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Nami remembered everyone’s birthdays.
Oh, she was never the first one to say something -- that would be Brook most of the time, taking the opportunity to play a specially chosen song for the birthday boy or girl. Although this morning it had been Sanji who announced it first, presenting Robin with a particularly elegant cup of coffee “to celebrate the day the world graced us all with Robin-chwan.”
At his words, Nami feigned surprise. Smiling apologetically at Robin, she said, “Oh, your birthday! Hold on. I’ll be right back.” Then she darted away, down belowdecks to the quarters the two women shared. She set her own coffee on her desk, where it steamed softly as she dug under a stack of shirts in one drawer and drew forth a book.
Nami hadn’t read the book, but she could appreciate it aesthetically. The fine leather cover, dyed deep blue and carefully preserved, gave the whole thing a cultured air. A soft leather strap buckled it closed -- Nami hoped it wouldn’t cause too much of a problem with the other books in her friend’s collection. The title, embossed in gold on the front and spine, showed this to be a collection of the history and legends of the country of Vira.
Seized by a brief moment of anxiety, she unbuckled the cover and flipped it open. There, in her careful script, was written, “Happy birthday, Robin! Here’s to a hundred more islands to discover. Love, Nami.”
Smiling fondly, Nami rebuckled the cover and set it on the bed next to her. She knew Robin didn’t read anything into her little performance -- in fact, Nami rather had the impression that Robin knew it was a performance. They all probably did. But they let her have it, and she was happy with that. Because sometimes … sometimes she needed to at least pretend to reserve something of herself.
It wasn’t that she didn't love her crewmates -- she did, fiercely, endlessly, bright-burning and with no reservation. But that was basically the problem.
No matter how much she loved them, relied on them, trusted them, there remained this part of her worried that one day, they’d be taken away. That Robin would just disappear between one sailing and the next, gone into strange hands on some obscure island, leaving them to only imagine terrible fate after terrible fate. That some group would think to cut Usopp off from the rest of the group, his brave final stand witnessed only by enemies. That someone would manage to collar their captain and force him to follow in his brother’s horrifying footsteps. And if that happened, they would all go after that missing member to their doom, and they’d probably meet it with a smile on their faces.
She wasn’t afraid to show them her affection, but she balanced it with volume, with sarcasm, with rigor. She took some share of what they cultivated in her and held it back for herself, to treasure and preserve like petals pressed between pages. Secret homages to the existence of her precious connections with these incredibly special people, her chosen family.
This present was one -- and the others like it, every time a birthday had come up, for years. She always just happened to have a gift -- they’re lucky she’s so generous. They may not make the connection that she always insisted on a shopping spree some weeks before -- and that she always went off on her own, just for a few minutes. She never seemed to come back with anything, because no one ever looked in the bags she’d already accumulated. And that perfect gift got secreted away under her personal things until it was time to just happen to remember it.
But that wasn’t the only present.
As she waited, leaving enough time for her to plausibly have written the little birthday note and let it dry, her eyes ranged over to where a few of her charts lay scattered across her desk.
Nami created impeccable charts. Every line perfectly in place, every figure exact. If the crew were to fall, those charts would almost certainly get claimed as part of the plundering that happened afterward, if the Sunny survived without them. Some other navigator would use them, each set out exactly in form, and with each numeric notation perfect.
Almost.
A small handful of her charts have small numeric errors -- clearly wrong, out of sync with the similar elevations. A large mansion outside the outskirts of Syrup village is marked with the elevation 401. Arabasta features two -- a 206 down by the shore, and a 202 on the spot where the palace stands.
Zoro’s number is in Shells Town, at the spot where he threw away his old life to become a pirate. Brook’s, a reef near the Florian Triangle where the Straw Hats first heard his haunting voice. And Luffy’s … his is in the middle of a road in Cocoyashi village. But that’s just a placeholder. Just … for now.
If … when she gets to map out Laugh Tale, Luffy’s number will go there, at the moment when everything comes together.
And then she’ll burn the chart after. Of course she will. She has to make it, and she has to put the number there. But when they get there, that place will be theirs.
The one map no one else gets to see.
Closing her eyes, Nami took a deep breath. Exhaled. That would be a long way off. There were still a lot of adventures to go before her captain became the pirate king. And until then…
Smiling, she grabbed the book and her coffee, and headed back up the stairs.