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Zoro wakes with a nauseating headache, the world around him spinning in and out of focus. His body feels like lead, every muscle screaming in protest, but he forces his eyes open. The familiar creak of the Thousand Sunny surrounds him, the gentle sway of the ship beneath him bringing a fleeting sense of normalcy. Very briefly, he thinks everything he experienced was a nightmare, something he finally woke up from. This feeling passes quickly. He's lying on the deck where the ritual took place. The carved sigil, still faintly glowing, is soaked in blood—his, Robin's. Nami is kneeling beside him, her face tight with concern.
His breath is shallow, his vision blurred, but the first thing he manages to rasp out is, "Robin?"
"She's alive," Nami whispers, her voice thick with relief. "Chopper's taking care of her in the clinic."
Zoro exhales, a shuddering breath, the weight in his chest loosening slightly. The memory of what he just endured floods back—the agony, the cold grip of Robin's past, the way her pain had become his. He remembers everything. It's not just knowledge; it's a visceral imprint burned into his soul. He tries to sit up, but his limbs betray him, collapsing under the weight of his exhaustion. Nami catches him before he slams back onto the deck.
"Take it easy, Zoro. You barely survived that ritual."
"Yeah, well..." He grits his teeth, the stubbornness flaring up despite his condition. "I'm still standing."
"Not exactly," Sanji's voice cuts through the air. He stands at the edge of the deck, leaning against the rail, a cigarette between his fingers. His usual snark is absent, replaced by something more somber. "You're lucky to be breathing at all, mosshead."
Zoro glares at him but can't summon the energy for a retort. Instead, he pushes through the pain, slowly getting to his feet. His legs shake beneath him. The toll of the ritual weighs down every step, but he refuses to stay down.
Nami watches him with a mixture of awe and frustration. "Zoro, you need to rest."
Zoro ignores Nami's words, shrugging her off as he stumbles away from her grip. His legs tremble beneath him, but he forces them to keep moving. He doesn't need to rest—he needs space, air, time to make sense of everything that just happened.
The moment his hand finds the door to the ship's lower levels, Zoro hears Nami's voice again, more strained this time.
"Where are you going?"
He doesn't answer, just pushes the door open and disappears inside. The dim, narrow hallway seems to stretch endlessly before him. The faint creaks of the ship echo in his ears, a soothing, rhythmic sound that somehow feels louder than usual. It helps keep his mind tethered to the present, at least for now. But he can still feel it—the invasive pull of memories that aren't his own, swirling just beneath the surface of his consciousness.
With each step, his body threatens to give out. The nausea rises, his vision flickers, but Zoro presses forward, instinctively heading toward the ship's storage room—the quietest, most isolated place he can think of. A place where he can be alone. He stumbles through the door and shuts it behind him, leaning heavily against the wall. The faint scent of old wood and rope fills the small, cramped space. Zoro takes in a deep breath, his body slumping against the wall as he slides down to the floor. The room is dimly lit by a single, hanging lantern. In the stillness, he allows himself to close his eyes.
But the moment they shut, the memories strike again.
Run, Nico Robin!
The Buster Call is coming!
The voices of people long dead ring in his ears, dragging him back into a time and place that's not his own. He can see it—Ohara burning, the skies black with smoke, the cries of children and scholars alike as the island is torn apart by the government's wrath. Robin's fear pulses through him, a cold and relentless wave that leaves him gasping for breath.
He tries to shake it off, pressing his hands to his temples, but the memories cling to him, refusing to let go. He's back there, in her skin, watching her world crumble through her eyes. The loneliness that had followed her like a sick shadow since childhood sinks into his bones. Every betrayal, every moment of running and hiding... it's all there. All of it. And it won't stop.
Zoro forces his eyes open again, but the memories linger at the edges of his mind, taunting him.
He digs his nails into his palms, trying to focus on the physical pain instead of the emotional chaos. It doesn't help. His own pain, his own exhaustion, feels trivial compared to the weight of what he's carrying now. He tries to meditate, to regain some kind of control, but his thoughts are too loud.
The door creaks open slightly, and Zoro tenses, immediately on edge. His hand instinctively twitches toward his swords, but the heavy ache in his limbs makes the movement sluggish. He doesn't need to see who it is—the energy is unmistakable.
"Oi, Zoro," Luffy's voice drifts into the small room, casual but with an edge of seriousness that Zoro rarely hears.
Zoro keeps his eyes forward, not bothering to turn toward him.
There's a pause as Luffy steps into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. The air shifts slightly, the atmosphere thick with the unspoken tension between them. Luffy isn't one for delicate conversations, but he also doesn't come to people without reason.
"You're hiding," Luffy says simply, his voice blunt in that way only he can manage.
Zoro grits his teeth, leaning his head back against the wall. "I'm resting."
Another beat of silence, and then Zoro feels Luffy's presence draw closer. "In a closet, huh?"
Zoro's fists clench. Leave it to Luffy to strip things down to their rawest form. He doesn't bother answering. Instead, he lets the silence stretch between them, hoping Luffy will get bored and leave him to his solitude. But Luffy is stubborn—more so than Zoro himself sometimes.
"Robin's okay," Luffy says, breaking the silence again. He's not asking, just stating what he already knows.
"I know."
Luffy takes another step forward, and Zoro can feel his captain's eyes on him, weighing the situation in that strange, unpredictable way Luffy does. He never approaches things like anyone else. He sees things differently, acts differently.
"You don't look okay, though," Luffy says finally, his tone softer this time but still direct.
Zoro forces his body to relax, though every nerve feels raw, exposed. He can still feel the aftershocks of the ritual, the way Robin's memories are tangled with his own. It's a sensation he can't shake, like an itch under his skin. But how the hell is he supposed to explain that to Luffy? His captain isn't someone who digs into the deep, emotional stuff.
"I'm fine," Zoro replies, sharper than he intends. He pushes himself to sit up straighter, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs.
Luffy doesn't react to Zoro's tone. He just stands there, watching. His usually carefree eyes are uncharacteristically focused, as if he's waiting for something. But Zoro isn't going to give him the satisfaction of a heart-to-heart.
"Why'd you do it?" Luffy asks suddenly, his voice cutting through Zoro's defensive silence like a knife.
Zoro's brow furrows. "What?"
"Why'd you do the ritual?" Luffy repeats, taking another step closer. He crouches down in front of Zoro, resting his arms on his knees. His expression is unreadable—serious, thoughtful.
Zoro feels a flicker of irritation at the question. "You know why. To save her."
"Yeah, but..." Luffy's voice trails off as his gaze searches Zoro's face, as if trying to understand something deeper. "You knew it'd hurt you, right? You knew it wouldn't just be easy."
Zoro clenches his jaw, looking away. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," Luffy says, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
Zoro's head snaps toward him, surprise flickering across his face before he can hide it. He opens his mouth to argue, but the words stick in his throat. Because the truth is, Luffy's right. He knew from the moment Nami explained the ritual that it wasn't just about bringing Robin back. It was about taking on something far bigger than himself. He knew it would leave a mark, but he never expected this. He didn't think he'd be living in the echoes of her past, haunted by her pain.
"I didn't do it for anyone else," Zoro finally mutters, his voice rough. "I did it because I had to. Because I couldn't..."
Luffy's eyes soften. "You couldn't lose her."
Zoro grinds his teeth together. He hates this, hates being exposed like this. "Yeah. I couldn't lose her."
Luffy tilts his head, his gaze steady. "You don't have to hide, you know. Not from us."
Zoro stiffens at the words, his instinct to retreat flaring up. He's always dealt with things on his own. It's how he's survived, how he's kept going. But this is different. The weight of the memories isn't something he can just muscle through. And maybe, just maybe, Luffy sees that.
"I don't need your pity," Zoro grumbles, trying to shift the conversation away from the uncomfortable truth.
"I'm not pitying you," Luffy says simply, his tone firm. "I'm your captain. I'm…I'm your friend."
Zoro lets out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing. He looks away, unable to hold Luffy's gaze. "I just... need some time. To figure this out."
Luffy stands, stretching his arms behind his head. "Okay. Take your time."
Zoro looks up, startled by the easy acceptance. "That's it?"
Luffy grins, his usual carefree smile back in place. "Yep. But don't hide too long. We've got stuff to do."
Zoro watches as Luffy turns to leave, feeling a strange mix of relief and confusion. His captain never digs too deep, but somehow, he always knows what to say. As the door closes behind Luffy, Zoro slumps back against the wall, closing his eyes again.
Zoro kept to himself in the days following the ritual. He hid his exhaustion well enough—pushing through training with his usual stubbornness, but everyone could see something was off. He'd skip meals, slip away before anyone could ask him how he was doing, and avoid eye contact when he could. It wasn't like him.
Normally, he thrived in the loud, chaotic atmosphere of the crew. Even when he wasn't speaking, he was still there, present and solid as a rock. Now, he was more like a ghost, haunting the ship's quiet corners, away from the others. Zoro clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening as if that could somehow hold everything inside. He was used to pain—hell, he embraced it—but this was different. It wasn't the sharp, clean burn of a sword wound or the throbbing ache of a broken bone. It was a heavy, suffocating thing that sat in his chest, clawing at him from the inside.
He stood abruptly, pacing the crow's nest like a caged animal. His boots thudded dully against the wooden floor of the storage room where he'd holed himself up. Normally, the rhythmic sway of the ship would be enough to calm his restless mind, but not now. He couldn't shake the memories. Couldn't push them aside no matter how hard he tried. Ohara burning. The sound of cannon fire and children screaming. The oppressive weight of being hunted. The feeling of running, always running, never knowing if the next corner would be the last. And worst of all, the loneliness—an endless, aching void that gnawed at his soul like a starving beast.
Zoro slammed his fist into the wall, the wood groaning under the force. It wasn't enough. His body ached for action, for something to hit, something he could cut down, but none of his usual outlets would help this time. This wasn't a fight he could win with a blade.
He stood there, chest heaving, hand still pressed against the wall as he tried to steady his breathing. This was stupid. He had no right to feel this way. It wasn't even his pain. Robin had lived through this—survived it. And yet, here he was, crumbling under the weight of her memories.
What the hell was wrong with him?
His body tensed as he felt the familiar surge of frustration. He'd thought he could handle it. After all, he was Roronoa Zoro. He'd survived things most people couldn't imagine. This should've been no different. He was strong enough. But the truth—the ugly, inescapable truth—was that he was wrong. This was different. The door creaked open slightly, and Zoro tensed, immediately on edge. Zoro's heart lurches. He doesn't need to ask who it is; he knows. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach—the anticipation, the sudden tightness in his chest. He stays where he is, not turning toward the door, as it creaks open. Robin steps into the room, her movements as quiet and graceful as always, but now they feel… heavier. Zoro catches her scent before her voice, something familiar that twists in his gut in a way that makes his hands twitch.
"I thought I'd find you here," she says, her tone low, gentle, like she's trying to ease her way into a conversation neither of them know how to start.
Zoro clenches his jaw, forcing himself to stay still, though every instinct screams at him to turn, to face her, to say something. But what can he say? The weight of what he's seen—what he's felt—still sits heavy in his chest. He knows her now in a way that feels too intimate, too raw. And the worst part is, he can't shake the tenderness it's awoken in him, a tenderness that gnaws at his every thought. Robin takes another step closer, her eyes settling on his rigid form.
"Zoro…" There's hesitation in her voice. She's never sounded unsure before.
He swallows hard, feeling a lump forming in his throat that he can't quite swallow down. His mind reels back to the memories—the nights she spent in hiding, the loneliness that clung to her like a second skin, the way the world seemed to forget her existence. He'd never felt so helpless, so angry, and now, standing here, he feels utterly out of his depth.
"Why are you here?" His voice is rougher than he intends, but he can't bring himself to smooth it out. There's too much—too much he's feeling, too much he's been through, too much she's been through. The thought of her suffering, all those years.
Robin doesn't flinch at his tone.
"I wanted to check on you," she says, quietly, but there's something in her words that seems to press deeper, beyond just concern.
Zoro scoffs, but it lacks the usual bite. "I'm fine."
It's a lie. They both know it. The air between them feels thick, charged, as though at any moment, one of them might break through the fragile wall that's holding them back. Robin steps even closer, now within arm's reach, and Zoro's muscles lock. He forces himself not to react, but the overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms—to shield her, to comfort her, to tell her that she's not alone anymore—floods his senses. The memories of her past—of her isolation, the cold, unyielding world she had to fight against—are still so vivid in his mind, and it's driving him mad.
"You saw everything, didn't you?" Robin's voice is soft, almost fragile, but not broken. There's a strength beneath it, but also a vulnerability that Zoro isn't used to hearing from her.
Zoro's grip tightens on the edge of his chair. He wants to tell her no, to spare her the knowledge that he knows just how deep her pain runs. But he can't lie to her. Not now. Not after everything.
"Yeah," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "I saw."
The silence that follows is suffocating. Zoro keeps his gaze fixed on the wall, afraid to look at her, afraid that the tenderness swelling in his chest will tear him apart if he meets her eyes. Robin shifts, and he feels her hand brush lightly against his arm. The touch is so brief, so gentle, and yet it sends a jolt through him, like a spark catching dry wood. He wants to hold her—wants to offer her the comfort he knows she's never had. But how? How can he do that when he can barely process these feelings himself? When he's never offered that type of comfort to a living soul.
"Thank you," she says, and the sincerity in her voice cracks something in him.
He grits his teeth, his hands shaking as he fights the urge to reach for her, to pull her close and tell her that she doesn't need to thank him. He didn't do it for gratitude.
"It's nothing," he grumbles, but even he knows it's a weak attempt to brush off the intensity of what they've both been through.
obin doesn't push him. Instead, she sits down beside him, close but not too close, giving him space while still being there. And that… that's what makes it worse. The tenderness inside him aches, desperate to close the distance, to wrap his arms around her and tell her that he's there now—that she's not alone anymore.
But he doesn't move. He can't.
"I don't expect you to talk about it," Robin says quietly. "I just… wanted to say I'm here. If you ever want to."
Zoro nods stiffly, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind a storm of emotions he doesn't know how to deal with. He's not good with words—he never has been—but right now, there's so much he wants to say, and none of it will come out.
