alright with you, Captain?"

He grins, "Cool!" then hops off the table and slaps a rubbery hand on Zoro's back. "Time for a tactical treat! Let's go!"

"Retreat," Usopp mumbles as he follows his hopeless captain out, and as they all exit the room one after the other, each one giving Zoro a final glance, Zoro thinks – I need to talk to Luffy. I need to get him alone, without everyone jumping in. They're being tricked and don't even know it! If I can just convince Luffy . . .

But no, that last thought might as well have been a joke. If it's a trick then Luffy's the last person I can snap out of it. I need to play it by ear, see what this girl's endgame is.

He stands up, a humorless scoff escaping his lips. Memory loss? What a joke. Is that the best she could do? As if I could forget anyone.

Chapter 3: The Ship

CHAPTER THREE

---

Zoro is in the Crow's Nest.

There's a dumbbell in each of his hands. One weight is lifted up to his chest, the other is down by his waist. He's staring out the window, looking out to the sea but not actually seeing anything.

He inhales sharply. His insides feel cold and thinned, and his head is starting to throb. He decides that's enough working out. His arms are vibrating from the exertion, the sweat sliding down his temples. He's done more than enough for today.

He drops the weights, not flinching when they shake the room with their impact. He lets his hands hang for a short moment, allowing them a moment of respite. They ache from the workout, and Zoro doesn't know how long he's been going at it but at least knows he made progress. No pain no gain, he thinks with little humor.

He leans down and grabs the large bottle, wincing at a sharp pain in his abdomen. I took it too hard on the sit-ups, he scowls at himself, annoyed at his lack of restraint. He shakes his head and chugs the water.

Two swallows in and he's hit with a sense of bitterness and nearly chucks the rest; the memory of the discussion with the crew a few hours ago makes his blood boil. Rest and hydration, Zoro thinks bitterly, remembering Chopper's diagnosis of him. He tosses the empty bottle on the ground. What a bunch of bullshit.

He'll humor Chopper and follow his instructions, because the poor doctor looked absolutely stressed back in the kitchen. But there's no way in hell he's resting. He knows his body well enough to know when it should rest, and now is not the time. He needs to keep his guard up, stay alert, stay active. Especially since there's something weird going on in this ship . . .

He changes his shirt and heads down to the deck.

The floor is soaked, and the air tastes like rain. Above him, clouds rumble in anticipation. The sky is darkened, but from afar he can see the weak light of the sun trying to cut its way through the clouds.

A storm? He wonders. Must have snuck up on us. He recalls clear skies and a burning sun not too long ago when he was napping on the deck. These parts of the ocean are weird as hell.

There isn't anyone outside. He lets out a small pulse of Observation Haki and finds Franky in the storage room, Usopp and Luffy in the bath, and the rest of the crew in the Aquarium Bar.

Nami is there, too.

Zoro frowns. The hell is she still doing here?

His suspicions of that girl rises. She's got them wrapped around her finger, he thinks with a harsh scowl. Is it a Devil Fruit power? It must be. How else was she able to get them all to believe it? Luffy's easy enough when it comes to mind control, and Usopp too probably – and that damned cook wouldn't even need mind control. But the others? Does Brook even have a physical mind that can be controlled?

He shakes his head. His thoughts are going off on tangents again. It doesn't matter – he'll expose that woman and prove that she's manipulating them from behind the scenes. She's tricked them all, but she couldn't trick him, and that was her first mistake.

Unless, a small voice in the back of his mind starts, almost hesitantly. Unless there is something wrong with me . . .

He shakes his head again, harsher now, shoving that pathetic voice even further back. Absolutely not. He doesn't forget a damn thing! He forgets people's names and faces every now and then, sure, but there's no way he could forget someone like her.

They called her the navigator, they said she's been on the ship since the beginning – there's no way in hell I could forget that! Were they hiding her in a damn closet this whole time? For damn sure I would remember if we had another nakama!

He crosses the lawn of the Thousand Sunny. He pauses briefly beside the mast, noticing various sword slashes on the wood. He touches it, frowning. That's new, he thinks, but shakes his head and doesn't think any more of it – he has something else on his mind now.

He navigates below deck and through the halls until he finally makes it to the door of the Aquarium Bar.

It's closed, and he's got a hand on the handle ready to pull it open . . . but doesn't. He can hear quiet voices from behind the door. He's never cared for eavesdropping before, but this time feels different. He drops his hand. He listens.

He can clearly hear the worry in their voices even through the door.

"– still doesn't answer the original question," Brook's grave voice says. "Which, at this point, is a likely possibility, given how much time it's been . . . so we must establish it now. What if . . . "

"What if he never remembers Nami-san," Sanji finishes for him. Zoro can smell the cigarette smoke through the gaps in the doorframe.

"What if it's not reversible?" Brook corrects sadly.

There's a pregnant silence. Zoro slows his breathing, making his presence as undetectable as possible.

He hears Chopper sniff loudly. "I – I won't let that happen! I know there's a way to help him, I just . . . need more time."

"We know you can do it, Chopper-san. No one doubts your expertise," he hears a click, the unmistakable sound of a teacup landing gently on its plate. Zoro smells lemons. "Time is something we can afford here, thankfully. I'm sure Zoro-san can hold out a little longer until the answer comes to you."

"The answer lies on that island, Plume." Robin voice sounds confident. "It must be. Clearly Doctor-san's initial assessment was incorrect. We should consider all possibilities, no matter how obscure.'

Chopper makes a noise akin to a sad whine, and he hears Robin's voice mumbling assurances to him. "We all made incorrect guesses, Doctor-san, please don't hold yourself solely accountable."

"You couldn't find anything wrong with him, Chopper?" He hears Sanji ask, the cook keeping his voice casual. "Like, head wounds? Brain damage? I'm sure he's got plenty of that."

I'll give you brain damage, you stupid – "No, there wasn't anything physically wrong with him, that I could see. No cuts, bruises, or bumps on his head. He wasn't overheated, his heart rate and blood pressure were normal. He's perfectly healthy, considering. And Usopp was with him the majority of the time and said Zoro didn't get into any fights or hurt himself or even eat anything at all while on the island."

"But," the unfamiliar voice – Nami. "I just don't get it – before he, well, you know, when he was awake before that, there was nothing out of the ordinary! We were talking like normal. Then he fell asleep and when I woke him up – it was like he erased me from his memory in his sleep."

"I'm sure it was not intentional."

"I'm not saying it is, Brook – I'm just saying . . . look, if it had something to do with the island then wouldn't the memory loss have kicked in before all that? Wouldn't he not have recognized me the first time he saw me, when he and Usopp came back to the ship?"

A long pause. He hears someone's shoe rub against the floor uncomfortably. The uneasy tension seeps through the cracks of the door and makes Zoro shift in his place.

"Another mystery to add to our collection," Brook murmurs sagely.

"Ugh, we're getting off topic again. Look, whatever the reason is," Nami starts. "Isn't priority. Priority is figuring out how to fix him."

Zoro scowls viciously. There isn't anything wrong with him. His hand is gripping the doorknob tightly, squeezing the bronze. There's nothing about him that needs fixing. Where does that damned girl get off talking about him like he's some sort of basket case?

He considers barging in.

That would catch her off guard, and maybe he could make her spill a few things with a well-pointed threat. But Zoro's face twists in disgust, knowing that would never fly with that damned cook in there, too. The bastard would just interfere again, and sure, he could take on that curly-brow fool any day of the week, but Zoro would absolutely lose face if he were to attack him in front of the others.

That's probably just what that girl wants.

Robin speaks, "The two are correlated. We cannot find a cure without first finding the source. Similar to how an antivenom works; we need the venom."

"But this isn't a toxin or poison or whatever. It's a," a frustrated sigh. "I don't know – a mental thing!"

"Early onset dementia," he hears Sanji mumbles with a snort. Zoro glares at the door, willing the cook to explode into a million bloody pieces.

"Be serious, Sanji-kun!"

"Sorry, sorry."

"I just –," Nami starts, with frustration.

A beat passes.

"I just . . ." she says again, tiredly. "I just want him to stop looking at me like that."

No one says anything. Zoro doesn't know what was so profound about that statement that warranted the following silence. What does that even mean? How am I looking at her?

"A solution will come, Nami-san," Brook says, his voice unbelievably gentle. "We must remain patient. Patient with the situation, and patient with Zoro-san . . ."

Brook trails off, and Sanji makes an offended noise. "Why are you looking at me, shitty skeleton?"

Chopper answers tentatively, "You have been pretty mean to Zoro lately. Well, meaner than usual."

The cook makes another stupid noise, but Robin cuts him off. "Brook is correct. Patience is a virtue, as they famously say. We'll wait for the storm to pass and return to the island with vigor. Do you have any estimations as to when the weather will be more favorable, Nami?"

"It's hard to tell. With the clouds that congested, it might start again –"

Zoro stalks away.

A vicious glower is smeared on his face. I don't need fucking fixing, he fumes to himself. And I damn well don't need them having secret meetings to talk about me behind my back! It's all that damned girl's doing. She's manipulating them, pitting them against me.

He makes his way to the Galley. He needs some booze. No, something stronger. Sake? No, there's brandy in the cabinet on top of the fridge. That'll do. The cook tried to hide it from him after they bought it on the island, but that idiot isn't as slick as he likes to think.

Zoro turns a corner and opens a door, then growls to himself. This isn't the damned Galley, his thinks hotly, slamming the door before turning back down the hall. He could never find anything on this blasted ship.

He stomps his way down the hall and opens another door and is met with Franky's ass.

"Huh?" The cyborg turns around. "Oh! Swords-bro! What's up? You lost?"

Zoro glowers. "No." He glances around. "The hell are you doing in here?"

Franky stands there with grease (he hopes) on his face and hands. His overalls are smudged with black and when he pulls up his goggles, there's a clear outline on his face of the area his goggles protected.

Franky puts down the large tool in his hands. It makes a thunk noise when it meets the wooden floor. "Ever seen a broken canon before? Yup, one them got jammed in the last blowout. The cannonball somehow broke inside it, the bastard. I'm just over here fixin' it up, giving it a little Franky Upgrade. Is breakfast ready?"

He counts the amount stored here. "If one of them is broken then why did you take apart all of them?"

"Upgrades, bro! Can't just upgrade one and let the others get lost to time. These babies are gonna be super effective against those Marine bastards, and then some!" He picks up a rag and wipes down his hands, foregoing his face. "Alright I'm done for now and starvin'. Let's head to the kitchen and see what cook bro's got for us."

Sanji hasn't cooked anything because he's currently conspiring behind his back, but Zoro doesn't say anything and follows the larger man. He was heading to the Galley anyway, so there's not harm in having Franky tag along.

They walk down the corridor, and Franky leads him with ease. The cyborg goes on and on about the types of damage the Sunny took during the last debacle, but Zoro's mind is elsewhere. It wanders back to the conversation in the Aquarium Bar, and the image of Robin, Brook, Chopper, and Sanji eating up that girl's wild story makes his blood boil.

The pair climb the steps and reach their destination.

Franky opens the door, and Zoro frowns.

Inside, there's a large dining table on one side of the room and a fridge and cabinets against the opposite wall. The table is filled with an assortment of pastries and fresh fruits, and empty bowls of food that's probably already been eaten.

Zoro remains by the door and Franky makes a beeline towards the table. "Ah, damn. We were too late. Looks like Strawhat-bro already took all the bacon. I can still smell it, too. Freakin' torture."

"Franky."

"Hm?"

"Where are we?"

"Hell, most likely. Breakfast without meat? What a damn shame. Though I'm sure Cook-bro won't mind cooking us a fresh round if we ask nicely, heh."

"Franky," Zoro says again. "Whose ship is this?"

The cyborg finally turns around, but the expression on his face doesn't put Zoro at ease one bit. "Whose ship . . . what are you talkin' about, bro?"

Zoro takes in the room again with a quick sweep, but no – he has no idea where the hell he is. "How have you not noticed? We're in a completely different room. How the hell did we get here?"

For good measure, he turns around to look through the door they just came through and much to Zoro's bewilderment, the hall looks nothing like it did a few seconds ago. What the hell? There are steps leading to the door – since when was that there – and before that a corridor that's spacious and well-lit.

What the fuck?

His heart is beating loudly against his ears.

Franky sets his plate down slowly. "Not following ya, bro. Maybe you should break this down for me in layman's terms."

Zoro feels wildly frustrated. "Are your eyes not turned on? Look at this place. It's – it's huge. This isn't our ship, Franky. I don't know how, but we've moved from one ship to another ship, or wherever the hell this place is."

No, it's definitely another ship. He can feel the large boat lazing about over the ocean, and just from the slow way it rocks he can tell that its size is enormous.

Did we teleport? There's no way – we were just walking! Maybe someone moved us without our notice. No, that can't be. There was nothing out of the ordinary or any suspicious presences around us. And Franky doesn't even seem to feel it, so how in the hell –

Franky approaches him calmly. "The only places we moved between was from the storage room to here. We're still on the Sunny, bro. Are you feeling alright?"

Zoro whips his attention back to Franky. "Still on the Sunny? What do you mean, still? What's the Sunny?"

Franky's mouth forms a thin line. "Where do you think we were before this room?"

"The Going Merry – our ship."

The large man's expression doesn't change. He simply nods, as if expecting Zoro's answer.

"Right," Franky harrumphs. He crosses his arms. Sighs loudly, "Follow me for sec, would ya?"

Franky leads him across the room, to a different door than the one they came through originally. Zoro warily takes stock of the room with a more critical glance, and there are some items – cookbooks and aprons and high-grade knives – that seem vaguely familiar. Doesn't the cook have the same . . . ?

At the door, Franky opens it and beckons Zoro through, and when he does he finds himself outside, on the deck.

But it's not his deck.

Zoro carefully pads his way across, taking in this unfamiliar ship. From out here the ship is much more massive. The deck is wide enough to run laps around. There's an entire garden at one end, with trees and flowers and even lawn. Mikan trees? He's standing between two masts, and on the taller one a crow's nest is erected at the very top.

And above that overhead room there is a flag waving duly along with the incoming storm's wind.

The flag has a jolly roger on it.

The jolly roger is wearing a straw hat.

Zoro's eyes widen.

"I think I know what's happenin' here," Franky is saying, watching Zoro like one watches a wild animal familiarize itself in its new environment. "Don't think the others are gonna like it, though. Don't think you're gonna like it. Or believe it. Yeesh, what a mess."

'The hell are you talking about, Franky?" Zoro bites out. He squeezes his hands into fists, letting his nails dig into his skin so the pain can confirm if he was dreaming or not. "Where are we? What's going on?"

"We're on the Thousand Sunny, bro. Our ship."

"Our ship is Going Merry," Zoro corrects.

"Was. That gal sailed her last epic journey two years ago. Gave her a proper send off and everything, too. Real emotional." Franky pats the mast absently. There are slashes on the wood in disorganized order. "Then I came along and, with the manly kindness unparalleled to man himself, built you lot the Thousand Sunny as a gift. We've been sailing with her since ya'll left Water Seven."

Franky looks at him with somber eyes. "But I'm gonna take a wild guess and say none of that's ringing any bells?"

Zoro tries to interpret Franky's whirlwind of an explanation, but none of it seems to actually resonate with him – "sailed her last . . . ? The hell does that mean?"

"She's gone," Franky tells him. "We had to put her down, so to speak. She was beyond repair, so we got a new ship."

"Your bullshit is worse than Usopp's, if you think –"

"The reason it ain't bullshit is cause I ain't Longnose-bro. I can't lie or tell super stories like he does, so all you can get out of me is truths. A man's gotta stand for some principles, and one of mine is honesty, especially when it comes to my handiwork."

Franky's the worst liar out of all of them, Zoro knows that. But this is – none of this is making sense. Is it some kind of joke? No, Franky's face is the embodiment of seriousness, a rare expression from the cyborg.

"Then how," Zoro's gritting his teeth so hard his jaw aches. "How could we possibly have gotten on a new ship without me noticing?"

"That's my line, considering you didn't have a problem with the ship ten minutes ago."

"Ten minutes ago we weren't on this ship!" Zoro snaps.

"Then where were we?"

Zoro's rage falters. "We were . . ." he trails off. He tries to remember. They were on a ship, he knows that at least. They were . . . shit, why isn't it coming to him? All he can tell for certain is that he wasn't on this ship.

Franky asks, "Were we on the Merry?"

The Merry? Of course! But . . . No . . . were they? Fuck, the air thin out here. His head begins to throb.

"Can ya at least remember what happened before we all left Water Seven?"

Before leaving Water Seven? "What does that have to do with –"

"It's got everything to do with everything."

Water Seven, Water Seven, Water Seven. That was a lifetime ago. What about it? They left the island with Franky and Robin in tow, and Usopp, too. They had some hassle with Luffy's grandfather, and they were keeping residence with the Galley La Company. Why were they staying with the Galley La for so long? They were waiting for Usopp, who left the crew because of Luffy's decision to get a new ship . . .

"But we didn't get a new ship," Zoro hisses to his mind and aloud. They didn't! Merry was damaged, yes, and the Galley La workers were looking after it, that he knows. But she wasn't irreparable. Iceberg was working on it, too, and at one point they had to torch the entire boat, but –

The image of a huge pyre overwhelms his mind and Zoro thinks, that's right. Shit, that's right – we did. We had to let her go. She was beyond repair.

But that doesn't make any sense because how the hell did they leave Water Seven and continue their journey without a ship?

Did we end up fixing her? We had to, because we sailed comfortably to so many other islands after Water Seven. It had to be Merry, because it wasn't any other ship. I don't remember ever getting another ship, especially not this one!

His fingers feel numb, and Zoro realizes he's been balling his fists so hard that he's nearly cut off the blood circulation in his fingers.

"Franky," Zoro says slowly, trying not to let out the sheer confusion he's feeling into his voice. "What the fuck is going on?"

The cyborg has been watching him carefully. He lets out a deep breath, as if dreading the question. With a hand on his neck, he says "We thought it was just Nami-sis you forgot, but now you don't even recognize Thousand Sunny. You'll probably start forgetting other things, too. This is one hell of a problem we've got on our hands."

"Forgetting," Zoro repeats blankly.

"You're losing your memories, bro."

Chapter 4: The Confrontation

CHAPTER FOUR

---

" – And this is the Aquarium Bar," Usopp says grandly, extending his arms to showcase the large room. "Of all the rooms Franky built, I've got to say this one is my favorite. I mean, look at it! An aquarium that can hold all your catches and you can swim inside it? Genius, I tell you, genius."

Usopp leads him inside, babbling on and on about the amazingness of the room. And the room is amazing, contrary to Zoro's solemn face as he follows Usopp without a word. There's an assortment of fish swimming inside the glass tank, varying from octopus to swordfish to that one flat fish with wide fins that look like wings.

"I caught that one," Usopp is saying, pointing to the colorful fish Zoro's blank eyes wandered onto. "Oh, yes. That baby sure put up a fight. I had to dive deep, deep into the ocean and wrestle it out of the water with my own two hands! Sanji says it'll make excellent sushi, but I kind of want to keep it here as a trophy of my awesome manliness –"

But Zoro's mind is elsewhere. It's racing with a million thoughts a second that it makes his head twinge. He watches as Usopp's mouth moves with ease, describing the room, the ship, without pause or hesitation, and with such familiarity that it makes his blood chill.

How, Zoro thinks, and not for the first time, and probably not even for the last time. How does he know about this ship? How has he not realized what's been going on around here? He doesn't show any sign on noticing that this is a whole different location than the one we were in less than an hour ago!

The idea of memory loss is laughingly absurd.

That just can't be it. How in the hell could he possibly be losing his memories, especially such specific ones? He isn't an expert on the ailment, but he's certain it doesn't work this way. To forget one person, and then to forget a ship? No, that can't be possible. They have no idea what they're talking about.

"Oh, and over here is the bar – obviously, stocked to the teeth with cola, thanks to Franky. There are all types of flavors; orange, blueberry, watermelon –"

Surely – surely – surely there has to be another explanation. Someone is doing something – either something to me or something to the others. A million different explanations could be entertained, so why are they only sticking to the memory loss one, the most outrageous of all explanations?

Usopp is poking his arm gently. "Eh, Zoro? Are you listening to me?"

Zoro blinks, looks down at Usopp. His expression treads worry, and Zoro feels bad for ignoring him. He sighs, rubbing neck, "Yeah, fish and swimming and what not, I hear you."

Usopp huffs. "I asked you if you wanted a drink."

"Oh," Zoro says. "Right. Sorry. Uh, no. I'm good."

Usopp eyes him critically. There's a cut on the sharpshooter's lip, and a bruise just below his eye. Zoro wonders what's going through the sniper's mind compared to his own. He probably thinks I'm insane. No, Zoro mentally shakes off the thought as soon as it comes. There's nothing wrong with me.

Usopp clears his throat. "I guess we can end the tour here, and pick it up later?" He gestures to the seating area by the tank, and they take a seat. Zoro sits down like an old man, his body sore and stiff. Usopp winces a little when he takes his seat as well. "You look pretty distracted, not that I blame you, considering . . . "

"Hm."

But it's more than distraction that plagues him.

Probably on the outside that's what he looks like, but on the inside his mind is a murky ocean that he can just barely see through, polluted with confusion, suspicion, anger, and dread. His chest feels tight and his head numbingly heavy, but he can't admit that out loud. That would only reinforce their theory that there is something wrong with me. Zoro shelves all these feeling away as the aftereffects of this stressful situation.

Usopp squirms awkwardly from the prolonged silence. Not even the fish make any noise as they dart past each other. "Uhm, so. Do you, ah . . . did any part of Usopp's Grand Tour of Thousand Sunny spark any memories?"

"No," Zoro tells him honestly.

Usopp's shoulders sag at the answer, but Zoro doesn't know what else to tell him. I'm pretty sure I would remember a room as unusual as this one. He sweeps another glance around and finds himself wondering how exactly the ship is able to sustain such a massive tank within it. Well, if Franky built it as they say, then he must have figured it out.

"That's disappointing. Well, it was worth a shot I guess. I'm sure the others have already cooked up a bunch of other different ways to try and help you regain your memories of Nami and Sunny. If that doesn't work, we'll see if we can find the answer in Plume Island. You still remember that, right? The island we were just in, with all the bugs and weird animals? Heh, that was fun, wasn't it? Too bad we couldn't catch any Hercules beetles . . ."

One word in that ramble catches his attention. "Nami," Zoro repeats with a scowl. He resists the instinct to reach for his sword's hilt. "She's still here?"

"Where else would she be?"

Usopp's reply has so much innocence behind it that it that it makes Zoro fume. Where else? He thinks. She should be thrown overboard. Or dumped on an island. She's messing with your heads!

"Listen," Usopp says. "I know what you're thinking, but you gotta believe us when we tell you that Nami's alright. You don't have to be so suspicious of her. She's our nakama."

"Whatever," Zoro says, knowing just how uncooperative he sounds and not giving a shit. She can be nakama to you guys but there's no way in hell I'm ever admitting that.

Usopp makes a displeased noise. "Don't be like that. You know we wouldn't lie to you about these things, right?"

"Never said you guys were lying."

"Yeah, I guess. What's it like, then? In your . . . memories, I mean. When you see Nami, do you get any kind of Déjà vu or weird feeling like you might know her? Or is she just a complete stranger to you?"

Zoro leans his head back, letting it rest against the cool glass of the aquarium. "It's the same as me reaching into this tank, pulling out that octopus there, and telling you, 'this is your brother, Usopp. Don't tell me you don't remember him, you've known him your whole life!'. And then forcing you to admit the octopus is your brother and has always been your brother for the rest of your life."

Usopp chuckles lightly. "Well, Nami's not an octopus, that's for sure. She's nakama, and that's a fact."

His face twists in disgust. He says what he knows will be met with resistance because it needs to be said, "Don't you think it's suspicious how all this shit started with her?"

"God, Zoro. Don't start with that, please. If Luffy hears you he's going to get pissed again."

"I'm just saying–"

"I know, I know, and I heard you already, a million times to count. We've heard it all. Nami's evil, Nami's a witch, she has a Devil Fruit power, she controlling our minds, she's poisoning us –"

"Hearing isn't the same as listening!" Zoro snaps. "Everyone's so quick to defend her that I'm not even being given the time of fucking day to have my side be taken seriously!"

He doesn't mean to come off so harsh, so angry, but it spills out of his mouth so easily. He's not angry at Usopp, and he hopes the sharpshooter can see that, he's just angry at this goddamn situation –

"Zoro," Usopp says calmly, maybe even sadly. "We did listen. We're not putting you on trial or anything. We're just trying to help, I swear. You're . . . well, don't get mad at me for saying this, but you're the one being difficult."

"Me? How am I being difficult?"

"You're the one not listening to us." Usopp says exasperatedly, and Zoro scowls because all day the only thing he has been doing is listening to everyone yell at him and argue with him –

"What I mean," Usopp says hurriedly. "Is how you're not listening to us when we tell you that you're losing your memories."

Zoro scowls harshly. That shit again –

"See!" Usopp says. "That. Just like that. You just outright refuse to believe it!"

"Because it's not possible," Zoro hisses.

Usopp groans, slouching in his seat. "Literally my point, right there."

"Don't you think I would know if I'd be losing my memories?"

"Obviously not since you're losing your memories!"

"No," Zoro says defiantly. "I know my mind better than anyone. Nothing is missing, it's all there. The only thing out of the ordinary here is that girl. She shows up, and suddenly everything gets out of whack. You guys are acting weird, and now this ship materializes out of nowhere. This ship is probably hers, most likely used her powers to bring us here."

"You sound insanely paranoid, you know."

Zoro shoots him a dark look. "Don't call me crazy."

Usopp raises his hands defensively. "Right, sorry. I only mean that your theory doesn't make sense. First of all, what kind of Devil Fruit power can make us teleport onto another ship and mess with our minds?"

Zoro considers that. Two Devil Fruit powers? No, that's not possible. The only person who has that kind of power is Blackbeard, and that son of a bitch managed that through some weird loophole from his first Devil Fruit or something.

"A teleportation Devil Fruit," Zoro says slowly. "That can also teleport in new memories."

Usopp's hands run down his face. "Oh my god. Fine, OK. Let's say that's the case. Then why would she mess with our memories and not yours? Why do you get to be the normal one here?"

That one's easy. "I've trained my mind for years to withstand mental distractions. Her powers don't work on me."

Usopp hangs his head in exasperation.

Then he sits up just as quickly and asks, "Fine. Then what's her endgame here? If she wanted to kill us, couldn't she have done that by now? Wouldn't she have teleported Luffy into the ocean? Or made us all try to kill each other? Or teleported us to a Marine prison? Why would she try to insert herself into this crew? Why would she want to be our Navigator? Why–"

"I don't know!" Zoro exclaims.

The room falls silent again.

The grip on his knees is excruciatingly tight, and Zoro realizes it's his own hands. He's tense, rigid. His head is throbbing again. Fuck.

He lets out a slow breath through his nose. "I don't know why any of this is happening."

Usopp doesn't say anything. He looks away, biting his lip. He doesn't know why any of this is happening either.

A swordfish passes through the aquarium, its pointed nose lightly tapping against the glass as it turns its body to disappear within the multicolored reefs. An orange octopus pulses across the water, paying no heed to the fish in its way.

"Do you remember Arlong Park?" Usopp asks suddenly, his voice leveled.

Zoro narrows his eye. Is this another interrogation, like Robin's earlier? Zoro doesn't let himself be caught off guard by the question, and answers just as swiftly, "Of course I do."

Usopp nods. "Do you remember why we went there?"

"Our ship got stolen."

"By who?"

How am I supposed to remember such a small detail from two years ago? Zoro racks his brain for the memory. "I don't know, a fishman or something. I wasn't really paying attention to who was on the ship since, if you remember, I was kind of split in half on the way there."

Usopp opens his mouth, closes it. "Fair," he concludes. "OK, then why did we fight Arlong and his goons? Why didn't we just take our ship and leave?"

Zoro's hand reaches for chest, fingering the scar on running down his body and recalling that ridiculous fight he had with Hachi. The cook was fighting a fishman, too, as was Usopp. Luffy was fighting Arlong. The fight was intense, and Luffy was genuinely angry at Arlong.

"You . . . " Zoro starts to say, and now his head is really hurting. "You were attacked. We heard from Johnny that you got killed by . . ."

"By who?"

"One of Arlong's men." Zoro grits his teeth. But it was a fake out. Usopp was fine, he had escaped. He wasn't hurt at all. I was captured, too, at one point, Zoro recalls. But then I freed myself. No, one of Arlong's men helped me escape. Why would they help me escape? Why have I never thought of that until now?

"It was Nami," Usopp says. "The only reason we stayed in Arlong Park was because of Nami. That was her island. Her home. She asked us to save her. And we did. None of us had any reason to put our lives on the line there, but we did because we were doing it for Nami."

Zoro grits his teeth. "But she wasn't there."

He remembers everything about that island, about that fight. There aren't any gaps, any blurs or censors. The memory of Arlong Park is there, fresh and crisp. He can even recall the deliriousness of his fever, the annoyance of fighting Hachi, the desperation to get Luffy out of the water.

And Nami isn't in any of that.

Zoro presses the palms of hands onto his eyes. He sees black.

He hears Usopp say, "She was, because you were there with her. We were all there. And then, after – do you remember Whisky Peak? It was Nami that arranged for us to rescue Vivi and take her back to Alabasta –"

"I'm done talking about this." Zoro mutters, dropping his hands. His voice comes out as a deep rumble. Black spots bloat his vision like droplets of ink in water. Damn, I squeezed my eyes too tightly.

"But we need to talk about it!"

He blinks the dark spots away. "It isn't talking if every sentence of yours starts with do you remember?"

His vision is slow to adjust itself. Zoro is getting annoyed and blinks furiously. He hears Usopp laugh sheepishly, "Ah, I guess I have been saying that a lot . . ."

"No shit." Zoro rubs his eyes again, blinking some more. The scope of his vision seems to have . . . gotten smaller? He blinks once, twice, three times, and keeps going from there.

He hears Usopp sigh. "Fine. But that still doesn't – what, uh. What's up the blinking? Are you trying to send a secret message? Is that Morse Code?"

Zoro is still blinking furiously at the ground, but his vision is still messed up. What the hell is happening? He rubs both eyes angrily, but he can't get his sight to readjust.

"Zoro?"

"Fucking eyes," Zoro says by way of explanation.

"Huh?"

Zoro twists in his seat. He stares at the glass of the aquarium, focusing on the surface to bring out his reflection, trying to see if he popped his eyeballs or something stupid like that. His reflection surfaces. He sees the green of his hair, then his face and all its features.

But the face that stares back at him isn't his own.

What the–

No, wait. That is his face. But it's . . . different.

He blinks slowly, but only one eye in the reflection blinks back. He brings up his hand to touch his left eye, and the reflection brings up its own hand to touch its scarred eye. Zoro wills his eye to open, but it doesn't.

"Hey . . . ?"

Zoro looks down at his hands. His forearms are wider than he recalls. He touches his chest, then his arms. Their size and mass have increased. This isn't my body, Zoro thinks, and the thought fills the pit of his stomach with black dread. But at the same, time it is.

". . . Zoro, you're freaking me out."

He swallows and turns to Usopp, saying, "I –"

Then instantly jumps out of his seat as if it burned him.

Usopp is up, too. "What!? What is it? Is something here? Are we under attack? Is there something on my face?"

But that isn't Usopp.

No, it can't be.

But it looks just like him – the nose, the hair, his eyes, even his voice, it all matches back to Usopp.

But . . . he's so much more different.

Zoro doesn't know what the right word to describe it is, but just how Zoro's body seems to have gotten larger, so has Usopp's.

If that even is Usopp.

Zoro licks his lips, tentatively asks, ". . . Usopp?"

"Yeah?" Is the response, without missing a beat.

That is Usopp.

Zoro looks down at his body. He's taller than he last remembered. His clothes are different, too. I wasn't wearing this a minute ago, he thinks, eyeing the green garment with scrutiny. His body feels sore and worn, like it's covered in dozens of bruises, and there's a tight pain just above his middle. Did I get hurt or something? He runs a hand through his hair. It's longer than before.

He looks back at Usopp, then has to turn his head slightly to actually see the sharpshooter since his vision has been halved. Usopp's hair is longer, he notices. There's a cut on his lip, and a bruise underneath his eye. Was there a fight? His arms have more meat on them, too. He's gotten taller, as well. He looks more . . . mature.

How is that possible?

"Did you do this?" Zoro asks slowly. His voice is so gruff.

"Do what?" God, even Usopp's voice sounds a bit deeper.

Zoro gestures to himself wildly, then to Usopp. "This. This! Are you the one doing this? Is this some sort of trick?"

"I-I'm not – I don't know what you're talking about."

Zoro grits his teeth harshly, not knowing how else to explain it. "This! The way we look! Our clothes, hair, fucking body – everything's changed! How did you do that?"

"I really, really, really don't know what you're talking about!"

Zoro spins, stares at his reflection again. A brown fish swims past his head's reflection, giving more contrast to his face. There's a scar on my eye. He touches his eye, feeling the raised skin that slashes over the lid.

"There's a scar on my eye."

He turns around to Usopp, but the sharpshooter doesn't say anything. He doesn't look like he knows he's supposed to say anything. Zoro gestures at him to say something.

"Um, yes? There is?"

"There wasn't one there before!"

"Before what?"

"Before a fucking minute ago, Usopp!" Zoro scowls. "Why the hell haven't you noticed yet!"

"Because there's nothing to notice! I don't know what you're talking about, Zoro. Literally nothing has happened between now and a minute ago. Nothing has changed. Everything is the same."

"The same? Our clothes changed – our bodies changed –I'm missing a fucking eye!"

"You've always –" Usopp leaves his mouth open, but no other words tumble out. Then he closes his mouth and says, " . . . Oh." Another beat passes and he says, "Ohhhhhhh," letting the one word drag out. Then finally, his eyes widen and he says, "Oh, shit."

"What?" Zoro asks impatiently. He crosses his arms, and frowns at how hard it is get his bulky arms to sit atop each other over his even bulkier chest.

Usopp's fingers start fluttering about in that nervous nature of his. He acts and speaks just like Usopp, but at the same time it's not the same. It's not him, not really, not exactly. Usopp looks around, anxious, then starts rubbing his neck. "Ah – OK, don't panic. Let's not panic. Panicking is not good."

"I'm not panicking."

"Well I definitely am." Usopp licks his lips, then his expression morphs into faux encouragement. "N-Not! Ha ha, I mean, I'm not panicking. Because t-there's nothing to panic about. Y-Yeah!"

Zoro narrows his eyes – eye, singular, he only has one fucking eye! – and says, "What –"

"Let's!" Usopp interrupts hurriedly. "Let's go find the others! The others, yeah! Let's go talk to them! They'll know what to do!"

"Do?" But Usopp has already grabbed his arm, and Zoro finds himself being dragged out of the room with the aquarium and down the hall.

Zoro can't help but rub at the eye that won't open. Is there even an eye in there? He thinks. Then, more absurdly, did someone take my eye? He finds himself having trouble walking, his body not being used to being carried by the new appendages. If this is even my body.

They round a corner, and Zoro bumps into a wall. "Usopp," he hisses, but the sharpshooter waves off his protests and leads him through a door. Zoro recognizes that door from earlier. The kitchen, where Franky and I were before.

Usopp opens it and shouts without preamble, "GUYS!"

Behind the door reveals rest of the crew, seated around the table, clearly all taken aback by the interruption. An assortment of beverages is laid out on the table ranging from tea to coffee to wine.

Everyone's head shoots at their abrupt entrance, and Usopp is already talking in nervous and rapid tones, arms waving around frantically –

It's all muted to Zoro.

He's absolutely dumbstruck by the scene before him.

What the hell is going on?

The rest of the crew is seated around the table – but no, no, no, no, they're not the crew. They're not his crew.

His heart is beating loudly. The air feels thin, too thin.

Everyone in this room looks like the Straw Hat crew, but they're different. Just like how Zoro and Usopp are different, they're different, too. They're different, not the same as before. Is this really them? No, no, it can't be. Who are they? Are they really his nakama?

Franky is freakin' huge, and his hair is practically shaved off. I saw Franky barely an hour ago, Zoro thinks wildly. He looked nothing like that. Did he change his body that dramatically within an hour? Beside him is Robin, who's hair is slicked back and longer. A wig? Why would she need a wig? The cook's hair seems to have been parted to the other side, and since when was that fucker able to grow facial hair? Chopper is a bit taller and Brook looks practically the same, but his wardrobe has changed to something more atrocious than usual. Luffy is sitting on top of the table with his legs crossed next to Nami –

Nami.

Zoro sees red.

"YOU!" He shouts, and lunges forward with a furious intent to end it right now, hand on his sword's hilt, just one single swipe and it's over –she's the one, it's her, she's fucking with us, toying with us, she's trying to –

He doesn't get a chance to take a second step forward, not even enough time to pull out his sword. He's slammed to the ground just as instantly. Fuck–!

His head hits the wooden floor hard, but Zoro is undeterred. He ignores the ringing in his ears and the ache in his jaw and tries to reach for his sword while Franky's massive body pins him down.

It's not working. He can't get his hands behind him with Franky holding him down. In his struggles he catches a glimpse of Nami's petrified face and his rage intensifies. He shoves Franky off him and barks, "You did this! You and your fucking –"

Then Sanji is on top of him, and even Usopp too, and Franky's hands return and Zoro is shoved back to the ground. There's shouting all around him, a flurry of activity and motions and harsh voices and even crying? Sanji is yelling, "Hold him down, Franky, what the hell are you –" and Franky is yelling, "I'm trying, I'm trying! He's too –" and Usopp is yelling, "Don't let him grab his swords! Zoro, you need to calm down –"

It's madness. He can hear the other crew members amidst it all, and it's all madness. Madness all around him and madness inside it, and all he wants to do is put an end to it. Just end it, make it stop, make it all fucking stop–

And then Luffy says, "What's up, Zoro?"

And everything stops.

Zoro stops struggling. Franky stops shoving, Sanji's grip relaxes a bit, and Usopp takes a small step back. No one speaks, no one shouts. He doesn't even think anyone is breathing any more.

Luffy is sitting on top of the table, his feet now dangling over the edge playfully. He's got a large glass cup in his hands, nearly empty of the smoothie he was drinking. He makes a loud sluuuuuuuuurp sound as he drinks the remainder of the pink mush through a bright green straw.

Everyone watches him, frozen in time.

Then Luffy burps.

"Woo, I'm stuffed! That was delicious, thank you Sanji!" Luffy says cheerfully.

No one's expression even comes close to the lighthearted tone in Luffy's voice. The cook doesn't even acknowledge the compliment, but Zoro could hear him swallow nervously.

Luffy wipes down his face with the back of his arms. "Aw, I'm all sticky now. Hey, Nami?"

The girl starts at the call of her name. "Yeah?"

Zoro feels something turn frigid inside him at how nonchalantly Luffy is able to speak to the girl. His captain asks her, "Can you run me a bath? I want it to be suuuuper hot so that it feels like I'm in a spa! Please? Please?"

The tension in the air is so chilled that it makes the hairs on the back of Zoro's neck prickle. Luffy doesn't seem to feel it. He doesn't even seem to notice that three of his crew mates have Zoro held down like some wild animal.

Nami glances over to Luffy, and something passes between them - Zoro doesn't miss it. Their eyes have a silent conversation and Zoro can see the understanding it produces.

Nami's shoulders sag, and she musters a sad smile and says, ". . . Sure, Luffy. I'll go and run you a bath. It'll be ready when you get there."

Her heels click softly as she crosses the room. She doesn't meet anyone's eyes and lets herself out, closing the door with a soft tap.

They watch Luffy, waiting.

Their captain breaks the silence with another burp. "So," he starts casually. "What's up, Zoro? Usopp says you forgot something again. That sucks."

Usopp flinches slightly at his name being said. Zoro isn't fazed by the atmosphere or his captain's blasé attitude.

He plants his hands on the ground and surges to his feet, shoving Franky, Usopp, and Sanji off him in that one motion. They don't put up any resistance, nor do they try to restrain him again.

Standing, Zoro is facing Luffy from across the table. Luffy, who acts like Luffy and talks like Luffy and sounds like Luffy but there's so much about him that isn't Luffy. Are you even Luffy?

"I didn't forget anything," he tells him. He points to the door. "It's that girl. She's doing something to all of you, messing with your heads or something."

Luffy cocks his head to the side. "Eh? Didn't I already say it's not Nami?"

Zoro feels his frustration spread to the rest of his body like a tenacious disease. He spreads his arms, gesturing to everyone. "Then how do you explain this?"

"Explain what?"

"This! Everything! Everyone's changed except her! None of you look like you do – it's like, fuck! I'm sick and tired of being the only one noticing this! And damn well tired of all of you acting like nothing's wrong!"

Luffy gnaws on the end of his plastic straw. "But we did notice the changes, Zoro. It's all in your head that's changing. Your memories are leaving, but don't worry. We'll get them back. So, what did you forget now? Usopp said something about forgetting about the way we look?"

"A-Ah, t-that's not exactly," Usopp begins to stutter out, but Zoro cuts him off –

"I didn't forget anything!" Zoro shouts with finality. Usopp yelps and Chopper squeals, but Zoro doesn't care anymore because they're all stringing him along and not listening! And now they've got Luffy believing this bullshit! "You've all had your appearances changed, and mine, too, but I'm the only one who's noticing it!"

They could be impostors, Zoro's mind supplies, and the idea is outlandish and absurd as hell, but back on Sabaody there was a group of Pirates impersonating their crew – albeit extremely poorly – so the idea can not be that far-fetched, definitely not as far-fetched as memory loss –

Luffy looks down at himself curiously. "Hm? I changed? I don't feel like I've changed. I haven't even changed my shirt for days! You look the same, too, Zoro. Maybe I just don't get it."

"There's nothing to get! I'm missing a fucking eye! And you – you've got that massive scar on your chest–"

"I've always had this."

"No, you haven't!" Zoro snaps back. His eyes lock on the scar underneath Luffy's open shirt – but, no. That was never there – I would have noticed if Luffy ever had a scar like that, hell the wound that would have caused that would be impossible to ignore! "I saw you not even an hour ago, Luffy, and you did not have that."

"Yes, I did. Are you just noticing it now? I've had it for two years, got it when Ace died. Your eye was like that for two years, too –"

"What? Ace isn't dead."

The cup in Luffy's hand shatters loudly.

Everyone flinches, Zoro included. The shards of glass trickle onto the ground, filling the dead silence with it's haunting ting, ting, ting sounds.

Luffy's hand is still a tight fist. His expression is no longer carefree. "I told you this joke wasn't funny."

Zoro doesn't know what to say, suddenly frozen in his spot. The glare Luffy throws his way is unnerving, and Zoro has no idea why it's directed his way. What the hell – why's he so angry all of a sudden? He's the one that's spouting all these weird lies –

Robin stands up. "Luffy," she says sternly. Her hair is tied back in a loose braid, and Zoro thinks, no, her hair was never that long – how did it get to be that long? That's not Robin, not really.

The reprimand in her voice has an effect.

Luffy's fist loosens.

". . . Ah," he says after a beat. "Right. I forgot."

Forgot? Forgot what? What's he talking about?

Luffy shakes his hand, letting the rest of the glass fall. "Sorry, Sanji. I'll clean it up later."

He hears the cook mutter something behind him, but Zoro doesn't pay any heed to it. He's watching as Luffy let's the tension melt away from his body. It's like he's forcing himself to stop being angry. No, it's – I don't get it. Why is he acting so weird? Is that even Luffy –

Luffy hops off the table, his sandals crunching the glass beneath them. Their eyes meet, and Luffy says, "Zoro lost the memory of Ace being dead, but that's alright. We can catch you up on everything you forgot. Your eye's gonna be tricky to explain, since I don't know what you did with it –"

Zoro feels like the world is collapsing around him behind the scenes and he's the only one noticing it. He cuts Luffy off immediately, "Stop it." The words come out as a hiss, a warning, because he can't take any more changes. "What is this? What's really going on? And don't try to feed me that memory loss bullshit!"

The question is directed at Luffy, at Robin, at the whole crew, at the red-headed girl if she's listening, even at the universe if it gives a shit. He doesn't care who answers. He just needs an answer that makes sense! Why can't he get that? Why is everything so messed up –

"Zoro." Robin takes the mantle. Unflinching and poised, she tells him, "The reason why we look different is because you've forgotten the events that caused these shifts in our appearances. You lost your eyes during your time training with Mihawk. Luffy received his scar during the Summit War from Akainu's attack."

"That never happened." Zoro tells her easily, confidently, because what the hell kind of ludicrous nonsense is that? Training with Mihawk, of all people? Did she think he was a big enough idiot to believe a lie that outrageous? "None of that ever happened."

"It did. It happened when we left Sabaody Island and had gotten separated."

"After Sabaody Island we went to Fishman Island," Zoro snaps, his impatience impossible to restrain. She should know this! The others, too! They should all be contradicting her, telling her the same thing he is. 

She doesn't know what really happened because she's an impostor, his mind tells him, the once unbelievable thought suddenly sounding very certain of itself. Robin never gets anything wrong, never mixes information. She should know this just as he does, but she doesn't –

"Yes," Robin tells him patiently, and Zoro feels a small sliver of hope, that he might have finally gotten through to her – "We did go to Fishman Island after Sabaody Island. But two years before that, we were also in Sabaody Island, that being the first time. We encountered a Marine Admiral and a Warlord, and we had all gotten separated for two years –"

The sliver of hope slinks away – "I didn't even know you two years ago!"

He feels himself getting dizzy from all the false timelines being thrown at him. Are they impostors? Or are they mistaking me for someone else? What kind of sick joke are they playing at here?

Sanji makes a frustrated noise behind him. "Idiot! Don't you get it? You've had two years of memories wiped clean from your head, just like how your memories of Nami-san and Sunny are gone. You probably don't even know how old you are."

Zoro twists around. "You shut up!"

"Zoro –"

"Enough!" He shouts out blindly. He reaches down and grabs Wado from the floor, points it at Sanji so he can back off, points it Franky so he doesn't even think about trying to grab him again, and then Zoro turns and points –

"You're going to point your sword at your captain, Zoro?" Luffy asks.

God, hearing that coming from Luffy's mouth makes his nerves rigid like marble, but no, that's not him! That's not – "You're not my captain."

Fuck – he shouldn't have said that out loud. Hearing himself say it makes him nauseous. Luffy would never forgive me for saying something so stupid. But, goddammit, what else is there to say! What else can explain all this shit that makes sense and doesn't make him be the crazy one, the sick one, the mad one –

"Oh?" Luffy looks amused. "Really? Wow! Congratulations, then!"

The sword nearly slips from his grip. "What?"

Luffy looks completely unfazed, and not in the usual way where he doesn't understand what's going on and is just rolling with it. No, he looks like he knows exactly what he heard and isn't even fazed by it.

Luffy shrugs, saying as if it were obvious, "Well, if I'm not your captain, then you're not a Pirate anymore, right? Which means you must have become the World's Greatest Swordsman! So, congrats. Man, that's pretty cool."

A quick glance tells Zoro that he isn't the only confused person in the room. He always felt like he was the best at interpreting Luffy's nonsense, but this is way beyond his scope. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Luffy – but is it really Luffy? I can't read him at all, and I can always, always read him. And that scar, that ugly, gruesome, painful scar on his chest. Luffy doesn't have that. He doesn't, I know it. And he knows that Ace is alive, because why the hell wouldn't he be? He would have heard something of that magnitude, if anything he should have heard about it at the same time as Luffy. But I didn't, but this Luffy thinks its true, and this whole crew thinks it's true. Why? Fucking how? –

Luffy says, "Didn't you say you'll only be a pirate to fulfill your dreams? I'm not very good at math, but if I'm not your captain anymore, then you're not a pirate anymore, which means you fulfilled your dreams."

His head is throbbing mercilessly, like there's something in there trying to get out. "How do you know that?" He says, no, he chokes out the words, like they're the only bubbles of air in this ocean of madness he's drowning in.

"Because you told me. Or did you forget that, too?"

He did tell Luffy that, a lifetime ago. When he was nothing to the world and Luffy was everything. He was tied to a post, propped up for execution, and then Luffy stumbled into the picture, and an agreement was made, spoken between only the two of them. Only Luffy could possibly know that. There's no one else who knows that, particularly no one in this room. Only Luffy.

There's a roar in his head. It's ferocious. "I can't–" Zoro bites out.

He's gripping his sword tightly, but it's not pointed at anyone anymore. He doesn't remember when he lowered it so it kisses the ground. He doesn't remember when he put his other hand on his head, pressing down on where the pain is most acute. "I can't keep track of what's real and . . . what's different."

Luffy steps over the broken glass, crushing it underneath his thin sandals. He walks around the table until he's standing right in front of Zoro. Shame keeps Zoro from meeting his eyes. Shame and exhaustion.

"Zoro," Luffy says. "I'm your Captain, aren't I?"

A muted nod from Zoro. He can feel the others' eyes around him, but the tension in the room has dissipated. No longer is there a sense of urgency in the air, of worry and panic and fear. No, there is only patience as their replacement. Everyone is so patient. Because that's how this crew is. My crew.

Luffy grabs his hand, then slowly untangles each finger from Wado's grip. "Then you should have trust in your Captain," he says as he pulls each finger. He hands are warm, gentle, and very much real. "Trust your Captain, even when he says crazy things like you've got memory loss."

Zoro's hand falls to his side, empty. Luffy holds Wado gently with both. Luffy's expression finally makes sense to him. It's determined and resolute, and just the sight of the expression fills Zoro with drop of hope.

Luffy's voice is quiet, but strong. "You should have trust in your crew, too, 'cause your Captain definitely does. We're gonna help you fix this, because this isn't just your fight. We're all in his together. We'll make everything make sense again, I promise."

He cannot help but ask, "How?"

He hears Sanji light a cigarette behind him. Franky's shoulders whir as he rolls them. Robin pushes her chair in before stepping beside Luffy. Chopper sniffs loudly, pumping his chest. Brook adjusts his tie with a delicate hand. Usopp pats his back softly.

Luffy grins, this time a real one. A smile so bright it puts the sun to shame. "Just leave that to us!"

– END OF PART 1

Chapter 5: The Headache

CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

 

 

---

A massive headache pulls him from his sleep. It grabs him from the sides of his head, threatening to tear his skull apart. The pain is sharp, burning, and blindingly excruciating.

Zoro sits up with a stifled gasp. The hammock swings from the movement. Around him is pitch black darkness. The damp air is filled with the sounds of his crewmates' snores, both soft and boorish. Zoro struggles to hear it through the sound of his heart beating through his ears.

The headache doesn't alleviate while he's sitting up. His new position makes him feel dizzy and nauseous. Zoro grits his teeth harshly. What the hell, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the pain to go away. Fucking—!

Air, he decides. He needs some air. Being inside is suddenly too stifling for him. He can feel the sweat beginning to form on his brow. I need some fucking air. He stumbles out of the hammock quietly, surprising even himself at how sleuth he manages it.

He pads his way out of the room. The room is unfamiliar in the darkness, but he supposes that would hold true even with daylight. The sleeping quarters, maybe? His eyes catch his sleeping crewmates as he stumbles through, taking stock each one along the way. Luffy, he counts. The cook . . . Usopp . . . Chopper . . . Franky . . . Brook. A strange sort of relief hits him.

No one new, he thinks with a dry swallow. Good.

He pushes the door open and lets himself out. The cool night air splashes him in the face. Zoro soaks it in. The air tastes like salt and dew. It makes the hair on the back of his neck rise. He takes a few breathes, each one deeper than the last. The headache slips away as abruptly as it arrived.

He closes the door behind him gently before making his away across the unfamiliar deck. The wooden floors are wet and chilled against his bare feet. It doesn't bother Zoro much. If anything, it's a relief to feel. His body feels unnaturally warm and any cold contact is appreciated.

When he reaches the rails and looks down at the sleeping ocean, he realizes that the nausea he felt earlier never left. His stomach flips and twitches, and before Zoro can react, he's hurling his dinner straight into the unsuspecting sea.

Great, he thinks once he finishes emptying his stomach. He spits once for good measure, almost begrudgingly. Then the exhaustion pounces on him like a startled cat, and he gracelessly sits down on the ground, leaning back against the rails.

Just what I needed, he thinks bitterly, watching his hands shake involuntarily. Some stupid stomach bug on top of all this other shit.

He lets his head hit the back of the rail and stares up at the stars tiredly. There's a million of them up there, all glaring down at him. He closes his eyes and swallows thickly.

He sits there for some time, letting the stark silence envelope him. He's unnaturally tired all of a sudden, and it's not the sort of tiredness that can be relieved with sleep. It's bone deep exhaustion. Every part of his feels worn out, overused and overstimulated.

At least the headache is gone, he decides. The nauseating feeling in his stomach hasn't, however. It's lurking there, that feeling, coiling around his insides, making him feel an awfulness that threatens to drive him to sickness all over again. The hell did I eat?

He licks his lips and cringes at the taste. He brings up his hand to wipe at his mouth, but once he opens his eyes, he sees a hand in front of him, holding a napkin.

He looks up to see Robin standing over him.

She's smiling through the darkness, her eyes shining. Her long hair wraps around her neck with the help of the dusk wind. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to that, this new appearance of hers. He's tempted to reach out and pull at those dancing strands, just to see if she was wearing a wig to mess with him.

Instead, Zoro takes the offered napkin and grunts, "Thanks."

She nods, then sits herself next to him uninvited. "Midnight stargazing?"

"Something like that," he murmurs, wiping his mouth with the napkin then tossing it over the rails. He forgets the awful feeling in his stomach for now, which he realizes is something he was desperately trying to be distracted from. "You?"

She crosses her legs while Zoro keeps his outstretched. "It's my turn for watch duty. My shift started an hour ago. I came down to make myself a fresh cup of coffee."

He sees the cup in her hand, and notices that it's not steaming. She was down here for a while, then. He summarizes. Probably at the same time I came up . . . hope she didn't see me puke my insides out. The last thing I need is Chopper and the rest of them freaking out about more things being wrong with me.

She catches him looking at the cup and says, "If the smell is bothering you . . . " she trails off knowingly, confirming to Zoro that she was around while he was sick. Nothing escapes this damn woman, he thinks, though not unkindly.

"I'm fine," he sighs, staring back at the stars. "Just had a bitch of a headache."

"Mm." She takes a sip from her cup. The smell floods Zoro's nose and he tries not to cringe. "That's unfortunate. I'm sure Chopper has something in his office that would alleviate it."

He shakes his head, "It's gone now." He brings up a hand to massage his temple. The dull throbbing is still there, but it's not unbearable like before. "Just a stupid migraine. I don't need anything."

"That's good to hear." She doesn't sound convinced. Zoro grunts, and they sit in silence for some time, listening to the ocean breathe.

The slow rocking of the ship makes his slip into unconsciousness all the more tempting, and his eyes begin drooping. Robin nudges his shoulder with her own, "I hope you're not planning on sleeping out here. It's quite cold."

He doesn't feel cold. He feels comfortably warm, like a fur blanket has wrapped itself around his body. Even his head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. He picks his head up to stop it from listing. "I'll go in in a bit," He mutters after a beat. He takes a long breath through his nose. "I like the quiet."

Robin hums in agreement. Her soft voice flows in with the splashing waves, "I'm sure. One can only imagine the horrendous noises our crew mates make in their sleep. It must be torture for whoever is unfortunate enough to be conscious to hear it."

A smirk creeps on his face. "You get used to it, after a while." He certainly has. Between Luffy's snoring, Usopp's murmured conversations, the cook's kissing noises, Franky's mechanical whirring, and Brook's clattering bones, there is never a moment of absolute quiet in the Men's Quarters. But Zoro doesn't mind. He can sleep through anything, and those noises are somewhat . . . comforting to him.

Robin smiles as well. "Ah, I bet. A deep contrast to my nights; both Nami and myself are sound sleepers, so our room remains whimsically silent."

His smile falters at the name. Nami. He tries not to show it on his face, but just the thought of that woman makes him uneasy. His hand instinctively reaches for his swords, but he only grasps empty air.

A thought crosses his mind, and he clears his throat before asking, "How's it going, sharing the room with . . . " he racks his brain for the right way to refer to her – the new person? The old companion? The stranger? The friend? "–Nami?"

He unequivocally doubts that that skinny red headed girl can take on Robin, asleep or awake. Robin isn't helpless, and definitely not weak in any sense of the word. She can defend herself quite well, and even when she goes on the offensive, she's a force to be reckoned with. But still. Zoro is hesitant about the idea of them sharing a small space together. Even if they tell him otherwise, Nami is a stranger to him. And having a stranger within the ship and so close to his crew makes Zoro wary.

Robin is unperturbed, only smiling as she responds, "It's going very well, thank you for asking. Nami is a lovely girl, very intelligent and delightful. It's a shame you can't remember her. You two got along so well."

Zoro snorts despite himself. "Yeah, I doubt that." He remembers all the encounters he had with her, and her expression had always been the same. "All she does is glare at me."

Robin says into her mug, "Naturally. She is rather upset."

Zoro growls. "I barely grazed her!"

Robin lifts a hand— "You're mistaken. That's not what she's upset about, although it is what Cook-san is upset about. No, Nami is simply hurt you don't remember her."

This shit again. His headache shifts, and the dull throbbing becomes a tight whistling, sharp and piercing. Zoro purses his lips. "Well, I don't know what to tell you, or her. I can't exactly remember someone I've never seen before. She's just not . . ." he motions to his head. "Not there."

And for the millionth time today, he searches his mind for this girl again, just to triple confirm. Goes back to before they had the fallout on the ship earlier this morning, back to before they docked on the island, before Fishman Island, before Sabaody, before everything, but she isn't there. She never is and never was.

Robin is looking at him sadly. "I'm not blaming you. Nor is anyone else. I only want you to empathize with her, to try to see that her emotions are warranted."

Zoro scowls, but Robin continues before he can respond. "Imagine, for a moment, if you approached Luffy, and he had no recollection of you. If he began treating you like a stranger. Talking to you as if you don't share a history. Wouldn't that upset you?"

The whistling headache begins to roar, like a gust of howling wind. Zoro lets his mind go blank, then imagines the scenario Robin cooked up. He doesn't make it very far— just the imagery of it makes a dreadful feeling manifest in the pit of his stomach. "Luffy's an idiot, but he'd never forget me. Or any of us."

"Precisely. We thought the same thing of you."

He doesn't know if that was meant to insult him or compliment him. He brings a hand up and cradles his head roughly, saying, "Look. You can explain it to me a million and one ways, but it's not gonna make a difference. If I knew how to fix this, I would. I'm not exactly happy about being out of the loop here, you know."

She cocks her head, letting one strand of hair rest against her nose. "Is that what it feels like, for you? You feel out of the loop?"

He shrugs exasperatedly. "I feel like you guys have been hiding shit from me and just now decided to tell me about it— and yes, I know that sounds stupid, I've already heard it from Usopp. Not exactly easy to hide a crewmate, or a ship, or two damn years from someone, but that's what it feels like and that's what makes the most sense."

"Perhaps it does make the most sense to you," Robin says gently. "But you're also right in that it sounds stupid." Zoro shoots her a dirty look, and she amends, "Swordsman-san, you're a smart man. Do you really think we'd be able to hide any of these things– Nami, the ship, the two years of adventures– without your knowledge?"

No, no he doesn't. And he knows that. He knows there's no way they could pull off hiding a crew mate, hiding scarring injuries and growing hairs and cumulative body mast without his knowledge – there's no way. But the alternative explanation is even more impossible —

"I know, but—" His head whines, and he breaks his glance with Robin. His stomach jeers with nausea again. I'm going to chuck myself in the ocean if I throw up again, he thinks, but the feeling in his stomach is different from before. It's more chilling, and hollow . . .

"We aren't that heartless," Robin says quietly, pulling him back to the conversation. "To do such a cruel thing to you."

He tightens his jaw. "I know."

"Then why do you insist otherwise?"

Dread. He recognizes the feeling in his stomach not as nausea, but as dread. Horrible, black, inkling dread that coils around his ribs, burning through the bone and dripping into his stomach. A sense of foreboding that's so strong, it's a physical feeling, making the pit of his stomach feel like an abyss. Every time Robin opens her mouth, he realizes he's dreading the words she'll feed him.

He can feel himself becoming pale. "I'd rather that than the alternative." He bites out. "Better than having early onset dementia"

Recognition flashes in her eyes, and Robin purses her lips tightly. The reference clearly doesn't escape her. "You were listening," she murmurs, disappointed. "We were only trying to help."

"By conspiring behind my back?"

"It wasn't conspiring, Zoro. We were trying to think of a solution. What you heard was taken out of context."

"I know damn well what the context is," he scowls. He brings up another hand to his head, pushing down on the pain. "So, did you guys manage to find a solution out of this secret meeting? Or am I going to wake up tomorrow with purple hair and have you all convince me it was like that from the very beginning?"

She doesn't respond to his jibe. Instead, her brow furrows, and she sets her mug down. "Are you alright? Your headache . . ."

"I'm fine," he tells her and himself. He pulls his hand away from his head, clenches it into a fist against his side. "It's fine. I'm just sick of having this conversation over and over again, everyone telling me how I'm wrong but no one coming up with a way to prove otherwise."

Robin is unbothered by the bitterness in his tone. She looks at him like he's the saddest thing in the world. "We're worried about you, Zoro. That's all. But we're not ignoring your predicament. We will help you."

"How?"

"Plume Island."

"Plume Island?" The name sounds both familiar and foreign to him. He swallows and notices his throat is painfully dry.

"Yes. Don't you remember the conversation we all had yesterday when we discussed this? We've concluded that the most likely place to find answers is in Plume Island. We've been derailed for a few days, but we should be back there by morning."

What—

Zoro stares at her, mouth open, but then he winces as another flash of pain runs through his head.

"That doesn't make sense,” is what he manages to bite out.

"It does, and is the only logical conclusion we have. Think about it; you weren't acting this strangely up until three days ago, when we were in Plume Island and the incident with Nami occurred when you returned from your foray into the island. Therefore, we believe that something must have happened in the island to put you in this state and that, naturally, you don't remember it."

Her words dance around him, mocking him, making him dizzy with confusion.

What is she talking about? 

He can hear his heartbeat against his ears, and the banging noise echoes against his skull, making even the attempt of thinking a difficult task. 

—What's happening?

He shakes his head roughly. The millions of stars in the sky seem to be glowing. "No . . . I don't remember that."

Her hand touches his shoulder. It's unbearably hot. ". . . Zoro? You look ghastly."

Like lightning, pain erupts in his head again. He can't help the flinch that comes with it, or the sudden gasp. His head is on fire– no, it's drenched in ice water. No, it's being drilled into— there's something in his head drilling into his brain and it's not stopping until it hits the stem. Drilling, drilling, drilling—

He hears Robin say, "It's getting worse. Your headaches."

"It's fine."

But it's not and he knows it. It won't stop— it's worse than earlier. Why? What is it? He's nearly pulling at his hair— shit, he doesn't even remember putting his hands on his head again. The pain is like a physical screech, never once pausing for breath.

Robin is sitting up on her knees now, alarmed. "It's not. This isn't a migraine. This has something to do with your condition."

"It's not— just," another flash, this time blacking out his vision. "Shit!" He hisses – shouts? He doesn't know. He just needs to make sure he's still awake. He holds onto the rail with a grip like death, letting the physical sensation of feeling ground him in this reality. He needs to stay awake. Stay aware. Stay here. Stay, stay, stay—

His vision is blotchy, but he can see Robin, see her confusion.

"Zoro?"

"I don't remember that." He says again, harsher.

"Remember what? The island?"

”Three days.”

”I don’t understand.”

The dread in his stomach is polluting his blood. He feels cold inside, but his flesh is warm. His headache is something otherworldly, so fierce and terrible that he's tempted to reach over and see if there's a knife lodge in his skull.

"Three days. That's what you said. Why did you say three days?"

"Because that's when it occurred." Robin's hands float over him, like he was something fragile on the verge of breaking down.

"When what occurred?"

"When you forgot Nami."

He shakes his head, almost desperate. "No, that's wrong. That was today. That was this morning." 

“Zoro.” Robin sits up, clutching his shoulder. "Zoro. That happened three days ago."

"Not for me.” He pants, "It wasn't three days. Not for me. You’re wrong. You’re confused.”

"Zoro. Look at me." Robin says. He doesn't realize he has his eyes squeezed shut. He opens them and sees Robin staring fiercely into his eyes. "If that didn't happen for you, then what did?"

Another strike of pain, hot and quick.

"Focus, Zoro."

”I am!”

”What happened in those three days for you?”

"I don't know! I – it only felt like a day. The stuff with Nami . . . it couldn't have been three days ago. I would have noticed. It happened this morning. I know it did."

"But it didn't," she says. "Because we've been out at sea for three days now. The sun has risen and set three times up until now—"

"I didn't fucking see it set once!" Zoro snaps. He is unbelievably tempted to throw himself into the ocean, hoping the ice-cold sea can slap him awake to a world that makes sense.

"Tell me about your day, then. Recount it for me. If three days didn't happen for you, then what happened during your one day?"

"My day. . ." Bang, bang, bang, goes his head, but he dives deep inside it nonetheless, searching for the memories. He starts with the first recollection, seeing the event unfold in his mind with fresh vibrancy, "This morning, I was on the deck. Sleeping. Nami was there, she snuck up on me and I reacted, and then the cook came out, bitching and moaning. That was this morning."

Robin nods, not to confirm his statement but to beckon him to continue.

"Then I was in the kitchen, and everyone was there. Luffy and the others came later, but we were all talking. About me, and the memory loss. We were just talking, and then I . . ."

Something doesn't make sense there. He doesn't know what it is.

He keeps going, "Then I was working out, and I went down and bumped into Franky, and we started talking about the new ship. Then . . ."

A thought occurs to him—

"Then what?" Robin asks.

—The thought is: how did I get from the deck with Sanji and Nami to the kitchen with everybody else?

”Zoro?”

Then: how did I get from the kitchen to the room I was working out in?

His head is numb— impossibly, it feels like it's numb with pain. Like millions of needles are sticking into every nerve, like barbed wire wrapping around his brain and getting tighter and tighter with every breathe. 

I was talking to everyone in the kitchen, and then I was working out. But what happened in between?

". . . Then," he starts hesitantly. "I went to the aquarium room with Usopp," No. I didn't go to that room. I was just there, all of a sudden— "and that's when you all changed, you all looked different . . . and then I woke up and came here . . ." I woke up, but I don't remember falling asleep, climbing into the cot, going to the room. I was talking with Luffy. He told me to trust everyone, and then I was suddenly awake here. How the hell did I get from the kitchen to the bedroom?

He looks at Robin, wonders if she can see the horror on his face. "No. No, it can't— It can't be three days. It never became night until now. I never went on watch duty. Hell, I've only had two meals so far!"

But when Robin shakes her head sadly, Zoro knows that it isn't true. "Three days have passed, Zoro, and you were there for all of it. If that's all you can remember from the last three days, then I fear that your condition is getting worse faster than we originally suspected."

His breaths are ragged. "That's not – that's impossible. I would have remembered."

"Haven't you wondered where your swords are?"

"My– " he puts a hand to waist and feels air. For a moment, he can't breathe. Where are my swords? "They're – I was sleeping. I left them in the room."

"No," Robin says with a sort of finality, like the final bang from a gavel. "Luffy took them from you yesterday. It's being kept safe with him."

"Why?"

"That’s something privy to only you and Luffy. You two had a very long discussion before that decision was made. It’s not something I’d imagine you doing on a whim or without considerable thought…" She frowns. "But you made that decision, but it seems you don't remember doing that."

He sucks in a breath through his teeth when another crack runs through his head. "Shit—"

"Breathe. I've woken Chopper, he should be here soon with something to help." Robin says, and the warm hand is removed from his shoulder.

"Don't– " Another flash. "Fuck!" The pain evolves into something monstrous, and it slams into the side of his head like a physical force. Damn it! He grits his teeth hard, tries to control his breathing, but the pain is absolute agony, flashing through his nerves like static.

"Breathe," he hears Robin tell him again. "Just breathe. Everything will be alright."

But Zoro has the dawning suspicion that it won't.

"Just keep breathing—"

 

Chapter 6: The Symptoms

CHAPTER SIX

---

He gasps awake.

Chopper startles from beside his shoulder, nearly falling off the bed.

Zoro blinks.

He's on a bed.

He's sitting up on the bed, feet outstretched over the blankets, staring at the wall opposite him.

That's . . . a weird way to fall asleep.

There's a hand on his head. It's his hand. It's pressed tightly against the side of his face. Beneath it, his head throbs dully.

Chopper comes around to meet his eyes. "Z-Zoro?"

The little doctor is perched on his bed. He's holding a notebook in his hand. Zoro recognizes it as his medical journal, where he keeps track of each crewmates' health, jotting down every little injury and abnormality the crew intakes. Chopper's had it since he first joined the crew. It looks much more worn out since the last time he'd seen it.

"Are you OK?" Chopper asks in a quiet voice. "Is your head hurting again?"

His head . . . ? His fingers dig into the skin above his eye. It's not so much hurting, in that sense of the word. His head feels like it's overflowing with hot seawater, drowning his brain and all the coherent thoughts it's capable of making. Similar to when he wakes up from a overextended nap.

I must have been out for a while, he thinks.

But . . . no.

It doesn't feel like he was in a state of deep sleep. He still feels tired, yes, but also aware. He works his jaw, trying to keep track of all these oddities. Something's . . . not right here. He feels like he was just pulled from the dark depths of the ocean, seconds away from drowning and only now taking his first breath.

"Zoro?" Chopper asks again. He's fiddling with the notebook, worried.

I should probably say something, Zoro thinks. He moves his hand away from his head, stares at his forearm and the IV needle attached to it. He frowns.

"How long was I out for?" He asks, surprised his words don't come out muddled from sleep.

"What?" Chopper frowns, too.

He opens and closes his hands, testing its mobility. "Was I asleep?" He asks slowly, because his body feels heavier than it should, warmer than it should, but he doesn't feel refreshed.

"Asleep?" The reindeer repeats. "What do you me— Oh no . . . it happened again, didn't it?"

Zoro raises a brow at that. Chopper looks stressed as he vigorously flips through the notebook, his hoof tracing the written words as he reads. "It's just like Robin said . . ." He whispers mournfully.

"What are you talking about?" He blinks. His vision is unfocused when he turns his head too quickly to take in his surroundings. Did I get injured or something . . . ?

He realizes he doesn't know where he is, exactly. He scans the room. It looks like an infirmary, judging by the shelves of medical supplies. But he's still on a ship, judging by the slow rocking beneath him. It must be one of the dozens of rooms in this massive ship. What's it called, Sunny? But why is he in this room, on this bed with a needle in his arm, with Chopper standing beside him in full doctor-mode? Was there a fight? He wonders. His body feels fine, nothing cut or bruised or removed.

And yet something doesn't feel right.

"You weren't sleeping," Chopper tells him. He closes his notebook with a shudder, then gets up to examine Zoro's pulse, eyes, and head.

"Oh. Was I passed out or something, then?"

Chopper pauses during his impromptu checkup and their eyes meet. The worry and frustration in Chopper's eyes are as bright as the sun. "No. You were awake this whole time, Zoro. You never fell asleep or lost consciousness since you got here." The little reindeer jots down a few words in his notebook, his arms quivering. "You were even talking to me. Just a minute ago, you were in the middle of a sentence and then you just . . . gasped, and now you're . . . You don't remember that, do you? It's just like you said. Your memories are disappearing in real time, even the most recent ones. I didn't think it would happen this quickly . . ."

Memories—

The word smacks him in the face. Memories. His mouth runs dry as he digests everything Chopper says. Your memories are disappearing . . . Zoro finds himself holding his head again. His grip is tight.

The night's events start rushing back to him in pieces, each memory a shard of glass inserting itself into his brain. He groans— Shit, that's right. It was night time, he was on the deck, he got sick, he was staring at the stars. His head, his head, his head, his goddamn head. It was being split open, so much so that it roused him from sleep. He'd collapsed on the deck from the agony – it was unnatural, the pain. Absolutely crushing—

"Fuck!" He exclaims, unable to keep in the frustration. Chopper looks sympathetic at the outburst, not surprised at all.

"How much time," Zoro bites out after a tense beat. "How much time passed since I was on deck?" It doesn't feel like any time has passed at all – a blink between events – but he knows, he absolutely knows now that he can't even trust his own mind.

Chopper's shoulders sag. "Is that the last thing you remember? Being on the deck?"

A tight nod from Zoro.

Chopper says, "It's been around four hours. Robin found you outside around midnight. She woke me up and told me about your headache, and we brought you in here. You were in so much pain, but you were coherent and talking to me. You were conscious for the entirety of those four hours . . ."

The unspoken question of 'do you remember any of that?' hangs in the air. Zoro's silence is enough of an answer, and Chopper makes an unpleasant noise. He writes more things down, the scribble of his pencil mimicking a the sound of a shovel digging dirt into a grave.

Four hours . . .

Before it was a day that escaped his mind, now it's hours? A shiver dances its way down his spine. What's happening to me? Days then hours then what? Would he start forgetting every other minute, like some kind of goldfish? How can someone function without retaining any memories—

"God dammit," he curses, this time softer. He doesn't know what else to say. What could he possibly say? It's excruciating enough just to acknowledge it.

He goes to get up.

Chopper startles. "What are you doing!" The little doctor starts pushing him back down.

"I have to see," he starts to say, but the rest of the sentence is incapable of leaving his mouth. He wants to get out of here, but he doesnt really know why. I want to see the outside world; see if the sky is how I remembered it, if the ocean is familiar to me, if the this world is still my world. "I need to know what I missed, how much I've forgotten."

"That's fine, I'll tell you, just—" Another push from Chopper, this time gentler. "Just don't move too much, please? I don't want you getting sick again. Just stay still, OK?"

His stomach twists at Chopper's pleading. He doesn't fight him, letting his back settle against the cool headboard. Chopper looks a little taken aback, and Zoro wonders if it's because he doesn't put up much resistance. He knows that, maybe a day or a week previous, he would never have relented this quickly. That he would have had the energy and fervor to be stubborn. But that was before.

Now he's just . . . tired.

Something Chopper said sticks with him. "Sick again . . ." Zoro repeats with a sigh. "I got sick, before . . ." He stares at the ceiling. There's nothing up there but wood. "I had a bad headache . . . " It was beyond bad, but Zoro doesn't have the bandwidth to search his mind for a more accurate adjective. "—Why?"

Chopper seems to be expecting that question, but also not looking forward to it; he slouches, his shoulder touching Zoro's arm. "I – I don't know, I'm sorry." He sounds genuinely remorseful, and Zoro feels a pang in chest. "At first, I thought it might be a migraine, but historically you've never suffered from those before. And then it escalated so fast and became more consistent that I knew it was something out of the ordinary. It wasn't this bad the first time, and I never expected it to get so much worse."

Zoro clenches his jaw. "This is the first time."

He feels Chopper tense. He doesn't meet his eyes. "No, it's not. You've been having headaches from the beginning, Zoro. For the past couple of days, either you or someone else would come and tell me about them. The first few weren't this bad, but they've progressively gotten worse. I . . . I told you all of this yesterday afternoon."

He's never experienced anything like this before. He doesn't get headaches, or sicknesses, or memory loss– "and you don't know why I'm getting them? The headaches?"

"They must be related to the . . . um, to your condition. There aren't any wounds or bumps on your head. Your eyes aren't dilated, and your speech has never slurred. You haven't been eating or sleeping well lately, so that may have made them worse. Your fever definitely exasperated it, too."

A fever? Zoro rubs his head, aggravated. He feels awful, sure, but he doesn't remember having a fever. Guess that's not the worst thing to forget, he thinks. He licks his lips, tasting the remnants of foulness from the previous night. He'd rather not remember himself being a miserable puddle of sickness.

Chopper seems to read his thoughts. "It was a fleeting fever, and you burnt through it last night, so maybe now your headaches won't be as painful as they were last night."

Knowing his luck, he's doubtful. "Why did I have a fever?"

He seems to be adding another worry line onto Chopper's face with every question he asks. "I don't know. At first, I thought it might have been from the wound on your stomach, but it's not festered or inflamed and nearly healed. When your body temperature kept rising, I knew it was because your body was trying to fight something off. Usually, your body would increase its temperature to fight off an infection or foreign object. I don't know what it is, though, but it's certainly whatever is causing the memory loss."

Wound on my stomach? Zoro looks down on his middle, placing a hand over it. He lifts the blanket, then his shirt, and sees a swath of bandages wrapped around his stomach. He goes to unwrap it, and Chopper makes a noise.

Zoro looks up, and sees Chopper hesitate. But then, a beat passes, and the doctor relents with a nod.

Zoro unwraps the bandages. There's a wound on his stomach. A cut. It's not deep, nor is it wide, but it's grievous enough to warrant treatment. The sliced skin is still a glistening pink, but each end has already begun to scab over.

"For fuck's sake," he hisses, unable to keep his irritation at bay. "And where the hell did this come from?"

"It was after we left the island, when the Marines attacked us and boarded the ship."

The urge to throw something across the room and watch it smash against the wall into a million pieces fills his blood. There's nothing within reach to do so, and he feels his aggravation simmer.

Chopper cocks his head. "You don't rememb—"

"Obviously not!" Zoro snaps.

The room goes still, its silence like a mirror; he sees and hears himself within it and his reflection is suffocating. Chopper shrinks back, looking guilty.

"Shit," Zoro says quickly. His breath comes out like hiss. "Sorry, Chopper. I'm sorry. I'm j—"

"It's OK, I know you're frustrated. You have every right to be."

Zoro pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't have any right being an asshole, though." He recalls Usopp's words from a million years ago (or was it just hours ago?); You're the one being difficult here. "There's just so many things I don't know that everyone else does and I can't keep up."

Chopper nods, understanding. "I know. But that's why we're here, to help you. You can ask us anything, you know that. If there's something you don't understand, just ask."

I don't understand anything, he doesn't say. Chopper's offer sounds so simple yet so convoluted he doesn't even know where to start. "The Marines," Zoro says. "When did that happen? Was that today?"

"No. It happened three days ago – after you first started showing signs of the memory loss. Specifically, right after you forgot Nami."

Nami. That's the red-headed girl. The nakama I forgot.

"Three days ago," he repeats, nodding.

"Well, I'm not sure how much of that day you remember, but that day me, Brook, and Luffy were on the island, exploring the city—"

"Plume Island," Zoro recalls aloud.

"Yes! Its name was Plume Island," he looks relieved that Zoro was able to remember that tidbit of information. "We docked there that morning. A few of us stayed on the ship, while the others went into the village. I think you and Usopp had gone into the island's forest to look for beetles a bit earlier. After you came back, me, Brook, and Luffy went out, and we went to eat at one of the restaurants. I forgot its name, but it was really crowded, and had really good food. There were some people sitting on the next table having an arm-wrestling competition. Luffy jumped in and ended up beating a guy that turned out to be a Marine captain, so we took all the winnings and ran out."

Zoro nods along with that last bit. Finally, something that makes sense to me. He remembers hearing this part of the story from Chopper when he first burst into the kitchen area this morni— no, he stops himself. That happened days ago. Not this morning.

"We didn't know what was happening on the ship while we were gone, so when we got back, we were so distracted by that situation that we forgot about the Marines." Nami had stormed out, Zoro remembers. And they were on the other side of the door. Sanji left after that, and then they started to interrogate me, asking me questions. "That's when you all brought us up to speed about your memory loss."

"I remember that," Zoro says slowly. "You guys came in, and we all talked. Then you guys said the Marines were coming and we should head out . . . then . . . damn it." Zoro grunts in frustration, the side of his head pulsing painfully.

"Is that where your memory cuts off?" Chopper asks. "Yeah, after we talked, we left the dock and started to steer away from the island. It wasn't long before the Marines caught up to us, though, but we held them off long enough for a Coup de Burst."

He shakes his head softly. "That . . . I don't remember," Zoro murmurs.

"Mm," Chopper nods. "It wasn't a hard fight. Usually we're really good at getting rid of the Marines. But our main concern was not wanting to leave the island without first figuring out how to help you, because we knew that Plume was the source of all the trouble."

His hand finds his stomach again, and he unconsciously fiddles with the bandages that are wrapped around it.

Chopper continues. "But we struggled just trying to fend them off while making sure they don't call in reinforcements. We really didn't want them to close off the island from us. In the end, we all agreed to a light amount of Coup De Burst. Enough to create some distance and put on the appearance of us fleeing, but not so much as to remove us from the map."

Zoro runs a finger over his wound. He's surprised he was able to forget an entire brawl with an army of Marines. He must have been distracted, to get himself hurt by those small timers. That's the only explanation for his wound.

More importantly . . . Zoro starts to think. Why didn't I ever stop and wonder where this wound came from? Did I even feel it all this time? And his body . . . it has been feeling quite sore recently, as if the stiffness sprung up out of nowhere. But I thought it was just overexerting myself in my workouts. Was my body feeling the events of the past few days while my brain was just fucking off?

"All that was happening out here," Zoro says. He gestures to his head, "But none of that is in here. How is that even possible?"

"Do you just don't remember it at all," Chopper asks, "or are you at least still cognizant of time passing?"

Zoro shrugs tiredly. "Hell if I know. It's not something I can exactly explain. I hardly understand it myself."

"Can you try?"

He lets out a weary sigh. "I don't know, Chopper. It's like . . . " Zoro trails off, staring at the ceiling fan, watching the blades spin slowly. How can he explain this shit that hasn't even explained itself to him? He thinks of the right words. "Do you ever have a dream that feels so unbelievably real and vivid, the kind where so much weird shit happens, that even while you're in the dream you can't help but think about how surreal it is?"

Chopper nods.

"And then you wake up, and the first thought you have – even before you open your eyes – is I need to remember this dream no matter what."

"And then you forget it," Chopper finishes.

"But you know you had it," Zoro adds quickly. "You know that the dream happened and you can feel that it happened. You tell yourself, I've just had the absolute weirdest dream last night – but when you try to pull it up in your mind . . . nothing comes up."

"That's what it feels like?' Chopper looks like he gets it, and Zoro's glad he was sure everything that came out of his mouth was pure nonsense.

"Yeah." He rubs his head harshly. "And at this rate, it'll probably happen again here. I'm going to blink, forget this conversation happened, and I'll be in a different part of the ship, or a different island, surrounded by strangers. I'll probably become a stranger to myself, too."

The macabre thought wasn't meant to be spoken out loud, but Zoro doesn't even realize he's said it until he hears Chopper cry out, "It's not going to get to that!" Chopper says, determined, "We're going to find a cure, Zoro. We will. You just have stay positive. We will fix this."

"When?"

Chopper falters.

His determined face nearly melts from his face. He doesn't have an answer, because the layers to that question – when? After all my memories are gone? Until after I forget who I am? After all the memories are eradicated and impossible to retrieve? – are impossible to answer.

And now Zoro feels like an asshole. He tries to remedy it immediately, "Look, Chopper—"

Then there's a knock on the door, gentle and polite.

Zoro swallows his words, pausing. Chopper purses his lips, giving his patient a look akin to saying, we'll finish talking about this later. He clears his throat and calls out, "Yes?"

The door opens with a gentle swing. "Ah. I hope I'm not interrupting. I've brought an early breakfast for your patient, Doctor-san."

Zoro perks up at the word breakfast. He wonders when the last time he had eaten breakfast was. His head twinges. I've probably had loads of breakfasts and just never remember them.

Chopper sits up, wiping his face. "No, no, it's OK, Robin."

She walks in with a shining silver platter at hand, and Zoro's nose picks up the smell of cinnamon and honey. Oatmeal, he thinks, guessing from the large bowl and spoon. There's a glass of orange juice there as well. Her heels click against the sturdy wooden floors as she makes her way across the room.

"Thanks, Robin. Um, you can just put it on the table over there. Are you hungry, Zoro? I know you're having trouble keeping food down, but Sanji said oatmeal should be easy on your stomach."

Hearing Sanji's name makes Zoro scowl. Even with his sparse memories, he knows he doesn't even like oatmeal, and more so knows that the shitty cook knows that.

His displeasure is visible, and Chopper quickly adds, "A-And there's bacon, too! Oatmeal and bacon!"

Zoro relaxes. "Good," he says with a grumble. "I didn't just throw up a gallon of mush just to have more poured down my throat."

Chopper cringes. "Ew."

The woman chuckles, saying, "The taste is much more appetizing than the texture, I assure you." The platter is set on the table beside him. Zoro peeks over to confirm that there is, in fact, bacon. She says, "I do hope you're feeling better, Zoro. That was quite a scare you gave us last night."

Last night? Zoro looks up at this woman, his mouth pulling down in a frown. What does she know? He wonders, and he can't help his eyes from narrowing in suspicion, because this woman had so casually just entered the room as if—

"Oh," the woman suddenly says.

Something in the air changes. Not the temperature or the lighting. It's like the weight in the air changes.

She stands straighter, her long black hair rolling off her shoulders. Her expression changes in the most minuscule of way. He can't pinpoint how it changed, exactly, but it did. Or maybe it was the way she looked at him that was different.

"Oh?" Chopper repeats. "Oh what?"

The woman doesn't break her gaze from Zoro. She even smiles. For some reason, that smile seems inexplicably sad.

"My apologies," she says. "I see we haven't been introduced yet."

Chopper starts, nearly dropping the bowl of warm oatmeal. "H-Huh?"

The woman doesn't take her eyes off Zoro, however. She shows her hands very subtly as she speaks, "My name is Robin. Your crew was kind enough to give me a ride to the next island over. I've been helping around the ship to repay their kindness as I've nothing else to offer."

A sudden tension builds in the room. The air seems to chill. Chopper looks between the two of them, shell-shocked. "Robin . . . y-you don't mean . . . ?"

Am I missing something here? Zoro wonders, not letting his expression relax. Did she do something? Or was it something she said? No, nothing she said was out of the ordinary, so why is Chopper so upset? He mentioned her name before, too . . .

Then she looks at Chopper. Her words sound carefully selected as she says, "It's alright, Doctor-san. You were very busy when I came and didn't have time to introduce us. I don't take any offense to it. It's refreshing, even, I feel like I'm meeting swordsman-san for the first time, for a second time."

Chopper bites his lip and nods, seemingly understanding. He hides his face from Zoro, but from the way his shoulders are shaking, he can tell the little reindeer is trying very hard not to cry.

Those dark eyes turn to him, and her soft voice says, "I hope we can get along."

". . . Sure," Zoro says slowly. He feels awkward.

Her smile never falters, but her eyes look dull, devoid of emotion. She reaches a hand to Chopper, patting his head gently. "I'll leave you to it, Doctor-san. I'll remain above deck and out of sight for the time being. I don't want to be a bother. I'll have another member of the cre— of your crew come and assist you in my absence."

The little doctor sniffs loudly. "A-Alright."

She straightens. With one last glance, she says, almost as an afterthought, "I sincerely hope you make a speedy and healthy recovery, Swordsman-san."

"Uh, yeah . . . thanks."

When she leaves the room, Chopper's shoulders shake even harder. He still hasn't turned to face Zoro, but his sniffling and whimpering are enough to describe his expression.

Zoro reaches out, concerned. "Oi, Chopper . . ."

"You—, " Chopper starts, then hiccups. "Y-You didn't know her. You forgot Robin, Zoro. You didn't even know who she was. Just like Nami. They're – they're gone to you!"

His brow furrows. "What are you talking about? She said she was a hitchhiker, you heard her. Did I know her before or something?" He doesn't remember her getting on the ship, though. Did it happen during those four hours between when he was on deck and now—

Chopper turns around. His face is a dark shade of red, his eyes overflowing with unfallen tears. His watery frown pulls down on his face. Zoro understands even before Chopper says it.

"She's nakama," Chopper chokes out. "She's our nakama – sh-she's Robin."

The tears stream down his face now, droplets sinking into the blanket. Chopper makes a noise, then throws himself at Zoro's side.

"I'm sorry, Zoro!" He sobs into Zoro's shirt. "I'm so s-sorry – I'm really trying, I really am! Robin keeps telling us we have to stay positive in front of you, that we shouldn't get frustrated. B-but I don't know how to fix you! Nothing I do is working and it's taking too long to get to the island and there's a chance this place won't even have answers and every day you're hurting – I – I don't know what else to do a-and you're getting worse and worse and I can't stop it!"

His sobs get louder, more distraught. Zoro doesn't know what to say. It's absolutely unbearable to see Chopper so distressed, but he knows anything he says will only make him feel worse. He puts his arm around Chopper and lets him cry.

"I'm sorry," Chopper whimpers into his shirt. "I don't want you to forget anymore. I don't want you to forget me, but I know it's not your f-fault if you do, so I won't be sad."

Chopper sniffs loudly, meeting Zoro's eyes. "I promise, even if you forget everyone and everything, I won't forget about you. I'll never let you be forgotten, Zoro."

---

 

Chapter 7: The Reaper

 

---

CHAPTER SEVEN

---

Zoro opens his eyes.

Darkness greets him silently.

He frowns, but doesn't know why.

He blinks a few times to see if the darkness would fade. It doesn't. He can't see anything, the endless black swallowing the room whole. For a short moment, he wonders if he's gone blind. When he blinks, the darkness shifts in shade.

Not blind, he surmises. Just dark.

He tries to make sense of that. Was I . . . sleeping? He moves his fingers and feels the familiar stiffness of a mattress underneath him. I'm laying down on a bed, his mind supplies after an uncomfortably long time. He exhales deeply, feeling his massive chest sink and lower the blanket along with it.

I'm in a bed, but this room is . . . that one he doesn't know. The room is void of sound; he can't hear a soul. He blinks again, the motion slow. His eyes haven't adjusted to – eye, singular. He has just the one eye – the darkness yet and . . . huh . . . Zoro frowns at that last thought, wondering why he felt the need to remind himself of his eye.

He tries to the best of his ability to make sense of his surroundings. He can tell by the slow swaying of the ground underneath him that he's still on the large ship. But the movement is slower than usual, and has more rhythm. Are we anchored somewhere?

He inhales deeply through his nose, letting his senses guide him. It smells like . . . lemons? That can't be right. A slow exhale. His body isn't as sore as it was previously, but it feels heavier, like a million grains of soft sand fill his blood stream. He feels pressed down on the bed.

His assertions are jumbled and dizzying. It's as if his mind was noting arbitrary details in no particular order. He can't seem to follow his own thoughts.

He adds up all the information he's collected thus far . . . he's tired, it's dark, it's quiet, he's lying down on a bed, he's on the ship . . the equation should pull up some obvious answer here, but it escapes his grasp every time he tries to reach for it.

His mind finally supplies him with a reaction:

Suspicion.

Something's . . . wrong here.

He can't place it, but something feels . . . off.

His body buzzes with warmth, and there's nothing he wants more than to sink deeper into the bed and fall back asleep. But he shouldn't . . . because there's something wrong with all this . . . something is . . . missing.

Another slow blink.

Finally, the darkness starts to blur away and make room for other dark colors. Zoro recognizes the desaturated surroundings as the medical room he was in before. Unlike before, however, the lights are all turned off and the shutters on the door's window have been pulled closed. He can't tell if it's night or day outside.

Zoro turns his head to the door, to see if there are any lights shining through the cracks—

He notices a strange shape next to his bed.

What is that?

He squints.

Oh.

There's someone sitting at his bedside.

Zoro's mouth curves in confusion, a bit startled he hadn't noticed this person until now. Were his reflexes that weakened from exhaustion . . . ? No, he blames it on his mind being muddled with sleep residue.

The silhouette doesn't move. It remains seated.

He stares at this person, trying to make out who exactly they are. Friend or foe? The darkness is relentless in its agenda to ensure Zoro can't see shit. If they're  foe, I'd be dead by now.

The stranger is sitting on a wooden chair with their legs crossed and their white fingers folded over their knees. They're dressed in a stark black suit, and a top of their head sits . . . something round and black.

A thin hand reaches for the nightstand, picking up a teacup with delicate, boned fingers. It brings the steaming cup over to its skeletal face, and the white jaw parts just slightly to let the tea between its fully visible rows of teeth.

It doesn't hit him.

Not immediately.

But eventually, it does.

And when it does, it only confuses him even more.

Because on a chair beside his bed sits Death.

. . . That can't be right, Zoro thinks, scowling at his mind for conjuring such a ludicrous thought.

But there it is.

Sitting beside him and . . . drinking tea?

The skeleton face and dark wardrobe and towering height are unmistakable. A grim reaper, Zoro thinks. Then, dumbly he wonders, Where's its scythe?

Death-personified doesn't move, and Zoro blinks, wondering when the hallucination will evaporate.

It doesn't. The ship continues to sway. The scent of lemons is stronger now, more bitter.

Its dark clothing combined with the dark surroundings make is as though a detached skull is floating in the air. Zoro wonders if he's truly lost his mind now.

What kind of wacko drugs do they have me on?

Death's mouth opens. He expects a sinister stream of smog to come pouring out. Instead, a voice as smooth as silk and as jagged as broken glass says, "Hello there, Zoro-san."

And Zoro wonders if a part of him should be worried, if he should be concerned that Death himself is sitting on his bedside, watching him with literal empty eyes, addressing him with a polite honorific.

Yes, he decides, he is worried . . . but goddamn, he feels too exhausted and too empty to let the emotions out. He can't seem to make himself react to this development. 

The skeleton leans forward. Zoro sees nothing but endless darkness in those hollow eyes. "I hope I didn't disturb you," it tells him.

A thought finally penetrates Zoro's overstuffed mind, a thought that should have occurred to him earlier and jump started his reaction to this phenomenon—

The thought is this:

Am I dead?

He feels a chill run down his spine.

Did I die?

No . . . he can't be dead.

He curls his fingers, feeling the sensation of touch. He presses his nails deep into his palms, feeling pain. He closes his eye, concentrating on the sound of his beating heart.

Yes, he thinks. He's alive.

So why is Death here?

"Zoro-san?" The skeleton cocks its head slightly. "Do you know who I am?"

A hallucination, perhaps?

If he answers, does it make it real?

His mouth feels instantly void of all moisture. Does acknowledging Death have some sort of repercussion? Zoro was never one for metaphors or symbolisms, nor was he ever intimidated by such frivolous things. But now, it feels like something he must recognize.

"Zoro-san?"

"Yes," he says. His mouth is dry. "I know who you are."

Death leans back. "Ah," it says softly. There's relief in its voice. "That's wonderful news. I'm glad to hear it, though I don't have the ears to actually hear it, yo-ho-ho!"

Zoro blinks slowly. His glazed glance lowers, wondering if he'll be able to see the flames of hell beneath Death's well polished boots. There's nothing there but wooden floors. Hell is more bland than I imagined.

The boots shift. Zoro looks up. Death bridges its white fingers together, placing them atop its knee. It asks, "How are you feeling?"

Zoro frowns. "I'm . . ."

He trails off. Feeling? How should he answer that? His well-being should be the last thing it needs to concern itself with. Shouldn't its arrival mean he was already dead, consequently not able to feel anything at all?

But then he realizes, it's not so much about who is asking him the question that bothers him the most. It's the answer itself that is worrisome. He is feeling . . . awful. Absolutely wretched. From the moment he opened his eye he could tell there is something wrong with him. Worst and most concerning of all is his own internal admittance. 

Because he knows on any other day he would have sprung out of bed and challenged Death for his soul, ensuring that he doesn't go down without a fight, a fight so incredible that the devils of the underworld would talk about for millennia. That's how he should be feeling. 

Now, however . . .

"I'm… fine," He tells Death, the lie like a piece of glass lodged in his throat, spat out with a mouthful of blood and no relief.

Lifeless is the real answer. Now he feels . . . lifeless and hollow. Like a momentous part of him is missing. No, like parts are missing. His head buzzes with a million tiny moths, searching for a light source that just isn't there. His usual tank of energy feels completely drained from his body.

He is not fine. He doesn't recall what fine should feel like.

Maybe I am dead.

"That's good," Death tells him. Zoro's already forgotten what he had said. "You made quite the worryworts out of us last night, if you recall. Your headaches have gotten so pronounced that poor Chopper-san had no option but to give you a heavy dose of sedatives to stave off the pain. You may feel a bit off because of the fact."

It's hard to follow what the skeleton says. Sedatives? Why was he given sedatives? That would explain why he feels unbelievably muffled. But that doesn't clarify why Death was here. Sedatives wouldn't give him realistic hallucinations like this one, and he shouldn't be on Death's door if he was prescribed them.

Nothing makes sense.

He asks with a throat as rough as sandpaper, "Why are you here?"

The answer comes easily. "To keep watch over you."

His blood runs cold. He shifts uncomfortably, "I don't need to be watched."

"Of course," it says, uncrossing its legs and planting them firmly on the ground noiselessly. "It is simply a precaution, you understand. Chopper-san insisted someone remain in the room to watch over you while he went to scout the island, so I volunteered first watch. I believe Usopp has the next one once the hour closes, and one of the others after that."

Zoro's brow is furrowed as he tries to process all the information floating his way. The others, he thinks dreadfully. "They're… here? All of them?”

His heartbeat picks up. He looks around to see if he can spot any of them, but the room is sparse of other souls. If this is the underworld . . . if I'm dead and they're all here . . . did something happen while I was asleep? Were we attacked? Are they all d—

The skeleton nods. "Most. As I said, Chopper-san is currently foraging the island with Luffy-san, while the others are on the ship, asleep most likely."

Island. Ship. Zoro tries to keep up. "They're… they're alright, then? No one's hurt?"

"Everyone is alright. You needn't worry about them, I promise."

A shuddering breath leaves his mouth. They're fine, everyone is fine. Of course. Nothing happened while I was asleep. I would have remem—

His head throbs dully.

"I'm…" he tries to find the words. "Am I dead?"

Deaths chuckles. The sound is hauntingly pleasant. "Yo-ho-ho! Certainly not, Zoro-san. It would take more than this to take you down, I imagine."

More than this? He wonders what that means. A slight pain prickles his head and Zoro can't help but wince. He brings a hand to his head and notices an I.V needle attached to his forearm. He stares at it, overwhelmed with the most peculiar sense of, what is that? Déjà vu?

Death asks, "Is your head hurting again?"

"No. I'm . . . wait," Zoro frowns at the word. "Again? Did I get hurt?"

The skeleton's teeth touch with a soft click, and after a moment it says, "Perhaps you should try and sleep. You must be tired."

"I'm not tired." He shakes his head, trying to put the pieces together. "Did something happen?"

Death doesn't answer his question. "Let me ask you this: what can you last recall?"

Last recall . . . ? And immediately, a whirlwind ravages his mind—

Zoro has to hold on to the mattress to keep himself from getting thrown off because– hell, the minute he tries to think about what he was doing before, he is bombarded with millions of minuscule memories and pain—

Doing before? Before? Before what?

He was obviously asleep since he just woke up–

But, hell, no, that's not right.

It's not.

He doesn't remember going to sleep.

That's because I wasn't asleep.

Before this . . . he was up . . . awake.

He was talking. Asking questions— so many questions, so many vague answers. Why, why—because—!

"Shit," he shudders. "My memories . . . I'm . . . fuck."

"Zoro-san?"

Memory loss— memory loss– memory loss.

"He's completely forgotten who Nami is— You're losing your memories, bro— Your memories are leaving, but don't worry. We'll get them back—"

He forgot something again. He's been forgetting things, but now he's losing parts of the day, too. A blink could mean an hour has passed, or a day, hell, probably even a week. Whatever he was doing before waking up here is completely wiped from his mind. The memory of those minutes or hours or days are as dark as this room.

God, he thinks harrowingly. How could I forget this shit was happening to me?

Memory loss, dumbass.

"I'm losing my memories.”

Death answers him as if it were a question. "Yes, you are."

"That's why you're here, then?" He asks with a tinge of uncertainty. "To watch me, to see if anything else happens to me . . ." To take me away the moment this ailment completely ravages my mind.

It hums thoughtfully. "Not to discount being in your company, which I do enjoy, but yes, you're correct. I am here primarily for that."

Zoro swallows. Well. That’s really goddamn bleak. He doesn’t know what to say in response to that. He slinks a bit lower in the bed, feeling miserable.

He wishes there was a clock in this room to tick away in this suffocating silence.

Zoro realizes he can't stand being in such a miserable state in front of his thing, so he sits up in the bed.

He's careful not to disturb the needle in his arm, and like an old man he groans softly as he finally manages to get his back against the bed's headboard. Death watches him silently, its hollow eyes darker than the darkness around it.

The skeleton's mouth opens, "May I ask again what the last thing you recall, Zoro-san?"

An invisible needle pierces the side of his head as he thinks back.

"I was here, last time," Zoro manages to hiss. His skin feels warm, but his blood feels cold as ice. "But it was . . . I don't know what time it was. It wasn't dark. Someone was crying. How much did I forget?"

He looks onto Death with dread in his eyes (eye, eye, eye, he only has one eye because he's forgotten how he's lost the other one), knowing the answer will be both devastating and frustrating.

Death senses his anxiety. "Not too many, fear not. You took up occupancy in this room since early last evening. It's currently just past dawn. You were sleeping most of the time, anyway. Or at the very least, trying to sleep."

A small drop of relief in this ocean of despair. "Dawn? But it's so dark…?"

Within that darkness, Death nods. "Yes, we've closed the lights and drawn the curtains. The brightness was worsening your headache."

"Headache—"

And like it was summoned through the word alone, the sides of his head throb roughly, and his head feels like it's being squeezed by invisible, large hands, fingers digging so deep he can feel it in his skull. Was that pain always there, or did I forget about it until now?

He tries to speak, but it just comes out as a hiss between his teeth.

"Does it feel painful again?" Death asks sadly.

"It's fine— I'm fine," he says roughly.

He's glaring at Death, wary of how it seems to concern itself with his well-being. I see right through you, he wants to tell it. You're hungry for my pain. Waiting for me to be defenseless so you can steal me away from this realm. I see right through your games.

He will not give Death the satisfaction of showcasing just how mortal he is. As long as I succumb to this pain, it won't leave me alone, he concludes. But I can ignore it. I'm good at ignoring pain.

Death lifts its tea cup and takes another sip. "That's good."

Zoro changes the subject. "My memories," he starts, then swallows, pushing away at the pain that threatens to expand to the rest of his body. "They're disappearing. Why?"

If anyone should know the answer, it should be this thing. More than anything, he wants an answer to all this madness. He just wants to know something—

But Death takes too long to answer. It sounds regrettable when it finally does, "We are not sure."

No. No. That's not the answer he wants to hear. Zoro closes his eye and takes a few quick breathes. The sensation of dizziness creeps its way onto him. "Why is it happening to me?"

"We don't know."

Zoro's fist tightest around the mattress. "Why won't it stop?"

"We don't—"

"You should!" Zoro snaps. "You should know all of it by now!"

The ship rocks slowly beneath them, its rhythm matching the roughness of Zoro's breathing. The room doesn't smell like lemons anymore – it smells like hopelessness, frustration— defeat.

No!

He hears the skeleton say sorrowfully, "Your frustration is warranted, but know that everyone is trying their very best to find a solution. You must remain patient . . . and strong."

Zoro has never in his goddamn life doubted his strength nor that of his crew's, and he has half a mind to fling the blanket off him dramatically and shout that to Death himself.

But Zoro isn't a fool; Whatever strength Death thinks he has, it's not present at the moment. He doesn't feel like himself. He doesn't even recognize the body his ravaged mind occupies now. He feels himself get chipped away at every minute, his strength leaving him, his personality, his identity, hell, even now his body wants nothing more to sink into the mattress and let the blankets smother him—

Zoro lets his hand drop back on the bed and says, "I don't want to be patient. I want to find out what this is and crush it.” 

“I know, and you will.”

Zoro glares. “I can't fight something I don't know how to fight. I can't fight something I don't understand."

A soft, empathetic sigh. “Trust me when I tell you I understand.”

If he were dead, then this would definitely be his Hell. Trying to navigate through the complete darkness of his mind is a pain he never imagined having to endure. A life without knowing anything, without understanding anything, and without having anything make sense to him, is not a life at all.

He closes his eye, watching the blurbs and blotches of static float behind his eyelids. When Death remains silent, he says, "There has to be something you can tell me."

He hears the skeleton shift slightly in its seat. "I'm not deliberately withholding information from you, Zoro-san. None of us are. If there's anything you want to know, just tell us."

Zoro opens his eye, staring ahead at the door. He wonders if memories are tangible things, if he can hold one in his hand and just . . . put it back in his head. Or are they just as fleeting as breaths, immediately disappearing once let free?

"Everything," he says slowly. He puts a hand on his stomach. "Tell me everything that's happened to me since this started." Because every time I'm awake, I feel another piece of my soul go missing.

The skeleton's mouth opens just slightly, and Zoro wonders if that's supposed to be a smile. "A request I can and would be happy to fulfill," it says, clasping its hands together. "Robin-san has already informed us of the gaps in your mind from the past few days, so we had been expecting this question to come from you. Well then. There is no better place to start than the beginning, three days, when Nami-san and yourself had your little tiff."

Nami . . . the red headed girl. Has it really been three days since their encounter? A part of him knows it, but the other part doesn't believe it. It feels like it only happened the morning before. But it hasn't, and I know it, because someone already told me this. Zoro frowns to himself. Who told me—?

Death continues, "Now, that all took place while we were docked in Plume Island. The island gets its illustrious name because of the narrow, tree-covered mountain that sits in its center, resembling a green feather. Nonetheless, as the story goes, you and Usopp-san had gone into the island's forest to do some bug catching. When you both returned, you had a short conversation with Nami and went right to sleep on the deck. But then—"

"I woke up and didn't know her," he finishes for Death, well aware of the ordeal that occurred. "Right, I was there for all the yelling. But after all that . . . the Marines attacked, right?"

"Indeed, they did," The skeleton says encouragingly. "Do you remember that battle?"

"No . . ." His brow furrows. "Someone told me . . . Luffy had come back, we talked, the Marines attacked, and we did a . . . a something-Burst with the ship. . . and we retreated." It sounds ridiculous when he says it aloud.

Death hums thoughtfully. "Yes, that would be the abridged version of it."

I'm living an abridged version of reality, he thinks. "And then?" Zoro prompts.

"Once we reached a safe distance, we anchored and tended to ourselves and the ship. There wasn't any heavy damage, thankfully, but we were exhausted. Evening was already upon us, so it was decided that it would be best to return to the island the next morning, so that enough time would have passed to not rouse the Marines' suspicion."

That's why – Zoro thinks abruptly. There was a slash on the wood of the mast. He remembers noticing it on the ship, but not thinking any more of it. That would also explain why Franky was fixing up the cannons when he wandered into the storage room before the ship changed. That's why. He feels like he's finally being given pieces to complete the horrendously empty puzzle that is his mind.

"The morning after, we had hoped that you would have slept off the loss of Nami-san and that everything would have righted itself with some rest. Alas, that was not the case. You still didn't know who she was. This would be the second day, and at that point, the concern was palpable. Luffy-san insisted that you both reintroduce yourselves and try to get along with each other in the interim. I'm not sure what you both spoke about, as it was behind closed doors, but it seemed to settle your suspicions."

That doesn't sound right. The girl hasn't spoken to him since their first encounter. If anything, she's been actively avoiding him since the beginning. He tries to think about what kind of conversation he could have had with her that would settle the tension between them, but nothing comes to mind.

"That afternoon, we were met with a wild storm. Very sudden, but nothing we couldn't handle. Nami-san and Franky-san helped maneuver the ship into safety, and we were able to relax once we were beyond the clouds' eye. It was some time after that, when we were preoccupied with our own respective activities, that Franky-san gathered us all to announce you've forgotten something else – Thousand Sunny."

The ship. Zoro remembers that moment, when he was walking from somewhere familiar and into somewhere unfamiliar. Franky was looking at me like I was crazy. Of course he would. I must have seemed completely out of my mind.

"That's when we knew this dilemma was a truly troublesome problem that couldn't be resolved with time alone. Luffy-san was the most adamant in finding a solution as soon as possible; he insisted despite Nami-san's council to return to Plume Island at once. We've already hypothesized aloud that a solution would most likely be there. But, the storm proved both dangerous and troublesome. We couldn't very well sail through it, according to Nami-san, but we couldn't sit by and watch you forget more of yourself . . . "

The skeleton trails off, perhaps hoping that Zoro would be able to continue the account with his own memories. But none of what was mentioned was resonating with him.

It's odd, Zoro suddenly realizes, that Death would say we instead of you when recounting the past. It's almost as if it had been following him throughout the ordeal. Like some kind of curse, waiting to be triggered.

He asks, almost impatiently, "So, what happened?"

The skeleton's pointed shoulders lift in a shrug, "Well, a crew couldn't very well disobey their captain, now could they? No, certainly not. We sailed straight through the storm like the reckless crew that we are."

Zoro couldn't help but smirk. If there was one thing I could never forget, it's just how much of a dumbass Luffy is. But the fact that Luffy would demand they sail through a storm in the hopes of finding a solve for Zoro . . . Zoro purses his lips to stop his smirk from becoming a boastful grin.

"As predicted," Death continues. "We didn't make much progress. The storm was horrendous, one of the worse we've seen in some time. The majority of the day was spent maneuvering through it in hopes that we don't get swallowed up by the waves. Because the Log Pose was already set, we were solely dependent on Nami-san's navigating expertise."

Right, because apparently, she's a navigator. Zoro shakes his head slowly. Nothing about any of this sounds familiar. He had assumed they were only at the island that one day . . . he conjures only a hazy black image when he forces his mind to think back, and with it a pinch on the side of his head.

The skeleton lets out a breath, like he was reliving the experience right this moment. "The storm settled later in the evening, and we chose to call it a night. Too much had happened, and we were undeniably fatigued. Tensions were high amongst everyone, but we were all trying our absolute best not to let it seep through our expressions and actions. It was very clear that Luffy would not stand it."

Zoro swallows thickly, knowing exactly what Death was insinuating. Everyone was losing their patience with me, he thinks with reproach. He looks away from Death in shame. God, I was probably going around like a damn asshole, adamant I was right and they were all wrong. They had every right to be pissed at me. Luffy should have let them be pissed.

"During the night, after you had gotten lost on your way to one of the rooms –" Zoro scowls, but begrudgingly doesn't dispute the fact, "—Usopp-san had offered to give you a tour of the ship in hopes that it would spark some memories. As he tells it, you both were having a normal conversation in the Aquarium Bar—"

"I remember that part." Zoro says quietly. He brings a hand to his face. How does Death perceive shame? Does it think it's such a terrible thing like we do? He remembers the rage-filled confusion he felt in that moment, remembers how everyone was shouting at him, how terrified Nami looked, how strained Luffy's expression was. Or is shame just a mortal thing that we humans have to suffer with?

The skeleton nods, the bones on its neck softly clicking. "Yes. That was a . . . very nervous moment for us all." It clears its throat somehow, continues with a lighter tone, "Right, well. Luffy-san dispelled the anxiousness of the room and agreed to have Chopper-san administer some sleeping medication for you. I don't know if you are aware, but in those few days you've been struggling to sleep and eat, and Chopper-san was worried it was expediting your paranoia."

Zoro wants to scowl at the word paranoia, but the memories of his behavior are now fresh in his mind, and he knows there's no other way to describe it. It's not because of the eating and sleeping, Zoro thinks. I've gone longer without them and never made a fool of myself to this extent. No, it's from whatever's been going on inside my head.

"But before you turned in for the night, Luffy-san asked for the room to speak with you in private. Whatever you both talked about, we don't know. What we do know is that when you finished speaking, you had reemerged from the room without your swords, and Luffy reemerged with your swords in hand."

Haven't you wondered where your swords are? Someone had asked him. Zoro's hand finds his hip, and his fingers curl around air. Luffy took them from you yesterday. It's being kept safe with him.

"Why?" Zoro asks.

Death's fingers intertwine around its knee. "Luffy-san would not say."

He tries to settle the black ink of dread in his stomach, to keep it from polluting the rest of his body.

"That night, with the help of the medication, you slept. I could not tell you if it was a restful sleep, but you slept for so long that by the time you had woken up, the next day had come. By then, we had been docked on Lyrnhill Island for several hours."

Zoro's mouth twists in confusion. "Lyrnhill?"

A creaking nod. "Yes, indeed. Lyrnhill is the island opposite of Plume. When we performed the Coup de Burst, we must have flown over it. Regardless, it was in our direction during our voyage back to Plume. We stopped there because it was as far as we could get in the storm. Our time on Lyrnhill was used to, as Usopp-san says, collect intel. Chopper-san and Robin-san had disembarked to restock on medication, while Nami-san and Sanji-san went off to collect information."

Zoro counts the days in his head. "And this was . . . yesterday?"

"Correct. Lyrnhill Island was kind, and had welcomed us generously into their island. They were sympathetic enough to inform us that the Marines at Plume Island had settled down and given up their search for us. But the day's good fortune was overshadowed by the night's misfortune. That night, you suffered a severe migraine, the worst one yet, and it was there that Robin-san had learned that you've been unconsciously and actively forgetting pieces of the last few days."

Zoro frowns deeply. He remembers a bitch of a headache, but not anyone named—

"Robin-san," Death begins to say. "Is the woman you met when you were being treated by Chopper-san. She's a member of this crew, a friend, that you've tragically forgotten."

Oh . . . Zoro lowers his glance wordlessly. Right. Her . . . in his mind, he sees an image of a tall, dark haired woman standing by a door with a platter of food and a tragic smile. He remembers someone bawling their eyes out at the information.

I should probably feel bad that I've forgotten her, he thinks uncomfortably, knowing that he won't. Everyone probably expects me to be grieving the loss of everything and everyone I've forgotten, but I don't feel anything but . . . empty.

"Well, regardless," Death says. "That series of events brings us to today. Chopper-san should be returning soon from Lyrnhill. He and Luffy-san went to speak with a doctor that lives there. If the doctor is unable to treat you, we will disembark and head straight to Plume, where a solution will finally come into fruition."

A sudden urgency to ask aloud questions that should remain internal bubbles out of his mouth— "And if it's too late?"

The question sucks the air from the room. The unspoken definition of too late is as heavy as a block of stone at the bottom of the ocean— where is the line drawn on too late? When I forget the crew? When I forget myself? When I forget my dreams? The block of stone now settles on Zoro's chest. What happens then?

There's a note of reprimand in the skeleton's voice. "We musn't think like that."

That's the only thing I'm thinking about, he wants to scream. That's the only thing I can think about that doesn't make my head want to burst into a million pieces.

”We mustn’t think like that,” Death murmurs softly. 

“How else am I suppose to think?”

”Positively.”

Zoro snorts. “Hilarious.”

”I’m being serious.” Death shifts in his seat. “Going down the road of just focusing on the worst case scenarios will only hinder you from searching for a solution. Remaining positive and optimistic will strengthen your spirit; it will give you the motivation to keep going, to keep searching.”

”Spare me the pep talk. I’ll probably forget it within the hour anyway.”

“Zoro-san—“

”Listen, right now all I want is some answers. I just want to understand something out of all this.” He speaks through the crushing weight on his chest. "Can a person die without their memories?"

He doesn’t get an answer.

"Tell me."

The air is thick and suffocating.

Death says, "I wouldn't know."

Liar. Frustration seeps into his skin like a thick veil of mist. "If we don't find a cure on the island, what happens then? What will you do?"—Answers, answers. Just someone give him an answer that makes everything come together. Anything will do, as long as it makes sense.

"No, Zoro-san," Death says, it's voice hard. "The question is, what will you do? If the answer does not present itself, what then? Will you give up and keel over?"

"I'm not dying from this," Zoro snaps. "I'm not," he says again, lower, so that his backstabbing brain can hear it, too.

Death nods approvingly. "Then that is what I will do. If you don't give up, then neither will I. Neither will the rest of us."

The rest of us? Zoro feels ice trickle into his veins. Are there other retainers of death mingling around this ship. Does Death act alone, or does it have colleagues?

His frustration boils over to anger, then starts to simmer into annoyance. The more he looks at the skeleton, the more aggravated he is at its presence. What the hell is it even here for? To watch him squirm with ignorance? Is Death having a laugh at his predicament, holding all the answers and watching Zoro yelp and moan with questions?

He wants the stupid skeleton to disappear. How do you banish a reaper from your room? If he tells Death to fuck off, is he immediately cast into the flames of hell for an eternity of damnation? The annoyance of knowing Death is going to be following him around from here on out makes that a risk he's willing to take that risk.

He looks Death right into the holes of its eyes and says, "Fuck off. I don't need to be watched, looked after, or whatever the hell you call it. I told you I'm not dying from this, so I'm not going anywhere with you."

He glowers at the skeleton with an expression he hopes is intimidating. Death does not react immediately to his declaration, and Zoro feels his resentment towards this thing grow more.

But eventually, the bubble of silence is pierced. Death cocks its head to the side. "You . . . don't know who I am, I presume?"

Zoro scoffs. "I already told you, I know you." I've been at Death's door so many times in my life that I practically have a spare key, yet this is the first time that door opened and actually showed me its owner. "But I'm not afraid of you, so spare me your vain speech about being an angel of death or a grim reaper, or whatever you call yourself. I'm not dying or even close to dying, so you don't have a lick of power here."

"Ah," It says, the word coming out as a held breath. It lowers its head, and there's a heavy undertone of anguish laced into every word it mumbles to the floor. "I see now. Of course. I should have seen this coming, but alas, I do not have eyes . . . yo-ho-ho-ho . . . ah, oh dear. Now I see what you mean, Nami-san, yes, this really is quite painful."

It stands up.

Zoro stiffens, wondering if maybe he took it too far, if perhaps Death decided not to abide to the rules and instead, whisk him away out of spite.

Death lifts its hand. "Looks as though my time is up," it says, staring at its bare wrist. "I shall go and wake Usopp-san for his shift. I . . . apologize for the anxiety I have given you, Zoro-san. I truly meant to only converse as friends."

Why does it sound so remorseful?

Then, much to Zoro's disbelief, Death bends over slightly and gives him a small bow, saying, "I hope we never meet again in this context."

And he wonders what that means.

Chapter 8: The Departure

CHAPTER EIGHT

---

It's morning.

Zoro can tell just by the taste in the air.

He inhales sharply, holding his breath as he waits for the roar in his ears to slowly fade away. His body is defrosting, the stiffness melting away to make way for warm flesh and blood.

He's lying down, the bottom of a hammock glancing down at him. There's a blanket thrown carelessly over him, and he's lying on a hammock of his own. I was . . . he swims through his hazy mind, searching for the conclusion. I was asleep. I think.

He doesn't move. He concentrates on the rise and fall of his chest. He thinks about mundane things – how long was I asleep for? Hope I didn't miss breakfast. Dumbass better have left me something hot. Are we in a new island? I have to get some new tools for my swords.

But those thoughts fall flat. He doesn't feel any need to answer any of them. He lies there, staring at the ceiling, letting the thoughts bob around in his head like docile bubbles. When he blinks and feels the warmth of lids over his eyes, he wonders if he'd even fallen asleep at all.

More minutes tick by. The ship rocks on uneventfully.

Something feels off . . . but his mind is too hazy to figure it out. It feels like so much, and at the same time, so little has happened since he's fallen asleep.

But . . . no, it doesn't feel like he'd fallen asleep. He's still so incredibly tired, and his limbs are buzzing with warmth. Why is that . . . ?

Then, something ticks in his head—

Ah, fuck—

Wrong, wrong, wrong, everything about this is wrong.

Why does nothing feel right?

You know why.

Immediately, Zoro forces his mind to get a grip.

My memories are—

They're gone, they're leaving, they're disappearing.

He racks his brain and tries his absolute damnedest to recollect the past events.

It makes him nauseous, makes his head suddenly bang, bang, BANG to attention, but he doesn't care. He refuses to start each day – rather, each waking moment – as an ignorant fool who asks repetitive questions. He's tired of having things explained to him, slowly and patiently, as if he were a toddler.

So, he asks himself instead—

What was I doing before I woke up?

He was . . .

And shit, does it hurt to recollect those past events. It forces him to swim into the dreadfully black abyss of his mind, hoping with frightful anticipation that he would find some kind of color in it all.

Before, before, before—

Black, black, black . . .

What was I doing before I woke up?

Black, black, black—

. . . but then . . . there . . .

He was with . . . he was with someone.

Who was it?

Black, black, black—

He was being treated, taken care of like a sick person. Was I sick? He had a headache. Right. A massive headache. Enough to put him in the infirmary.

He looks around. He's not in the infirmary now.

Did I move?

Black, black, black. He shifts slightly from where he lies and the hammock swings just as slightly from underneath him.

I was sleeping . . . or at least, trying to.

This must be the men's quarters. He's never been here before. Or maybe he has?

Black, black, black.

Fine, he'll settle with never.

The room is huge, but Zoro shouldn't be surprised considering the size of the ship itself. Not Merry, though, he thinks dully. No, a different ship. Built by Franky, apparently. What did he say it was called? Sunny . . . something. The one his crew apparently acquired without his knowledge. No, you just don't remember it.

Black, black, black. Amnesia, amnesia, amnesia.

The word sounds absolutely outrageous, but whatever part of him desperately wants to deny it is overshadowed by the leveled voice in his head that has accepted it.

The evidence is there, it's in his mind; whatever events transpired before this very moment has been wiped clean from his brain, replaced by a black hole of nothingness.

Black, black, black—

Tap . . . tap . . . tap.

There's a sound. Footsteps.

Usopp's head peeks over from between the hammocks.

"Hey," the sharpshooter says carefully.

There's a peculiar feeling, something akin to horrid relief, that comes with him recognizing Usopp. He's not so sure why—

No. He does. 

Memory loss, dumbass.

Zoro swallows, then sits up. The cot underneath him swings again, and the world spins. He breathes in through his nose cautiously. The men's quarter is empty sans himself and Usopp. All the other cots are vacant. He feels like an uninvited ghost.

Usopp clears his throat. "How, uh, how are you feeling?"

He considers his answer. "Better than . . . last night."

"Good! That's, that's good. So you, um, you remember last night, then?"

Last night . . . 

He wonders if his definition of last night is the same as Usopp's.

Was it last night or hours ago or weeks ago or years ago—

"I . . ." he starts, trepidation in the pit of stomach suddenly stirring. "I had a headache last night. A bad one. On the deck. Then, I was in the infirmary with . . ." The face of a skeleton overwhelms his mind. He shakes his head. "I was in the infirmary, being treated. Was that all last night?"

Usopp looks absolutely relieved. He stands straighter. "Yes! Um, I mean, yeah, yes. You're correct. You woke up in the middle of the night with a headache, and Robin found you on the deck. She brought you to the infirmary and Chopper gave you some medicine for the pain and to help you sleep."

"Robin . . . " Zoro mumbles, rubbing his head. Those names, he's heard them mentioned before. An image of a tall, dark-haired woman standing beside a doorframe crosses his mind. "She was helping out . . . "

"A-Ah . . . right! She was helping Chopper at the time because she was . . . umm what was it— Oh! Lost at sea at the time . . . ! Yes, that's right, so she was helping out Chopper. That's it . . ."

Zoro frowns because only half of that sounds right.

He hops off the hammock, his bare feet touching the cool wooden floors with a soft thud. Below them, he feels the ship sway, recognizing the slow movement as an anchored ship as opposed to a sailing one. Did we reach an island?

Zoro stretches his arms, his shoulders, and then his neck. They all crack and pop from the motion, but they're no longer as sore as they were before. He touches his stomach, but the injury doesn't bite back. So, some time has passed.

Usopp steps back to give Zoro more space. "M-Maybe you should rest a little longer," Usopp stutters out. He wrings his fingers nervously, shooting quick glances at the door. "Chopper gave you some heavy stuff, so you might feel a bit out of whack for a while . . . "

Zoro yawns, rubbing his neck. There's that name again. "I feel fine. Who's Chopper? We're just picking up anyone these days, or—"

The expression on Usopp's face falls instantly, and then Zoro understands.

"Already . . .?" Usopp whispers harrowingly, his voice so raw that Zoro glances sharply at him. The sharpshooter puts on a faux smile immediately, "A-Ah, I mean— we didn't already introduce you to Chopper? He's a doctor we picked up from, um, from an island called Carabanabanca! Yeah! He's really something— a genius in the medical field – renowned by all medical practitioners across the oceans! Some luck that we picked him up, e-eh?"

Zoro could detect a lie from Usopp even if someone else were to recite it. The foreboding feeling in his stomach stirs more anxiously now. He sighs deeply, watching the many empty hammocks in the room swing quietly. We don't need that many sleeping arrangements for a crew as small as ours . . . neither a ship this large.

"Don't lie to me, Usopp," he says softly. "I . . . knew him, didn't I?" He wonders which cot belonged to Chopper. It's always the important people that I end up forgetting. "I knew him, and now I don't. Was he a part of the crew, or just someone I knew before?" He hopes it isn't the former, but he knows it is. Just like that Robin woman.

Usopp laughs nervously, "D–Don't even worry about it! It's fine, everything's fine. J-Just, uhm . . . —Oh! Did I mention we've reached the island? Isn't that exciting! An island! A-A-A-And look, I brought you some clean clothes!"

An assortment of clothing is thrown onto his face before Zoro can reply. Usopp is still talking, "It's pretty windy out there so dress warmly! Doctor's orders! B-But take your time, too! Absolutely no rush! I'm j-just going to run up and tell everyone you're coming. A-An island, exciting stuff, huh? So just take your time and we'll be up on the deck, OK? But take your time!"

Usopp rushes out of the room, bumping and tripping over multiple things on the way. His nervous energy leaves the room feeling tense and uncomfortable.

Zoro swallows thickly and looks down at his hands – unfamiliar hands of an unfamiliar body. His fingers curl into fists. I'm Zoro, he tells himself. Reminds himself. Roronoa Zoro. Swordsman of the Straw Hat Pirate crew.

A beat. Next time I wake up, will I forget that, too? He scowls at himself, not bothering to entertain the thought further. No, I'm not so pathetic that I'd let something this trivial affect me. I'm stronger than that.

He takes off his shirt and looks down at the bandages that wrap around his midsection. He peels them off. There's a slash just above his stomach, crusted over and healing well on its own. Bruises litter his skin, but their colors are faded and disappearing with time. He throws on the clothes Usopp gave him and doesn't give them a second thought.

He reaches down for his swords and grabs air. He frowns, remembering that Luffy took them. "Luffy took them from you yesterday. It's being kept safe with him," he recalls. As he steps towards the door, he wonders, how do I know that again? He tugs at the sleeves around his wrist instead.

He stops himself before he opens the door. He can hear other voices behind it, both familiar and unfamiliar. They converse lowly with one another, but not low enough to escape Zoro's ears. He rubs his face tiredly, wondering when his eavesdropping will ever produce a feeling other than growing dread.

"— forgotten Chopper, too," Usopp's voice says hurriedly. "I didn't know what to tell him so I just ran out . . ."

"Oh dear, oh dear," A voice murmurs, a voice that sends shivers down his spine and makes his breath cold.

Then a more familiar voice, "Aw, shit. Already? Poor little bro. He's gonna be devastated . . ."

Then a voice that makes him tense, a new voice that he's slowly getting used to despite himself, "He won't take it well, no doubt about it. Guess we'll keep him out of sight for now with Robin and myself."

A gust of wind whistles. He hears the sails slap against the air.

That haunting voice says, "I will deliver the news to our dear doctor. It should come from someone that understands the pain, from one forgotten soul to another."

"Thanks, Brook." Usopp says gratefully.

Light footsteps recede into silence.

He hears the cook's voice, and rolls his eyes. "Well. At least he doesn't have his swords, huh?"

Water splashes against the hull of the ship. Zoro reaches for his hip instinctively, and his fingers twitch in defeat.

"He ain't reacting like he used to, that's for sure. I think it's finally stuck, the whole 'you've got memory loss and we're not tryin' to put one over ya'."

Usopp makes an agreeable noise. "I didn't have to remind him about the memory loss, either, when I spoke with him. He looked like he'd figured it out and was trying to put the pieces together himself."

The girl murmurs, "That's good, I guess. Some progress is better than no progress."

"Was he asleep when you went down there, Usopp?" Sanji asks.

"No, he was already awake. Didn't look like he slept a wink, though."

Sanji grunts. "The medicine helped him sleep, but Chopper had said it won't be restful."

"You don't think . . ." Usopp says nervously. "It sounds crazy, I know, but do you think he's forgotten how to sleep?"

Franky's massive body shifts in a mechanical whir. "Is that even possible?"

Sanji grunts. "Anything is possible at this point. I wouldn't be surprised if he crawls out the room, suddenly forgetting how to walk."

A gull cries from overhead.

" . . .That's what I'm worried about the most." The girl says sadly.

"Marimo forgetting to walk?"

"No, you idiot." She huffs, annoyed. A beat passes. Her voice is low, as if she's talking to herself. "What if there isn't a limit to this thing? What if it's not just people, places, and things he forgets . . ."

She trails off. The sentence dies in the air.

"What do you mean, Nami-san?"

". . . Never mind. I'm just thinking out loud. Forget it."

The silence leftover is uncomfortable. Usopp clears his throat, asks, "So, who's left now? He still knew me when I talked to him."

Sanji mutters, "Easier to count who he doesn't know at this point. So far it's Nami-san, Robin-chan, Chopper, and Brook."

"Right, so that leaves me, you, Franky, and Luffy. . ."

Franky huffs. "For all we know."

Zoro purses his lips, trying to steady his breathing. There's eight other people on this ship, and apparently, he's forgotten four of them already. Four people who know everything there is to know about him, four people he's had adventures with, laughed with, bled with, and he doesn't remember a fucking thing about it—

The voices continue. Usopp is talking. "—should go up, Nami. He'll be coming out any minute now."

"Yeah . . ." She clears her throat, but has trouble getting the words out. He can hear the stutter of air coming from her mouth. "I feel like I should give you guys some parting words, but nothing comes to mind. I guess, just . . . Good luck. And be careful."

"We will." Sanji's voice is sturdy and unwavering, a vivid contrast to the girl's.

"And . . . take care of Luffy. I'm worried about him." She laughs softly, no humor in her voice. "It's stupid, but I think I'm worried about him the most."

The morose atmosphere seeps in from the door's frame. Zoro shifts uncomfortably.

Franky breaks the silence. "We got it. You be careful, too. Keep your guard up at all times, sis. Marines might show up at any time, yeah? They haven't completely left the island. Bastards might just pop up out of nowhere, damn cockroaches."

"Right." She pauses. She seems to be doing that a lot recently. Either to search for the right words, to hold in her emotions, or for dramatic effect. He doesn't know her well enough to know which one is truest. "Same to you guys."

Footsteps recede again, signifying the girl's exit, and for a while all the only thing Zoro can hear is the sound of the waves tickling the bottom of the ship and the roar in his ears.

Franky speaks up. "—so just us bros left, eh?"

"Yeah, just us. You ready, shitty Longnose?"

"Mm. I have all the directions from Nami here. We're all good in terms of finding the town, and I know where the forest is if we need to go there."

"Super. And weather should be in our favor, too. Maybe just a lil' rain here and there, but nothin' crazy. I don't really see any problem with us findin' our way. To be real with ya, though, I'm more worried about what Doctor-bro found out in Lyrnhill . . ."

"Yeah, yeah," He hears Sanji mutter. There are footsteps. They're all walking away, Sanji's voice getting further away. "It's not us that needs to worry about that." Sanji says. Zoro can't recognize the emotion behind his words. Is it bitterness? "It's Luffy's decision to make."

". . . yeah."

Even when the voices leave, Zoro remains in his position.

He really needs to stop eavesdropping; all it leaves him with is more questions and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. But even without context, he was able to make out one thing– they found a lead.

Wherever they just docked, wherever they're planning on going, that's where the answer is.

The answer to all this madness.

Zoro pushes the door open with resolution.

When he climbs onto the deck, a gust of wind wraps itself around him like a chilled veil. Zoro breathes it in deeply, wondering how long it's been since he last felt the cool air. He grips the rail, feeling the residue wetness from a storm passed. He looks over, sees the ocean waves playfully splashing against the hull of the boat.

A greater distance beyond that, he spots an island at the horizon.

Franky, Sanji, and Usopp are talking quietly beside the mast a few paces away. They look worried, speaking in low volumes at close proximity. What are they talking about now? He wonders.

Sanji's mouth is pursed tightly around his cigarette, meaning he's doing more listening than talking for once. Franky's hands are moving as they usually do when he talks animatedly, but the motions are more subdued. Usopp has his arms crossed, his head nodding along every other word coming out of Franky's mouth. Something serious, looks like.

Zoro closes the door behind him. The click rouses Usopp, who looks up, spots him, and gestures him over. Franky and Sanji look up with varying wary faces. Zoro sighs and pads his way over without hurry, feeling unbelievably tired.

Their tight huddle of three opens up to make room for Zoro. Franky puts a massive hand on his shoulder, says "Yo! How you feeling, bro? Sleep good?"

He doesn't remember what type of sleep he had. He doesn't remember when he went to bed. He doesn't even remember what time he slept, or if he dreamed, or if he—

"Yeah," he answers.

"Yeah?" Franky nods encouragingly, a broad grin on his narrow's face. "That's good. Sleep is good. You need your rest, doc's orders."

He hums noncommittally. Sleep used to be the cure all for Zoro. Now, every time he wakes up, he feels as if he's being pulled further and further away from his own existence.

Franky asks, "Your head doing better? No crazy headaches or nothin'? Everythin' feeling good up there?"

Zoro nods absently. His eyes roam on their own. The sword slashes on the mast have already been buffed out. The cut on Usopp's lip has scabbed over, and there's a fading bruise on Sanji's jaw. The observations leave Zoro with nothing but a bad taste in his mouth and a sharp pain in his head.

"Alright, alright, let's tone it down," Sanji grumbles, pulling the cigarette from his mouth to tap the ash away. "You sound damn creepy when you give a shit, you know that, shitty cyborg?"

Franky recoils with offense. "What? Can't a guy worry about his bro? Ain't nothing wrong with a man showin' little concern!"

"It's creepy when you do it," Sanji mutters. "Anyway, you don't have to ask him if he's alright. Look at him. Looks like shit, if anything, shittier than usual."

"Fuck you," Zoro says without heat.

"Yeah, and fuck you, too. Did you eat the shit I gave you last night?"

"I don't remember."

Sanji clicks his tongue. "Right. Obviously."

Usopp clears his throat. "Chopp– ah, the doctor that is— said he wasn't able to keep it down, so . . ."

Zoro makes a face. Sanji nods tightly, as if expecting the answer. "Right, fine. I packed lunch boxes so you can apologize for wasting my food by eating that."

Zoro frowns. Lunch boxes mean that someone will be leaving the ship for an extended period of time. "Am I supposed to be going somewhere?"

"Yup," Sanji says, popping the word. "Going on a little adventure, you could say."

He looks around. "Just me?" The question feels heavy on his lips.

The others exchange glances. Usopp says, "No, no. I'll be going too, and so will — well, ah. Before all that. I was just telling them about before, how um, how we were talking about what you remembered, and ah . . . what you . . ."

"And what you forgot," Sanji finishes for him. Franky nods somberly.

Usopp looks down. ". . .Yeah."

Zoro lets out another sigh. "You don't have to tiptoe around it, Usopp. Just say it."

Usopp bites his lip, not raising his head. The sight makes him recall Nami's tight voice and the dark-haired woman's sad eyes. He remembers hearing heartbroken wails and a voice of tragic acceptance. Who's suffering the most from all this madness?

Sanji chucks his cigarette over the rail. "Exactly. Let's get on with it. You know the shitty Longnose, great, but do you know who we are?" He gestures to Franky with his chin.

Somehow, being asked outright feels better than having to figure it out on his own. The apprehensiveness of seeing your crewmate and wondering if they would recognize you is a concern Zoro could never understand. That's why they're acting so weird around me, Zoro thinks. They don't know how to act or what to say in front of me, because they don't know what I know.

Franky and Sanji stare, waiting.

"Yeah," Zoro says tiredly. "I know who you dumbasses are."

Franky chuckles boisterously, slapping Zoro on the back some more, nearly knocking the wind out of him. "Suuuuuper! See, told ya fellas! He won't forget us that easily."

Don't jinx it now, Zoro is tempted to say, but a smile slips from his face. It's nice to see that his words can evoke a positive reaction, for once.

Sanji is the only one that doesn't look reassured. He eyes Zoro critically and asks, "And is this everyone?"

Zoro frowns. "What?"

Sanji taps the rail impatiently. "Is this everyone? The whole crew, I mean. Are we all here, the Straw Hat crew? Is it just us four?"

The flag sitting above the mast waves about noisily in the following silence.

Zoro can't help but lift a brow. He's thrown off by the odd question but then it hits him quickly, oh — right, right. The damn memory loss. They're trying to see if I've forgotten anyone else from the crew. Nami was a crew member I've forgotten already, and apparently so was the tall, dark haired woman.

But that should be it. They've always had a small crew, the Straw Hats. Himself, the swordsman, Usopp the sharpshooter, Sanji the cook, and Franky the shipwright. They were small, but a force to be reckoned with, able to sail through the high seas and battle anything that came their way. They didn't really care for numbers, but weren't opposed to recruiting someone if they showed promise and strength, or if they were just weird enough to catch L—

"Luffy." Zoro breathes.

A gust of wind blows through their huddle, or maybe it was a collective exhale escaping from all of them. Franky squeezes his shoulder, saying, "There ya go. Good job, bro."

"Fuck." Zoro grabs his head and hisses. "I nearly forgot—"

"But you didn't," Sanji says with finality. "And that's what counts."

He sees Luffy's face in his mind. The wide grin, playful eyes, tipped back straw hat. He hears his laugh in his head. I almost forgot him. Zoro's head throbs mercilessly. Not him. Anyone but him.

"Where is he?" Zoro asks. The sudden urge to see Luffy overrides any other desire within him. He doesn't even need to speak to him, just seeing him would put him at ease. He feels like he hasn't seen Luffy's face in ages.

Another glance is shared between the three, a silent conversation Zoro could never understand. Franky nods, then Usopp says, "He's over there." He points to the front of the ship. "He's waiting for us. We'll be leaving soon, the five of us. We're just making sure we have all our supplies and the right info before we head out."

"Where are we going?"

"To Plume Island."

"Where?"

Usopp says, "It's the island we were in before you started forgetting things. Remember? They had the festivals and night markets, and that forest we went to with all the bugs and animals?"

That doesn't sound right at all. "I thought the island was called Thriller Bark? Or did I sleep through this new island?"

He feels the hand on his shoulder tense, sees how Usopp's eyes widen and how Sanji curses under his breath and it's so freakin' obvious—

He turns around. "God fucking damn it," he spits out harshly.

No one says anything; they allow Zoro the solace of digesting the new information in silence. And Zoro is grateful, grateful in a way they can never understand, because he doesn't know how he'd react to any additional details, any more information about what he lost, what adventures are gone, what victories are swept away, how many islands since Thriller Bark they've sailed through, how many new friendships they formed, how many—

He pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply, letting his lungs fill with the ocean air.

He forces himself out of his memories of Thriller Bark — we were just there. That adventure was so recent, he still remembers the haunting ambiance of the island, the fight with the samurai's corpse, the pink haired ghost woman, his shadow being stolen, the Shichibukai's looming body over his—

He forces all that away to concentrate on the present. Back to the present. Focus on now. Now is what is important.

The past is unreliable.

With that final thought, Zoro exhales.

He turns around, and in a voice he still can't get used to, he asks, "What's Plume Island, then?"

Franky answers; he crosses his arms and says, "We were on that island a few days ago. Four now, I think. Yeah. We were there before this mess brewed, and just before we left was when your memory loss started."

His memory loss started four days ago? God, it feels like he's been dealing with this shit his whole life.

Usopp jumps in, "When we left, we tried to get back to the island, but we kept getting derailed. Then, we passed an island on our way back, and the people there said there's someone on Plume that can help with your condition. They said it's a woman that lives near the forest you and I were in."

Usopp glances at Sanji, as if expecting him to butt in. He doesn't, so he continues, "She's supposedly dealt with something similar to your condition a few months ago—"

"Tch," Sanji pulls out his crumbled box of cigarettes with jittery hands, muttering, "yeah, dealt with. Dealt with my ass." He grabs a stick between his fingers and salvages a lighter from the endless abyss of his pocket.

Franky narrows his eyes, "Oi. Careful now, bro."

Sanji flicks the lighter with an angry thumb. "What? Did I say something wrong, Franky? Don't give me that shit." The lighter sparks but doesn't produce any flames. "Well? Are we just gonna stand around talking or actually get on with this?"

No one seems as confused as Zoro by Sanji's spontaneous mood shift. Usopp looks exasperated when he answers, "We're waiting on Luffy,"

The cook keeps flicking the lighter to no avail. He scowls harshly and tosses it into the ocean. "Then tell him to hurry the fuck up. We're wasting time here, unless Luffy's changed his mind and decided not to go."

"You know he didn't."

Sanji throws the cyborg a withering glance. "Right, because he's made up his mind." He places a weird emphasis on that one word, and Zoro doesn't understand what that means.

The cook turns to Zoro, jaw clenched as if he's preventing himself from saying something. Then he shakes his head, "Go tell your shitty captain we're ready to go."

He shoves his hands into his pockets and stalks away.

When the cook is out of sight, Zoro turns to Usopp and Franky. "The hell crawled up his ass?"

"Ignore him. He's just mad."

Zoro scowls. "Still?"

Usopp shakes his head quickly. "No, no. He's not mad at you. I mean . . . yeah, he's still mad about the whole attacking Nami business, but now he's— uh, he's just got a lot on his mind. All of us do. But it's . . ."

Franky interjects. "It's not important, so don't worry about it. Just some tiffs here and there, but we'll get over it. But Cook-bro was right; you should go tell Strawhat-bro that we're ready to head out. Don't wanna lose daylight."

Zoro nods tightly. He pushes away the cook's tantrum from his mind and focuses his attention on where it's needed. Without another word, he makes his way to the front of the ship.

He finds Luffy sitting on the figurehead with his back turned.

The sight of him makes Zoro's heart beat fast and heavy in nervousness. With a shuddering breath, he approaches the rail. Luffy makes no indication of hearing him or sensing his presence, but Zoro knows he's well aware.

He finds two of his swords propped against the rails. The white katana is missing. Zoro doesn't reach down to grab them.

He stares at Luffy's back. His straw hat sits between his shoulders, his hair whipping about with the wild wind. The figurehead he sits on is large, and looks similar to Merry's figurehead, only this one is fashioned with a mane. Even with a different ship, Luffy's favorite spot is still the same.

Zoro suddenly feels awkward, out of place.

Maybe he shouldn't be here. He recalls the last time he saw Luffy. There was a lot of tears and shouting and arguing in the room; not directly from them, but that was what their encounter produced. He doesn’t want to experience that again.

"So," Luffy doesn't turn around when he speaks. "Did you forget who I am?"

He feels something break inside him. His heart, maybe his soul? He doesn't know, but it hurts—

"No," he tells his captain. I would forget how to breathe first before I forget you.

The wind howls. "But you will, eventually."

It's not poised as a question. It's poised like a conclusion Luffy has reached and ultimately accepted.

Zoro closes his eye, trying to swallow down the painful lump that lodges itself in his throat. "I won't."

"It's okay, if you do," Luffy says. His voice rattles the precarious foundation that holds Zoro's very core. "I won't get angry or upset. Brook told me you forgot Chopper. You've already forgotten him, and Robin, and Nami, and the Sunny."

The ship sways with melancholy, and Zoro feels like his whole world is folding within itself. Luffy's voice is void of any emotion that would indicate his true feelings, and Zoro's turbulent mind is unable to decipher what that means.

The wind ruffles Luffy's hair.

A beat passes, and then he says, "So it's only natural you'll forget me next."

"I won't," Zoro says again, harsher and louder, so not even the wind nor the ocean can drown out his conviction. "I won't forget you. I can't forget you."

"Okay," Luffy says. Zoro can hear the soft smile in his words, but it's a sad smile, full of tragic acceptance. He's never heard Luffy's voice dilute to this level.

"If . . ." Zoro begins to say, and he tries to get the words out without having them tear at his throat. "If I forget you . . . what will you . . . do?"

Luffy's shoulders shrug. "What we're already doing. Chopper talked to people in the last island, and they told us to come here and talk to the witch-doctor. So, we're going to take you to her and have her fix you."

Zoro grips the rails. His legs feel unsteady. "And what if she doesn't?"

"Heh, you sound like Sanji now."

"Luffy."

He sighs. He sounds like he's had this conversation a hundred times over. "If she can't fix you, then we'll take you to another person, and if they can't fix you, then we'll take you to someone else, and we'll keep going and going and going until we fix you. One way or another, we'll fix you."

He shakes his head. That's not enough. He needs Luffy to have a better answer than that. He tells him, "I'll forget everything at that point. Forget you, the crew, my life—"

"And then we'll fix you, and you'll remember all the stuff you forgot."

Silence.

Seagulls screech above them. The sound rings sharply in his head.

"Zoro doesn't trust me," Luffy discloses to the ocean.

"I don't trust myself." He looks down at his hands. He closes them into fists, and is still staggered that they would obey. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be anymore."

Luffy turns his head. "You're Zoro," he tells him, as if it were obvious. "You're a swordsman in my crew, and you're going to be the greatest swordsman in the world."

I know that now, but will I know that tomorrow? Will I act like that person tomorrow? His head throbs with every thought.

Luffy twists his body around and stretches his arms to grab the rail. White flashes across his body, and Zoro's breath catches. Rubber snaps, and Luffy sends himself back on deck to stand in front of Zoro.

Zoro's eyes widen.

There, across Luffy's ribs, held together by rope, sitting above the hideous scar that mars his chest, is Wado Ichimonji.

He can't even remember the last time he's seen the sword in someone else's hands. It always felt like an extension of himself, like an extra limb that can never be severed. Seeing it on Luffy is a sight he never even imagined was a possibility. Processing it all is dizzying. God, his head fucking hurts.

For his part, Luffy carries himself like a man who's gone his whole life with a sword in his possession. He doesn't bother acknowledging the obvious, and instead points to himself with a self-assured thumb, continuing without missing a beat, "You're Zoro, and I'm Luffy. Your captain. I'm going to be the Pirate King. But, before I can do that, I need make sure my crew accomplishes their dreams, too. I need to remove all obstacles from their path."

Then Luffy points beyond the ocean, to the island that watches them passively. "We're going to leave the ship and go into the island. On the way, you're going to forget more things. You'll forget Sanji and Usopp and Franky. You'll forget what day it is and what year it is. You'll forget why you're on the island and why you're even out in the sea."

Luffy's gaze falls on the sword. He holds the hilt gently, with an open palm like it was the most fragile thing in the world. "And then, you'll forget me. Then, you'll forget your dreams. Then . . . you'll forget yourself. You'll forget Zoro. But it's okay."

This is not a stream of thought that just occurred to him, Zoro realizes of Luffy. The way Luffy is speaking is evidence enough. This is something he's been thinking about for a long time. While I was trying to make sense of everything happening, Luffy was thinking about how he'll deal with everything that happens after.

"But it's okay," Luffy says again, fiercely, speaking over the waves. "'Cause I'll be there, and I know Zoro. I know what year it is, what day it is, I know who Sanji and Usopp and Franky are, and what island we're on. I know who Zoro is, I know what his dreams are, and I know what he wants. And Zoro doesn't want to forget anymore, right?"

He doesn't trust his voice to respond. He nods.

"Then I'll make sure that even when Zoro forgets that, I'll remember it, and I'll do everything so Zoro doesn't forget anymore." There's a fire behind Luffy's eyes. It burns with unfaltering determination. "In the meantime, all you have to do is trust me. Even if you forget me, you still have to trust me. Trust that I'll keep your dreams safe," he tightens his grip Wado's hilt, "and trust me that I'll make everything okay again."

Luffy asks softly, "Can you do that? Can you trust me?"

". . . obviously," Zoro answers. "Who do you think I am?"

Luffy's face splits into a massive grin, and he lifts his hands in the air enthusiastically. "Great!" He cheers. "Then let's get moving! We're going to have our most unforgettable adventure yet!" He smacks a hand over his mouth, hiding his shit-eating grin. "Oops! Too soon? Shihihihihi!"

Luffy ducks away from Zoro's hand just as he's about to swat him over the head. His captain stretches his hands and flings himself across the ship, shouting, "YOSH! We're ready to go, guys! Let's head out!"

Zoro doesn't move. He realizes he's smiling at the ocean. His fists aren't clenched, and his heart isn't hammering away at his ribs. He closes his eye, and inhales the ocean's air with greed.

He opens his eye. Reaching down, he places Kitesu and Shuusui in their rightful place against his hip. The familiar weight grounds him, but it's still lacking with the absence of Wado. It doesn't trouble him, however, because he knows it's in trustworthy hands.

He turns around. He sees Usopp is making his away across the deck, handing over a large backpack to Sanji.

An idea stirs in his head.

"Oi, Usopp!" He calls. The sharpshooter turns around, and Zoro asks, "You got some ink I can borrow?"

---

END OF PART TWO

Edit (10/2021) - screaming and crying, the amazing Ao-Kun on Instagram (@aokkun) created fanart inspired by this story/chapter and I'm straight sobbing from how beautiful it is 

Chapter 9: The Island

CHAPTER NINE

---

Someone bumps into his shoulder, and Zoro stumbles slightly.

"Oi, don't space out," Sanji's voice says from nearby.

Zoro looks over and finds the cook standing beside him, hands in his pockets, an annoyed frown on his face. "Anyway," Sanji says, turning back to talk to the man behind the vegetable cart, "It was more like a . . . "

Zoro takes in a sharp breath.

They're in a village, a bustling one at that. Surrounding them are numerous food carts and street vendors, stationed side by side to form a large circle around them. In the center is a decorative fountain that spouts water from stone-carved dolphins. People of various ages, shapes, and sizes walk past them on the cobble-stoned street, carrying bags, holding children's hands, or pointing at whatever catches their eyes.

Zoro looks down at his own hands. They're bare and loose. At his hip are two of his swords. He brushes his fingers over them, then pauses over the space where Wado should be. His head feels heavy and dull.

"Eh, don't worry about it," Sanji's voice floats back over him. He's shaking the vendor's hand. "Thanks for the chat."

"Of course, my friend," the man replies. He grabs an orange from his cart and tosses it over to Zoro. He catches it effortlessly, and the man says, "Orange for ya, mate. Best thing for sickness. Good luck to ye both!"

". . . Right." Zoro says, staring at the fruit. "Thanks."

Sanji walks away, and Zoro follows him, peeling the orange slowly.

When they manage to get to an area that isn't monstrously crowded, Sanji scowls and says, "Well, that was fucking useless."

A cool breeze brushes through his hair. Zoro looks up. Streams of clouds litter the sky, but they make way for the sun and its all-encompassing rays. Brightness showers down on the colorful city. Behind the people and the carts and houses and the trees, a mountain sits grandly and in isolation. This is a big island, Zoro thinks.

Sanji sighs and starts digging into his pockets. "Whatever, not everyone is gonna have an answer. Maybe that butcher was on to something, even if he sounded bat shit crazy. It's a bat shit crazy thing to ask about, anyway."

Zoro grunts. He tosses the orange peel away and inspects the fruit. The citric odor hits his nose immediately and he cringes. The smell makes him feel ill.

"Oi, Marimo. What do you think?"

Zoro turns. "About what?"

Sanji lights his cigarette. He's using stick matches. "About what he said." He nods behind him, and Zoro looks but doesn't see anyone in particular, only the overpopulated market square.

"Who?"

He blows smoke through his teeth, irritated. "The shitty butcher, I just—"

The cook cuts himself off abruptly. He stares at Zoro, and Zoro stares back blankly, waiting. Sanji doesn't say anything for a bit, and Zoro wonders if he'd given himself a stroke. Maybe he bit his tongue?

Sanji takes a long drag. "God dammit," he mutters under his breath. "At least give me a sign when this happens, so I don't feel like I'm talking to the god damn wall."

"Eh?" He's not sure if the cook is talking to himself or to him.

Sanji runs a hand through his hair, then rolls his shoulders, shifting the bag he has hanging over his back. It rattles and clinks at the motion. Zoro wonders what's inside it. Hopefully not oranges.

"Forget it," Sanji dismisses. "Just tell me my name."

Zoro's head throbs. "What?"

Sanji clicks his tongue. "You have memory loss, idiot. Now just tell me my name so I know you know who the hell I am and we can get on with this."

Zoro's brow furrows. He wonders if Sanji really did have a stroke if he thought that sentence made sense. Memory loss? Where did he come up with such a ludicrous statement—

"Oh," Zoro says.

Suddenly, he's so tired. Suddenly, he feels so jaded.

Suddenly, he is so overwhelmed with a plethora of emotions that it drains his soul.

He grabs his head, feeling the flesh throb underneath his temple. Memory loss, memory loss, memory loss, black, black, black . . .

Sanji snaps his fingers in front of his face. "Focus, dumbass," he says, not unkindly. He sounds like he's speaking from below the depths of the ocean; everything sounds warped and surreal all of a sudden. "It's fine if you don't know it, but at least see if it's there."

It's strange. He knows his name, but for a horrible moment he thinks he might have lost it, that it might have fallen into the endless black hole of his mind, forever lost and forgotten—

But no, within all the black, he finds it—

"Sanji."

He says the word with a painfully dry mouth. Too many feelings are bombarding him at once. He curls his toes within his shoes, trying to find balance to keep himself from swaying.

Focus.

Stay here.

Sanji nods. "Good. And the names of everyone in our crew?"

It hurts to search for the names. ". . . Usopp." It feels like he's wading through a forest of thorn bushes. "Franky . . ." He forces their faces into his mind, willing himself to brand those images forever and permanently into his subconscious. ". . . and Luffy."

"And what's the last thing you remember. No," Sanji shakes his head. "Better yet, can you remember what you were doing before now? Before this?" He gestures vaguely to the area around them.

Zoro swallows. He doesn't like this question. Anything before always brings him nothing but pain. But he suffers through it regardless, because the answer is something he needs to know, too. He searches his mind, wincing when he stumbles into the merciless abyss of black, black, black . . .

"I was on the ship . . . talking to Luffy." He remembers waking up to Usopp, whispers and conversations behind closed doors, Franky's reassuring hand on his shoulder, Luffy's back. "We were getting ready to disembark. We were going to an island . . . is this it?"

"Right, good. That's good," Sanji says with meaning. He taps his cigarette with a finger, looking away. Zoro looks that way as well and can just make out the coast. "Looks like you blanked out during the boring bits. Nothing too crazy. Yeah, this is the island, Plume. We left the ship a few hours ago, and we've been walking around and asking questions since then."

A few hours ago. He remembers the ship, remembers talk of preparations to board the island. But after that . . . he hisses when a sharp pain infiltrates the side of his head. Fuck, it hurts. How they actually got on the island is a memory that's absent from his mind—

"Don't do that," Sanji tells him suddenly. He swats at Zoro's hand, at the one clenched at his head. "When you try to remember something that's gone, that's when the headaches start. We can't have you passing out on us; I'm not carrying your fat ass the rest of the way."

Headaches. Shit, he remembers those goddamn headaches now. Zoro realizes he still has a hand over his head, his palm digging into his scarred eye. That's right, I only have one eye. One fucking eye. He grits his teeth harshly—

"Zoro," Sanji says.

He glances over. "What?"

Sanji is looking at him oddly, as if expecting him to respond in some other way. Or was he supposed to comment on what Sanji said about his headaches? Zoro wonders, for possibly what may be the first time or the millionth time, if he said something absurd.

"Right," Sanji says, clearing his throat. He puts his cigarette back in his mouth, shifts the bag once more. He looks uneasy. "You should eat that." He points to the orange.

Zoro looks down at the fruit, hears the words come out of his mouth before he can think about it. "I'm not hungry."

"You should still eat it."

He probably should, but he doesn't know for certain. There's a pain in his abdomen, a sinking feeling, maybe a stone is sitting in his stomach, he isn't sure how to explain the sensation. It's an odd feeling, and he doesn't know how to categorize it.

"Fine." Sanji mutters when the silence between them stretches too long. He reaches over and takes the fruit from his hand. He pops a slice into his mouth while saying. "We need to regroup with the others, see if they found anything."

Zoro closes his hands into a loose fist, watching the fingers bend. "What are we looking for?"

Sanji starts walking, and Zoro follows. "There's a certain woman that lives on this island. She apparently knows how to fix the shit going on in your head." Sanji grimaces and Zoro doesn't think it has to do with the orange. "We're looking for her, see if all that talk holds up."

Zoro nods. Some of that sounds familiar. He looks around the market square, tries to put two and two together on his own. "So, we're asking the locals if they'd know where she lives."

Sanji pauses, allowing two women to cross in front of them. He puts a hand on his chest, gives them a short bow. The women chuckle and wave as they pass.

Once Sanji starts walking again, he says, "And the locals don't know jack shit. I feel like an idiot asking about a magical doctor lady that can cure memory loss. I mean, if Chopper can't fix you, then how the hell could she? Ah, right, you don't know Chopper anymore. Well, regardless, I feel like I'm asking people if they've seen a unicorn. That goddamn butcher was the only one who had a clue what I was talking about, but then he starts going off about magic and spells, tch. Everyone here has got their heads in the clouds."

Zoro's gaze returns to the mountain. Someone that could . . . fix me. He remembers, hours ago or maybe years ago, trying to convince himself and the others that there wasn't anything wrong with him. That he didn't need to be fixed because he wasn't broken. And yet, here he was, his mind shattered into a million pieces and being held together by the thin thread of stubbornness.

Sanji follows his gaze. "You and Usopp were there. You probably don't remember it. It was a few days ago, when everything started. You guys were the only ones that went anywhere near that mountain, the rest of us just stayed close to the city. It's not much, but it's the only correlation we have, but still, not a—"

"—but not a causation," Zoro finishes for him. Sanji's doubts of this escapade are as clear as the sky. He thinks we're wasting our time here, chasing a lead that hardly exists. The more time we waste, the more I forget.

Zoro turns back to the cook. It's easy to see that he's well aware of the conclusion Zoro reached. ". . . Let's go find the others," Sanji murmurs. "And try not to space out—"

He's in a house.

He looks down, sees himself sitting at the head of a long table, with a bowl of soup set in front of him. He's holding a spoon in his hand, the other hand flat on the wooden surface. The smell of the soup makes his stomach stir, and the sensation is uncomfortable.

Someone is talking, and his ears pick up the tail end of, ". . . I'm sure that's not what ye wanted to hear, ey."

He looks around.

The room he's in is unfamiliar, but that doesn't alarm him. Beside him sits Usopp, who is fiddling with his napkin, elbows resting pointedly on the table. On his other end sits Luffy, who ravages through a plate full of meat with vigor.

"It's better than nothin', at least." That's Franky's voice. Zoro follows it and finds the cyborg leaning against a countertop, arms crossed.

"It matches what that doctor from the adjacent island said, too," Sanji supplies. He stands near the half open window, the smoke from his cigarette being swallowed up by the outside world. "Crazy witch that used to be a doctor and now lives in the mountains. Yup, checks out. Thought you guys were messing with us, at first."

Zoro sets the spoon down carefully. The motion catches Usopp's attention. The sharpshooter leans in, keeps his voice low as to not deter the wider conversation, and says, "You should eat that. It's actually pretty good."

It feels like a lot of people have been telling him to eat, lately. He looks down at the orange colored soup, the liquid so lumpy that it doesn't even produce a reflection. Just the sight of it makes his stomach twist, and he cringes.

An unfamiliar voice speaks up. "Aye, ye been to Lyrnhill, then? Mhm, right then, we get lot'o folk from that island swingin' over for a holiday. Lyrnhill is a more of a financial district, ye see, filled with businesses and corporations and the like. . . "

He follows the voice, and finds that it belongs to an unfamiliar man with a bushy moustache that covers his mouth, and bushy eyebrows that cover his eyes, and bushy beard that covers his neck. He's dressed in dirty clothes, and over them sits an even filthier apron that's covered in splotches of red and yellow. In his hand is a large cutting knife. He's cleaning it with a rag as he speaks.

Usopp leans in a little closer and says, "If you want, I can ask Demtri to make you something else. He really doesn't mind."

The name sounds foreign in his ears. "Who?"

Usopp's brow furrows, and his eyes turn to look at the unfamiliar man, who is in the midst of saying to Franky and Sanji, ". . . but we at Plume are laxer, aye, more content, with less burdens on our shoulders. We're as chipper as they come! Ain't no problems on this part of the ocean, mhm . . ."

Meanwhile, Usopp's voice drops to a whisper, but the disappointment is loud. "Oh . . . did you forget him already?"

Zoro's eyes widen, and he can feel himself go pale. "Forget . . . —ngh," he grabs his head to try and stop it from bucking like a wild horse.

That's right.

That's right!

He was . . . he was outside, before.

He was walking with Sanji. Talking about . . . looking for someone. Shit, the memory is so blurry. How long ago was that?

Suddenly, the fact that he is an unfamiliar room is increasingly alarming.

Where the hell am I?

Usopp is shooting Luffy nervous glances, but their captain is too busy with the generous helping of meat put out in front of him to notice the dilemma occurring in right next to him.

I've forgotten someone else, Zoro thinks with horror. He grits his teeth to keep himself from cursing aloud and interrupting the conversation happening around him.

Usopp purses his lips nervously. He knows I've forgotten someone else. Zoro spares the unfamiliar man – Demtri – a glance, wondering who this person is who's been wiped from his memory. Then his heart nearly drops to the pit of his stomach at the horrible question that comes to mind—

"Was he," Zoro says lowly, almost hesitantly, nearly dreadfully. "Is he nakama?"

The very thought of it makes his blood freeze— another member of the crew he's forgotten. Damn it, how many more before he's completely alone? How many need to be stolen from his mind before he's nothing but a one-man crew? The very idea of forgetting any more of them, of forgetting Usopp next, or Franky or even the dumbass cook, or—fuck, or even Lu—

"—No, no, no!" Usopp says hurriedly in a hush, eyes bulging. "Oh god, no. Not, that's not what I— sorry, crap, you don't need to worry about that. Demtri, he's– we just met this guy, like less than an hour ago. He's not someone from our crew, it's not like that."

And at the same time, the man called Demtri is saying grandly, "—All are," here he raises his hands, "and I mean all are welcome to relax to their heart's content here. All types of people flock to our lovely island, from top executives to meager laborers to—"

"Marines." Sanji deadpans, sharing a look with Franky.

Demtri nods vigorously, the cook's implication lost to him. "Aye, of course. Especially them Marines. There's been chatter of a new lot of them streamin' in, apparently looking for some big name pirates that caused a ruckus a few days back. But ain't nothin' new there, we welcome pirates, too! Can't be helped that the two are always at it like cats and dogs . . ."

They continue their conversation. Zoro lets out a shuddering exhale, nearly melting into his seat. Thank god. He runs a hand down his face, forcing his heart to slow down and for his head to calm the hell down—

"Sorry," Usopp says quickly and with sincerity. "I should have been clearer; I didn't mean to freak you out. He's a butcher that you and Sanji ran into. He said he knew something about a doctor that would be able to help you. He invited us to his house so we can talk. That's all."

Zoro nods. That bit sounds familiar to him. He remembers the cook being skeptical of a butcher and his tales. This must have been the only lead that was worth following. Zoro tries to keep his voice casual as he asks, "We're still on the island, then. Plume Island?"

Usopp nods and Zoro thinks, good, nothing extreme happened in between. The sharpshooter whispers, "Demtri was just telling us about the mountain's forest here, and how it was closed off years ago because it was so dangerous. All the locals know it's forbidden, but for tourists like us, you wouldn't know unless you asked. That's why when you and I went . . . well, ah—"

Luffy's hand stretches across the room and grabs the pitcher of water sitting on the counter. It catches everyone's attention and halts all conversations. His hand snaps back, half the water splashing onto his face. He asks, spitting chunks of meat and water along with his words, "Is the creepy witch-doctor lady really a witch?"

Sanji clicks his tongue. "Don't talk with your mouth full, asshole."

The butcher doesn't seem overtly surprised at the use of Luffy's stretching abilities, so Zoro assumes they've been here long enough that that's been established. This old man must not keep up with the news, Zoro thinks. If he couldn't put two and two together and figure out we're pirates.

Demtri chuckles, putting down the knife and picking a new one to clean. "Aye, aye. Moya's reputation precedes her, don't it? We ain't never called her a witch in the old days. She was just a brilliantly gifted doctor when it came to matters of the mind. She patched up my eldest when he gave himself a concussion after a nasty fall. And my neighbor, Tiem, he used to convulse like a madman every time a light would flicker, but after a visit from Moya he never had that problem again. She understood the human mind better than anyone, she did."

Franky huffs. "And now she's just a crazy old lady with a crazy Devil Fruit power that lives in the mountains all by herself."

Zoro tries to keep track of both conversations without dizzying himself. It's hard, and even more so when he doesn't know the context of the loudest one. What are they talking about, that has got even Luffy interested, even if just a little? He heard them say something about witches and doctors, but that doesn't make sense.

Usopp nudges his elbow. "Zoro?"

"What?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but reconsiders whatever it was he wanted to say. His eyes take in Zoro warily. ". . . are you alright?"

Zoro doesn't know how to answer that. He doesn't think he'll ever know how to answer that. He looks down at his soup, hoping to see his reflection and what his sorry state looks like, but all that looks back at him is orange.

He asks Usopp, "How long have we been here?"

The sharpshooter looks at the clock that hangs above the sink, answers, "Not long, probably an hour or so . . . oh, did you start forgetting again? What's the last thing you remember before you got here? I can help fill in the gaps if you want."

He shakes his head. "No, I'm . . ."

"Those Devil Fruits are truly something," the man is saying, almost wistfully, like he was recalling a cruel piece of history. "Mhm. Moya really tangled herself up with those things. Once she ate that wicked fruit, she fled from civilization, choosing the company of isolation rather than her own community. Ain't that something? Even for the most dire of medical emergencies, she wouldn't leave the mountain, instead we would have to go up to her with our sick, and that's a journey few in such a condition can take. Haven't seen her in decades, since we was in school together. No doubt she's got some witchery about her looks."

Luffy finally swallows his food. "But she would still fix people, if we go to her?"

"Aye. She's the only one we can go to with these problems, and she ain't cruel enough to turn us away knowing so. Years and years ago, when the forest was open to us, folks would come back from there with the same problem as your friend, here. Memories and what not disappearing. I remember our mayor at the time had a son who was inflicted with this disease. She was able to treat him and save his life. Ah, but did she? The boy died pretty young, I remember . . . but she did treat him. It was the talk of the town way back then. No, she's a wonderful doctor, see. I've never seen her turn away a patient, so long as it doesn't consist of her leaving her abode. I'm sure she will be able to patch up your friend."

He can feel all their eyes on him. Zoro looks up, hoping there wasn't a question for him in all that chatter. He really isn't prepared to join in on the conversation he was barely tracking.

"She will," Luffy says into the pregnant silence, the assurance in his voice powerful enough to wipe away any doubt. Sanji turns around and pokes his head through the window to blow out a stream of smoke.

The butcher breaks the ensuing silence with a heavy sigh, setting his knives down. "Best get back to my stall, now. My son can easily hold down the fort, but tragically does not know how to haggle with a haggler." He takes off his apron, replacing it with a crisp, white one. "Do stay if ya like. Eat to yer fill. Rest up, even. That goes double for you, son. You look like you haven't slept in years."

Oh, he's talking about me. Zoro nods, not really knowing what to say. Do I really look that shitty? He picks up the spoon, considering it for a while before dipping it into the soup.

Sanji stands up straighter. He brings the bag on his back around, and reaches into it, saying, "Let us at least pay you for the meat. It's the least we can do, for all your help and whatnot."

"Ah, that's kind of you, but yer my guests, not me customers! I couldn't possibly accept money in me own home."

Sanji mutters something, and Franky jumps in, "Then we'll give it to ya outside, at your stall like paying customers, how's that? We're gonna feel real rotten unless we repay ya, so—"

He's in a forest.

He's breathing hard, his shoulders heaving. He realizes he's running. Why am I running? Dirt and rocks skid as his feet dig for purchase. He tries to stop, and nearly tumbles at the steep inclination he finds himself in.

The house he was in is gone. The table is gone, the soup, the chatter, the windows. All of it is gone.

All that's around him now is a forest over-saturated with tall trees that overflow with leaves that cover the sky like a green umbrella.

That's . . . not right.

Zoro looks down. The corners of his mouth pull to a frown. In his hands are both his katana, drawn and raised and splattered with blood. His frown deepens. I was . . . holding a spoon before. When did I—

He hears the sound of steel clashing, of guns firing, of battle cries and shouts of pain—

That's not right.

Before, he was hearing Luffy chomping down on his food like a madman, was hearing Sanji blowing out streams of smoke, was hearing Usopp tap his fingers on the table nervously, was hearing Franky talking about repaying the old butcher.

But that's all gone now. Replaced by these foreign sounds that seem to raise in volume the more he focuses on them. Fighting? He looks up, and is shocked to find himself in the middle of an all-out battle.

He freezes, unable to process what he sees. No. We were in a house, talking to the butcher, Zoro thinks back, despite the sharp pain it produces in his head. We were all sitting, talking . . . how did we get here? Where is here?

In the midst of the pandemonium, his eyes search for familiarity — there's Luffy, arms stretching back as they prepare to slingshot his body forward at bullet-like speed. Who is he fighting? Usopp is behind a large tree, large staff at hand and raised as he prepares to fire at his targets. Is that a weapon? When did he pick that up? Sanji is hard to miss; his leg is on fire and illuminates the forest, casting the long shadows of trees around them. Did the idiot step on a campfire? He doesn't see Franky in his vicinity but can hear his enthusiastic battle cries echoing around him.

They're all fighting. Who are they fighting?

The answer is clearly in front of him but even that isn't providing much clarity – there isn't one enemy. There's probably more than half a dozen running around this forest, colliding with them. All with a multitude of weapons in their hands, like guns and swords and their bare fists. They're all dressed in the same attire, too, their clothes white and deeply contrasting the dirt and blood the fabric absorbed in the battle.

Who are these people—?

Just as quickly as the thought forms, one of the white uniformed men charges at him, a large sword in his hands.

Instinctively, Zoro raises his own katana, and all three blades ring sharply at the collision of steel – chiiiiiiiiiiing!

"Pirate scum!" the man roars with heated ferocity, and he brings down his sword again, smashing it into Zoro's crossed ones.

What the hell is going on? Zoro is dazed from the confusion. Who are these people? Why are we fighting? Are they from the village? Should I hold back? Shou—

The uniformed man brings down his sword again, breaking the defensive formation of Zoro's katana. Zoro steps back from the force but doesn't relent, and when the man starts swinging his sword wildly, Zoro is quick to block each and every one as they come.

The man isn't impressed with the tactic. He brings his sword around from the side, and Zoro blocks that one, too, forcing them into a deadlock. "Is that the best you can do? Fight back!"

Zoro scowls at the implication and thinks, fine, I won't hold back. He plants his heels into the ground, pushing the deadlock to an end with a heavy heave. Then he swings one sword up at a deadly curve. The man leans back to avoid the slice that would have taken his head off otherwise. Zoro takes advantage of the momentary confusion to smash his elbow into the man's nose.

"Gah!" He cries out, stumbling back and covering his face with a hand. He pulls it back and his eyes narrow dangerously at the blood his palm collects.

But he recovers quickly with a sharp inhale and charges at Zoro again. Zoro is taken aback by the quick recovery. His opponent's movements become unbelievably fast and dangerous. Ching! Ching! Ching! Ching! Ching! Go the swords as they snap at each other like feral dogs.

Zoro is breathing hard again. He's fast, he thinks, surprised that he was being pushed back by this no name opponent. Just who the hell are these people? He thinks again, this time with some panic. They're strong. Did Luffy piss off someone at the village? We were in a house, talking to one of the locals. What happened in between—

A sharp pain assaults his head, and Zoro winces involuntarily. Immediately he sees his mistake, Shit!— but his opponent is quick to catch the opportunity as soon as it presents itself.

The man knocks Kitetsu out of his way and lands a heavy kick solidly into Zoro's stomach. Zoro grunts, the wind knocked out of him. And just as quickly, before Zoro can regain his breath, the uniformed man brings down his sword against Zoro's, and the force of the swing knocks both katana out of his hands like they were nothing but toys.

Shit! Zoro thinks, now suddenly overwhelmed with the quick progression of everything. A man he doesn't even know, that he just met, is attacking him and outwitting him, and now stands over him with a reeled back sword, ready to deliver the final blow— but screw that, Zoro thinks, squaring his shoulders, because there's no way he would lose to this nobody, even without his swords he could take on anyone, so if this asshole thinks—

A large fist shoots through the air and knocks the uniformed man clean off his feet.

Zoro blinks.

The hell?

He turns around.

Oh, right.

Franky shouts a triumphant, "Ow! Bullseye!" He punches the air with a fist-less hand.

The chain rattles as it pulls the appendage back to the cyborg. Franky comes to stand next to him. "You alright, bro?" Franky asks as he pops his hand back into his arm with a click!

Zoro nods, dazed. ". . . Yeah. Thanks."

The white uniformed man lays on the floor, unmoving. A dozen more are still running around, avoiding the Strawhats' destructive attacks and counterattacking with their own techniques. No one else seems to be having as much trouble with them as I had . . . Zoro thinks, uncomfortable.

"These Marine bastards are persistent!" Franky huffs, flexing his fingers. "Can't catch a damn break anywhere. And now they've got Devil Fruit users and seastone weapons? Psh!"

Zoro frowns. "Marines?"

"Yeah. Oh, did you just pop in?" Franky asks, tapping his head. Pop in, Zoro snorts. That's one way to put it. "Yeah, yeah, the bastards followed us into the forest. Pesky buggers. Someone from the village must've ratted us out. Or they were just layin' low, waitin' for us to come back. Probably still bitter that Strawhat-bro beat their boss in a fair 'n square arm wrestlin' challenge. Ha! Bitter assholes. No worries, though, they ain't gettin' their money back and no way in hell are we gonna let them slow us down!"

Zoro nods along, but absolutely does not follow anything Franky says. He's starting to realize the best way to keep things moving and to not be seen as a lunatic is to just not question anything anymore. It'll make sense later, Zoro tells himself, ignoring the ever growing knot of worry that continues to tangle itself in his stomach.

"Right, let's get back to business!" Franky exclaims. He nods to Zoro's katana that lay on the dirt ground, saying, "Don't want these bastards gettin' cocky now. Just 'cause they called in reinforcements and are stronger than the other group don't mean shit! We'll run them out soon enough, and get ourselves back on track, yeah?"

He doesn't understand, but he agrees nonetheless. Zoro bends down to pick up his katana—

—his hand is outstretched in front of him.

The forest is gone. Franky is gone. The trees, the sky, the sounds of battle— everything from just a second ago has disappeared. His katana are no longer in front of him, and neither is the dirt ground. In front of him is just darkness.

He can feel himself reaching out, his hand trying to grasp at something that's no longer there. That hasn't been there for a long time. He's not bending over either. He's laying down, looking up. Darkness stares back.

Zoro's breath stutters. He is confused, but he is not alarmed.

He blinks slowly, and there's a brief change of color in the darkness when he does so. His mind slowly reaches the conclusion that it's night time. Just a second ago, Zoro thinks, and it takes a painful amount of time to dig out the thought, Just a second ago it was day time. The sun was still overhead. Before.

Slowly, he lowers his hand, placing it on his stomach. There's a blanket over his body. When he shifts, he notices something soft underneath his head. A rolled up sweater, perhaps? He wiggles his toes. He's not wearing his boots. I was . . . asleep? He doesn't feel rested at all. Or was I just going to bed?

He inhales slowly. The air smells like pine, dew, and dirt, mixed in with the undeniable scent of burnt wood. He tries to make sense of that. It's hard.

He closes his eyes, then opens them with the intent of adjusting his sight to the darkness. That's hard, too. It takes a few seconds, but gradually the darkness starts to make way for other shapes and colors.

He's laying down, settled inside a large tent. He knows this because he can see the dark silhouettes of the outside world through the thick, brown fabric that surrounds him.

We made camp, he thinks, his jaw clenched tightly as he reaches that conclusion. His eyes follow a centipede's profile as it crawls its way across the pitched exterior. And we're still in . . . he struggles here, trying to pull back the memory of the past. In a forest. On an island. We were fighting before, in a forest. We must have finished the fight and kept going until it got dark.

That makes the most sense to him.

Zoro settles with it.

He doesn't risk trying to recall the moments that led up to now; the one's that have already erased themselves from existence. He knows that it would only bring an onslaught of wicked pain his way. His head already feels heavy and strung out, and the loud whooshing gusting between his ears is bad enough. He doesn't want to add on any more agony. He's tired.

From beside him, he hears soft snoring.

His eyes drift. He sees the massive outline of Franky's body on the far side of the tent, the cyborg's chest rising and falling with each obnoxious snore. He has a pristine white bandage wrapped around his exposed back. Between them are a couple of empty sleeping bags, one untouched and the other disheveled.

That's not where the soft snoring is coming from, however. No, this one is closer. Zoro turns his head on to the other side, so his cheek settles against the cool end of the rolled up sweater.

Ah . . . it's Luffy.

His captain is sprawled out on the other end of the tent, his blanket wrestled aside and hardly covering his body. The chill in the air doesn't bother him. Luffy looks relaxed, content. His soft storing continues. The sound is unbelievably soothing to Zoro.

With his attention now on the sounds around him, he realizes there are more noises. There are noises outside of the tent. There's a cracking noise. What is that? Ah, yes, it's the sound of fire licking the air, of wood crackling. A camp fire? He pays closer attention and hears crickets chirping, leaves rustling in the wind, and dirt shifting. A forest, he thinks. We're outside, in a forest. At night.

He doesn't turn his head to see, but he can tell by the faint glow emitting from behind him that there is a source of light. There's a light. Fire. Yes, he tells himself. It's definitely a fire. The light is pulsing like a heartbeat.

He can hear voices, too, if he concentrates hard enough. They sound muffled through the roar in his ears, but nearby regardless. Two voices . . . two people? He wonders who they are. He should probably get up and see who it is. It might be enemies.

He doesn't get up.

He's too tired.

He just listens.

". . . —older." He catches only the end of the sentence.

"What?" Someone asks irritably.

"It's on your shoulder."

"What is?"

A beat passes. Then— "FUCK!"

He hears the sound of frantic scrambling, of aggressive stomping, then angry sweeping against fabric.

"Piece of shit fucking bugs! I swear to god I'm going to burn this whole shitty forest to the ground!"

Oh.

He knows those voices.

It's Usopp and Sanji.

That dumbass cook might be the only person in this goddamn world to lose a fight to a bug. Zoro closes his eye with a soft sigh. Nothing to be alarmed about, then. Well, he wasn't alarmed to begin with. Simply curious. He should probably go outside, go sit with them, talk to them and get an idea of what's been happening thus far.

He opens his eye, staring at the tent's ceiling.

He doesn't get up.

He doesn't move.

He's too tired.

"Well," Usopp says when the cook finally stops cursing and snapping at everything around him. "I told you, if you lean against the trees, they'll crawl on you."

"Yeah, real helpful, shitty longnose!"

"Shhh! Stop yelling! Everyone's sleeping!" Usopp whispers loudly.

They sound nearby. Probably settled behind the tent, near the fire. He wonders what part of the forest they're in now. He wonders why they're even in the forest. Luffy probably wanted to go camping, he thinks. Or they all got lost.

"Those dumbasses can sleep through a goddamn earthquake," Sanji replies, but this time his volume is moderated. He lets out an aggravated breath. Zoro hears the crackling of dry leaves and dirt shifting. Sanji is moving, probably away from his original spot.

Zoro turns his head. The cook is right; Franky and Luffy remain dead to the world, giving no indication that all their shouting interrupted their slumber. Zoro envies them. He should probably go to sleep, too.

"What were we talking about again?" The cook asks nonchalantly. Zoro doesn't know. Why are they even talking in the dead of night and not sleeping?

"It doesn't matter," Usopp says quickly. "It's not important."

"Ah, right. Indulging your little pity party."

Usopp stammers. "H-Hey! It's not a pity— . . . you're such an ass, Sanji."

There isn't any heat behind the insult. He can practically hear the cook shrug it off. "Guess I am. Or maybe I'm just sick and tired of hearing you whining about something that has nothing to do with you."

Usopp sounds like he's been fighting this battle with Sanji for years. "Not just an ass. But a whole asshole. Can't you just let me feel bad about myself for one second without shooting me down?"

"No. Because, like everyone else on this crew already told you, none of this is your fault. If anything, it's pretty selfish of you to try and take all the responsibility here."

"It absolutely is my fault!" He can hear the frustration that laces Usopp's every word. It drips out his mouth like acid. His tone is strange, uncharacteristic. "You heard the butcher—it's this forest. It's all because of me, because I was the one that brought Zoro here last week. If he had never come here, if, if I had just come here by myself and hadn’t pushed him to come with me, then he wouldn't have gotten sick in the first place. What do you call that?"

"Incredibly bad luck on Zoro's end." Sanji mutters. "And keep your voice down. Do you want the Marines to ambush us again?"

Zoro's brow furrows. They're talking about him. Why? Did something happen to him? Usopp said he was sick. That sounds familiar. He does feel pretty crappy. Incredibly tired, too.

"I'm just . . ." Usopp starts, pausing to search for the words. "I just – I can't stop thinking about Zoro, and how much worse the memory loss is getting."

Oh.

"He hasn't forgotten who we are, so it's not that bad."

Usopp sputters. "Are you serious!? Sanji, he's forgotten half the crew already! He doesn't know where we are, or what year it is! He—"

"Alright, already! I get it! It was just a joke, Usopp. Clearly not a good one. You're too uptight."

Oh. So that's what it is.

The memory loss.

The forgetting things.

That's still happening?

Zoro's tired.

He wonders what he's forgotten now.

I was in a house before. No, I was in the forest, with Franky. Zoro purses his lips. It was daytime then, and now it’s night. He does the math in head, realizes nearly half a day's worth of events are gone from his thinning archive of memory.

The thought doesn't come with much alarm.

His head throbs.

He doesn't wince.

The pain is like an old friend now.

"How can I not be?" Usopp is saying. "All this is happening because—"

"Oh, don't you freakin’—"

"—because I was the one—"

"—start with the pity party again, shitty Lo—"

"—who brought him to this forest in the first place!"

"For fuck's sake!"

"It's my fault he's like this! And now, you want me to go to sleep and do nothing? Zoro could be forgetting his own freakin' name while we sleep and waste away all his time!"

"I get it! Now shut up before I gag you." Sanji hisses heatedly. In a lower voice, he says, "You'll wake them up. Just . . . stop shouting already."

"We're wasting time, Sanji." Usopp says, quietly, pleadingly. "We should have kept going."

"What do you want me to do? Mutiny?" Sanji scoffs at his own absurd question. "Luffy says we stop and rest, so we stop and rest. That's how it works. If you were so opposed to the idea, then you should have said something."

Usopp doesn't respond immediately. ". . . I know. I just wish there was more we could do."

"There isn't. We're doing everything we can right now." Sanji's voice is harsh and curt, but there isn't a trace of venom in any of his statements. "Taking a break isn't a bad thing, Usopp. We all need rest. We have to stay sharp and ready in case those shitty Marines decide to sneak up on us again. Rest and food are the best things for all of us right now, especially for the Marimo."

Marimo. That's me, he thinks. He wonders? Yes, it must be. So, they're here to rest, then. A strange place for respite. Are there not any inns on this island?

"Rest isn't going to do anything for Zoro if the Marines show up again. You heard Franky." Usopp says, his voice hard with accusation. "During that last fight, Zoro was having trouble. Zoro, of all people! Against Marines! Franky said it looked the same as how he used to fight in Water Seven. He's forgotten his own skills! He didn't even know who the Marines were! He's—"

"I know." Sanji says each word slowly, with an edge. "The Marimo forgetting things shouldn't be a surprise to you. That's the whole shitty reason we're in this shitty forest."

"But it's getting faster and worse by the second now. He's forgotten where he was three times today. Three! It's getting worse, Sanji."

"Usopp. I know. We all fucking know."

"Zoro might rest, but he won't eat." Usopp says. He seems to hesitate here, contemplating whether he should keep going. "He won't. He can't. He's hungry, but he doesn't know that, because he's forgotten what hunger feels like. That's what Chopper thinks, at least."

A long soft exhales. Cigarette smoke fills Zoro's senses. He feels like he's trapped in a burning house, everything crumbling around him. It's so hot and cramped in this tent, all of a sudden. He wonders when the roof will suddenly fall and collapse atop him. Everything else seems to be falling apart around him.

". . . I know." Sanji says very quietly. Zoro almost doesn't hear it.

"I'm not being an asshole for the hell of it, you know," Sanji suddenly says. "If you keep trying to shoulder all of the blame, you're going to drive yourself insane, and the rest of us with you. It's just not healthy. That shitty cyborg was right when he said Zoro's his own person. He chose to come with you, you didn't force him. Everything that happened after that was circumstance. Can't blame yourself for something you can't control."

Their words are nauseating to hear; Zoro feels as if he might hurl now. A part of him knows what they're talking about, but a larger part of him is forbidding his mind to see what it is. Then there's the largest part of him that doesn't want to hear this conversation at all, doesn't want to involve himself in whatever trouble this is, and just wants to sink into the ground and let the dirt encompass him like a blanket—

"They should be sleeping," Luffy's soft voice says from beside him.

It nearly startles him.

Zoro turns his head, sees his captain lying on his makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling. He's not sleeping anymore. Zoro realizes he probably wasn't sleeping from the start.

"We have a long day tomorrow." Luffy says. "You should sleep, too."

The words leave his mouth roughly, without his permission, without his knowledge. "I don't know how."

Luffy turns his head.

They stare at each other, their eyes shining in the darkness. It's too dark to see Luffy's expression, and Zoro finds himself unbelievably grateful for that. He wonders if Luffy agrees with the conversation outside. Zoro wonders what they were talking about in the first place.

"I know," Luffy says. "It's okay."

Crumbling, crumbling.

Everything inside him is falling apart, the debris as cold as ice as they collapse within him.

Just looking at Luffy, seeing him, it's a horrible feeling. Like being suffocated from the inside out. But he doesn't want to look away. He can't look away.

"I forgot more things," Zoro tells him. He doesn't recognize his own voice. "It's not stopping."

Luffy doesn't say anything.

Usopp and Sanji are still talking outside, but now their voices are muffled, distorted. There's a buzzing in the air, as if he's been submerged in an ocean of electricity. It's so loud. It even swallows up Franky's snoring. He can hardly hear himself think.

Luffy's head tilts down. Zoro follows it.

Three katana are laid out between him and Luffy, sheathed and undisturbed. He doesn't recognize the blood red one or the black one that are closest to him. But the third one is unmistakable, it's white sheathe glowing within this blackhole.

Crumbling, crumbling, everything is falling apart.

"Tell me about this sword," Luffy's voice whispers. "Does it have a name?"

"Yes," Zoro whispers back. His eyes are glued to the sword, mesmerized by its light. It has a name, but it also has his life.

"Wado Ichimonji." The name comes out of his mouth like a breath he's been holding in for days.

The blanket that's settled over his body feels heavier now; he's being pressed down into the earth. He can hardly breathe. The tent is shrinking, closing in on him. No, it's the world that's shrinking—

"How did you get it?" Luffy asks, even though he knows the answer.

But do I know the answer? he thinks, panic rocking his bones.

He can't breathe. It's so hard. His throat is so tight, so dry, so painful. Even thinking is a luxury his body won't afford him. But he needs to think, he needs to remember, needs to make sure that memory is still there— please let it still be there—

"I made a promise," Zoro says hoarsely.

His fists are clenched tightly around the blanket.

"To be the strongest. With a friend . . ." he searches, searches, searches for the name in the darkness, willing it to still be there—

"Kuina. Promised one of us would become the world's strongest. When she died, I . . ."

Crumbling, crumbling, it's all falling over him like an avalanche of despair—

"I . . . swore on that sword that I would become the world's greatest swordsman."

That memory . . .

He watches it play out in his mind. Kuina knocking him on the ground effortlessly, the tears gleaming in the moonlight, childish voices making a promise that was well beyond their years, a clothe over the face of a soulless body—

What is he without that memory? It's the very foundation of his person. Without it . . . he's nothing. Not even a person. He stares at the sword, trying to burn its image into his mind like an eternal brand.

"I don't want to forget that," Zoro says.

He's not talking about the sword anymore. He doesn't know what he's talking about, exactly, but the urge to say it aloud is overwhelming.

He stares at his captain. "I can't forget it, Luffy. Not that."

"You won't."

A promise, not a statement.

Luffy's eyes are hardened with determination.

"Zoro's going to be okay," Luffy says.

Another promise.

He stares at Luffy, really looks at him now.

To him, Luffy was like the wind. Just his mere presence alone would slam into him with a force as strong as a physical blow. He was a powerful gust that would wrap around him, turn his world upside down with a howl and a push.

Now, he's a stream of air slipping through his fingers.

The daunting realization that's been crumbling over him finally collapses with its full weight.

He realizes with absolute certainty that this will be the last time he ever sees Luffy.

"Luffy—"

Chapter 10: The Pirate

CHAPTER TEN

---

He's in a forest.

It's bright. The sun shines directly above him. The sky is an enthusiastic blue, with the clouds sparse and thin. Trees of impressive height and mass surround him on all sides, and below him is an ocean of shallow dirt and muck. The shadows of the overhead leaves and branches give the impression of a speckled ground.

He takes another step forward. He's walking.

The dirt seeps underneath his boots. He wonders if it rained earlier. The bright blue sky and scarce clouds say otherwise. The air itself is moist, a veil of fog floating underneath the sky forebodingly. The taste is chilled and hollow.

He has a headache.

God, he has a bitch of a headache.

It churns from the side of his head, the pain deepening with each heartbeat. He must have been out in the sun for too long, he thinks.

He keeps walking. He's almost there.

The ground makes wet, disgusting noises as he trudges along. Every so often a drop of water would fall on his head. A breeze floats by, tickling the back of his neck.

He keeps walking.

He realizes he's a bit out of breath, his breathes coming out hot and substantial. This annoying headache doesn't make it any better. It seems to want to accompany him throughout his journey. His balance wavers from the pain and irritation.

He doesn't feel well. He should probably sit down.

But, no . . . he doesn't want to. Not yet. He's almost there.

A gust of wind blows by, making the leaves above him clatter like ominous applause.

He stares at the ground as he walks, the dirt seemingly swirling like brown whirlpools. It's dizzying, and every so often he would nearly lose his footing. He rubs his eyes, and when he pulls away, blotches of light ink his vision.

He doesn't feel well. He thinks he might be sick. He thinks he might have overexerted himself. He's incredibly tired. But he needs to keep going. He's almost there. He's on the right path. Yes, he'll be there soon.

He keeps walking.

Everything sounds too loud around him. Birds caw over one another in screaming matches, and bugs lap and zoom around him in frenzy. The loud buzzing from inside his head doesn't help either. Everything's too damn loud.

The headache becomes too insistent now.

It pounds into his skull with each fumbling step he takes. It's starting to mess with his vision, too, making all the colors of his surroundings bleed together. The trees multiply around him like prison bars.

He stops. No, he thinks, this isn't right. He needs to take a break. He feels as if he might collapse and get swallowed up by the mud at this rate.

He'll take a break. His destination isn't going anywhere; it can wait. He's tired.

Decision made, he blindly he feels around him, and his hand makes contact with a tree. Its exterior is cool and rough. It stands tall and strong, its trunk sturdier than a mountain. He envies it.

He leans against the tree, then slides down to sit, the coarse bark scratching against his back. The ground is soft underneath him, welcoming. Sitting is a relief he can't explain.

He blows out a narrow exhale. Ah. Everything is calming. The roar in his ears dims down to a soft hiss.

He takes in a shuddering breath, closing his eyes. Warmth enters his body with each soft inhale, filling his lungs, his stomach, his blood. His skin feels like it's steaming. He sinks his fingers into the cool mud, letting the filth dig underneath his nails.

If he had known how much of a struggle this journey would be, he would never have partaken in it. He would have stayed back. If only he could go back, when everything was calm and familiar and he didn't feel so awful.

The birds and bugs and whatever other animals are in this forest keep up their distorted singing and squalling. He opens his eyes, staring at his sprawled legs. He doesn't blink for a while, watching as his vision twists and tangles without his permission.

Time passes by in the company of the forest.

He feels no rush to get up and continue his journey. Perhaps later, but not now. Now, he is enjoying the numbness of his body and the buzzing static of the air. The world around him spins at its own accord, and he is the only thing that doesn't move. That's fine.

More time passes, when suddenly a shadow falls over him.

He raises his gaze to see a person standing over him.

He frowns, but he isn't alarmed. He wonders if he should be alarmed, or startled, or at the very least alert. Should he stand up? Or reach for a weapon, or do something that doesn't leave him so open to an attack? He's not sure.

Exhaustion has completely overwhelmed him now. He wonders . . . if this person were to swing at him, would he even have the strength to defend himself? That thought should spark some emotion with him, he knows it. He knows he should be feeling something . . . but it's not there.

He just blinks, waiting.

"Hey," the person says. He says it cautiously, with open worry. "What're you doing?"

The sun is shining from behind his head, darkening his silhouette. His expression is indecipherable. He wonders if this person is a threat, but disregards the thought. He would be dead if he were, that's how threats usually go. Though, this forest is quite uneventful and ordinary. He doubts people would just attack others here without cause.

"What are you doing?" He asks again.

He is pulled out of his musings and considers the question before answering, "I'm sitting."

He frowns. His voice is haggard, the words tumbling out of his mouth like gravel. He wonders when his voice had gotten so rugged. He hopes he isn't ill.

The person is clearly dubious. "On the floor?" He tilts his head, and the sun aims its light directly into his face. "But it's all dirty, with mud and leaves and rocks. You could be sitting on bugs, or poop."

He nods absently, the back of his head rubbing against the harsh bark. He feels as if the tree itself is embracing him. He slouches deeper.

The person is still here, watching him with curiosity. He isn't turned away by the silence, instead taking it as an invitation to converse, "Well, maybe not poop. I've been sitting on the floor, too, and I haven't gotten any poop on me. I did accidentally kill four different bugs with my butt, though, and Usopp was really mad at me. But it wasn't my fault, they should have moved. Are you here by yourself?"

He is hardly able to follow this person's babbling, but he does catch the tail end of the speech. By yourself. He says it with pity, or possibly with distaste. He doesn't mind. Being in the company of just himself was always preferable. He's always been a loner, following no one and tethered to nothing.

The person standing over him hums noncommittally before saying, "I'm not alone. I came with my friends. They're over there, see? The people in the town said this forest is supposed to be dangerous, 'cause of all the animals and the crazy witch and stuff, but I think they were just making up stories. We haven't seen anyone walking around except the Marines, but they're only here 'cause we're here. Do you live here?"

He doesn't live anywhere. He's always been on the move, traveling from one place to another. He has never associated himself with just one place. Even now, he's traveling to his next destination. And he's almost there, too. It has been a rigorous journey, but he's nearly there.

Though, there are times where he wishes he could stop and just go back . . .

An unsatisfied huff. "You don't talk much, huh?" The person says, though it may as well be a whine by the look of his pout. "Or maybe you can't hear me? Hey, can you hear me? Helloooo?"

He scowls at the hand waving about in front of his face. "I hear you," he tells the person pointedly. "I just don't care. Get lost."

"Wah?" The person makes a very displeased noise. "How rude! I just wanted to talk, what's wrong with that?"

"Talk to someone else."

"But I want to talk to you! You're pretty interesting, and I'm really bored. Come on, aren't you bored, too? This forest was interesting at first, and now I'm used to it. There's nothing to do, and I've been walking all day. I'm so tired, and I'm bored. Aren't you tired?"

"Tired of you," he mutters.

The guy bursts out laughing. "You're pretty funny! You're mean-funny, though. Sanji's like that sometimes, too! You guys are pretty similar. I bet you two would get along."

He sighs haggardly and dips his head back. What an annoying guy.

From the corner of his eye he sees something in the clearing a few paces back. There are a few people standing behind the foray of vegetation. Standing and watching. He wonders if they're part of this guy's group. He hopes they don't come over. He really doesn't want to talk to more people. He can hardly keep up with this guy.

The shadow over him shifts. With a "hup", the stranger crosses his legs and settles himself beside him. Dirt and dead leaves are pushed away to make room for him.

When his pointed glare has no effect, he scowls and asks, "What are you doing?"

"Sitting," he says easily. He doesn't mind that his red shorts collect mud and twigs. Bugs scurry out of the way as if they'd just heard his story earlier. "You're not the only one allowed to sit. It's a free floor."

He considers that, realizing that's not entirely wrong, and at the same time realizes he's too tired to do something about it. He ends up rolling his eyes, saying, "Whatever."

At this proximity, he realizes this person is definitely not a threat. For one, he's young, probably the same age as him, and incredibly scrawny. He's wearing an enthusiastically red jacket that is well suited for this chilly weather, but that sentiment is entirely thrown away by the sandals and shorts he pairs it with. Definitely an idiot, then.

There's a rope tying something white behind his back, and around his neck is a straw hat.

"Are you a swordsman?"

He's pulled out of his musings by the strident voice. "What?"

"Your swords."

Swords? He follows to where the finger points. "Oh."

There are two swords attached to his hip, a black one and red one. He puts a hand over the hilt of the red one, and it seems to hiss underneath his touch. He tries to remember where he got them from, and in response his head twinges.

A nudge on his shoulder. "So?"

"What?"

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"A swordsman?"

He curls his fingers around the hilt of the red sword. "Guess so."

Something doesn't feel right, but he's not sure what it is. Everything feels surreal, almost dreamlike. He wonders if he is dreaming, and if this person is just a figment of his imagination. No, he thinks, that can't be. He can feel their shoulders touching, the crisp stroke of air, the pain in his head. This is real. Why does he feel so nervous?

The guy looks impressed. "That's so cool! I have a swordsman in my crew, but he's a lot cooler than you. He uses three swords. Isn't that funny?"

He's forgotten what they were talking about. "What?"

"Right?" The guy says, taking his confusion as interest. His black hair tussles in the wind. "He's really cool! Everyone in my crew is cool, and strong, too! We have to be, 'cause we're going after One Piece! I'm going to be the Pirate King, you know!"

"Pirate, huh." He tastes the word in his mouth. It's bittersweet. He studies this pirate, noting the prideful grin, the shining eyes, and high shoulders sharpened by tension.

He's never seen a pirate before, but he never would have guessed they look like this. He doesn't know what he expected, but he is pretty unimpressed.

The pirate looks offended. "Ehh, don't say it like that. Do you not like pirates or something?"

"I don't," He closes his eyes. "really care, I guess."

"You don't care about anything, huh?" The pirate snickers. "Heh. Don't worry! I'm just asking if you like pirates to make sure you're not a bounty hunter. I don't think there's that many on this island anyway, but you can never be too careful. That's what Robin always says, at least."

He's not listening. It's hard to pay attention to anything precise. As his gaze wanders to the forest and its identical inhabitants, the headache slowly buzzes back into his mind. It starts with a soft whine of pain, then slow grows into a blaring ache, and with his slow blink, it surges a heavy throbbing that shakes—

"So, are you?"

He blinks, turning his head. The pirate is smiling at him patiently. He sighs, incredibly annoyed. "Am I what?" He asks.

"A bounty hunter?"

"No."

"Then what are you?"

The question throws him off. "What?"

Those wide eyes are unwavering. He asks again. "What are you?"

The answer seems obvious. He's nothing. But he doesn't want to be nothing, and knowing that he is makes his insides shrivel up and go cold.

He grits his teeth at the question. "Do I have to be anything? I'm just me."

The guy grins broadly, seemingly relieved. "That's good! I like that. Plus, I didn't want to have to fight you or anything, if you were a bounty hunter. You're pretty funny."

He frowns. "Fight?" He's never fought anyone before. He looks at his hands, watches as it trembles slightly. He doesn't think he can fight anyone right now. He hasn't been feeling himself lately. His body is decaying like a corpse.

"Oh, yeah! Bounty hunters are always trying to fight me 'cause I've got a biiiiig bounty" He stretches out his arms to emphasize just how big. "Everyone in my crew has one, too! We're pretty famous. You've probably heard of us. The Straw Hat Pirates! And me, I'm Monkey D. Luffy!"

"Straw Hat?" He's never heard of this pirate group before. He's not very well-versed on the infamous pirate crews of this era, either. He glances at the hat tied around neck loosely, and wonders aloud, "Does everyone in your pirate crew wear a straw hat, like some kind of uniform?"

The pirate bursts out laughing at that. "Nope! Just me. If everyone wore one, then mine wouldn't be special. Plus, we'd all look really silly. Although, it could be really funny to see Brook wearing my hat with his afro. Shihihi! Maybe I'll try it when we get back."

"Right." He doesn't follow his ramblings. He looks past the laughing pirate, to the three men standing at a clearing and looking over suspiciously in their direction. "So then, those guys over there. They your crew?"

The pirate turns, then looks back at him, his smile even wider. "Yeah! That's them! Aren't they cool? The smoking guy is Sanji, my cook, and the long nose guy is Usopp, my sniper, and the big guy is actually a cyborg! He's Franky, my shipwright."

He doesn't retain any of the names, only half listening. The three men stand near one another, expressions too far to see but their stances colored in tension. He wonders if all pirates look so . . . colorful.

He looks back to the guy sitting next to him. "And what are you supposed to be? The steward?"

The pirate puffs out his chest, absolutely scandalized. "Hell no! I'm the captain!"

He snorts, incredulous. "You?"

"Yeah! Don't I look tough?"

He doesn't answer, shaking his head softly. He picks up a pebble with two fingers, rubbing it to get rid of the dirt. He sets it back down, pushing it with a finger deeper into the earth. He wishes he could sink into the earth and disappear.

"That's not even all of them," the pirate keeps chattering on. "There's so many more cool people on my crew, but most of them are back on the ship waiting for us to come back. We're on a mission, see. One of my nakama is really sick, so we're out here looking for a doctor so that they can fix him up."

Sick?

His brow furrows, interest suddenly piqued. Yet, he's not so sure why. He licks his lips, tasting desolation. He asks carefully, "What's . . . he sick with?"

He finds himself waiting with baited breath for the answer. The pirate's mouth twists. He seems troubled as he crosses his arm. "I dunno. We haven't figured it out yet. But it's really messing him up. Chopper, our doctor, he says it's a metal thing."

He quirks a brow. "Metal?"

"Yeah, you know. Like, in his brain."

". . . Mental."

"That's right! Mental. It's a mental thing. Anyway, my nakama, he's really hurting, and we don't know how to fix him. We tried everything. He gets these really bad headaches that make him sick, and he's always tired and not eating and not sleeping. He's not himself anymore and keeps getting worse and worse, and we don't know how to stop it."

A frown pulls on his face. Sick . . . his hand finds his head, feeling the dull throbbing beneath the skin of his temple. Heat radiates underneath his fingertips. It's like there are hands cupping his head, or rather, his brain. Large, indiscernible hands, warm and soft with a grip as gentle as a mother's caress. It holds his mind with cushioned palms, squeezing ever so gently with every thought he tries to form. The sensation is, impossibly, both the most soothing feeling imaginable, and the most suffocating.

He tries to connect the dots, but it's hard.

The pirate keeps on talking, rambling to the trees. "But then we stopped at this one island. I forget its name, it was long. Lyrn-something. A doctor there said there was an even better doctor here on this island, who specializes in this kind of metal stuff. So, we came here to Plume and asked about the special doctor, and the meat guy said there's a witch living at the top of the mountain that can help. We think it's the same person. A witch-doctor! So, we're looking for her so she can fix him."

"A . . . witch?" He asks slowly, because maybe he didn't hear correctly.

A gust of wind swoops in, making the leaves hiss. A large cloud passes over the sun, coloring their surrounding in a thin layer of darkness. He can see the faint green light of a firefly's body as it latches onto a branch.

The pirate shrugs. "That's what they say. She's supposed to be really crazy, but also really smart. I'm really excited to see her. Maybe she'll do a spell and cure my nakama with magic!"

A doctor in this forest? The dots seem to be connecting. That's where he must have been going, too, as those symptoms sound eerily similar to his. He's been in this godforsaken place for so long, he's forgotten where his destination lay. But he's almost there.

He looks at the pirate carefully, trying to gauge his expression. There's nothing overtly underlying about this guy. He seems to wear to all his emotions on his sleeve carelessly. Then, he peers over the pirate's head. He can tell that all three of their pairs of eyes are locked on to him.

He asks with a tint of doubt. "They don't look that sick to me."

"Hm?" He follows his gaze, then understands. "Oh, it's not any them that's sick. It's my swordsman, the one I told you about earlier. With the three swords."

Did he mention a swordsman before? He doesn't remember. "Right . . . and where's he?"

"Sleeping." The pirate laughs. "He's real lazy!"

Such a carefree guy, he thinks. This time the suspicion bleeds into his words when he snorts and says, "You don't look so worried . . . for someone who's crew member is so sick."

The pirate's smile wavers.

The clouds make their way lazily across the sky, presenting the sun's blissful rays back to the earth's surface. He sees something flicker in the pirate's eyes, something that wasn't there before, and realizes it's remorse. The pirate tips his head back, staring at the leaves above him.

He chuckles, but there isn't any humor nor life behind it. "That's what everyone else in our crew keeps telling me."

Another howl of wind. The leaves seem to be whispering something urgent to them.

Then he says, in a soft voice that is unlike the one he was using earlier, "But really, I am worried. Very worried."

It's amazing, how when he isn't smiling and laughing and rocking back and forth, how much gravity his mere presence holds. He didn't feel it before, but now he's suddenly extremely aware of it. It's almost magnetic.

There's a tug on his sleeve. He looks down. There's a bug crawling on the clothe over his forearm. It's a long insect, with ten legs on each its sides and wild, waving antennas. It moves methodically and without purpose. He watches as it makes its way over to his shoulder.

The pirate takes in a large breath. He is saying, "But I'm the captain, see."

Then he reaches over and plucks the bug off him easily. He holds it in front of him, watching as its dozens of legs wiggle about in the air helplessly.

The stare he gives the insect is blank, but mostly, it's jaded. He says quietly, "Shanks always told me that the captain was the lone pillar that holds the crew up. One crack, and everything is at risk of falling apart. And a crew that falls apart is impossible to put back together, because the cracks will be there forever."

He tosses the bug aside, and it scampers away.

"So, I am worried," the pirate confides with him. "But I can't be worried. What the captain feels is what his crew feels, too. If I start looking and acting worried, then everyone else is going to be worried, and that just makes more cracks. We can't have that. No, someone has to be hopeful. Someone has to be brave. Even if it's just on the outside. Even if it's heavy."

The somberness of his voice is impossible to break away from. Now he sees it, and it's as clear as the sun above him; The smile of this pirate is the only thing holding him together.

The pirate exhales shakily. He shakes his head, clearing away the lines of solemnity from his face. "So, yeah!" he says, in that high voice of his. "What about you? What're you doing out here? Are you on a mission too?"

Him? He closes his hand into a fist, pulling some dirt into his palms. "I'm . . ." he pauses to collect the thoughts. "Traveling."

"Traveling, huh?"

He nods, but he's not so sure. Why is it so hard to find the answer? He swallows, "I need to get . . . somewhere."

"Where's that? Somewhere in this forest?"

"No." He licks his lips. His heart is thundering madly against his chest, rattling his ribs. "Maybe. I don't know. But I'm . . . close."

"That's cool! What's in this mystery place? Treasure?"

He shakes his head. His exhales are releasing cold breathes. Shit, why doesn't he know this? Why is it so hard to figure it out? "I don't think there's anything there. I just know I have to go there."

Then he says, almost involuntarily, as if the hesitation wants to be released and become real, "But . . . "

The pirate stares at him. "But?"

". . . I don't," there's a knife lodged in his stomach, twisting with agony and pulling his intestines with it. The macabre headache isn't helping much, either. Why is his whole being in such turmoil? ". . . I don't want to go there. But, I think I have to."

Everything is loud, everything is wrong. He doesn't want any of this. He wants to sink into the earth and allow the mud to swallow him. He doesn't—

"You know," The playfulness of the pirate's voice is gone. "You shouldn't do anything you don't want to do."

"I know," he lies through his teeth.

The pirate is frowning. "Well, if you don't want to go, then what do you want to do?"

What . . . he wants to do?

"I . . ."

He's never thought of that before. He didn't even know that was an option. What he wants to do? The side of his head curls as he searches for that answer, searches the dark, black abyss of nothingness to find an answer he's isn't so sure he has.

Ah, but then he finds it—

"I want . . . to go back."

The pirate nods encouragingly. "And where's back?"

His mouth is incredibly dry and cold. "I don't . . . know," he rasps, trying to figure out what the hell he's talking about. Yet the thought of returning, just the simple idea of going back, is absolutely tempting.

"I don't know," He says again, gritting his teeth. "But I want . . . to go back . . ."

He is awash by a feeling of desire, of a need for something that is no longer there. Is this homesickness? He wonders absurdly. Was it always this crushing? His head is bang, bang, banging mercilessly, a pain so ferocious he's sure it's shaking the world with its impact.

"You will," the pirate affirms, his gaze impossible to break away from. His hand is clasping his shoulder, tight and steady and calm.

He feels the franticness of his own body, and wonders if the franticness is palpable on his face. Everything hurts. He doesn't want to feel like this anymore.

He wants to go back. He wants to go back to before, before he felt like this—

"You will." Another squeeze on his shoulder. "Alright?"

He nods carefully, wondering how the pirate could possibly know that. Yet, he finds himself strangely assured by the certainty of his statement that everything slowly begins to calm. He tries to uncurl his hands, the nails embedded into the flesh.

"You know," the pirate says thoughtfully. "For a guy that's got to be somewhere, you don't seem to be in such a hurry."

"I'm . . ." He exhales shakily. He struggles to keep up with the change in atmosphere. "Taking a break."

"Ah," he says sagely. "So, you got lost."

"I'm not lost," he says with zero confidence. Damn, is he lost?

"Sure, sure. Oh!" The pirate exclaims suddenly. "I know! If you're not lost and you've got nothing else to do but take a break and you don't really want to go to your mystery place even though you're almost there and it probably sucks," he pauses to catch his breath, "then why don't you come with us instead? We can look for the witch together! Now that's fun! Isn't that more fun than your mission?"

His stomach does that annoying thing again, where it flips itself over and tries to sink into his legs. He hears himself mumble, "There's . . . no such thing as witches."

"How do you know if you've never seen one?"

He swallows. His throat is like sandpaper. "Because . . . that's just fairy tales. It's not real."

The pirate hangs his head with a long-winded groan. "Come on! It'll be so much fun! You can look for your mystery place on the way, too! Plus, after we finish and fix my friend, Sanji is gonna cook us a huuuuge feast to celebrate! He cooks the best food in the world! You have to try it!"

"No."

"Why not?"

He shakes his head, trying to bring clarity into his mind. "You're a pirate," he says. "You'll probably just end up . . . robbing me, or something. That's what pirates do."

"Ehhh? That's rude. We're not that cheap! Well, Nami's pretty stingy with money, but we're not all like that! Besides, why would we rob you? You don't look like you have anything worth stealing. You look like a dirty bum."

"I . . ." he's looking for an excuse. "I have these swords." He gestures to them vaguely, and he has the strangest sensation that the swords are scowling at him.

"Psh!" The pirate isn't impressed. "No thanks! Why would I want those if I have my own?" He pulls at the rope across his chest to bring forward the white sword he has slung over his back. He pats it pridefully. "See! Mine's cooler, too, so I don't want yours, even if they're free."

His lips purse. He won't fall for it. He's come too far to just be swindled by a pirate. The offer might be enticing . . . but, no. He needs to look out for himself. No one else will.

Like a child, the pirate whines when he doesn't respond right away, "Come ooooon, don't be lame! This is going to be so much more fun than sitting here all by yourself. Trust me, it'll be like a mini-adventure for you, one with pirates and witches and magic medicine! What's better than that?"

Medicine. His head gives another moan of pain. He shifts against the harsh bark, feeling claustrophobic from the decision he's struggling with. The dots are trying to connect again. He has to get to his destination, yes, he knows this. But he doesn't want to. What does he want to do? He wants to go back? Yes, he does.

Is he allowed to want two things, though? Because . . .

Because he wants . . . to go where the pirate is going . . . the medicine, the headaches, the doctor . . .

Hell, his head hurts.

Through grit teeth, he says, "No," and he says it to himself specifically, "You're a pirate. I don't trust pirates. I don't trust anyone. Now get lost already."

And in return, the pirate deflates, "Aw, don't be like that! I'm not asking you to trust pirates. I'm asking you to trust me!"

"I d—"

A twig snaps.

He breaks off, tipping his head to listen. Then— "Oi, Luffy!" He notes the tone of the call – half command, half request.

They both perk up.

It's the smoking guy, from the pirate's crew. He has his hand raised, beckoning for his captain to come over. The others have gotten closer too, but it seems this man was the one brave enough to interrupt his captain. From the way he is rigidly standing, it's clear he's impatient.

The captain cringes, looking guilty. "Oops! I made them wait too long, gimme a second! Don't go anywhere! I know I can convince you to come!"

The guy scurries away like a squirrel.

He watches him as he regroups with his crew. The straw hat guy's smile fades away as soon as he starts talking to the others. He looks . . . sad as he speaks to his friends. They gather around him with curiosity.

As the pirate captain speaks, the largest person of the group crosses his arms, a deep frown on his sharp face. He listens to the captain with a heavy concentration that lines his forehead. The long-nosed guy looks absolutely devastated. He's wringing his fingers anxiously, his teeth biting down on his lips to keep them from quivering. The blonde guy is harder to read. He keeps stealing glances at him, looking frustrated and taking in more smoke from his cigarette than is actually necessary.

A thought occurs: he should get up.

He should leave, get out of here, get away from these pirates.

He's strong, but if the four of them were to attack at once, he doesn't know if he would stand a chance. Not when he knows he's not at his full strength, not when he knows he doesn't have the energy to keep himself standing.

And that straw hat guy . . . there's something about him.

Something.

He doesn't know what, exactly, but there's something about him that makes him wary. He may act and talk like a complete buffoon, but the energy he emits is powerful and warm. He seems heavier than he actually is, and not just in terms of weight.

It could be trouble.

He grabs one of the swords from his waist gingerly.

If that captain were to attack him . . .

No, he shouldn't think of that. Why is he thinking of that?

This onslaught of paranoia is uncharacteristic of him.

Is it?

It's just a group of lowly pirates trying to forage their way into the forest. If they wanted to attack and rob him, they would have done so by now.

So why haven't they?

A stream of wind blows by, shaking the world.

The captain of the crew had ample opportunity to dispose of him and take whatever he wanted off his corpse. But he hasn't. He's a pirate. Why hasn't he?

Nothing makes sense to him.

His jaw hurts as he bites down on these thoughts.

The group of pirates are still talking among themselves, their voices too low for him to hear. He should leave. Yes, he should certainly leave this forest and make his way to his destination.

He remains in his seat, legs crossed and one arm limp at his side and the other over his sword. He should leave—

Then something catches his eye.

There's a stain on his forearm, a mark of sorts.

He frowns.

Maybe he brushed his arm against some paint or something. . . ? No, that doesn't make sense. There's isn't any paint in this damn forest.

He rolls up his sleeve, and sees that the mark extends all the way back to his elbow.

What the—?

No, not a mark.

Writing.

There are words written on his arm, written with some sort of black paint.

He rolls his sleeve up to his shoulder, almost feverishly to see what it is.

The black strokes take up most of his forearm. They've been written carefully, like a large amount of concentration were put into getting the characters right. The handwriting looks familiar.

There are only a couple of characters written on his arm. Smudged as they are, he can still read them clearly:

TRUST LUFFY.

His blood runs cold.

Luffy . . . is that a name—?

Isn't that this pirate's name?

Did he write this on his arm when he wasn't looking? No, he would have noticed.

This handwriting . . . the realization hits him like a splash of cold water. That's his handwriting.

What the hell is goi—

The straw hat guys returns, his sandals slapping wetly against the muddy ground.

"Sheesh!" he's saying, sounding like an overworked mother. "Everyone's so impatient! They want to head out now and see the witch, but I told them to wait because we might have a guest coming with us! That's you, by the way. You're the guest."

He rolls down his sleeve quickly, definitely smudging the ink against his skin.

That large grins reruns, blindingly bright. The pirate crouches down to meet his eyes, and dammit he shouldn't fall for outward appearances, but his eyes seem so sincere—

"So? Mister Two Sword Swordsman who is not a bounty hunter but also not a pirate . . . What do you say? Wanna come?"

He swallows.

"What," his varying emotions steal his voice, so his words can only out as a rough whisper. "Did you say your name was?"

The scrawny kid laughs. "It's Monkey D. Luffy! The future Pirate King! Don't tell me you've forgotten it already!"

Luffy.

TRUST LUFFY

"And you?"

He looks up. "What?"

"What's your name?"

His heart races at the question.

His name . . . He stares at Luffy, stares at the swords.

His name.

His head starts pounding angrily against the side of his head. Why doesn't he—

"Your name is Zoro, right?" Luffy says with an easy smile. He holds out his hand, standing above him. "That's what you said before. Unless I heard wrong?"

Zoro.

Yeah, obviously. His name is Zoro. Of course he knows that. Why wouldn't he not know his own name?

"Yeah," he says, the word coming out in a quiet, incredulous laugh.

Zoro grabs Luffy's hand.

"My name . . . is Zoro."

Chapter 11: The Decision

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

 

He's in a forest.

It's dark, the world covered in a grayish-blue veil. Surrounding him are massive trees topped off with desaturated leaves and thin twigs. The branches seem to sag with the melancholy environment. The sky is overcast and dull. The air tastes foreign and unwelcoming.

He's sitting on the ground, his back against the trunk of an aged tree. The floor is cold and moist. He is wet. Not soaking, but close enough. His clothes cling to his warm skin. Droplets of cool water are falling on him from above in no particular rhythm.

He smells cigarette smoke.

"You awake?" Someone nearby asks. The voice is low and gravely, matching the ambiance of his surroundings.

Is he awake? He's not too sure; the sound of water trickling, the morose singing of the hidden birds, and the dull colors of his setting are all dreamlike. Maybe this is a dream, he thinks. He blinks water away from his eyes. No . . . this place is too dreary to be a dream.

He asks the voice as well as himself, ". . . was I asleep?"

A beat passes. The low voice says, "Something like that."

A cricket chirps loudly from nearby. He looks beyond his sprawled legs and towards the forest that cages him. A light drizzle mists the air, falling in wild swirls with the help of the subtle breeze. He licks his lips. The rainwater tastes like misery.

He inhales sharply. His chest is aching, as if all his bones have been rattled like some child's toy. He doesn't recognize this body and all its aches and pains at all. He frowns at that thought. Recognize? Why would he not recog—

A needle of pain penetrates the side of his head.

He drags a hand up to his face slowly. It's a difficult task. His arm is unnaturally heavy, like the blood inside of it was replaced with concrete. He touches his head and winces. It hurts. It hurts a lot. He presses down on his temple, but it does nothing to alleviate the pain.

He feels downright awful.

"You good?" The unfamiliar voice asks him. The smell of cigarette smoke is stronger.

He frowns at the unfamiliar voice. Looking up, he sees a man standing beside him, leaning against the same tree, one hand in his pocket and the other close to his mouth. His black coat is drenched, his blonde hair more so. It doesn't seem to bother him.

"I'm Sanji," the man answers the unasked question, taking a drag from his cigarette. A cloud of smoke ring around his head like a halo. "And you're Zoro, yeah?"

Zoro . . .he blinks tiredly, looking down at his hands. They are filthy, covered in what he hopes is mud. He curls his fingers, a little shocked that the foreign digits would obey.

"Zoro?" The man asks again.

He looks up again. The drops of water that were clinging to his hair fall. The stranger is still standing beside him. He doesn't look like he's leaving anytime soon. The cigarette stick in the corner of his mouth is still burning.

The man clears his throat, then says, "I'm a friend of Luffy's. You remember Luffy, right? Guy with the red coat and straw hat? Really annoying? You were with him earlier, talking to him about god knows what. He's a pirate. Well, we all are. I'm in his crew."

Zoro bobs his head slowly in a nod. That name sounds . . . He narrows his eyes, trying to match the name with a face. Yes . . .

Yes, he remembers that guy. The words TRUST LUFFY are etched into his mind like a carving. He rubs his forearm absently. An image of a face floats by in his mind, a face with shining eyes and a carefree smile.

His head hisses with sharp pain.

Sanji taps his cigarette, and ash falls besides Zoro's leg, melting into the mud. He looks down. There a few cigarette butts on the ground, remnants of time passed. This person has been standing here for a while. He's noticed that, as of late, people have been inviting themselves into his company. He wonders why.

"Damn, you really are quiet now," Sanji mutters. "Think I preferred it when your shitty mouth was running off saying dumb shit. This is just plain creepy."

Zoro frowns. "What?"

"Oh, good. So you still know how to talk." Sanji looks down at him through his soaked bangs and asks, "Do you know why you're here?"

He shakes his head slowly because he has some semblance of an idea, but he's not too confident in it. The fog in his mind is still clearing, and through it he sees himself in a forest similar to this, talking to man in a straw hat that called himself Luffy. Other than that . . .

Another crack of pain lacerates his head.

Sanji has a strange expression on his face. He shifts, his shoulders scratching the tree's bark, before saying, "Right, well. From what Luffy told us, you were heading somewhere through this forest, and he somehow managed to convince you to tag along with us. We're out here looking for a doctor that lives on top of this mountain. Or more accurately, a retired doctor. Don't think she's done any doctoring in a long time. She might even give that old bat Doctorine a run for her money with just how ancient she is. She's crazy, too, obviously. Who wants to live in a shitty forest like this, what with all the rain and annoying bugs? So fucking disgusting."

Only a few words hold any meaning to him . . . forest . . . mountain . . . right . . . the pirate had mentioned he was trekking through this forest. A doctor . . . that absurd conversation with the pirate reiterates itself in his head. Zoro nods, now following along. He glances over his shoulder, but doesn't see anyone else besides himself and Sanji in this forsaken forest.

Sanji then points, saying, "If you're wondering where Luffy is, he's in there with the others, talking to the doctor." Zoro follows to where the arm extends towards.

Ahead of him, sitting not so inconspicuously in the company of many large tree trunks, is a quaint wooden house. A chimney sits in its center, puffing out smoke to mingle with the fog. There's nothing extraordinary about the house, besides the location it chose to be built in.

"He . . ." Zoro frowns, trying formulate the question that floats in his head into concrete words, "said she was . . . a witch?"

Sanji's face grows somber. "Yeah. It sounds dumb as shit, huh? Well, that's what the locals say. We're looking for a special kind of doctor that deals with weird head shit, since our shitty swordsman up and got himself sick with— . . . ah, actually, did Luffy even tell you what he was sick with?"

Zoro shakes his head.

"Mm. Probably for the best. Right, regardless. He's sick, and we've been looking for a doctor that could fix him. The locals on this island told us about a so-called witch that lives here, so naturally we came looking, and two days later, we found her. And she says she can fix him, too. She's stubborn, though. Won't do it without a hefty price. I thought Nami-san was the only person that loved money to this degree, but it seems she's got some competition. Luffy and them are trying to convince her to treat yo—to treat him."

Zoro breathes out softly. His head is beginning to ache dully. He recalls this pain from earlier, when he was sitting and speaking with Luffy. He recalls hoping it would fade away with time, but clearly the pain is attached to him. There's a question at the tip of his tongue that he thinks he wants to ask, something that correlates this doctor and his headache, but he's having trouble connecting the dots.

Sanji keeps talking, "Just the witch's shitty consultation cost us a few ten thousand berri." He reaches over to hold out his backpack. It's an overstuffed bag, and when he gives it a shake, Zoro can hear the sound of coins rubbing against one another. "We're lucky Luffy won all this money from that Marine last week, else we'd be selling our teeth just to get through her front door."

Zoro's shoulders droop. He feels himself sag with disappointment, and along with the curiosity of wondering why he would be disappointed, comes a sharp pain that penetrates the side of his head. He winces involuntarily.

Sanji notices. "You alright?"

Zoro works his mouth. "Yeah. Just a headache."

Sanji grunts. "Right. Luffy mentioned you had those. Guess that's why you wanted to tag along with him, yeah? Have the doctor look at you, too? You look pretty shitty yourself."

He shakes his head, says uncertainly, "I don't have any . . . money."

"Don't worry about it," Sanji says easily.

But Zoro does. His hand searches his person gingerly, but none of his pockets make the same shink-shink sound of money rattling as Sanji's backpack. His fingers eventually find the swords tied around his waist, and he pauses, considering them, wondering how much he could sell th—

Sanji's boot lightly pushes his hand away from the swords. "Oi. I said don't worry about money. For the price we're paying, she could tack on another patient. Our friend, Usopp, is good at haggling. We'll figure it out."

There's a definitive tone in Sanji's words, as if he's made up his mind already and the decision has been implemented. Zoro doesn't fight him.

He looks up at Sanji. "Thanks."

"Yeah, well." Sanji clears his throat, doesn't continue. He looks incredibly uncomfortable and anxious at the same time.

A lull falls between them. If he concentrates hard enough, Zoro can hear loud conversations happening in the house. Sanji had said the others were in there trying to convince the witch to treat their friend. But . . . he glances at the bag of money. That seems like an extraordinary amount of money that shouldn't really need much convincing to take. He finds it incredibly hard to believe that this witch would ask for more.

A bug starts to crawl over his knee. Its dozens of legs cling to the fabric of his pants, and Zoro watches unblinkingly, mesmerized at how all the tiny legs seem to move as one.

Sanji makes a disgusted noise. "Fucking gross," he kicks the bug off with the toe of his boot. It reminds Zoro of when Luffy practically did the same thing not too long ago. He wonders if all pirates have an aversion to insects.

Sanji gives the bug an additional kick for good measure after it lands on the ground. "These shitty things are everywhere. Can't walk an inch in this hell hole without stepping on one of them. The bottom of my foot probably looks like a massacre. God, I can't stand this shitty place."

The detest is spat out of Sanji's mouth like acid. Zoro doesn't really have a problem with this place.

Curiously, he asks, "Why are you out here . . ." he gestures halfheartedly to the forest that he so venomously hates, "and not in the house with the others, then?"

Sanji looks towards the house. His scowling expression melts away, replaced by a deep frown. At Zoro's question, he lets out a resentful sneer that cuts through the air.

He flicks his cigarette to the ground. It makes a soft hiss as it touches the wet floor.

"I was in there," he says, digging his heel into the cigarette. "But then I got kicked out. Was being too loud, apparently. Too disagreeable." He clicks his tongue at that last word, appearing disgusted.

Zoro lets out a soft, "Oh", not really knowing what else to say to that.

Sanji grunts in agreement. "Yeah. Turns out, no one likes hearing rationale when they're in a desperate situation." His foot is digging deep into the mud, the cigarette properly buried. "No, they only want to hear what they want to hear, even if there's a million red flags surrounding it."

He looks down at Zoro, and his face changes when he sees the confusion. "Hell," he says haggardly, rubbing his wet hair. "I shouldn't be telling you all that. Ignore me. I'm just stressed out."

He searches his pockets as he speaks. When he isn't able to produce anything, he kneels down and sets backpack on the ground to ruffle through it. "Goddamnit," Sanji mutters, "Now my pants are ruined. I really hate this forest, you know that? And I have laundry duty this week, too. Fantastic."

His face perks up as he finds what he's been searching for; he pulls out a box of cigarettes and taps a stick into his hand. "Finally. Oi, you want one? No, wait, never mind. That feels weird, like I'm offering it to a toddler or something."

Sanji is sitting now, but doesn't look too pleased about it. He keeps shooting Zoro nervous glances, as if any moment now he would just up and explode like a landmine. It's the same look Luffy had been giving him earlier, as well.

"Those dumbasses are really taking their sweet ass time," Sanji asks aloud, not necessarily looking for a response. "Might as well make myself comfortable, if that's even possible in this shit hole. You hungry?"

Zoro shakes his head, but Sanji is already digging into his bag. Coins and other loud objects chatter excitedly. When he pulls his hand back, he's holding a small container of food.

Sanji offers it to him. "Here, got some leftovers that I managed to hide from Luffy. You should eat, you've walking for a while."

His stomach twists uncomfortably at the sight of food. Zoro shakes his head again.

Sanji clenches his jaw. He doesn't retract his hand. "You sure? You should eat. I've got some fruits from the village, too, if you'd rather that. Oranges and shit."

Nausea swirls dangerously at his pit. "No . . . I'm not hungry . . ."

"You are, you just don't rem—" Sanji bites his lip, turning away.

The light tapping of the drizzle fills in the abrupt silence.

Sanji lets out a haggard breath, his hand combing through his hair roughly. "Crap, I'm really shitty at this, huh? Luffy was right. I should have just stayed on the ship."

He feels a pang of guilt for the man's sudden self-deprecation, "Sorry—"

"No, don't apologize. That's weird as hell. Whatever. Forget about it . . . just– look, the minute you feel any type of hunger, you come to me, yeah? I'll make you whatever you want. You name it. I'm a chef, you know."

His stomach coils away from the offer. Zoro nods, hopping he seems genuine in that effort. He doesn't doubt that the food offered is delicious; He recalls when Luffy bragged about how this person was the chef of his crew. Maybe another time, perhaps, when simply the word "food" doesn't make his stomach fold within itself.

"Right." Sanji says tightly. "What about something to drink, then? You've got to be thirsty at the very least."

He doesn't wait for Zoro's response. He exchanges the container for a glass bottle of deep, brown liquid. Sanji places it between them, and the bottle's contents merges with the color of the dirt, making it appear empty. The liquid sloshes about lazily.

"It's spiced rum," Sanji explains. "Aged, too. I think about eight years. Picked it up a few islands back. Mostly use it to make desserts, sometimes mix it with some meats here and there. Should be good to drink, too, since I always have to hide it from yo—"

He cuts himself off. He doesn't continue.

He pulls open the cork effortlessly with a deep pop. Unprompted, he takes a sip and cringes at the taste.

The pungent, spiced aroma snakes its way to Zoro's senses. It smells like utter anguish.

Sanji offers the bottle to him wordlessly.

Zoro purses his lips. He's never had rum before. He doesn't think he'll enjoy it, based on Sanji's reaction and the smell it emits. He doesn't even think he wants to drink it. But . . .

He takes the bottle gingerly and brings to his lips, same as Sanji did. It tastes like hellfire. He swallows and tries not to spit it out.

Sanji is watching him all the while. Zoro doesn't know what to make of that. It's almost as if he's waiting for something to happen.

Zoro hands the bottle back. Sanji doesn't take it back. He's staring at Zoro with astonished eyes, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Nothing?" Sanji finally asks, a crack in the word that reveals his torment.

Zoro blinks. "What?"

Sanji gestures to himself, then to Zoro, then back to himself almost desperately. "There's nothing there? Nothing at all?"

Zoro frowns helplessly. "I don't . . . know what you're talking about."

Sanji sits back heavily. Defeat is scrawled onto every line of his face. He looks like he's exhausted himself with his own emotions.

"What the hell was I expecting?" He mutters sardonically. Zoro doesn't even think he's talking to him anymore. "If there was nothing there when you were talking to Luffy, why the hell should I expect anything more with me? You really are gone. Fucking hell."

He takes a shuddering inhale of his cigarette, nearly swallowing the thing. Zoro squirms uncomfortably from beside him.

A pregnant silence envelopes the two men. Within it, Zoro can clearly hear the roaring inside his head. It sounds like endlessly crashing waves, waves that never get pulled back into the ocean.

"Look . . . Zoro," Sanji's head is tipped down. He's staring at the dirt like it held the answers to all the universe's questions. "This isn't going to make any sense, and you're going to think I'm batshit crazy, but I have to say it. This shitty feeling is eating me up and I just have to say it, even if you have no idea what I'm talking about."

Now Sanji does look at him, and all Zoro can see is grief on that face. Grief and unaccounted pain. It matches Luffy's expression from before, but incredibly less subtle.

Sanji says at last, "It's not that I didn't believe you, alright? It was so fucking obvious that something was wrong with you. Maybe it was because I was damned pissed at you for hurting Nami-san . . . and yes, I know you barely even scratched her, but you still hurt her, and that pissed me off. But . . . I shouldn't have held on to that. Nami-san said she was fine, Luffy told me to looked past it, but I couldn't . . . and that . . . shit, I don't know. It wasn't supposed to be such a big deal, but I let it fester and fester . . . and you being a dick definitely didn't help. But that wasn't your fault. I know that. But I was just mad all the time. Robin-chan said that was just how my brain coped with this shitty situation . . . but still. I should have been more helpful. I shouldn't have been such a shitty bastard . . . I know I'm a fucking coward for apologizing about something you don't even remember but—hell. I don't know. I don't know anymore."

The ignored cigarette between his fingers has decayed into a stick of ash. When Sanji shudders out a breath, the movement makes it fall apart and collapse onto the earth.

Zoro feels like a ghost, watching the scene play out before him.

Sanji asks, "None of that made sense to you, huh?"

Zoro shakes his slowly. He hardly understood half of it, and not because of the fast pace in which Sanji spoke. The words pirouetted around his mind in a mockery of a dance, and the effort to just catch one of them made his head throb.

Sanji doesn't seem surprised; he accepts the answer, then asks, "But you do think I'm batshit crazy?"

Zoro considers that. He nods.

Sanji laughs, shaking his head. "The fucking irony of it all."

Sanji reaches for the rum and takes another mouthful. A drop seeps out from the corner of his mouth, and he wipes it off aggressively. A wild thought must have been penetrated his mind; his face twists suddenly. Real pain exposes itself in his voice, "Zoro, listen. You need to go—"

The door to the little house opens, and on the side of it is Luffy.

Sanji's mouth snaps shut. Zoro watches it all, feeling an oppressive sense of foreboding.

Luffy approaches them. His sandals melt into the soft layer of mud with a haunting squirt. At the same time, Sanji goes to stand.

Zoro doesn't move. Abnormal calmness has washed over him. He feels as light and brittle as the dying leaves above him.

Then Luffy is standing in front of them.

His face is void of any expression that might illustrate what had happened in the house. But his eyes . . . they are soft with fondness. They glaze over Zoro with something akin to sympathy.

Sanji is visibly impatient. "And?"

Luffy blinks. His eyes harden. He nods. "She said she'll do it."

Sanji curses under his breathe. His foot digs into the mud, as if trying to keep himself from kicking something.

"Hi, Zoro," Luffy says to him now. The clarity of his voice is bright against the dreary backdrop.

Zoro's brow furrows. Yes, this is the pirate from before. He recalls the red coat, the straw hat tied around his neck, the white sword strapped behind him. He has a hard time recalling how they met, and what their association to each other is.

He looks beyond the pirate and towards the house he exited. He feels an intrusive sense of foreboding emitting from the open door.

The sky rumbles mercifully from above.

"Zoro?" Luffy is crouching in front of him now, his eyes meeting his. He looks concerned.

Zoro finds his eyes again.

Luffy smiles. "Hi."

Zoro nods.

"The witch-doctor said she's going to fix you now."

Zoro's brow furrows. He tries to translate those words into a meaning. "Now?"

"Yup. She's setting everything up inside."

He glances at the simmering Sanji, then back to the calm Luffy. "Don't . . . shouldn't your friend go first? The one that's sick . . . ?"

"He'll come later, don't worry about him. Besides, you're our friend, too." Luffy extends his arm. Zoro feels like he's drowning in Déjà vu. TRUST LUFFY, his mind shows him. "Ready?"

Zoro swallows and nods.

"Luffy."

Sanji's voice is like a whip cracking in the air. He takes a short step, nearly stepping between them but not quite. It takes effort just for him to speak. "Luffy, we can't. This is wrong."

The sounds of the forest seem to have been swallowed up by a vacuum of silence. Everything stills, even the air. Zoro wonders if the world stopped spinning for this moment alone.

Luffy's finger twitches. His gaze lifts and settles on the other man. It's unnerving, that blank expression. Zoro is glad it's not directed at him.

"Sanji." Luffy's voice is hard and patient. "This is the only way."

Sanji is shaking his head. "You can't make this decision for him. It's not right. It's fucking not."

"It's what Zoro would want to do."

"Not if he knew the risks— not if he knew this would kill him."

Zoro wonders if the world has suddenly been submerged underwater, or if it were just him. Everything seems to be warped and distorted. The voices he hears are clear against his ears, but the words are unbelievably disfigured. His mind can't seem to focus at all.

The red that is Luffy stands straighter. Undeterred assurance laces his voice. "He's not going to die."

"Yes, he is!" Sanji snaps, exasperated, as if he's had this conversation before. "You heard her, you heard what she said. Every patient she's had, every single one them she's tried to cure with her barbaric methods has died on her table. She hasn't been able to cure a single person!"

"Zoro is strong. He's stronger than all her other patients." He feels that gaze fall on him, but Zoro is too busy concentrating on making sure his untethered body remains on this earth. "Zoro will beat this."

The contrast of the two voices, loud and quiet, frantic and leveled, desperation and determination— it's like two forces of invisible power clashing. It's absolutely suffocating.

"That's the problem, Luffy," Sanji says. "You keep telling yourself that that's Zoro even though you know it's not. There's not even an ounce of that shitty marimo left in there. You can tell just by looking in his eye."

"We don't know that for sure."

"Did he even react to the fact that you're holding Wado?" Sanji asks pointedly. "Or to your name? Or to his own fucking name?"

Luffy's silence is the only reply.

"That—" a finger is pointed down at him. "Is not Zoro. Everything about Zoro, his strength, his personality, his dreams, his motivations, it's all gone. There's nothing of Zoro left. Now, he's . . ."

Sanji's mouth opens and closes wordlessly, before he sighs tiredly and throws a hand in the air, defeated. "He's just a clueless guy that we've roped into tagging along with us. No, tricked is a better word."

A dark look flashes in Luffy's face. "There is no trick. I asked him to come. He wanted to come."

"And what about this?" He gestures heavily to the house, then back to Zoro. "Are you asking him to go through a procedure that will kill him, or are you forcing him?"

"Zoro wants to do this."

"That's not Zoro. Not anymore."

They both turn to look at him.

Zoro frowns. Were they expecting him to respond? Admittedly, he was not following along the conversation. He knows that they're speaking about him. He can hear his name being thrown around, but the energy to simply focus on the context is draining.

The clouds above them growl like belligerent beasts.

"What's the other option, Sanji?" Luffy asks, voice quieter, tiredness seeping into his words. "Abandon him? The witch-doctor said this is not something that will go away. One way or another, it will kill him, and Zoro's already close to the end."

Close to the end? Rain falls over his body freely. It is chilled. Zoro palms the wet mud, feeling its coolness against his sweltering skin. He's close to the end. Just as he thought. He is almost there. Daunting serenity settles over him. He's almost there.

Luffy asks again, "What's the other option?"

Sanji is rigid in stance and words. "Find another way."

"What's the other way?"

He speaks through gritted teeth. "I don't know, but at least look for one—"

"It took us days just to look for the witch-doctor, and Zoro's already forgotten his own name. A couple more days and he'll forget how to breathe. Maybe it'll take less days. We might run into the Marines again. Zoro might starve to death. His heart will forget to beat. We've run out of time. Zoro will die if we don't try this. There is no other way, Sanji—"

"Then fucking yes, abandon him! At least let him live and decide for himself what he wants to do, even if it's short, even if he forgets how to walk or talk or blink, at least let him live a little longer with some god damn freedom."

"He wouldn't want to live like that."

"And he wouldn't want to fucking die like this, either!" Sanji shouts, his voices reverberating against every single tree. "Under a scalpel, surrounded by people he doesn't know, in a shitty world he doesn't understand. What kind of death is that?"

The rain picks up, the light drizzle becoming heavier, pressing down on him. There's a roaring in Zoro's head. A roar so loud that he nearly mistakes it for the wind. The trees twist and tangle amongst each other in a drunken dance, and Zoro wonders if his brain is melting from the heat of his body.

Sanji's haggard voice betrays his weariness. "It's not our decision to make. He's a person, Luffy. We don't have any agency over him anymore. He's not . . . he's not our nakama. That person is gone. Now, all that's left is this Zoro, and he should be able to decide what he wants to do."

A sharp pain burns through the side of his head. Zoro winces, bringing his hand up to head, searching for that heated nail that's definitely lodged in his temple. But there's nothing there.

Sanji and Luffy notice the movement instantly. They look as if they're the ones hurting.

Sanji curses, looking away. He scratches at the heap of blonde hair, distorting it into a pile of yellow disarray. The rain begins to fall more heavily now.

Quietly, Luffy speaks into the mist. "It's okay if you don't agree with me, Sanji. I want you to tell me when you think I'm wrong. I wouldn't be a good captain if I ignored you."

He reaches over and puts the straw hat over his soaked, black hair. Sanji doesn't miss the gesture.

Luffy says, "But I'm also Zoro's captain. As captain, the crew is my responsibility, even if they forget it. Zoro's entrusted me with his dreams, and his memories, and his life. He's entrusted me to make the right decision."

Sanji looks drained. "We don't even know if this is the right decision, Luffy."

"But it's the decision Zoro would choose," Luffy responds assuredly. "Zoro would want to fight for his life. He would take any risk, no matter how reckless, if it gave him the opportunity to win. That's what this decision is, not the right one or the wrong one. It's just Zoro's decision."

Sanji snorts humorlessly. "Marimo picking the stupidest fucking option available to him? Yeah, that's exactly what that moron would do."

Luffy's mouth quirks into a small smile. "That's why we have to do it. Why we have to try. For Zoro."

Sanji doesn't say anything. He mulls over the pirates' words in silence, letting the rain speak for him. His hair has been pressed down by the weight of its wetness, nearly covering his face. The cigarette still sits in the corner of his mouth, but it has been snuffed out for some time now.

Luffy takes a step forward so he can properly look at the other man's eyes. "I'm not going to force you to accept this decision. I just want you to understand. You can still think it's wrong. That's fine. And if it's wrong, then I will take responsibility, like a captain should."

"Don't." He shakes his head rigidly, water thrown about sharply. "Don't. Being melodramatic doesn't suit you. This isn't your burden."

Luffy only smiles. "Let's have faith in Zoro, okay?"

The sky gives another mighty rumble, and then, all at once, heavy rainwater pours over them.

"Are you ready, Zoro?"

Luffy is crouching in front of him again, his straw hat taking the pouring rain's abuse.

Zoro has forgotten what he was supposed to be ready for. He looks at the house that puffs smoke from his chimney. It would be nice to be out of the rain and in the comfort of warmth.

He looks up at Luffy and Sanji and nods.

END OF PART THREE

---

(Part 4 will be the concluding chapters of this story!)

Chapter 12: The Witch

(WASH YOUR HANDS, STAY INDOORS, AND PLS STAY SAFE!)

---

CHAPTER TWELVE

"—'alf a century ago, lad. We weren't as 'ell informed as we is nigh. Aye, de business wi' de mayor's boy . . . I 'ad told 'im meself what me procedure 'ad entailed, an' yer man refused it! Come next day, de laddie suffocated ter death afta forgettin' how ter breathe. A shame, aye, but I warned 'im, I did! De mayor wus naturally distraught, an' placed de blame on me noggin, accusin' me ov cursin' de wane, aye he did, sayin' s'cos he refused me business and I did out ov spite. I wus exiled into dis here forest, see."

He blinks.

There's an old woman standing in front of him. She's speaking in a sharp whisper, her voice like nails dragging along concrete. He doesn't know what she's saying.

He tries to take a breath in, and an unfamiliar taste fills his mouth. A taste of warmth and wood and rot.

The old woman hogs his line of vision. She's not speaking to him directly; her body is turned. Her profile is like a caricature pulled out of a children's book. Her back is incredibly hunched and towers over her head. Her hair is wrapped in a deteriorating yellow scarf, with a few wild, translucent strands running free behind her drooping ears. There's a large, blue moth perched on her shoulder.

He thinks he's dreaming.

"So, you didn't find the Devil Fruit and go crazy and decide to live in the forest?" A different voice asks. A faster, more nervous voice from further away. "U-Uh, that's what the butcher said, not my words."

He raises his head now. His brain sloshes within his skull.

He scans his environment with heavy lids. Everything is tinted with an orange, pulsing glow. It's warm. The warmth is like a breath of hot air. It smells like moss and candlefire.

He's in a . . . room?

Yes, he thinks. That must be it.

Upon closer inspection, he sees that the room is lit by dying candles that line the floor, showing the crumbling wooden boards that cover the ground. Incredibly large spiderwebs hang from every corner, decorating the room with a haunting ambiance. Bugs with crystalline wings fly across the room in breakneck speed.

No, he thinks instead. Maybe he's dead.

A low, throaty laugh emits from in front of him, and he watches as the old woman's boneless shoulders twitch with each breath. "Heh, heh. Ah, wane. None ov us a' truly sane, neh? Me powers . . . ah've 'ad dem since I wus yisser age, perhaps even younger. Dat's why dis 'ere subject 'as always interested me, an' why me knowledge on dis pest is superior. Aye, but there wus a silver linin' ter me banishment . . . ah, aye, there were some benefits there. They started ter call me a witch, an' de town forbade folks fro' enterin' de forest in fear ov me supposed 'witchery'. Heh, look a' me! A gust ov wind can take me down. 'Tis a smart choice, nonetheless, as finally de natural inhabitants of dis here forest were naw longer disturbed, an' de people were naw longer 'urt as consequence"

He hears someone whisper loudly, "Am I the only one that doesn't understand a word she's saying? Franky?"

And another voice whispers back, "I think she's talkin' about . . . wind?"

He doesn't focus on those words too much. He's trying to get his sight in order. His vision is like a brush of black and orange paint dipped into a bowl of water; it swirls and overlaps in color and shape, creating a collage of misperception. He blinks, but it doesn't adjust.

"But people still got hurt, even if it's forbidden to enter," a voice says, a different voice. With it comes the nostalgic scent of cigarette smoke. "We went to that shitty island, Lyrnhill or whatever. They told us that there were people who'd come here for vacation that ended up getting what the mosshead has. What did that doctor that Chopper talked to say? Right— just last month, there was someone who had it. A woman was forgetting her own kids, so she came to you for help when her local doctor couldn't do a thing. She came to you, and then never came back."

His vision is adjusting with time. He sees four black profiles behind the old woman's misshapen silhouette. A large one stands next to a blue window, a smaller one by a wooden door, a third one in the middle of the room surrounded by a cloud of grey, and the last one directly behind the old woman, its silhouette brimming with red.

Ghosts, he presumes.

The ancient whisper returns, and it sounds regretful. "Mhm . . . aye, child. I 'member that lassie. Told her ov the risk, but she wouldn't budge. An' so, business was transacted, and I performed ter de best ov me ability. 'Tis de sad truth ov it all; none 'av survived de procedure, an' none 'av survived de ailment. Ain't what no one wants ter 'ear, I understan', but it cannae be ignored. 'Owever, what must be factored inter dis here bleak business is dis: dis ailment originated 'ere, an' there ain't none than meself dat understands it. Therefore, what I can offer yer . . . is a wholehearted attempt."

He thinks . . . he thinks, yes. These voices must be talking about something important. He should concentrate and see if it pertains to him, see if it gives him any clues as to why he's here. But . . . ah . . . but it's too difficult to have his mind focus. It's too hard.

A voice with spitfire assurance says, "No. Not an attempt. You will fix Zoro. And he will survive."

A laugh echoes against the peeling walls of the room. The old woman speaks with a guttural voice, the words pulled from the very depths of her throat. "Ah, wane . . . yer ar' a century too early ter be givin' me demands. Pirate or naw, I am obliged ter none but de forest an' its populace. 'Owever . . . you've met me price, which can only mean yer lot is desperate. Ah'll match yisser feelings an' pour al' dat I 'ave into dis here task. De outcome . . . 'ill be left ter Lady Luck, heh."

He's drowning in an abundance of sensations. Too many different voices. Too many words. Too many shapes and colors. Too many things flying across the room . . . what is that . . . dragonflies . . . ?

The misshapen body turns. A horrid face meets his own. "An' so . . . we return our attention ter ya, m'boy."

A face with dried skin that latches on pathetically to the bone meets his. A face with sunken eyes and lines and spots etched onto every available space stares deeply into his.

The face leans forward. He leans back.

There's something hard and flat against his back . . . a chair? He's sitting in a chair?

"Ah . . ." she lets out softly. Her breath smells putrid. He twists his head to escape it, but cold, boney fingers grab his chin. She stares deeply into his eyes. The wrinkles on her forehead furrow. "Mhm . . . ah, I see. 'ave yer just returned ter us, boy?"

"Eh?" A boisterous voice from afar says. "Did he forget everythin' again?"

"Zoro, hey, Zoro," Another head emerges next to the hollow face of the woman's. A different face, but a . . . familiar one? The features of the face are fuzzy, but when he squints, it sharpens into something recognizable. "Hi, Zoro. Remember me? I'm Luffy. This is the witch-doctor I was telling you about before. Remember? This is her house. She's gonna fix you."

"Oi, dumbass. Stop calling her a witch already." Another voice says. Smoke emerges from behind the two faces. He wonders if they're talking to him.

"Hush now, laddies. Best not crowd de poor boy." The fingers on his chin loosen their grip, and the hand moves to cup his cheek. "We must get 'im familiar wi' his situation once more, before we can proceed wi' de procedure."

There's a bug on the woman's lanky forearm. It crawls towards her hand and makes its way across his face. He wants to swat it away, but is mortified to find himself too exhausted for that meager task.

"Scram, ye," the woman hisses, and immediately the bug crawls back to her. Her beady, black eyes meet his. "'ello again, lad. Ye've forgotten me, so allow me ter reintroduce us, aye. Yisser name's Zoro, an' me name's Moya. I'is a doctor fro' dis here island ov Plume, where ye currently sittin' at. Yer friends there brought ya ter me ter help fix yer memory problem."

He blinks some more. He doesn't understand a word coming out of her mouth. He tries to make sense of all this— the rooms, the bugs, the candles, the smoke, the people—but even that is a task that is beyond him.

"Can ye please focus on me fer a moment?" The breath of hot hair hits his face again. A toothless mouth moves and he hears words. "Reckon it's hard, but focus on me words so everythin' afta can make sense. Say it wi' me now— Zoro. Go on, repeat yer name fo' me, lad."

Someone else says, "Maybe talk slower so he can understand you, witch-sis."

"Not a witch," another person grumbles.

And someone else asks aloud, “Is it me, or does she sound like she’s talking with a bunch of marbles in her mouth?”

Followed by a gasp, “I was thinking the same thing, Usopp!”

And lastly, a hiss of a chuckle. "Roi, roi. Sorry, lads. 'Tis been a while since ah've talked proper ter regula' folks." The long, hooked nose points to his direction again. "Can ye repeat yer name, lad, so I know yer 'ere? It be Zoro. Repeat it wi' me: Zoro."

Repeat it? He opens his mouth. ". . . Zoro," he says, his voice cracking like a dried carcass. The word feels heavy on his tongue.

"Grand, nigh that? That's yisser name. What's yisser name, m'boy?"

He feels like he's going to be sick. He says, "Zoro," in a voice he's never heard of before.

"Ah, there nigh," she says. "Cognizant awareness is retunin'. There, nigh. I see de fog is clearin' in yer eyes. Grand. Aye, as ah've said. Me name's Moya, a doctor dat specializes in neurology, more specifically, all de nonsense ov de brain. Ah've been a doctor ov dis here rock fo' more than seventy years, an' me skillset is quite renowned, heh, heh. I'm proper famous."

A voice from the large body against the window says, "I think that's more 'cause of the bug talkin' bit."

He looks behind the woman. Ah, right . . . there are other people here. What did this woman say before? That his friends brought him here? No . . . he doesn't have friends, he doesn't know anyone from this place. He was . . . ah, but wasn't he talking with someone before?

"Oh, yeah!" A familiar voice explains. "Tell him about your power. Oi, Zoro, listen to this. She's got a Devil Fruit power that lets her talk to bugs! Isn't that neat?"

"It's fucking gross," another voice grumbles.

Those two voices . . . he recognizes them. Yes, he heard these voices before. He's talked to them, too. Yes, yes. When was that? Before . . . what was he doing before—

The woman nods. "Heh, de reaction ter me powers is always polarizin'. Aye, aye. Ah've eaten de Bug-Bug fruit, an' so naturally, I be a Bug Woman. I 'ave de ability ter communicate wi' all insects. This 'ere," she shrugs a shoulder, and the blue moth flutters its wing. "Is Mertil, me assistant. She says she likes de color ov yer hair."

His head twinges.

Before . . . before it was grey and wet. He was sitting outside, in the mud. He smelt rainwater and cigarettes. He was talking to people that knew his name. They called him Zoro. They were pirates. He blinks, and yes, it is them. Their names were . . . what were they? He said his name before, the one with the straw hat around his neck. Luffy. His name was Luffy, and the one smoking is Sanji.

That's right.

He was outside, talking to them, sitting in the rain, looking at a house. How did he get he—

A finger snaps in front of him, the sound like a strike of thunder. "Naw, naw. None ov that, ya hear? You'll hurt yerself if ye try ter search fo' somethin' that ain't there. That just aggravates de Jiyi."

The pain in his head doesn't go away, and now settles itself into a buzzing rhythm. The atmosphere in the room seems to have shifted into something darker, more somber. He lifts his gaze to Luffy and Sanji. They look concerned. Why are they concerned?

"Mhm," the old woman hums, the sound throaty and painful. The moth's glowing antennas stir. "Yer confused, aye. Do ye know wha' de Jiyi parasite be? I coined de name meself. 'Tis a parasitic insect only foun' in dis here forest. A wee, microscopic critter that burrows into the head without leavin' a trace. They 'ave a wee lifespan, too, unless they can find a food source durin' their early stages. It's one an' only food source be memories. Ain't that somethin'? Aye, dat's what's in yer 'ead now. Do ye understan'?"

There're so many bugs in this room, he realizes. Dragonflies are zooming left and right across the room. Centipedes are crawling on the walls and ceilings. By the door is a huge beetle, the size of his fist. A person with an incredibly long nose is prodding at it with barely concealed curiosity.

"When yer an' yisser friend there came ter dis here forest last week, de Jiyi dug inter yer head withou' yer notice. 'Tis usually 'ow it 'appens. Rascal immediately foun' its way inter yer brain in search ov dem neurons that create yer memories, an' you've unwillingly become its host. Get it?"

The person prodding the huge beetle stills at this portion of the conversation. He exchanges a devasted look over in Zoro’s direction, and the large person with blue hair reaches over to pat his back. The long-nosed person immediately looks away.

Zoro doesn't understand. Something dark twists within his abdomen.

A sharp fingernail taps the side of head, right above his ear. "De Jiyi eats withou' preference ov memory type o' sentiment. An' will crawl aroun' searchin' fer grub at a whim, eatin' an' gettin' fatter an' fatter. There're four areas it 'ill salvage fro' — de amygdala, where de emotions a' stored. Next ter it, de hippocampus, which is involved in episodic an' recognition memory. Then up . . . 'ere," a tap at the front of his skull, "be de prefrontal cortex, involved in rememberin' semantics tasks, an' down . . ." the finger drags down to just above the back of his neck, "'ere . . . is de cerebellum, which processes procedural memories. Once de Jiyi is in yer brain, it will cruise up and down at leisure, eatin' fro' all four parts like its own personal buffet."

The words are coming out of her mouth faster than the lips are moving. It's dizzying to the point that if he wasn't already sitting down, he'd be knocked over from the nausea alone.

Luffy's face pops up next to the old woman's. There's a firefly on his cheek, lighting his face in a green hue. "It means the bug is eating all your memories from different parts of your brain," Luffy says with a smile. "It's alright, I didn't get it either the first time."

Someone complains loudly, "Seriously, how does Luffy, of all people, understand what she's saying?"

And Sanji mutters, "Shouldn't be too surprising that the dumbass is fluent in gibberish."

Along with seeing Luffy's face comes a flash of the words—TRUST LUFFY—in his mind. He hisses sharply, jerking his head. The pain is incredibly fiery, like a needle jammed into the side of his head.

His reaction is missed by no one. Luffy stands back, a prominent frown on his face. The old woman mutters something to the moth on her shoulder. The room's ambiance dries up as quickly as a drop of water in the desert sand.

Someone clears their throat loudly.

"Oi. We ought to get started, don't ya think?" The largest person asks. His arms are crossed, and the seriousness of his tone mirrors the rigidness of his stance. "He ain't gonna retain any of this in a few minutes, and the more time we waste, the more he wastes away. Let's get this done with, yeah?"

"He's right," Sanji says, blowing a stream of smoke that clouds his expression. "Luffy?"

Another flash of pain erupts. It's like a bucket of cold water was dropped on his head, soaking his bones and nerves. What's going on? He said something about a bug, but this entire room is filled to the brim with bugs.

The firefly glides away from its perch on Luffy's cheek. The green is replaced by a somber orange. "Right . . ." Luffy says after a long beat. "We shouldn't let Zoro keep hurting. OK. Franky, Usopp."

The two people in the back approach. Zoro can make out their faces now; he remembers seeing them in the forest. They are pirates, just like the other two. Luffy says to them, "You guys keep guard outside. If you see anyone near this place, get rid of them."

Zoro's stomach twists into a sinister knot. His blood feels polluted. He doesn't understand what's going on. He doesn't understand why he's here. He thinks there must be some kind of mistake. He was traveling, wasn't he? He was supposed to go somewhere—

They nod and tread out, the larger person patting the other's back comfortingly. When they open the door, Zoro can see a world of blue and grey from the other side. He's mesmerized by the colors. There's a pull, just underneath his collarbone; a sensation trying to pull him back to a destination he used to be in. His mind wants to follow that, but his body wants nothing more than to sink into the floorboard and disappear into the earth.

Luffy turns to the man next to him, and says, "Sanji will stay and help in here."

It's not phrased as a question. Sanji answers nonetheless. "I will.'

When the door closes and only the four of them remain, Zoro wonders if some of the air has been sucked out by the outside world. Unbeknownst to the other occupants inside, there are fiery, invisible hands wrapped around Zoro's neck, squeezing and burning ever softly in deformed gentleness.

The old woman nods. She turns her head, saying, "Mertil, lassie. Go on an' fetch me gloves." To Zoro's disbelief, the moth seemingly nods before fluttering into a different room. The woman says, "Ah'll grab de rest ov me supplies. Try not ter rile up de poor lad, aye? De less thinkin', de better."

She hobbles away with her upper body bowed. One of her legs is missing, replaced sloppily by a wooden stick. Sanji makes an attempt to help escort her, but she waves off the assistance. She disappears into another room, swallowed up by the void of darkness behind the door.

Zoro truly thinks he's dreaming. A fever dream, most likely. He has been feeling ill as of late, and all of this is too absurd to be real.

Luffy comes to stand next to him. The energy his body emits makes Zoro squirm. Luffy smiles down at him reassuringly. Yet, there is a look of wildness in the eyes of the pirate, an intensity as though they too were trying to contain a pain unseen to the naked eye.

Zoro searches for his voice again. "What's . . ." His throat feels like it's being chipped away with each syllable released. He wants to ask questions, because he is massively confused, but so many fragments of questions lump together in his mind that only one breaks through—"what's . . . going on?"

A muscle in Luffy's jaw twitches. "There's a bug in your brain. It's eating your memories. The witch-doctor is going to get it out."

"She's not a witch," Sanji mutters. To Zoro, he says, "Just a doctor."

"A doctor with powers, though," Luffy insists.

"You have powers, too, shithead. Doesn't make you a witch."

"For all you know."

"Oh," Zoro says. He swallows thickly. That wasn't the answer he was expecting, nor an answer that he thinks he understands.

Sanji asks, "You do remember us from before, right?"

And Luffy then pouts, "Of course he remembers us! We're friends!"

Zoro's brow furrows as he tries to recollect exactly how he knows these two. His mouth parts tentatively, and he says cautiously, "From the . . . forest?"

Sanji grunts in an affirmative and Luffy chuckles teasingly, "Told ya!"

Sanji brings the cigarette in his hand up to his mouth. The familiarity of that motion settles Zoro's vibrating ribs. Sanji and Luffy flank him from either side of the chair. Their shoulders are tight in apprehension and nerves. Zoro wonders if he should be feeling the same way they feel.

The old woman returns.

She's carrying a bag with both arms, making her slouch even more. This time, Sanji goes to help her and is met with little resistance; he takes the bag from her and helps her return to her position in front of Zoro. The blue moth returns, as well. In its dozens of hands, it carries a pair of white, rubber gloves. It deposits its burden into the old woman's palm before returning to its place on the shoulder.

"Roi then," she sighs, appearing a bit out of breath. She catches Zoro's gaze. "'ello, me boy. Do ye 'member me name?"

He shakes his head.

"Faster response time, grand. Yer not gone yet." She wipes her brow with a trembling hand. "I'm Moya. De most important thing ye should 'member in de next few minutes is who I am, an' that I am here ter help ya. Aye?"

"Aye?" he replies, unsure, as that seems like the response she's gouging for.

"Grand," she— Moya croaks. She tilts her head, asking the moth, "Disinfected?" The moth doesn't say anything, but the old woman is satisfied with the silence and slips the gloves into her hands.

"Ye two," Moya turns her back to him, addressing Luffy and Sanji. With the baton of attention taken away from him, Zoro lets himself sag against the chair. He doesn't have the energy to spare on paying attention. The corners of his vision are spotted with black static, which he's sure is seeping from his brain.

The old woman is talking. The sound is warped and disfigured. "Listen carefully, nigh. This room 'ill 'enceforth be considered de operatin' room, an' as de presidin' doctor, I am god 'ere. Ye 'ill assist when I be needin' assistance, obey when I be needin' obedience, and do nothin' when ye feel like ye be needin' to do somethin'. Ah'll take yer decision to stay 'ere as yer bindin' agreement. Aye?"

Luffy and Sanji nod.

The atmosphere of the room shifts once more, like an approaching storm. Zoro squirms within it, his seat suddenly sitting in the center of the ominous hurricane.

Moya speaks with a voice as hollow as he feels. "Firstly, I need ye to get rid ov that. Me lungs can hardly keep up wi' this air alone." Sanji hastily removes his cigarette, putting it out with the bottom of his foot. "Mhm. An' ye lad, bring one ov them candles over 'ere. This dreadful weather 'as completely taken away me natural light."

Luffy leaves to grab a candle, and Moya continues to give out orders smoothly, "In me bag, there's a grey box. Ah, maybe 'tis black . . . a box, nonetheless, can ye bring it over please? I 'ill need ye to act like me table, if ye be so kind."

Sanji grunts and trudges through the bag. Luffy is back, and a harsh brightness takes over his vision with the pirate's return. He's able to see more, now. He can see the lines of worry on Luffy's face, the blue veins pushing underneath Moya's skin, the incomplete spiderwebs blowing from the draft.

He realizes, the forest from earlier never felt this eerie before.

He realizes, he doesn't want to be here.

He realizes, he'd rather go back—

"Fucking shit—!" Sanji suddenly curses, jumping away from the bag. Zoro startles at the sound. Sanji is holding a box in his hand, but his attention is focused disgustingly on what crawls out of the bag. "Why the hell are there scorpions in here?"

Moya laughs. "Oh, don't be a bairn. They won't harm ya unless ye give 'em a reason ter."

"Sanji doesn't like bugs," Luffy says apologetically.

"No, I hate them, and make sure you tell them that so they stay the hell away from me."

Too many things are going on, Zoro thinks, overwhelmed. Too many changes, too many unknowns. No, he doesn't want to be here. He doesn't think he should be here. Did he make a mistake? Should he say something?

The three of them are looming over him with varying expressions. Zoro is increasingly agitated now, as he cannot begin to fathom what is going on. He glances at the door behind the old woman, where the first two pirates exited from, and deliberates whether his legs are steady enough to carry him to the outside world.

The old woman senses his distress. She pats his matted hair gingerly. "Yer nervous, understandably. Try ter keep yer wits about ya, though, aye? I'll be talkin' ye through de whole thin', if ye can tolerate me decaying voice, heh."

What whole thing, he wants to ask, but his teeth are clenched so tightly not even air can escape. Suddenly, the old woman doesn't seem like some frail, fragile crone. She looks absolutely unhinged, like an ancient calamity personified.

When she speaks again, his skin crawls. "An' so, we begin. Yer friend has done well, survivin' as long as did. Ain't neva seen anyone hold out this long. But, dat also mean dis is uncharted territory fo me. "She gestures for the black box, and from inside it, she takes out a syringe and a vial. "First, somethin' fo' de inevitable pain."

At the sight of the needle, something in Zoro starts, like a switch. Instincts long asleep suddenly claw themselves into consciousness, and the urge to get as far away as possible from this place washes over him.

This isn't right, something tells him. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Why is he here—

"This be a special creation ov mine," Moya says. The contents of the vial are sucked into the syringe, coloring it an atrocious yellow. "Taken fro' de venom ov Plume's scorpions. A sting fro' their tail 'ill paralyze a fella within a few minutes, den kill 'em before de hour be finished. A gruesome end ter meet. It's tooken me years ter figure out 'ow ter extract de lethal bits an' make an anesthetic fit fo' dis procedure, even mo' years ter convince the scorpions not ter sting me, heh."

"You're gonna put him under?" Sanji asks.

"Mm. Naw quite. This will predominately paralyze de lad's body and numb de pain receptors, ensurin' that he don't feel de full weight ov de procedure." She returns the empty vial into the box. "I need 'im conscious an' cognitive, ye see. Need his brain ter be pulsin'"

The hand carrying the needle approaches him. Zoro flinches away violently.

He feels rather than sees the light from the candle get closer. "It's alright," Luffy's voice tells him. "It's to get rid of the pain, Zoro, it's alright."

"I . . . don't," Zoro is shaking his head, trying to pull the words out. "I don't feel . . . any pain."

"Not now, but for later."

His face twists. He doesn't want to feel any pain later, either.

"Think ov it as medicine, lad." The old woman says. She taps the syringe with a putrid fingernail. "Ye 'ave headaches, aye? This 'ill help soothe 'em."

Headaches.

He doesn't even feel like they can be considered headaches at this point. More accurately, it feels as if the walls are closing in around his skull, squeezing and crushing the bone with the sheer pressure.

If he can get rid of that feeling . . .

He spares Luffy a glance.

The words flash in his mind again – TRUST LUFFY— and he wonders if those words are referencing this moment. Luffy had said that this woman was a doctor, and he recalls how Sanji had assured him that she would be able to make him feel . . . right again.

He doesn't trust this strange woman, but the pirates . . . well, there is something akin to trust there.

He's still stiff with anxiety, his heart beating loudly and his face most certainly void of any color, but he finally manages a nod.

The needle returns, its presence as looming as an enemy's sword. He hopes there isn't any fear etched on his face. It's just medicine, he tells himself. Painkillers. It will be fine, afterwards. They all assured him.

The needle disappears from his line of vision. Sharp pain penetrates his neck. He sucks air through his teeth.

He feels the needle's cold bite dig beneath the skin and settle within his flesh. He doesn't breathe. He counts the seconds until it's over.

And then it's over.

A hot stream of lava flows in his neck and down to his chest.

"What's next?" He hears Sanji ask.

His question repeats itself as a distorted echo in Zoro's head. He knows the answer. Next, he leaves, and continues on his journey, of course. His energy will be restored, and he'll be able to cover more ground s—

The old woman says, "Once de numbin' components ov de serum take effect n' de next few minutes, we'll begin de procedure. Ah'll make a wee incision, just above his ear. Then, we'll need to get a bit medieval, heh, so try not ter faint, aye?"

Incision? What? Foghorns are blaring from the room, drowning all the noise. The world is spinning.

He finally understands the woman's words, and he is not aligned with him. He doesn't want a procedure, he doesn't want an incision, he doesn't want—

And then suddenly, there is a scalpel in the woman's hand.

"No," Zoro hisses. "Stop—"

He tries to stand.

Luffy easily pushes him down with an open palm. “Just stay still for a little, ok?”

Zoro doesn't understand. Don't they see? He doesn't want this? Can't they see that?

"Stop," he says through gritted teeth. The wood of the chair's arm crunches underneath his white knuckled grip. His fingers bubble with numbness.

"Zoro, it's fine," Luffy tells him.

He doesn't agree. There's a pattering noise outside these walls. Rain? No, it's too loud and too heavy to be rain. He doesn't concentrate on it. He's too focused on the scalpel. No, it's a blade. It's a weapon. She's going to attack him. Did the pirates trick him?

Something is wrong. His body is slow to respond to his commands. He tells it to get up, slap the scalpel away from him, and bolt out the room, but all it does is thrash weakly.

"He needs ter stay still," the old woman croaks. "Else he'll make 'imself sick, or me hand slips an' I snip somethin' off by mistake, heh."

What?

No, no, no, he shouldn't be here. His head hurts. He swallows down the urge to be sick. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't think he's ever wanted to be here. His head hurts. How did he stumble into this situation?

Someone mutters, "He's not going to cooperate—" And someone else is replying, "—don't have time to explain it again." And another says, "—be sure he don't kick me, heh."

But he pays none of the voices any mind as he tries to wrench himself away from this circumstance. Through the pain and confusion, he can see them, standing over him and just watching as the scalpel approaches. It glistens from the candlelight's glow. His headache increases in intensity. The walls are closing in on him.

"No," Zoro says again. He tries to move. He can't. His limbs are filled with sand.

He hears thunderous noises outside, muffled and rapid. At the same time, his arms are going lax, his legs are deflating. His body is shutting down. What did she give him? What was that injection?

Danger, his mind tells him. Danger! It shouts. Danger, danger, danger!

There are hands on his shoulders. They press him down against the chair. Other hands are holding his head. What is this? What's going on?

Luffy says, "We're trying to help you, Zoro." And Sanji says, "Do you hear that?" and the old woman croaks, "'ere I go, nigh. Nice an' steady."

He feels a prick behind his ear. It doesn't feel like the headache he was experiencing before. It's more concentrated, more precise, more sharp.

He feels hot air puff against his head with each word, "Right, then, first incision is made . . ."

"Fucking—" Sanji hisses. "This is way too god damn primitive to be a legitimate procedure. Oi, he should definitely unconscious for this."

She's cutting into his head— the realization dawns on him like rain. No, no, no, no—

"Are you sure he can't feel it?" Luffy asks, cringing. "I think I can feel it."

"If he's unconscious, then de Jiyi 'ill nevah expose itself ter me reach. Don't get soft on me now, laddies."

The pain intensifies. It morphs into an acute pressure. He doesn't want this. Why doesn't anyone realize this?

Zoro tries to shake his head.

"It's alright, Zoro," Luffy says, returning his attention to him. He places the candle on the floor, and pushes his shoulders down with both hands. "We're just trying to help, like we promised we would."

He finds his voice, and gutters out, "I don't want help." He can't feel it when his teeth touch. "I don't want this." His tongue feels heavy. It's a struggle to get the words out of his throat. "Stop it."

The candlelight glows from below, painting ominous shadows on each face that looms over him. All of a sudden, Luffy looks incredibly sinister, a pale comparison to the façade he was showcasing before. Zoro feels his blood run cold in horror.

TRUST LUFFY his head flashes, and he thinks, no, no, he can't trust this person, not anymore. He lied, he tricked him— 

TRUST LUFFY his head screams, and he screws his eyes shut because he doesn't believe it anymore. How can he trust him when he is subjecting him to this?

TRUST L — No!

He chokes out, "What did you do—" and tries to no avail to fight off his assailant.

His head is screeching, the pain dragging down into a deep line. Through it all, he can still make out loud shouting happening on the other side of this sinister confinement. Is the world falling apart?

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—

"Oi . . ." Sanji's voice tumbles into the fray like a petty landslide. He sets the box down carefully. "Something's happening out there."

"Gresh, hold de light up, I cannae see." Moya snaps to no one in particular, then says, "He's gettin' too riled up."

"Obviously," Sanji bites out.

”Den keep him still, wise ass.”

Sanji bristles, but obliges begrudgingly. His hands reach over to grab Zoro’s head from his temples, locking it in place while the old woman does god knows what to his head from behind.

At the same time, a spider crawls out from a crevice in the ceiling and smoothly slinks down with the support of a long web. It reaches for the candle Luffy had set down, removing the stick from its plate before wrapping its webs around is end.

It crawls back up, holding the lit candlestick just above Zoro's head, casting his shadow and the room's occupant's shadows in front of them, making them appear like giants.

A drop of hot wax hits his shoulder. He hardly feels it. He hardly feels anything.

He's untethered, floating away.

"Keep 'em still." The old woman says, and he wants to argue that he doesn't want to be kept still. "Let the sedative run its course." He doesn't want it to run it's course, he wants it to stop—

"No," he groans again, but no one is listening to him.

His blood is simmering. His flesh is on fire. He's on fire. He's burning, melting away in painless flames.

No, no, no. He needs to get away. He doesn't want to be here. He tries to fight off the hands, fight off his disobedient body, fight off the gravity pushing him down. Nothing is working. He has no strength. They've taken his strength away.

Luffy is frowning as he keeps him in place, "Zoro, calm down. She's here to help. She's going to help you."

"Luffy, there's something going on outside," Sanji says. "Luffy—"

"Franky and Usopp will take care of it," Luffy snaps. His grip is tight on Zoro's shoulders, but he only feels the pressure, not the pain.

He's melting, he's melting, he's melting—

The noises outside are getting louder. The noises inside are getting louder.

He hears the old woman say, "Mertil, go on n' see what de fuss is."

"I can't feel . . ." His bones have melted and merged with his blood. He's nothing but liquid on the inside. He's horrified. "I can't feel."

Luffy is quick to reassure him, "That's the medicine. It's okay."

"No, this isn't right . . ." He tries to wrench away but they won't let him. "What did you do? I trusted you. What did you do?"

Luffy flinches as if struck.

Only for a moment does the pirate falter; his grip loosens, the corner of his mouth wavers, his eyes widen—

Then he hears Sanji say tightly. "Keep it together, Captain."

And just as quickly, the hurt expression on Luffy's face is blinked away, and the hands on his shoulders tighten in their grip, now self-assured and full of resolve.

"You did trust me, Zoro." Luffy tells him, and the barest evidence of devastation lace his words. "And I won't let you down."

"No," he says. He wants to say so much more. He wants to say, "I don't want this. I never said I wanted this." He wants to ask, "Why is this happening? Why are you doing this?" He wants to shout, "Where am I? What this place? Who are you really? Why would a pirate say they're trying to help me? Why do I need help? What's happening to me? Who am I?" He wants to—

But none escape his mouth. Just like he is trapped in this chair, the words are trapped inside his body, melting away with the rest of him.

He doesn't understand, he doesn't understand—

He sees the blue moth return, placing itself on the old woman's ear. "What is it, lassie?" She asks the insect. "Marines?"

"Marines?" Sanji repeats, bewildered and infuriated. "Now? How convenient is that? Shit, sounds like there's a platoon of them outside. Those shitty bastards never left our tail. What do we do?"

"We continue." He hears the old woman say gruffly. "His body' been numbed in a paralysis-like state nigh. I need ter make de incisions an' dilute de brain's memory neurons ter drive out de Jiyi. Dis is the bit I cannae muck up."

The noises outside are loud. They are crashing and thundering, like a raging storm. His body, on the other hand, is a slow whirlpool, spiraling downwards into the unfeeling abyss.

"Shit. Shit," Sanji says, clearly not aligned with the decision and his captain's lack of dispute. "Fine. Take care of things here, Luffy. I'm going to go and back up—"

Then the windows shatter and the walls quake and all hell breaks loose—

---

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Chapter 13: The Bug

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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He's in a—

He's . . . in . . .

Fuck, his head hurts. Fuck, fuck, fuck—

He can't see anything. He can't feel anything. But his head— it's on fire.

He thinks he's dying. Yes, this might be death. He's never encountered it before, but he's sure this is what it feels like to be in its clutches.

Fucking hell it hurts—

Is his skull filled with hot oil? Is his head submerged in a pot of flames?

He's going to be sick. His organs are boiling from the inside, at risk of leaking from every cavity available. What is this? What is this? What is this?

He tries to lift his hands, to dislodge the inflamed knife from his head. His arms don't move. His hands don't move, neither do his fingers. The commands that he sends to his limbs are ignored.

He can't feel anything. What is this? What is this?

A horrifying thought occurs— does he have hands? Does he have arms? Have they been amputated, removed, crushed? Has he ever had any to begin with?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, his head fucking hurts—

He tries his legs. He knows he has legs, of course he has them. How else did he get to wherever he is now? He wills them to move, to twitch, to do anything, just react, react, react—

Nothing happens.

What the hell is this?

The pain is exponential, it's otherworldly. It doesn't make any god damn sense—

No, wait—

He feels . . . something.

There, where his shoulders would be. He can feel it . . . a pressure sensation, like they're being pressed down by an invisible force. He can't tell if it's heavy or light, if it's hot or cold. There isn't any pain nor feeling associated with it. It doesn't make sense, but it's there.

He tries to turn his head to see. He can't. His body has cut all ties to him, disowning him without so much as an afterthought. He's been abandoned by the very body he occupies.

He wonders, is this what it feels like to be a wandering soul, tethered to nothingness?

Fuck, fuck, his head hurts—

No, he's not a soul. He knows that much. He's a person. He does occupy something— he can hear a roar in his ears, feel the repellent swirl of nausea in the pit of his core, taste blood and sickness in his mouth. None are physical feelings, but they must be contained by something physical.

Fuck, fuck—

His vision is a sickening mesh of colors he's never seen before. They blot and bloat with every throb of pain that fissures his mind. He can't concentrate on the shapes they try to produce; every time he focuses on a form, it melts away into something else.

What is this? What is this?

He hears things. He hears a lot of things. So many noises occur all at once, like an orchestra of madness. They are sharp and loud, ripping holes and lines into his world. What does it all mean?

"He. . . 's co . . . mi. . . n' . . . 'r . . . ou. . . nd . . . "

Those are words. He understands them. He hears them. Did someone say that? Are they talking to him?

The pressure moves from his shoulders and onto his face. He has a face. Yes, of course. A face with eyes, and ears, and a mouth . . . and a nose . . . a-and a . . .

Shit, it hurts— his head flashes, and it hurts, it hurts—

He hears something nearby. A sharp hiss, a choked grunt. Did he make those noises?

". . .n . . . eed. . . to . . . hu . . . rry . . . was . . .not . . . eno . . . ugh . . ."

Where is he? What is this? What's happening?

Noise akin to thunder claps around him. Bang, bang, bang, it goes. Is it head falling apart, the bone collapsing in on itself and crushing his brain—?

His vision is clearing. The shapes are still without outlines, their colors blurred and bleeding out, but they're forming something with every second that oozes by.

He's in a . . .

Hell, it hurts—

He's in a . . . room? Yes, he thinks. That must be it. It's dark and brown and there's some orange here and there, but he doesn't see the sky so he assumes he's inside something. A room . . . why is he here?

Fuck, fuck, just stop—

His eye blinks without his permission. Each time his lid would raise, the sight before him makes just the smallest bit of more sense.

He sees . . . people? There are people in front of him. Two shapes. Who are they? Who are these people? He hears a voice—

"Z . . .or . . . o . . .c . . . an . . . y . . . ou . . . he . . . ar . . . us?"

What? What did they say? He needs to concentrate; he needs to focus. Something's wrong, nothing makes sense. He needs to know what is going on. He feels like he's drowning from his own questions.

Blink, blink, his vision blackens then resurfaces. Blink, blink. There are two people in front of him. A man and a woman. Blink, blink. An old woman and a young man. Who are they? Why are they standing over him? Standing . . . is he sitting down? Why is he sitting down?

The old woman's shape moves like a ghost; she's no longer in front of him. He hears a voice from behind him, it's soft and frail but tightened with urgency, "I . . .w . . ill . . .begin . . ."

Begin? Begin what? What is she talking about—

Bang, bang, bang; more loud sounds that shake his world.

Shit, this god damn pain—

The person in front of him leans in closer. He sees eyes. He sees wide, round eyes, sees concern and worry and fierce determination swimming in those dark irises. Under those eyes . . . there's a scar that is overshadowed by darkened, puffy skin. There's a mouth, too, it's pulled down, dragging the face along with it.

Who is it? What do they want? What is this? What is this?

The mouth opens, it moves, it produces sounds— "Zo . . . ro . . ." it says, and then again, it moves and says, "Zor . . . o", and then once more, it moves, and the sound is louder, "Zoro."

Zoro. Zoro. Zoro. That's what he said. Is that a name? Is that his name? What does it mean?

Shit! Why does his head hurt so damn much—

"Zoro," the mouth says again. No, it's a person. The mouth is connected to a person. There's a person in front of him, talking to him. His arms are outstretched, hands placed on the side of his head, holding it up. Or at least he thinks so; he can't feel anything but the heavy pain pounding into his skull—

"Zoro," this person says again. "Can you hear me?"

Hear? He hears a lot of things. He hears things shattering, things breaking, he hears bangs and claps and snaps and groans and yelps and cries. There's an assortment of noises happening in this small space, and they dance around his head like shrieking parrots.

"Zoro," they say again. Zoro, Zoro, Zoro. He keeps saying that. Why? Is that what he's called? He doesn't know how he's supposed to respond, regardless. His body is unresponsive. Even if he wants to acknowledge this person, he wouldn't be able to.

Maybe if he blinks— does a blink count as a response?

He blinks.

He sees a smile.

"Hi, Zoro," the smile says. "Welcome back."

Behind the smile, behind the face of relief, he sees a fiasco.

There's a blur of movement behind the person, and he thinks that movement might be people. People running back and forth, jumping and ducking and kicking and blowing clouds of smoke. There are windows there, too, and they're shattered and disfigured and reveal even more movement behind their veils.

"The medicine made you sleep a little," the smile says. No, it's no longer smiling. It's in a straight, passive line. It says, "You probably feel all weird and stuff. Remember the shot the witch-doctor gave you? It's supposed to make you not feel anything, so that she can cut a hole in your head and take the bug out. But you woke up too early, and now you can feel some of it."

"Luffy!" A voice shouts. A different voice, a loud, aggravated voice. It shouts again, "How much longer? They're breaking through! Franky and Usopp can't keep them all at bay!"

The shouting brings about a frantic energy into the air. He thinks, there's something happening over there. There's something larger, more pressing happening behind this person. Why? What's going? More importantly, why the hell is he here? How did he end up here? Wasn't he in—

"How much longer?" The voice in front of him asks. It's void of any colorful emotion; short and crisp and straight to the point. It's a relief to hear amongst the collision of noises.

A voice just behind his ear, a frail and scratchy voice, says, "Longa'. De Jiyi is subdued, bu' it's still ter far fo' me to extract withou' causin' permanent brain damage, heh.”

What? What does that all mean? Did the voice just string along a random assortment of words and pass them off as a cohesive sentence? He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand. Why isn't he—

Bang, bang, crash, crash, snap – "Luffy, there's—!" bang, bang – BOOM! – "Oi! We need more—!", bang, bang—

Fuck, his head hurts.

"What do you need me to do?" The voice in front of him asks. It's not asking him; he realizes it's asking the other voice that stands behind him. He's just caught in the crossfire.

Briefly, from the corner of his eye, he sees a tiny flash, a glint of something silver. "Mm. I need de Jiyi ter move ter de outer part o' de brain. It's gotten ter large ter pull through any cavity, so Ah'll need ter send Toth here ter extract it, pull it out o' de brain an' through de incision."

His vision grants him some mercy. Ahead of him, he sees more properties belonging to this person besides just their face; he sees a mess of black hair with a yellowish something on top of it. There's red at the bottom— is his body red? No, that's just his clothing. There's a white sash across his chest. No, not a sash. A stick?

He's asking, "How do we get it to move? Are you going to tell the bug to get out?"

And the ghost behind his ear says, "Hmph. Wee rascal won't listen ter me commands, says de food's too good in there. Heh. Naw matter, dat is always de case wi' them. What matters is, one way or anotha', I need it ter move on its own accord, since it is able ter navigate de muscle harmlessly. We 'ill initiate dat movement wi' bait, lad. De Jiyi follows de scent o' its food source, which is memories, aye? We 'ill lead it ter de hippocampus wi' memories, as dat is closest ter where my incision is, an' where Toth will be waiting."

Words, words, words, none of it is making any sense.

But, in the interim of receiving the nauseating words, his vision is beginning to sharpen, and the wool stuffed inside his ears are beginning to thin. He can see things; he can hear things.

Where is he? He's in a room, yes, he can see that now clearly. A dark, rundown room with spiderwebs on one corner and beehives on the other. Candles line the floor, but most are either knocked down or snuffed. There are tiny holes in the walls, each one spilling its own stream of light into the room. The door has been completely ripped from its hinges—

And the person ahead of him is saying, "Tell me what to do," with resolve; it's a demand, not a request.

And goddamn, why is his head throbbing so painfully—

And the other voice responds with clinical passiveness, "De hippocampus is where de episodic an' recognition memories 'r stored, aye? Yer frien' here must recall memories o' dat type, so de Jiyi can make its way down there in search o' dat food."

The blur of movement behind the gaping hole the missing door left behind sharpens. He sees bodies of white zigzagging across the outside walls. Some carry flashes of long silver, others carry sticks of black, holding it with two hands and propping it above their shoulders.

People, he realizes after a painfully long time. These are people, dressed in white, carrying objects that go clang, shiiiiiiing, bang, bang! What's going on out there? He hears shouts coming from them as well, and with effort he can make out cries of, "Gah!" – "Stop them!" – "Surrender, pirate scum!"— "Call in the reinforcements!"— "Strawhat is inside, go in from the back—!"

There's uncertainty in the voice in front of him when it says, "But he's already forgotten everything."

But the other voice is assured and leaves no room for any other emotion. "De effort ter 'member makes de Jiyi think there's somethin' there ter eat. Go on, hurry."'

Yet none of them seem to be paying attention to the mayhem on the other side of the room. Why? Is he just imagining it? No, it can't be – it sounds too real, it looks too real. The person in front of him is just ignoring it. He can see how his body tenses when a sound gets too loud, how the muscles in his jaw jumps when a new hole is created in the wall—

Fuck, his head—

"Hey," the person says, catching his gaze. He smiles when their eyes meet, but it's not the same smile as before. It's crooked with tragedy.

He continues, saying, "You don't remember me anymore, right? That's okay. I knew this would happen. I'm Monkey D. Luffy, and I'm going to be the Pirate King! And you, you're Roronoa Zoro, and you're going to be the World's Greatest Swordsman. You know, this is actually our third time meeting each other! Isn't that neat?"

What is this person talking about? His name? He has a name? No, that can't be right. Swordsman? No, no, no. He's wrong. He's not a swordsman; he's never wielded a sword in his life. Maybe he's mistaken him for someone else—

Shit, fuck, shit, mother— his head feels like it's convulsing. What is this pain? What is this?

His small confines shake all around him. The sharp and violent sounds from the outside world are crashing their way into his. He seems to be the only person in this room that hears the, "Where the hell do they keep coming from!?"— "STRONG RIGHT!" — "You won't be making a fool of us this time, Pirates!"—

But none of that seems to deter this person in front of him, this person who calls himself Luffy and wants to be a king. He is still talking, and it's a marvel how his voice remains steady and clear while the world falls apart behind him, "—we're meeting for the third time 'cause you're really sick. You have a bug in your head that's eating all your memories, but the witch-doctor is going to take it out. She gave you some medicine so you don't feel it when she cuts your head open. I bet everything feels weird for you, huh?"

Medicine? He's been given medicine? He tries to curl his hands. It feels like his blood has been replaced by soft sand. Everything does feel weird. Is that it? He's been drugged? Is he really sick? He had assumed this was how everyone always feels. Did he say his head had been cut open—

Ngh— fuck, fuck, fucking hell—

"Keep goin', lad. De Jiyi is movin'—"

"He's got a Devil Fruit! Oi, Usopp, look out—"

"The second time we met," this person who calls himself Luffy, who wants to be a king, says, "was this morning, do you remember that?" And he thinks, no, he doesn't remember that, he doesn't remember any— "We were both in the forest at the same time. You were going somewhere and we were going somewhere. But it turns out, we were going to the same place, and you just forgot that—"

BOOM! Says the world, and dust and dirt shower over him.

BANG, CRASH, BOOM— it cries out with all its might.

The sand in his blood shifts, and he can feel things. He tries to curl his fingers, and they twitch as a response—but they're responding. He feels, he feels things— feels the steady hands on his face that hold his head up, feels the paper thin hands on his head that dig into his—

Fucking hell— it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—

"But our first time meeting," this person that has never broken his gaze with him says, and his voice is loud to talk over the chaos, "was a long, long time ago. Do you remember?" And he thinks, no, no, no, he doesn't remember any of this, what is he talking about— "You were a bounty hunter, and everyone was scared of you. You got arrested and I helped you escape. You could have escaped by yourself, but you didn't want to 'cause that would have made you a criminal. You were pretty stupid back then, huh? Heh, but you still became a criminal, 'cause you became a pirate with me!"

Pirate? What the hell is a pirate? Is that what he's supposed to be? Didn't he say he was a swordsman? He said that they've met a long time ago; what does that mean? He wasn't doing anything a long time ago. He didn't know anyone a long time ago. It was always him. Just him. There was never anyone else—

Son of a b—

"It's getting' closer. Toth, lad, be prepared—"

"Shitty cyborg! Don't strain yourself—!"

"Behind you, Sanji—!"

"Gamma Unit! Surround them from the rear!"

"You said," this person tells him, this person that talks to him so intimately that he catches himself wondering, is he really telling the truth? Have they really met before and he just doesn't— "you wanted to be the greatest swordsman in the world, and you wouldn't let anyone come in your way, not even me. I thought you were joking, when you said that if I did something to stop you, you'd have me cut my belly open to apologize. But once we started sailing, I found out you don't really joke around about serious stuff. Oh, do you remember when we were sailing, when it was just us two?"

Remember? What does he mean? There was nothing before this moment—

"This is your last warning, citizen! If you will not release the pirates you're harboring, we will have no choice but to—!"

"—Is that a bazooka!?"

"Shitty bastards, they're going to blow up the h—!"

"Luffy! Use your Haki—"

"Don't! He'll knock out Zoro and the witch—"

"—not a witch!"

"We were on that tiny boat, in the middle of the ocean," the closest voice tells him, and he wants to push him away so badly because the pain, the pain, the pain of just listening to these words and trying to make sense of them is unbelievable, but he so badly wants them to be— "You slept most of the time, which was boring, and every time I woke you up, you'd yell at me. You kept throwing me overboard when you got really mad, but you always forgot I was a hammer, so you'd have to jump in and save me, which always made you madder. You were really, really stupid. But we had fun! We were hungry most of the time, but we had fun."

This person's face never falters when the words come out, and they come out so easily that he's beginning to doubt that these could be lies. But it doesn't make sense. None of these events that he's speaking of has ever happened to him. Nothing has ever happened to him. His life is uneventful. Nothing but a blur of emptiness—

Fucking hell, is his head being drilled into—!?

"But then we met Nami, and she said we were both really, really stupid. Nami was the first person you forgot, which made her really sad. Which is weird, because she was also the first crewmate you met. You guys liked to go to bars together and tell each other jokes that I didn't get. And then Usopp came, and he always joked around with me, which was fun. You forgot Usopp, though, and that's not funny either. He thinks it was his fault you got the bug in your head, so he hasn't been joking around much. Anyway— hey, are you listening? Then we got Sanji! You guys were always, always fighting, which was really cool to watch! But when you started forgetting stuff, I think Sanji was fighting with you in a different way. He was angry with you all the time, but not like he usually is."

He realizes, through the shattering pain of his dissolving mind, that these things that this person is talking about, all these events and names and times have no resonance with him. They bounce off his mind with no effect.

Yet, there's a pull in his chest, somewhere underneath his ribs, that gravitates towards these words—

The pirate that wants to be king says over the apocalyptic noises that rain around them, "Oh, and after Sanji, we met Chopper! You liked Chopper immediately, but then started to hide from him when you found out he was a serious doctor that didn't like it when you got hurt. Ah, then there was Robin. You thought she wasn't a good person at first, but even then you still treated her like nakama, which I think she appreciated a lot. After Robin we got Franky, and he's crazy cool! He's a cyborg with lasers and he can make everything and anything you want! Are you listening? You gotta try to remember these things, Zoro, cause they're in there."

He wonders desperately, are they really? Does he really know these people—

"Laddie, de Marines are—"

Did these things really happen to him—

"—don't let them—"

Is that really what his life was like—

"—FIRE—!"

He knows none of it is true, but he wishes—

"And then—"

BOOOOOM!

His world explodes.

A phenomenal force pushes him from behind. Everything lurches forward, rushing towards him with chaotic vigor.

Then everything goes black—

.

.

. . . Is he dead?

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.

His ears ring with sharp screeches—

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.

. . . Did he die?

No . . . he can't be . . . else he wouldn't be able to think up these questions—

His vision is overcome by pitch black darkness.

What is this? What is this?

He can't see, he can't hear, he can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe.

He takes a shuddering breath, then coughs, and coughs, and coughs.

His mouth tastes like dirt, and dust, and dirt, and dirt, and dirt.

He opens his eyes. Only one opens. It burns and stings. His head hurts. His head hurts. His head hurts.

But his eye is open and he can see—

The world has been turned upside down. Everything that was on the ground is now on the wall. The ceiling is gone. He sees the sky. It's gray and cloudy. Where's the sun? He wants to see the sun.

He blinks and blinks and coughs and coughs and blinks and blinks.

What is this? What is this?

He discovers that, no, the world isn't upside down. He breathes in the dust and the dirt. He's on the ground, cheek against a rough wooden floor. He's been thrown onto the ground. Why? What happened? What is this? What is this?

The ringing noise is constant. He hears other noises underneath it, but they float in the air, completely indecipherable and muffled. He feels like he's been plunged underwater, heavy and slow. The loudest thing in the room is the sound of his labored breathing.

There are clouds of smoke all around him. Blobs of white move slowly across his field of vision. Tiny objects float to the ground like paper. Everything seems slowed down and subdued. No, time has stopped completely. Even his eyelid are slow to blink over his eye.

What is this? What is this?

" . . . r . . .o . . ."

He hears something. It's warped and muffled.

" . . . o . . . r . . . o . . ."

What is that noise—?

"ZORO!"

He startles.

Suddenly, like on command, everything speeds up and clears away.

The ringing noise pops away from existence. In its absence, he hears the sounds that were once outside and far away now louder and closer.

His blurry vision polishes, and through the thick veil of smoke, he sees movement of multiple colors, but majority of which are white. White bodies swarm into the once walled room. Every footstep vibrates against his head, mimicking the rapid beating of his heart. Debris made up of chunks of wood and stone rain over him like a morning shower.

What is this? What is this?

He takes in a shuddering breath. That noise alone is so loud.

His head hurts, his head hurts, motherfucker his head hu—

"Zoro!"

Again. He hears it again. It's coming from beside him. He knows that voice. He's heard it say that word before.

He tries to move.

The only reaction he feels is his blood vibrating. No! He needs to move. He forces his hands to react. Move! A finger twitches, then another. Move, move! His hand closes into a fist. He feels sick, he feels dizzy, his head is screaming with every reaction, but he doesn't stop— move, move, move!

He plants a hand against the ground and pushes, trying his absolute damnedest to pick himself up. He doesn't achieve the result he wanted, but enough of his upper body is lifted to allow him to turn his head, and so he turns his head.

He seems the person from earlier, the person that was talking to him and confining with him the memories of another's life. What was his name, what was his— fuck, fuck, fuck! His mind violently contorts as he searches and searches and searches—

Luffy.

His name is Luffy.

"Zoro!" He says again, his face split into a relieved smile when their eyes find each other. "You're okay!"

His face is covered entirely in dirt and dust, and there are splinters of wood clinging to his clothes and hair. He's on the ground as well, and pushes himself to stand, knocking away the planks of wood that have piled over him.

Behind Luffy, he sees familiar yet unfamiliar characters. There's a blonde man kicking a sword out of the hands of a white-uniformed man. There's a long-nosed man holding a massive staff with a round netted design at its end, shooting pellets from afar. There's massive blue haired man wrangling about three different men, who are also all clad in white.

What . . . is going on? Why are they all fighting? Who are these people in white?

He flinches— shit, his head, why won't it stop—

Luffy coughs and says, "Witch-doctor lady! Are you alright? Oi!"

Objects shift from behind him. A weak voice coughs and replies, "A-Absolutely not! Those heathens . . . me house! Ah, laddie, yer up . . . aw hell, de sedatives 'r wearin' off. Quick, keep goin'! Before de Jiyi quits its journey n' returns ter seclusion!"

His arms are shaking just from the effort of keeping his upper body off the ground. There're loud popping sounds all around him. He recognizes them as guns firing off. He hears sharp clanging noises from all around. He recognizes them as swords striking a sturdy object. He's never been in a battlefield before, but he recognizes this as one.

His head wails in pain. He wonders if he'd been stabbed in the head. He wonders if he'd been shot in the head. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—

"Right!" Luffy's voice rings out. "Where was I? Oh, yeah! And then! Zoro, listen! Then we met Brook—!"

A man clad in white emerges from the cloud of smoke with a battle cry. He swings a mighty sword in Luffy's direction, shouting, "Strawhat Luffy—!"

"Shut up, I'm talking!" Luffy punches the person in the face without even turning his head. "Listen, Z—"

Another man appears from the smoke and grabs him from around the waist. "Ngh! Zoro, listen!" Luffy continues vehemently, struggling to have his voice heard. "We met Brook in the scary island, and you didn't like him at first, because he was weird! And he is weird, which is why he joined us! And he's a musician and a swordsman and you guys always did your sword waving exercise thing after dinner— ack!"

A large hammer-like weapon slams into the side of Luffy's face. Yet, instead of the expected show of blood and gore that would follow such an impact, Luffy's head is knocked back and his neck extends to support it throughout, like a ball tied to a piece of string.

He watches, horrifyingly dumbfounded, as Luffy's head snaps back and viciously headbutts the man wielding the hammer with a painful DONK!

What the hell—

Luffy shakes his head like one would shake off water. He kicks one person away and elbows another that tries to sneak up on him from behind. "Do you remember, Zoro?" He asks in a rush. "They're there, all of them. They're in your head. You just have to look for them!"

Look for them? But there's nothing there! He wishes he was able to produce words like Luffy can, like the old woman behind him can, like everyone else in this small world seemingly can. If he could, he would tell Luffy that he is searching, he's looking and looking and looking but there's nothing there but pain, pain, pain, PAIN—

The men in white seem to multiply. He doesn't know where they're coming from, but they grow in numbers by the minute. They pile around Luffy like ants to a cube of sugar. But Luffy is undeterred and fearless. There's a glint of excitement in his eyes.

Luffy tilts his head back. "And not just them!" He shouts, his voice shaking what's left of the room. He jumps into the fray and battles with vigor, all the while shouting, "You've met so many more people, Zoro! You know Coby, and Laboon, and Vivi, and Tora-guy, and Kin'emon, and Momo, and Jinbe, and Carrot, and—mmf!"

One of the white uniformed people must have grabbed his face, because Luffy is suddenly cut off. White swallows red, and he can no longer spot Luffy in the chaos. Then there's a shout of "Gomu Gomu no Gatling!"and people are blown away left and right by a multitude of fists.

He finds it odd that Luffy never uses the white sword strapped to his chest, considering his opponents are brandishing their own blades with the obvious intent of severing a limb.

"Remember, Zoro!" He hears again, the voice now a command, a command that burrows into his mind like a steaming drill. "Remember that you're not alone, that you'll never be alone! Remember that you have nakama! You're a pirate and pirates are never alone!"

"Pirates are scum!" Someone shouts from the hoard. "They're lawless, evil—"

"Mind your own business!" Luffy snaps, following the sound of a fist making contact with a jaw. "Zoro, these are Marines! Don't listen to them, they're bad! They're annoying bastards that always ruin our fun! Make sure you kick their ass!"

The other three people that he assumes are Luffy's friends join the fray in the destroyed room, standing beside one another with fists and legs raised and poised, ready to attack. No . . . not attack. Their stances look more defensive. He realizes they've formed a wall with their bodies, separating him from the group of white uniforms.

He wonders, should he be fighting as well? Should he be fighting with Luffy? He tries to make himself stand, but the lower half of his body is completely unresponsive and numb. He watches as Luffy and his band of colors push back the opposition, ensuring that none cross over to his side.

There's a part of him that so desperately wants to join them. He doesn't know which part.

"Moya-san!" A voice calls out from the blonde man's direction. "Are you finished yet!?"

"We're nearly there," A voice over him says. He startles, agonizingly twisting his head to see the older woman crouched over him, hands on his head. "Bear wi' me, laddie." She tells him. "This is de difficult part."

His head cracks with white hot pain, and he tries to pull away from her grip but finds himself unable to.

"Remember," the old woman whispers into his ear.

"Remember, Zoro!" Luffy shouts from every part of the world.

And he's trying, trying, trying, trying but there's nothing there! Just black, black, black—

He hears the woman behind him cry out suddenly— "No, gettoff— A-Ah!"

He nearly falls face first onto the ground as he turns his upper body. The old woman has been thrown aside, her crooked body sprawled on the floor like a discarded doll.

What—

There's a new shadow over him. It's one of those white-uniformed men. He stands over him menacingly, the side of his head soaked with blood.

"Your involvement here will not be overlooked, woman." He growls to her like a wild beast. His eyes are directed at him now, and he says, "Pirate Hunter Zoro." Each word is spat out with more disgust than the previous one.

A part of him is screaming at him, Danger, danger, danger! He understands that. Luffy had told him the white uniformed people were bad. He should move. The glint in this person's eye is anything but friendly.

He tries push his body to move, but fuck, fuck, fuck, it just won't listen!

The bleeding man sinks to his knees in front of him, extending his arms. "Your villainy ends here!" He exclaims to no one in particular.

What? What does he mean? What villainy? He hasn't done anything—

His head cracks with pain, like lightning in a pitch black sky. His head hurts, his head hurts, his head hu—

His neck hurts. Why does his neck hurt?

There's hands wrapped around his neck? What? Why are—

They squeeze. They squeeze without mercy. It hurts, it burns—

He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe—

The corners of his vision spot with black—

Hateful, blood-soaked eyes stare at him—

He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe—

He feels himself claw at the hands around his neck, but they accomplish nothing.

He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe—

His vision is darkening. No, no, no—

He hears:

"Oi, he's—"

And:

"Moya-san, do—"

Then:

"Leave him a—!"

And:

"Get out of—!"

And lastly:

"Toth, call—"

Black, black, black.

He can't breathe.

There's a tiny hole of vision left.

He sees white.

He sees eyes.

He doesn't remember this.

Luffy never mentioned this part.

The pain in his head lessens . . .

That's nice . . .

Everything . . . quiets.

. . . That's . . . nice . . . too.

He . . . can't . . . breathe . . .

That's . . .

He . . .

. . . he . . .

.

.

.

. . . he . . .

He . . . hears . . . humming?

He hears buzzing.

The tiny spot of his vision becomes yellow.

The buzzing is louder.

He hears a shout of surprise.

The pressure around his neck disappears.

He breathes—

He breathes and breathes and coughs and coughs and breathes and breathes—

He swallows the air like it was his first time tasting it.

The black fades away from his vision . . . but not completely . . .

More shuddering breathes . . .

He sees . . . he takes another shuddering breath . . . he sees something absurd . . . he can't make sense of it, at first . . .

It looks like . . . a blur of yellow has completely swallowed up the white-uniformed man's face . . .

He's so tired . . . he's so, so tired . . .

He coughs and coughs . . .

When he squints . . . he realizes, no . . . that's not quite it . . . not a blur of yellow . . . it's bees . . . it's a swarm of bees attacking the man's face with the ferocity of an angry mob . . .

He's so god damn . . . tired . . .

It sounds too surreal to be true, but every time he blinks the impossible image remains . . . and every time he blinks, he wants . . .

Shit . . .  he's so tired . . .

The man consumed by bees falls to the ground in agony . . . the old woman crawls into his line of vision . . . her mouth is moving . . . she is saying . . . "That heathen, ter attack a defenseless . . ."

The rest of her words fizzle out . . .

He's so tired . . . he's so completely exhausted . . .

Warm hands touch his head . . .

They're unbelievably comforting . . .

"Where is it," he hears the old woman's voice croak. "Where . . . ah. Well, Ah'll be damned . . . heh . . ."

He hears sandals slap against wood. "Zoro!" He hears. "Zoro! Oi! Is he alright?"

"He's . . ."

A flash of pain—

He doesn't hear the rest of it.

He's thrown into a world that is void of all sensations but pain—

He braves the currents of this blinding whirlwind with little resistance, the rushes of pain throwing his mind into complete anguish.

He feels fingers circling his chin. A hand is aggressively trying to pry his mouth open.

"Drink," something tells him. "Ye must drink it immediately."

Something cold touches his lips.

"Drink," it insists.

His mouth is wrenched open and a foul liquid is poured between his teeth.

"Drink," it demands of him again.

He drinks, and the hands leave him be. The last thing he hears is, "I hope ye at least dun 'member de pain—"

Then his head cracks open in agony—

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Chapter 14: The Crew (I)

First, thank you all for your amazing support and generous kindness! All of you made writing this story more enjoyable than I could have  ever  imagined!

Second, I'M SO SORRY. This was supposed to be the final chapter— one  chapter to tie everything up— but it got SO LONG. I debated just posting the entire conclusion in one chapter—which would have been 20K words omg—but in the end, felt it would be best to break it out into 4 chapters for better flow and to not burn you guys out.

HOWEVER, please don't worry about waiting for the updates. The story is complete (putting finishing touches on the last chapter), and these final chapters will be released within the next few days!

With that, I present to you the conclusion of this story! Once more, thank you SO much for all your support and love. I really, really appreciate it!

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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He is—

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He is not dead . . . but he's not alive, either . . .

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Consciousness introduces itself to him in stages.

The first is through sound.

Dead leaves crunch mercilessly under heavy pressure. Dirt shifts like tides being pulled back into the vast ocean. Wind possessed by wolves howl in search of a pack, branches rattle in fear as a response.

He hears footsteps. Multiple ones at varying weights.

He hears words. They're choppy and broken, buzzing into his world like lost insects.

He hears:

"—k . . . e . . . e . . . p . . . g . . . o . . . i . . . n . . . g . . ."

"—don't slow—"

" . . . h . . . e . . . a . . . l . . . r . . . i . . . g . . . h . . . t . . . ?"

"Where do we—"

" . . . c . . . a . . . r . . . e . . . f . . . u . . .l . . . "

"— right way?"

" . . . b . . .r . . . e . . . a . . . t . . . h . . . i . . . n . . . g . . . ?"

"—they're still follo—"

" . . . s . . . h . . . i . . . p . . . "

"I'm trying—"

" . . . h . . . i . . . d . . . e . . . o . . . u . . . t . . ."

"The meat gu—"

" . . . Z . . .o . . . r . . .o . . . ?"

"Zoro?"

Then, he hears nothing.

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He is . . .

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When awareness returns, he has acquired a new sensation—

Aromas of conflicting natures filter into his tiny world. The first inhale attacks him violently; he recognizes the scent as blood. It is old blood, spilled without violent intent. It lets itself in like an uninvited ghost.

He hears a voice say, "Aye, come in, come in, I heard yer. . . " Everything after is warped and disfigured, melting into the air. Dozens or maybe hundreds of feet touch a hard surface. Tap, tap, stomp, stomp, click, clack.

He smells freshly sawed wood and candle wax. He smells morning dew and crowded air. Through it all, the scent of cigarette smoke is a constant.

"I have a spare bedroom in the b . . ." then it fizzles out, like the sound was being thrown down an endless abyss.

Wood scratches against wooden surface sharply. A chair is dragged, perhaps, or a table has moved, or the world is torn in half.

Someone is saying, " . . . need to call the ship, let the others kn . . ." ah, but it disappears at the end, snuffed out like a forsaken candle.

He hears more footsteps, and then smells the pungent aroma of cooked meat. The scent is unbelievably strong that it overwhelms all other sensations, and he falls back into nothingness.

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Darkness . . .

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. . . haunted by ghosts . . .

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He is . . .

He returns to the world of the living with an introduction to pain—

There's a dull throbbing in his head. It pulses waves of heat into the rest of his body. It is a feeling he could very much do without, but the pain acts with its own freewill, and it chooses to torment him without cause.

He is cognizant of his body partaking in the motions of breathing. His throat is ringed with fire, and each inhale fills him with hot air that seems to want to melt him from the inside out. An exhale breathes more heat into his inflamed sanctuary.

Through it all, he hears soft murmuring, words so gentle and fleeting they wrap around his body like a thin blanket fighting a hurricane.

Something liquid dabs at his head. The cold touch is deeply comforting, and he imagines a hiss of steam releasing from his burning being as it makes contact. When it pulls away, he nearly cries out for its return.

Droplets of water trickle down, the sound nearly mocking in its cheerfulness. It makes him all the more aware of how heated and dry his body is. The pain in the center of his mind cackles with wickedness, the echoes of its laughter shaking his brittle bones.

The cold touch of mercy returns, but he's unable to relish it as he's already sunk back to the abyss.

---

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Something's . . .

. . . not right . . .

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---

A small voice pulls him out of the darkness next—

" . . . oro? Can you . . ."

He doesn't know what it's saying. Its words are spoken through small wisps of air. There's a tight swath of pressure wrapped around his head, and the pain doesn't lash out with as much freedom as before. It is contained and controlled.

The voice tries to pull him once more, " . . . know you're tired, but can you . . ."

He doesn't want to follow it. The darkness, he realizes now, is a cocoon void of sensations. Primarily, it is void of pain, and its only intent is to block out the forces that only desire to hurt him. He doesn't want to leave this sanctuary.

His shoulder is shaken softly. ". . . Zoro?"

Something cool is pressed against his lips. His mouth parts, and he tastes the frigid midnight air. Mingling within in it is the battling palates of blood, antiseptics, and wood. They create a unique cocktail of a world unknown.

"Zoro, can you drink this?"

He is unable to communicate. Liquid is poured into his mouth. It is horrid to taste and more so to smell. His throat burns and tightens. He tries to remove the foulness from his being.

A hand is pressed to his mouth, trapping the poison inside him, polluting him with despair and devastation. It burns and destroys the path that allows it into his core. He feels it bubbling with malice, melting all the foundations that make him who he is.

"I'm sorry, Zoro, but you have to drink it."

He doesn't know if he drinks it. Darkness pulls him back into its clutches, and he allows it.

---

Ah . . .

So, that's how it is . . .

---

When he next wakes up, he braces himself for the onslaught of sensations—

It starts with soft noises filtering into his ears; he hears the buzz of a sleeping world, heavy and still and mindful of its occupants. He hears his heart beating, fabric shifting, soft breathing.

Layered over that is the strong scent of blood and cooked meat, of pine and dirt, of newborn wood and midnight dew.

Following that is the horrid taste between his teeth, the sickness over his tongue, the harshness of his breathes.

Then the pains of his sore body, his tender neck that's makes swallowing an agonized chore, his humming headache that refuses to abandon him.

He is aware of the darkness that envelopes him. No, not darkness . . .

Finally, he opens his eyes.

Only one opens.

But, that is enough, as sight has been granted to him.

He is able to see his world, and combined with the all the other sensations, he is finally able to conclude with absolute certainty, that he is, in fact, not dead.

He is very much alive.

Ah. He thinks. So, that's how it is.

He is alive.

But where . . .

A thin veil of darkness shrouds his foreign setting, painting the walls and floor and furniture with a midnight blue hue. A candle burns from the corner of his eye, the orange pulsing like a pumping heart, eager to make itself known.

He is not alone in this walled room. His eye roams to the candlelight's corner and he sees a long shadow painted on the floor. Who . . . The shadow shifts, and he gazes up to see the silhouette of his bedside companion.

A new scent timidly introduces itself to him; he smells the sour aroma of mikans mixed in with the soothing scent of sea-spray.

Combined, it creates something bittersweet.

The silhouette shifts, the loose orange strands of hair floating from the breeze of the open window. It cranes its body, looking down at him with large, concerned eyes. They shine in the darkness from the intensity of emotion alone.

His vision is unreliable and does not allow him complete clarity. But, what it does allow is enough to distinguish that there is a person beside his bed. Who . . . 

A murmur escapes the person's chewed and raw lips, and though it is low and tentative and quiet with fear, he hears the question very clearly—

" . . . Zoro?"

He isn't sure he's capable of responding back. His throat feels absolutely crushed, and his mind is buzzing with a million thoughts that leave him dazed and breathless.

But eventually, and without much thought behind it, his own mouth opens, and he speaks. And though it is ragged and raw and laced exhaustion, he responds back—

"Nami."

And as he speaks, his vision starts to blur again, but he can see how she startles with his response, how she becomes rigid with disbelief. So, so, so many emotions fill her face, her body, her eyes that she is paralyzed in her spot.

And then, Nami laughs.

A choked laugh, that bubbles out of her just like a sob would.

"You idiot," she says, her voice filled all those emotions rolled into one, tearful mess. She throws her arms over his neck. Her cries flow freely, mingling with incredulous laughs. "You s-stupid, stupid, idiot!"

Zoro falls back asleep before he's able to tell her not to get snot all over his shirt.

---

(1/4)

Chapter 15: The Crew (II)

CHAPTER  FIFTEEN

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---

He understands, now, that something must have happened to him.

It's a thought he is certain of. Usually, waking up is not so much of a struggle. Usually, it is instant; all his senses would awaken at once, in assembly.

But now, it is a long and perilous journey into the waking world. He is forced to swim across the purgatory that sits between consciousness and unconsciousness. It's frustrating, but he continues to fight his way into wakefulness with relentless rigor.

Dark shadows surround him in the darker ocean of unconsciousness.

---

When Zoro next wakes up, he is able to discern where he is, though not with the specifics he would like.

He finds himself in a bedroom that glows with morning sunshine. It is a small, unremarkable room built entirely of wood, with a large window and sparse furniture scattered about. He has no idea whose bedroom this is, or where the home it's attached to is located. But, he knows it's a house on land, and that's good enough for now.

Zoro inhales deeply, his back digging into the firm mattress underneath him. He rolls his head against the thin pillow and sees that he's been laid out on a bed that's much too small for him. His bare feet dangle over the mattress.

Something definitely happened, he thinks now with a frown. His body feels odd. Sore, ragged, and incredibly warm with exhaustion. Why am I tired if I just woke up, he thinks irritably. He closes his hand into a tight fist. When he relaxes, his arm trembles from the effort. What the hell?

He tries to recall what possibly could have happened to put him in this state. Instantly, his head reacts with a twinge of pain. His mouth pulls at that, the reaction terribly familiar. Pulling his hand from underneath the blanket, he touches his temple, feeling the clothe that's tied around his head.

Wait, did I—

Then the bedroom door opens.

"Zoro!" Nami exclaims, coming over quickly to slap his hand away. "Don't touch. You'll hurt yourself."

He lets himself get chastised, only because he is momentarily stunned by Nami's appearance. He doesn't know why, though . . . She looks the same as she's always has, though now her hair is wrapped in a messy, orange bun that mimics a half-peeled tangerine, and her skin is pale enough to contrast the dark circles under her eyes and flushed cheeks.

Nami catches him staring, and his expression must be something close to baffling because she tenses, preparing herself for the worst. "W-What?"

"Did . . . ." He licks his lips, trying to make the words come out of a throat brittle from inactivity. He tries again and his thoughts mingle with his words, "Did you go somewhere? I feel like I . . . haven't seen you in ages?"

Because for some inexplicable reason, it feels like this visit is more akin to a reunion. Which, he thinks suddenly, which is absurd since Nami has been . . . here . . . the whole time? No, that doesn't sound right . . . why doesn't it sound right . . . ?

Nami sits down heavily on the chair beside the bed, her arms loose like a doll. "Oh, Zoro," she breathes to the ceiling. She puts her hands on her face, pulling down to wipe away her incredulous expression to make way for complete and utter exhaustion. "I should be saying that to you."

He frowns, not sure he understands. "Did . . . I go somewhere?"

There are noises from the other side of the door, muffled and low. Of voices chattering and feet pattering. There are other people in this house, he realizes. Once more, he wonders whose house this belongs to, and why they are even here in the first place.

Nami ignores those noises. She says to him, "Not . . . physically. God, where do I even start? Well, first, you should be probably drink something. You've been sleeping for days, so you're definitely thirsty—"

"Wait, what?" He tries to sit up, but his arms are pathetic noodles that just lay there. Nausea sweeps over him from just the intent of movement. The room begins to spin, and he nearly loses his breathe. What the hell?

"Don't move so much," Nami tells him uselessly, pushing him gently back into the bed. "You're not at a hundred percent yet."

"Why was I asleep for days? Was there a fight?"

Nami looks like she has been dreading that question. Nervously, she scratches her neck. "You were sick, Zoro. Like, really sick. Not a cold, or a flu, or anything like that."

His brow furrows. "Sick . . . ?"

Is that why his throat hurts so much, and his head? No, a sore throat and headache wouldn't put him out of commission for days. Nami is acting incredibly strange. Why is she so guarded and nervous? Why does she look as exhausted as he feels? Was there a fight? Nami is always quick to yell at him at his recklessness after he recovers from a fight. So why isn't she acting as she usually does? Unless . . . the fight isn't actually over yet.

Nami purses her lips. "Maybe sick isn't the right word. How do I explain this? Well, Luffy and the others had to take you to a crazy witch to get a parasite out of your head, and she—"

His head brims with pain. "Who?"

"What do you mean, who?" Nami asks, her smile lopsided from anxiety. "Luffy, and the others. Come on, you know. Franky, Sanji, and Uso—"

A wicked sharp pain penetrates his skull like a shard of glass with each of Nami's word. He winces violently, the pain too sudden to prepare for.

"Zoro?" She stands up, alarmed. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Shit," is the only thing he manages through his gritted teeth.

Footsteps sound from the other side of the door. Nami turns her head to look and Zoro catches a short glimpse of a nearly healed cut on the side of her neck. "Crap," Nami is saying. "That must be the others."

Zoro's attention changes towards the door. "What others?" He hisses out, not understanding. His head seems to want to burst through the bandages. "Who else is here? Where the hell are we?"

She bites her lip, the stress slipping into the open like bolts of electricity. Nami seems incredibly helpless, looking from the door and back to him. "No way. You don't rememb—"

Then, the door opens once more with a bang.

The pain must be mingling with his vision, because all he sees is a crowd of dark shapes flooding into the room. They're all speaking at the same time, their voices distorted and nearly muted against the sharp ringing in his head—

"Zoro!" Someone whoops cheerfully. "You're awake!"

"We were so worri—!"

"— about time you woke up—!"

"Oi, don't push—!"

"Guys, wait, he's not—"

And lastly, he hears, "How do you feel?" but he slips into unconsciousness before he's able to know the answer himself.

---

After that, his sleep becomes restless, like his mind can't wait to wake up.

He's plagued with visionless dreams that stir wild emotions from within him. They wake him up violently, like the world had been pulled from right under his feet. He'd blink awake, breathless and alert, but with a burst of clarity.

His dreams are memories.

He's not too sure when he realized it. Maybe it was when he woke up with a stuttering breath, his hands gripping the mattress, with the obvious mantra of I'm Roronoa Zoro, a swordsman, I'm a pirate, sailing the seas to accomplish my dreams, I'm Roronoa Zoro, a swo— playing over and over again in his head.

The realization seemed so profound yet so obvious that it morphed into something dizzying.

Then, sleep would grip him once more. But, rest would not come, because soon he'll feel himself stir and wrestle away from the forgotten dreams. He'll break the surface of consciousness again, and become enlightened with a detail of himself he wasn't aware he was missing.

And on and on, throughout the night, it repeats.

It's like . . . he's simply an outline of himself, void of hue and shade and utterly transparent, and each time the burst of realization occurs, a piece of him is filled with color.

---

But he's not there. Not yet.

---

"You didn't know who any of them were?" Nami is asking him, her voice hollow with disappointment.

Zoro lays in bed, his position unchanged in comparison to every other waking moment. He'd woken up less than an hour ago, his head aching to the beat of a terrible hangover. His sleep was not restful in the slightest, and his heavy eyelids are there to remind him of that every time he blinks.

Nami blows a strand of loose hair away from her face. She takes his silence as an answer. "Damn. I was hoping you'd at least remember one of them, like you did with me. This is getting more complicated than it should be."

Zoro doesn't say anything. When he woke up, groggy and slow, Nami was quick to ask him if he remembered any of the people who barged into the room, before he'd passed out from the pain (to which he immediately bristled at, because he does not pass out from pain). She prattled off a list of names, waiting for him to react, but just hearing those strange names that he didn't retain made his head crack with agony.

Zoro brings a hand up and feels the clothe that covers his head. He feels a sharp pain just below his ear, and when he brings his hand over the spot, the flesh underneath the clothe hisses warningly. The wicked pain has lessened, but the memory of it leaves a heavy imprint.

Nami swats his hand away. "Don't touch," she says, not for the first time.

He huffs petulantly. He knows he shouldn't touch but he can't help it; feeling the pain reminds him that the absurdity that had occurred to him was real and not just an intricate fever dream his mind cooked up.

He knows what has happened to him, now.

He doesn't know when the recollection came to him, but he knows—

Memory loss.

He swallows thickly, suppressing the urge to heave.

The nightmarish experience of it all is alive and brimming inside him, like a festering wound.

He remembers not recalling who Nami is, remembers people trying to convince him that he was wrong, he remembers fighting Marines and sailing on a ship and climbing a mountain and a crazy old woman with the ability to speak to insects. He remembers the pain, most of all. Hell, that was annoying to go through.

The past week comes to him in bits and pieces, forming a mosaic of disorientation. But the particular details of it all, like names and faces . . . well . . . that's where Zoro becomes confused. . .

Because whenever he tries to recall who he was with, all he sees is black.

Instead of people, he sees shapeless black lines and blurs.

Ghosts.

He knows they are people, and he knows that he knows who these people are, but he just can't see them. His mind has substituted the forgotten people of his life with a veil of black that gives him no hint of who they are.

Once more, he brings his hand up, rubbing the white clothe absently.

A small voice asks softly, "Does it hurt?"

There was one of those black things in the room, now.

A small blob of black, almost like a black pen had aggressively scribbled nonsense against a blank canvas. It has no definable shape, no features or shades or outlines. Nothing to distinguish whether it's male, female, human, or creature. Just a mess of black for a body, scratched out of existence.

He can tell it's looking at him with concern. After a beat, he lies and says, ". . . No."

It feels strange talking to it. Nami doesn't seem to realize that there's a peculiar black blob in the room, speaking freely and casually. She speaks to it like it were a person, as if she could see it for what it truly is, whatever it may be.

It was the same with the people that piled into the room earlier, too. The door had opened, and a mess of black shadows flooded the room. Zoro had thought he'd finally snapped, then and there, but later Nami had told him that those were his nakama. People he knew . . . but forgot.

It's weird as hell.

"You should tell me if it hurts, Zoro," the little black blur tells him. "I'm a doctor, after all."

Right. A doctor. It mentioned that before, when it first entered the room and Zoro startled like death itself slithered in. Nami was quick to reassure him that it was a friend, that its— his name is . . . something, and that he was just someone he forgot. She thought he was reacting to a stranger, not a faceless ghost. The black blob had cowered behind the door before Nami gestured it closer, and Zoro could hear the tears in its voice as it introduced itself as a doctor.

And Zoro, in his exhausted and possibly delirious state, accepted it with a heavy sigh. Why wouldn't he? Of all the weird shit that has been happening to him lately, anything is possible.

He hasn't told Nami or the black blur what he's seeing. He decides this is something he will endure on his own.

The black blob of a doctor continues mixing different vials of liquids into a bowl. Its horrendous smell makes Zoro's stomach squirm, and he hopes whatever it's making doesn't end up becoming medicine that he has to consume.

Nami is biting her lip again, a habit she does whenever she's debating letting out a thought that would elicit a response she doesn't agree with. Finally, she asks the shape, "Shouldn't he remember everything by now? I mean, he knows who I am, for crying out loud. That's a memory we all thought was long gone, and yet, here we are. Why doesn't he know you, or anyone else?"

The black shape puts away a flask. It seems to grow in size when it takes in a breath, "I wish I knew, Nami, but you have to remember that this whole thing is completely unprecedented. I've never worked on something like this before. All I can tell you is what Moya-san told us."

Nami groans, frustrated. "As if what she said is helpful— even that witch doesn't know why he's reacting this way."

"Not a witch," Zoro says.

"What?"

Zoro blinks. "What? She's not a witch, just a crazy old hag with a Devil Fruit power."

She's staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "You remember her?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

She looks helpless as her mouth tries to produce a response. "But . . . you just . . ." She throws her hands up, irritated. "See, this is my point! Why is he only remembering parts of things, and not everything?"

Zoro holds back a scowl. He's not appreciative of being talked about like he's not in the room. However be begrudgingly bites his tongue because he'd like to know the answer, too.

"Well, again. This is new territory, even for her. She even said that Zoro is the only one to ever survive this." Zoro smirks at that, unsurprised at being superior in yet another thing. Nami shoots him a sharp glare and he rolls his eyes. The little black blob continues, "She warned us that whatever happens now is unknown. We just have to be patient. Zoro has always been good at recovering after resting. He remembered you after sleeping for a few days, after all, and today he's gotten some color back—"

"But he doesn't remember you," Nami says.

". . . No, he doesn't. But he might, with more rest. We just need to be patient."

Suddenly, a memory strikes him like a pebble to the head.

There was a conversation behind closed doors, a few days ago. Multiple people were talking about him, discussing his memory loss and how they could fix them. One particular statement echoes in his head the loudest. They were speaking to Nami, not to him. Someone had said, with a voice that was unbelievably gentle, "A solution will come, Nami-san. We must remain patient. Patient with the situation, and patient with Zoro-san . . ."

He recalls a lot of conversations, the words of different voices bouncing around his head from the last couple of days. But, this conversation reverberates differently now. People were trying to help him, back then. People that he's forgotten as well as Nami were doing their very best even when they were at their wit's end. Just to try and help him.

He recalls how patient they tried to be. And Zoro recalls how unmanageable he was. No, he corrects himself. Not unmanageable. I was an asshole.

But now, he understands. Now, he'll accept their words without a fuss; without a scowl or a retort or a needless jibe.

He'll sit back on this bed, let them talk about him like he's not in the room, let himself be chastised and patched up and fussed. He'll accept the strangeness of his situation, the odd aches and pains of his body. He'll accept that this small black ghost is talking to him, accept that it was a person he once knew and not a sign that his brain was disintegrating.

He'll be the patient one, this time. I owe them that much.

The black blur clears its throat. "Um, Zoro. I need to change your bandages and put some ointment on the wound. Can I . . .?"

He nods, and the shape changes, seemingly reaching out with a long black arm. That looks eerily familiar, Zoro thinks when the bandages on his head begin to unwrap. Then, the memory presents itself to him, memories of a bug a bug infested home and himself sat on a chair with Moya's lanky fingers reaching out to him and other hands holding down his head.

He blinks.

"That old hag cut into my head," Zoro says suddenly.

The black thing pauses, and Nami frowns, and Zoro wonders if maybe the blistering pain he was experiencing and strange medication he was forced to drink that night created that hallucination.

It did feel like a dream, that whole experience. A nightmare, more accurately. There were other black shapes looming over him, but he recalls the bug woman, Moya, smiling a crooked smile down at him, a scalpel in hand, and a moth on her shoulder.

". . . that's what she did, right?" Zoro asks, now feeling a bit doubtful.

But then the bandages continue to unwrap, and the small voice says, "No, no, that's right. Moya-san performed a procedure that required her to make an incision in your head. Hm, actually, I think it'll be more helpful if you tell me what you last remember from that night. If it starts to hurt, you have to stop, though, alright?"

What he remembers? He takes a moment to collect his thoughts. "I was . . ." He starts, brow furrowed as he tries to organize the jumbled memories. "I was in that house, on top of the mountain. I went with some people, but . . ." He tries to conjure an image of them, but all he sees is a group of looming shadows of different heights and shapes. He shakes his head. "There was an old hag of a doctor there, and she had the ability to talk to bugs. Devil Fruit user. She . . . took a bug out of my head, right? The bug was in my brain, eating my memories or something . . ."

The black ghost makes affirmative noises as he speaks. The old bandages flutter down onto the mattress, littered with splotches of dry blood. The black shape then begins to pat a strange white paste to the side of his head. Zoro winces at the first contact but relaxes when he feels the coldness of the liquid soothe the burning of his wound.

Another memory pops into his head, an unpleasant one. Zoro licks his lips, tasting something foul. "Wait, she made me drink something towards the end. The hell did she make me drink? Everything goes black after that."

Nami sticks her tongue out, cringing. That's not a good sign . . .

The little black shape says, "Oh, that. Um, I wasn't there, but from what Sanji told me, when Moya took out the parasite, she immediately crushed it and mixed it with a dark liquid and made you drink it. When Sanji asked why, she said that was how you could get your memories back, since all the memory neurons was still in the parasite's body."

Zoro stares, digesting the information slowly. "What the fuck." He scrapes his tongue against his teeth, tasting grime and something acidic. "I ate a bug?"

"Please," Nami laughs. "As if you haven't eaten worse." She takes away the dirty bandages and tosses them into the trash. "But I do wonder if that Moya woman made it up on the spot. You guys were ambushed by the Marines, after all, so I wouldn't fault her for thinking on her feet."

"Marines?" Ah, yes, he does remember that. The Marines have a reoccurring appearance in his memories of the last few days. Damn, those guys really picked the worst time to be doing their jobs well.

Nami nods. "Yup. Unsurprisingly, the Marines followed you guys all the way up the mountain and attacked in the middle of the bug lady's procedure. I swear, we never catch a break with those jerks. But, for once, their meddling actually accomplished the exact opposite of that they wanted."

Zoro frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Don't quote me on this, but Moya thinks the only reason she was able to get the parasite out of your head was because that one Marine choked you half to death. What was it exactly, Chopper?"

The probing in his head pauses only momentarily, and with clinical accuracy, the unfamiliar voice says, "Her theory is that the strangulation cut off the oxygen from entering your brain, effectively choking the Jiyi parasite as well. It couldn't breathe, just like how you couldn't, and crawled its way out of your brain trying to find air, like a drowning person would kick towards the water's surface. When Moya-san was able to get to you again, the Jiyi was incredibly close to the incision line, so all she had to do was pluck it out."

Nami says, "You were incredibly lucky."

" . . . huh," Zoro says finally, after a dumbfounded stretch of silence.

He rubs his neck absently, feeling the bruised skin. He remembers the chaos of that ambush, how his weakened state was so pathetic that he couldn't even push off an unarmed Marine. I definitely didn't feel lucky at that moment.

Lucky.

He takes a moment to mull over the word in his head. It was bad luck that got me into this mess, he thinks, remembering the unfortunate fluke that made the stupid bug crawl into his had in the first place.

. . . and apparently, good luck that got me out.

He nods to himself.

"Yeah," he says to the ceiling fan. "That makes sense."

---

(2/4)

Chapter 16: The Crew (III)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

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In his sleep, he is bombarded by emotions and aches past felt – frustration, betrayal, desperation, hopelessness—

He is a slab of stone, and every emotion and every sensation hammers a dent into him, forging him into a shape that is tangible and real. They're held together by the brazing pain that has followed him like Death's shadow. The pain in his head, the pain in his abdomen, the pain in his neck, the pain in his soul—

Consciousness is fire, and he enters it with neither a scream nor cry. The flames whip around him greedily, melting him into his rightful mold.

He's not completed, not yet. But with more time and effort, he will be.

He's nearly there—

---

Remnants of sleep are still attached to his eyelashes later in the afternoon.

His body feels tight and incredibly sore, and his head feels like it has been stuffed with wool. But he's grown accustomed to his body betraying him whenever he is conscious. He doesn't dwell on it for long.

Nami and the little black blur are already in the room. The bandages on his head are being removed as the black blur applies that weird smelling ointment onto his head again. Nami fills the silence by telling him about Plume Island and the hospitality of the butcher, whose home they currently reside in.

She's deep in the throes of describing how the locals were finally coming around to the bug woman's eccentrics, now that she'd actually managed to cure someone of the blasted parasite, when there's a short knock on the door, interrupting her mid-sentence.

The door opens, the person on the other end already speaking. "Nami-san, we're go— oh. What is this, another shitty surgery?"

Zoro crinkles his nose. Another black blur presents itself to him; faceless, shapeless, and completely unknown. It stands by the door casually, or so he assumes. It's holding a plate of food close to its middle. Unlike the shapeless blur that's currently prodding at his head, this new one is tall and lanky, and emits a cloud of white smoke from its top.

Nami sits back, giving the shadow a small wave. She is not alarmed by its presence, and so neither is Zoro. He's well aware now that he's part of a pirate crew, and that many of his crewmates are scattered around the island, idling around as they wait for him to recover his memories. This tall shape must be one of them, one that is comfortable enough to approach him, knowing Zoro in return will not recognize him.

"Just redressing the wound." The small black blur says, not stopping in its motions. "Is that lunch?"

". . . Yeah," the tall shape says, sounding distracted. It stands by the door awkwardly before asking, "You hungry?"

The question is directed to him, Zoro realizes. He can sense everyone's eyes on him, waiting for the answer they know is coming but dread hearing.

The smell of the food makes its way towards him. Cooked sausage, he recognizes immediately, and some steamed potatoes, too. Any other day he would be fond of a dish like that, but now all it seems to do is make his stomach churn uncomfortably.

He shakes his head. "No," he says at last, his voice still a bit scratchy from his bruised neck.

He hears disappointed twin exhales from Nami and the smaller black blurb. They do that, every now and then, whenever he says something he assumes is normal and unremarkable. I'm still missing memories, Zoro thinks. Other than just memories of people. Zoro purses his lips to keep himself from frowning. It doesn't feel like anything is missing, but obviously there are things I'm supposed to know that I don't. God, this is annoying.

He can't tell what expression the tall black shape is holding, but its forthcoming grunt is anything but pleased. "Fine. Later, then."

More smoke pours from its figure, and it sets the plate on the nightstand. Directing its its attention to Nami, it clears its throat and says, "Anyway, just came in to let you know Franky and I are heading up to Moya-san's. Shitty cyborg finally decided he has enough materials to rebuild her house. Will probably take all day for him to put it back together, maybe longer since Moya-san keeps mentioning a second floor and balcony. Usopp is sticking around. Ring us through the Baby Den-Den Mushi if you need anything."

Now, Zoro does frown. What the hell is this guy going on about? Nearly half of what this person just said made absolutely no sense to him. He recognized Moya's name, and the business with the house made sense considering he distinctly remembers it being blown to bits. However, the other names spoken only elicited sharp twinges of pain, not memories.

It all seems to make sense to Nami; she smiles gratefully and says, "Thanks, Sanji-kun. We should be fine."

The tall black shape leaves just as abruptly as it came, but the cloud of smoke remains. Zoro glowers at it until it disperses into the air. The smell lingers around much longer.

There's an awkward silence that loiters after its departure. Nami coughs lightly. She asks, very gingerly, "You . . . still don't recognize him, huh?"

"No," Zoro says honestly, expecting the question. "It's just . . ." He makes a strange gesture with his hand, not sure what exactly he's trying to convey. ". . . Blank." Which is not entirely true, but he's not ready to divulge the nonsense his injured mind is conveying to anyone. That would just open a can of worms he is too tired to get into.

He hears the snip of scissors, and a ribbon of bandages flutter to the bed.

"Alright, I'm done," Chopper says, wiping his hooves with a wet clothe. "Now, don't touch your head, Zoro. The medicine will help it heal, but agitating it might cause infection, and that's the last thing we need. I didn't make the bandages too tight, so do— . . . uh . . . um, is s-something wrong?"

Zoro is staring.

Then he blinks.

Then he frowns.

Then he says, very slowly, ". . . Chopper?"

". . . Um, y-yes?"

Zoro doesn't say anything, not yet, because he assumes his mind is playing more ridiculous games with him. But then he blinks again, harder this time, eyelids squeezed shut so tightly that he sees red and orange blurs behind them.

And then, they open, and . . .

Yes . . . it's Chopper.

That's Chopper.

Just as plain as Nami is here, so is Chopper.

What the hell? He thinks absurdly.

He is blinking rapidly, now, trying incredibly hard to make sense of it all. He probably looks like he's having some sort of stroke to Nami and Chopper, but—What the hell? Chopper wasn't here before! How is he here now? Before, there was just—

He stills. Before . . . it was a black scribble of nonsense?

There was nothing before. A shapeless shadow that pulsed like a polluted heart. A black silhouette that blocked his mind from seeing who it truly was, unequivocally nothing—

But— fuck, no, it was Chopper!

He thinks back on it so deeply that his jaw begins to ache. It was Chopper the whole time. It was Chopper on his bedside, changing his bandages, telling him about the procedure, asking him not to touch his head. Chopper, that they met on that snow island, their crew's doctor, his nakama—

In the stunned, pregnant hush that Zoro inadvertently created, Chopper eventually puts two and two together. He gasps sharply. "Y-You remember me!"

Nami jolts. "Wait, what? Really?" She looks between the two of them. "Just like that?"

Zoro puts a hand to his head, absolutely stunned. "I . . . shit, that's freaky as hell." He feels breathless. "You were here the whole time . . . but it's like . . . you weren't. Shit."

But a huge smile is already breaking through Chopper's face. Tears are swarming in his eyes. "You remember me!" He says again, cheerfully.

Then, there's a hiccup, and Chopper's smile wobbles and his face crumbles, tears freely falling. He throws himself onto Zoro, now crying, "You remember me, you remember me, you remember m-me," into his chest, the words quickly dissolving into watery babbles.

"Yeah . . ." Zoro nods, winded by his own revelation.

How . . . could I have forgotten Chopper?

Nami is quick to barrage him with questions to try and make sense of it all. "Hold on, hold on. This is great and all, but how did this happen? Did you feel something before you remembered him? Does your head hurt? Was there a flash or something? Anything, like a sign, that your memory is coming back? Do you remember Sanji-kun now? The others?"

But Zoro just shakes his head numbly, unable to articulate anything else. He feels like a lone light in a mass, dark hallway was just lit. When he thinks back on the memories that were previously shrouded in darkness, he sees Chopper there now, along with Nami. Of course. Chopper didn't go anywhere, he was there the whole time. I was just blind.

He sees Chopper, all those days ago, looking over his head after the first Marine attack, skeptical that his memory loss of Nami had anything to do with heat exhaustion. "No hits in the head?" Chopper had asked him. "Or cuts, bruises? Did you eat or drink anything strange? You're not just playing a mean joke on Nami, are you?"

Zoro remembers the days afterwards, when Chopper would cling by his side, watching over him wearily, trying to identify some explanation for his strange behavior. Zoro would forget his ailment every few hours, and Chopper would be there, pulling him into the sick room, patiently telling him, "You have memory loss, Zoro. Have you already forgotten?"

Over and over again it would repeat, and no matter how frustrated and hostile Zoro got, Chopper would always be there, patient and understanding. And then I forgot him, Zoro thinks harrowingly. And Chopper was kept away from me, in case I would think he was a stranger and attack him . . . shit . . .

Zoro swallows, looking down at the quivering reindeer hugging his stomach.

"Chopper . . ." The name trots out of his mouth with ease. He puts a hand on the reindeer's head gingerly. A deep sigh afterwards, and he murmurs, ". . . Sorry."

Chopper pulls away, wiping his face. "W-What? W-Why? For what?"

"I . . ." Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't know why. The word had just slipped out, as if it wanted to be said.

However, as he looks at the little doctor's eyes, so inquisitive and lined with stress and tension, he knows why. There's a list of regrets he's holding onto, but he summarizes it all with, "I was . . . a pretty terrible patient to deal with, huh."

The tears start rolling down again. Chopper is vigorously shaking his head. "I don't care about that, Zoro. I didn't care. I just wanted you better, I didn't care about anything else."

Zoro believes him. He's smiling, saying with meaning, "You were a really great doctor, though. Through and through, you put up with my shit and never gave up on me. So, thanks for that."

"You . . ." Chopper blushes madly, and shoves his face back into Zoro's shirt, covering his flustered face. "Y-You asshole!" Comes the muffled insult, yet Zoro can distinctly hear the smile. "As if I care about your compliments! They d-d-d-don't make me feel any better at all. Bastard! A-Asshole. "

Zoro pats his head, letting the reindeer bawl his eyes out. Nami is grinning, trying to hide her own tears. "Morons."

---

Within the darkness of his sleeping mind, he feels a pull.

And it pulls—

---

It's the middle of the night when he next wakes up.

He was dreaming something nonsensical, and when he opens his eye he cannot remember a thing. It must have been a pleasant dream, though; he feels refreshed and clear headed for the first time in a long time.

He blinks but the darkness doesn't dissipate. The room is pitch black, and void of anyone. Chopper and Nami must be asleep somewhere in this house, Zoro thinks, giving his surroundings a half-measured glance. Wonder how many rooms this butcher guy's house has, to fit so many people. . .

He takes in a deep inhale of the night air. It feels so strange, to have Nami and Chopper back in his life. The feeling of remembering them is polarizing; it feels like he hasn't seen them in years, but that also they've been by his side the entire time.

Conversations that had been echoing in his mind like ghosts whispering behind closed doors are slowly making sense. Those voices finally belong to faces, and those conversations are painstakingly being backed by context. He's so close to complete clarity. . .

An exhale leaves him. His body deflates. He flexes his toes and fingers, waking them all from their respective slumbers. He refuses to allow sleep to return to him. I'm sick of sleeping. I'm sick of being cooped up like some invalid—

And then Zoro decides promptly, it's time for a walk.

He pushes himself upright and swerves his legs over the bed, planting his feet on the wooden floor. He feels himself shake from that exertion alone and he is disgusted. Winded just from that, he thinks with a heavy scowl. All that sleep has reduced me to mush!

He's flowing with heated determination now, intent on proving to his pathetic body that it can, and it will, do more than this. With a swallow, he pushes himself up and stands.

His legs whine to him as if they've never carried this much weight before. Zoro is absolutely undeterred. Looking around, he tries to determine the best way to get out of this room without running into someone that would make a fuss. No way in hell Chopper would let me get out of this bed without his approval. Gotta make sure he doesn't see me . . .

His eyes find a window. His mouth curves thoughtfully, as he realizes that the window is just the right size to account for someone of his proportions. I guess that could work. Zoro walks over to the window, opens the latch, and wedges his way outside. It's a struggle, and anything but graceful, but eventually he manages to escape his confinement.

The night sky is pitch black and littered with dull stars. The moon is nothing but a thin half-circle, nearly lost behind the long lines of clouds that have settled themselves overhead. Plume Island, Zoro thinks, looking ahead and at the sleeping village. He sees houses that are dark and empty, blinds closed and lights out, representative of quint citizens that only see nighttime as the indicator for sleep. How boring.

Zoro shoves his hands into his pockets and strolls on, his bare feet touching the cold cobblestones. His bones creak like doors on rusty hinges, but eventually after a few steps he gets into the rhythm of it. He walks, his gait slow and steady. He revels in it, this freedom of being able to command his body how he sees fit. It feels right. It feels like something that had been snatched away from has finally been returned.

He walks down the road until he reaches what looks like an outdoor marketplace in the form of a circle. I've been here before, he remembers. Although, when he'd last seen it was daytime and the marketplace was bustling with both local customers and food vendors. Now it is empty and deserted, the food stands standing bare and hollow without commodities nor masters.

I wasn't alone, either . . . he thinks, rather painfully. When I was here, I was with someone . . . who . . . he tries to conjure an image of this person along with the memory, but all he sees is a gash of darkness where a person should be. Then, his mind flashes with abrupt pain, and he abandons further efforts at recollection. It'll come back to me, eventually. Just like how Chopper came back.

A soft gust of wind breezes by noiselessly. He reaches the center of the marketplace, where a decorative fountain with stone-carved dolphins is placed. They aren't sprouting water from their stoned mouths like they did before, however. They, too, are void of life.

Zoro approaches the fountain with a weary sigh, his body begging him to sit down and stop its unnecessary labor. His head is beginning to ache dully, and there's a horrible taste in his mouth. Not this again, he thinks annoyingly, remembering this familiar sensation of discomfort. I thought I was supposed to be cured of this crap already. He would much rather ignore all that in favor of continuing his meaningless stroll, but these sensations are powerful and unsettling. He, begrudgingly, chooses to comply.

He stifles a grunt as he sits down on the fountain's edge, his relieved body singing its praises.

On the other side of the fountain, he hears a yelp.

"Z-Zoro!"

Zoro's head snaps in the direction of the unfamiliar voice.

He sees a dark shadow craning its body to look at him from behind the stone dolphin. It's also sitting on the fountain's edge. Another mysterious, dark blob. It's unidentifiable body and color mixes all too well with the dark environment they are situated in. Just how Chopper used to look . . .

"I m-mean," the dark shape coughs awkwardly, then clears its throat, "Hi, hey. Uh, hello! W-What's up?"

This . . . thing (shape, ghost, shadow? Hell, he doesn't know what to call them) isn't the same as the one that walked into his room with food, Zoro realizes. He's not sure how he knows— ah, perhaps because it lacks the cloud of smoke over its body? No, it's more than that. This shape is peculiar. There seems to be something long protruding from its top.

How many people did Nami say were part of our crew, Zoro wonders briefly. Eight? Nine? Guess it's only a matter of time before I start running into them.

The dark shape edges closer to him, as nervous as a startled cat. It seems uncomfortable in the silence. "Sorry," it apologizes, unprompted. "I'm just surprised. I didn't expect you to be outside. And walking. Does Chopper know you're outside? And walking?"

Zoro looks at the shape, letting his deadpan expression answer the obvious question.

A nervous chuckle. "R-Right, obviously. Oh, crap. You probably have no idea who I am. Sorry, I should have asked if you knew who I am, since I know who you are, and it must be weird that I know you when you don't know who I—"

Zoro interrupts it before the nervous babbling spirals into complete nonsense. "I don't know who you are," he says. Then, after a beat, he adds, "I know that you're someone I've forgotten, though."

"Oh!" the person manages, taking a moment to digest that. "Huh. OK . . . how does that work, exactly?"

Zoro shrugs. "Everyone I've forgotten looks the same." He doesn't elaborate further.

The black blob that has replaced a person he's forgotten nods slowly, pretending to comprehend. "Ah, I guess that's . . . something? Nami and Chopper already told me you've remembered them, and that you're remembering things as you get better. And you do look better— health-wise, I mean. Which is great! We were kind of skeptical about whether eating the bug would fix you— not me, though. I had full confidence in you. Uh . . . You do remember all that stuff, r-right?"

Zoro grunts. A cloud lazes by overhead, and the thinned moon's weak light shines through. Even with that brief light, the black shape's shadow is indistinguishable.

Zoro looks at it curiously. "Why are you out here?"

"Me?" It asks, surprised, as if it had never considered the question. "I'm . . . I don't know? I guess I just needed some . . . air. I couldn't really sleep. Haven't been able to, recently."

Zoro nods. He can sympathize. Guess I'm not the only person sick of being cooped up with their thoughts. He looks down at the fountain and the still water it houses. There are a few tossed coins sitting at the water's bottom, their color hidden by the night sky.

Then the shape adds in quickly, "That, and also because someone needed to keep watch in case the Marines come! Yeah, yeah. I'm look out for tonight. Gotta protect the crew, in case those jerks try and pull a fast one on us, you know?"

Zoro looks back at the direction he came house is a lengthy walk away from this spot, way too far away to protect if the Marines were to hypothetically come. But, Zoro lets the lie slide. "Of course."

Staring at his reflection, he listens with short attention as the unknown figure continues to speak into the midnight air, "Yeah! We're a bit short-staffed at the moment. Only me, Nami, Chopper, and, uh, two others are here now. Everyone else is back on the ship, waiting for us to come back. We want to make sure you're in tip top shape before we leave. Plus, we need to fix up Moya's house. The Marines completely destroyed it. Not sure if you remember, but they had a bazooka. Blew up half the place clean off! We figured it's the least we could do, considering it's kind of our fault the Marines blew it up in the first place. Heh."

Oh, I definitely remember that fiasco, Zoro thinks with little humor. He doesn't think he's ever experienced something nearly as stressful. He remembers being held down by strangers while Moya carved a hole into his head. The pain was absolutely unparalleled, but the wild emotions he was barraged with was otherworldly.

I was so angry . . . he remembers feeling. And confused, and in so much pain. And scared? Why? Who were those people in the room? Someone was yelling at me the entire time . . .

He moves past those thoughts, knowing the inconvenience they bring from remaining unresolved. After that . . . right, the Marines came in guns blazing. The rest of the memory is clear to house was blown apart, and he was knocked off his feet. One lucky Marine managed to corner him, and then he was being strangled, and then . . . a swarm of bees came to his rescue? That was definitely the bug woman's doing.

He wonders if having a house fall on top of him would leave any scratches, and then he realizes he hadn't had a proper look at himself in ages. Leaning over, Zoro stares at his reflection created by the fountain's lifeless water.

He sees himself, the water leaving him desaturated and wobbly. There's a white bandage wrapped around his ruffled, green hair. A few cuts and bruises lace his face, and below all that is a gruesome bruise that rings around his neck. The water does him little kindness with his appearance, emphasizing the shadows of his face and the bags under his eyes. His skin looks hollow and ghastly, his eyes dull and tired. Even the lines of his face look overtly accentuated.

But . . . that's him.

That's me, he thinks, bewildered that such a thought would ever sound so comforting.

The person next to him has no qualm continuing to speak without participation, "—completely unhinged, believe me. And she looks exactly like a witch. The crazy ones that eat kids and give out poisoned apples, you know? No wonder this town decided to mark the whole forest as forbidden. Though, they should have at least put a sign outside or something. Ah, but there was a sign apparently . . . well, they should have put a bigger sign. With lights and bright paint! Maybe then we wouldn't have gone in there in the first place, and then this whole mess wouldn't have even happened!"

Zoro brings a hand up, watching as his reflection does the same. The scar over his eye is ever present. He recalls forgetting it— he recalls forgetting his two years of gruesome training with Mihawk. It's shocking to think that he went about his life with a huge part of himself carved out. Two years of growth, gone. Zoro nearly shudders remembering it. I was nothing but a greenhorn before that. Immature and naïve, with too much displaced overconfidence.

"—fault, even if everyone tells me otherwise. It's just hard." The tone shifts suddenly, and when Zoro listens, he can hear self-pity tailing behind the words. Something about this conversation sounds familiar, but he can't quite put his finger on it. "I can't stop thinking what would have happened if things had gone differently. If I didn't push you to come with me to the forest in the beginning. Or worse, if Moya wasn't able to save you in time."

Besides his reflection is a murky black shape, changing in size as its true body continues to speak.

Zoro blinks.

The reflection besides him changes, and suddenly it looks just like Usopp.

Ah.

Zoro smiles.

There he is.

"—And honestly, I would have done it myself if they'd given me the chance! But Moya was craving the spotlight, and I didn't want to take away the old lady's once chance of glory, you know. I felt bad. I pitied her. So, I let her do it, but I was ready to jump in if she so much as—"

"Usopp." Zoro says. "You can't lie about something I was there for. It doesn't work like that, dumbass."

"Hey, now. I'll have you kno—" Usopp cuts himself off, his mouth frozen mid word. His eyes widen, and Zoro can see the gears turning in his head. Always an expressive person, Usopp's face goes through seven different expressions before it finally lands on realization.

"Wait, did you—"

But before the astounded question can be asked, Zoro halfheartedly pushes Usopp over the short edge of the fountain.

"Wah!" Usopp manages to yelp as he falls backwards and into the shallow water with a thud and a splash. He flails in the water just a like a fish would in land, sputtering madly. "W-W-What the hell! Zoro! What was that for? It's fr-fr-freakin' cold!"

"That," Zoro tells him simply, "is a push."

"Yeah, I can see that, now don't do it again!" Soaked, Usopp picks himself up, glaring at Zoro. "Did you remember how to push people all of a sudden, too? Geez, Chopper gets hugs and kisses and tearful reunions and what do I get? Bullying, that's what! Unbelievable!" He glares at Zoro like a drenched cat.

Zoro rolls his eyes at the theatrics. "Listen, Usopp—"

"Unbelievable!" Usopp says again, more shrilly.

Zoro sighs wearily. He pinches the bridge of his nose and says, "Listen. Yeah, I remember you. But I also just remembered all that nonsense you've been spewing all week, and how much it pissed me off."

Usopp pauses in squeezing the water out of his hair. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

Zoro crosses his arms. "Your stupid theory that this whole memory loss thing has anything to do with you. Jackass, you didn't push me into coming into the forest. You asked, and I came. Like I always do, because I chose to. The stupid bug crawling into my head has nothing to do with you, so stop thinking it does already."

And he remembers that day so clearly, now—

They were on a ship. They docked on a port in Plume Island. Nami and Chopper were on the ship, and Usopp, too. Other people as well, but they're shrouded in mystery. They started to separate, some disembarking to explore the island, others deciding to stay with the ship.

Zoro wanted to leave, but Nami disapproved vehemently—"Hell no! You're staying right here! It took us days just to find you the last time you decided to wander on your own! No way we're going through that all over again, so you just stay put and get lost on the ship instead."

Then, they argued. They argued loudly. During the height of it— "I can wander wherever the hell I want, witch! And don't you dare throw that stupid debt in my face—" Usopp's head popped in. He cringed at the sudden, heated attention directed at him, and managed to timidly ask if Zoro would want to come with him into the forest to catch some bugs. He had phrased it as a question to Nami as well, probably hoping the offer would appease both of them. Zoro doesn't give a shit about bugs, but agreed, possibly just to spite Nami. But truthfully, he did always enjoy Usopp's company when they explored an island.

". . . Okay, fine, maybe pushed isn't the right word here." Usopp bites his lip, looking away. "But, semantics aside, if I hadn't asked, then none of—"

Zoro cuts him off smoothly. "Sure, right. And if Nami didn't navigate the ship to this island, it wouldn't have happened. If we didn't come to the New World, if I didn't become a pirate, if I was never born—get it, or should I keep going? This isn't your fault, dumbass. It's just bad luck. That's all."

Water drips from Usopp's hair in light, tap, tap, taps. The sharpshooter is staring at Zoro in wonder. ". . . You . . . really don't blame me?"

The fact that the question is asked with so much surprise makes Zoro's face soften. His shoulders sag, recognizing the pain in Usopp's eyes as nothing short of bone crushing guilt. He's been carrying all this weight the whole time, and I couldn't even tell him this from the beginning because I kept forgetting it.

"Never even thought to," he says with earnest.

Usopp's face collapses slowly in long overdue relief. Before Zoro can prepare himself for it, tears begin welling up in Usopp's eyes, and Zoro knows exactly where this is heading. "Oh, hell no. Don't you start, too—"

"Oh, Zoro!" Usopp sobs, throwing his arms over Zoro's shoulders. "I'm s-s-s-s-so happy you rem-mem-mem-mem-ember me! D-Don't you ever scare me like that again! Oh, god, I thought I was out of your brain for good! My heart can't take this kind of stress, Zoro! Zooorooo!"

Usopp's obscene wails can definitely be heard throughout the island, and he does not hold back on the theatrics. Zoro immediately regrets pushing him into the water; the sharpshooter's cold, wet clothes uncomfortably cling onto his own.

"Z-Z-Z—Z-Z—Z-oro!" Usopp blubbers messily. "I've missed you so mu-mu-mu-much!"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get soft on me now, Usopp." Zoro says, not unkindly. He lets the contact linger a second longer than he'd usually allow before pushing the sharpshooter away from him. "Get off already. You're cold as hell."

"Because you pushed me into the water!" Usopp is quick to counter. He wipes away the wet mess on his face and says smartly, "Which, by the way, you did not have to do. You do know you can make a point without violence? It's possible, Zoro!"

Zoro rolls his eyes. "Whatever." He pauses, giving Usopp a considerate look. "You good?"

"Yeah," Usopp nods, wiping his eyes. He sighs deeply, as if he's been holding in that one singular breathe for days. "Yeah, I'm good . . . thanks."

Not a lie, Zoro thinks with a smile. "Great. Now, help me back to the house. Chopper's gonna have a seizure if he finds me missing."

---

In his dream, he is cold, and at the bottom of a bottomless sea.

Darkness holds him in the palms of its hands like a captured butterfly. His arms and legs are suspended in the chilled water, floating powerlessly from the heavy pressure.

Above him is a twinkle of light, the surface of the ocean winking down at him mischievously. There's a pull, somewhere between his ribs and collarbone, that tries to lure him to the surface. It pulls, but he's not moving. It steals his breath, but nothing more.

When he starts to wonder how he is able to breathe under water, he chokes and drowns into wakefulness, and starts all over again.

---

"Where are my swords?"

The thought hits him suddenly, without precaution.

The words tumble out of his mouth in the middle of Nami's rant before he's able to even consider the question internally. And he's shocked at himself for never considering the question until now, because the gaping hole in his chest is incredibly hard to miss all of a sudden.

Nami's furious scolding regarding his unauthorized stroll outside doesn't stop from the interruption, and instead she raises her voice and plows on, "—in the shape, in the SHAPE, that you're in, Zoro? Do you have any idea what would have happened if Usopp didn't bring you back? Forget remembering him, I'm more surprised you chose now to start remembering that you have no sense of self-preservation! Ugh. Do you even have anything to say for yourself?"

She inhales, catching her breath.

The birds outside speak for him, filling the tight silence Nami leaves in her wake with blissfully ignorant songs. Zoro's hand is resting on the bed, beside his hip, where it had been since he woke up, where it clenched into a fist instinctively and only gripped air.

Nami is glaring at him. "Well?"

Zoro raises a brow. "Where are my—"

She looks like she would very much like to throw something at him. "They're right there, where they have been this entire time. God, did you even hear a word I said?"

He follows to where she points. On the ground, leaning on the bed are Kitetsu and Shuusui. His heart picks up at the sight of them; the red and black scabbards seemingly abandoned in that lonesome spot, like discarded pieces of his soul. How could I have missed them?

He is quick to grab them, and touch alone gives him a view into their conditions. They feel mistreated and battered, like they were in the hands of someone irresponsible long before his own. They are covered in muck and filth, and when he pulls the Kitetsu from its sheath, the blade is dull.

Zoro sighs heavily, stroking the steel with a thumb. Sorry, he tells it, the burden of irresponsibly heavy on his shoulders. I treated you guys like shit, huh?

Nami is tapping her foot impatiently. "Zoro!"

He snaps Kitetsu back into its sheath, the sound unbelievably comforting. "Of course I heard you, witch. The whole freakin' island heard you." He sets both swords over his lap softly, keeping his hands over them to feel the hum of their spirits.

He frowns deeply. "There's one missing."

Even without having to look, he can sense an important piece of himself missing from the set. There're only two swords here, but he knows there should be three . . . but he doesn't know what this third sword is, only that it's missing.

Nami sits back, tuckered out from her lecture. She scratches her neck. "Right, the white one. Don't worry, it's not missing. Luffy has it."

At hearing the strange name, Zoro's head gives a sharp twinge. The sound is like nails against concrete, scratching mercilessly. His brain has yet to recognize these foreign names, and just the effort to place them makes his head crack open.

Nami winces apologetically. "Sorry, sorry. Forgot hearing the names is still an issue."

Zoro clicks his tongue, rubbing his head distractedly. "Why does he have it?"

Here, Nami looks uncomfortable. She doesn't meet his eyes when she answers, "I really don't know, to be honest. He was holding on to all three swords after . . . well, after you kind of freaked out about forgetting the two years after Sabaody. I think it was to make sure you don't attack one of us when you forgot anyone else. But, again, I really don't know. He went to talk to you privately, and when you both came back out, your swords were in his hands."

Like a match being thrown onto a pile of wood soaked in oil, shame burns in the pit of Zoro's stomach.

He remembers that altercation and the emotions that accompany it— the desperate confusion, the hopeless frustration, the despairing denial. There were so many people there, too. In his mind, he sees Nami's frightful face, Chopper's teary eyes, Usopp's frantic peacemaking, and half a dozen various shadows surrounding him ominously.

He raises his glance to Nami, his attention caught on the hand that covers her neck.

He doesn't need to see underneath it to know that she's bearing an injury that was caused by his own hands. Fuck, that's right . . . she was the first person I forgot. Shame bubbles into suffocating guilt, rising to his throat and strangling him. I forgot her first, and immediately thought she had something to do with it.

He forces himself to meet Nami's eyes. He gestures towards her neck. "Sorry." He says at last. "About . . . that."

Nami blinks. "This?" She strokes the cut with a finger, the pink of the scab softly peeking out. "It's nothing, seriously. It's barely a graze, and already healed." She's forcing a playful tone to her voice, the words streaming out like it was rehearsed. "Plus, you've already apologized a million times already, even though you kept forgetting it. And I forgave you a million times already, so don't worry."

He remembers all the apologies. Most weren't genuine, and many were begrudgingly and forced. He remembers the first night after they sailed away from Plume Island, how he was appalled that Nami would stay on the ship overnight. Someone had said, "Oh, is Zoro still playing that joke on Nami?"

And he had gnashed his teeth in frustration from not being taken seriously, while Nami said through her own gritted one, "This isn't something to laugh about!"

"Oh, so it's not a funny joke." The other person said, understanding. "Hey, Zoro. Nami doesn't think the joke is funny, so maybe you should cut it out and say you're sorry."

"This isn't a freaking joke, either!"

And then later, when Zoro had denied Nami's place in the crew once more, and tears had stung her eyes, someone had said, "Why are you still saying that stuff? We already told you that the memory loss took away Nami from you. Oh well, if you forgot Nami again then we'll just have you guys meet all over again!"

"None of that matters if he's just going to forget me again! I can't keep doing this!"

"But it's not like he's doing it on purpose. Plus, Zoro said he was sorry about it, so he's definitely sorry about it again. Right, Zoro?"

But none of those apologies were from him . . . nor to Nami.

"Still," he says, wondering if he looks as pathetic as he feels. "I am sorry."

Her expression softens. She lets her hand fall to her lap, exposing the injury. She's right; it's barely a graze and already is healing to nothing but a pale outline. Yet, it's still an injury from him—

"It's alright." She says, voice empathetically soft. "Really, Zoro. It's okay. And anyway, I already inadvertently paid you back, so we're practically even."

Zoro quirks a brow. Nami's eyes dart to his middle, and he places a hand on his stomach where the healed injury from days ago lays.

Oh, that's right—

The memories come flooding back.

"You GUYS!" Chopper had yelled suddenly all those days ago. "—beat a guy in arm wrestling and won all his money but it turned out it was a Marine and now he's mad and coming to attack us with his troops!"

The tense interrogation in the galley was broken up, and they all scattered to their positions. They started to retreat, but the Marines had caught up to them. Fighting broke out, and a few soldiers boarded the ship. They were persistent, yes, but nothing he couldn't handle. A soldier with twin swords was bold enough to go head to head with Zoro, and so he humored him.

In the midst of parrying the barrage of swipes, his eyes spotted Nami. She had a staff in her hand, dealing out her own blows and holding her own amidst the chaos. Zoro was still wary of her. He couldn't dissipate the suspicion in his gut that emerged when he first saw her. He tried to focus on his own fight, but his eyes kept darting towards her.

But then Nami ventured too close to Usopp, and Zoro tensed, a million absurd thoughts running through his mind simultaneously, —she's using the fight as a distraction to take us out; she's working with Marines, she was the one that led them here; she's toying with us, trying blend in and earn our trust. She's going to attack, she's going to attack, she's going—

Then lighting erupted from her staff and Zoro startled violently. That moment of distraction was enough for the Marine to land a hit. Shallow and superficial, it was still a hit. Zoro cursed, at himself and the circumstance, and easily dodged the next swipe, letting it hit the mast behind him, and the battle continued. When he finally managed to steal a glance, Usopp and all the others were fine, and Nami was watching him with a curious expression.

"It was pretty obvious I threw you off your game there," Nami murmurs softly. A beat passes, and she shakes her head. "So, if you can forgive me for that, then I can forgive you for this, and we'll call it even. Deal?"

What I did doesn't even compare to that, he thinks. But nonetheless, Zoro snorts softly, shaking his head. "Deal."

He feels a mighty weight lift from his chest. He realizes he truly missed Nami, a loss he wasn't aware of until now. In his mind, he had to endure this hellish journey without her, instead forced to endure it with what his mind perceived as a piss-poor copy of her.

Thinking aloud, he says, "Can't believe that whole time I thought you were some sort of evil mastermind, plotting to take us all out."

"What, you think I'm not?" Nami winks, her Cheshire grin reaching her ears.

He considers that, but only briefly. "Nah. You're evil, that's for sure."

"You got that right! To be fair, though, in the beginning, everyone had wild theories about what was going on, and me being evil isn't the worst one. Let's see . . . Lu— I mean, someone thought you were playing an elaborate joke, Chopper thought you had some special kind of heat stroke that burned a hole in your brain, and Usopp thought you were a clone replaced by the Marines to spy on us. And then at one point you thought we were impostors trying to trick you."

Zoro cringes. "Yeah, I think I was grasping at straws at that point."

Nami laughs, the lines of worry completely evaporated from her face, replaced by brightness and color. Zoro feels his own features beginning to soften. The tension in his shoulder that kept him from breathing correctly begin to bleed away.

Almost there, a voice in his head tells him.

There's a quick knock on the door, and Zoro is swept away from the odd thought before he can wonder what it meant.

When it opens, Usopp's nose enters the room before his body does. "Zoro!" he exclaims happily. "Well, well, well. Look who's finally awake!"

Usopp bounds over to his bed like an excited puppy. His demeanor is entirely different than the previous night; there's a light skip in his step, and his face is beaming in earnest, none of that forced bravado lining his face anymore.

Then, when he's standing over Zoro, he clicks his tongue and pouts. "Oi, oi, oi," each word is punctuated with a poke to his Zoro's arm. "Why is it that you only nap when I'm sitting by your bedside, praying to the Gods for your speedy recovery, yet awake and chatty when I leave? You're too cruel, Zoro-kun."

Zoro fights off the poking fingers, "I can nap whenever I want."

Usopp huffs. "Just because you remembered how to sleep again doesn't mean you have to do it all the time."

"His shitty body is just making up for all those days it spent awake," someone else says. The scent of smoke swirls into the room. Behind Usopp enters another person, a dark shape wrapped in gray. "You should be more surprised that the idiot even managed to wake up."

Ah, this guy again, Zoro thinks. The unknown person moves towards Nami's seat, quick to refill her half full glass of water.

While Usopp continues to moan and complain by his bedside, Zoro listens in to Nami's and the stranger's conversation curiously— ". . . all done. Franky should be heading back later today, and then we can leave this shitty island. Ah, Nami-san, do you want anything to eat in the meantime?"

"I still have so many stories to tell you," Usopp is saying to him, shaking his arm to grab his attention. "And you need to be awake to listen to them. We need to make sure you remember everything correctly, especially my brave and heroic acts! So weird how you suddenly can't remember them, huh!"

Nami shakes her head to the offer of food. "I think we should stay a bit longer, at least until Zoro's fully recovered. He still looks a bit peaky—"

"I'm fine," Zoro interrupts with a scowl, waving off Usopp's indignant, "Don't ignore me when you're awake, either!"

"You are not," Nami snaps instinctively. She turns her head so quickly her hair wraps around her neck. "And last night's little stroll proved it. Don't think I'm just going to let that slide! Usopp told me how winded you were just from walking, Zoro. You're not in any condition to be going anywhere."

Zoro glares at the sharpshooter. Usopp yelps and hides under the bed, muttering, "A-Ah, actually, g-go ahead and ignore me . . ."

Zoro growls. "This is stupid. My legs aren't broken. I can go wherever the hell I want."

"Don't be a baby. You want to take it up with Chopper?" Nami asks pointedly. "I can have him sedate you, you know. He's been itching for an excuse to do it."

Zoro decides maybe he doesn't miss her as much as he thought.

"Don't argue with Nami-san." The cloud of smoke grunts. He seems to have finished his visit here, and turns to leave with the pitcher of water.

A thought strikes Zoro at the sight of the beverage. "Oi." Zoro calls after him. The person stops, and even Usopp and Nami perk up and fall silent, interest piqued.

Zoro asks, "Got anything stronger to drink?" He pauses. "Any rum?"

Nami radiates disapproval. "Are you serious? Absolutely no way are you allowed to drink alcohol! I'm not even a doctor and I know that! Sanji-kun, just ignore him."

But the question wasn't directed at her. The shadow of smoke stops at the door. There's a lengthy pause where the answer is contemplated. Usopp and Nami openly gape at the lack of immediate denial.

Zoro waits patiently. Finally, a sigh of defeat, and to Zoro he says, ". . . fine."

"Sanji-kun!"

"A little won't hurt." He says with a placating shrug. Then, to Zoro with a pointed glare, "A little. I won't have Chopper on my ass, too."

When he leaves, he can feel Nami's glare burning holes through him, but Zoro is unfazed. He deserves this vice after all the shit he's gone through. I definitely deserve more than just a little, he thinks assuredly. I'll get him to give me the whole bottle. When Nami isn't here.

Usopp finally crawls out from under the bed. The shock on his face lingers into his voice. "Man, it's so weird seeing you two talk to each other like . . . normal people. It's like you're each talking to a different person or something. So freaky."

Nami begrudgingly agrees, sitting back in her seat with a huff. "It's hard to believe you still don't remember him, of all people. He's been coming in and out of this room a lot, too."

"Who, the dumbass cook? Nah, I remember him."

Usopp and Nami don't react, not at first.

They are frozen in their respective places, like time had stopped only for the two of them. Then, slowly and at the same time, they both turn to look at him,

Nami speaks first, her tone chillingly flat. "What."

Usopp is gawking openly. "You . . . you do!? W-Wha—? But you just— since when?"

Zoro frowns, considering the question. "I dunno. Like a second after he walked in, I guess?"

Twin pairs dumbfounded eyes blink back at him.

Nami purses her lips. He can see her hands twitching into fists, as if she's trying to suppress the feral urge to wrap them around his neck and finish what that last Marine started. Through clenched teeth she asks stiffly, and very slowly, "Then why didn't you say anything?"

A shrug. "Why would I? It's fun seeing him be all nice to me. He gets me whatever I want, for once in his goddamn life."

That was certainly not the answer either was expecting. Usopp cheeks are blown up like balloons, desperate to keep his laugh in. In contrast, Nami very clearly does not accept any aspect of Zoro's answer.

"Zoro, that is—"

"—YOU SHITTY PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT—!"

The bedroom door slams open so harshly the reverberation makes the walls shake, and in a whirlwind of yellow and black, Sanji bursts back inside roaring and throwing things in Zoro's direction with every word he shrieks out.

"ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME, YOU GODDAMN, SHIT EATING PIECE OF—!"

Zoro easily dodges an empty pitcher, a box of matches, and a shoe from the comfort of his bed. All the while Nami hurriedly jumps to stand between him and the infuriated cook, who continues to shout without pause for breath, "—BENDING OVER BACKWARDS HELPING YOUR INVALID ASS, AND THIS IS THE THANKS I GET—"

"Sanji-kun, calm down," Nami says, long-sufferingly, trying to stop his arms from wildly waving about.

Usopp, on the other hand, collapses onto the ground laughing his ass off. "HA HA HA—!" He screeches, in what Zoro imagines a hyena would sound like if it were incredibly caffeinated.

The cook is far from his calm, his face flushed in either infuriation or humiliation, or both. "—SHOULD HAVE LET THAT DAMNED BUG EAT YOUR PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A BRAIN, AFTER ALL THE SHIT I HAD TO PUT UP WITH!"

"Oi, oi," Zoro scowls, rubbing the side of his head. "You've got some crappy bedside manners there, cook. Don't you know I'm injured? Show some compassion."

The veins on Sanji's face look like they're about to burst. "I'LL SHOW YOU BEDSIDE MANNERS AFTER I SHOVE THAT BED UP YOUR—"

"Sanji-kun, calm down— Usopp, shut up!" Their navigator's patience has reached its limit. "And you—that wasn't funny at all, Zoro!"

Usopp is clutching his stomach, body curled in on itself as he wheezes. "HA HA, I c-can't breathe, ha—" He gasps in between breathless laughs. "Somebody call Chopper—pfffft, ha ha! Ow, ow! I'm dying, oh god, I'm dying, ha, ha."

Sanji bristles at the very idea of calming down. He points an accusatory finger at Zoro, demanding, "HOW CAN I WHEN—"

But Nami slaps a hand over his mouth, intent on hearing none of it. "Shush!" She kicks the curled up ball that is Usopp, snapping, "You too! God, I swear you're all just a bunch of five-year olds in the bodies of grown morons! Zoro, was that really necessary? There was a million other ways of letting us know you remembered Sanji-kun—"

To which the cook quickly reiterates for her, "Remembered that you're an annoying shitty, useless bastard that—!"

She covers his mouth with both hands now. "—Remembered Sanji-kun without being a jerk about it."

Zoro doubts that. Sanji fumes, waves of heat radiating from the top of his head. Usopp's laughs have become breathless wheezes.

Nami glares at all three of them. Then, she surrenders with a long-suffering sigh, ". . . But, I guess the important thing is you remembered him. Chopper will be happy to hear how quickly you remembered him after remembering Usopp."

The cook breaks free, snapping, "And it's only for Chopper that I don't kick your head in and put you back into that brain-dead state, you stupid, shitty marimo."

Zoro snorts sardonically. "Please. Even brain-dead, you wouldn't stand a chance against me, stupid swirly-brow."

"Ha! Says the guy who got his ass handed to him by a bug!" Sanji sneers. "Tell me, who was harder to lose to, the bug or Mihawk?"

Zoro bristles at that. "Screw you, asshole! I ate that bug so I won that fight!"

The cook looks smug now, turning around to wave away Zoro's insults. "Keep telling yourself that. Enjoy life of sobriety, Marimo, because you're never getting a drop of alcohol from me!"

But Zoro isn't done. When Sanji grabs the doorknob, intent on leaving with the false assumption that he won the argument, Zoro's brow smooths over and he turns thoughtful.

"Oi, Cook."

Sanji pauses at the door. "What?"

Zoro doesn't answer right away, so Sanji whirls around to glare at him properly. Their eyes meet, and there's a shift in the air. Sanji nearly stumbles at the shared glance, but it's so indiscernible that Usopp and Nami don't notice it.

But Zoro does.

Because along with the memory of who Sanji is comes the memories of Zoro being acutely cognizant of the cook's strange behavior over the past week. This goddamn idiot, Zoro thinks, not unkindly. Stupid, sentimental fool.

Guilt is a funny and peculiar thing. Whereas Usopp crumbles under its weight with visible remorse, Sanji lashes out with all his might to block it out. Usopp needed to hear that the weight of responsibility was not his to bear. The sharpshooter is the type of person that needs the validation.

Not Sanji, though. As much as it pains Zoro to admit, they are alike in some respects. They are men that communicate best through action. Telling the cook that, "I get it, if I saw someone try to chop off the witch's head, I'd be pissed, too. I don't blame you for being such a dick"— would not have its intended effect. He couldn't say that, nor say, "Just because there was nothing you could do doesn't mean you were useless," –or, "I know you did whatever you could, so stop moping about it," –or, "I don't blame you for anything, shithead!"

So instead, what Zoro does say is—

"I'm fucking starving. Make me something to eat, would ya?"

Because, when it's all taken into consideration, when it's all said and done, that's what really destroyed Sanji. Not that he was blind with petty anger, drowning in a sense of ineptness.

No.

Sanji is a man of action, and feeding his nakama was the purest action he could initiate. It was how he truly communicated. Each dish served was a show of emotion; love, annoyance, appeasement, patience, compassion. With food, he can say a greeting, or break up a fight, or quiet a room, or grab attention, or express his devotion.

With food, he can ask for forgiveness without saying a word.

But, ironically, by the time he'd mustered the courage to do so, he was too late; Zoro had completely and abruptly lost his sense of hunger.

The insect in Zoro's brain had swallowed that memory whole. Food was meaningless to him. His succumbed mind portrayed it as an enemy, something he did not need and surely did not want. Sanji was robbed of his attempt at helping Zoro in his own way. Like some sort of twisted divine punishment, he was forced to watch as the swordsman involuntarily starved himself to death, unable to do anything.

To Sanji, Zoro losing that memory was more painful than losing the memory of the cook himself.

But, it's over now. Now, his stomach churns painfully in animalistic hunger. Now, more than anything in the world, Zoro is craving a dish from the stupid cook.

And so, Zoro asks for food.

Something flickers in the cook's eyes. Outwardly, his jaw tightens, and the cigarette between his mouth twitches. But inwardly, Zoro knows that the cook understands.

Nothing else needs to be said, because Zoro has presented him with the opportunity to break-free from the guilt and self-loathing.

And Sanji understands that. He turns around before his face betrays the remainder of his emotions.

". . . Ungrateful asshole," comes the mutter, but there isn't a trace of animosity in those words. Zoro can hear the small smile, and even when Sanji walks away, he can practically see the rigidness of his shoulders give way for a slump of content.

Zoro smiles, ignoring the puzzled glances Nami and Usopp share with each other. He brings a hand to his mouth and calls after Sanji, "And don't forget the rum!"

"Fuck off!"

Zoro barks a laugh.

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Chapter 17: The Crew (IV)

These author notes are annoying I KNOW but I must, once more, extend my sincerest thanks to every single person that is opening this chapter— THANK YOU so so much for your kindness, whether it be through views, comments, or bookmarks. My heart is literally overflowing. I am insanely overwhelmed with the support and the love for this story, I truly did not expect it haha! Please enjoy the final chapter of this (much longer than it was supposed to be) story! Cheers!

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(4/4)

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - END

It's several hours later when Zoro is finally, blissfully, left alone in the dull bedroom.

He's not too sure where the others have gone, but he knows they're not too far away. They definitely assigned some stupid watch schedule over me, he thinks sardonically, with perhaps just the smallest drop of fondness. I probably have less than a minute before whoever my babysitter is comes back from their bathroom break, checking to make sure I didn't wander off or something.

Which is a valid concern, because Zoro decides now would be a great time to get out of this dull bedroom.

With that, he throws the covers off him, slips on his boots, and returns his swords to their rightful place beside his hip. Their collective weight grounds him to reality, like a ship's anchor to the seafloor. That's more like it.

He makes his way over to the window and easily slips outside again, this time with more ease. The bowl of soup Sanji had fed him earlier has brandished him with newfound energy he'd been severely lacking in. He's sure that with real, solid food his normal vigor would return, but according to the stupid chef he's stuck with eating mush for the time being. Something about starvation and his body not yet ready for solid food. Zoro's sure he's right, but he can't help thinking, screw that idiot, I can damn well eat whatever the hell I want.

Outside, the rising sun's rays breathe hot air onto his skin. The small village of Plume Island is awash in golden light, coating the houses and trees and ground in a bronze shimmer. Foreign songs of the local birds fill the air. Morning dew dots the weeds and grass that grow between the cobblestones. Zoro touches the damp wood of the house, feeling the chill.

He stretches his arms until he hears the satisfying pop in his shoulders. With no particular destination in mind, Zoro lets his feet carry him wherever they please, and eventually he finds himself back in the entrance of the village's market square.

In the bustling area, the village's natives go about their business at a leisurely pace. Some carry bags or push strollers or pull carts, while others walk with a companion or a child or a group of friends, chattering and laughing and waving their hands to extenuate their conversations.

After a while, Zoro realizes that some people are looking him. A few folks are outright staring at him with amazed expressions, and there are even those who whisper excitedly after he walks past them. The hell is going on . . . ? Zoro starts to wonder before it hits him. Ah, that's right. Now that he thinks about it, Usopp had told him that he's something akin to a celebrity now, a medical phenomenon. Zoro snorts at that, thinking, my epithet better not change to something stupid like Memory Loss Survivor Pirate.

Outside the residential district, he steps into the more commercialized area, where the numerous food carts and street vendors are stationed side by side to form a large circle. This is where the Cook and I were when we came back to the island, Zoro recalls.

He passes by a fruit stand. The vendor does a double take at the sight of him and starts waving excitedly. "Ah, ah! My friend! Look at ye, not sick anymore, ah!" The man says with a lopsided smile. "See, my oranges did the trick, heh! Good as new!"

"Sure," Zoro says, waving back halfheartedly.

He walks past several more stalls, allowing himself to fully experience the village in his right state of mind. When he was last here with the Cook, he was so out of it that he felt like he was floating through a sequence of dreams. Most of that day passed by in a blur with him unable to retain most of it, less because of the memory loss and more due to the mental and physical exhaustion he had endured. This is where we met the butcher, too. Usopp was there, and I felt like absolute crap in that house. There were other people there, too . . . who . . . ?

Zoro uncurls his face from the scowl it finds itself in. Stop. No point in dredging that up again, he thinks, knowing that even though his mind is eager to dive deeper into that rabbit hole of a memory, all he'll get from that inquisition is a mental dead-end and a crappy headache. Whatever is missing will come back, Zoro tries to reassure his mind. Trying to force it to show up is not worth it.

With a deep inhale, he pulls himself out of his thoughts and continues his immersion with the physical world.

He kicks a rock out of his way, watches as some weird looking bird fly overhead, listens to the mundane chatter of the carefree villagers, and relishes the different, delicious smells of the street food. He thinks, this is pretty nice island. If it wasn't for the fucking bug problem we might have actually enjoyed relaxing here.

He passes by the large, decorative fountain from last night. There are multiple children swarmed around it, tossing coins and trying to touch the water that sprouts from the stoned carved dolphins. Then, he spots something familiar.

Well, unfamiliar might be a more fitting a word.

On the other side of the fountain, he sees a hulking, black shape sticking out like a sore thumb in the sea of people. It stands several feet taller than the crowd, like a large, dark ghost lost in the world of the living. Similar to how Usopp and the others looked, it is completely washed in darkness like a tear in the universe. The entire village is oblivious to its ominous appearance.

This one's huge, Zoro can't help but think. I wonder what nakama it could be, to be this absurdly large. Unless my mind is just playing tricks on me.

Whoever it is, it seems to have spotted him as well. "Oi!" A booming voice calls out to him, grabbing not only Zoro's attention, but the entire crowd within vicinity. "Oi! Zoro-bro! Oi!"

Here we go. Zoro stops, watching as the large black shape closes the gap between them by awkwardly zigzagging and pushing past the townsfolk. He hears the sheepish, "'Scuse me— my bad—comin' through—ah, sorry, sis, sorry!" get louder as the blob of black gets closer.

Someone Zoro actually remembers tags along with hulking shadow. The name escapes him, but Zoro recognizes the old man as the butcher. The man is dressed casually, his work attire (mainly consisting of a bloodstained apron) set aside for this leisurely day. His bushy eyebrows and bushy beard and bushy mustache run wild with the wind, each one blowing in a different direction. Him and the black shape are holding bags of supplies, brimming with fruits and vegetables.

They stop in front of Zoro. The butcher greets him easily. "Yer lookin' well, son!" He says after giving him a quick once-over. "Did the little doctor o' yers give ya the OK to be walkin' about?"

The large person laughs loudly. "Yow! Knowin' this guy, he definitely did not get anyone's OK to do anythin', hah! Am I right? Let me guess. You snuck out without letting anyone know?"

Zoro shrugs. "You guys know."

The two laugh. The butcher says, "He got us there. So, where ya heading to, this early in the morning? Hope you ain't planning on eating out by yourself. Yer friend and I were just picking up some grub for breakfast."

Zoro shoves his hands into his pockets. "Just out for a walk. Fresh air and all that."

The black shape hums knowingly, the sound like a mechanical whir. It hands the butcher his bag, saying, "Yo, Meat-bro. Why don't ya head back to the house, let the others know Zoro's with me? The two of us have some manly catchin' up to do."

Zoro raises a brow at that. The butcher takes the bag and pretends not to balk at the additional weight. "Aye, aye, not a problem!" The old man flashes Zoro a toothless grin. "Take care, now. Don't go touching any bugs, ha ha!"

The old man gets swallowed by the crowd before Zoro can retort with something rude. The dark blob chuckles. "Crazy old bastard. Anyway, you up for a little detour? I'm heading over to the beach and can use the company."

Zoro shrugs, neither opposed nor enthusiastic about the offer. The blob gestures him to follow, and together they trail out of the marketplace and into the path leading towards the vegetative area.

Their new surrounding replaces the bustling village's townspeople with looming trees and branches sagging from the weight of their soaked leaves. The sun's rays are divided into beams of light as it shoots through the gaps between the trees. Memories of roaming through a similar forest trickles into his head like rain drops.

Right . . . he thinks as he steps over an enormous centipede that crosses in front of him. This is the forest . . . Usopp and I came here on that first day on the island, where it all started . . . and painstakingly ended.

He grimaces at the memories that follow. He glances over to his mysterious companion, clearing his throat. "Just so you know," he says slowly to the black blob. "I don't remember who you are."

The person ducks underneath a low hanging branch. "No need to tell me twice. I can already tell."

Zoro frowns. "Really?" The way he'd spoken to him earlier had Zoro thinking otherwise. "How?"

"It's all in the eyes." The dark shape shifts its form, as if it were pointing at its head. "The way you look at me, I can tell there's nothin' clicking in there. It's like you're lookin' at a brick."

"The barrel of a gun looks at me with more familiarity than he does."

His blood chills at the memory. An image of Nami's tearful and distraught eyes flashes in his mind. Anger and despair and hurt had twisted together in her face to give her expression a truly wounded look. He's reminiscent of how she'd specifically avoid looking him in the eyes throughout the entire ordeal. They all did, Zoro remembers with a wince. After I forgot them. No one had the stomach to look me in the eyes.

He wonders if this large shadow is also avoiding eye contact. He grimaces.

The dark blob notices. "Aw, don't look like that, bro. Ain't like it's your fault!" It kicks a large rock out of the way, and Zoro watches at it plops into a puddle of mud blandly. "Sure, it's not a super thing to be on the receiving end of, but I got used to it. We all did. Necessary evil and whatnot. But don't worry about it, 'cause now we know it ain't permanent anymore! Nami-sis told me you've gotten back your memories of the others already."

Zoro nods, stepping over a tree stump. "Yeah. Nami, Chopper and Usopp, and that idiot Cook."

He touches the bandages around his head distractedly. Memory loss is weird, Zoro decides. Because these memories are gone, yet his mind doesn't even realize that it's missing something. When he remembered Nami, he was so sure that it had always been just the two of them. He wouldn't have known he was missing memories of more people if she hadn't told him. It weirdly made sense, being a pirate crew of just two. Then when I remembered Chopper, it made more sense of being a crew of three . . . my stupid brain is just believing whatever the hell it has in front of it.

Now, in his mind, he has memories of only those four— of his adventures with Nami, Chopper, Usopp, and Sanji. It was always the five of them, his mind convinces him. Sure, there's some memories that are a bit foggy and choppy, and some events don't really add up, but . . .

But, along with these black ghosts that roam the physical world, missing pieces of his mind that his brain and eyes cannot process, there's a pull. A pull within his chest, somewhere between his lungs and heart that makes it hard to breathe, where he knows that things are still missing. It pulls him forward.

Almost there.

"Now that's SUPER!" He's yanked away from his thoughts by the exclaim from his companion. A hand is clapped down on his shoulder, the suddenness nearly knocking the wind out of him. "Looks like I'm the only one from our little group that's left. No worries there, 'cause I've got just the thing that'll jog your memory back quicker."

Zoro grimaces. "My memories aren't jogged by anything, they just randomly come back."

An assured laugh. "Nah, nope, nu-uh! This'll definitely do the trick. Once you get a look at her . . . YOW! You'll kick yourself for letting her be forgotten!"

"Uh . . . Her?" Zoro blinks. He's got a bad feeling about this. Now that he thinks about it, this person hasn't even told him where exactly it was taking him. Maybe I should have just stayed in the house . . .

"Ohhhhh yeah!" The trees seemingly rattle from the booming voice. "She's a real beauty, this one. Absolutely perfect. Built like a castle, and sturdy like one, too. But, with the grace of a stallion, if I do say so myself. A damn shame how we had to hide her away, though. No one should be robbed from beholding her gorgeousness, but those Marine bastards didn't give us much of a choice."

"Uh," Zoro starts.

"Broke my heart when you forgot her." The black silhouette is oblivious to Zoro's apprehension, pushing him forward to quicken his pace. "Yeah, that one hurt. I can tell it hurt her, too. But, with pain comes strength. No pain no gain, eh? Mhm, she kept her mind on the mission and powered on, no matter how much she was hurting, 'cause that's how us pirates do it."

They weave through the forest with ease from familiarity, his enormous shadow prattling on more praises about this unknown beauty. The sound of an ocean's lazy waves slouching over a bed of sand grows louder as they make their way deeper. The scent of wood and moss is suddenly interrupted with salt and sea spray. It has a strange effect on Zoro.

The trees thin, and the sun's light grows wider. They step over a fallen tree, and the forest ends. A massive beach greets him, and Zoro is absolutely mesmerized by the sea.

The sea . . .

"Over here." He's nudged on the shoulder, his attention stolen. His companion pivots to the side, leading him to a crevice underneath a massive cliff. "We couldn't have her docked on the port, not with the Marines lookin' for us. So, we hid her here for the time being."

They step over a few jagged rocks. The ocean's water filters into a cave underneath the cliff, still and untouched by the sun's light. The crevice is narrow, but just large enough to fit a vessel if it needed to.

"There she is." Franky says, grinning madly. "A beauty, ain't she?"

Zoro inhales sharply. Just inside the mouth of the cave sits The Thousand Sunny in all her glory. Even with the massive cliff providing it with shade and shelter against the sun, the ship seemingly glows.

Zoro doesn't say anything. He and Franky approach the cave, and when the ship's massive height completely towers over Zoro, his breath comes out as a shudder. He steps forward, stepping on a rock that's closest to the ship.

Reaching out, he touches Sunny's hull softly. The wood is warm. The water underneath picks up just slightly, and the ship leans into his touch.

"Yeah." Zoro smiles. "Yeah. She's perfect, Franky."

He glances back at the shipwright. The cyborg's clothes are ragged and filthy, like he'd been laboring out in the sun for an extensive amount of time. He has his enormous tool belt wrapped around his waist, and a few planks of wood tied to his back. His blue hair is styled upright, the outline eerily similar to the shape of Plume Island's infamous mountain.

Franky's grin wobbles slightly when their eyes meet, but he doesn't look away. "She," Franky starts to say. He pushes his sunglasses closer to his eyes, then turns away. He tries again, "She really missed you, bro. S-She was worried there, for a second."

Zoro pretends to not hear the thickness in his voice. Or see the tears streaming down from behind the sunglasses. He shakes his head endearingly. "Yeah, yeah. I missed her, too."

A rope ladder is thrown down, smacking the space next to Zoro's hand.

He starts, and both he and Franky look up. The cave is too dark to make out the silhouette that looks down on them from the deck above, but Zoro knows he wouldn't be able to see this person even with light.

"Hello there, boys." A voice greets from above, echoing against the stone walls. "Need a lift?"

Franky grabs the ladder, steadying it with one hand. He quickly wipes his face with the other hand. "Yow! Thanks, girly!" To Zoro, he hands him the ladder and says, "Go ahead, bro. Sunny's been waitin' for you."

Zoro grabs the rope ladder and hauls himself over. His heart beats excitedly with every step.

When his feet touch the deck, he instinctively balances himself against the leap and sway of the ship. A gust of wind passes through, whistling hauntingly. He looks over to the mouth of the cave and towards the horizon, then down to the lawn covered deck. He kicks off his boots, the pair muddled with dirt and filth, and curls his toes into the grass.

Home . . . he thinks with awe. I forgot I had one.

A dark shape comes to stand beside him. Its outline is slim, especially in comparison to what Franky looked like before. "I wonder . . ." It says with coy thoughtfulness. "Does poor Chopper know his patient is out of bed?"

Franky hauls himself over the railings noisily. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?" He says with a wink.

"How naughty." A low chuckle, like they're sharing a secret joke. To him, the voice is warm. "It's good to have you back, Zoro."

Zoro is still looking around— that mast, that's where I dodged a Marine's sword when they boarded us . . . over there was where I was sleeping when I first forgot Nami . . . —but he doesn't miss the earnestness in the stranger's tone.

"Not back," Zoro shakes his head. "Not yet."

Whoever this person is, they understand. To his vague answer, they provide an equally vague reply. "That's true. But, you're nearly there, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Zoro breathes in the sea. "Nearly."

He hears Franky pull up the rope ladder behind him. "I'm gonna hit up Cook-bro and the others. Is the Den-Den Mushi still in the library?"

"Do they not know you're both here?"

"Nah, I let the meat guy know he's with me. Just want to tell the others to pack up and head on back. Looks like we're all done with the island now. Is Strawhat-bro still fishing on Sunny's head?"

"I think he took a break, but he'll return to his spot soon. I told him the water is too shallow here catch anything, but he swore he saw an eel lurking about. Do you . . ."

Their low conversation starts to dissolve as Zoro walks away. A rush of melancholy pumps along with his blood. As he looks around the open deck, memories bloom in his mind like a field of poppies at the crack of dawn.

His feet are weightless, and like a ghost he glides towards each piece of cognition; the mikan trees that Nami brought along with her from Going Merry— all the way from Cocoyashi Village, where we fought with Arlong and got our navigator back—the hatch that opened and led to Usopp's Factory—Usopp was a wreck when we had to say goodbye to Merry. She brought us all the way from the East Blue, and was the first home we ever knew. Franky hardly knew her but poured his heart out to make sure her spirit lived on. God, he was so freakin' happy when Usopp liked the Sunny—

The memories keep flooding back. He walks around the ship quietly, taking stock of everything and letting himself to reminisce— that ladder leads up to the Crow's Nest, and that door leads to the dining hall and kitchen, and around the back is the infirmary, and there's a library down below, and the aquarium bar . . .

—Everything, he realizes, everything is exactly as he last remembered it.

But . . .

But the pull is still there.

Something is still missing.

---

Almost there, but not yet.

---

He's not sure how long he spends wandering around the Sunny. Franky and the other occupant of the ship leave him to his own devices, and if there are others on board, they don't interrupt him.

When he finally finds the door that leads back outside to the deck—did Franky remodel the ship while I was gone? It's like all the doors have moved— the sun has risen just slightly above the horizon to paint the sky a pastel pink.

Zoro climbs the stairs to the upper deck. His original destination was the Crow's Nest, mainly to assess just how much of his strength had deteriorated, and thereby begin establishing a rigorous training routine to whip it back to shape— but, something stops him on the way.

There's a soft noise in the air. It doesn't belong to this world. He concentrates on the sound, straining his ears.

It's music. He hears music.

Zoro pauses. He frowns.

Behind one of the doors, a violin is playing lowly. The muffled music carries a stream of wistfulness with every note. It chills the warm air.

He pads his way over to the kitchen door, where the song is loudest. When he pushes it open, the music becomes sharper, but doesn't stop from his interruption.

Sat across the dining table is a looming slither of blackness, like a drop of ink sliding down a blank canvas. It rocks gently in rhythm with the music it plays. The lifelike splotch of dark gently holds a violin close to it, stroking out the haunting tune.

The melody continues, the pitch only picking up with the sway of the ocean's waves.

The bow dips, the strings hold tight, and the last note is played. It spreads out in a mournful hum, before it softly fades away, and the song ends and silence steals the spotlight.

The violin and bow are carefully placed on the table. A string of black picks up a teacup and takes a sip.

"Did you enjoy it?" An eerie voice asks him.

Zoro realizes he's still standing by the door and straightens. He hums noncommittally. "Pretty depressing."

"Yo-ho-ho-ho!" The laugh bounces off the wooden walls as Zoro crosses the room and opens the corner cupboard. "I must admit, that has been my muse as of late. But the tune can be adjusted to make it more cheerful. Yes, yes, now that the sun is shining, and the smiles are returning, I should probably play something more cheerful, don't you think?"

He grunts, rummaging through the top shelf where the vinegar and oil are stored. Sanji had kept his word when he said Zoro would only have a little rum. Screw that, Zoro thinks with a scowl, knowing somewhere behind the apple cider vinegar is a bottle of sake. I can drink whenever I want and however much I want.

The space where the good rum had been hidden is empty, but the sake is still there. The bottle hasn't been touched since the last time Zoro stole a quick sip. The cook really needs to learn how to hide his alcohol better.

He grabs a glass from the sink on his way to the table and plops down besides the room's only other occupant.

His unknown companion makes a mischievous sound. "Self-medicating, are we?"

Zoro smirks, filling his glass to the rim. "Something like that."

Noisily, the dark silhouette drinks the last sip of its tea, then nudges its empty cup closer to Zoro. "May I?"

Zoro gives it a generous pour. "Oh my," it laughs. "And what are we drinking to?"

"Nothing." Although, Zoro does pause to think about the answer a bit more thoroughly. He looks at the murky content of his cup, seeing a fog over his reflection. He corrects himself. "Nothing yet."

Because I'm not there yet. I'm still being pulled—

"Ah, yes." The ink stain says knowingly. It sets its teacup of sake on the table and sits back, its body seemingly clattering against the wood of the chair. "Saving the celebration until your full recovery, I presume?" It murmurs. "I suppose, then, we can call this a small reward for making it thus far. After the perilous battle you've fought, it is a small reward that is very well deserved, if I do say so myself."

Zoro's mouth pulls slightly. "I didn't really do much fighting," he says, not once recalling any feeling of being victorious the past week. The amount of times I felt defeated, though . . .

"Perhaps not in the sense you're thinking." He can hear a meaningful smile in the reply.

Zoro's brow furrows. He doesn't quite follow, but doesn't press.

The ghost continues. "Ah, apologies for not asking sooner, but how are you feeling, Zoro-san?"

He doesn't need to put much thought into that answer. "Better." And he truly does. His head no longer pounds with every drum of his heartbeat, and the sand in his blood has nearly dissipated. Even the taste of foulness and despair has washed itself away from his mouth.

An enthusiastic breath of relief, followed by a joyous exclaim, "Oh, that is wonderful news to hear! Ah, but I don't have any ears to hear with, yo-ho-ho-ho! Sku—"

"Skull joke," Zoro mumbles without much consideration.

He blinks.

Wait—

His head shoots up.

"Indeed," Brook says. The skeleton sits on the chair with its legs crossed and its hat nowhere to be seen. The ridiculous afro is still ever present, and his attire is as impeccable as ever. Impossibly, Brook has managed to make his static body as expressive as he sees fit, and right now the skull seems to be stretched in a wide grin. "Skull joke."

Zoro can't help but chuckle tiredly. "Hell," he shakes his head. "Brook. Of course. Shit."

He grips the side of the table, steadying himself as the onslaught of memories rush back into his mind. Of course it's Brook, he thinks breathlessly. Who else would it be? He swallows as the emotions of those memories begin trickling into his head.

And then one particular memory splashes him with cold water. Oh, crap. He blanches. The last time I talked to him, I told him to fuck off.

"It's good to see you, too, Zoro-san," Brook chortles. He's surprised that the musician isn't outright sobbing with joy like most of the crew already had, especially considering how overtly dramatic he can be at times. Instead, Brook is spookily collected.

Zoro pinches the bridge of his nose and groans pitifully, still dwelling on the memories. "I thought you were the grim reaper," he groans. "For fuck's sake."

"Ah, you remember that!" Now Brook's dramatics are pulled out; he cranes his neck back as he laughs, clapping his boney hands excitedly. "What a surreal moment that was for me! I should have known something was amiss from the start! You were so serious and determined when we spoke, yo-ho-ho-ho!"

Zoro wants to chuck himself out the window and into the ocean. "Ugh, don't remind me. Sorry about that, by the way. That must have been even weirder for you."

"Nonsense, nonsense! Don't apologize! Who are we to control what our minds show us? We are but slaves to our brains, after all. Well, except for me, of course, since I don't have a brain, yo-ho-ho-ho!" He nearly falls off his chair with each hysteric laugh. "Come now, don't be embarrassed, Zoro-san! I imagine anyone would come to the same conclusion if they awoke to find a skeleton sitting on their bedside."

Zoro scrubs his hand over his face, nearly pulling the bandages off his head. "Well, whatever. Glad it was just you. If it was the actual grim reaper, I don't think he would have even bothered saying hello. Would have been zapped to hell on the spot."

Brook seems to be thinking along the same lines. With a mischievous glint, he says, "Undoubtedly! Why, with the amount of times you've escaped Death, any grim reaper would have swiped you at the first chance it gets, just out of spite! I guess that makes you Death's least favorite customer." He brings a hand to his face, tapping his jaw thoughtfully. "Ah, but with my unique ability, I suppose I am, too! Oh, dear! We make quite the troublesome pair!"

Zoro grins and raises his glass. "To screwing over Death, then."

Brook eagerly picks up his teacup. "Cheers, indeed!"

But before they can clatter the cups against one another, the door behind Zoro opens and he hears Franky's boisterous voice. "Ya'll having a party in here?"

"Come in, come in!" Brook beckons him over enthusiastically, his other hand still holding the half-raised teacup. "We're toasting to our youths and our ever-extending mortalities!"

"Super! I'll get in on that, too!"

Then another voice says, "Mind if I join, as well?" and Zoro turns his head quickly.

"Robin." Zoro breathes, the name rolling off his tongue as naturally as an exhale.

She stands by the open door with the light bursting in from behind her. Her long hair is loose, flowing freely with the wind, and her eyes . . . Zoro can't seem to look away from her eyes. The sight of them alone makes the memories rush back into him, filling his lungs with cold air—

"I hope we can get along."

He remembers, now, sitting in the ship's infirmary with Chopper, recovering from one of his bone crushing headaches, when Robin had walked in. To him, it wasn't Robin. It was a stranger, walking into the room and talking freely and casually. It was only when their eyes met that Robin realized she was a stranger, and the change was instantaneous.

Like a flicker of light, her eyes dulled. A curtain of reservation closed over them. She understood immediately that Zoro had forgotten her, and to save herself the pain and hurt she removed herself willingly, not just physically. It was as if she'd shut down and reverted back to the wary and closed off person she was two years ago.

But now their eyes meet again . . . and that person is gone.

Now it is truly, without a doubt, Robin who looks back at him.

"It's good to see you, Zoro," she says meaningfully, a glint of perceptiveness in her eyes, and Zoro knows they share the same stream of thoughts.

"Yeah," Zoro smiles back. "You too."

She takes a seat beside him, and Franky returns from behind the counter-top with two glasses in his hand. "Oh, nice. The good stuff!" He says as he pours himself a drink. The sake's last drop fills Robin's glass, and Franky adds, "Wonder how long it'll take before Cook-bro notices it's gone, heh!"

Brook snickers. "It'll be our little secret."

Robin lifts her glass first, and the others follow suite. "A toast to youth, then?"

"Don't know how youth applies to you, skeleton-bro. You're basically a talking artifact."

"How rude! I'll have you know I'm at my prime of my life! Why, I'm just getting started!"

Franky snorts, jerking his chin towards Robin. "If you're at your prime, then what does that make us?"

Robin answers. "Fetuses."

They all have a laugh at that.

Zoro holds his glass as well but doesn't lift it.

He's watching the three of them—Franky, Brook, Robin. Watching as they smile and laugh and tease one another so easily. They look just as relieved as Nami and the others looked at his return, but it's a different kind of relief with these three. Zoro can't quite put his finger on it, but they look . . . accomplished?

"Zoro?"

They're looking at him, waiting.

"No," Zoro says suddenly.

The holes in his memory begin to fill. In those gruesome days where he disintegrated, mind, body, and soul, he sees Franky, Brook, and Robin. He sees the shipwright, gruff and solemn, pulling the crew aside to speak soberly and very much unlike himself. He sees the musician, advising the others with firm words and clinical wisdom. He sees Robin stepping in quickly and reprimanding sharply, stopping things in their path before they become volatile.

The memories return, and he realizes these small interactions are something he managed to pick up even while his mind was dissolving. Even then, he was able to appreciate the subtle battle plan these three implemented.

Zoro shakes his head. "No," he says again. "A toast to you guys. For holding it together."

Robin and Franky's expressions turn curious, while Brook places a hand on his chest, abashed. "Zoro-san! How kind! Why, I'm blushing! But you give us far too much credit. The whole crew worked effortlessly to ensure your recovery, not just us."

"I know," and he wholeheartedly does. Everyone stepped forward and stretched themselves far too thin to help fight Zoro's battle with him. It is in their nature, after all. But . . . his mouth pulls. But . . .

"But you guys worked differently," Zoro finally says. "When everyone was emotional and freaking out, you weren't. You kept them afloat."

And not for the first time, Zoro is painfully aware that he was not the only one that was drowning in a whirlwind of emotions. In that last week, everyone was suffering. Usopp was wracked with guilt that bled him dry. Nami was hurt from a wound that made her curl within herself and disappear from fear of further injuries. Chopper was devastated with helplessness that wore him down to dust and misery. Sanji was succumbed with an anger that lay rotting inside of him, blinding him with a senseless curtain of rage.

Their emotions festered like an infection. It festered and festered and festered, until it spread throughout them and affected everything they did. Because when this crew feels something, they truly and unreservedly feel it with their entire being. It is something that they all suffer from, and something they all take with brazen stride.

And it could have very well led to a disastrous outcome, if it weren't for Franky, Robin, and Brook. He meets the eyes of his three crewmates, each one not without resolve and endurance. He remembers now.

When he forgot Sunny, it was Franky who was with him. Franky who immediately understood the gravity of the situation. He spoke to Zoro soberly, asking him questions to ensure he truly grasped what was occurring. He remained composed, even though Zoro was sure that on the inside, he was absolutely crushed.

"Listen up," Franky had said, when he called everyone to the deck and announced the latest development to them. Faces were shocked, surprised, devastated, but Franky's words cut through all of them. "He's probably gonna start forgettin' more things now. Maybe one of us next. When it happens, we gotta accept it and keep it business as usual, no questions asked."

And Usopp timidly said, "But he's the one that's not accepting it—"

"Don't matter. It's on us to keep our cool. Just bite your tongue and hold it in. It's gonna hurt like it hurt Nami-sis, but if we don't accept it on the spot, then we're just gonna end up lashing out and sayin' some things we'll regret. If you want to get angry or lash out, you come to me, but not at Zoro-bro, 'cause that's when things get messy. Everyone follow?"

It was hard for everyone to follow that, and naturally Zoro immediately forgot that conversation and returned to his endless supply of denial. But Franky's words resonated with the others. When he and Usopp were in the aquarium bar and Zoro had suddenly lost his memories of the years following their visit to Sabaody, the sharpshooter was doing his best to keep his reaction at a minimal. Because if Usopp kept freaking out and panicking, I would have probably mirrored him, and who knows what I would have done or said . . .

And it was Brook, who later presented them with a proposition that was too hard to swallow.

"I think," Brook says softly. "I think it would be best if you remained out of . . . sight, Nami-san." He'd tried to be delicate, but Nami was insulted by the prospect almost instantly.

"And just sit back and just do nothing?" She roared.

"Yes." The word was simple, but still heavy with remorse. "I apologize for how harsh it may sound, but sitting back and doing nothing will be the most helpful thing you can do right now. Because Zoro-san doesn't know who you are, he is incredibly agitated by your presence, as I'm sure you've noticed. Moving forward, when he forgets another one of us, we must herd them away, and feed Zoro-san a story that will ease his agitation. You understand, I hope?"

She did. They all did. When he forgot Robin, she accepted the loss, made up a story about her being a temporary guest on the ship, and disappeared. Brook later did the same when his turn came, and then even Chopper, who'd remained by his side during the very start of the situation, had to be pried away so Zoro wouldn't look at him with hostile eyes. It would have been a repeat of me and Nami all over again. I would have been incredibly suspicious of them, seen them as strangers or possibly even enemies . . .

And it was Robin who enforced it all.

She was always watching. She was the one who that said Zoro shouldn't be left alone, that someone should accompany him throughout the ship. It was Robin who was on deck with him that night his headache was at his worse, and that definitely not by chance. Robin who stood up when the glass shattered in the galley, reprimanding and reminding with just one stern word. Robin who gently told Chopper that it would better that Franky accompany the group into Plume Island, and not him.

It might have been their experiences in life, or possibly their ages, but they possessed a type of foresight that let them know how to stop a disaster from irrupting into a shitstorm. The three of them had worked together meticulously, making their efforts seem small and insignificant, so the others would not be burdened with more emotional baggage.

"Ah," Brook says softly. He shares a glance with Franky and Robin. The cyborg purses his lips into a flat line. Robin sets her glass down slowly, bridging her fingers together and setting her chin atop them. Brook hums noncommittally. "So, you remember? My, you are quite perceptive. And here we thought we were being subtle."

Robin says, "There are times, when the enemy is not a physical thing, but rather a mental thing, where emotions can do more harm than good. Sometimes, the only way to win those battles, is to push away your emotions. This crew has a very bad habit of not being able to do that."

"Sanji-san's initial reaction gave us a look into at how disastrous the situation can become if we let emotions fog our vision." Brook adds.

"Call it Adult Intuition," Franky chuckles. "You young-ins are fun and carefree and all, but when things get serious, us adults need to step in and balance things out. Gotta make sure everyone is thinkin' straight, make sure no one does or says anythin' they might regret."

"Yeah." Zoro breathes out steadily. His chest swells as he looks at them. "And for that," He grips his glass tightly and raises it high. "To you guys."

Three more cups are raised, and they slam against his, the sake sloshing and bouncing from one glass to the other.

"Cheers!"

It was the most refreshing thing Zoro had tasted in a very long time.

---

But it doesn't wash away the pull—

---

After a second bottle is stolen and emptied and the wine rack is raided, Zoro leaves the elder three in the galley to celebrate on their own. Sitting in one spot has made him incredibly anxious. Plus, he still hasn't had his fill of the sight of the ocean.

He excuses himself from the table before Robin pours him a glass of white wine, and she smiles astutely without contention.

Zoro closes the door behind him with a soft click. He closes his eye and breathes in the wind and the salt. They fill his lungs and stomach with a wondrous euphoria. It clears away the fog in his head and the heaviness in his soul. The ocean's presence is nothing short of purification.

He opens his eye and adjusts the swords on his hip. Kitesu and Shuusui rattle in content. He takes a step forward, intent on hopping down to the main deck, but stops when his eye catches an oddity.

There's a large moth perched on the rail, staring directly at him.

The blue insect perfectly camouflages with the ocean behind it that Zoro nearly misses it. He stares at it with a deep frown. Don't moths usually come out at night? He wonders.

Zoro cocks his head. The moth does the same.

His eyes widen. "Are you. . ."

He stops himself, feeling ridiculous talking to a bug, but regardless he still recognizes the moth as the one Moya had kept perched on her shoulder. Her assistant, she called it, he thinks, approaching the moth. It flutters its wings, but doesn't scamper way like a normal moth would. It's definitely the same one from before.

Zoro's frown deepens. The only reason it would be all the way here is if Moya sent it, he realizes after a long stretch of silence.

He scratches the back of his neck. "Er," he clears his throat. The moth's antenna twitches again, its head bobbing. It, impossibly, looks like it's staring at him. Studying him. Oh, Zoro thinks. That's why it's here.

"Tell the old hag that I'm fine," he says to the moth gruffly. Then, he purses his lips, and sighs, defeated. "And . . . tell her thanks."

The moth's antenna twitches once more.

Then, it flaps its wings and flies away, heading back to the island.

What a weird Devil Fruit power, he thinks, shoving his hands into his pockets. But I guess it's resourceful . . . somehow.

He finds himself back on the main deck, facing the ocean.

It's absolutely mesmerizing. The sky is like a ripening fruit, the warm colors by the horizon steadily cooling over to a wide blue over the sun. It makes the trailing clouds look purple.

And the sea has no problem reflecting the colors, adding a glimmering overlay that makes the scenery dreamlike. The pastel ocean widens and widens and widens, endless and infinite. Zoro's hands nearly tremble from excitement at the thought of soon being able to sail back out there.

Back there, he thinks. Just a ship in the ocean, in the middle of the world—

Not yet— Something tells him.

Zoro's hands curl around the rail. He's not there, not yet.

Because, once more, he feels it. The tightening in his chest—the pull.

Somewhere inside him lies a sensation. It's neither solid nor liquid nor gas. It's just there.

And it pulls.

It's pulling him, gravitating his soul towards something.

Where, he wonders, then, more curiously, why?

It pulls.

So, he follows it.

He lets himself be drawn to wherever it needs him to be. His body turns, facing the front of the ship, looking out to the Sunny's figurehe—

SPLASH!

He freezes.

His blood has solidified into ice; he cannot move or breathe.

Something fell into the water, the weight heavy enough to make a loud noise, and for some absurd reason his mind is screeching at him to move, move, move, move—!

He doesn't understand the sudden urgency he's drowning in. He doesn't understand why his body abruptly snaps into action, why he's unexpectedly throwing his swords onto the ground, why he's climbing over the rail, jumping over—

What!? He thinks wildly. What I am doing—!

He dives into the water headfirst.

Another SPLASH, this time from him.

He breaks the ocean's surface like a bullet, the brisk water swallowing him whole. His limbs scream at the cold contact, but he has no power over them. They're kicking with all their might, pushing him deeper and deeper into the ocean's abyss with each wide stroke.

What am I doing!? He thinks again, lungs on fire as he tries not to drown from the water and from the roaring alarms in his head. Just because something fell in the water—?

And yet, he continues to swim down, his eyes scanning the void desperately. The salt is assailing his eye, making it harder to see, but he never blinks, never looks away. He doesn't even know what he's looking for, and yet the urgency to find it will ultimately drown him before the ocean does.

His mind and body are working as one, and they are telling him to keep going, deeper and deeper, don't stop until it's found, don't breathe, don't breathe, don't breathe, keep going until you find it—

He finds it.

The ocean is mercifully shallow where the Sunny is currently docked, so the seafloor has already caught what had sunk into its clutches. Zoro reaches with a hand, kicking hard with his feet.

His fingers find something. He grabs it with a grip that not even death can relinquish. He plants his feet onto the seaweed covered floor, bends his knees, and kicks.

Momentum pushes him forward with his haul. Above him is a twinkle of light, the surface of the sea like a window across worlds. The ocean's belly is a cold, dark world, without sound and soul. A harsh and ominous contrast to the pastel laden world above him.

He crashing through the surface, and the worlds shatter.

He takes a shuddering breathe—

For a moment, he is blinded by the intense light of the sun, and all he sees is white. The world resets.

The pull in his chest scatters. He feels it disappear like a breath in the dead of winter, evaporating into the rest of his being.

Suddenly . . . he is whole.

Suddenly . . . he is complete.

He is filled with hue and color. He is melded into his right mold. He is complete.

And then, he blinks, and the white is gone.

He is back in the correct world, staring at the ripening sky. The water is calm and lazy, carrying him with little effort. Everything is blissfully quiet. Everything is right.

He takes a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand and his chest rise. There's nothing else there; the pull is gone.

Zoro swims to land and grabs onto the jagged shore for leverage, pulling himself over. He slaps his gurgling baggage onto the ground like a dead fish.

"Dumbass!" Zoro snaps when he's finally managed to catch his own breathe. He gives his captain a kick to the stomach, and water sprouts from his mouth like the fountains back in the town. "How many times did we tell you to be careful when you're sitting up there!"

"Bwah," is the first noise out of his mouth, then Luffy moans miserably, "I swear it wasn't my fault, though!" He flops over onto his back, staring up at Zoro pitifully. "I got sleepy and the eel pulled on the line so fast I didn't have time to pull back. It even took my fishing rod!"

"Then don't—" Zoro glares and Luffy pouts, and when their eyes finally find each other, time freezes—

They come to the realization together.

For him, the world stops, then rights itself. He nearly falls over from the momentum. He stutters into life, because whatever he was before this very second, it was nothing short of lifeless. His entire soul flickers on, the feeling violently akin to his heart stopping—

And Luffy—

Luffy laughs.

His face breaks into an easy grin, teeth blaring and lips curling. His snickers are at Zoro's expense, probably laughing at him for taking so long to realize his memory was back. He laughs and laughs, letting the cave walls join in. His rubber body, splattered on ground like a starfish, shakes with the mirth.

If the seawater didn't cling to his body and the drowning episode didn't happen, he's sure Luffy would be on his feet cheering excitedly, probably even smothering him with a suffocating hug.

And Zoro is glad none of that happens. He needs a moment, he needs a long moment, because this realization sits in his chest like a block of cement. His mind is ranting madly, disbelievingly repeating Luffy, Luffy, Luffy, Luffy— saying it over and over and over again to try and make up for all the times he didn't say it. He's still out of breath, still trying to breath, breathing and breathing and breathing and staring—

"Zoro's back!" Luffy sits up and announces to the world. He cheers again, the joy unmistakable. "You're back!"

Back. He makes it sound so simple, like Zoro had gone out and gotten himself lost. When, in reality, it was Luffy who was gone. Zoro was the one who had to navigate this lightless universe alone, tethered to nothing and orbiting emptiness. Luffy was the sun, larger than life and brighter than all the stars combined, and he was snuffed from Zoro's world for so long that he was sure he'd be condemned to live the rest of his life blind.

But he returns Luffy's grin with his own smaller smile.

Because, now, he can see. There, in front of him, dripping wet with his straw hat hanging limply around his neck is Luffy. The cave is dark and cold, but Luffy's warmth cuts through it with ease, shining towards Zoro, pointing its light at him as if it found him.

If Luffy is the sun in this universe, then a universe in nothing but cold and empty without planets to keep it company. Zoro is a world of his own, and so is Nami, and the cook, and Usopp, and all the others. They're all planets orbiting around Luffy, and even if one were to go missing, they would all feel the crevice it left behind.

"I'm back." He says at last. Because, yes, he is back. He woke up lost, with his soul trying to pull him back in the right direction. He was nearly there, he was almost there, and now, finally, he is home.

Luffy snickers again, inching closer to Zoro. "I'm glad," he tells him. "You were gone for a loooooong time, you know."

The words weren't meant to twist the knife in Zoro's stomach, but they do nonetheless, and Zoro blanches.

He expected this, after all, but it doesn't make it any less painful. He made his captain worry, and now that the memories flood back, he is agonizingly aware of how betrayed Luffy must have been. He was gone for so long, he abandoned the crew, and it doesn't even matter if it was knowingly or not. He abandoned his captain. He abandoned Luffy.

He clenches his fist, head bowed. "I'm sor—"

"I'm sorry," Luffy says first.

Zoro's eyes widen. The abrupt apology has the same effect as a punch to the gut. Zoro doesn't understand, and that makes him feel ill. No, no, why the hell wou—

Then, Luffy pulls the rope that crosses his chest, and from his back rounds a glistening white sword. Luffy unties it from the rope and holds it to Zoro with both hands. "Sorry," he says again, this time sheepish. "I got your sword all wet."

Wado drips with seawater. A tear slides from the hilt down beneath the sheath. Zoro stares at it, speechless. Luffy is saying, nonchalantly, the words coming from deep within the sea, "I would clean it, but I don't know how to properly clean swords. Plus, it was in water, so doesn't that make it cleaner than it was before it got wet?"

He swallows thickly. Brisk, cold air slithers down his throat. "No, it's . . ." His hands shake slightly when he reaches over. He curls his fingers over the white sheathe. The sword is cold as ice, and trembles under his touch. "It's . . . fine."

The dam holding back the final stream of memories bursts, and like a raging waterfall, it comes crashing down onto his shoulders. He grasps a pointed rock next to him, curls his toes into the hard ground, clinging to any kind of purchase, anything to hold him up while he is crushed by the onslaught of memories—

And then he remembers. That memory becomes as clear as day, now—

The cook was cleaning up the mess of the broken glass from the floor, while Usopp was dusting himself off. Franky and Robin were murmuring in low voices to one another, while Brook and Chopper hovered over Luffy and Zoro's straight forms.

They hadn't moved since Luffy had promised to make everything make sense again. "Just leave that to us!" He had declared, after the glass shattered in his hand and after Sanji, Usopp and Franky stepped back. And Zoro was so awestruck by the assurance that he felt the anxieties of the moment bleed away.

But they didn't completely disappear. Worry still lingered. A specific worry.

"Luffy," Zoro had said in the crowded yet quiet galley. He didn't continue. Everyone had stilled. They waited. Zoro couldn't find the rest of the words.

The captain glanced at the swordsman. Then, a sharper glance to Sanji. An unspoken command, a flash of understanding. The cook cleared his throat and said loudly, "Oi, shitheads. Come on. Let's go make sure the ship doesn't crash into a mountain or something."

Then it was just Luffy and Zoro in the galley.

Zoro sheathed his sword, then grabbed the other two from his waist. The swords were snapping at him with disapproval. He held them towards Luffy and said, "take them."

Luffy didn't even blink. He looked at Zoro, unimpressed. "Why?" It wasn't even a question. It was a prod. Luffy wanted to hear Zoro say it.

Zoro hesitated. "I'm a danger to this crew if they stay with me."

"Wrong," Luffy said almost immediately. "Zoro is really stupid. What, you think we can't kick your ass if you try it? Sanji already stopped you the first time, and the others stopped you here a second time."

Zoro didn't respond. Luffy said again, "Why."

They both already knew the answer. It didn't have to be said. However, saying it and hearing it brought it to life, and once it's given life, it is, in parallel, given the opportunity to be killed.

Zoro said, "I'm going to forget them."

There. The danger is now alive. It hurt to say, but Zoro had to face it. The realization occurred to him when he accepted that the two years of memories were erased. His mind had thought, if I could forget years, what else could I forget? And instantly, his eye fell onto his hip, and he knew.

The scenarios were running wild in his mind. Waking up only to forget he was a swordsman, tossing his shared dream with Kuina overboard or even selling it for spare change. Or waking up and forgetting he was a pirate, lowering himself back to his bounty hunter days only to attack his crewmates one by one, hurting them with his own blades. A voice tried to reassure him by reminding him that his crewmates are strong, they can take him on. Only for so long, however, said the other voice in his head. Only until drastic measures need to be taken and his crew have to suffer with the guilt of knowing they'd hurt their nakama. His mind had been a whirlwind of these hypotheticals, one worse than the other.

Quieter, so quiet that the waves outside nearly swallowed them whole, he told Luffy, "I can't carry them if I forget them." It had hurt. It hurt so goddamn much admitting it. He never, in his wildest dreams, ever thought this could ever be a possibility.

Luffy's eyes hardened with a resolution that was as solid as iron. "Then I'll carry them." He grabbed Wado, and the sword did not object. "I'll carry your dreams until you're ready to carry them yourself. So, don't give up. Keep fighting, OK?"

At that moment, he wondered when Luffy had gotten so insightful. Zoro had expected an extravagant argument, but Luffy had understood the severity of this situation with somber resolve.

Zoro was the one that had wanted to argue. He intended for the swords to be hidden away, kept safe somewhere in the ship. He never intended for Luffy to bear this burden. To carry his dreams, all this time, to carry its memory and the weight of its importance. It must have been har—

"It was hard." Luffy says. He isn't grinning anymore. Wado sits between them, a white line of separation. The sword feels too unbelievably heavy for Zoro to hold onto right now.

Luffy doesn't go any further in his statement. His lips are pursed, and he shrugs halfheartedly. Water leaks out from the hair pasted on his forehead. His eyes are soft, despondent.

He doesn't need to say anything else, because Zoro understands. Luffy isn't complaining or asking for pity. He is acknowledging the battle.

"Yeah." Zoro agrees, because it was hard for him, too. They both battled the same fight, but not together. It was the same enemy, but each one of them had to tackle it alone. It was hard for Luffy, and it was hard for Zoro. "But you did it."

"Of course." Luffy's nose flares in defiance. As if the alternative was ever even an option. As if Luffy would sit back and not do anything. As if Luffy would let his emotions deter him, as if he would give up, as if he would for a split second even consider throwing in the towel when Zoro's life was on the line.

"And you did it, too," Luffy tells him. "You didn't give up."

Zoro falters. "I . . . did."

Zoro can't lie about that. He remembers the house at the top of the mountain, remembers Luffy being there, remembers how hard his captain struggled to keep Zoro alive. He also, vividly and harrowingly, remembers when the last sliver of trust for Luffy died—

"I trusted you"

The image of Luffy's hurt face is something that will forever live in his mind. That was when he gave up.—

"No, you didn't. Zoro," Luffy is firm. His fists are curled. "Even when you forgot everything, you still kept fighting. You fought me, you fought the witch-doctor, you fought the marines. You never stopped fighting for your life. You never gave it up. Because Zoro is a fighter, and he could never forget that."

He nudges Wado closer to Zoro. This time, he doesn't hesitate. He grabs the sword. It's as light as air and warmer than candlelight. He holds it with both hands now, holds it closer to him, brings his dream back into his soul, merging the two.

"Not a fighter," Zoro murmurs. His grip tightens. "A swordsman."

"My swordsman," Luffy agrees, that blinding grin back. The sun, the stars, the moon— nothing even compares. Nothing stands a chance at being nearly as brilliant. "The greatest swordsman in the whole world!"

To that blinding grin that can brighten the deepest depths of the ocean, Zoro smirks and says, "Can't be anything less for the Pirate King, after all."

"Hell yeah!" Luffy whoops.

And Zoro wonders, awestruck and overwhelmed, how he managed to live these last few days. How he managed to walk, eat, and breathe, knowing that Luffy, a fragment of his very soul, was missing.

It could not be called living. He was drowning in oblivion. That's what it was. He was not alive until Luffy. Life before him was nothingness.

Luffy jumps to his feet, and Zoro stands by his side, that magnetic pull ushering him to his position. Luffy gives his head a quick shake, releasing the lingering water, then plants his straw hat atop his head. Zoro slides Wado into the sash around his waist, Kitesu and Shuusui welcoming it back happily.

Luffy asks him, "Ready get back out there and make some memories with me?"

And Zoro, who has never felt more alive until this very moment, says, "Aye, Captain."

---

END