Usopp was still shaking.
His quivering hands. His lanky legs. His heart rattling away behind his ribcage, sending panicky blood coursing through the sniper's body. A swollen tongue licked at cracked lips, mouth painfully dry. His teeth clacked and clattered.
Shaking.
Everything shaking.
"You're safe," he thought out loud, his voice a raspy croak, "he can't hurt you."
One of Zoro's pale fingers twitched and Usopp shot back with a yelp, quivering fingers wriggling in a ward against evil. Usopp's mouth was in his throat as he stared down at the static figure, hardly daring to breath. A second passed, then two. Zoro didn't move again.
Usopp exhaled.
His knees buckled out from underneath him and Usopp fell down onto the wooden deck, his ass protesting at the harsh landing. Usopp paid his body no mind, his eyes never leaving Zoro's body. Goosebumps ran up and down his pale skin, dark hair standing to attentions. And he knew it had nothing to do with the cold air of the Grand Line. A stark contrast to the humidity of Little Garden.
Already, Little Garden felt like a fading dream. But all it took was a quick glance around their cramped ship to remind himself that it had been all too real. A waking nightmare.
Alone on deck, Usopp didn't bother trying to get up. He had little faith in his shaky limbs. Little faith in himself. Little faith in anything anymore. His fingers tightened around his overalls, scrunching up the worn material. His eyes wandered over to the back of the ship: the storage room aka the impromptu medical room.
A shudder ran through Usopp's body as he imagined Nami squirreled away in that damp and dark corner, her only company the cannons and the groceries. Not for the first time that evening, Usopp cursed their lack of a doctor. With people like Luffy, Sanji and...Zoro (blood running down his blade as Nami screamed, Zoro.) onboard, it was easy to forget how utterly mortal they were. Usopp was ashamed to admit that the thought of a doctor hadn't crossed his usual paranoid mind even once on their adventure through East Blue.
And from what he had seen of Luffy from afar, fists clenched as he stood vigil over Nami, his captain hadn't thought of it either. Not that Usopp had asked the unnaturally silent rubber boy about it...no, he didn't have the courage to do it.
There was an oppressive feel to the air around Luffy, a certain dreadful heaviness. It was like there was power ready to be unleashed barely an inch under Luffy's skin, uncontrollable and absolute. A starving animal coiled on its limbs, ready to pounce.
And from what he had gleaned from Sanji's and Vivi's mutterings, Usopp wasn't exactly wrong. Luffy had unleashed some sort of power in his battle against Zoro, some sort of power that had knocked out anything still standing. Usopp sorta wished he hadn't been knocked out by the flat edge of one Zoro's swords literally three seconds into the battle but, on the other hand, the power sounded terrifying.
And Usopp had enough of terrifying for a lifetime.
Looking across at Zoro again, the man's body unceremoniously draped across Merry's deck (no one quite willing to put him in the same room as Nami), another memory unbidden rose to the forefront of Usopp's mind.
Did Zoro say or do anything strange at Cocoyashi?
Nami had known. She had known something was wrong and Usopp had basically brushed her off, deeming it unimportant. Sure he has said that Zoro had seemed off but he didn't offer any solutions, didn't offer to help her.
And now Nami was fighting for her very life, every breath a struggle.
Usopp's hand found his slingshot and, before he knew what he was doing, his hand (all shaking gone, replaced by all-consuming fury.) was raised at Zoro's stoic face. Slingshot ready to fire. "How fucking dare you?" And Usopp was surprised at the honest-to-god hatred in voice, the pure unadulterated anger. "How dare you just lay there," Usopp hissed, "when Nami's dying because of what you just did there."
His finger loosened and the simple smoke pellet exploded harmlessly against Zoro's face, ruffling through his green hair. Staring at the unmarked face, Usopp saw red. The fury was everything and anything, red anger rushing through his veins. Usopp was halfway up the stairs to get a knife when sanity reclaimed its hold on the sniper, leaving him sweaty and empty.
Shaking, from exhaustion not fear, Usopp looked down at the prone figure of the man he'd trusted. His mentor, a role model, someone to look up to. A friend. Someone he could trust with his life. Someone he could trust with the others lives.
"You aren't worth the effort to kill you," Usopp spat out, retreating to the men's bedroom. Hot salty tears descending down his face as he walked.
The last dregs of the cigarette fell from his mouth, chewed into little more than a tobacco ball. His heel came down with a snap, cracking the floorboard underneath cleanly in two. Ignoring the damage, Sanji's shaking hand went for another cigarette. It was crushed between his fingers halfway to his lips, the dregs further staining his fingers.
The cook collapsed into a chair, head in his hands. Never in his life, short as it may have been, had he ever felt so useless.
Not even staring with horror at the stump where Zeff's leg had been on that rocky cropping all those years ago. Not even back even further in his childhood when he had still claimed the name Vinsmoke voluntarily.
The crude self done stitching across his chest throbbed and ached, a dull constant reminder of how he had failed. Pinned to the wax, it had taken Zoro one swing to take Sanji out of the battle.
One.
And through the haze of pain, blind hands desperately trying to stem the gushing blood, he had heard Nami's screams. Mind dulled by the shock of betrayal and blood loss, and with limbs that felt like lead sinking through honey, he had lain there. Lain there like a fish out of water, gasping and wheezing. Puffing away as Zoro descended upon Nami, sword gleaming with malice.
"Sanji?" Vivi's voice was timid and wary, the sound of a woman who had been hurt bad. The hesitant voice of someone who was afraid of raising their voice for fear of the world biting back. The weary sound of someone disillusioned to the world.
"Yeah? Sanji asked bluntly, his voice barely above a monotone. And that was a sign of how serious things were, he supposed. That he couldn't muster up the energy to treat Vivi with the tender love and care she deserved. Right now, Sanji was running on empty. Hollow inside. WIth sleep, he supposed, would come the all-consuming fury and hatred for Zoro (crewmate, tutor, friend. Trusted. Betrayer.) For now? Sanji was running on nothing, too far gone for anything but exhaustion.
"Are you okay?" The sand princess winced immediately after. "Sorry, stupid question."
Sanji felt laughter bubbling in his throat, he pressed it down with a grimace. He stared at his pink hands, scrubbed near raw in tap water, and slowly shook his head. "To be honest, Vivi," the cook said, "not really, no."
The dim kitchen light reflected off the girl's beautiful blue hair as she leaned in close, creamy arms wrapping around Sanji's torso. "Oh Sanji," Vivi muttered softly, her voice muffled by Sanji's well worn shirt, "it's going to be okay."
Sanji stiffened at the contact, eyes never leaving his hands as his stitching throbbed. He could still feel her blood coating his hands, enveloping them in crimson liquid. He put his shaky hands in his pocket, the image of the blood seared into his retinas. Out of sight, out of mind? If only it was that simple.
He wasn't a doctor, wasn't anything close. The most experience he had with knifes was cutting up dead animals for god's sake. But he was still the most experienced with knives and the one with the steadiest hands out of their sorry cast.
So the role of makeshift surgeon had fallen to him.
The role of butchering Nami under the guise of healing had fallen to him.
Something rolled down his face and landed on Vivi's upturned chin and, with shock as he stared into Vivi's bright blue eyes, he realised he was crying. "I ruined her." The words are a dull whisper, choked up with emotion. "I couldn't protect her and then I ruined her."
The princess rubbed circles on his back, the repeated motion familiar and soothing. "It's not your fault" she whispered amongst other nonsensical comforting words, "you did your best."
And for a moment, in the dead quiet of his kitchen, he nearly believed her. Then he remembered the ugly, red inflamed stitches running down her head and snaking down her body.
(Like Frankenstein's monster.)
And all Sanji could do was cry.
The pounding in his head was a steadfast companion and Luffy couldn't think.
The power urged to be free, demanding one second and persuasive the next. It was settled in chest, a heavy weight that threatened to buckle his knees with every step. It struggled to escape from every pore on his skin, scratching and biting in desperation.
And, well, Luffy tried to hold it all in. He really did. But it would not be contained, not by him. If only Luffy knew what is was! Was it haki? Or something else entirely? Zoro would probably know.
But Zoro was also in danger of being kicked off the crew. The only reason Luffy had dragged the green-haired man, traitor, back with them was because of the mysterious black paint they had found on his back. Mind Control? The Grand Line is a strange place after all, anything and everything is possible. And Luffy wants to believe in his first true friend outside of his brothers (Coby was funny but he didn't get Luffy the same way Zoro had.), his first crewmate.
But then he remembered Nami's terrified pain-filled screams and the feeling of dirt in his mouth as Zoro beat him down and his fists clenched, the power exploding out of him and sending anything not bolted down in the storeroom ruffling and rattling.
Nami moaned.
With a grunt of effort, Luffy reined in the explosive mystery power. The power seemed to hiss at the order, begrudgingly withdrawing at Luffy's will decreed. What's wrong being angry? It seemed to whisper to him seductively, what's wrong with being angry at what Zoro did?
Shaking his head, Luffy focused on Nami's sweating form. The way her hands clenched at her blankets as night terrors enveloped her fragile psyche whole. Anger and this new power would not help her recover. Soft words and smiles would go much further, watching the gloomy Ace's face light up whenever Luffy was around had taught him that, and Luffy would do what right by Nami.
An image of pinwheels and promise flashed through his head and, for a split second, Luffy is far away in a simpler time. And then Nami moans again, stitches cutting jagged lines across her skin. "I'm sorry, Pinwheel guy," Luffy speaks to the empty air, anything to break the oppressive heaviness, "I broke our promise. She lost her smile."
Not the only promise you broke, the restless power lapping away at him whispered, you swore on Sabo's grave that you would grow stronger and never let anyone precious to you be hurt. Did Sabo mean that little to you?
His knees buckled, not for the first time that evening (night now, he supposed.), but this time Luffy allows himself to fall into the chair placed in front of Nami's cot. But it is the only comfort he will allow himself. He will not sleep, not allow himself that luxury in the wake of his failure. He will stand vigil over Nami until she wakes.
It is the least he can do.
The kitchen door creaked to a close behind her, shrouding away the figure of a sleeping Sanji, and Vivi paused for a moment to observe the night sky and the emerging stars: it is vivid and picturesque. Then she has strided down towards the deck with purpose, a princess on a mission.
Mr. Bushido had been thrown spread-eagled onto the deck, abandoned and ignored. In some ways Nami's surgery (for that was what that stitching job was basically, closing wounds of that scale took more than a drab hand at sewing.) had been a good thing, and the mere thought of Nami's wounds being in any way a good thing left the taste of ash and curdled milk in her throat. Because it had left Sanji exhausted, too far gone to even consider being angry. She knew full well that they would have to stop the irate cook from stomping Mr. Bushido's head into a caricature of a pancake once he was recovered. But for now there was peace.
She kneeled down beside her friend and ran a hand through his cropped hair, the spiked tips begrudgingly allowing her passage. "Oh Mr. Bushido," she murmured, "I'm so sorry."
Sorry for everything.
Sorry for not doing more to stop things peacefully on Little Garden. Sorry that she hadn't sat down and explained things to Luffy about what had happened But her hands had been tied. Mr. Bushido had made it clear that she wasn't to reveal their knowledge of the future under any circumstances, no matter what. So, all Vivi could do was point to the black paint on his back and explain that she thinks it may have been a Baroque Works agent's doing.
Sorry for being useless.
But still, she reasoned to herself as her hands descended down through the edge of his hairline, things would be all right. Mr. Bushido would not stay unconscious from Luffy's Conqueror's (and what a shock that had been…) Haki for more than a couple of hours, honestly she was surprised that he had been knocked out for this long. Then Mr. Bushido would explain things and things, minus Nami's new scars (and that would cause tension, boatloads of it.), would be okay.
Then she has hissed as her pale fingers touched his forehead, hand snaking back so fast that it nearly caused her whiplash. With widened eyes and dread in her stomach, Vivi hesitantly touched Mr. Bushido's skin again. Same result.
He was burning up.
And he wasn't waking up any time soon.
