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Monkey D. Luffy is not a patient man in the slightest.
But for Zoro, he will wait.
A moment ago, an hour ago, a day ago, he’d been the lightest he’d ever felt in his life—and then it had solidified into something heavy and rotten like an old apple core. The rest of the crew was too busy chiding him for his antics, dancing around while they expressed concern over his too-fast oscillation between Gear 2 and Gear 3 and back again, but they’d won against Moria, and they got their shadows back and were alive, and that was all that mattered.
And then there had been the drag of dress shoes against uneven stone and rubble, and he’d caught sight of Sanji, limping heavily with Zoro slumped against him.
Usopp had still been trying to get him to sit down, and he’d nearly shouldered him aside, kicking up dirt and gravel in his haste. Nami’s sharp gasp and Franky’s soft woah hadn’t slowed him down, too caught up in the bloodied mess that was Zoro, shirt in tatters and one foot dragging like he forgot how to pick it up.
He’d raised his eye long enough to meet Luffy’s, gaze bleary, but under the blood, the dirt, and the pain that flashed across his face, he’d looked relieved.
And then Sanji yelled “Zoro!” when he went limp, and he—he never does that, or at least, not to his face, and that light feeling had turned into a rock rolling around in his belly as he broke into a sprint, Franky hot on his heels and Sanji clenching his jaw when their combined weight fell on his good foot.
“Zoro?”
“I got ‘im,” Franky said, and it should have been more horrifying—him picking up his body like it was nothing, cradling him in his too-big arms and pivoting to make room for Chopper. Luffy had only stared, watching Zoro’s head roll against his bicep, chin ducking into his chest while Usopp offered Sanji his shoulder to lean on.
“Zoro?” he repeated, because Zoro always answered, even if it was just a grunt, but he just lied against Franky’s shoulder while Chopper shifted into Heavy Point and said, “let me see him.”
The first thing he did was check to see if he was breathing. The first thing Luffy did was whirl on Sanji.
“What happened?” he asked, and Sanji was staring at Zoro, covered in dirt and sweat, and then he gaped at him and Luffy wanted to snap. “Sanji! What happened?”
“Don’t ask me!” he shouted back, Usopp flinching at the proximity, and Nami set a hand on his shoulder and he felt like he was boiling inside.
“Zoro will be fine,” she said, probably more to convince herself than anything, but he was still focused on Zoro and Chopper and Franky’s assessment when Lola and her crew came crawling out of the rubble, murmuring amongst themselves.
He’s lighter than he has been in years, lighter than he should be after shifting between Gears so fast, which should leave him winded at the very, very least, or like he could doze for hours, and instead he feels—weird. Like his skin doesn’t stretch right, muscles twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He feels light and Zoro’s still unconscious and covered in blood.
He catches bits and pieces of the story when Chopper carries him away and they all cluster together—fragments from too many people talking all at once, and Luffy imagines a giant bear with a hat and giant paws until Usopp whips up a hasty sketch in the dirt with his fingers and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed to find Kuma’s not a giant bear.
“It’s quite a feat for a crew to go four out of seven Warlords,” Robin muses as she lowers her drink.
“I would have preferred zero,” Usopp mutters.
“Who’s Kuma though? I didn’t see him.”
Nami pulls her lips between her teeth. “I don’t really remember. He showed up and demanded your head and then… blew up the island?”
He frowns. “Fine, but where did he go?”
“Beats me,” Franky says with a shrug, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose. There’s a bloodstain on his collar. “He was gone by the time we came to, and I ain’t sure if I’m relieved or concerned.”
“Yeah, I’m not counting our blessings just yet,” Sanji says, catching his attention. He’s fiddling with his lighter and doesn’t look up at any of them until it finally sparks. There are bandages wrapped around his ankle.
“Sanji, what happened to your foot?” Luffy asks.
He sticks his lighter back into his pocket with a scowl. “I kicked him.”
A few of the others gawk at him, and they don’t get much time to question him about it when Lola and her men surround them.
“No, I didn’t really see—”
“Straw Hat!”
“Someone should go check on—“
“We owe you our lives!”
“—I doubt that’s the last time.”
“That was amazing!”
“Chopper, how is—“
“I was sure I’d never feel the sun on my skin again!”
And then nobody shuts up, and how is Zoro—
He spends the next three hours dancing around and gorging himself on barbecue—Sanji always makes a lot, but he always makes extra when he’s stressed. Chopper and Nami see to Zoro, Robin keeping one eye on them and another on everyone else.
After a while, his face starts to hurt because it feels like he’s forcing his smile and he’s never liked doing that.
It’s too loud and there are too many people touching him, smacking him on the back while he beams or crowing in his ear while Chopper tries to explain something. He has half a gnawed on lamb shank hanging out of the corner of his mouth when he meets Sanji’s eye (he limps too, he notices, gritted his teeth when Chopper had him extend his foot, and he doesn’t twirl around Nami or Robin, though that doesn’t stop him from singing their praises).
“Zoro could use a drink!” he says when it hits him, while Chopper exhausts all other avenues. “That always makes him feel better.” Nami doesn’t smack him as hard as she could—or as hard as she wants to, probably. Zoro’s hurt but he’s been hurt before. (That was Zoro’s favorite, and his favorites always made him feel better when he was down, or in pain.)
In the middle of gnawing on another kebab, Luffy catches sight of the Frisky (Risky? something) Brothers in the corner of the room, noses buried in their mugs. They keep looking like they want to say something, and sometimes he catches Sanji scowling, but it’s probably just because Zoro hasn’t moved, isn’t eating his food and saying it’s just okay even as he takes a second helping.
Probably.
(Robin gives them a particular look too, but he’s sure if something was really bothering her about them she’d tell him.)
Chopper looks worried and doesn’t leave his side, even as Robin brings him a slice of cake; Nami keeps watch beside him, chewing at her thumbnail—something she only does when she’s especially upset.
But he smiles and laughs as Franky dances on a table and Usopp regales the room with exaggerated tales of the day and their previous adventures, which have always been fun, and he gorges on food but still feels empty. It’s a strange feeling, worry—he hasn’t felt like this since Water 7, waiting for Usopp to show up at the docks. Or back at the Baratie, back when Johnny and Yosaku had to fish Zoro out of the water. Back when Luffy was forced to acknowledge the gravity of what Zoro meant to him.
He watches, smiling as Brook cries over Laboon and he wants to say crew is important, you always have to look out for them and stick together, but Brook sobs and he has to force himself not to let his gaze slip to Zoro.
He wants to nudge them both aside, Nami and Chopper, shove his way through with sharp elbows and a gruff voice that sounds like a captain he isn’t. He wants to see Zoro breathing for himself, press his fingers against his pulse and tuck himself against him like they did way back on that dinghy, but Zoro is more bandage than person right now, and Chopper would have called him over immediately (but still told him to stay out of the way) if anything changed for the worse.
Or for the better, because Zoro’s too strong for anything this world can throw at them, isn’t he, aren’t they, shouldn’t they be.
So now he sits, taking over Chopper’s post, the latter having since retired to fill his belly and then crash for the evening. “It’s strange to see him like this,” he’d said, pausing to cast him one last look before raising his gaze to meet Luffy’s with a firm nod. “He’s going to be just fine though, I know it! All he needs now is to get a lot of rest.”
“Leave him alone, Luffy,” Nami says across from him, her eyes fixed on the soft rise and fall of Zoro’s chest. She says it in the way Dadan would tell him not to shove his foot in a hornets’ nest—like he doesn’t know any better, like he has to get hurt first. It stings but he notices the exhaustion in her tone. All the worry.
“I got him,” he says, smiling up at her from his crouch.
He waits until she’s rounded the corner where they’re bedding down for the time being to let the smile fall from his face.
Zoro doesn’t move, so Luffy won’t either.
He lets out a breath.
Beside him there’s a jug of water and bowl of broth Sanji had set aside, both he and Chopper confirming he’d probably be hungry when he woke up, but it was best to start with something light—he’d be in a lot of pain. They still don’t know what happened—Luffy still doesn’t know what happened. He doesn’t like that feeling.
I will never be defeated again, Zoro says in his mind, and maybe this wasn’t defeat, but it makes him wonder.
The broth’s barely lukewarm at this point when he moves the bowl, but he’s seen Zoro eat rice full of dirt—it’s not going to matter much. They’ve eaten worse, too, just the two of them.
He wants to reach out and touch him—his arm, or his hand, something solid, something that tells him Zoro’s still here and tells Zoro he isn’t alone. But there’s barely a part of his body that isn’t bandaged, and with what exposed skin there is he isn’t sure if a simple touch would hurt him even more.
(Is he dreaming? Does that hurt too?)
So he sits, slumped, switching between bobbing his foot and slouching to rest his chin on his fist, cheek squished.
Zoro breathes and Luffy watches him, catching the tiny flicker of his eyelashes.
It reminds him of that time in Cocoyashi—except Zoro had been awake then, gritting his teeth and sweating out a fever while Nako touched up Johnny and Yosaku’s hasty patchwork that Arlong had undone. He’d been awake, then lightly dozing, and then surprised to find Luffy sitting with him instead of celebrating with the others. (That thought had hurt a little bit too, because why had he thought Luffy wouldn’t have been there?) They’d both piled themselves on the same bed, and Zoro had been too warm but kept curling into him, twitching and shivering and tucking his face into his neck and muttering about being cold.
Now he sits beside him, and he is not a patient man, but he will wait for Zoro.
“I am sorry about Mr. Swordsman,” he hears, and he looks up to find Brook beside them, bony hands resting on the top of his cane. His head tilts, and for a second Luffy wonders what his expression would look like if he still had skin.
“Zoro’s not dead,” he tells him, and he frowns because his tone is a little harsh. “He’s just resting.”
“Oh no, of course not. I only meant…” Brook pauses, lacing his fingers together. “I am sorry he is suffering as much as he is. It is a tremendous deal to undertake, and I do hope he heals soon. I also… I hope you know how appreciative I am as well. It’s wonderful to be a part of a crew again. I feel as if my heart would burst if I still had one.”
He sits up a little more. He isn’t sure what happened to hurt Zoro so badly—the others had been hurt too, but aside from an ugly mark on Franky’s chest and Sanji limping, they’d had the same bumps and bruises they usually did after any big fight. Except for Luffy—he’d felt weightless, the best he’d felt since ever, a fact he was still curious about but a question none of them could answer.
But, maybe… “Brook, do you know what happened to Zoro?”
He’s quiet for a while, and Luffy stares. A bony hand reaches over where Zoro’s still sleeping to rest against his shoulder. It feels cold and heavy, and the edges are sharp. “I’m afraid that is something I cannot answer, captain. At the moment I believe the only one who rightfully can is him.”
He doesn’t grumble, but his lips pucker and he turns his gaze away from Brook. There’s dirt on one of Zoro’s bandages, and he scratches it away with his thumbnail.
“If it’s not too much trouble, I may go join the others and rest these old bones. It has been a long while, but if I can be of any assistance…”
“Nah, you’re fine. Get some rest!”
He nods and picks his violin back up from where he left it, plucking at the strings as he goes. He doesn’t play a real song, not really—just a series of wistful notes that linger in the air that still smells like roasted meat and sterile bandages. It’s kinda cool to have a skeleton on the crew, and Brook sounds relieved to call him captain.
Luffy knows he’d been out for a while after Moria—left prone in the middle of the courtyard, but just before he’d gone down he hadn’t been concerned in the slightest—he had his crew to watch his back, after all. Had Zoro. He always had Zoro. And now Zoro is hurt and bandages.
He reaches up to run the backs of his knuckles across Zoro’s cheek, one of the few spots of exposed skin, and he grunts lightly—something that could be a sigh, could be in pain, could be him just waking up, and Luffy leaves his hand there, letting it rest for just a moment longer. That’s a good sign, right? That he’s still there?
But Zoro does nothing except for lie there, breathing even but still sounding shallow.
“Zoro’s been asleep for a while,” he says, more to himself than his audience of one. Zoro always sleeps, that’s nothing new—he’ll twitch when Luffy pokes him in the cheek, crack an eye open right before he can yell ‘lunch’ in his ear—but never like this. Back before, all those weeks and months ago, crammed together on a dinghy with a blanket of stars and an open sea he’d been guarded, huddled at the stern before Luffy whined that it was cold enough times that Zoro finally met him in the middle and said ‘fine.’ He always runs warm and Luffy thinks maybe that’s why he likes napping in the sun so much, propped up against the side of the dinghy then rail of the Going Merry and now the Thousand Sunny.
Zoro’s always run warm and now his hand is cold when Luffy touches it.
“I don’t like it,” he says. He waits for an eye to crack open—an eye that’s green in the early morning sun, or gunmetal gray when the sun’s setting.
He’s been asleep and he thinks about how Sanji yelled his name, and he never calls him by name, not to his face, not with that note of panic before he rested heavy against him. And then Luffy said “Zoro?” and Franky said “I got ‘im” and tucked him into his chest.
“It’s kind of boring watching you sleep like this,” he says, because it is, but it’s also worrying. The side of his thumb brushes along the edge of a bandage on his cheek. “I’ll do it though, I don’t mind.”
He takes his hat off, setting it beside the pitcher before dropping his arm to rest it against the edge of the cot. He shifts until he can rest his head against Zoro’s shoulder, gently at first, and then fully when Zoro doesn’t do more than groan—not in pain, but more like acknowledgment. He has to know Luffy’s there.
The angle is awkward, but luckily he’s rubber, so he dozes lightly—catching the rise and fall of his chest and the soft breathing just above him. Not knowing what happened is annoying and he doesn’t like the feeling. It coils in his stomach like he ate something funny, and every time he glances at Zoro it gets worse.
“Luff?”
He starts, raising his head off his shoulder. His voice is rough, but it’s there. Means Zoro’s awake, means he’s alive. Excited, he sits up, slamming his foot to the floor where he’s had one leg crossed over the other and barely registers the pins and needles lancing up his shin.
He looks up at him, gaze still bleary, still unfocused, and he blinks as Luffy pulls his hand away.
“Hey Zoro!” he says, too loud for how quiet it is, and a few of Lola’s men stir. Zoro’s eyebrows twitch as he closes his eyes, and he tries again, voice softer than he thought it could be as he says, “Hey, Zoro.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just blinks slowly back up at him. His lips are chapped, and Luffy sits up further. It feels a little more right now—Zoro is awake.
“Chopper said you might be thirsty,” he says, twisting around, and Zoro watches him nearly knock everything to the ground, even if he’s careful.
He tries with the now warm jug of water first, pouring too much too fast into the small cup, and it sloshes over his fingers and on the floor before he holds it out to him, but Zoro’s fingers curl and don’t do much aside from that. And he can’t fully lift his head when Luffy holds it up to his mouth; what doesn’t soak his chin he nearly chokes on, so they’ll probably need a new plan that isn’t almost waterboarding him.
Zoro lies back down with his face contorted and watches his lips pucker as he hums.
“Here,” Luffy says, and he watches him take a swig, letting it sit in his mouth before he leans forward. It takes a second to coax Zoro to open his mouth, dry lips parting beneath his before Luffy opens his mouth as opposed to just awkwardly mashing theirs together. (Which is what they’d done the first time, before Zoro had grabbed his face and told him to stop trying to head butt his nose into his brain.) He lets out a breath and it tastes a little stale, but he’s a little more awake when he leans back to reach for the pitcher again.
It takes a few tries before Zoro’s managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of water, a little less parched than he was before, and he tries to clear his throat.
“You good?” is the first thing he asks.
Luffy’s brow furrows. “Me? Yeah, I feel great—’s kinda weird though.”
Zoro doesn’t say anything, but he looks at him like—like he’s relieved, like he didn’t think that would be the case. Like he was worried Luffy wouldn’t be. He opens his mouth when Zoro whisper-asks, “Others?”
“Huh? The others are fine—kinda beat up, and Sanji hurt his leg, but everyone else is okay,” Luffy tells him, and he relaxes under the hand cupping his cheek. He uses the same hand to turn him to face him, leaning in close enough that Zoro can’t look anywhere but his eye unless he wants to close his again, and he won’t do that. “What happened to you?”
Zoro looks at him, but doesn’t answer, blinking back at him with a pained expression. The sound that comes out of him is a gasp mixed with a groan, something sharp and for a second his gaze is unfocused. He says his name again to prod him, but Zoro just stares like he’s afraid Luffy might vanish or something. Like he might break into a million pieces as if Zoro’s not the one they had to piece back together.
“Sanji said you were gonna be hungry too,” he says, drawing his attention again. The corner of his mouth curls a little when he reaches for the broth, and he can feel Zoro’s skeptical gaze on him. “‘im not gonna eat it; it’s for you. I said I was gonna share my lunch with you, remember?”
“Yeah, worked out,” he murmurs, and it makes Luffy laugh a little.
His teeth catch on his lip. Unable to help himself, he does take a small sip first—just to taste test, right. Even cold, the beef broth is as tasty as anything Sanji makes, and Zoro might make a sound that could be a snort when he takes another sip.
He takes another swig, and Zoro’s ready for him when he leans down, broth slipping through his teeth. Luffy pulls back to watch his throat work, and then raises the bowl to his lips for another mouthful under his watchful gaze. They do the same thing they did with the water, expect this time Zoro responds a little more enthusiastically, a little more like himself. He still feels cold, but he’s responsive and awake and with Luffy, and that’s what matters. He makes it about halfway through the bowl before Zoro makes a soft sound to signify he’s done, and he gives a barely-there tilt of his head when Luffy raises an eyebrow and inclines his toward the pitcher.
He takes one last sip and bends down again, except this time he lingers for just a little while longer, free hand coming up to trail his fingers over the side of his face. Nipping at his bottom lip, Zoro sighs through his nose, and Luffy angles his head a little more, nose brushing his as he kisses him. He rests there for a moment, glad Zoro is alive, that they all are, that they did it, and lets the relief thrum through him.
Zoro’s hand twitches against the cot, fingers curling around nothing, and he watches the muscle in his bicep flex like he means to raise it, so Luffy sets the cup down to curl long fingers into his. He lets out a breath, easing back down against the pillow.
“You good?” he whispers.
Luffy’s thumb presses against an old scar on his knuckle. “Yeah—you?”
His hum is a little more drawn out like a wheeze.
“Zoro should get some more sleep,” he says, leaning to rest his head on his shoulder again. He’s already slept a lot and he doesn’t like it, but Chopper said he needed to rest and he can barely move. He can feel his jaw clench against his temple, but his hand is warmer. Zoro turns his head to press his nose into his crown.
He doesn’t like the feeling of not knowing, and it coils low in his belly, unsettling and growling. He doesn’t know and doesn’t like it, and it nearly cost Zoro his life, left his crew battered and bruised, and he doesn’t have a target for his ire. Kuma, then; Sanji must know, and Zoro’s breath puffs against his forehead.
“You can tell me what happened later,” Luffy decides, and Zoro shudders against him.