Chapter 4

Underfoot, the soggy ground squelched. As Zoro moved on, his tracks were marked by grass plastered in the mud. Rain fell openly from the sky and soaked both teacher and student as they trudged through the foliage, with the latter's clothes practically a second skin on him. Unlike the younger man, however, Mihawk was protected by both the low brim of his hat and wide sweep of his coat.

Neither of them was truly bothered by the precipitation, though.

With each step, they distanced themselves from the castle, though only the teacher knew exactly where they were heading. He strode doggedly ahead, well aware of the younger man that squelched behind him. Despite himself, however, Mihawk kept his mind busy with the lesson ahead and his destination. It was a difficult place to find, tucked away in the farther reaches of the island and virtually untouched by earlier inhabitants.

The shichibukai pulled himself back to the trail under him as it grew more treacherous. Branches swung away from him, threatening to lash the student following just a little too closely. Zoro was ducking under them, however, nimbly dodging each swing like he would a sword. After a while, Mihawk found himself purposefully testing his student's maneuverability.

From somewhere among the trees, an angry screech called out and was echoed by several others—the various tribes of humandrills were competing for territory again. Though the territorial displays would not necessarily disrupt their lesson, Mihawk could not guarantee that the apes would leave the area unscathed. After all, the shichibukai was growing ever more desperate for something to take his frustrations out on.

By this time the foliage was like a tunnel, leaves and branches woven so tightly together that they forced the swordsman to bow beneath them. Mihawk tugged his hat lower and pressed on, silently glad for the obscuring plants. Despite the screen, Zoro crashed through the undergrowth, the crackling and rustling taunting his teacher. For a moment, the shichibukai struggled with himself silently before deciding not to correct his student.

There would be time enough for that once he had dealt with that damnable lust.

Finally, they were clear of the brush and trees and emerged from beneath the lattice of branches. Mihawk's jaw set quietly as he gazed out over the pond, catching a glimpse of his student in his periphery and doggedly ignoring it. The dappled light filtering through the trees was marked by a muted reflection upon the still lake, and algae floated lazily across the surface.

"Is this it?" The disappointment in Zoro's voice was enough for Mihawk to imagine his face, but the shichibukai sneaked a glance anyway. Though he instantly regretted the decision, something in the back of the elder swordsman's head felt a bit dejected.

Mihawk turned that disappointment around, channeled it.

"What do you see that makes you think so little is here?"

Zoro raised an eyebrow at his teacher, surprised the shichibukai could not recognize the obvious.

"It's just a stagnant pond and some trees."

"Are you really that blind?"

"What? There's no animals, no fish in that pond. It's just...dead."

Ever so slightly, Mihawk's face shifted, his already dark countenance becoming ominous. The younger swordsman inched subconsciously away, like a horse before the storm. The low rumble of far-off thunder growled, as if nature itself had taken offense.

"You will sit by this pond," the shichibukai said quietly, "and you will reflect upon it. You will look around you and try to open your mind a little more." He stopped and thought for a moment. "No, you will do better than try."

Despite the confused, almost cheated look on his face, Zoro sat cross-legged on the shore of the lake.

"Now what?"

"You said this place was dead: I know for a fact that you are wrong. I want you to be able to tell me why this place is alive, Zoro. More importantly, I want you to be able to tell me why the fact that it lives is so important."

Mihawk turned to leave, but stopped a moment to look back at his soaked student. Something about the way he sat, obviously trying to get his mind around his new assignment, struck a cord in the teacher. Subconsciously, the swordman's jaw set. As slowly as he could, the shichibukai removed his overcoat, wondering the whole time whether or not he was making a mistake.

Somehow, that didn't matter.

Gently, he placed the red coat on his student's shoulders, struggling to ignore the vague feel of muscles beneath. He rose and backed away silently as Zoro stared at him in confusion.

"I do not want you returning to the castle until you have finished your task. The next time I see you, you will either tell me what I need to hear, or you will leave this island. Am I understood?"

The confusion wiped itself from the young swordsman's face and set in determination.

"Yes."

In a flash, Mihawk had vanished into the undergrowth, moving more swiftly than he had on the way there and hoping the low shadow of his hat had hidden the small blush that marred his face.

After so many hours, Zoro had still found nothing. He was drenched and shivering slightly, staring balefully at the taciturn pond. There had been not so much as the call of a bird nor the cry of a humandrill, and even the roars of thunder were growing ever monotonous. This already dank place was fading into the darkness of night, and nothing had come to the young swordsman.

With a squelch, Zoro pulled himself out of the muddy bank, stretching his cramped muscles and taking another glance around. He could feel hunger starting to gnaw at him, but he did not recognize any of the nearby plants well enough to risk eating them. Quietly, he stepped away from the bank, his heavy footsteps emphasized by the sucking pop of mud.

Something heavy fell from his back and he turned hastily to see what it was. Crumpled in the mud was Mihawk's coat, soaked through and dirty. Zoro had almost forgotten it. He snatched the thing up, staring at the intricate design for a moment before swinging it over his shoulders and settling the weighty mantle upon his back. He then continued on, making several laps around the pond before simply settling down for the night.

The pirate dreamed vaguely of his crew. Though he saw nothing of them, he felt emotions and sensations, recognizing each member by how he felt them. In no particular order they passed by, but pass they did. Except for Luffy. Zoro recognized him by the deep respect he felt, and the feeling refused to leave even after the pirate had woken.

He rose with a complaining stomach. Zoro had not eaten since the morning before, and that had meager scraps due to his own excitement. In the back of his mind, the swordsman was missing Sanji—but not that much. Despite his grievances with the cook, at least the man could make a decent meal out of what seemed like nothing. After a moment of glancing around, the swordsman determined there was nothing to be had in this place and prepared to leave.

As Zoro ducked into the tight curl of branches and leaves that marked his entrance point, something snagged in his mind. He had been charged to understand the importance of this pond as a living being. If he left now, he might not be able to return.

Quietly, the swordsman backed away from the branches, instead making another lap around the pond and eying the brambles that guarded it like a razor-wire fence. Zoro had no doubts that he could easily bore his way through the thorns—after all, he had come away conscious from worse pains that a few minor scratches—but he could not say the same for the coat draped across his shoulders. The material was thick and fairly water-resistant, but it was not anything Zoro was familiar with, and he was not about to risk shredding his teacher's property.

Again, Zoro returned to the pond's bank, standing and staring into the still water.

Or perhaps it wasn't so still.

The rain had cleared at some point during the night, leaving only overcast skies in its wake. Even the trees seemed to have shed all the water from their leaves. Despite that knowledge, however, an occasional ripple traveled across the clear regions of the pond. Zoro took a step forward, his boot sinking deep into the mud.

A gentle wind brushed through the leaves of the trees above, making them chatter in their shushing voices. The swordsman looked up at them, trying to understand just how these were living things. True, they needed water, but that was about it, he figured. Or the pond at his feet, for that matter. Why did Mihawk consider these things as alive as people or animals? It wasn't like they could run or eat or fight or anything. They were just... there.

After a moment, Zoro shed the coat and stepped out of his boots, feeling the cold mud seeping between his toes. Water encircled his ankles and lapped at the hems of his pants. Again, the breeze stole across the treetops, bringing with is a whispering symphony. He closed his eyes, trying to get a feel for the water at his feet and the feeble wind brushing against his skin.

It reminded him of the ocean and how calm it could be. But beyond the calm was rage, buried deep within the currents. The Grand Line especially, with the way it would disorient and destroy any unwary sailors. Like some wily, cruel mistress...

A conversation he had had with Nami at one point came to mind. He had asked her why she navigated, what had inspired her. Without skipping a beat, she replied that the ocean had always interested her, especially in how it communicated. Nami had described it as though she were playing poker with the weather. She could tell when the clouds were bluffing and when the wind was serious. Something about that made her want to gamble against the sea.

Zoro wondered if the same principle applied here.

There was only one way to find out.

In the distance came the crash of rustling leaves, growing ever closer until it breezed by overhead. Zoro's brow furled and he cocked his head to one side, eyes still closed. Again, like a wave, the sounds approached and passed. A third wave started, and as it grew closer, Zoro tried to predict when it would pass.

He was nearly correct.

For a while longer he stood there, eyes lightly closed and listening to the trees whispering above him. Little wisps of wind fluttered across his skin, cooling his damp clothes. A shiver ran through him, and the water lapped a little at his ankles.

Something about this place did strike a cord in the swordsman, now that he thought about it. It was a place of watching and listening instead of purely action. Just because it was quiet did not warrant it being dead. Just sleeping. A smile came to Zoro's lips: a nap sounded pretty good.

Without a word, his eyes opened, and he retreated from the water. Languidly, he retrieved his teacher's coat and strode towards the trees with it. Several branches hung low over the nettle, each swaying gently as if to grab his attention. Zoro chose one after a while and gently hung the coat from it so that the vestment could flutter with the breeze. Beneath it, he settled down and took a brief, dreamless nap.

Grunts and screeches startled the young pirate awake.

As Zoro's eyes snapped open, the beast leaning over him snorted rancid air into his face. Out of reflex, the young man's hand pawed for swords that were not there. He could afford no time to worry about where they had gone—the humandrill towering above him had raised its fist to strike.

With a thud, the ape's arm crashed where Zoro's head had been just seconds before, the pirate having rolled into the pond. The creature screeched in fury, pounding the ground and advancing for another shot. Before he knew it, Zoro had snapped to his feet and was half-crouched. He could feel each muscle pulled taught. Heat radiated from his core, setting his skin aflame. The young man's heart thundered in his ears, and his breath came in deep pulls.

The humandrill paused, watching and reflecting him.

They stared at one another for a while, Zoro wary of making the first move. He was fully aware of what the mimic could do. The swordsman's stance widened ever so slightly, sending out a ripple across the pond. Slowly, the ape followed his lead until it had achieved an identical bearing.

From above, the trees rustled, and the silence broke beneath the piercing cry of the humandrill. The dance it did would have been intimidating to most, with all the pounding and stomping and bearing of fangs.

All Zoro saw was a challenge.

He roared at the beast, sending water flying in his wake. The young man rose a cacophony known only to brigands and thieves, calling on the deafening lessons he had learned as a pirate. In protest, the beast screeched and hooted louder, and the two of them incited each other to greater heights until both believed the other to be whipped into a sufficient frenzy.

Without warning, the humandrill lunged.

They splashed into the pond together, tumbling and grabbing, trying to claim a purchase to higher ground. Zoro felt naked without his blades, and he scrambled not only for an advantageous position, but for a weapon. Breath was fleeting. The world flickered between sound and silence. Pain accosted the swordsman's eyes as he struggled to keep them open underwater.

Hands clutched his neck.

Out of instinct, Zoro clawed at grasping things; however, despite his strength, the beast was stronger still. The swordsman's head was dunked, though the pressure around his throat kept him from swallowing water. He gave up using his hands—they were worthless. Instead, the pirate tucked his legs in tightly, planted his feet in the ape's stomach, and kicked out like a piston.

With a splash, the humandrill was forced from the water, still grasping Zoro around the neck. However, he used the small amount of leeway granted to take in as much air as possible. Again, the ape pressed in on the swordsman's throat. The pirate was ready this time.

One strong hand gripped the humandrill's wrist, anchoring the rest of the body. His other limbs assaulted the creature, forcing it to recoil. A well-placed boot to the chest was the final blow, and in a rush of air Zoro found himself gasping on hands and knees.

The beast was not finished. It dragged the pirate up by his hair, glaring into his face and snorting sour air. In response, Zoro snarled back, ignoring his instincts to grasp his head and instead punching the ape square in the face. A brief interim was granted, allowing the pirate to discover his victory hanging behind his attacker.

Zoro was agile—all of the Straw Hats were—and before the creature could seize him again, he had ducked around it. The humandrill snorted, turning to attack.

Whunk. Blood was oozing out of the beast's nose as the deafening crack rang throughout the otherwise quiet grove. It stood, dazed for a moment as the branch that struck it shivered. Zoro was still gasping, watching tensely as his attacker simply balanced. With a splash, the human teetered back into the water and landed flat on its back. Somehow, it had managed to fall in shallow enough water to permit breathing.

Without a second glance at the unconscious beast, Zoro collected his teacher's cloak and turned to leave the isolated pond. On his way out, he patted the branch that had served him well.

"Thanks."

Mihawk was beginning to loathe himself for how testy he had become. It had been several days since he left Roronoa to his task, and the shichibukai was growing disappointed. His anxiety was irritating. At night, he could not help dreaming about the younger pirate, and during the day the shichibukai saw phantoms of him everywhere. He avoided self-pleasure like the plague.

The swordsman paced his library, mounting the stairs and descending multiple times as his mind struggled to occupy itself with anything besides his pupil. For the hundredth time, the idea of sending Perona after Zoro crossed his mind. With a frown, Mihawk shed the thought quickly.

Despite how calming the sanctuary of books normally was, its effects were only mild and temporary now. The shichibukai stormed out, stalking the halls of his once-peaceful castle and lurking in his own home. Though he had no idea where he was going, the swordsman could not let himself stop or slow, lest he be caught by the specters of his mind. Mihawk passed through the labyrinthine corridors, hoping to lose his pathetic desires in the twist of halls.

As he started to pass a familiar door, he halted. Something from within the room seemed to beckon to him, and the shichibukai found himself powerless to resist. He knew right away where he was, but his better judgment had fled. Fading red light filtered through the thick window, and lying on the bed were three glimmering swords tucked neatly away in their scabbards.

The shichibukai sat on the edge of the bed like a timid child. He eyed the blades, unwilling to approach but unable to retreat. For a silent moment, he hung where he was, gazing at the swords that would most likely mark his death. Hesitantly, one hand inched towards the blades, drawing as close as it could without resting upon them. Again, he stopped at the threshold, staring at the swords.

Mihawk checked himself—he had been drawn in here, called. If they did not want him here, they would not have tugged so insistently. Gently, his fingers brushed up against one of the scabbards—Shusui, if he remembered correctly. He could sense it, somewhere in the back of his mind, the grumbling aura of the blade. As his fingertips brushed along another sheath—this one he believed was Sandai Kitetsu—which bristled with a similar feel.

As his hand passed over Ichimonji, it stopped in mid-air. The blade felt different from the others—more like a guardian than a mercenary. Something about her resonated in the swordsman, from the deepest pit in his gut to the airiest reaches of his soul. This resonance was familiar, one he felt on a daily basis with Yoru.

"You're worried about him as well," Mihawk murmured, allowing his hand to rest on the white blade. As he sat there, part of himself regretted leaving Zoro out in the woods unprotected. However, the other part, the strict-minded teacher, knew it was a vital experience. For a while, he sat there, staring in the fading light, his mind trying to set these conflicting emotions at ease.

Again, the temptation crossed his mind to send Perona out to look for Roronoa. After all, she had been famous as a spy for Moriah. Mihawk frowned. The boy would return when he was ready, of that he had no doubt, but the thing in the pit of his stomach made him unaccountably antsy. Slowly, the shichibukai found himself becoming more aware of the blades under his hands, and he relaxed a little. The powerful tools had chosen Zoro as their master—their faith was unflagging.

It's not that they're worried about him, Mihawk mused. It's that they don't trust my intent.

He eyed the swords.

"And perhaps with good reason," he muttered, rising.

Something about that thought bothered him. As it were, the shichibukai had always kept a firm control over both his physical and emotional desires. He could easily shut off impulses and sensations like a faucet, and even the most minute aspects of himself were not beyond control.

But somehow this... this child had wrenched the command from him with little more than a glance. Worse yet, Roronoa wasn't trying—wasn't aware, even! He had reduced one of the most feared men on the Grand Line to a worrisome, lusting wreck without effort.

"Dammit, boy," he grumbled, glaring ahead as he strode through the castle, "Overcome this."

The shichibukai slunk into the dining room, grateful for smothering darkness that had taken over. With ease, he descended into the kitchen, scrounging food despite having no appetite. He cooked nothing and lit no fires—for some reason, lighting the stove seemed like too much effort. It was amazing he even bothered to pick a bottle of wine to drink.

He ate slowly, musing as he did. Around him, all was mute—sensations were weakened, taste dulled, and his sinuses felt cramped. The physical world seemed to be forcing the swordsman to deal with himself. The loathsome tug in his stomach made eating difficult.

Finally, Mihawk managed to somehow finish his meager dinner.

He skulked away from the dining hall, dragging himself towards his sleeping quarters. All the while, his mind sought to torment him, summoning visions of the younger swordsman. It took the greatest part of his will to dismiss the phantasms and keep them away long enough for him to arrive at his room. Gratefully, Mihawk struck a match, allowing the gentle light to show him sweet reality.

Or perhaps it was not so sweet.

Even the most foolish child could have told him his situation was doomed to get worse. Mihawk frowned, his eyebrows knit tight over his sharp nose. Where was his control? What was he abandoning years of patience and dominance training for? Quietly, he sat.

The cold, stone floor was comforting. It grounded the shichibukai, helping him gather his thoughts and shuffle them into order. Each muscle relaxed one at a time as his breathing slowed to a gentle brush of air. Flickering, the tiny flame of the match faded and left him in the dark.

As much as he hated himself for it, Mihawk could not deny the slew of emotions that now haunted him. Ever since the first realization struck, he had been unable to out-pace the phantasms—then again, he had never been one to flee. His eyebrows raised.

Silently, he began to compromise with himself. Denial of the issue was folly. But fully embracing it would be disastrous. Where did the middle ground lie, though? Was it in peeking glances like some shy teen? Or was the trick hidden within the imagination? Though the answer was unclear, the swordsman could feel himself regaining some semblance of control.

In the dark, Mihawk got to his feet. Easily, he found his bed and discarded his clothes. He settled in slowly, feeling fabric on his skin as he pulled the covers over him. On his back, he stared into the dark late into the night, still trying to puzzle out a solution as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Groggily, Mihawk dragged himself up out of the dungeons he slept in. He lumbered through the halls, a meager candle lighting his way. There was still worry heavy upon his soul; however, he struggled out of his torpor and somehow managed to bathe and dress himself. Hunger ate away at him, heaping on more weight. Despite all this, he found himself free of the hallucinations that had previously tormented him.

As he passed the rooms of his 'guests', something felt off. He stopped, back-tracking to each doorway and peaking inside. Perona was huddled on her bed, sleeping in a near-fetal position. Mihawk moved quickly to inspect Zoro's room. It was unscathed, but something was out of place. After a moment, the shichibukai realized what was missing: Roronoa's blades. His brow furrowed, and the weight grew.

He refused to let himself worry too much about it and strode on towards the dining hall, passing quickly through the doors and down into the kitchens. Despite his hunger, he cooked very little. His selection in drink was a quick one, and he was up the stairs, balancing his breakfast on spread fingertips.

Before he had even caught a glimpse of the dining hall, he knew someone was there. His pace quickened, and he stopped dead as he laid eyes on his visitor.

Zoro stood, chest out and head high, Mihawk's coat resting gently on his shoulders. The young pirate was muddy and tattered; however, the coat was in pristine condition. At his waist were his three swords, glimmering at their master's side.

The worry and doubt that had piled on the shichibukai's conscious fell from him in a landslide, though it was instantly replaced by the rapacious pull in his gut. He stood in silence a moment, his breakfast forgotten as he fought to keep relief from flooding his face. That was a battle he nearly lost.

Finally, he stated, "You've returned."

The younger man grinned apologetically. "I'm sorry it took so long," he explained, "I could've come back earlier, but I wanted to confirm my answer before I returned." Zoro held out his teacher's coat. "Here, I tried to keep it clean."

For a second, Mihawk stared at the garment before passing his student and making a beeline for the table. With far more care and time than was necessary, the shichibukai laid out his breakfast, strategically keeping his back to Zoro the entire time. The latter remained still, watching silently. Slowly, Mihawk turned to face his student, steeling himself.

Zoro still stood there, holding the heavy coat. Something about the tilt of his head, the morning light casting shadows across his neck and shoulders, caught the eyes of the shichibukai. In the back of his mind, he imagined the bare flesh...

Mihawk held out his hand, the gesture robotic. He could barely trust himself to stand, let alone walk or speak. Quietly, Zoro strode confidently forward—the bold gait riveting in his teacher's eyes—and again held out the coat. Gently, the shichibukai retrieved his garment, deliberately brushing against his student's skin. His mouth twitched just a little, and he had to clench his teeth as he kept his eyes steady. Mihawk turned, planting himself stiffly in his chair and ignoring the overpowering scent of his pupil. He bit his tongue, desperate for some taste other than Zoro's sweat.

Sitting was a blessing the shichibukai thought he would never be allowed. If he had been a weaker man, his legs would have trembled. He could feel his gut trying to cave in on itself. Mihawk struggled to keep his head high.

As he lifted his hand to eat, his coat dragged across his lap. The shichibukai swore in his mind, his face twitching slightly. He handled it disdainfully, sweeping it across the back of his chair with some semblance of grace. Once that was settled, he turned to the student he had been keeping in his periphery. Zoro stood barely three feet from him, intently watching with barely-contained excitement.

"You may sit," Mihawk said almost irritably, waving his hand towards a chair. To his dismay, the younger swordsman took the nearest chair possible and gazed intently at him as he ate. The boy was so tantalizingly close, his smell so overwhelming that it took place of the taste of his meal. Struggling, the shichibukai slowly finished his breakfast.

Once he had finished, Mihawk set his plate to the side, clearing his throat with a low rumble. He could feel heat branding his flesh, and in the back of his mind he fretted that the full-body blush showed on his face.

"So," the teacher finally said, barely able to get that much out. Zoro leaned eagerly forward. Every muscle in Mihawk's body strained to keep him from leaping forward and seizing his student, a splintery fence trying to hold back stampeding stallions. "What did you find?" Mihawk nearly gagged on the words, nearly lost himself as the younger swordsman launched into his answer.

"I found you were right," Zoro said, a slight, subconscious blush crossing his face. It did not go unnoticed. "That pond was—er, is—alive. But it's not just that. This whole island is alive." He spread his arms wide, and a smile split his face. "Even the rocks and grass and pond slime. All of that, living."

Straining, the teacher gave a single, taut nod. "Why?" he asked, quieter than he would have liked.

"It's 'cause of how they interact with the world. Yeah, a rock doesn't move on its own, but if you roll it down the hill, it can still cause damage."

The shichibukai stayed silent for a moment, steeling himself before replying, "That may be true, but what of the pond? You cannot roll that down a hill."

Zoro shot back, "It's still part of the world. If it wasn't there, you wouldn't have to walk around or swim through. There wouldn't be moss or trees there without that water. The pond still changes the world."

"So why is it important?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Zoro asked back. "It changes how we move through the world. It influences our actions. If these things weren't here, then where would we be?"

Mihawk raised his eyebrows and considered the argument. It was not quite the answer he had been looking for, but it was close. Quietly, he decided his next course of action.

"Go bathe," he commanded, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. "And rest. We will continue tomorrow morning."

As Zoro exited, his teacher could hear the excitement in his gait. Only once the younger man was out of the room did he finally exhale.

"It appears," he murmured, "I need to retrain myself, as well."

AN: Well hello hello again! I pulled myself from the morass once more to bring you all updates! To newer readers who have never seen this thing update, welcome to my sporadic updating schedule! And to the old hands who are already used to my slow ass, welcome back! Along with greetings, I'd also very much like to thank my beta Rhov for putting up with my lazy bum, as she is quite the delightful person (I would highly suggest reading her works if you enjoy mine!).

There are a great many reasons why I haven't been around, some noble, some mundane, but I think the three largest reasons (in order) are Tumblr, Homestuck, and school. Anyhow, I hope you guys don't mind-as always, I strive for quality over quantity. I am still hacking away at this fic, I swear.

I hope you all enjoyed, and perhaps the next chapter will be out soon (don't bank on it).

As I am,

Lady Spritzy

2/23/13