Chapter Text
Robin steels herself. The cold is pervasive. As to be expected at such depths perhaps. She can’t quit the wry internal babble that notices and remarks on the pun: steal, steel. She is aboard a steel enemy ship, stealing her to the bottom of the sea. Once, she traveled so far North that the lights or patterns in the night sky were her retinas. She used to imagine them as signs, glyphs, gods . . . really, any rhythm to make this terrible world make sense. But now, there are only fluorescent maps: bulbs swinging to make trails across the ceilings of a creaking sub in the dark. She follows them room to room as if constellations. Though to be fair, she learned long ago to feel the ground blindfolded with the arc of her feet. Too many captures and escapes will do that to you. Still, they sway in a certain logic. It’s true. The Polar Tang is more of a miracle than any mere fish. Honestly, how did Law get such a suited home and helm. She’ll never know, unless she asks and that’s well. . . at least, Franky can get his jollies in before they emerge. Either way, her time is off. Lines between day and night are haphazard. The crew is likely use to the pings and wailing of this undersea un-houred beast. But she is still a creature of day, despite being a “demon.” It is probably very late or very early because it is that enchanted interval in which her mind suddenly breaks from her guard to explore . . . less comfortable topics. The Captain.
How fitting. He must like it this way. He is a midnight creature himself. She’s seen enough on the Sunny during those harrowing pre-Dressrosa days to know.
Ok. No. And back to other topics. . . were there ancient civilizations buried by the rising sea? Could this ship take her to see what has been lost beneath so many waters? What if she had followed that lowly upstart upon the North Blue sea plains that one night and . . . No. They do not speak of this. She does not speak of this.
Maybe the library is open. Yes. There are enough folklore archives to steady a historian's heart into sleep there. Though, there are many medical texts as well. Useful to study, useful to know that if she applies just the right amount of pressure to certain arteries. . . anyway her kills have always been hands-on. She needs to feel the pulse of what she takes and gives. It is what keeps her human. But, that is not what draws her to the library tonight.
Follow the trail of fluorescent lights left, left and right. Stop centered to the heavy sub door. There is a couch there, under the widest porthole. This is more her home than not. She misses her bed, warm from Nami, but the Hearts know not to disturb her. Especially at this hour: which is why she lets down her guard.
It’s simple really. Two people trained to gather information can say so much in just a brush, or hands on a glass of rum: passed here and there across a bonfire. It’s been fun, but there is no sense in making a move. Not here on an enemy ship. Not ever.
Which of course is why it happens: a spy beaten at their own game. A conversation in the space of one title dragged from a bookshelf. She’ll never know why. She could ask, but would Law give her a straight answer? She finds it more productive to scry the dilation of his retinas at close distance.
But. Back to the “before.” She is pushing the oak door open and teetering to the “L row” shelves. Of course, the Tang’s library is meticulously and alphabetically organized. She has not slept in days. She is looking for a panacea in pages and does not yet have haki. If she had, she would feel the presence canting towards her across the shelves. Law’s right arm, the injured one, brushing her hairline to reach for a book. But she hadn’t and doesn’t have haki, so she turns to face the body hemming her in and the wide-blown honey of a gaze that does not know whether to withdraw or flee.