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Cocoyashi Village is about three days behind them when Nami finally relaxes. Her back hurts, her neck is stiff, her new tattoo is itchy beyond belief. She’s been slacking on her bedtime routine, which has impacted her sleep quality almost as much as the nightmares have. There’s one small wrinkle forming between her eyebrows, barely perceptible, but she just knows it’s there.
Needless to say, she’s miserable.
Her new crew is recovering slowly. Zoro received the worst of the injuries for this particular escapade, having nearly died first at Mihawk’s hand, and then again at Arlong’s. The horrifying image of his chest, heaving and barely held closed by mismatched stitches, is still tattooed on the insides of her eyelids. Sometimes she thinks she can taste his blood in the back of her throat.
Nami can see him from where she’s standing on the front deck. He’s stretched out between the freshly planted tangerine trees, his arms folded behind his head and his bare feet crossed. He’s still wearing Arlong’s shirt, perhaps only because it’s loose enough to hang off his shoulders, leaving the front open to air out his stitches. Nami could barely look at him after seeing his treacherous bisection for the first time and then watching him take another in her name, but after Nako cleaned him up and corrected the butchered stitches, it became much easier to face him.
She wants to go to him, but she isn’t ready. There’s something so surreal about looking at these people, barely a step above strangers to her, and knowing that they risked their lives on a whim, on her. Zoro frightens her the most, maybe because he is so careful with his trust, hoarding it right next to his heart just like she does. Maybe more because he almost died for her.
Sanji comes up from the kitchen with a tray of beverages. He drops two glasses of iced tea with Luffy and Usopp where they are attempting to fish off the side of the ship and then heads over to where Zoro is still napping soundly. The cook leaves a tall glass of lemon water in the shade within arm’s reach before he makes his way up to where Nami is leaning against the railing on the upper deck. His expression goes soft and he grins widely when she looks his way.
“A refreshment for my Nami-swan,” he coos, handing her an elaborate-looking cocktail topped with sliced berries.
“Thanks.” She inclines her head towards Zoro, who has roused himself enough to enjoy his own drink. “How is he?”
“The swordsman?” Sanji exclaims, seemingly surprised she’s asking. “He seems fine. It’s very kind of Nami-swan to worry, but you needn’t spend any energy on that idiot.”
When she doesn’t laugh along at his jab, Sanji deflates slightly. She must be making some sort of face, as he half-bows awkwardly and skirts back around her to return to the kitchen. She appreciates the respect. Her head is full of confusing feelings, rattling back and forth like coins in a can, and she’d really rather deal with that by herself.
Nami isn’t sure how to approach Zoro. She happily thanked Luffy and the others after they successfully took Arlong down and freed her village, but that just doesn’t feel like it’s enough to give to Zoro. His demeanor, the way he radiates a power that demands respect, makes her nervous and hesitant to treat him the same way she does the other boys. How does one properly thank somebody who seems so out of reach?
Maybe she’ll have an idea by dinner.
Zoro doesn’t come to dinner.
Sanji is upset, of course, and flutters uselessly around Nami throughout the meal to occupy himself. Nami tolerates it, but she can’t help glancing at Zoro’s empty seat whenever she takes a sip from her glass. He usually keeps Sanji off of her during mealtimes, distracting the cook with casual banter that often ends with one or both of them pulling a weapon.
When Luffy and Usopp start fighting over the last pork bun, Nami takes her leave. Sanji looks ready to say something, but the navigator is already out of the room and making her way towards the men’s quarters. Chances are Zoro is resting, trying to sleep off his injuries, but she just wants to make sure, if only for her own peace of mind.
The room is dark when she peeks inside. As she opens the door wider, the light from the hallway illuminates the empty hammocks. She creeps inside to check the couch, but all she finds is a couple pillows and a pair of dirty shorts. It smells like Usopp’s handmade explosives over here.
Nami clicks her tongue and heads back down the hall. She finds him in the bathroom, thankfully clothed from the waist down. She doesn’t mean to barge in on him, but since she already has, she performs a quick welfare check.
“Ever heard of knocking?” Zoro mutters absently as he applies more of what appears to be a medicinal salve to his stomach. Purple bruises stretch across much of the skin Nami can see.
“You weren’t at dinner,” the redhead says, watching his hands move carefully across angry, broken skin.
“I’m not hungry.”
Nami crosses her arms and observes him massaging his ribs. The massive wound that stretches from his shoulder to hip is inflamed and swollen, though it appears shiny as if freshly cleaned. She counts the stitches while he finishes treating his frontside and moves to the back.
“Do you need help?”
She doesn’t expect him to accept. Zoro clearly prides himself on being self-sufficient, on being the one who gives care more than the one who receives it. It may translate into throwing himself into oncoming danger like a sacrificial lamb, but Nami sees it for what it is: Zoro gives his body for them because it is all he has. She wonders if this could be a route of redemption for her.
Zoro makes a small sound as he stretches to rub the back of his left shoulder. Nami approaches him slowly, as if he is a nervous animal, and makes sure he can see her hands when she reaches them out to him. He shoots her a warning glower, causing her to pause. Best not to provoke him, she supposes.
“At least let me get your back,” she says.
With a critical look, Zoro unfolds himself. He assesses her for a moment, his intense gaze looking seemingly straight through her. Whatever he finds must be satisfactory, as he slowly holds out the little container for her to take.
Nami feels something like relief flow through her as she accepts the offering. The navigator takes a seat on the edge of the tub next to him, matching his angles so he can see them both in the mirror across the small room. She warms the salve in her palms before placing her hands gently upon his shoulders. She feels his muscles twitch minutely beneath her touch, but he doesn’t complain otherwise, so she begins to massage the salve into his skin.
The silence that stretches between them is the most comfortable thing Nami has experienced in years. A pleasant vibration begins to work its way up her arms and into her eardrums. She can feel herself sinking into the sensation, allowing herself to be absorbed completely into the task at hand. She knows what this means for him, to let her touch his back, and she doesn’t plan to disrespect that trust.
She has never been this close to him before. Even with her scent-weak beta nose, she can smell the notes of matcha and cocoa that cling to him. It’s enticing, a milky-sweet flavor that sits gently on her palate and causes a sort of comfort to take a front seat in her brain. It reminds her of how she felt when Bell-mère would wrap her up in a tight embrace. Like she couldn’t be hurt so long as she was in those arms.
“You smell better than any pirate I’ve met,” she teases.
“I’m coming into heat,” he says in return.
Another moment passes before Nami begins snorting with laughter. Zoro tenses beneath her fingers, his shoulders creeping up towards his ears. The vibrations cease, and Nami registers absently that they seem to be coming from deep inside him.
“That’s a good one,” she chuckles, patting his back. “It’s too bad you became a pirate instead of a comedian.”
Zoro shrugs and says, “Your opinion of me doesn’t change what I am. I don’t need your approval.”
Nami’s laughter dies as she swallows hard. That’s a loaded statement she isn’t prepared to unpack, but she wants to be graceful about it, not only for herself, but for Zoro as well. Never did she suspect he was anything but an alpha, and though that was certainly unfair of her to assume, it’s easy to justify it. He doesn’t meet any of the traditional omega standards she is used to, nor has she ever encountered an omega on the high seas, let alone a pirate in particular. It simply isn’t a thing.
But he’s serious. She can tell by the way his eyes go cold, slate-grey. The vibrations, she realizes suddenly, were a product of his purr. The omega was comfortable enough to purr in her presence and she ruined it by rudely questioning his gender. She wonders how many others have done the same, and she feels the sudden and intense need to validate him, to assure him that she is an ally to him or some shit.
“Oh,” she says instead.
Zoro hums and takes the salve from her hands. They both smell like beeswax and arnica now, while her hands feel sticky with it. He caps the container and stores it in a small box tucked under the sink. He straightens and leans into the mirror to assess a stray scrape on his right cheekbone.
“Does anybody else know?” she wheedles, averting her gaze when he glances at her in the mirror.
“Probably,” Zoro says with a shrug. “It’s not like I hide it.”
Nami mutters an affirmation, but she has her doubts. Not only does Zoro’s attitude and form fall more in line with that of an alpha, but he doesn’t often get close enough for them to receive any biological cues that could suggest his secondary gender. It would be truly surprising if any of their crewmates have looked past his alpha-passing phenotype to consider what else lies beneath.
“I’m gonna head to bed,” Zoro says with a yawn, seemingly oblivious to her turmoil. “Pre-heat makes me so sleepy.”
Nami makes a small sound of understanding and watches him go longingly. Is she so self-absorbed that she didn’t even notice his gender? She’s sure the others haven’t made the connection yet either, but that’s no excuse. She prides herself on being observant and thoughtful, an enemy to ignorance, and yet just a moment before, she accidentally mocked her friend’s gender while essentially imposing her own assumptions onto him.
Guilt tastes like mud on the back of her tongue.
She will do better.
Two days later, Zoro misses dinner again.
Now that she knows what to look for, Nami goes outside first. She walks around the deck until she finds their wayward swordsman tucked between her mikan trees, as he so often is. It’s a safe space, relatively high up for a good view and lightly perfumed with the smell of citrus, obscuring his scent. It’s only when Nami gets within arm’s reach of him that the heat-scent finally hits her.
He smells like matcha milk truffles, so sweet and soft that her mouth begins to water. She wants to taste it, but as a beta, she not only has a poor sense of smell, but lacks the oral glands that allow alphas and omegas to perceive scents through taste. Still, she finds herself absently leaning closer until he determines he’s had enough and cracks one eye open to stare up at her with a cloudy gaze.
“Something wrong?” he asks. His voice has a slight rasp to it, as if he hasn’t spoken all day.
“I just wanted to check in,” Nami says, flushing in embarrassment. It feels strange to say such a thing.
Zoro regards her with a curious look before allowing his eye to drop closed again. Nami relaxes a bit without his piercing gaze on her and tries to assess his physical well-being while she can do it relatively in secret. She observes the healthy flush painted across his cheeks and the thin layer of sweat collecting on his forehead and collarbones. He seems to have forgone a shirt today, but still insists on his haramaki, which appears to be cradling a heating pad to his belly.
“You’re in heat,” she blurts, earning an unimpressed glance. “Do you plan to hide out here for the duration of it? Luffy will eventually find you.”
“I didn’t really have a plan,” Zoro says honestly. “This is my first heat with the crew. I was hoping to be on an island for it, but I’m early.”
Nami chews on the inside of her cheek. There’s no way the others won’t pick up on Zoro’s scent now that he’s one step away from being fully submerged in his heat. His body is already crying out, the notes of help, help, I need you cloying in even Nami’s scent-weak nose.
“You should stay in my room.” The words come unbidden, but when Zoro’s eyes pop open to look up at her, surprised, she’s sure of her offer. “There’s a bed and you can use the bathroom without having to walk across the ship. You’ll be safe there.”
The way Zoro is staring at her makes her uncomfortable. His eyes are so strange, slate-grey one moment and a glowing amber the next. Though he oftentimes comes across as rather dull, he’s incredibly astute and demonstrates a natural ability to judge character and motivations at the deepest level. She wonders if he can see inside of her to her most honest self.
“I might not even charge you for it,” she adds, though her voice is teasing.
Zoro seems to consider her offer for a moment. There’s a vaguely suspicious look on his face, and though it stings a bit, Nami knows she’s earned it. The rest of their crew is so quick to forgive for one reason or another, but people like Zoro, like Nami herself, don’t give their trust unless it’s earned.
“Mm, okay,” Zoro finally relents. When he sits up, she can hear the rice inside his heating pad shifting.
“Okay,” Nami echoes, pleased.
She leads him down to the storage room and further down into her bedroom. He hesitates in the doorway before she explicitly invites him inside, and even then he remains near the exit. His eyes trail around the room, lingering on the bed in particular. There’s a look of longing there, and she wonders how long it’s been since he’s slept in a real bed.
“Make yourself at home,” Nami says, patting the mattress invitingly. “I’m going to grab some supplies, okay?”
Zoro cocks his head, but nods nonetheless. Nami slips past him more slowly than she needs to, letting his milky-sweet scent wash over her, and heads upstairs. She gathers all of the charcoal deodorizers Sanji has hidden around the kitchen and fills up a large bottle of drinking water. On a whim, she unlocks the food storage and fills her arms with several days’ worth of small snacks. She has no idea how long Zoro’s heats last, but the less he has to leave to retrieve necessities, the less his scent will spread and cause upset on the ship.
Nami returns to her room to find Zoro tucking what appears to be blankets from the boys’ quarters into her bed. He’s taken her own bedding off and left it in a neatly folded stack on her desk. On the chair sits a small bag of clothing.
“You didn’t have to change the bedding,” she says, surprised by his thoughtfulness.
“I don’t want to ruin your sheets,” he says plainly, making her blush at the implication. “We both know I don’t have any money to pay you back.”
Nami cocks her head. She can’t quite tell if he’s joking or not, but she hopes he doesn’t truly expect her to indebt him over this. A mean little voice in the back of her head wonders why she shouldn’t be rewarded for essentially babysitting a grown man, but then she imagines the sound Arlong’s saw-nose made when it sunk into Zoro’s flesh and thinks, he would do the same for me.
“I’ll give you a nakama discount,” she lies to hide her discomfort.
Zoro snorts out a mild laugh and continues constructing what Nami now realizes is a nest. She feels like an intruder in her own room, watching the omega build himself an intimate little hidey-hole to ride out his heat in. She isn’t sure what the etiquette is here, if she’s supposed to be witnessing such a personal act, but he doesn’t kick her out so it must be fine.
Nami looks away from the incredibly endearing image and begins stacking her haul on the bar. She moves the jug of water to the bedside table and tucks the charcoal deodorizers around the hatch to help regulate the wafting of his scent into the storage room. When she’s satisfied, she hops back down the stairs and regards her work with pride.
“Is there anything else you need?” the navigator asks. She watches him crawl into his nest, curling up into a little ball and tucking his face into the nearest pillow. If she strains her ears, she can catch a hint of his pleasant purr starting up.
“No,” Zoro says finally. “I’m fine.”
Satisfied, Nami begins to gather a few outfits from her closet. She folds them and stores them in a tote to bring with her to the lounge where she’ll sleep until Zoro’s heat has passed. When she’s comfortable with what she’s collected, she turns off the lights and begins to climb the stairs to the hatch.
“Nami?”
The navigator looks down at his faint call. She can barely see the silhouette of his nest in the dark.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
She smiles.
“Where’s Zoro?” Luffy groans at breakfast the next day, dropping his head onto the table. Sanji glares at him for his poor manners.
“He’s sleeping,” Nami answers immediately. “Don’t bother him.”
“But I miss him,” her captain whines.
“Well, suck it up. He needs to rest in order to recover from his injuries.”
Luffy grumbles to himself but doesn’t talk back to her again. He forgets about her ire when Sanji delivers a plate of quiche so he can finally begin stuffing his face with massive forkfuls. Usopp receives his own plate and eats at a much more reasonable pace, but his eyes remain on Nami. He looks suspicious.
“He needs to eat too,” Sanji says, handing Nami not only a dish of quiche, but a glass of fresh mikan juice. “The idiot will starve if left to his own devices.”
“I’ll bring him something,” Nami insists, glaring at the juice.
“My Nami-swan is so generous,” the cook gushes.
The rest of breakfast goes relatively smoothly. Nobody breaks anything and Sanji only has to kick Luffy once when he tries to sneak food off of Nami’s plate. Zoro’s seat remains empty and Nami thinks of him curled up in his little nest, suffering alone. Her heart aches for him.
Nami is rinsing her plate in the sink when Sanji hands her a bento. She looks at it, surprised by the level of care with which the meal is packaged considering Sanji’s immense distaste for Zoro. She peaks inside to find rice balls, nori, and crispy tofu, a relatively gentle meal she hopes will be kind on Zoro’s heat-ravaged body.
“If he doesn’t eat, I’m going to kick his ass,” Sanji says, breathing out a plume of smoke.
She sees his irritation for what it is: caring.
Her crew really is something else, she thinks as she makes her way back down to her bedroom. She knocks gently on the door, and when there’s no reply, she cracks it open and peers inside. She can’t even see him, he’s so deeply embedded in his nest, but the blankets shift when she steps inside and closes the door behind her.
“It’s just me,” Nami says in a low voice. She wonders if she’s breeched etiquette by entering his heat-space uninvited, but he doesn’t voice a complaint against her. Perhaps he is more likely to let her in because he is already surrounded by her scent.
Zoro slowly uncurls himself from his nest and emerges like a bear fresh out of hibernation. His face is red and damp, his grey eyes slightly unfocused and glazed over with a sort of absent look. He blinks at her several times before he is apparently appeased and pulls himself fully from the tangle of blankets he’s constructed. She’s surprised to see that he’s changed into a black bralette and a matching pair of “softies,” compression shorts with absorbent liners geared towards those with heats and menstrual cycles.
“Sanji made you a bento,” Nami says. She has to stop herself from staring in shock at the very slight swells of his breasts, having never viewed them as anything more than muscle mass. Wrapped up in a bralette, they’re somehow something different now.
“Mm,” Zoro hums, reaching out to take the bento with grabby hands. He immediately digs into the rice balls, stuffing one whole into his mouth.
“Are you doing all right?”
“Itchy,” the swordsman murmurs past a strip of nori. He scratches absently at his scar, causing welts to rise up on the tight, new skin.
“You need to keep moisturizing,” she reprimands, knowing that caring for his skin is the last thing on his mind at the moment. “Do you want some lotion, or maybe your salve?”
Zoro doesn’t answer, his eyes drooping in exhaustion now that his belly is full of rice. He slouches and eventually ends up curled up on top of his deflated nest, burying his face in what appears to be Nami’s own pillowcase. Her chest swells with a tender feeling. He must have grabbed it from her desk and integrated it into his nest, combining their scents.
The omega starts scratching at his left shoulder next, where sunburnt skin is healing and beginning to dry out. Nami goes to her desk and opens one of the bottom drawers where she keeps her most favorite products, hidden away to avoid them being spoiled. She picks a gentle moisturizer and turns to find Zoro’s cloudy eyes tracking her from the bed.
“Do you want me to help?” she prompts.
Zoro stares at her for a moment before nodding. He drags himself into a sitting position, bearing his back so sweetly for her. Something painful squirms around inside the navigator’s ribcage as she gently applies the lotion to his backside, paying special attention to his peeling shoulders. She shifts the straps of his bralette to get at a particularly dry patch of skin, causing him to hiss in discomfort. She thinks about how painful her own breasts become during her menstrual cycle and realizes he probably feels similarly.
“Sorry,” Nami murmurs, taking care to be gentle when returning the elastic straps to their previous positions.
Once she’s finished with his back, Zoro collapses onto his side and makes a disgruntled sound when she takes advantage of the new angle to slather lotion on his scar. She can’t get to what’s hidden inside his bralette, but she can at least help with the rest. He paws at her hands and garbles out a choked sound of anger. She rubs the remaining lotion into her healing tattoo.
“Done,” Nami announces, holding up her hands. He glowers at her from beneath the sweat-soaked fringe stuck to his forehead. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”
Zoro turns away from her and tucks his face into the folds of his nest, curling up. His scent spikes and his thighs spasm for a moment, drawing a pained moan from his lips. Scent-weak as she is, even Nami can pick up on the perfume of heat and omega slick in the air. She takes the opportunity to make a graceful exit, if only to hide her blush.
After Zoro’s heat, the thing they have turns into a Thing.
It becomes habit to seek Zoro out. She gravitates towards him, and she thinks that maybe he does to her as well. They meet up most frequently in the bathroom, where they exchange casual conversations and occasionally gossip about their fellow crewmembers. Zoro reveals himself to be quite the informant, privy to seemingly all happenings on the ship, and Nami finds herself laughing to the point of tears on several occasions after hearing about the many mishaps of their crew. This is no longer about earning his forgiveness. It's about earning his trust.
It’s pleasant, incredibly so. The voice in the back of her head insists that it won’t last, that nothing good ever does, not for her, but she stomps down those negative feelings before they can take control of her like they have before. She’s free now, free to not only live on her own terms, but to accept others in ways she never could before. While she realizes that she does not have the right to claim him, Zoro is hers.
“You should try this,” she says, pulling out a small glass bottle.
Zoro looks up from where he’s cracking open one of her many lotions. She takes it and hands him the bottle with a softness in her eyes.
“What is it?” he inquires, sniffing the foreign substance.
“A mixture of vitamin-enriched oils. It’s good for scars.”
Enough time has passed that Zoro’s scar doesn’t seem to bother him much anymore. He has long removed the stitches and the skin is pink and shiny, only slightly tender to the touch. She knows he doesn’t quite mind the look of it, but for comfort’s sake, it should still be cared for.
“Ah, thanks,” he says, dousing his chest with a bit of the oil and rubbing it into his skin. It absorbs quickly, which he seems pleased with, and leaves him with a healthy glow. “Feels good.”
Nami grins as she applies some of the oil to her tattoo.
She feels good too.
“How did you get so into skincare?” Nami asks one day. “Doesn’t seem much like you.”
Zoro is washing his face while Nami brushes her teeth. She watches him pat his skin dry before applying one of the navigator’s many moisturizing products. She almost says something about paying her for the amount of her stuff he’s been using, but as he rubs lotion into the dry skin left in the stead of his steadily healing wounds, she reconsiders. The relief in his eyes is payment enough.
“It’s practical,” Zoro says, scratching gently at his scar. “The sun and saltwater make my skin dry and itchy. Better to combat it than live in misery on the high seas.”
Nami nods along and adds, “It’ll help minimize your scarring too.”
“I’m not worried about scars so long as they aren’t on my back. Scars on the back are a swordsman’s greatest shame.”
Rinsing her toothbrush, Nami makes a thoughtful sound. Most of the omega’s scars save for his newest acquisition are small and long faded, little crescent moons and nicks that glow white in the right lighting. His back, however, is flawless save for a liberal smattering of freckles across his suntanned shoulders.
“Want me to get your back?” she chirps when she notices him eyeing her in the mirror.
“Okay,” he says, and she can’t help but puff up with pride at how quickly he answers.
He hands her his own salve, the one that smells strongly of arnica. She doesn’t like how it leaves her hands feeling sticky, but the way he relaxes after it’s applied makes the inconvenience worth it.
The two fall into a comfortable silence as Nami rubs salve into the bruises that have faded from black to yellow across Zoro’s skin. Slowly, he begins to purr, making Nami grin wildly to herself. It’s a good sound, low and rumbling with a strong vibration that rolls up her arms like thunder.
“You don’t owe me anything, you know.”
Nami looks up from her work. Zoro’s eyes seem to glow amber in the mirror, but she’s sure it’s just a trick of the light.
“What do you mean?” she deflects easily.
“All this stuff you’re doing for me,” Zoro elaborates, turning to face her fully. Her eyes are immediately drawn to his wound. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate you sharing your fancy creams and junk, I just want you to know that you don’t have to feel obligated to. You don’t owe me anything.”
Eyes wide, Nami cocks her head. Zoro mirrors her, tucking his fingers into his haramaki as he watches her with a patient gaze.
“I did feel obligated at first,” she says slowly, thoughtfully, “but I don’t anymore. I help you because you’re nakama. I care about you.”
Zoro smirks. “You going soft on me, inbetweener?”
“I was trying to have a moment with you, but you ruined it,” Nami sniffs, turning up her nose.
Heaving with laughter, Zoro pulls her into his arms. Through her shock, Nami returns the embrace and allows herself to sink into it wholly. His chest is hot against her own and his pleasant scent permeates her nose. His laugh is so consuming that she can’t help but cackle a bit as well. When was the last time she gave a hug?
“Hey, what’s going on in there?” Sanji shouts, banging his fist on the other side of the door. “Nami-swan? Are you in there with the marimo?”
Nami and Zoro just laugh louder.