Author's Note: Wow. Yikes. General exclamations of shock and disgust like that there.
How long has it been since out last update? Over a year, you say? No, that couldn't be true. Could it?
I wanted to update earlier; I really did. But I'm a busy college student, and other convenient excuses.
I'll just shut up now and let you read the chapter.
—Koru-chan
PS. Told you I was a liar.
Chapter Seven
It had taken all Nami had not to turn around and wave goodbye to Usopp one last time as she crested the hill that sloped down into the water. Now, with the warmth of the sun's setting rays still on her skin, even the slightest breeze felt bone-chillingly cold, each rattling branch and bending blade of grass was the world's way of mocking or threatening her.
She had never felt so alone.
The navigator hugged herself around the shoulders, trying to keep herself together while she fell apart at the seams.
This was it? This was the end? How could it be? It was too soon! They'd only just begun their adventure—only just begun to know each other. It was too cruel!
The docks loomed into view as Nami rounded the final bend. Wooden posts jutted from the water like tombstones, the tide lapping at the shore as if eager to draw her out to sea. The wind picked up and whispered to her of a steady breeze that would carry her to safer shores. She gripped her arms tighter and tried not to listen.
Two skiffs with red sails bobbed nearby, each carved with their own tiny helms, a testament to the shipwright who had gifted them to the two remaining pirates of the dissolved crew. The one other was already on the dock.
Zoro stood against the painted sky, a shadowed silhouette. It looked as though he had his back to Nami, but she couldn't tell until she'd stepped out onto the dock herself.
She had thought the sound of her shoes on the old wooden planks would be enough to announce her presence, and didn't bother speaking, but soon began wondering if that had been enough. The swordsman swayed gently with the placid churning of the water beneath his feet, hunched over, arms collected before him, as though he held something in his hands. Nami couldn't make out what it was.
"Well," she thought about saying. "I guess this is it."
Even in her mind, she couldn't make her voice stop shaking.
"Good bye, Zoro," she tried again. "I'll miss you."
That just seemed shallow and stupid.
"Farewell," she considered. "I hope you achieve your dreams."
That was even worse—it brought to mind the one person whose dream could now never come true. The dream of the one they'd lost. The dream that had started it all.
Zoro moved. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. He saw Nami standing there and turned around. Finally, she could make out what he held in his hands—the straw hat. She wondered briefly if he had put it down since Logue.
The swordsman shifted again, lifting one heavy boot and placing it before him, then swinging the next around to meet it in a dreary shuffle until he'd brought himself within close proximity of the navigator. Both of their attentions were on the item in his hands, so his voice, so deep and rich in contrast with the gentle rasping of the surf, startled her when he spoke.
"I think," he said very slowly, holding the hat out towards her. "He would have wanted you to have it."
Nami looked up, finally meeting Zoro's eyes. They were hard to discern with the sun at his back, but she thought the shadows might have formed a creased brow; a downcast mouth. She took the treasure reverently from his hands, marveling at how much weight so light a thing could carry. Then, with the same air of veneration, he let go. The connection was gone.
It was suddenly all too much. The agony of severing her last hard-wrought connection to that world of wonder they might never again hope to find was more than the navigator could bear. Letting out a sob, she threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around the swordsman, burying her face in his shirt.
When the girl looked up again, the sun had set, and the sky above them was a darkening violet, the first hint of stars winking into sight. As she pulled gently away, she could feel that he had his arms around her, too; his chin had been resting on her head.
She stepped back and sniffed, wiping gently at her eyes. She could make out his expression a little better now—his mouth was no longer the grim line she'd seen earlier. And his eyes were set with an almost peaceful resignation.
For a long while, they were content to just drink in the sight of each other—as if they'd never get the chance again. Then, wordlessly, they both turned away and boarded their respective vessels.
Casting off was tedious but familiar, and before they knew it, they were both sailing off in opposite directions. A pair of red sails that grew smaller and smaller until they were swallowed by the hungry horizon, as if the dying sun had been unsatisfying.
When the last of the light had died from the sky, Nami could no longer distract herself with the patterns the water made. On a moonless night, she had only her own mind for reflection. This would have been merciful, if her fingers hadn't already memorized every contour of the straw hat she still held in her hands.
She felt him there, in its worn fibers. Its smooth resilience; its frayed ridges. Even the cloth sash that had been the exact color of his vest, as though he'd been made all at once with the hat already on his head.
The wind returned to her now, reminding her in cold tongues that it could guide her home; would keep her safe. But no—it couldn't save her. Not from this. It couldn't return to her what had been stolen.
She pressed the hat over her face, trying to shield herself from the persistent winds.
She could smell him there, too.
The remainder of her strength was sapped away by this realization, and she folded. Curling herself up in the bottom of the boat, face still hidden from the stars by the hat, Nami cried tears that refused to fall. She'd dried herself up on that dock—had expressed all the grief she'd had the strength to give. Now she was alone, and the only moisture she could feel was the salt spray that speckled her shivering skin.