On Being Papa
- scribbled by SummerPeach
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Prologue:
0.0: Zoro
One ounce of pressure at the tip of three blades. In four seconds, Roronoa Zoro would be the greatest swordsman in the world. A drop of sweat flows down his arm from his elbow. Three. A slow wind rises, sending chills down his sweat-drenched body. Two. Their eyes meet, and narrow. One.
There isn't even a sound.
A fine red spray. A bloody crescent arc on the floor. A body.
The green-haired man sheathes his third sword with a definite, final click.
He releases the breath that kept him in this moment.
The world comes rushing back.
And that is when he first hears the scream; an animalistic, keening wail. Unable to ignore the niggling thoughts of his brain, Zoro makes his way up the mountain path following the audible trail.
In moments he locates the source â a tattered bundle in the makeshift tent of the person he's just killed. Zoro can feel an uneasy knot twine its way through his intestines and culminate in a horrified tangle of disbelief, guilt, and anger.
It's a baby.
It's hungry.
And Zoro has just killed its mother.
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0.5: Robin
"Well then, Kenshi-san." Robin smiles - a wise, kind, mysterious sort of smile. "What can I do for you?" A small starfish of a hand pulls at her blouse, insistent. Her attention leaves the man before her, and she can't help but brush her fingers against the baby's soft cheek. Before she can suppress it, a coo escapes her lips. Brilliant blue eyes look up at her, wider than the sky and deeper than the sea.
The swordsman makes a noise that is halfway between a grunt and a whimper. When she looks up, she can see him begging with desperate, panicked eyes. "What do I do with it?"
"Do with it?" The expression on the woman's face could only be labeled as amusement. "What does a person ever do with anyone? And why would you ask me such a thing? Where is his mother?"
Zoro couldn't bring himself to respond.
Robin simply says "Ah."
"I didn'tâ"
"It wasn't widely advertised." The statement is not a comfort, but it is a far cry from the accusation that the swordsman expected or craved. Undeserved appreciation blossoms in his chest and strangles his words before his thoughts can form.
"What do Iâ" He stares at his hands, his feet, the floor, the legs of his chair, anywhere but her face. An icy silence worms its way through the room, broken only by the contented snuffles of the now-sleeping child. He takes in a huge gulp of air. "What do I do?" The only hint of the break in his composure is the quiet hesitation with which he chooses his words.
"You could ask the others," says Robin. "But for now," she looks into the burbling bundle in her arms, "for now, I suggest you let him sleep." With a whisper and flurry of petals, she cradles the baby gently back and forth in a tender canopy of seventeen arms.
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AN: This is something of an AU/futurefic. In it, so far, the Mugiwaras are scattered all the world over; and Mihawk is no longer the strongest living swordsman. Zoro has already beaten him, and as Luffy is/was (am undecided as of yet) the Pirate King, Zoro is off finding people to fight to ensure that he gets to keep his title. Not quite sure where I'm going with this exactly, but feedback is loveloveloved. Thanks muchly.