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That person on the bed, that wasn’t Nami, not her Nami, not the Nami that was so kind, that would do anything for her, not the Nami who loved money, but left it all behind and promised her safe return. This person wasn’t her. But it was, it was her, she had her same tangerine colored hair, her same freckles (she even counted), her same burnt face from too many hours in the sun, that was Nami. But it wasn’t. Her hair was always bright and silky smooth (she’d been meaning to ask what she used for it), but this person’s hair was dull and matted, it was even beginning to fall out and break. And Nami’s face was never this pale nor red, yes burnt, but never so flushed.
But that was all excusable, those were the natural changes of someone sick. And at first, it was Nami on the bed, it was Nami who was sick. She knew this, she knew it was Nami, she knew it was Nami when she crawled out of bed and staggered to the deck to navigate. All to get her home. That was Nami, though she’d plead her to stay in bed, to get better, to not die. But it was Nami, and Nami would put on a brave face and keep her vomit down just to look okay. She knew Nami, she knew Nami was like a wounded cat, she knew Nami would hide anything wrong because it’d become a habit. She knew Nami.
“Get out!” The woman slurred as she blindly swung, loosely hitting a wall, the impact barely there.
That woman wasn’t Nami. Though brash and sometimes cruel, Nami wasn’t like this, she wouldn’t attack Luffy for attempting to help, not like this. She’d usually give him one hard bash on his head and dust her hands with a look of frustration, not these sloppy swings that nearly tossed herself over like a cornered animal. That wasn’t Nami.
Of course, she knew high fevers could cause things like this, she lived in Alabasta for goodness sake, she knew what high core temperatures did to a person. She also knew just how quickly they killed people. She’d seen a man die in under thirty minutes with the fever Nami had now, she saw him seize, she saw his organs fail in minutes, she saw him die. She saw his friend make it, his friend who’d been carried in just five minutes earlier. His friend who made it, made it to an ice bath. She saw the lasting effects. He died a month later, the complications killed him. But before he died, she saw the effects. She saw how his personality flipped, once kind, once gentle, now cruel and unusual, he’d have fits and his eyes were often yellow. They say he died with his friend, but his body didn't listen. During his last week, he couldn’t even hold a pencil.
But Nami had sustained this fever for an entire day.
—
“Really Vivi, I’m fine! Honest!” Nami waved her off, a big smile on her face, “just a little lightheaded from that adventure! I think there’s still some wax in me that’s all!”
“Are you sure? I can get you some water.”
“I’m okay, seriously! Besides, we’re right on track, wouldn’t want to get distracted now would we!” The joy in her voice, warm as the early mornings back home when she’d lounge in front of a window and warm up—Koza would compare her to a cat in her youth—it kept her worries down. She knew from those small signs of Nami’s that something was different, but perhaps she was right, after all, this was really the first adventure she’d gone on with the Strawhats, maybe Nami was just like that.
But she couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much she chatted to Nami, or how much she paced or ate one of Sanji’s (many) snacks, she couldn’t ignore those little quirks of hers. Her smile would hold a little too long and wouldn’t rest on her face, and her grin would pull too tight, she’d lean on the steering wheel rather than lightly rest her hands, and she’d swallow too much. It was unusual, but she let her worries rest. She’d pestered Nami one too many times, and she was sure if she asked her “are you sure?” One more time, Nami would kick her.
But her heart couldn’t stop flipping, and she couldn’t stop staring. So she went inside and grabbed a bottle of water and brought it out anyways, using the excuse that it was simply hot. It was hot, of course, but that wasn’t really why she brought it out. Well she did bring it out because it was hot. But she brought it out because she didn’t know what was happening, she didn’t know why Nami was being weird, she didn’t know what to do, and she didn’t know how to help, so she just brought out water. Because she knows water is important, she’s known that since four when she saw a woman pass out after begging for water.
So she brought Nami the water, and Nami thanked her and downed the entire bottle, laughed and said, “Seems I was more thirsty than I thought! Thank you Vivi!”
And she seemed a little looser, her smile a little more genuine, and it seemed to rest on her face a little longer. But it too was soon gone, and her worry returned again.
Later, when a current passed under the boat and nobody needed to keep an eye on the direction of the ship, Nami and herself rested on the deck. Sanji had offered her and Nami some pieces of wonderful food, which she had accepted in thanks. So currently she was resting on the deck of the boat, Nami right by her, and the sun bright in the sky.
“Hey…” she heard from beside her, “could you hold onto this for me?”
She was handed the eternal pose, and Nami collapsed, her body hitting the ground in a series of painful thuds. She ran over to check on Nami and she didn’t know how she missed it, her face was flushed and pale with fever, her breaths in short, haggard gasps, and sweet dripping off her forehead. In between gasps for air a pained groan worked its way through her lips. Nami was sick, horribly sick.
—
Maybe if she’d noticed it earlier, Nami would be better, but she didn’t, and the woman who looked like Nami was currently on the ground with ice getting dumped on her, lightly complaining and making vague threats. Complaints of pirates and general words of hate. She also made a statement about how cold the ice was and how it hurt. Those words were the words that made her want to shove all the ice off of the woman and hug her till she felt warm again. But she knew it was a bad idea, and knew the ice was needed, she knew wrapping her arms around the woman on the floor wouldn’t fix anything, and she didn’t trust the woman to actually be Nami. So she just quietly apologized as she began to stuff ice into her shirt.
Upon touching the skin of the woman, she felt just how hot the fever had run her body, just touching her felt like touching hot metal, how the woman was still alive she had no clue. But she dumped the freezing cubes down the shirt of the woman like she’d heard of stories of people tossing sheets of ice down their friends coats in islands where it actually got cold. She’d never really seen snowfall, much less snow, so it almost felt like fulfilling a dream. Only this wasn’t fun.
“She hasn’t acted like this since Arlong.” Zoro muttered once they left the room, the woman thoroughly encased in her icy prison.
“Since Arlong?” She’d joined a little late, that she knew, and of course, given that, she’s evidently missed a few things.
“A guy we beat up.” Luffy answered vaguely. Thank you Luffy.
“Before that she hated pirates, hated us, a rude witch.” Zoro grumbled, looking anywhere but the door.
“But we beat him up! Why’s she acting like this?” Luffy complained.
“Her fever’s too high, I think she’s forgotten where and when she is.” Usopp supplied without his usual terrified cadence, but rather a defeated one.
“WHAT!” Luffy exclaimed, but before he could ramble out, Usopp added:
“You said her fever was over a hundred?”
She nodded.
“My mom, before she died, her fevers would get so high she’d get angry. It didn’t feel like she was my mom anymore, but like a beast had taken her body. Nami’s acting just the same.”
“We’ve already covered her in ice, that should calm her down somewhat.” She supplied, not wanting to speak about her feelings regarding who was actually covered in ice.
“I thought you were meant to warm people with fevers up, you know, blankets.” Luffy pulled his straw hat to the side and blinked with those big eyes of his.
“That’s for their comfort, but a temperature this high? It could kill her, we need to cool her down before we can comfort her.” She glanced back at that door.
“Kill her?!” He exclaimed, “Nami can’t die!”
“She won’t if we keep her safe.” Sanji bashed Luffy on the head, frustration pouring out of his tensed words, but it was evident the certainty in his words were only surface level.
“I’ll stay with her.” She doesn’t know why she volunteered, she knows logically why she did: she didn’t do anything special. She didn’t even really know how to move the ship, of course she listened to Nami’s rambles about the ship and navigation and direction, so she knew many things, she just had no idea what it actually meant. So her staying with Nami wouldn’t do any harm in navigation or the event of a fight.
But Vivi wasn’t thinking logically, she knew she wasn’t thinking logically. Not in that moment. In that moment she was acting impulsively, without a thought behind it. So why? Why did she offer?
As she sat down next to the now still woman, she figured she’d figure it out.
As the time passed, she noticed Nami’s eyelids fluttered as she slept. Nami never really slept like the others did, not quite. She’d see her take naps, at the wheel, on the railings, on the ground, standing up, she’d see the girl resting her eyes and loosening her posture for five or so minutes, then she’d be off. But she never really slept. Once she got up early in the night to grab some water, and only the soft creak of her foot against the floorboards woke Nami up. She saw her jolt and slowly turned her head towards her, not so much fear but rather that she’d been startled and exhaustion was settling in again. It reminded her of a cat.
She’d never really gotten the chance to see Nami actually sleep up close, usually if she were to approach, Nami would’ve already woken up, one eye peaked through her dark lashes. A smile would sometimes creep through her lips and a grin would settle on her eyes. It became a game for her to catch Nami asleep, she never won, Nami would always let her know she wasn’t as sneaky as she thought.
And now she finally caught her asleep, and she didn’t know what to do. If this were normal, she might’ve woken Nami up, or perhaps sat and waited until Nami woke up to prove her point. But here, now? No.
So instead she watched as Nami’s eyelashes flickered and her amber-rich eyes didn’t peek through, and even if her eyes opened, she’d be met with glossy-dead eyes and not her sparkling ones. So their game would have to be put on hold. She hadn’t noticed either how in this exhaustion, Nami’s eyebrows relaxed, she hadn’t noticed it beforehand, but there was always a little bit of tension stored in her eyes, probably a result from the tension in her eyebrows. Always slightly angry, slightly scared. But here they were calm and settled, sat a little lower on her face than how they usually were.
She was actually asleep, and she was sitting right in front of her, it felt like sitting right next to a wild animal that might run off at any second. Even though realistically, she knew Nami wasn’t a wild animal, she wouldn’t run off, and she had a horrific fever. But feeling cared not for rational. So instead she sat as still as possible and waited.
She waited until those same eyes peeked through her flittering eyelashes and a soft smile settled on Nami’s face, just like their game always began. But this time it ended the game.
“Good morning.” She brushed a piece of hair from Nami’s forehead, gleaning with sweat and melted ice.
“Shouldn’t it be the afternoon?” She strained to hear her voice, soft and faint, as if she spoke too loud her own breath would carry her away.
“Good afternoon sounds weird.” She answered as she tucked the hair behind Nami’s ear, “you should’ve told me you had a fever.”
Nami just grumbled and she couldn’t tell if it was disagreement, most likely just acknowledgement. And they stayed like that, her listening to Nami’s shivering breaths, oh how she wished she could take the illness from her body and chuck it into the sea, oh how she wished a loud shout would yell from outside of land, oh how she wished the currents would slow and the climate would settle. But for now she sat with Nami on the ground of the rocking ship that creaked just as her footsteps would every night.
“It can’t be comfortable on the floor.” She offered, Nami lightly chuckled which she took as agreement.
So she shuffled her hands beneath Nami’s knees and under her back and hoisted her into the air, damp chilly water wetting her shirt and unmelted ice cubes falling to the floor. It was more difficult to carry Nami than she imagined, she’d expected to carry her like a princess to her bed and gently lay her down, instead she spent half the time just trying to keep Nami in the air and half the time toddling over to the bed. It felt like holding a catatonic cat whose body was made more of liquid and fur than animal. No wonder it was called dead weight. No, don't say that. She’s not dead weight, not literally, not metaphorically.
She let Nami hit the bed with a soft thump and rested herself on the corner of it.
“Vivi.” Nami panted, eyelid flickering open like she’d do in the dead of night, when her footsteps awoke her but sleep was weighing heavy, “Vivi,”
Nami's hand shook as she began to raise it, not getting more than a few inches above the bed, so she took her hand for her, cupping them in her hands. Cold, cold and tough and damp and shaky and she couldn’t feel a pulse in her wrist and she couldn’t feel her heartbeat in the shakes of her fingers.
“Vivi,” Nami gasped, when had Nami’s breathing picked up, “Vivi I’m scared.”
—
“Ugh! Your hands are so soft! I’m jealous!” Nami complained as she held her hand.
“Oh, really? Thank you!” She honestly didn’t know what to say, especially over the rising temperature of her face and her heartbeat pounding in her ear, “I just use lotion.”
“You’ve got to tell me!” Nami leaned in with big, sparkling eyes and how could she keep a secret from her?
“Just some Aloe Vera.” She whispered and Nami loudly complained, exclaiming she’s already tried that. She just giggled.
“Pttt genetics.” Nami muttered disappointedly.
“Well, I quite like your hands, they tell a story.” She supplied, to which Nami startled and blinked,
“Really?” Nami’s voice wasn’t filled with loudness or proudness but genuine confusion and surprise.
“Yeah,” she let her hand trail down to Nami’s fingers, settling on the end digit of her middle finger, “there’s a callus here, it tells me you hold your pens a little too tight, it tells me you’ve spent days drawing, it tells me when you were a little girl you’d break crayons all the time, and it tells me you hold your pens wrong.”
“I hold my pens perfectly fine!” Nami exclaimed with that same blistering voice but she didn’t take her hand away.
She flipped Nami’s hand so that her palm would face up, “The calluses here tell me you’ve spent a lot of time carrying heavy things, and even longer hanging.” She traced along the rough skin right below where her fingers met her palm, the patches forming mountains and valleys below her fingertips, “They tell me you’re more strong than you let on.”
She flipped Nami’s hand over once again and traced her fingers along her knuckles, old scars tearing through the skin from cuts and scrapes, “Your knuckles tell me you’ve fought throughout everything,” the pinky side of Nami’s palm bent down just a little—an old fracture that didn’t heal fully from a frustrated hook that landed wrong, “and your knuckles tell me not every fight was against a person.”
She was worried Nami would crawl into a shell or gasp and tug her hand away, but nothing happened, Nami’s hand rested loosely in her hold. She glanced up and her eyes were sparkling and gentle with care,
“And what else?”
“Your nails tell me you spend a lot of time on self care,” she offered, trailing the pads of her fingers along the smooth curves of her nails while taking note of the horizontal lines waving across her nails, “but they also tell me that wasn’t always the case.”
Nami simply hummed.
“And your wrists tell me you’ve been trapped for a very long time.” She gently held her wrist, feeling the radius and the ulna, feeling how they were worn down and the skin above them barely bruised and scared, “but they also tell me you’re free now.”
—
She wished she’d said that the shaking of her fingertips told her that her heart was pounding, that each shake of her hand told her that she was…That she was there.
But now she couldn’t say that, because Nami’s hands were still as the sea of Alabasta, when the wind came to a gentle halt and the waves would lap against the shore and now not crash. When the ocean became a gentle push and pull of water and not a roaring tyrant dragging her to the depths of it all. When children would splash and play and parents would always be prepared to tug them back to shore, because just like the gentleness of Nami’s pulse, something dangerous rested below the surface. A silent death, those were the cruelest, a young toddler dancing in the water only to lose her footing and be swept out to sea, trying and crying desperately for her parents only to exhaust herself and drown, only noticed as missing when she would never return. Those were the cruelest. Always the most gentle, always the most kind.
The most dangerous things are always beautiful first.
Maybe that’s why Nami drew her in so much—just like the pulling of a riptide—she was dangerous just as she was beautiful. Not dangerous in venom, not dangerous in claws or teeth, but she would ruin her, she would coax her out to sea until her muscles grew sore but land was farther than it was close, she would wrap her in a warm embrace until her mind melted and her thoughts lost all reason, she would point her to the stars and Vivi would fall off the edge of the earth chasing them for her. Nami would ruin her, but God, she’d let her. She’d drown with a smile on her face, she’d melt happy, she’d fall off the earth laughing, all for her.
Or at least half of her did.
Half of her cried out the very water she drowned in, half of her howled in agony as her body burned, half of her flailed as she plummeted through the air. Half of her knew this couldn’t last. She had a kingdom to run, a palace to live in, a land to give every drop of water she could cry. Half of her knew it was selfish, selfish to ruin herself, to burn bright and short, to gently hold the hand of someone who could never stay still for long. She knew Nami couldn’t stay, she knew the Strawhats couldn’t stay, she knew Luffy’s bright laughter would be drowned out by the brighter sun, she knew Sanji’s colorful food would grow stale with the same ingredients, she knew Usopp’s stories would turn uninspired by the lack of real tales he’d lived, she knew Zoro’s swords would grow dull by the lack of competitors, and she knew Nami’s callus on her finger would fade.
She’d like to correct her statement from earlier, Nami was dangerous, not because Vivi would ruin herself for her, but because Vivi can’t ruin herself.
And she made a statement, a promise, that Nami was free now, the scabs and scars along her wrist, chaffed from cuffs, would never return. She couldn’t lock Nami in a cage, not again.
“It’ll be okay.” She whispered to herself, Nami, and the air in between them, “there’s nothing to be scared of.”
“My hands, my feet.” Nami gasped in between faint words she had to strain to hear over the soft aching of the wood, “they’re all pins, pins and needles.”
She didn’t know what to do, not really, she’d seen fevers, but never cared for them. Not like this, not this bad. So she hummed her same comfort, though she knew Nami knew it was empty.
And then Nami’s breath sped up, gagged, and she rushed to action, sitting her up and turning her head away from the bed, and Nami vomited. All water and stomach acid and she gagged as she threw up, the contents of her stomach shooting out onto the ground and making a horrible splattering noise. Nami coughed, gagged, and vomited again. She gagged, panted, gasped, and returned to bed, hitting the mattress with a thump and slower breath.
“M’sorry.” Nami panted.
“Sorry? There’s nothing to be sorry about, okay? It’s alright, I’m going to clean that up and get a bucket for you, you just stay there.” She patted Nami’s collarbone—she doubted Nami would be able to feel the same pat if it were against her hands—and went to grab a mop and bucket.
“M’sorry.” The woman in the bed muttered back.
—
“So what’s Alabasta like?” Nami asked, the sun dappling her sun-kissed skin through the tangerine trees.
“Hot.” She laughed, “every day feels hotter than the last, and I’ve considered worshipping the wind sometimes.”
Name snorted and responded with her own tale, “it’s like that back home for me too, probably not as hot, but some days all you could do was stay inside and hope your house wasn’t too insulated. One day, when I was six, school was canceled because Genzo didn’t want to teach us anything, and Bellemere wanted us to help pick the tangerine trees, Nojiko and I just spent the time wearing sun hats that were so big we couldn’t see Bellemere picking the trees and eating any tangerines she did pick. She was so mad when she found her basket empty and two little girls covered in juice!”
A laugh ripped out from her chest, the image of Nami, tiny with stubby legs and stubbier fingers holding her partner in crime she knew only by name covered in their guilt, it was such an innocent image, and such an evil crime.
“Igaram would’ve never let up school,” she chuffed, “if it got too hot he would’ve just brought it inside, he said education was the strongest weapon.”
“Never?” Nami gasped, “oh you poor soul!”
“Well,” she giggled, “just once. I must’ve been five, Koza and his friends and I were running around the market playing hide-and-go-seek tag. I’d found the perfect hiding spot, wedged in between two crates with a blanket on top of me. Hidden from the world. I was the last person, and everyone was looking for me. I'd seen one of the kids check the same spot three times. But Igaram was looking for me too, it was midday and I should’ve been in class an hour ago. I snuck out. But he spotted me, and at the same time he spotted me, Koza had walked in, tugged on his jacket, and asked where I was because he needed to tag me.”
“The cheat!” Nami gasped.
“I know! But just as I was about to jump out from my hiding spot and yell at Koza for cheating, Igaram said he didn’t know, and walked off. He searched for me with the kids for what felt like hours, but it was probably ten minutes until I burst out from my hiding spot and ran. Igaram could’ve caught me, I know it, but he didn’t, he made a big show of how fast all of us were, and how he just couldn’t keep up. And when I was caught, he didn’t take me back to school, he joined the next game, and he made a big show of how good we were at hiding and how he just couldn’t find us. Again and again, we’d grab and tug on his coat, asking him where everyone was and he’d say he just didn’t know. But it was so clear he knew, looking back I mean, I think Koza’s hiding spot was a pole one time, and the pole was smaller than him. But Igaram said he just had no clue. That was the time he skipped school.”
“He sounded like a wonderful man.”
“He was.”
A gentle silence followed, a soft breeze rustled the branches of the tangerine trees, and Nami picked one of the blooming fruits and peeled it. She’d never seen someone be an expert at peeling tangerines until now, in a motion so practiced she almost struggled to follow as Nami flipped the fruit upside down and dug her nails into the skin, tracing a pattern into the peel. Then in something she’d never expected, Nami pressed down onto the bottom of the fruit and it popped open, a pinwheel with the fruit inside laid out like something gourmet.
“Bellemere used to do this all the time, I could never figure out how to get the fruit to pop open like this, the flesh would always hold the tangerine together and it’d just end up with sticky fingers. I finally figured it out just a few weeks ago, back when I was leaving Cocoyashi.” Nami handed her the fruit.
“Well, what’s the secret?”
“Can’t tell you, not yet, family secret.” Nami grinned.
She nodded with wide eyes and ate one of the fruits, it was the sweetest tangerine she’d ever had.
“When we get to Alabasta, and we stop Crocodile, I’ll show you one of my family recipes.” She offered, “an Alabasta original.”
“I can’t wait.” Nami shuffled closer, “tell me more about Alabasta, all I hear is the political strife, I want to hear about how the birds sing.”
“They sing wonderfully.” She reminisced.
Nami snorted.
“And in the early mornings, when it was chilly and nobody had yet woken up, I’d sneak off to the beach and watch the waves lap the sand, I’d sit on the docks as boats came in with captains who’d greet me as a friend and my feet kicking loosely in the sea, the salty water always cleared my mind. I’d listen to the chatter of the fish mongers talking about what they saw out at sea, and I’d always wonder what it’d be like to see it myself. I’d help the crew pull out a particularly large fish, colored beautifully with thick scaled and thicker muscles, and by the time I stepped back onto land, the ground felt like it was made of more water than the sea. And the rays of the sun always bounced spectacularly off of the mist over the early-morning ocean. I’d return home when the chilly air began to give way to the heat of the sun, and the market began to wake up.” She stared off into the expansive blue, wondering if any of the captains of those ships would meet the Going Merry and wave, and she didn’t know if their princess or their crewmate was waving back.
“That sounds wonderful.” Nami whispered, as if her voice would break the very mist she spoke of.
“It was.”
—
“Is Nami okay?” Sanji dashed over to her in worry, carrying a plate of soup she wasn’t sure the woman would be able to keep down.
She didn’t know how to answer, not really. Not that she didn’t know the state of the woman downstairs, but rather she didn’t know that woman was Nami. How could she, in good faith, say Nami threw up if she didn’t even know if that was Nami.
“There’s some vomit.” Dodged the question perfectly, and she both strangled and patted herself.
“Vomit!” Sanji gasped, “I need to get her this soup right away! Dehydration is the first killer of all those sick!”
“I don’t think she’s going to be able to keep that down.” Usopp supplied, and she nodded, “just some rest for now, maybe more ice.”
She’d halfway expected Luffy to complain, given that the meat was on that ice, and if more ice was taken, the meat was probably going to go bad. But he didn’t complain, he sat quietly, thinking. It unnerved her, maybe the entire crew had been secretly replaced. Or maybe it was her.
To avoid dwelling on that thought, she picked up a bucket and mop she came up for and went back down below deck, where the woman laid, gripping her head and panting. Small wails of agony came through her gasps for air as she thrashed and turned, dragging her feet and kicking her legs. She hadn’t expected such a change so quickly, but she still dashed over to the woman wailing, stranger or not, she couldn’t let someone be in so much agony and not do anything.
She approached the woman and found her eyes wide open and horrified, tears brimming them and pained wheezes dotting the air.
“What’s happening? I-“ what should she do? What could she do? She doesn’t have any medication, only ice, which she dumped even more of onto the woman. It didn’t work, but the woman’s eyes finally found her, but not really, hazy and unfocused; they darted between two points on either side of her, most likely seeing double.
But the woman stopped struggled, her eyebrows kicked up in fear and pain as she panted between her clenched teeth, her hand moved and she found the source: pained, inflamed arteries, bulging out of her temple and looked horrifically painful.
“Shit.” She whispered under her breath and dumped more of the ground ice against the woman’s temple, and she noted drool pooling against the bed and spitting through her teeth.
A cold, clammy hand slapped against her arm and gripped tightly, manicured fingernails digging into her skin, she jumped and the woman’s face looked furious and terrified. The woman didn’t say anything, didn’t make a demand, didn’t yell, maybe because she didn’t have the time, as her eyelids fluttered shut and her grip turned loose and fingers hit the floor. She made sure the woman didn’t sleep on her back, she’d heard of that mistake killing a young boy, who wasn’t suffering a ravaging illness, not even anything special, just the flu, he slept on his back and choked on his vomit. Igaram made sure to never let her sleep on her back when ill ever since that day.
The fear still persisted in her.
So she mopped up the vomit and placed a bucket right next to the woman’s ill face, pale, flushed, and damp with sweat and melted ice, painful arteries pulsing alongside her temple and everything looking so much worse. Who was this person on Nami’s bed, this person who was so scared and so angry and so confused and so sick, who was she? She looked thin as bones and frail as twigs, but with a constant scowl on her face, twisted in a look of anger and terror. Who was she? Surely not Nami? But she’d heard, from small offhand comments and worried words, Nami had a horrific past. She'd seen it in Nami’s hands, in her posture, in every move she made: she’d learned to adapt to something she didn’t know of.
She’d heard Nami be compared to a cat, and she’d heard Nami compare herself to one, and the resemblance was uncanny: her light footsteps, her slinking walk, how she’d sit out in the early morning and sun bathe, and her mischievous plans. Nami resembled a cat. And this woman was just the same, though Nami looked like a feral cat that would barely slink away from a pet but would rub against your legs any chance she got, so long as you didn’t touch her; this woman resembled a stray cat. Nearly hissing at every approach of anyone and backing herself into a corner to swat with clawed hands, she could practically see the woman fluffing up like a kitten and bolting.
But Nami wasn’t a cat, she’d been trained to become one. Nami, if anything, resembled a
—
“Storm petrel.” Nami pointed to the sky, “that means there’s some storms nearby.”
“Really?” She’d never really seen a storm petrel before, much less in this context, she’d heard about them before.
“They use the ship to break the winds.”
“Couldn’t it just be one storm petrel?” Zoro remarked from his position on the crows nest.
“Quit eavesdropping!” Nami yelled back at him.
“It’s not! I’m just hearing you!” Zoro yelled back.
“That’s what eavesdropping is!”
“Shut up!”
“You shut up!”
“How do you know this storm petrel’s here to break the winds?” She interrupted.
“Oh! I’m so glad you asked Vivi!” Nami exclaimed, voice dripping with honey so sweet it’d make her throat hurt.
“I can tell because there’s a storm coming, the air’s too heavy and humid, it weighs on you like a blanket, and there’s not enough wind, this storm’s going to be heavy, so we need to tie everything down. This storm petrel’s just the first, there’s going to be more.”
“Doesn’t look like there’s any storm to me!” Zoro called form the crow’s nest again.
“You shut up! You wouldn’t be able to tell up from down if it fell on you!” Nami pointed and she sighed.
Low and behold, Nami was right, the rain hit hard enough that it no longer sounded like rain, and thunder clapped loud enough to resemble gunfire. She had no idea air could feel oppressive, but the air did, probably from the humidity and the heaviness Nami was talking about, it made it hard to breathe. Most everyone else except for Usopp was manning the ship, as Usopp had “don’t go into the storm disease” and it was very serious. Deadly actually.
But Nami was outside, getting whipped around by the wind and assaulted with rain, yelling orders at the other crew members and ducking when the world lit up. Nami was outside in soaked clothes and would jump while holding onto rope and go flying across the ship in a practiced motion not even Luffy, Zoro or Sanji had gotten the hang of. Despite the whirling wind and the pounding rain and the rocking waves and the roaring storm, Nami seemed perfectly in control, maybe even because of it all, she seemed in her element. With wet hair and wetter clothes that clung to her body and would’ve for many people made them look like a sad animal, made her look…not ragged, but something adjacent.
And Nami was right, more storm petrels had joined the ship, in fact they were currently dancing around the deck and the mast, ducking and diving in between the chaos of it all, and Nami looked no different than the birds. Like them too, she flew and she ducked and dove and danced on the deck. And she did it all with the biggest smile she’d seen on her face. And in that moment she realized she’d never be able to take Nami home with her, because she’d never seen a storm petrel in Alabasta, and she never will.
—
But could this woman be called a storm petrel? Did she fly with grace through the rough and tumbles of a storm and chase it again and again? Did she soar?
Looking at her on the bed, no, but not for lack of trying. She floundered like a bird dunked in water and left to drown, she choked on the sea rather than swiftly gliding above it, and salt got into her eyes where freedom should sit. She was a plucked bird, a clipped one, caught in a cage and bashing herself against it until her wings broke. Any feathers that hadn’t been plucked or fallen out were broken and snapped at the base, and her pin feathers had yet to be opened.
But she wasn’t a bird. She tried, she tried so hard to lift her soaking wet wings and flap into the air, but she didn’t have wings anyways. She tried to leap into the air and catch the wind but all she’d find herself is against the ground. She tried so hard to fly but she was a cat. She hunted the very bird she desired to be.
The woman on the bed was the cat, with striped orange fur and hidden claws. And she didn’t know what to do about it.
Her breathing was unusually sharp and short, more like panting, and more than once she questioned if the woman was actually asleep or if she just couldn’t move, and when she checked her pulse, she found it pounding. With both of those, she’d expect the woman’s eyes to be open in a haze and darting about, but her face was firmly asleep, and no matter how much she messed with the woman, she didn’t wake up.
So like a wild animal asleep, she checked about her, like at any moment she would wake up and maul her. She found her hands to be limp and difficult to hold, slipping out of her grasp like a wet fish, and she found her hair to be dry and straw-like. What she hadn’t expected was the gross smell coming from the belly of the woman, but she knew better than to touch the stomach of a cat. But this woman was asleep and also not actually a cat, so she lifted the shirt of the woman to find an infected wound. Or an infected bug bite? She wasn’t sure what that was, but it was yellow and filled with puss and smelled horrible. They didn’t have any disinfection on board (she’ll be sure to grab some when they land on the island), and she wasn’t sure if the water was clean. Well it had to be clean to some extent, but it might not be clean enough to clean a wound. They did have soap.
Sanji kicked down the door with more of his soup in hand, “I’ve come for you my lovely Nami!!”
The woman’s eyes peeped open at the commotion and pried herself off the bed. Currently, she was panting while barely sitting up.
“You need to sit down!” She worried, but couldn’t bring herself to shove the woman back onto the bed, and she doubted Sanji would be willing either. So instead the woman slowly sat up, sweat dripping with wet thumps onto the damp mattress as she glared, hissing air through her clenched teeth. She began to crawl out of bed but her hand slipped and she crashed onto the floor, hitting her face against the hard floor.
“AUGH!” She cupped a hand over her busted lip and still tried to move out of the bed. At that point she had had enough and Sanji got horribly worried, so he darted to the woman and she tried to push the woman back into bed.
“Stop don’t-dont touch me!” The woman slurred and swatted her hands around like it did anything more than lightly slap them. It wasn’t surprising that the woman was reacting like this, she was sure this was agony for her. She’d had a fever once, it felt like every hair along her body was made of needles and every touch against her skin dug them even deeper, she couldn’t imagine how horribly this woman felt. But she was sure the woman would feel worse if she didn’t lay down.
“Can you keep an eye on her? I’m going to grab some soap.”
“Of course Vivi!”
“Thank you!” She stepped into the very late afternoon, and just now she’s realized the heaviness under her eyes and how hard it was to move her limbs and she didn’t know what to think. So she didn’t. Just for this moment, just for this time, she’ll let her thoughts, her worries subside, it was too much, too much for right now. If she actually began to think about it all, she isn’t sure she’d be able to keep her tears inside. So she sluggishly walked to the nearest bathroom in the hopes to grab some hand soap.
“How is she?” Luffy called from the deck, uncharacteristically soft and gentle.
She couldn’t lie, not to Luffy, “not well.”
“She called me a pirate.” She could hear the heartbreak in his voice.
“Aren’t you?” He was always so proud to be a pirate, he’d wear the skull and crossbones on his chest if he could…he probably could, it'd just be a pain.
“I am. She just…she said it like an insult.”
“I’m sure she’s just not thinking straight, her fever’s very high.”
“She hasn’t hated pirates since we defeated Arlong, she’s loved being a pirate.”
She didn’t know how to respond, so she just hummed.
“I’ll remind her, I’ll remind her that she loves being a pirate.” Luffy announced and ran off below deck. If she had the energy she might’ve stopped him, might’ve said that was a bad idea, might’ve said it wouldn’t work, might’ve said she needs to rest.
But she didn’t have the energy.
“That’s not going to work.” She heard a whisper behind her, turning around, Usopp stood with his arms crossed and staring pointedly at the ground.
She blinked wide eyed, or about as wide eyed as she could get—how long had Usopp been standing there?
“That’s not our navigator on the bed.” Usopp brought his eyes from the ground to the sea with a stare she couldn’t quite name but knew by heart. Her father made that same face, he made that face when he knew something was wrong or something bad was going to happen or was happening, that stare that felt full of power but defeated acceptance. It always felt like a proud man’s final battle facing down a force he knew would kill him. It’s what she imagined Gol D. Roger looked like when he would lead his crew. Or at least what she thought his face looked when she was a little girl, she’s since grown up, and has learned that the man did it all with a grin to rival Luffy’s.
She sighed, a weight lifted off her chest allowing her just enough room to breath out an agreement, “she’s not Nami.”
“No, that’s Nami.” He argued, and she couldn’t help but feel confusion twist in her gut, though once again, exhaustion weighed too heavy on her to ask exactly what he meant. Luckily, Usopp was a story teller,
“That’s the thief, not the navigator.” He explained, and still she felt confused. Was Nami not both a thief and a navigator?
“Before I, The Great Captain Usopp defeated Arlong, Nami wasn’t…she wasn’t the same, there were small things that changed when we stepped on to Conomi islands and I met her: her footsteps were lighter, her eyes darted much more; she was constantly moving, shifting her weight or fiddling with something; she smirked rather than smiled and when she showed her teeth it felt more like a snarl. Honestly she reminded me of a stray cat. But really her biggest change was just how cruel she became, or rather how scared, when I tried to help her she stabbed me in the gut! Or so I thought. There was so much blood all over my clothes and when I was tossed into the water I thought I’d drown! But my stomach felt fine, if a little queasy (no challenge for The Great Captain Usopp!) but I wasn’t dying. And then I thought about it, I thought about her placing her hand on my stomach right before she stabbed me, I thought about all the blood, I thought about how she pushed me with her knife stabbing hand. I realized she stabbed her own hand to save my life.”
“So the navigator saved you?” She’d caught on.
“The navigator needs her hands to draw, the thief doesn’t.” They now leaned on the railing looking out to the sea, the moon reflecting beautifully upon the breaking water.
“Oh.”
“What I’m getting at here, is that she’s scared and she’s in pain and she knows we know and it terrifies her. Nami thought everyone in her home hated her, thought they believed she joined the pirates who killed her mom for some money, thought they didn’t know about the abuse she faced, and she let it all happen. She never corrected them, she never explained it to anyone but her sister. Nami doesn’t know she’s safe, and maybe it’s because she’s not. Not for as long as this illness continues. But she’s not aware enough for that, right now, all she knows is that she’s in pain and she’s in danger and others know it. And if others know it they can exploit it. Right now she thinks, in some way, she’s right back at Arlong Park, and the navigator never stepped foot in that place. Not even when she drew those maps, I mean, after all, in order to be a navigator she had to navigate somewhere, and she was chained to the floor.”
“Oh.” Chained to the floor?
The sea gently sloshed against the side of the boat, breaking and casting salty freshness into the air and sparkling her face. The stars of the sky began to slowly twinkle to life, dappling and dabbing the inky blackness of space, the last remains of the sun setting behind them in an array of faint violets and orange clouds. A seagull flapped lazily above the breaking water.
“I’m scared Vivi,” He broke the silent sea, “It's just like my mom. She got sick, it was different of course, but… I got only a few glimpses of Nami, and all I could see was her. Her face was so pale, and so flushed, and so sweaty, and she’s so tired and she’s so sick. And all I can see is my mom… Vivi, she died. My mom died, she died of her illness. And I just, I can’t help but see it too with Nami.”
“I’m sorry,” despite how tired she was, how much exhaustion weighed on her, her heart had just enough energy to break.
“Don’t tell me if she gets better,” He requested.
She stared at him for half a second before nodding, her confusion must’ve been clear, or perhaps he just wanted to continue to speak,
“My mom was getting worse and worse day by day, and I think the only thing keeping me from giving up was that I was a good liar. I’d lie to myself every day, every day believing she’d get better, she’d get stronger, my dad would come home and my mom would stand up and hug him and we’d all be so shocked she had the energy to stand. And one day my lies became true: I woke up to the smell of pancakes and rushed into the kitchen and my mom was standing and cooking with such a big smile on her face. Vivi, my mom hadn’t had the energy to smile in weeks. Honestly, what made me think she had gotten better wasn’t her standing or her cooking pancakes or her being awake before me, it was her smile. Her smiling convinced me she’d been cured. And I bolted, I ran out the door crying that my mom was better and to look and see because she’s better. I even rang the bell. And by the time I’d gotten home, when I’d told everyone in this town and the town over, she was gone. Honestly… I can’t even remember if she was already dead or not.”
—
“Where’s Mom?” She wandered up to Dad and tugged on his robes, she wanted to have a cookie but she knew they were hidden and she knew only Mom knew where they were (Dad had a horrible sweet tooth too.)
Dad didn’t respond, maybe he didn’t hear her, “Dad!”
Dad jumped and looked down at her, which he always needed to do because he was the biggest, strongest man in the world and she was just a kid. But when she grows up she’ll grow big and strong just like Dad and she’ll be even taller.
“Yes Vivi?” Something was wrong with Dad, she didn’t know what but something was wrong.
“Where’s Mom?” The cookie now mattered a little bit less.
Dad didn’t respond right away, didn’t lean back and stoke his beard and hum really loudly before suggesting they find her. Dad didn’t pick her up and put her on his shoulders and call her his lookout while they ran. Dad didn’t hold her hand with just his calluses fingers and gently lead her over to Mom. Dad didn’t play pout and ask why not her old man and laugh when she stammered a response before bringing her to Mom. Dad didn’t do anything. Dad just stared.
“Dad?”
“She’ll be back.” Dad whispered quietly, completely unlike him, his voice was always powerful, his voice always boomed down the hall and echoed in the palace. Dad’s voice never broke.
“She’ll be back in a few days.” Dad answered and his eyes looked oddly shiny and she didn’t know what to do.
So she just stood there opening and closing her hands around a robe no longer in her grasp.
Mom would need to leave sometimes, a few days, a few weeks, that was normal. Mom was a queen after all, and queens had queenly duties. And someday she’ll be queen too. And someday she’ll sail the seas just like Mom going off to fancy queen business and talk with other queens about kingdoms…or something. And she’ll get to see it all! Just like Mom and just like Dad. But she’d always return home. Because her people need her. She couldn’t imagine staying away for the weeks Mom would be gone! She couldn’t even handle sleeping in her own bed alone (but that was when she was a kid, she’s all grown up now so she can do it perfectly fine.) But Mom never went alone. Mom always went with Dad, and Igaram would keep her company.
So why is Mom gone but Dad’s here?
She’d heard stories of moms and dads sleeping in separate beds living in separate houses and seeing their kids separately because they fought too much. A few of her friends were like that, when they’d have play-dates she’d have to ask which house they’d be at. Were Mom and Dad doing that? Mom and Dad had been arguing a lot recently, maybe that was it. But where was Mom’s house? And why would she be returning? And the palace was so big, why couldn’t they just split it? Would there be two palaces? It was already so hard to navigate this one! And she’s lived in it her entire life! And five years was a long time, even though she was a baby for half of it. But she’s not a baby now! She’ll remember the new palace even easier!
She puffed up her chest and marched down the halls, she’s already memorized this palace, the new one will be easy peasy! And when Mom gets home she’ll show her she can navigate through her palace perfectly! And then Mom will know that she’s fit for the new palace and she’ll invite her there! And she’ll memorize that new palace too! And she’ll have two whole palaces memorized! Koza will be so impressed and she’ll invite him to the palaces and they’d play hide-and-go-seek and she’d win so well because she memorized the palaces.
“Vivi, how are you feeling?” Igaram wandered up to her.
“Good!” She smiled, “I’m memorizing the palace super well!”
“You ar-that’s good.”
“Do you wanna see how well?” Please say yes please say yes please say yes.
“Okay…lead the way.” YES!
“This!” She grabbed Igaram’s hand or more so fingers and lead him to the first door she saw, “is the kitchen.”
And it was, sometimes at noon Mom would call her down from wherever she was playing and would hand her a small snack of fruits she cut right in that very kitchen. Or she’d wander down during the evenings to find Dad cooking up dinner and she’d sit in the kitchen and talk to him. She’d tell him about all the things she did that day like that cool lizard she saw or when all of her stuff got stolen by some birds and she had to chase them down. Eventually Dad would pick her up and put her on the counter because she was always under her feet, so when she walked in Dad would immediately grab her and lift her into the air with a huff and put her on the counter and then let her talk.
And sometimes on special days she’d find Mom cooking dinner and she’d beg and pester and whine about what it was and Mom would just brush her hair to the side and kiss her forehead and tell her it’d ruin the surprise if she knew, so don’t tell Dad she’s cooking either. And she’d nod and giggle because she knew something Dad didn’t know. And then she’d tell her all about her day and Mom would laugh and pick her up and hold her and kiss her all over her face and call her soooo cute and she’d pretend to eat her, and she’d say she’s just soooo hungry and the food is taking sooo long and Vivi’s soooo sweet. And she’d squeal and laugh and kick out of Mom’s hold and run away screaming that Mom was going to eat her and Mom would chase her all around the kitchen saying she’s gonna eat her until she picked her up and kissed her so hard on her cheek growling “mamamamamama.”
“Very good Vivi!” Igaram complimented her on her wonderful navigation skills and her chest swelled with pride and she led him to another room, and another and another. She led him all over the palace naming each room until she ran out of rooms to name and then some. She even began naming the windows and what they looked over. Mom will surely take her to her palace when she sees how good she is at navigating.
And during this Pell walked by, oddly sad looking, his eyes widened when he spotted and he looked a little surprised, “Princess! How are you feeling?”
“Good!” She exclaimed, “I’m showing Igaram around the palace! I’m memorizing it!”
“That’s very good.” He bowed a little and walked past them, he was walking a little faster than usual. Weird.
“Would you like to see your friends?” Igaram offered after some time.
“Nope! I’m good, thank you! I’m still memorizing the palace!” She answered and Igaram fidgeted in that way he did when he was anxious.
She wondered why.
She spent that whole day memorizing the palace, and at the end her brain and feet and eyes and everything hurt. The palace was so big! There were parts she couldn’t even reach! Or see! But eventually evening came, the stars began to dance in the sky and the usual hustle and bustle of the city began to quiet down. And it was dinner time. So she wandered back to the kitchen and it wasn’t Dad cooking, and it wasn’t Mom cooking, it was one of the chefs. The chefs usually cooked when Dad and Mom were away, sometimes Igaram would cook but he was usually too focused on Vivi to cook because she’d wander and he didn’t want her going missing or the food burning.
But Dad was here. Right? He’d always tell her before Mom and him were leaving, they’d pick her up and wrap her in a big hug and kiss her all over her face and tell her they’d be back soon and they loved her. Mom and Dad hadn’t done either of those things.
“Where’s Dad?” She tugged on the coats of one of the chefs.
“Oh Princess Vivi! How are you feeling?”
“Good, where’s Dad?”
“We’re cooking up your favorite dish!”
“M’okay, where’s Dad?”
“You know, you’ve just been such a wonderful kid and such a wonderful Princess, I’m sure your parents-your…uhm. Th-the kingdom is-is-uhm so proud of uhm…you!”
“Thank you, where’s Dad?”
“I’m not…sure?” The chef’s voice squeaked out.
“Okay, thank you.” She sighed and walked out of the kitchen.
“Oh my God I’m so fucked.” The chef wheezed just loud enough for her to hear.
She wondered why.
She wondered why all the way until the the next day, and the day after that and the day after that. She wondered it when people would give her worried looks or give her gifts she doesn’t know why she earned. She got candy and snacks and all her favorite foods for days and she had no idea why. What did she do? Did she miss something? Was today a holiday? And also all those days before it?
She’d spotted Dad here and there but never for long, and he was always so distant, like hisnhead was even farther than before but he was so much shorter. He looked shorter. He looked weaker. He looked sadder. And she had no idea why.
“When will Mom return?” She asked Igaram and he didn’t really answer her.
“When will Dad be normal again?” She asked into her bed (because she was a big kid now and big kids slept on their own in their own bed) because she knew it was rude to ask that but she couldn’t help but wonder.
She wondered for a week, she wondered when her parents would return.
When Igaram brought her to meet her friends everyone was staring until she looked at them and they’d quickly look the other way or they’d ask her how she was and she’d say “good, I’m going to meet my friends!” And they’d say that’s good. Or they’d say they’re so proud of her and she’d grin big and wide and say thank you before she was gently tugged along by Igaram, or they’d say she’s so strong and she’d grin big and wide and say thank you, or they’d say she’s so brave and she’d grin big and wide and say thank you. Normally the citizens wouldn’t give her a passing glance when she walked through the city, so it was weird to suddenly be the center of attention.
“Koza!” She called once she spotted her friend and ran towards him, leaving Igaram behind.
“Vivi!” He answered but didn’t run to meet her, instead more so shuffling until she crashed into him and hugged him tight.
“How are you feeling?” Koza asked.
“Why is everyone asking that?”
“Well you know, cuz your mom is dead.”
“No she isn’t!” She yelled and hit his head.
“OW! Why’d you do that!” Koza exclaimed.
“Cuz she isn’t dead doofus! She’s doing queen stuff with other kingdoms, just give her another week or two and she’ll be back! And when she comes back she’s getting her own palace where I’ll invite you and beat you at hide-and-go-seek.” She crossed her arms proudly.
“Oh, I thought she was dead though.”
“Why would you think that?” She demanded.
“Because Dad told me to be nice to you because your mom is dead.”
“Well she’s not, so you don’t gotta be nice to me.”
She’d realized what she’d done as Koza pounced on her and they tussled on the ground in a whirlwind of punches and kicks and tugging hair and biting until they got tugged, Koza’s dad hissing words under his breath about something she couldn’t hear because Igaram was dragging her away.
“Igarammmm!” She cried, “I’m okay! Really! It’s just some sand! I can clean it off! I’ll take a really long bath and clean my clothes realllyyy good! I’m not a kid! I can fight!”
Igaram didn’t respond, but it wasn’t like he was angry, he looked more like he was scared.
And that scared her. She’d never seen Igaram scared.
She stayed up all night (or as much as the night as she could stay up) thinking about that. What if Koza was right? What if Mom was dead? Was that why Igaram was so scared? He’d never been scared about their fights before? Why now?
She tried really hard not to cry, big kids don’t cry, princesses have to be strong for her kingdom. But she wasn’t a princess right now, right now she was a daughter who didn’t know where her mom was. She was a daughter who didn’t know where her dad was. Does that still make her a daughter? But if she’s not a daughter then she’s only a princess, and princesses don’t cry, but she really wanted to cry.
So she got out of bed and started looking for Dad, she memorized the palace, she should know where her parent’s bedroom was. But she didn’t, she got lost. And if she couldn’t memorize the palace what was she going to do when Mom came home and she couldn’t prove that she should get invited to her palace? Then she wouldn’t be able to see Mom or invite Koza to play hide-and-go-seek and beat him!
It was all too much, and she felt tears fall down her face and she cried in the middle of a hallway that would echo so loudly and everyone must’ve been able to hear her. And princesses don’t cry, so she covered her mouth because she was a princess too and muffled herself.
“Vivi?” A deep, booming voice spoke behind her.
“Dad?” She sniffled, her vision blurry from her tears, “I’m sorrrryyy!! I-I was looking for yo-you! And-and I got lost, and I spent all -hic- day memorizing the-the palace and it didn’t woooorrrk!! How-how am I go-gonna impress Mom when-sniff-when she comes back? She won’t inv-invite m-e to her-her palace because I can’t-can’t even-I got lossttt!! And-and you weren’t c-cooking dinner and-and I haven’t seen-seen you in a-a week! And-and I missed you, and I-I wanted to find you! And I-I tried so hard to-to be a good princess by not crying bec-because I have to be str-strong, but I faaillleddd!!”
“Vivi,” Dad picked her up and she cried into his clothes, she missed getting picked up, she really missed it, “Being strong doesn’t…it doesn’t mean not crying. Sometimes the strongest thing to do is to… to cry.”
She just continued to cry and he took her back to her parent’s room and laid on the bed with her in his arms and she cried. She cried and cried until she had no tears left to cry.
“Really?” She sniffled and looked back up at him, “the strongest thing to do is to cry?”
“Sometimes.” Dad rumbled, and she just noticed how wet his face was, “Sometimes the strongest thing to do is cry.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t always have to be a princess, Vivi, right now, you can just be my daughter, and right now I’m just your dad, okay?”
“You’re always my dad.” She whispered as she fell asleep.
—
“Do you feel like the liar or the warrior right now?” She glanced back at him, “I don’t think you’re the liar right now, but you’re not being brave.”
“Hey.” Usopp took offense, “I don’t always have to be brave!”
“You do for Nami, she needs you to be brave.”
Usopp stared at her a second or two before sighing, “I guess, but I have cant-be-brave-disease! It’s fatal.”
“Being brave can be crying.”
“I don’t need to cry.”
“But you need to be brave. Nami needs you, but so does Luffy and Zoro and Sanji, and me. I need you to be brave too.”
“…I can try.”
“Thank you.”
She left Usopp to his thoughts and wandered finally to the bathroom, each shift of the boat making an awfully eerie creak as the waves provided a soothing lullaby. It was so quiet tonight, not even the seabirds were squawking, and she couldn’t hear the rumbling snores of her shipmates. It wasn’t surprising, after all, who could sleep with Nami so horribly sick? But still it unnerved her, made her glance behind her back and swat at the air expecting to hit something.
It was never this quiet back home, there was always some sort of chatter: someone announcing their sell and its prices hoping to catch someone too tired to realize how they were being overcharged, lovers laughing and bounding down the streets, general chatter from a bar with words she couldn’t make out, loud off key singing from someone boldended by the taste of beer, a pirate crew or two conversing amongst themselves, friends idle conversation. And if it wasn’t people talking, it was their movement, feet clacking along rock pathways usually. Here though, the only noise was her own walking.
She grabbed the soap, a towel, and a bucket of water and left the bathroom, making sure to quietly close the door, as if she’d alert some sort of monster waiting in the sea or on the deck. With her soap she snuck back into the room the woman…Nami. The room Nami slept in, and found the entire crew settled in there. All in their own ways, the only one awake was Usopp, who was clearly about to fall asleep, and herself, who probably wasn’t that far behind.
“Hey Nami,” she whispered under her breath, her voice barely loud enough for herself to hear it, “I’m sorry if this stings.”
She pulled up her shirt and rubbed the soap along some of Nami’s ice-wet skin, lathering it mostly along her belly before she gently brought it to the infected wound. Her stomach twitched once the soap touched the wound and she whispered hushed apologizes, she knew it hurt, she’d scraped her knee when she was little and had to get it cleaned. She knew cleaning wounds was painful. But she had no idea just how painful they could get. She’d had cuts and bruises and scraps before, one time she even needed stitches from a particularly gnarly wound she got, but really it was fine. It wasn’t even life threatening, it would’ve just needed to take forever to heal, and stitching it would speed up the healing process.
But that was nothing compared to this. She’d never gotten a wound infected, not like this, her skin red and inflamed up to about three inches from the wound. She didn’t know a lot about infections or medicine, but she knew it was bad to have so much skin be inflamed. So she lathered soap along the wound, gross and filled with puss and wound stuff and grabbed the towel she’d grabbed from the bathroom that she’d dipped in the water and wiped away the soap. A soft gasp hissed through Nami’s teeth and she apologized again, pressing ice around the wound, hoping to numb it.
Upon removing the ice and having wiped away the soap, she found the wound to be worse than before. When she first got her look at it, it was covered in puss and goop and everything, but having that removed, it was horrific. How she hadn’t spotted it on Drum island she had no clue. The wound was about as deep as her pinkie’s last joint, and about as wide as her thumb’s last joint. But the odd thing was that it wasn’t bleeding. It should be, it should be bleeding absolutely everywhere, considering it had well made its way into Nami’s layer of fat, nearly made its way fully through. She knew there were blood vessels there, she knew it should be bleeding like crazy.
But it wasn’t.
And that terrified her more.
So she lathered the towel in more soap and gently pressed against the wound again, Nami’s stomach flexing before twitching and relaxing, probably because the wound hurt when she did that, she apologized. She apologized and gently continued to clean her wound before a hand gripped her wrist tightly, she looked over and found Nami wide eyed and staring at her with those glassy-sick eyes. This was the thief, not the navigator staring at her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I'm cleaning your wound.”
Nami just stared, hissing through her teeth and spit began to foam in her mouth past her teeth.
She put the towel down and gently peeled Nami’s fingers off of her wrist (with shocking ease) and held it, fingers interweaving with Nami’s, “I’m sorry, but if I don’t clean it, it’ll get worse.”
Nami didn’t peel her eyes away from her, but her head slowly relaxed and her grimace began to subside.
And she picked up the towel again, dipped it in the water, and dabbed on the wound. Nami hissed, flexed her stomach and squeezed her hand but snarl, kick, or fight. Part of her worried that Nami was simply too scared to fight or accepting that there was no point, but upon removing the towel and looking over at Nami, she didn’t find resentment or fear, but subsiding pain.
She wiped a stray hair from Nami’s face and apologized once again.
“You don’t need to…to apologize, Vivi.” Nami panted and Vivi jolted, “I’m just…not used to someone else cl-cleaning my wounds.”
My wounds.
“Sorry to steal that from you.” She whispered and rested her head on her crossed arms as she sat by the bed.
Nami chucked.
The night wasn’t as quiet anymore.
“Hold her down!” Some yelled, breaking her from her dreamless sleep to find Zoro Sanji and Sanji yelling at Zoro.
“You can’t hold her down!” Sanji yelled and attempted to kick him.
“What else do you want me to do?” Zoro demanded back, pressing on Nami’s shoulders. What. Was happening?
“You can’t hold a lady down like that!”
She would’ve groggily awoke had it not been for the immediate adrenaline rush she was gifted being awoken to this panic. She glanced at Nami to figure out why in the world Zoro would be holding her down only to find Nami’s head arched back and body seizing. She’d never seen a seizure before, she’d heard of them, of someone unlucky who caught a heat stroke and not enough water collapsing on the ground. She knew some of her peers growing up had it, and she knew of those friends, some weren’t allowed to see flashing lights for fear of triggering one. But she’d never seen one in person. And how horrific it was. It looked like she was possessed, her body contorting in ways it shouldn’t, her limbs locked at her side, stiff as a corpse but moving. It felt like watching a corpse be electrocuted. And it sent a visceral fear down her spine, a fear engraved into her, a primal horror. And she couldn’t move, she reached out to stop it, but how? Ask Nami to please stop seizing? Hold her limbs? That won’t stop anything.
“You’re hurting her!” Sanji protested and kicked Zoro, who refused to move.
“This is what you’re meant to do to someone seizing, so that they don’t hit anything!” Zoro argued back.
She snapped to and finally found her voice, “Mr.Bushido, please let her go.”
Zoro looked back up at her and she could see the conflict in his eyes, and she saw him let go of Nami’s shoulders.
“You-you can’t hold someone down while they, uhm, while they seize.” She couldn’t bring her eyes off of it, off of Nami. Nami, the kind woman who promised to take her home, Nami the confident woman who could fly through a storm better than a bird, Nami the talented woman who could predict storms nobody else could and could draw maps with enough detail to make a master go mad. Nami. Her Nami. Seizing on the bed, who gagged on herself and couldn’t breathe, whose sweat had stained the bed, who was dying. Her Nami.
Nami was gagging.
She rushed to movement, snapping herself out of her own trance a second time and twisted Nami to the side and watched as vomit dribbled out of her mouth. It nearly made her want to vomit. Nami, her Nami, so horribly sick. Oh God, what was she going to do? Eventually the seizure came to an end, and she gently placed Nami back onto her spot on the bed.
“How long was she seizing for?” She whispered into the not-quite-quiet air.
“I don’t know.” Zoro answered, facing away, “when I woke up she was already seizing.”
“I woke up because he was being too loud.” Sanji glared at Zoro and Zoro glared at Sanji.
“How long ago did you two wake up?” She sighed.
“Right before you.” Zoro answered.
“Well at least we’ve been up for less than five minutes.” She knew it was an empty hope, Nami could’ve been seizing for an hour for all everyone knew, she could be brain dead now and her body just hasn’t realized. She could be permanently brain damaged, she could be dead in a year, she could be dead in twenty eight days, she could be dead tomorrow. But worrying got her nowhere, it didn’t make Nami any better, it didn’t make the ship move any faster, and it didn’t save her kingdom any quicker.
“We need everyone awake, we need this ship moving and we need a doctor.”
“We needed a doctor yesterday.” Zoro muttered under his breath, but it didn’t feel directed at her. She wondered for who.
By the time the ship really started moving the sun had finally crawled its way over the horizon and painted the sky wonderful reds and oranges. She wished she could show Nami it, even though she’s sure Nami’s seen the sunrise a million times, she’d just like to show her one more. But Nami was below deck and fighting for her life, so she knew she couldn’t risk bringing her above deck.
So instead she wandered back below deck and instead of bringing Nami to the sunrise, decided to bring the sunrise to Nami.
“It’s beautiful outside,” she recalled as she sat next to Nami, “the sky looks like a pile of gold with red velvet decorating it. And the way it sparkles off the sea really sells it, I almost feel like I could jump off the ship and swim in it.”
Maybe she’s being too on the nose, too obvious that she just wants Nami to open one of her eyes and huff a laugh or hum in content. But nothing happens, Nami laid on the sheets panting with her eyelids twitching and shivering every so often and sometimes dabbled with a grimace or a soft whimper. And her heart broke every time she noticed. Her heart broke every time she remembered there wasn’t much of anything she could do, her heart broke every time Nami hurt and she could take her pain and toss it into the sea, her heart broke every time she remembered she couldn’t stop it.
She picked up her cold, clammy hands that had no pulse and brought them to her lips to gently kiss them. Oh how she wished she could kiss Nami’s pain away. She remembered her mom saying she’d kiss her pain away when she scraped her knee or tripping on something and gained a bruise. And her mom would press a gentle kiss to her wound and she’d put on her bravest face and run off because there was no way she was going to be the one to tell her mom that her kiss didn’t heal the pain. At the very least it made it easier to pretend. And by the time she stopped playing, the pain had already subsided.
So she knew Nami’s pains wouldn’t be cured by a simple kiss to the back of her hand where a scar ruffled against her lips. But she couldn’t help but wish. And with that she placed Nami’s hand back down on the bed.
“When will you come home?” She whispered quietly to herself as Karoo gently settled himself next to her.
She didn’t remember meeting Karoo, he’s been a constant in her life as long as she could remember. When they were just children, they’d be stuck together like they shared a limb, but as they grew older he began to pursue his own passions. By the time her mom had died, he’d spent most of his time running around in the desert. That changed significantly after her mom had died. He loved her mom, to the point where she was his mom as well, and then the two would be impossible to separate.
But she’d heard the story of how they met a million times over, so much to the point where it’d nearly become a memory itself.
Her mom had found Karoo just as a little chick, injured and needing help. He was barely bigger than a house cat, and her mom easily scooped him into her arms. But Karoo wasn’t willing to accept being held captive like this and bolted, jumping right out of her arms and running away as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. And boy could his legs carry him, he ran and ran and ran and ran all day until her mom was exhausted and sweaty. She and her dad had no clue where her mom had run off to and found her, panting and leaning on a wall. Obviously her dad had freaked out, worried she was poisoned or injured or something, but she just pointed to the little duck with a broken wing and more determination than a horse.
Her dad had tried to pounce on him, tried to sneak up on him, even tried to give him some seeds. Karoo just ran, he ran and ran and ran and ran. And even too her father had fallen. Soon it remained just up to her, and she waddled up to the bird that could probably break one of her bones if it tried hard enough, and instead of grabbing his fuzzy baby feathers or grappling with him, she just stood there. She just stood there and stared at Karoo, to which the bird pecked her and dashed off. But not before she took great offence and snagged her arms around Karoo’s neck and was dragged along by him. Eventually he had to slow down, exhausted from running all day and exhausted by this little girl dragging on him. And eventually he collapsed.
Her parents caught up with her and expected her to be scared or crying like literally any child could, but instead she had a vice grip on the bird, with a very determined look on her face. Her mom had worried that she’d killed the poor thing, but found he was just tired, not suffocating. And by the time they caught up with her, Karoo’s family had caught up with him.
Turns out Karoo was attempting to steal some food by pretending his wing was broken. But it turns out he was stealing food to feed his family. He was the fastest, the strongest, and had the most endurance out of his siblings, so he was usually the one stealing it all.
Nonetheless, he and his family were taken in, and eventually once they lost their baby fuzz and their adult feathers came in, they were promoted to a unit of super spot-billed ducks, Karoo promoted as the leader.
She actually remembered him becoming the leader, she remembered jumping and laughing and hugging him so tight and congratulating him.
And she remembered when she tried to sneak off alone to join Baroque works. She knew if she showed up with a super spot-billed duck as someone from Alabasta with bright blue hair she’d be found out immediately. She remembered getting onto the boat alone and kicking off shore trying to keep her tears in her eyes. She didn’t have an eternal pose, she knew it could give her away. And with that knowledge, she might be saying goodbye to her home, to her life, to everything she’s ever known. And she knows she might never see it again.
That was until Karoo with Igaram on his back leapt into the boat, rocking and shaking it and nearly tipping it over. She barely kept her scream in check, because otherwise she’d surely wake up the entire dock (she knew the shipmates to be light sleepers).
“What are you doing?” She hissed.
“The better question is what are you doing?” Igaram shot back and she bit her tongue. There was no way she could tell him what she was doing, he’d say no instantly and keep his watch on her ten times more careful. She needed to do this, she needed to.
But the secret was already out, she knew she knows what she’s doing. And she knows he’s going to pull her boat right back onto deck and lock her right back into her room for even attempting to run off like this.
But he didn’t, he didn’t pull her right back onto shore, he didn’t reprimand her, he didn’t lock her away like a princess in a fairytale.
“You can’t do this alone.” Igaram supplied, “I won’t let you.”
“I can only do this alone.” She begged under her breath, voice barely making it across the air.
“Vivi, only the people in Alabasta know about Karoo, and I’m sure nobody has paid enough attention to me to notice. Not to mention, most of recognition is behavior, just some costumes, different names, and new personalities and nobody will recognize us. I cannot let you do this alone, I cannot let you die.”
She bit her lip and felt tears well in her eyes, what if they get caught? What if it’s all for nothing? What if she dies and nothing happens? What if Igaram or Karoo dies? God she couldn’t lose them, not them and her home.
But it wasn’t really a choice, they were coming with her or nobody was going at all. And she needed to do this.
“Okay.” She shook both of their hands, “together.”
She wished now, with so much of her heart that handshakes meant the promises would be kept. It was the symbol of a deal, of equal grounds, of trust, but none of those meant it could or would be fulfilled. Crocodile shook her father’s hand and look at what is happening.
But God, she wished Igaram was here, and God, she wished Nami was okay, and God, she wished the war would stop, and God, she wished she had her parents with her.
Her breath hitched in her throat, God, she wished her parents were here. God she wished her dad was here, God, she wished her mom was here. She wished she was five again and her biggest worry was that cookie and not when her parents would come back, she wished she was three years younger and her kingdom was okay, she wished she was just a few days younger, when Nami wasn’t dying of an illness she didn’t even know. She wished it was all okay. But it wasn’t. Her mom is dead, her kingdom is at war, and Nami is dying.
And she didn’t know what to do next.
Eventually the sun fell with no signs of land and she had to keep her tongue bit to keep from sobbing. It was getting worse, her kingdom was surely having spats with itself, and Nami’s fever kept on rising. Now it was settled at a horrific one hundred and eight degrees, given she lived in Alabasta, she knew how hot the temperature of a person could be. This was above that. Nami’s fever would be the first thing to kill her. A fever of over a hundred is also dangerous, over one hundred two is nearly lethal, one hundred eight is lethal. It is deadly. Nami will die unless that fever isn’t brought down now.
So in a series of rushed solutions, Nami was being dunked in freezing sea water while the ship’s anchor was down. Of course they kept Nami’s head above the frigid waters, but she was largely submerged. Luffy’s stretchy gum-gum fruit was greatly appreciated.
What was also appreciated was just how cold the water was, on one hand, it cooled Nami incredibly quickly, on the other, it meant they must be close to an island. After all, the climate only stabilizes when an island’s nearby, and the seas are thankfully calm.
When Luffy tugged a waterlogged Nami back onto ship she quickly checked her temperature. An easy ninety nine, not perfect, but much better than a blistering one hundred eight. Nami was also shaking like a leaf in the wind and she couldn’t help but feel terrible. Terrible for making Nami have to live through that, and terrible that there was nothing else she could really do.
And terrible that she didn’t even know if that was the right thing to do. She knew she had to cool Nami down, she had to cool her down now, or else she’d be dead in the hour if she even made it that long. But now she’s wet, and her clothes are wet, and it’s cold, and she knew that was a recipe for illness. But if it’s die tomorrow or die today, she’ll take dying tomorrow because there’s at least a chance they’ll find a doctor tomorrow. Today they’re stuck out on the open sea.
“Nami, Nami? Are you okay?” Luffy patted Nami’s cheek and she should’ve told him to let her rest, but selfishly she wanted to see Nami wake up too.
“Luffy?” She groggily whispered, “what…?”
“Nami!” Luffy wrapped himself around her more than six times with his stretchy limbs and held her close.
She sighed in relief and shuffled over to her face as everyone in the crew crowded around her.
“You had a horrible fever, one hundred eight.” She quietly answered.
“Oh.” Only one of Nami’s eyes was open and her face caught in the funniest grimace she’d seen yet, and she snorted.
“Hey.” Nami lazily swatted at both Luffy and Vivi, but ultimately fell short.
“It’s good to see you awake.” She chose to ignore Sanji’s loud exclamations of how happy he was to see Nami.
“Honestly, it isn’t for me.” Nami groaned, putting her freed hand on her head, “everything hurts, and I don’t think my right eye is working.”
That wasn’t horrifying, that wasn’t horrifying at all, “you can’t see?”
Nami closed her left eye, “yeah, nothing.”
The fact Nami was so casual about this was driving her mad, well it was until she caught herself and realized she was probably just too tired to process it fully. Or she just had a lot of trust in the crew, she knew they’d get her to a doctor, they knew she wouldn’t go blind in one eye forever, she knew they weren’t going to let her die. And she was right, after all, it’d be pretty hard to navigate and steal without depth perception.
“We’re going to get you a doctor.” She promised.
“You should wear an eyepatch!” Luffy excitedly suggested. Thank you Luffy.
“She’s not going to need an eyepatch.” Zoro chimed in, “she’s going to be fine.”
Karoo squawked in agreement.
“Even the bird knows.” Zoro remarked and Karoo pecked him.
“Hey!”
The two began a tussle and she didn’t have the heart in her to tell them to stop, perhaps it reminded her of herself and Karoo. She hadn’t rough housed with him in quite some time, he needed to let off some steam and get his ass kicked. It also helped when Nami groaned, rolled her eyes and yelled at them to stop. For just a moment, everything was normal, and she could pretend it was all fine.
And she relished in it.
—
“Vivi, are you okay?” Chopper patted her knee in worry, “you look really down.”
“It’s okay Chopper, really!” She tried to lighten up her mood, to sit up and bring a big smile to her face. But she could tell her eyebrows were still molded together and she could tell her smile wasn’t reaching her eyes.
She held that pose for as long as it was believable before relenting and slouching back to her saddened posture.
“I’m just…torn.” She sighed, “half of me wants nothing more than to stay on this crew, than to explore the seas and claim everything I’ve wanted, and half of me wants to protect my kingdom and protect everything my kingdom wants. I can’t tell if I’m a princess or a pirate, and I’m going to be forced to live as one for the rest of my life soon. I’m scared I’ll choose the wrong one.”
Chopper stared at her with his big eyes and quietly anxious look and nodded while humming before jumping up and sitting next to her.
“I get it.” He kicked his feet, and she realized how silly her split identity problems were compared to his, “but I don’t think you’re the princess or the pirate. I’m not a reindeer or a human, I’m both. You couldn’t split me in two. And even when I change into my human or reindeer forms, there’s still parts of each that make their way in there. I think you’re a princess and a pirate, you don’t have to choose to only be one.”
“They’re taking me home, Chopper.” She whispered, as if her voice were any louder she’d shatter, “but I have two homes now, one in Alabasta, and one on this ship. So how, how can they take me home? When eventually they’re going to leave?”
Chopper just patted her back, his hard hoofs rubbing honestly not very comfortably against her skin, but the effort was there so she didn’t mind.
“How do I choose when I love both?”
“You don’t.” Chopper answered, “they’re both your homes.”
“I can’t have both.” She shook her head.
“You can visit.” He offered a little dumbly and she wanted to say it wasn’t that simple, but she couldn’t find the argument why.
She nodded with a rock in her throat, voice wavering and eyes blurry, “I’ll visit.”
—
Sometimes she almost wished she’d gone with the Strawhats on their odd adventures to see what the world offered them. But then she’d remind herself how much she was needed here. She loved her homes just as much as each other, and both loved her back just as fiercely, but one would die without her and the other wouldn’t.
Or at least she hoped.
Once the Strawhats sailed away and she lowered her arm with an x, she’d gotten letters. She’d gotten letters from the “kingdom of straw” which she joyously giggled when she saw that written on the top of the envelope. She was sure Igaram knew exactly who they were, and she knew any Alabastian citizen would probably know too. Ultimately, pretending it was a diplomatic letter was useless. But still she laughed when she saw it. When she opened it five individual letters fell out, despite them not being signed, she knew exactly who they belonged to.
Sanji dotted his “i”s and “j”s with a heart and added a million swirls to everything, it honestly reminded her of a ten year old girl’s lettering. Luffy’s was short and written off center, it read more as a description of what he was doing while he was writing it. Usopps was written in neat and beautiful handwriting, and told of a million tales she’s pretty sure only somewhat happened. Zoro’s was even shorter than Luffy’s, consisting of a cut greeting and a wish she was doing well clearly written after because the font size was much smaller and she’s pretty sure Nami yelled at him. Chopper’s was written with probably the worst hand writing (or would it be hoof writing) that was very short but very sweet, wishing her happiness. Nami’s was wonderful, her handwriting resembled a font more than handwriting, at least from first glance. But as she looked deeper, she could see the small imperfections that it was from Nami and not a typewriter: a small smudge from wet ink and a misplaced hand, an “e” that stretched for too long, the spacing in between words not being exactly the same, and the small indent on the other side of the page from a pen pressing a little too hard in some areas.
And Nami’s letter was beautiful in words too, it made her spend hours just thinking about it, she reread it maybe twenty times and if she didn’t know better, she might’ve called it a love confession. But her and Nami were just like that.
Just her and Nami.
And as time ticked on, new letters joined the envelope. She’d heard of the addition of Robin to the crew, or as she knew her, Ms.All Sunday. But she’d never gotten a letter from her, she wasn’t sure why, she had a million reasons, but she had no way of truly knowing. Maybe it was because the letters were special, but between the crew she knew and herself, maybe it was because Robin didn’t know Vivi, maybe it was because she didn’t care. The more she theorized the more hateful her reasons became and she’d have to round herself in. Luffy let her onto his crew, he had to trust her, and she trusted him.
She finally got a letter of hers a few days after her crew, her home, declared war on the world government. It wasn’t in the envelope of the straw kingdom it was signed from Nico Robin, and in smaller print below it “or Ms.All Sunday.” When she opened it it was a very long apology for her role in Baroque Works and an explanation. It still raised a million questions, like why can she read petriglyphs? But ultimately they weren’t important for the apology, so she accepted it. And when the next envelope from the Straw Kingdom arrived, there was a new letter inside the bunch. A letter with rather beautiful handwriting (not as beautiful as Nami’s, it was closer to an elegant Sanji’s without the hearts), and Chopper’s written in the same.
And as time passed, more and more letters filled the envelope, with new handwriting and new stories. She’d grown to know, to love these new crew members who’d she’d never met, but she knew their faces and their names and their personalities and lives. Even though nobody signed it, it was clear who was who, and with the dropping of their bounties, she’d gotten to know them even better. She’d even gone as to pin up their bounties atop her wall, it maybe made her look like a fan girl but she didn’t really care. It was after all, the only photos she had of them.
The only other visual reminder was etched onto her skin, a tattoo. Nami’s tattoo looked a little weird to her when she first spotted it, there were scars cutting into parts of it, lightening the deep purple, but cutting right through other parts, leaving scared skin beneath. Once Chopper had joined the ship, Nami revealed she’d bought some tattooing needles and some ink before they entered the grand line and was just waiting for her wounds to heal. It turns out it was a coverup tattoo, and right before she’d gotten the coverup, she’d stabbed her tattoo, so it couldn’t be tattooed over, leaving it looking cut through and unfinished.
She asked Vivi to finish the tattoo. It was a wonderful movement, where she leaned against both Nami and the ship to keep her arm straight as she gently stabbed along Nami’s scars. She’d expected Nami to hiss or flinch or tense under her needle, but she’d remained still. Part of her questioned if this was the thief she was tattooing, but the thief had Arlong’s tattoo, the navigator had a pinwheel and oranges. But the closer she looked, it was clear what was on Nami’s arm wasn’t a pinwheel and oranges OR Arlong’s tattoo, but rather both.
When the tattoo was finished Nami realized that the ink she’d grabbed was a twinge too dark and highlighted her scars. When Vivi had apologized profusely because she thought ink would lighten as it dried and she should’ve told Nami, Nami laughed and waved her off and said it just showed how she’s grown since then. Her scars were there and she had no shame in them, highlighting them just shows that they’re scars and not wounds—she’s healed since then.
She found the needle and ink in her room after the Strawhats had already left and she couldn’t tell if she simply forgot to give them back or if Nami had left them there for her.
Either way, she tattooed the x that was still softly stained and wore it proudly.
She was rubbing the skin now, feeling the way it pushed and pulled beneath her thumb, a reminder of Home.
She was rubbing her tattoo because the Strawhats have been missing for two years. It at the very least unnerved her and at most terrified her. She stayed in Alabasta because without her, her people would surely die. But what if the Strawhats had died too? She’d seen Nami on death’s doorstep, she’d felt her hands without a pulse (though later she found out that was caused by inflamed arteries and an inflamed heart and not that Nami was dead), she’d seen her so horribly weak. And she hated how easy it was for her to imagine Nami dead. It sickened her. It nearly made her vomit more than once. She found it impossible to imagine Luffy dead, impossible to believe, similarly with Sanji or Zoro, the three were so absurdly tough death would be more unbelievable than immortality.
And while Usopp and Chopper, she could imagine as dead, it took effort, so much effort, and she never wanted to put that much effort into imagining something so cruel. But Nami? It was as easy as walking. It’d burst into her heart and ruin her entire day, slipping into her mind as easy as a warm knife to butter. And she hated it.
But she couldn’t believe them to be dead. She knew it in her gut they couldn’t be. And if one thing was true, she knew there was this odd intuition everyone in the crew had, if something was known, it was true. And she knew they couldn’t be dead.
But she couldn’t help but worry, but feel guilt. Perhaps if she’d stayed with them, they’d be alive, or at least not missing. If she’d visited Alabasta, perhaps everything would be okay. Because she hasn’t visited the crew, not since she left. And Chopper said to visit, and she hadn’t visited, and now the crew might be dead.
But she just couldn’t believe they would be.
She wasn’t sure why.
Perhaps it was when the storms lasted a little longer than predicted, providing just a little more rain than expected. Perhaps it was when clouds would pass over on the hottest days and provide just enough respite to enjoy the day. Perhaps it was when she’d walk down in the early mornings, when it was still considered night, and there’d be even more mist than usual and the seas were just rough enough for kids to play in the sea safely when it warmed up, and when the sun rose, the sky painted a million different colors of the most beautiful reds, tangerines and golds.
Today was one of those when’s. The beams of the rising sun over the rough ocean sparkled through the mist in rays of colorful sunshine, and her feet settled in the splashing tide kicking over her ankles and the wet sand settled between her toes. She stood there as the salty spray dotted her face with cold refreshment. The gorgeous sky reflected onto the usually blue sea and turned it into liquid gold, moving like it was alive and the only thing keeping her from swimming was the promise of soggy clothes and a lack of a swimsuit. And she would've dove into the sea and splashed about anyways, but she’d have to walk back to the palace, and she didn’t want to do that sopping. So she let the water climb her legs rather than her climb into it.
And she listened to the seabirds squawk above her head, some expecting a meal for them to steal, some simply riding the air. She watched the little sand plovers run about the tide before scrambling back when the water chased them again. She’d call it a rather adorable game of tag. She watched Karoo splash around in the sea, quick as a speedboat, and honestly not very graceful but Karoo didn’t need to be and didn’t want to be. Once the sun rose and she heard the city begin to wake up, she called him over. The current had taken him what would be a five minute walk for her down the shore, but was only a few seconds for him; designed both for the water and for the ground.
She would call herself jealous, but she hasn’t left the tide.
He caught up with her, and she turned around to walk back to the palace, but not before spotting a bird standing on the dock nearby, but just as she noticed it, it seemed to notice her, and flew off. But not before she’d noticed it, not before she’d realized what it was.
How curious.
She’d never seen a storm petrel in Alabasta before.