Disclaimer: The One Piece universe and characters belong to Eiichiro Oda.
Setting: post-Skypiea, pre-Water 7
A/N: Based on the manga (English translation). Zoro is known as Zolo in the manga, so I'm writing what I'm accustomed to. You're welcome to prefer the other, but please don't accuse me for it. My Sensei told me that she can't tell the difference between an 'r' sound and an 'l' sound because Japanese pronunciation mixes the two, so I don't think it really matters.
Going Merry = Merry Go
Death, pain, torment. He was being swallowed whole by wrathful agony. A hundred thoughts swirled through his mind, sounding like the voices of others, until he wasn't sure of what he himself was thinking.
So much pain.
It wasn't just in his body, but in his heart as well. Sickening, nauseating, pulsating pain, waves of it breaking over his submerged form. He found that he didn't need to breathe, or more correctly, that his lungs were working separately from his convulsing body. The water's freezing arms were wrapped securely around him, trapping him, taunting his weakness. He was dimly aware that the derisive words reminded him of someone, but couldn't remember who. He should remember, needed to remember. It was important, vital, but memories, awareness seemed to be slipping through him like water through a sieve. He focused on the breathing. His breathing. The air tasted normal. It shouldn't have. Yet he couldn't quite reason as to why this was odd.
The pain broke over him again, soaking him in its despair, its hunger, its hatred. He felt as if it were tearing him limb from limb, addicted to hearing his anguish. It wanted to kill. It wanted to destroy. But it couldn't. The water had trapped it. So it was using its prison to break him, drown him, smashing him with the power of its waves. A storm was brewing, faster and faster, and he was in the middle of it, tossed like a rag doll, unable to move, to fight. The water was slamming into him, drowning him in such hatred that he felt bile rising in his throat. It pivoted, screamed, and kicked him, booting him along the wood—
Wait, wood?
Zolo's eyes snapped open as he drew in a heavy gasp. Just in time to see the cook turn in front of him, launching a massive kick which, had it been anyone else, would have been fatal. But Zolo was unusual, and in any case was able to dodge out of the way, sincerely hoping to avoid a fight. The world was swirling around him, and he could feel the same loathing, anguish from his dream breaking against his mind like waves against a shore. Even as he became fully awake the dizziness failed to recede, and his throat itched with a subtle warning that he was close to vomiting. He was dimly aware of a voice above him, scathing, mocking him as he began to pick himself off the deck.
"Oi, Moss-head! What are you doing lazing around here, blocking my way to Miss Nami and Miss Robin?!"
Normally he would reply that he could nap wherever he so desired on this ship, curly-eyebrow, but today Zolo was most definitely not in the mood.
"Oh, stop nagging." He grouched, finally making it to his feet, swaying a moment before forcibly steadying himself. He could only hope any onlookers would attribute it to being violently awoken from his snooze. Taking a sweeping glance at the deck and noting, with some satisfaction, that his fellow crewmates were completely ignoring that latest confrontation between cook and swordsman, he strode down towards the storeroom on his way to the bathroom. Upon closing the door behind him, however, he promptly collapsed against the wall, focusing on breathing in, and out. In…and out... Another harsh wave rocked the ship, forcing him onto his knees, and he found himself clutching Kuina's sword hilt for support. Pathetic. He was never sick. A quick touch to his forehead confirmed that he wasn't running a temperature, but he still felt unstable, pained, and close to throwing up. There was something else too, some strange feeling. It didn't seem like an illness at all, but the symptoms were there.
He should probably get Chopper, then.
But the mere act of opening his mouth caused his stomach to lurch, and he found himself doubling over, half-digested breakfast dribbling onto his palm from the gaps in his clenched teeth. Not wanting to clean up the anticipated mess, nor deal with Nami in the aftermath, he darted towards the bathroom, taking the transparent porthole as a sign that no one was in there (and dimly remembering having seen all six crewmates on deck). He wrenched the door open, slamming it shut behind him before dropping down in front of the toilet and empting the contents of his stomach into it. Clutching the seat's sides with pale, sweaty fingers, he continued to heave and heave, barely able to pause enough for breath, until, after multiple unsuccessful attempts, his digestive system finally conceded and settled.
Zolo stayed where he was for a few more minutes, relishing the flow of air in and out of his aching throat, before he collected himself enough to rise. He washed his hands and face and thoroughly rinsed his mouth before proceeding to brush his teeth. While doing so, he opened a few of Nami's air fresheners to replace the sickening smell with a slightly less nauseous one. Body working on muscle-memory, he was able to let his mind examine the current predicament.
First, an unsettling dream, to go with his current shaky feeling. He wasn't sure if the hairs standing up on the back of his neck was from the dream or his senses telling him—something…
There was definitely something that he needed to find out. He settled down onto the tiles, soothed by their cool feel, and closed his eyes, focusing on that knowing he had discovered in Alabaster…knowing…he could feel-
Pain. Pain. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't see, hear. No feeling. Just pain.
Air…he was dimly aware that he needed to breathe. Or did he? Did he still have lungs? Was he dead? So painful. Agony. Anguish.
He couldn't even scream.
Death, hunger, torment. Too much. Taunting. And the darkness was whirling around him, claiming him.
Murderous, desperation, despair. But all he knew was agony.
So much. Too much pain. And it was growing, feeding. It kept multiplying, increasing, accompanied each time by an echoing drum beat. Thump-Thump… Thump-Thump.
The drum beat was growing more insistent, as if it was demanding something. Something vital. But he couldn't provide it. The drums and the agony had stolen all of his cognisance by that point. Growing. The pain was growing so fast while the drums were speeding up, joining in a near-deafening chorus. Thump-Thump! Thump-Thump! Thump-Thump! Thump-Thump!
His chest was being incinerated, flames licking his innards as his body moved to some unknown music. The erratic jolts and convulsions rocking his form were giving no relief to his aching ribs. And surprisingly, the drum beats were slowing, volume still growing ever louder. They had long since lost their regularity, and were hammering away at his consciousness, each beat sending a wave of agony through him.
They were all he knew anymore. The pain. And the drum beats.
Thump-Thump!... … … Thump-Thump! … Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump-THUMP! …
…
…
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP
…
…thump…thump… … …
…
…thump… … … … thump…
…
…
…
… … … thump … … …
… …
… … … …
… … … … … …
… … …
… … …
GASP!
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!—
Zolo's clenched jaw had parted, back arched, the whites of his eyes staring up at the ceiling as a pair of frantic lungs exploded open.
AIR! Glorious, delicious air filled him, each wild breath assisted by his arching spine as his torso worked like a pair of bellows trying to rapidly inflate a balloon.
It felt so good to breathe.
…
A few moments passed before Zolo regained his reason, and he was able to calm his shuddering body. What the heck had just happened?! He had stopped breathing!
Not to mention the pain! Even by that point, now disconnected from the rhythm of the world, Zolo could still feel its, thankfully muffled, pounding against his mind. Had it caused some kind of respiratory arrest?
He frowned. The pain had increased over the time he was connected with his surroundings, his link growing stronger and stronger as his body suffocated. He recalled that the closer he was to death, the more deeply he knew the world around him. It had not worked in his favour on this occasion. As he rubbed the skin above his still slightly erratic heart, he sighed softly, thanking human instinct for near-literally resuscitating his body and through that his mind. He hadn't known that connecting with the true world could be so perilous, and vowed to be more careful next time. It was certainly a useful ability, but as with all exercises should be performed with a great deal of caution. In future, he would need to learn to disconnect his body somewhat from his mind so as not to risk a repeat of that suffering, as well as having an 'emergency exit' without needing to rely on breathing instinct.
Once he was finally sure that he had settled, his attention turned to the matter at hand.
There was something very strange in these waters, Zolo realised, directly below them. Something dangerous, maybe fatal. He recalled Nami saying the area was a pirate's graveyard while she had thought him asleep the previous week. Deciding that no one bar Robin was listening (Sanji being occupied in exclaiming about her intelligence), she had discussed the matter privately with the archaeologist. Damn it! Why did everyone assume he wasn't paying attention while he was napping?!
Still, his few minutes in tune with the ruin and seas beneath him had given him enough insight, now that he had faculties to analyse the experience in retrospect. There were at least a hundred lethal curses amongst those broken ships, and all of the vessels were inhabited by some very powerful ghosts determined to take revenge. It seemed that they had died experiencing the same agony that Zolo had felt earlier, trying to reach lost, and cursed, treasures in the depths, and wanted others to feel some 'sympathy pains'. And he realised, with a jolt, that the very water was cursed with that agony. If anyone so much as touched it they would feel the anguish. No wonder his mind and body were reacting so badly; murderous pain took up 180 degrees of his current existence. Had no one else noticed? They must have, but just didn't know what to make of the odd feelings they had to be experiencing.
Zolo had been adamant the previous day that no one was to dive down to recover the treasure Nami had hinted at over dinner, no matter how avaricious the navigator was feeling. He was very glad that a) Nami had been somewhat mollified by the Skypiean gold, and b) Robin had agreed with him, for once deciding that the risks outweighed the adventure.
He took some solace knowing that was decided.
But Zolo had a feeling that the ghosts would be trying something new. Different. Now that they realised there would be no diving. But what?
As the Merry Go gave a sudden lurch Zolo recalled his dream with striking clarity.
-it was using its prison to break him, drown him, smashing him with the power of its waves. A storm was brewing, faster and faster, and he was in the middle of it, tossed like a rag doll, unable to move -
He had been sensing the danger even while sleeping, and translating it into a dream. A storm was coming. He should warn Nami.
Zolo launched himself upwards, rising hastily to his feet, only to have his legs buckle underneath him like flimsy twigs. Stars and blurry, duplicating images dominated his vision even before the cool tiles hit the back of his head. Involuntarily, a small groan escaped his lips, and suddenly he was rolling over, retching once again over the toilet seat. The unexpected relapse was enough to weaken him, and allow the agony through his mental defences. It still wasn't the same level of anguish as in his dream, or worse, when he had been in his knowing state. But it rendered him immobile on the tiles nevertheless.
He acknowledged, as his attempts to call Nami were interrupted by insistent knocking, that he should have had more faith in their navigator.
"Oi, Zolo! I know you're in there! A storm's going to hit us, so come out here and help!"
Sick, nauseous, battling with near-overwhelming pain at the edge of his awareness and unable to see straight, Zolo did not particularly want to help with fighting off the storm. It felt as if, were he to attempt to sit up, he would begin retching again before landing face-first in the non-existent vomit. With the pain pounding at his consciousness, Zolo wasn't quite sure where he ended and the vengeful ghosts began. If it was just a storm he would probably do more harm than good going out on deck at present; his lack of balance coupled with the perilous water, not to mention that Chopper would kill him if he saw Zolo's current state.
Then again, he supposed, listening to the increasing volume and irritation of Nami's fist-pounding, there were worse fates.
And so, once more, he attempted to gain his footing, surprising himself by avoiding the prediction, and making it all the way to unlocking the door, before another wave sent him crashing back onto the floor, knocking his head on the sink in the process.
Yep. Today was not one of his better days.
By this stage Nami was opening the door against his outstretched leg, screeching at him that he was not going to get away with shirking his duty by blocking the door with himself. 'Duty'…she knew all the right words to get him motivated. He sighed, pulling his legs up in another attempt at standing, thereby allowing Nami to enter. Hmm…maybe he should have reconsidered that move.
But there were more important things to think about.
"Nami, you need to make sure that no one enters the water, under any circumstances."
"Well, of course."
"No, you don't understand. If anyone so much as touches it they will die. Tell Robin that, although I think she already knows, and tie ropes around everyone's waists. If anyone falls in, pull them up immediately, don't wait for them to swim, I don't care how stubborn that curly-cook can be he won't be able to swim here."
"Why not, is it poisoned?"
"You could say that." Zolo replied carefully, knowing that Nami was somewhat sceptical when it came to the supernatural. And she didn't trust his judgement much either.
"Alright, well get up. We'll go and sort that out now."
"Yeah," Zolo muttered, crawling out from under the sink. He swallowed a wave of nausea, focusing on his deep breathing as he gathered the strength to rise. But he had taken too long.
"Hurry up!" Nami demanded, knocking him over the head. Normally he would have taken the hit, more confused than in pain. But today was very different, and Zolo found himself sprawled on the tiles again, watching a group of fuzzy lights which seemed so real but were obviously a hallucination. He could hear Nami's voice, but it seemed very far away, or at least fighting to be heard through a few layers of cotton wool. The words were, by the time they reached his ears, unintelligible.
Gradually the buzzing receded, and he was able to make some sense of things again. Nami had knelt beside him, her soft fingers poking his face, wiping back his hair and sweat before a forearm was pressed above his eyebrows. She bit her lip, a mix of confusion and trepidation passing over her features.
"What's going on, Zolo? You look sick!" she stopped a moment, but didn't allow him time to speak before continuing, "I thought you didn't like my air fresheners? …Wait a moment…" she sniffed again, "…you've been throwing up…"
"I'd better get Chopper…" she whispered, making to stand.
"No." Zolo muttered.
"What?"
"Don't get Chopper; there's nothing he can do. Besides, you need every able-bodied crew member at the moment."
"I'm sure the others can manage. And of course Chopper can help! He's going to be the best doctor ever! He won't stop until he finds a cure to this…whatever it is…you know that!"
"That's exactly why I want you to keep him away! This isn't an illness or injury or anything like that. He can't cure it. The best way to help me is to get away from this place. Summoning him won't benefit either of us. Can you imagine his disappointment?"
"You're not a doctor, Zolo."
"I know my body."
"…umm…I think you'll find you—"
"Nami."
"What?"
"I. Am. Not. Sick. All this is caused by a sensory overload."
"Huh?"
"A sensory overload."
"I heard you the first time!" Nami snapped. Zolo bristled and was about to retort when she continued, "What do you mean 'a sensory overload'?"
"You remember how Chopper suffered in Nanohana due to his nose's sensitivity?"
"Yes…?"
"This is the same thing."
"No it's not! You don't have a sensitive nose!"
"No, but my sixth sense is unnaturally perceptive, and the feelings below us are so horrible and painful that they're affecting my health."
"Zolo…there's no such thing as a 'sixth sense'."
"Yes there is!"
"No there isn't! You. Are. Sick. And you're going to stay here and rest until the storm clears and I can send Chopper down!"
"But—"
"No 'buts'! You just can't recognise it because you've never been sick before."
Zolo grumbled as he slowly shuffled around, eased into a slightly more comfortable position by his own shaking limbs and Nami's tentative assistance.
"Now stay here!" she snapped at him, lacking her usual ire. She turned on the spot in a huff and stormed out.
Zolo was too ill to enjoy the pun, and sighed softly, settling his head against the cold tiles. He tried to remain as comfortable as possible, until another great wave sent him careening across the floor and slamming against the bath.
Face to porcelain he decided that he definitely needed to work on his reactions to an overload. And so he again tried to relax, and treated the whole exercise as endurance training.
He vowed that if there was a 'next time' to this predicament, he would at least be able to move freely.
Thanks for reading! Reviews and constructive criticisms welcome!