Urgh... really not sure how this turned out but it's gotta start somewhere, right?
Warning for dark thinking and… not quite suicidal thoughts, but apathy at living, I guess.
When consciousness returned, it was anything but the pleasantness of death she had sometimes been known to contemplate. First of all everything hurt, this was the first clue that told her she was surprisingly still alive.
Ever the cautious wanted woman, she intended to steadily feign sleep until she could get a better idea of her surroundings if it hadn't been for that first deliberate breath.
The lungful burned through her throat and lungs like fire and knives and left her gasping and spasming for some kind of purchase and relief. When she was unable to sit up she started coughing violently, further inflaming her throat and setting her eyes and nose to run at the pain.
Just when she was about to start panicking she felt a large hand on her shoulder, guiding her up to sit, the shock of their presence interrupting the attack on her lungs.
The man beside her was fairly young, probably in his late twenties, and wore a worn brown suit and a wide-rimmed fedora to match. He frowned at her as she wheezed in a sharp, surprised breath and started hacking again.
"Here now, try to relax. I know, don't give me that look, but it's not gonna get better if you don't." His voice was deep with an undercurrent of faintly annoyed patience. Like a constant state of being.
Recognizing the wisdom of the statement she paused to reassess herself and fight to control the one thing she could at the moment; her mind. When she felt herself relax minimally she slowly released her breath, feeling the spasms threaten to overtake her again. She allowed herself to continue coughing, but this time kept it in control with the anticipation of the pain and shortness of oxygen.
When she was obviously breathing somewhat normally again, and her face was starting to fade to a less garish red, the man offered her a glass of water.
It was only while lifting her hand to take it that she finally noticed the shackles around her wrists, probably what had prevented her from rising by herself earlier. The man noticed her gaze and smirked a bit but continued to hold out the glass until she took it awkwardly between her hands. The cool surface made her wince as her rope-burned palms made themselves known through the bandages covering them. She puzzled over that a bit as she took a tentative sip of the water, testing its affects on her ragged throat, and noted other swathes of bandages around her arms and felt beneath new, dry clothes. Under her bangs her gaze flashed to the wall behind the man, where his white Justice coat hung near the door.
It was obvious they took her as a potential threat, anyone other than navy on the sea during the storm was bound to be a pirate, but if only… No, she could feel the faint sap of strength that was indicative of Sea Stone in the shackles. They knew she was a Devil Fruit user. Which probably meant they had seen her using her powers, if they had also noted her boat capsizing quickly enough to rescue her. Which definitively meant they knew who she was.
This was all concluded before her second sip of water and she fought to keep her breath steady over the rising panic.
The man rising from his seat drew her attention and he stepped back from the bed to give her a stern look as he reached for his coat.
"I'll be right back, don't try to get up." And the door swung shut behind him.
After a few more sips, she carefully set the glass down on the man's stool and tried stretching her aching limbs. She quickly assessed that, yes, everything hurt and she took a shuddering breath to calm herself again.
Ok… I'm wounded and handcuffed with Sea Stone on a Marine ship and they're aware of my identity. How could this be worse. Her mind quickly supplied her with a sample list of creative examples. Point.
The cabin she was in didn't look like the infirmary. There was a small tray of medical supplies on the desk nearby but the room lacked the overly sanitized feel and smell that would have given it away. But neither was it a prison cell.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and discovered a simple link of chains around one ankle connected to the bolted bed stand. Another reminder that she wasn't going to be underestimated.
Robin attempted to stand anyway but found the strength she had somehow held onto through the storm quickly disappeared, and sat back heavily on the mattress' edge, breathing heavily. She gave the handcuffs a brief, contemptuous look. Sleep, from sapped strength and stress, was tugging at her senses but she fought it heedlessly. That man had said he would be back shortly and she didn't want to be left even more defenseless in his or anyone's presence.
True to her expectation, loud steps and conversation were soon heard quickly approaching the cabin door. It flew open roughly and the large man on the other side ducked through the doorframe.
Robin shivered in fear. While she hadn't recognized the subordinate, who stepped in behind his superior and closed the door, she definitively knew this man. His eccentric headdress alone would be indicative, which he removed to place on the table by the medical tray with Robin's glass as he seated himself on the stool before her.
Garp, the Fist.
If she had held any hope of escaping, it vanished now.
Trembling slightly at what was to come, she lifted her chin defiantly to meet his gaze. "Well?" She asked; stated, more like.
Garp lifted an eyebrow. "Well what?" He seemed almost amused, the old bastard.
She sat up as straight as she could on the uneven surface and crossed her legs, trying to look as regal as she could under the circumstances. "I imagine you're here to gloat and tell me all about the hell I'm about to endure and how much I deserve it." She tried to sound neutral and uncaring but a bit of bitterness crept into her tone halfway through. She refused to acknowledge it.
Something swept over Garp's previously amused face, but he quickly reaffirmed his expression. "Is that how these things are supposed to work? I must have missed that meeting. Right, Bogard?"
The man behind him sighed. "I would not be surprised, sir."
Garp grunted. "Well, I've never been a man for convention. But I must say, Nico…" He tilted his head a bit as he addressed Robin again. "It's rather impressive you've managed to elude the navy for ten years. Can't have been easy, especially in your younger years."
The man's words grated on Robin's nerves like a live wire. It's too bad he doesn't have a devil fruit… She thought, but I bet these cuffs would still hurt if I hit him across the face with them. She knew her impassive mask was slipping but Garp continued to talk.
"But then, I suppose a genius scholar like yourself didn't take long to learn the best ways to survive. I think we bagged more pirate crews going after you than any single bounty hunter yet." He chuckled good naturedly, further inflaming Robin's rage. "You were the youngest archeologist to pass some test, right? Did it have a name…?"
As he tried to engage her in conversation, Robin's gaze fell and her shoulders shook. But not with fright this time.
"What does it matter?" She whispered.
"Oh, well, it seems like a nifty thing to boast about in conversation. Fancy credentials always ring very-"
"What?" She hissed, head bowed and bangs obscuring her eyes as she tried to maintain some semblance of control. "O'Hara is gone." She states through gritted teeth. "Any privilege of being associated with it is ten years gone, along with the lives of all-" Here she chokes and falls silent.
Silence stretches in the room but her captors do nothing to break it. Robin stubbornly refuses to even breathe, she knows it will come out as a sob at this point, and waits for her pulse to calm as her face grows red with the effort.
Finally, after several long moments, she lets out an only slightly shaky breath.
Her voice is dead when she continues.
"Just… tell me where you intend to take me first and be done with this charade."
"'First'?" Garp asks questioningly.
"I imagine the Gorosei will want to have me interrogated before they send me to Impel Down. Or straight to the gallows." She states matter of factly.
Garp gives a displeased scowl that Robin doesn't see. "Oh? Pretty perceptive."
"It's obvious."
"I dunno. Sounds like you've given this substantial thought."
"One of the things I've learned in 'the best ways to survive,'" Robin air quotes the phrase, her voice coming out harsh and mocking, making Garp wince. "Is to always be prepared. Lack of surprise can cause just as much psychological damage as a knife, at times."
"So you've foreseen your death, too?"
Robin takes on an almost cheerful tone and lifts her head for them to see a faint smile. "Of course. Almost daily. The great thing about being a 'genius scholar' is that I can be quiet imaginative."
Robin watches in glee as the two men squirm a bit under her macabre words, as people usually do. The silence doesn't last long, though.
"You want to die then, miss Nico?" Bogard asks quietly. Skeptically.
Robin seriously ponders the question, caught off guard by the politeness of address.
Does she? Does she want to die? The prospect of taking her own life, while a constant option she's aware of in the back of her mind, is one she still shies away from with her whole being. No, she would never kill herself if left alone.
But she was never left alone, was she?
As she was now, would she have the strength to find an opening to escape? If an opportunity presented itself, would she have the emotional strength to seize it?
In the last half hour since she discovered her, probably final, capture… had she not already accepted it? And maybe even breathed a sigh of relief that everything was finally almost over?
But she was the last of O'Hara's legacy, the last of her family and friends. Didn't that mean something? Didn't she need to continue the work that they could not? Had they not entrusted her with the True History?
And when was the last time you felt the rush of learning something new about the History? A harsh inner voice demanded of her. When had you allowed yourself to feel that joy? Between running for your life from the government, watching your back for betrayal, and keeping yourself alive from famine and the elements… Even the last Poneglyph you found brought nothing but surprise at it's discovery. Is that the attitude of an archeologist faced with their one reason for existence?!
But… Her thoughts turned to her dear friends: Dr. Clover, the archeologists, Saul. Her mother. Her last words had been a demand for Robin to live.
"No…" Robin finally stated out loud, absently. She awkwardly scooted herself further on the bed until her back was touching the wall. "But then, I haven't really been alive. Have I?"
Robin curled up and seemed content to ponder that question, posed to herself, in her dark train of thought. She was only half aware of the two other occupants of the room.
Bogard, while not completely surprised at the teenager's state of mind, inwardly sighed in resignation over his superior's decisive body language. It was a decision he had fervently tried to discourage in the older man, with the usual amount of success.
"So," Garp called Robin's attention back to him, "it sounds to me like you don't want to die but you don't care if you live." His only response was Robin's tired, but calm, silence. "If that's truly the case, then I have an offer for you. If you're willing to throw away your past." He stated gravely.
Robin frowned slightly.
"I'll take that as interest." When he got no further response. "The pirates you were with were all killed or captured, the last of them shipped off to our lovely underwater prison you mentioned earlier. The majority of those survivors and navy soldiers have witnessed your daring escape attempt. You have guts, kiddo, I have to give you that." He said on a tangent. "Anyway. Point is, your sunken and unrecoverable body has already been reported to HQ. Logistics are a bitch to correct at this point. The details aren't important!" He waves his hands frantically; warding off unwanted questions, probably. He becomes even more serious, almost wary of what he's offering. "You could disappear now and, provided you found a safe place, no one would find you."
Robin's frowned deepened with suspicion. "And you would shelter a criminal? The Demon of O'Hara? Why? If you turned me over you would be greatly rewarded and the government would get the knowledge to awaken the Ancient Weapons."
Garp seemed amused by her questions, but scowled at the last statement. He sighed, suddenly weary, and rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Those weapons… will not remain dormant forever, whatever they are. That much even I can tell. But we seem to be doing a good enough job of killing as it is, don't you agree? I don't think they need to resurface just yet."
He received another cold stare.
"Right, well… As for 'why'," He looked thoughtful, but the humor was back this time. "I've always wanted a granddaughter."
This was probably the last thing Robin expected to hear.
"What?" She asked flatly.
"Well, I have three grandsons back home but they're quite squirmy when I come to visit. Always hyper and running all over the place when I try to participate in their games and training."
Bogard poorly suppressed a loud cough.
"It would be nice to have someone there to keep an eye on them while I'm away, keep them out of trouble. Plus, more pleasant company when I come to visit."
Robin glanced over at Bogard. "Is he insane?"
"Opinions vary on who you ask." Bogard answered truthfully.
"So? Of course, you'd have to give up your search for your Poneglyphs if you agree. I'll let you think about it."
Robin shook her head in disbelief. "You don't care for your grandsons' safety if you leave me with them? The Gorosei blew up an entire island to erase the Devils of O'Hara, what makes you think they won't do it again to finish the job?"
Garp fixed her with a look as he stood, almost approving. "Thanks for the concern, but you're the least of the secrets I have on that island. One more won't make much of a difference.
She was taken aback at the words, but persisted. This seemed too convenient. "And what if I refuse? You've already reported my death."
He turned away, but his voice was calm nevertheless. "As I mentioned, the Weapons are better off left undiscovered for now. It wouldn't take much to make my report truthful."
The threat almost made her feel better, more confortable, with the situation. Familiar territory, as it were.
"Anyway, I'll give you about a week to think about it." He said as he reached for the door.
"I accept."
He froze, and turned with a wry grin. "Awfully quick, don't you think?"
Robin turned away disdainfully. "I'm dead any other way I look at it. I don't have much of a choice."
Garp pouted a bit at that but quickly changed it to a grin as a thought struck him. "You can call me 'Grandpa' from now on, then."
Robin turned back with a sweet smile. "The only way I'd call you that is sarcastically."
His booming laughter would be a headache trigger from then on.
Last time(s) Garp visited Dawn Island he found out Sabo had joined Ace and Luffy as brothers, so he includes him as his grandson.
It's hard to keep Robin in character, she's kinda at that place she was in the Alabasta tombs right before Luffy saved her if that helps.
This story's supposed to have a darkish feel, but I'm not sure I can carry that well in the next chapters. So I don't know when the next chapter will be out, although I have a basic (and fairly obvious) plan for the story and where it will go.