To those who have asked - no, I haven't forgotten this! Honest! But thanks for asking. Great to know someone's still reading! Meanwhile, has anyone been watching the most recent anime filler? They're stealing our plot! Anyone know a good lawyer? —joking, joking! I kid because I love, Toei. Please don't sue?
This wasn't really a fight.
"You're not strong enough to kill Robin-chan," he said, and, "Some pirate hunter, who was the last pirate you actually brought down?" and, "Why don't you turn yourself in, get the bounty for that?" but Zoro didn't respond to any of it. Usually their fights were loud, but Zoro wouldn't answer any taunts, and Sanji stopped making them.
Zoro, trained not in pirates' brawls but a warrior's martial arts, could keep his cool under most fire, maintain perfect equilibrium of spirit as well as the balance of his triple blades. But there were ways to get under that thick skin, and Sanji had honed them over time, could break the swordsman's composure faster than he could fry an egg on molten steel.
There were ways, but none of them were working.
He had been so damn confident, assuring Chopper and Usopp that it had to be Zoro. And even if finding a twin three-sword-style swordsmaster on this island weren't patently ridiculous, such a doppelganger wouldn't have Zoro's unique skill.
Yet he had clashed with Zoro more times than he could count, and this was not a fight he knew.
The difference could have been as much him as his opponent. Sanji had never been so angry. Zoro might be most irritating of his crewmates, but not like this. He wasn't usually a liar. 'I killed Nico Robin,' a falsehood that should never have been spoken; just the idea of it, and the bloodcurdling certainly with which he said it sickened.
A gentleman would not resort to certain moves, but this was no duel. Whenever Sanji blinked he saw Usopp's blood, Chopper's wide eyes as he worked, hooves moving lightning-quick as he stitched that pierced flesh. Fast as Zoro's sword might stab and just as single-minded and determined a battle, and there had still been that moment they thought they were losing. He'd held his crewmate's limp hand and held his breath and just held on while the doctor worked his vital magic—too close, and every time that memory flickered in Sanji's thoughts his kicks became that much faster, that much stronger. Zoro wouldn't listen to words; if his feet were the only way to be heard...
This was not a fight; this was something different, something worse than any he had fought before. Kick, and kick, and kick again, but just when Sanji thought he had driven the swordsman to a wall, he slipped out from under the attack like so much rainwater, and then Sanji was the one caught between bricks and blades. He dropped and rolled, flipping onto his hands to catch one katana's hilt between his shoes, but the other sword was there before he could wrench the first from Zoro's fist.
Twisting away from the sword's swipe, he spun on his wrists, hurling a blow at the swordsman's head. But Zoro dipped under it, gliding out of range smooth as a serpent.
And that wasn't how Zoro fought. Usually Zoro would catch his kicks, prove his strength by blocking whatever Sanji threw at him. He used that, could catch him off-guard occasionally, if Zoro miscalculated the power of his assault. But now it was like fighting a goddamn shadow, a ghost he could see but not touch. Wherever Sanji threw a kick, Zoro was not there, slipping away a split second before the blow could land.
The swordsman was toying with him. Giving him time to get back to his feet, the opportunity to gather himself between attacks. Usually he would have no such chance. Not courtesy; Zoro didn't know the meaning of the word. Not mercy, either; there was no compassion in those shadowed eyes, just the absolute confidence in his own strength that Zoro always had, now twisted into arrogance.
He hadn't pulled his third sword. The white katana was still sheathed at his side, and with it all his most powerful attacks. He was hardly attacking, barely defending, letting Sanji wear himself numb while he casually avoided every strike. Playing with him, mocking his fury and the entire fight.
The bastard. When Sanji saw red now, it wasn't remembered blood but his own outraged esteem. He had never had this much trouble even getting a hit on Zoro—true, it was dark, and the swordsman had a slight advantage on solid land, just as Sanji had the greater experience on the sea. But all their clashes before—he had seen Zoro fight worse battles, but it galled all the same, that Zoro could have been taking their combat so lightly, that Zoro might never have truly been fighting him at all. If this were only a game, what had all their previous matches been? Some shitty genial disagreements? If he were really so simply met...
Snarling, he clamped his teeth down over his latest cigarette and slammed one foot straight forward, no fancy move, but so fast in his anger that he hit Zoro squarely in the shin before he could fluidly step aside. The swordsman made no noise, not even a gasp, but his stumble was enough that Sanji got another kick in, sound to his arm, before the swords came up to parry.
Playing with him. He spat the wet cigarette out into the mud. "Is this what you call fighting?"
The sword stabbing high he easily dodged, but the second katana swept low, invisible in the shadows, and he had to jump to avoid losing a foot. In the air without warning, he had no way to dodge Zoro's charge, head and shoulders thrust forward like a butting ram. He blocked, but the blow knocked back on his ass, and the splashing mud didn't cushion the cobblestone beneath, landing him bruised and breathless, his teeth clicking together so hard his skull rung.
"Is that what you call fighting back?" the swordsman asked. His face was shadowed but a smirk contorted his voice, warped the coldness to cruelty.
Sanji picked himself up off the ground. Zoro was keeping a wary distance—more games; if he had struck a second before Sanji wouldn't have been ready for him. "What do you care?" he said, spitting out mud, maybe blood, too, it was hard to tell in the dark. "Does it matter how I fight, as long as you're strong enough to beat me?"
He didn't need to see Zoro's face; he could feel the change, a prickling on his skin like a gathering storm. The swordsman took a step back, then forward, skittish and unnatural, and Sanji's eyes widened. "But you do care," he said, "don't you. It does matter."
"Shut up."
The growl was so low it was almost subsonic, but it came after the briefest of pauses, just enough room to keep pushing. "Why?" Sanji demanded, panting and trying not to, forcing his hoarse voice through the falling rain. "Do you get it? Really, why does it matter to you? If you can remember what—"
He barely ducked the swordsman's lunge, drove him back with a roundhouse kick and shouted, "Idiot! Just think about it! You don't really want to do this—"
"No, I don't," Zoro said, and that brief hesitation was gone, and the cool mockery, too. "I just want you dead," and then he attacked with such force that Sanji had no breath to say anything else.
Usopp could feel Chopper shiver, his crewmate pressed against his leg, wet fur seeping through and soaking his already damp overalls. He was shivering himself, a little; his teeth would be clacking if his jaw weren't clenched, but it was just from cold. No fear, even with this monster of a man looming over them, with that giant axe blade and riveted iron jaw.
He should be afraid, but he wasn't. Usopp knew better than to think he had gotten courage all of a sudden; this had to be shock, or something, numb from the cold or the sedation of the doctor's drugs, damming back the terror that his heart should pounding with. Except his mind didn't feel hazy; his thoughts were perfectly, completely clear.
He knew this man. The man advanced on them, snarling, "What are you rats doing here?" and Chopper was still trembling, and all Usopp found himself thinking, with a sort of vaguely bemused and perplexed logic, was how he recognized that face. He had never seen it in person before, but on a poster, in a newspaper article—it had been a while ago, but it would be difficult to forget.
Axehand Morgan, ex-Marine captain, once a hero and then a criminal. The man who had brought down the dread pirate Kuro, supposedly; Usopp was one of only a privileged few who knew how great a lie that was. A tyrant feared as much by his own men as by pirates, he had been brought to justice, in the end. By those very men, so it had been reported; but Usopp had heard the truth of that story, too. From Luffy's own mouth, laughing about it casually, some time past—Luffy hadn't remembered the man's name, of course, he never did, but he'd been proud of his victory.
Of their victory, because Zoro had been there, too. Just they two; their captain had had but one crewmember then. The pair of them would still have been more than strong enough to take down a Marine bully, just an East Blue weakling—what was Morgan doing here on the Grand Line?
But anyone can make it here, if they try hard enough, Usopp's own thoughts answered. Look, even you are here.
And Zoro had been in this little house, for a while, Chopper had said, maybe for the last couple days, maybe held in those chains, and now this man had come here and this couldn't be coincidence. Though Morgan couldn't possibly be strong enough to have fought Zoro. But the rage in the eyes above that iron jaw was fearsome all the same—the rage, and more, the madness. That should have scared him witless, but it wasn't fear that made Usopp sit up straighter, for all the pain of his wounded side, and meet that crazed glare without blinking. It wasn't terror that hardened his voice until he barely recognized its low growl himself, demanding, "What did you do to Zoro?"
"Zoro?" Morgan stopped, jerked to a halt like he had abruptly reached the end of a leash. "You—" Madness in his voice, too, quivering like a suppressed laugh as his eyes ranged over Usopp. "Of course, that nose, you're one of the Straw Hat crew. You, and their pet," and he barely glanced down at Chopper before looking again to Usopp, and the bulk of bandages under his sweater. "So he didn't quite finish you off. Dumb son of a bitch, he's no better than any grunt I've commanded. If you want something done..."
Morgan took another step toward them, his arm with the axe blade raised, and Chopper stiffened. Usopp didn't need to look to know the reindeer was bracing himself, waiting for the man to get a little closer before attacking. Smart thinking; the transformation might catch him by surprise. Chopper in man form would be almost Morgan's size, and probably strong enough to beat him, but just in case, Usopp reached into his bag, feeling for his slingshot. He would just have to distract Morgan long enough for Chopper to take him down, before that axe could fall—
"What?" Morgan gasped suddenly, freezing. "Why do you have that?"
He had suddenly noticed the bronze serpent curled against Chopper's brown fur. The way his eyes were bugging, it might have been a king cobra, and Usopp uneasily wondered how dangerous the creature might be, if Morgan were this afraid of it, knowing what it was.
But he doubted that was why Chopper's voice shook, as the reindeer asked, "Did you do something to Zoro?"
The man's upper lip twisted in a sneer, though he was still keeping a cautious distance. "You mean besides hire him?"
The snake hissed, no louder than the rain outside, but the quivering note in Chopper's voice unexpectedly steadied. "What did you do to him?" He exploded up into his full-sized man form, the snake slithering down off him to coil on the floor.
Morgan took another step back, but his eyes had narrowed, not widened more with shock. "Impressive trick, monster. But how are you against steel?"
Lunging forward, he swung the axe down, faster than seemed possible with a weapon so large. "Chopper!" Usopp yelled, still fumbling for his slingshot, tangled among the other junk in his bag.
But it was too late to do anything anyway, because the axe's swing had come to an abrupt stop. Morgan gagged, fighting against the slender arm locked around his throat. More limbs extended from his back and the floor, grabbing his legs and wrists and twisting back his arms.
Chopper didn't hesitate. Open-handed, palms out in an unhooved imitation of his cross blow, he hammered a punch forward, not into that unbreakable iron jaw but against the man's massive chest, slamming him in the solar plexus. When Morgan stumbled he followed it up with a heavy clout to the back of his neck, and the hands vanished to allow the man to crash to the floor like a felled ox.
Chopper, panting, shrank again, so Usopp could see past him to the tall figure in the doorway. They both stared for a moment, and then Usopp cried, "Robin! You're alive!"
to be continued...
