Work Text:
/ˌdʌɪəˈrɑːmə/
noun, HISTORICAL
= a scenic painting,
viewed through a peephole,
in which changes in colour
and direction of illumination
simulate changes in the
weather, time of day, etc.
Little moonlight filtered through the single window behind the bed, casting a soft glint over the man lying on it.
It made his hair shine a brighter green, accentuating the contrast with the stark white of the tight bandaging the resident doctor had earlier wrapped around his forehead. The latter was creased deeply by the stress he had accumulated throughout the crew’s stint in Thriller Bark.
Eyebrows dipping towards the bridge of his nose, the swordsman slept with a clenched jaw, looking very odd in his unconscious vigilance. According to Chopper, there was no way of telling when he would wake up. The injuries he had sustained in his rendezvous with Kuma were worse than anything he had ever cured before, and the tiny reindeer had emanated a great deal of frustration when after patching his body up he had then started monitoring his rest, but without coming to any solid conclusion.
Everyone aboard the Thousand Sunny was concerned about his health.
It took Robin a full minute to abandon the threshold’s safety after closing the door behind her, as if fearing her mere presence could interfere with his healing process or slow it down in any way.
Anxious thinking on her part, for sure, but she was mad with worry herself.
It was why she had sneaked out of the room she shared with the navigator and all the way up to the sick-bay, moving in the shadows so that Franky wouldn’t spot her from where he kept watch in the crow’s nest.
It was becoming awfully frequent for a Straw-Hat to almost die between one adventure and the next.
She couldn’t say she was fond of the habit.
The crepe bandage blanketed around his bare torso stretched in and out to accommodate Zoro’s slow, even breaths, while the scar on his chest glimmered pink before it seeped under the white fabric, staring back at her as an ironic epitome of cleanliness in the battlefield his body had been turned into by the Warlord. It was safe to assume he had almost died on the day yet another Warlord had cut that one into him, but the real dilemma was, how had he survived today?
What kind of magical land of immortal beings was he from?
Was it possible to elude death out of sheer stubbornness?
In that moment, she was inclined to believe that it was. Cloaked by shadow, with the kiss of the moon above his heart, he was living proof.
Her legs felt inexplicably heavy as the archeologist let them drag her to his bedside, her steps soft and controlled despite her inner turmoil.
After going out of her way to eavesdrop on the chef’s conversation with those pirates, she understood why he didn’t want the crew, and especially the captain, to know the unforgiving lengths to which his sacrifice had been willing to go today. It could be a burdensome debt, indeed, to owe someone your life.
But Robin knew, and it filled her chest with something bittersweet.
There was much to be admired in the grumpy swordsman, from his loyalty to his iron working ethics, or his unwavering dedication to his dream, but she wasn’t sure she could put this kind of selflessness on the list.
Mental projections of his death, whose craft was child’s play for her gloomy imagination, they made her ache in ways she did not wish to explore.
She was still shocked by the outlandish tale Sanji had recounted for those men.
Her hand moved up as if pulled by an invisible string and went to rest over the one he kept on his stomach, his elbow bent beyond the edge of the mattress.
Zoro’s hand was cold, rough to the touch, much bigger than hers. His knuckles were five-eyed hills where the bones reached upward, his veins like embossed by a masterful sculptor as they spread out and ran for his tan, flexible wrist. He had long, tapered fingers which hours upon hours of flexing around the grip of his swords had made calloused, and at times she would picture them closing around her throat, taking her breath away in the best possible way.
Tucking her own fingertips under his palm, where they grazed the bandaging wrapped around his stomach, she couldn’t take her eyes off his face, off that disgruntled frown marring his face, as if he deep down he was disappointed in himself even after he had travelled to hell and back.
For someone she personally regarded as quite incredible, the swordsman was entirely too hard on himself.
She wasn’t one to bestow her praise around lightly, either, but she liked to give credit where it was due, and the strength the man carried within him, both physical and moral, well, that was simply breath-taking.
Whereas Luffy gave the crew purpose and direction, he was the shield that made it so everyone else could focus on the pursuit of their dreams.
Grateful didn’t quite cut it.
For once, it was only fair someone else protected him as he slept and somehow recovered from a fight that would have killed anyone else on the ship, and she liked the idea of that someone being her.
If only because she could move stealthily and wouldn’t charge him afterwards like Nami probably would.
Robin wasn’t sure what made her feel so oddly connected to him.
Maybe it was the way she had caught him staring over the edge of the ocean a couple of times, smiling to himself as if in deep existential thought.
She was very fond of that image.
Maybe it was the quiet, subtle care he was putting into making sure he was reversing his earlier diffidence, because the only thing she had needed to do all along to be given a chance was to ask for one.
He had not hesitated when she did.
They were different in that – Zoro could be cynical, just like her, and he had lived at sea far too long to have his head stuck in the clouds, but his instinct came from a place of goodness; merciless with enemies, he was kind to strangers unless they gave him a reason not to. While she felt the same impulse, she was only now getting adjusted to following it.
In a way, he was an inspiration, too.
He drew a shorter, uneven breath, his frown deepening as the arm that had previously rested limply on his side twitched. Showing her an adorable pout, he fisted the air, mumbling an unconscious complaint.
The archaeologist let her eyes glide down the outstretched limb and surpass it, until they landed on Chopper’s desk.
In the earlier rush to the sick-bay, the patient’s prized swords had been carelessly stacked by the overworked doctor.
She took it as a good sign.
If he was searching for his weapons, he likely still had some fight left in him.
Despite the reindeer’s reassurances, she had not been able to feel optimistic when she paid him a visit the first time before dinner and witnessed his state of exquisite stillness. It was one of the reasons she had felt compelled to return.
Truthfully, she was here for herself just as much. Nonetheless, she was happy she could be of help now.
She made to leave his bedside, where she had knelt without noticing, but couldn’t find it in herself to break the unusual link of their hands, pinned to her spot by something overwhelming about the way it felt.
Robin couldn’t begin to discern what was making her feel so avidly sentimental tonight, but the patronage of shadows allowed her not to care – right here, right now, there was no role to play, no set of self-imposed rules to follow, no consequence to the unusual fluttering of butterflies in her stomach.
She just was.
She lived, she felt, she gave thanks.
For the steady heartbeat in her crewmate’s ribcage, for the candle-like glow the moon casted upon his sleeping form, enhancing that lovely profile of his, for the almost imperceptible sound of his breaths as they infringed upon his cupid’s bow.
There was so much to be thankful for, truly.
With a flicker of her free hand, several sets of arms covered the floor and furniture, gripping the polished hilts of his swords and passing them over until they were resting next to the hip they were typically attached to.
He always kept within a five feet radius from his blades; not mere weapons, they were an extension of his body.
The tiny, handsome grin he smiled next as his left hand closed around Wado’s grip, it brought tears to her eyes.
All would be well.
He would make it through this night, and many more to come.
Robin was going to make sure he would.
“Aren’t you a little uncomfortable?”
The first, timid hues of sunrise painted the sky orange and pink outside the window, and those were the first thing her eyes laid upon when she opened them the following morning, brought back to conscience by a soft tug on her wrist.
It seemed she had fallen asleep while sleeping on the floor, and the theory was supported by the dull ache in her bones and joints – something like a whiplash cut her neck in two from where she had leaned it too heavily on the bedframe.
She remembered sneaking out of her room to pay Zoro a nightly visit and check up on his recovery, and then letting her mind run wild for a while there, explore thoughts and scenarios she was usually quite apt at blocking; she must had fallen asleep somewhere between returning his precious swords to him and whispering to his unconscious ear a lost Oharan lullaby.
Her uncle’s wife used to sing it to her children every night before tucking them into their beds; she remembered listening in secretly from her tiny room in the basement, longing for her mother’s voice as it grew more distant in her memories with every new turn of the seasons, and those moments as the only ones in which the woman had not appeared entirely too terrifying to her much younger self.
As it turned out, she had grossly underestimated the power it still had to make her snooze. Brain now rebooted to about a third of its capacity, Robin’s jaw dropped as she moved her gaze away from the window and to the hospital bed.
Zoro was still there, still bandaged head-to-toe, but part of the moment now rather than an unwilling, agonizing participant; his eyelids were heavy as he stared back at her with those irises that matched her favorite blend of coffee.
And he was holding her hand.
She blinked at their intertwined fingers.
The archeologist couldn’t recall doing that the night before, just resting her own on top of his, so, had he…?
She shrugged, “I’ve slept on worse”.
“What are you doing here, Robin?”
Ah, always so blunt. Some days she loved it, some days she hated it.
But she figured honesty was the best answer she could offer him.
“I didn’t want you to be alone”.
She stood up then, releasing her legs from the unnatural fold she had forced them into for most of the night.
A small weight shifted in the front pocket of her dress, reminding her of the gift she had come bearing with.
When she tried to retrieve her hand and then it, a red-faced Zoro squeezed the limb harder, keeping her in place.
“I’m glad I’m not”.
Crossing her left arm over her stomach, she returned the soft pressure with her right hand and fetched the small flask.
Over the years she had picked up on a wide range of skills as she travelled through many different places, and after her friends had risked everything for her, slowly but surely she was crafting tiny handmade gifts for everyone.
This one was the swordsman’s.
It was the first and probably the last time she would get any use out of her metal art studies.
On both sides, she had engraved a small bouquet of forget-me-nots.
“This is for you,” She explained, “For when Chopper says you can drink again, of course. I’ve been meaning to thank you properly for…”
“Don’t. You don’t need to”.
But she wanted to. She had waited for the Straw-Hats all her life.
Yet her reasoning seemed lost on Zoro. It was just who he was.
If you were part of his team, he would cut the sun in half for you.
“I hope that’s already filled up?” He inquired, cocking an eyebrow at the flask.
“What kind of rookie do you think I am?”
“What kind of rookie do you think I am if you believe you can wave alcohol in my face and expect me not to drink it”.
“Later,” She insisted. “You should probably go back to sleep, anyway”.
He had lost so much blood, enough to cast a shadow on the grass around him, he had gotten so many of his bones broken, so many inches of his skin torn apart and then patiently sewn back together. He needed more than a short night of rest if he wanted to be on his feet for the next chapter of their shared adventure.
He pursed his lips as he thought of a reasonable protest, but then the adrenaline of waking up after a near death experience seemingly subsided, because he let out a long, deep yawn, his pupils glossy, and yielded with, “Are you going to be here?”
An affirmative reply died on the tip of her tongue when Zoro dozed off a moment later. Mouth ajar, long eyelashes kissing a hint of flushed cheeks. Perfectly still.
Yet looking at him made her feel so alive.
Summoning her powers to lift a chair and bring it to her side of the hospital bed, she dropped her weight on it.
She was in for a long ride.
The swordsman’s hand felt warmer now where it was still wrapped around hers.
Robin would break the link only a couple hours later, when Chopper entered the room to check on his patient. If he found her presence odd, he never said.