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The promised deadline of the Straw Hats' reunion is approaching within the week, and Zoro's already looking forward to it: seeing his friends again, taking another step forward. He packs his bag with his meager collection of clothes and rations, slings his three swords onto his belt, and heads outside to the courtyard. He's grateful to the space where he called his temporary residence, but he's not going to particularly miss the dusty, gloomy castle.
He had been expecting Perona when he passes the wrought iron gate – the ghost girl had previously promised to provide him a quick passage to Sabaody Archipelago – so he's surprised to see Mihawk at the front instead, standing in his signature large hat and longcoat, with his black blade Yoru secured on his back.
Zoro quips, “Here to say goodbye? Didn't think you were the sentimental type.”
“Not quite. Perona had an unfortunate emergency to attend to, so I'll be ferrying you in her stead.”
Zoro blinks, waiting for the punchline.
“A 'thank you' would suffice,” Mihawk says dryly, and he walks off towards the edge of the island without further preamble. Zoro's straight-up baffled, but he follows after his mentor without question, out of habit ingrained in him during the past two years.
“I never would have thought you'd play taxi for me, but thanks,” he mutters.
“I had plans in that area, anyways.”
“How are we getting there?”
Mihawk arrives at the end of the algae-laden dock, where he motions to his dinghy with a mild flourish.
Zoro levels another look at the stoic man. Even though he knows that this sad excuse of a boat has proven able to traverse the distance of East Blue and back, it barely has enough room to comfortably carry a single person.
Mihawk doesn't seem to be aware of this issue though; he's already onboard the coffin-shaped boat, looking to Zoro with an expectant expression. “Get moving. It'll be a few days without further delay.”
Seeing no other options, Zoro takes a step forward.
Despite his initial doubts, the journey begins relatively well. The waves are calm enough to provide an easy passage past the reefs, and the space he claims at the back of the boat for himself is sufficient, to say the least. He makes a seat on the center platform and uses the thin mast as a backrest, and though he's unable to do anything but sit completely still, this current circumstance is only a small price to pay for his eventual reunion with his crew. He plans on sleeping through the trip, anyways.
Halfway out to sea, their smooth sailing takes a turn for the worse. It starts with Mihawk making a note of the bulbous gray clouds forming in the direction they were heading in. “Unfortunate weather,” he says, conversationally.
“Is that going to be a problem for the dinghy?” Zoro asks, squinting at the strikes of lightning dancing in the near distance, the sounds of thunder rolling close behind.
“No, I've been through worse. What's unfortunate is that I won't be able to fish.”
“I didn't know you liked fishing that much.”
“Sure. It give purpose in between destinations.”
Zoro thinks that stabbing fishes would be a lot quicker than of waiting hours for scarce bites, but he doesn't make a comment about it.
He settles back to his position, propping up his bag as a makeshift cushion, trying to ignore the howls of the wind quickly gathering strength. He soon discovers that he's unable to meditate or sleep at all, when the ocean has become this rough, when every dip and rock of the waves is amplified tenfold on top of the lightweight vessel. He hasn't been this far out in the ocean in a long time, and Zoro starts thinking that he needs to reacclimate quickly. He tries his best to keep himself steady, gripping the edges of the boat tightly for support, but within a few hour of the waves continuously churning the dinghy in circles, he can no longer pretend that he isn't feeling seasick.
The dizzying forces continue as the day spins to night, as the weather evolves into a torrential, icy thunderstorm. Zoro glances at Mihawk, noting that he looks relatively unaffected despite being just as waterlogged.
Rain drips off Mihawk's hat as he swipes a hand across his forehead uselessly, sighing. The warlord is used to traversing through these types of weather on his compact vessel – it's hardly a rare occurrence on the Grand Line – but he notices that his student has turned a shade of green to match his unfortunate hair color. Zoro has yet to make a single noise or any indication of complaint, but Mihawk decides to have mercy on him.
“I suppose it would be best if we make land, just until the storm passes.” Mihawk nods his head towards a nearby island that Zoro barely registers through his nausea. “I didn't realize having another body on board would be such a tedious predicament.”He peers down at at the swordsman trying not to puke.
“But– Luffy – ” Zoro grunts, clutching at his stomach, forcing his words out through clenched teeth. “I'm not going to be the only one late...”
“You won't be. I'll make sure of that.”
The island ends up being a Marine base, complete with an imposing fort at the shoreline, but Mihawk remains completely unconcerned at the sight. He steps onto the wooden pier, tying his boat securely to one of the jutted logs, while Zoro crawls out of the boat, gasping for breath on solid land while the heavy rain continues its drumming downpour on his back. He's never appreciated the Thousand Sunny more than he does now; his warm, dry, stalwart home.
Mihawk locates the closest opened establishment, which was a small bar only a few meters down the alley at the docks. When the door opens, the chatter subsides instantly, and all pairs of eyes lock onto the both of them, to Mihawk's formidable figure and to Zoro's stumbling one, their entrance dramatized with ominous lightning flashing behind them. The pirates enter the cramped space, disregarding the attention and the weapons of the dozen Marine patrons as they shuffle between the stools, dripping a wet trail to the unoccupied table closest to the fireplace.
Now under a dry roof, Zoro feels the air cooling unpleasantly through the drenched fabric clinging to his skin. He leans closer to the fire in hopes of reprieve, but it's both simultaneously too hot for comfort and yet not hot enough to dry his sodden clothes. He feel like he's experiencing both ends of the temperature spectrum at once; it's a strange sensation that saps his energy and leaves aches in his bones. He closes his eyes and lets the exhaustion wash over him, lets the whispered conversations slide past his consciousness.
“Pirate scum!”
“We can take them, we outnumber them–”
“I'll go if you go...”
“Hey, isn't one of them a Warlord of the Sea?”
Mihawk throws a lofty glare around the room. It silences the remaining chatter while making eye-contact with the nervous barkeep, who now has no choice but to approach the pair. The man tentatively takes out a notepad and addresses his unwanted guests. “Um- what can I get for you?”
“Three barrels – of... sake.” Zoro mumbles with his head laid down, trying to still the new pounding in his skull. Maybe he'll be able to make it through this trip if he's passed out drunk.
“Really, Roronoa. One day out and you're already back to drinking?”
“I'm off your- Gothic horror island now, I can do... what I want.”
Mihawk stops the man from jotting down Zoro's order, saying instead, “Your soup-of-the-day will be fine.”
A gurgling noise escapes Zoro as his energy is too depleted to muster a proper protest. The heat in the bar has become oppressing. His cheek feels so nice on the cool, filmy surface of the table.
The news of the pirates' arrival spreads quickly, with dutiful Marines on night watch at the perimeters. One of them rushes over to the fort, banging open the door to the office of Vice Admiral Smoker without even knocking first.
“Sir! Pardon the interruption, but I'm here to report that Hawk Eyes is present on the island!”
“Situation?”
“He ordered soup, sir!”
Smoker runs a hand over his face, more annoyed than concerned now when he hears that. “What a drag,” he says, as he expels smoke from his two cigars. “If that's all, ignore him then, cadet. We have no authority over a Warlord of the Sea.”
“B-but he's brought along that Straw Hat pirate!”
“Straw Hat?” Smoker repeats, with restrained disbelief. Straw Hat Luffy had been remarkably quiet for nearly two years, and he wonders if this sighting means that he's recommencing his pirate activity.
“Well, one of his known crew mates,” the cadet amends.
“Which one?” Tashigi pipes up from her desk at the side of the office, her attention on her small pile of paperwork.
“The mean-looking one, with the swords.”
The pen stills in her hand.
The Marine continues in an unwavering voice.“We can have them surrounded – just give us the order, sir!”
Smoker thinks that the boy sounded a tad too enthusiastic, considering the targets. Spurred by the Marineford incident, many of the new recruits here had that vain combination of overconfidence and desperation against pirates; a desire to play hero against better judgment. If any of them recklessly tried to confront these two pirates, they would most likely be dead before they even hit the ground.
“Don't bother.” Smoker replies sharply. He works his jaw and then exhales another cloud of smoke. “Dismissed, cadet. I'll handle it from here.”
“Damned Grand Line weather. It was supposed to clear up an hour ago,” Smoker mutters to himself. He's standing under the entrance awning of the fort base, faulting the rain when he's forced to put out his cigars for the moment.
Tashigi appears at his side, pulling on a raincoat and whisking out her umbrella, as if the flimsy shield would make any difference against the strength of the wind and storm. He says to her, “You don't need to come; you're going to get needlessly soaked.”
“As your Captain, it wouldn't be prudent to dismiss my responsibility because of a little rain.” Tashigi says curtly, tugging on her boots while she's standing up, almost tripping once. When she doesn't hear a response from him, she looks up only to find him scrutinizing her. She immediately schools her expression flat, shaping her mouth into a stern line to suggest only professional interest in the matter.
“Suit yourself.” Smoker finally says, before he uses his Devil Fruit ability to pass through the rain towards the bar, leaving Tashigi to run after him while the wind whips her coat around her and drags her umbrella behind her until it's bent out-of-shape. She's completely drenched within seconds, but since the bar was relatively close by, she only has to suffer in the cold gale for a few more minutes if she keeps her brisk pace; she keeps running while the questions are running through her head at the same rate.
Why is Roronoa with Hawk Eyes?
What is their purpose here?
What happened to his other crewmates?
She meets up with Smoker waiting for her at the threshold, and she wipes the water from her glasses before they enter into the bar together. At the sight of their commanding officers making their way through the tables and towards the pirates, the morale of the Marine bar patrons visibly improve; some even begin drawing out their weapons again in a show of newfound bravery, anticipating a fight.
“Stand down!” Smoker commands, and all of the cadets immediately obey, slinking back down onto their stools, though their expressions remain alert.
Mihawk raises his head to the direction of the shout, while Zoro stays facing down with an untouched bowl of soup at the side. “Ah. Captain Smoker. What seems to be the problem? ”
“Vice Admiral now. Recent promotion.” Smoker corrects Mihawk, gruffly. “This is only a courtesy visit to ease the new recruits, Hawk Eyes. Your presence here has stirred up a commotion and unfortunately most of them aren't familiar with Warlord protocol yet.” Smoker glances at the back of Zoro's head; with no visible reaction at their presence, the Straw Hat pirate appears completely knocked out. “He's with you, then?”
Mihawk nods. “The boy is under my purview while we're waiting for the storm to pass.” He motions to Zoro, and then the soup. “Since you're here, can I presume that you'll be footing the bill?”
“Like hell,” Smoker says flatly. “But if that's all for your business here, we'll leave you to it.”
Smoker jerks his head back at Tashigi, who had been surreptitiously warming up by the fireplace, and they're both moving to leave when Mihawk speaks up again. “Vice Admiral, eh? I suppose there might be some business worth discussing – privately.”
Smoker pauses in his step, takes out a new cigar and lights it, using the moment to consider the warlord's request. Smoker then addresses the partially-hidden bartender at the side. “Is there another room we can borrow?” The bartender nods faintly, pointing at an old ladder behind the countertop leading up to a storage area.
Mihawk stands up to follow, asking, “Would your Captain be so kind as to watch over him while I'm gone?”
“She's not a babysitter!” Smoker snaps. “Tashigi, you have the right to this meeting.”
Tashigi's eyes dart between the stubborn, dour men and then sighs, deciding to play mediator for the time being. She has plenty opportunity to ask Smoker for a run-down of the secret discussion later. “It's fine, sir. I can watch over him.”
“You have my gratitude,” Mihawk says.
“Well,” she replies grimly, referencing the still-strained atmosphere around them. “Truthfully, I'm more concerned about our cadets.”
After they leave, Tashigi sits down at the table, taking over the empty seat besides Zoro to casually observe the unconscious swordsman. In this position, she has a clearer angle to his face, and she sees how his brows stay knotted while in sleep, twitching occasionally like he's having a bad dream.
The longer she looks at him, the more questions join in the marathon of her previous unanswered ones. Her eyes roam his new features, lingering on the scar over his left eye, a darkened line from his eyebrow down to his cheekbone.
Where has he been?
What has he been doing this whole time?
He's still been fighting, of course, even though the Straw Hats' activities in the past two years remains unknown. She notes his visible injuries: some subtle cuts, some fresh scrapes, some unusual callouses.
Had he been training?
How much more of a monster has he become?
Though he doesn't quite look like one right now in this state, with his arms curled around his hunched body, weakened by either hunger or stomachache or fatigue.
Her eyes eventually drift down to his waist to his swords, and she's mildly intrigued to see a new replacement, another Great Grade with a black patterned sheath that glitters in the firelight. His other two swords are still the same, the ones she recognizes from Loguetown. Something turns in her gut at the sight of them, something that could be mistaken for nostalgia, but she isn't compelled to seize them right now, as it wouldn't be right to take from an unconscious man. It wouldn't be earned.
Tashigi had taken out her partially-damp sword book and reviewed the article about Shusui twice, when she notices Zoro shivering in her peripheral. She initially thinks that she only imagined the movement, but then she sees the a light sheen of sweat forming at his forehead. She rises up slightly, barely off her chair, reaching over to check for a fever.
The back of her fingertips barely brush his skin when a hard hand grasps her wrist, holding her still. The strength of his hold belies his weak constitution.
She looks sharply at Zoro's face, now lifted off of the table and looking straight at her, but she quickly realizes that his good eye is half-lidded and unfocused.
“Stand down, men,” Tashigi says calmly, addressing the Marines around her who have jumped to their feet with readied weapons, though she keeps her eyes on the pirate in front of her.
Zoro's brows are no longer furrowed. He's looking at her like she's not a threat, just like all the the other times he's looked at her before. It's irks her, but there is nothing for her to prove by picking a fight with a half-conscious man in suffering health. She refuses to avert her eyes from his, though. Tashigi stares steadily back at him, keeping her expression neutral and her breathing even.
After what seems like a few minutes, but perhaps it was only a few moments, his fingers loosen their hold and drop her wrist, his head slumping back on the table with a thud. The tension deflates in the rest of the room, leaving with her soft exhale. She picks up her dropped book, tucks it safely away, and returns to her seat, half-wondering why she even considered being sympathetic towards the pirate in the first place. She spends the remainder of the time looking at the storm through the clouded glass window, until the heavy raindrops cease into a light drizzle.
Smoker and Mihawk steps back into the bar when the rain had completely cleared.
“Did he give you any trouble?” Mihawk asks blandly, and Tashigi can't tell if the warlord is joking or not.
“Not at all,” she replies cordially, deciding to take his question at face value. “But I think he has a mild fever.”
Mihawk glances down at the swordsman, who had remained motionless since the incident. “I think he'd rather suffer through it than arrive late for his appointment. We'll be on our way then.” He slings one of Zoro's arms around his shoulder, hoisting him easily onto his feet with casual strength, and then he tosses a coin at the flinching bartender before making his exit. Smoker is at the door as well, waiting with folded arms and a tapping foot, a clear indication for Tashigi to get moving. She does, but not before thanking her fellow Marines for their diligence despite being off-duty.
Outside of the bar, she sees that Smoker is already on the paved path returning to the fort, but Tashigi can't help calling out to the billowing cloak of the warlord walking in the direction of the docks.
“Wait!” She says, running up to Mihawk after he halts in his step. He turns his head, acknowledging her with a impassive tilt. “How much stronger has he become?”
“...Still weaker than me. Why?”
“I- I merely wanted to see if we have to make any adjustments to his bounty,” Tashigi stammers.
Mihawk studies her briefly. His eyes flick to the sword resting on her hip, and he responds with a touch more sincerity, “If you are a swordsman as well, challenge him and make that judgment for yourself. But I'm sorry to say that your duel with him must be scheduled for another time.”
“No, that's never going to happen.” Tashigi mutters, unable to contain her bitterness. “He won't fight me.”
One of Mihawk's eyebrow imperceptibly raises.
“Because I'm a girl,” she clarifies.
He only holds her gaze, with a stare to match his namesake. “If that were true, that would be his downfall.”
Tashigi frowns at that, but before she could say anything else, Smoker shouts at her from his short distance ahead.
“Quit your yapping, Tashigi! The sooner he leaves, the better.”
She raises a hand in polite farewell as Mihawk turns back to the pier, still carrying Zoro by his side, towards a tiny boat she had overlooked when she was running through the sheet of rain. There is a small splash when Mihawk steps into it, and he pauses for a moment in contemplation when he looks down at his waterlogged boat.
Tashigi scurries to catch up to Smoker, slowing down to a stroll when she's next to him. The clouds in the sky were finally wrung out, and the stars had returned. She lets her mind wander over the unblinking lights above, and then at their reflections in the puddles left behind by the storm, like spilled diamonds at her feet. She allows herself to only think once more about the pirate: his fever-warmed hand at her wrist, the thumb that brushed across her palm before he let go, the strange gentleness of that moment.
What was his dream?
Over the next two days, Zoro is able to recover from his hybrid sickness after taking a good, long nap on the ocean's now peaceful, lulling waves. With the luck of the milder weather, they end up reaching Sabaody with about half-a-day to spare. He thanks Mihawk again when they're parting ways, but the warlord waves his gratitude off, which makes Zoro idly wonder if he had been a bothersome passenger during the trip. He can't remember much of it; the time he spent sick was a complete haze in his mind, and in his vague recollection of the storm, he's only able to find an inexplicable image of a girl tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear, holding a book in her other hand.
When Zoro feels a cool touch at his forehead, his hand shoots out by reflex to grab at the culprit, his hold catching around a slim wrist. His eye flutters open and sees a pair of dark eyes returning his stare without reaction, and by instinct he locks on to the challenge in them, with neither of them blinking. He doesn't register that her other hand is frozen at her side, hovering over the hilt of her blade; he's too focused on her face as she utters a soft, soothing tone.
It's a face he knows... familiar, yet different. The face of a friend from a long time ago.
Not a threat then, he thinks, hazily, while he lets go of the memory. Only a dream, of some kind.