Author's Note: This is a spinoff of a story I never finished nor posted here, but I decided I wanted to know what people thought of it. So here 'tis. Anyway, background: the girl is a time traveler. She trained with him in the future and then came back to the past. Sorry if it's confusing. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Zoro or the world of One Piece. And I am most certainly not making any money off of this. But I do own my OC. But that's all.
She was always there. Always. Unchanging, her plain brown hair gleaming a dull bronze in the sunlight, her lips curled in a smirk, a frown or a blissful smile, depending on her mood. Always the same height, same build, same star tatto on her shoulder. Even fifteen years later, she was still the same. Always. Always watching.
He'd met her for the first time at his Sensei's dojo. She looked no more than a few years older than him, and yet Sensei treated her with the utmost respect. She had knelt there, watching them all attentively, as Sensei presented her, warning them all to be kind and helpful. Her eyes had roved over the neatly aligned young kids, before finally settling with an amused smirk on his green-haired face. Zoro's blood had boiled, but he had managed to contain himself until Sensei was gone. Then he'd rounded her, eyes shot with righteous fury at such an insult to his pride. Because that smirk was most definitely that: that smirk clearly said, I can whip your ass. She had grinned at his look of hatred, but before he could open his mouth, she had turned to Kuina and politely challenged her to a match. The fight barely lasted a minute. It was an overwhelming victory for the newcomer.
Zoro had felt his knees grow weak. No way; how could this person be so strong? His friends crowded around him, comforting him: "You're strong, you're just younger than her, that's all," "She has much more experience than you anyway," "Sensei told us she was really strong, so it's normal." The reassurances had fallen on deaf ears. All he had known was that this teenager had easily defeated the person he'd been trying all his life to overcome. She had smirked again, the mocking smile accompanied, this time, by words, "And I'm not even the strongest swordsman in the world." Then she'd frowned thoughtfully and said, "Or perhaps I am. I don't know, I haven't fought against Mihawk in a while." He and Kuina had both started; how could she know about their dream? She had smiled, this time an actual smile, but a melancholy one. "Kuina, won't you fight me with Wado Ichimonji one last time? I want to feel your spirit in it." Kuina had been surprised at such an abnormal request and such an odd phrasing, but of course she had complied. She came running back in a few minutes later preciously holding her beloved gold and white katana. The older girl took a long, deep breath as she watched the smaller dark haired girl slowly unsheath the sword. Kuina had cocked her head inquiringly and the mysterious stranger had taken a sword out of her pants pocket. It was surprisingly similar to the other blade except for a look of slightly greater wear carefully and lovingly covered up by oil and whetstones. The two girls had smiled at each other as if by some mutual understanding, and they'd both gotten into guard position.
And then they had engaged in their duel. It was more a dance of sorts; the sharp blades flickered in and out of their intricate attacks; rings of steel upon steel making up the wild beat to it all. One of them parried and countered. The other avoided the blow with an elegant step to the side. The battle thus continued, neither giving ground to the other as they turned in haphazard circles around each other. The older one had finally given an exuberant laugh and sheathed her sword, dodging a butterfly sweep by a hair's breadth. "We're done," she had announced, and Kuina grinned back, feeling the adrenaline still rushing through her. "That was an amazing match," the older girl had complimented. Kuina's answering grin stretched further in acknowledgement. "You're not half bad yourself," she had teased. The older girl had leaned forward and deposited a loud sloppy kiss on her cheek. She had grinned at the other's shock and explained, "That's how we thank our opponents for a match where I come from." Then, before anyone could say anything, she had waved goodbye to them all, given Zoro a hug and disappeared in a flash of light.
And since then, she had always been there. Whenever he was about to receive a near fatal blow, a flash of light would blind both him and his enemy and she would appear, not to help him out but just to watch, and give him advice.
She sometimes went out bounty hunting with him. It was uncanny how she always knew exactly where her prey was. Nothing surprised her. She could detect even the slightest motion from a kilometer away. And it seemed almost as if the weather obeyed her: at the exact moment needed rain would fall and thunder would crack; and all she would do was grin that infuriating smirk of hers.
She slept almost as much as him; she carried herself the way he did; she even had the exact same grip on her lone sword as him. She always knew everything about him; when she'd found him tied to a cross in a dusty Marine courtyard she had only smiled and sat down, chatting with him. She could have broken his bonds like paper, but never did. She never interfered with the flow of his destiny. When she had met him as a pirate and no longer a bounty hunter, she had only given him a knowing smile and started chatting with his captain. The way she knew everything about Luffy too was uncanny. She had taken his strawhat, stared at it while Luffy glared at her uneasily, and then she'd ripped it. Luffy had screamed at her, and she had handed it back to him, smirking, whole and as if new. He had looked from his hat to her, confused. She had shrugged, given them both hugs too quick to be evaded, and disappeared.
Always there. Always watching. She had laughed when Mihawk had mercilessly trampled on his dream, smiled when Arlong had half-choked him, grinned at his confusion upon meeting Tashigi, shaken hands knowingly with the blue-haired princess Vivi, smirked at his wounds from his fight with the infamous assassin Daz Bones. No matter where he went, she would find him with that flash of light, unsurprised, always, at his surroundings or his near-death state. Sometimes she would save him, throw off target a dagger or sword, tend to him while he lay incapacitated by some infected wound, stab an easily killed bounty hunter in the side when he was for some reason lost. She would mock him, and, taking his hand, lead him back to the ship. But saving him was reserved for those inconsequential battles, the ones that never appear in the books.
She was always making fun of him. Always. When Kuma had shot him with all of Luffy's pain, she'd sat on a nearby rock while he dripped with blood and sweat. She hadn't moved, not even a step. Her only sign of shock was the slightest lift of an eyebrow. When Sanji found him, she had immediately turned around and disappeared.
He found out she was Mihawk's close friend when he trained for two years with the swordmaster. She'd watched him training, mocking amusement painted all over her face. Once she requested a fight. He'd gotten good enough for her to draw a second sword, so she did. And then, when she still couldn't beat him with absolutely no effort, she'd drawn a third sword. And stuck it in her mouth. And proceeded to replicate moves he'd spent hours inventing, learning and perfecting. Effortlessly. And when she'd won, as always, she had stuck her tongue out at him. Childishly. And then she'd hugged him, whispering that she had missed him, and pleading with him that he'd always be there for her. It was the first time she revealed a side to her that was fragile, insecure and clingy. She finally let go, smiled blindingly, turned around and disappeared in a flash of light as bright as her smile. Mihawk later told him that she'd been on Gold Roger's crew as long as anybody could remember, longer than anyone except Dark King Rayleigh. He'd told Zoro that he didn't know much about her, except that she was a master swordsman too, and that she never ever changed, except once in a while for her hairstyle.
She was always there. Unchanging. Smirking her infuriating smile. So when he found her, wounded, starving and helpless, lying in the cold mud under the biting rain, he'd been surprised. Because she was always perfectly in control. Because she was so small-looking and thin and pale, and because being weak was not her. That was why he'd picked her up and brought her home and taken care of her. Because for once, she looked like she needed him, and not the other way around.
She didn't know anyone. She didn't know him. She wasn't invulnerable anymore. And he trained her, saving her life repeatedly, and finally felt that he had repayed his debt. The girl knew that it was the other way around. But no matter. There are no debts between friends.
She was gone. Again. Always. Always left him, both as a master or as an apprentice. He knew she would leave, knew the inevitable. Knew the bond between savior and saved, master and apprentice, friends would forever in and out of time, link them together. He knew that, so why did it hurt so much?