Chapter Text
The last thing Zoro remembered was falling asleep on a dinghy ship in the East Blue, leaving Shells Town with a wild punk calling himself Captain.
The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that his body was not the same as he remembered. Sitting up brought him to a taller line of sight than he was used to. His arms and legs were longer and weightier.
He felt lumbering .
Zoro blinked, hand drawing up in confusion when he couldn’t open his left eye. A brief spike of panic flared when he found it was sealed shut with a scar.
Compartmentalizing that to handle it never . Zoro moved on to acknowledge the far more pressing fact that he was in a cell.
Fuck.
Four walls, one door made of lined bars. One shitty cot, one toilet, one sink with a mirror, one unconscious man.
Wait.
Back up.
The swordsman rolled to his feet and cursed as he nearly fell on his face with the strength behind his movements.
Zoro steadied himself while gritting back curses. He backed up cautiously to the sink, keeping his eyes (eye?) on the blond man as he went. When his hip hit the porcelain he turned to find the mirror.
He was… older; but there was no mistaking the recognition. It was absolutely his own face looking back at him. His body was scarred and aged; his muscles had doubled in size and a great scar bisected his chest.
He swallowed heavily. The man looking back at him had to be in his thirties or forties? Nonetheless, at least a decade between now and his last recollection.
Zoro clenched his jaw, either he'd been moved in time or he’d lost his memories.
Luffy had told him he’d wanted to go to the Grand Line. A wild belt of ocean, known for the impossible. Assuming he was still following that idiot, Zoro supposed he’d have to just suck it up and figure out what he’d missed. If it was fixable, well, he’d figure that out too.
The first order of business had to be determining who was in the cell with him and if they were an enemy.
Walking over and kneeling to the man, Zoro took in his condition. The blond was laid out on his back, head leaned off to the side and his limbs slightly askew. He wore black dress slacks, dress shoes, and a lightweight linen button up.
His long, blond hair was pulled back to a knot at the base of his neck, while loose strands draped softly across his face. The blond had sharp features, a neatly trimmed goatee, and delicate eyebrows that curled into swirls at the ends.
“Curly?” He muttered to himself, “weird. ”
Zoro tentatively brushed the strands out of his face, feeling a warm, uneven breath across his hand.
The man was beautiful.
“Mar’mo?” The man mumbled, brow furrowing as he turned into the touch.
“Shit,” Zoro cursed, nearly crab-walking backward to put some distance between them. The blond didn’t open his eyes, but he mumbled something else unintelligible; shifting slightly before he eventually settled back to sleep.
The swordsman gave it a good few minutes before moving, deciding to thoroughly check the rest of the cell and what he could see out of it. His swords were noticeably absent from his hip, though he was briefly thankful to find at least the worn, braided loops on his attire to confirm he was still a swordsman.
That still, however, left him weaponless and in a body that didn’t feel like his own.
If he was going to get out of here; he’d need a plan.
- • ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
There ended up being not much to see or plan with. The cell was rather barren, only outfitted with a sink, inset mirror, a grimy toilet, and a single threadbare cot in the corner with a single blanket atop. The walls were lined with a blue stone that Zoro hadn’t even seen before. It felt firmer than steel and was unnaturally cold to the touch. He did notice, however, that the bars on the door at least appeared to be standard reinforced steel. When he looked through the bars he found a portion of dark, empty hallway. The visibility diminishing into a vast darkness without even a lantern or slip of sun.
By this point in his exploration, Zoro suspected the blond man was sick and not merely unconscious. While he’d wandered the cell, the man kept mumbling and frowning. There was sweat on his forehead and his breathing was erratic at times. Zoro found himself hesitating on what to do about it, still unsure if they were friends or enemies.
With little else to do, Zoro slinks back over to the man and kneels down. He hovers his hand close and feels heat radiating from the man’s cheeks and neck. “Shit, you’re really burning up, Curly,” he grimaces.
At his voice, the blond groans in discomfort; his chest heaving as he whimpers, “ Moss. ”
And… Something in Zoro just can’t ignore it.
The man was deliriously naming plants and yet Zoro feels in his bones that he needed to help him. He rips a strip of cloth from the man’s pant leg and rinses it in the sink with cool water. Returning, Zoro carefully drapes the makeshift washcloth across his forehead.
“Mm,” the blond sighs in relief, the tension in his body calms.
Zoro scowls, considering his options.
Suppose the blond was his friend? Zoro could end up regretting it if he didn’t help him when (if?) he discovered that later.
On the other hand; if he helped him and found out later that he was an enemy?
Well, murder was always on the table.
“Guess you’re in luck, Curly,” Zoro told the blond as he adjusted the washcloth, “I’m one to live without regrets.”
- • ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
No matter how long he lets the sink run, the water is cold. Zoro supposes he should be grateful for unlimited access to water while in captivity. But he’s not feeling generous, he’s feeling annoyed and petty.
He uses the frigid water anyway, splashing it over his cheeks and scrubbing as if the friction would make it warmer. Once Zoro finishes his sad attempt at washing his face and wipes at it with his shirt, he straightens to look in the mirror.
The missing eye was still weird. He presses his fingertips delicately against the scarred lid and feels as his eyeball moves beneath it.
He wondered if it still worked under there.
Turning his head, he noticed for the first time that his earrings were different.
“ What? ” Zoro frowns, whispering the word to his reflection; as if it would answer.
He still had two of the three earrings he’d gotten when he left Shimotsuki. But the last one was different.
The furthest out had been replaced. It was exactly the same shape as the others, but it was made of some opaque, sea-blue crystal. Zoro frowned, he couldn’t picture why he’d have replaced it.
And why blue?
There wasn’t anything wrong with blue, necessarily, but it wasn’t a color he’d normally pick for his clothing or adornments. If couldn’t find what he needed in black he’d usually choose green so as to not clash with his hair. Zoro held the earring between his thumb and forefinger, turning it over in inspection. If he’d needed to replace it, why wouldn’t he have just gotten another gold one?
Everything pointed to it being a distinct decision. Unfortunately, just another mystery to add to the pile.
Zoro huffed and moved to his chest, tracing the divot of thick scarring he found there. He’d forgotten about it earlier in the day and nearly panicked when he’d re-discovered it. A scratch on his chest jarring him at the sensation of the sealed wound beneath it.
Whatever had done it had been devastating. The scar was massive, it was old .
Everything was just a persistent reminder of the time he’d lost. Memories that he wasn't sure would ever return. Zoro had to assume there’d been a cause. Amnesia often followed head injuries, but he’d already checked his skull for a recent injury but found only a few well-healed scars. Not even a spike of tenderness or pain.
That left him with two theories. Chemical or Devil Fruit.
The fact that the blond was fighting delirium lent Zoro toward thinking the cause was chemical. He hadn’t had much experience with devil fruits but he's certainly never heard of resisting them.
“ Where-? ” the blond suddenly groaned, curling inward from his position on his side, “Marimo?”
Ah yes, then there was the plant thing .
Zoro sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, “You’re not helping, Curly,” he grumbled back.
- • ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
On the second day Zoro tried to get through the door or break a hole in one of the walls. He had gone at it for hours , refusing to stop until he was breathless and his fists were bloody.
He hadn’t even made a dent.
When he woke up some time later, his body ached and there had been a tray of a thin vegetable soup waiting at the door. The sad meal situated on the floor, halfway through a narrow slot in the bars.
The swordsman looks at the blond and back at the tray.
“Suppose that’s for both of us,” Zoro muses.
The blond whines something unintelligible.
Zoro sighs and gets up to retrieve the food. It was room temperature and held a sad number of overcooked vegetables. He brought it over to the floor next to the blond and kneeled down.
“If you try to hurt me, Curly,” he threatens, “I will end you.”
“Wh’t the-,” Curly slurs, “god’mn hous’pl’nt.”
“Right, glad you understand,” Zoro deadpanned.
At least they’d sent a spoon.
Zoro carefully slips his knee under the blond’s head to elevate him into a better position. Once adjusted, he slowly empties a spoonful of broth between the blond’s parted lips.
When only a tiny bit spills and the man doesn’t choke, Zoro considers it a success and goes to finish half the bowl.
It’s a goddamn mess but it somewhat works, he thinks.
Keeping his movements steady, Zoro finds his jaw clench at the way the blond moves into his touch. Curly seemed entirely unbothered by his clumsy manhandling. Zoro focuses on going slow and being careful, but finds his mind captivated elsewhere.
His thoughts linger at how his hand slots perfectly around the curve of the man’s jaw. The way his palm rests warmly across Curly’s cheek and how he can just barely feel the feather brush of his delicate lashes on the calloused pad of his thumb.
When the last spoonful is down, Zoro pulls back and moves the blond gently off his knee. Curly frowns as Zoro’s hands draw away, turning as if searching for his touch.
Zoro feels his throat dry as he considers a painful thought. That what -for Zoro - was the awkward presence of a beautiful stranger; could be the comforting touch of a friend to his cellmate.
But Zoro didn’t know that for sure, meaning it was safer to maintain a pragmatic distance.
So of course; in what was entirely not a distraction, Zoro spent the bulk of his next day training.
He already attempted a few of his routine workouts at this point and found himself vastly unstable. His limbs weren’t the same lengths he knew and each movement had more force than he was used to.
When Zoro had attempted to do a burpee he ended up underestimating the force of his legs and ramming his head into the ceiling of the cell.
It infuriated him, but he’d had to start with the basics. Simple, repetitive exercises and stretches.
The familiarity and training he’d accomplished to hone his skills with this body had been lost with his memories. And no matter how many muscles he had, he reminded himself that he’d been captured stronger than he was now.
He couldn’t expect that he’d be able to get out a fraction of his ability.
But memories or devil fruit be damned.
Zoro was still getting out of here.
- • ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
The first person Zoro sees won’t talk to him. It’s a scrawny man in tattered clothes who drops a new food tray through a slot in the bars and scrambles out of sight. Zoro tries asking him various questions without even a sliver of acknowledgement. By the time the man was on the retreat Zoro was yelling curses and orders at his heels.
He huffed. Annoying , but it did give him a hint. His prison likely wasn’t a Marine stronghold. The man he’d seen had been in poorly cared for, commonplace clothing. In the Marines even the lowest officer wore a sort of uniform or identification. They were proud assholes like that.
So, ruling out the Marines, that left… Everyone else in the goddamn world.
Great.
On the fourth day of captivity Zoro hears a different set of footsteps coming down the hall. Clipped, even taps of a rubber sole growing louder. The swordsman stands from where he was checking on the blond and trains his eye on the door expectantly.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
A man in a tan corduroy suit stepped into view. He appeared to be in his forties or fifties or so in age, with light brown hair falling to his ears. He throws Zoro a sardonic smile when he sees he has his attention.
“Afternoon, Roronoa Zoro.”
The swordsman crosses his arms and glares back, “wouldn’t know.”
The man ignores his reply and pointedly tilts his head to leer at the blond on the floor. Zoro has to push down an instinctive need to to place himself between the blond and this new man.
Instead, he growls out, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Leland Coates,” the man offers, his tone neutral.
“What the hell do you want?”
“I was just checking in,” Coates shrugs. His shrewd eyes glance back to Curly as he comments, “ you at least seem normal.”
The implication confirms that whatever had taken Zoro’s memories was likely intentional. “What the fuck did you do?” Zoro snarls.
“Security protocol. It seems to have affected you two differently,” Coates explained, without a shred of concern.
Zoro tensed, “The fuck does that mean?”
“You, Roronoa,” he gestures outward, “exemplify the usual effects.”
“Which are?” Zoro asks, because he’s not showing his hand unless it’s fully lost.
Coates rolls his eyes and taps at his temple with a finger, “ memory loss . You’ve lost some time haven’t you?” He smirks.
The swordsman tries to keep his face neutral as he processes it. Memory loss. That meant it wasn’t some time travel or aging bullshit.
Zoro was exactly who he was supposed to be.
He just had no idea who that was.
The swordsman unclenches his jaw to finally grit out a, “why?”
“It’s a nice way to handicap a dangerous opponent,” Coates muses smugly, “sets their progress back.”
“Swingin’ swords don't change and it doesn’t look like my muscles got set back a day.” Zoro sneers back at him.
“Yet you’re on that side of the bars,” Coates gestures smugly, “and I’m on this side.”
“For now,” Zoro growls in response.
“I do wonder though,” The man waves his arm again, this time towards the blond, “do you remember him?”
Zoro does not reply. An admission of itself.
The smile he gets back unnerves him. A spark of intrigue in his eyes as Coates adds, “interesting.”
The man turns to leave and Zoro finds himself blurting out the question he’s desperate to know.
“Who is he?”
Coates only pauses for a moment, tossing his reply over his shoulder, “your cellmate.”
Zoro clenches his fists, tamping down the frustration.
He needed to get back to training.
- • ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
Another few days pass without much event.
Zoro spends a portion of each day training. Working himself to a sweat as he re-acclimates to his body.
He was washing his face when another tray was dropped off and he turns to watch as another grunt scrambles away, nearly dropping the return try he’d picked up. Zoro snarls loudly, grinning when the man yelps and the remains of his last meal scatter into the darkness.
Fuck him.
Zoro grumbles to himself and snags the tray to bring it over to the blond.
“Is this supposed to be food? ” He asks Curly.
Curly, solidly unconscious, doesn’t move at the words.
“Stunned silence,” Zoro scoffs to himself.
Today they'd been given a bowl of overcooked oatmeal and a stale portion of bread.
“Lotta fuckin work for someone I don’t trust.” He gripes, but he’s already standing again to get water from the sink so he can dilute the oatmeal.
Zoro filters the mush to more of a thin gruel and uses a spoon to give it to the blond in small sips.
Curly has bouts of what could maybe be called lucidity. Most of the time they’re after his meals. The man still persistently calls out for plants and Zoro cannot fathom what hallucinations he must be having. As Zoro sits next to the blond and munches on the stale bread, he watches cautiously as such an episode occurs.
“Moss?” The blond breathed, his voice weary, “Marimo?” He’s tilted towards the swordsman but his eyelids are glued shut and scrunched in a frown.
Maybe Zoro’s been pulled into an alternate universe? A timeline where plants are the dominant lifeform?
Or maybe Curly has?
“Wher’m I?” Curly mumbles, a hand curling up to land on his pained features.
“A cell,” Zoro deadpans, “unfortunately that’s as good as I got right now.”
Curly garbles a scoff and lets out a drawling “Fuk’n cactus .”
“Wha-,” Zoro whispers, baffled. “What the fuck?”
The blond makes what might be a pathetic attempt at trying to sit up and Zoro catches him (barely) when his arm folds and sends him back down to the floor. “Swear’ta,” Curly curses, allowing the swordsman to lower him back down without any physical resistance. A petulant scoff still follows, “Wh’s Luffy? ”
Zoro freezes, his hands firm beneath Curly’s shoulders, his pale skin still radiating feverish heat. “You know Luffy?” He asks, breathless.
“Th’fuck,” Curly frowns, his eyelashes flutter with an extended effort to open his eyes, “Ques’on is’at?”
Okay, not helpful. “What’s your name?” Zoro tries.
Evidently this was the wrong question.
“Wh- what ?” Curly practically unravels. His long fingers scramble to grab Zoro’s robe, his words strained. Zoro nearly loses hold of the man as he jerks around in his arms.
“Hey! Calm down, fuck!” He backtracks. But the blond is still twisting, pulling energy from a well he hadn’t had before. Curly doesn’t stop until he has his lithe hand pressed firmly to the flat of Zoro’s chest. Zoro swallows, holding his breath.
“ Don’t, ” Curly gasps wetly and his fingertips press in, following the line of Zoro’s deep scar with a familiarity that terrifies him. The swordsman can’t fully see Curly’s face with the angle he was at but he could see the way his blond lashes fluttered, dark and wet with tears.
“Okay,” Zoro promises, “okay, Curly.” He places his hands lamely on the blond’s shoulders as the man sags in exhaustion, placated.
Zoro stays there for an inordinate amount of time. The blond was unconscious again but had curled himself awkward into Zoro’s lap and the swordsman wasn’t sure how to remove him.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Curly’s head was resting on Zoro’s thigh, one arm tucked close to his chest while the other laid out across Zoro’s lap. The warmth from his irregular breathing bleeds through the fabric and seeps into Zoro’s skin. As cautious as the swordsman wanted to be, the scales were tipping in a very dangerous direction. The chances that his cellmate was a stranger were dropping and with it Zoro’s anguish at the situation grew.
“I need to be focused,” he reminded himself.
At his voice, Curly shifted. The blond muttered something under his breath and stretched his free hand closer, his fingers tucking beneath the band of his haramaki and holding on loosely.
Tomorrow. Zoro tells himself as he reaches out, resting a calloused hand delicately atop blond locks. Curly sighs, his shoulders relaxing.
Tomorrow he’ll focus. Tonight…
Tonight, Zoro threads his fingers through soft strands and allows himself to be selfish.
- • ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
In the evenings Zoro investigates every scar on his body. He runs his fingers over them and wills himself to remember.
He digs his nails in deep and tries to read the scar tissue like a book. Maybe if he could picture the weapon? Or how deep it went?
Were they from a misstep? A strong opponent? Were they a shield? A wound taken in the place of another?
Zoro spends his nights searching his dreams for his memories.
He runs through empty corridors that go nowhere and dives into fathomless oceans that cloud with fog. Each morning he wakes up breathless, grasping at tendrils of fading images.
He stares at the blond in between bouts of training. It ends up accounting for an unreasonable portion of his day. Zoro refuses to disturb him more than necessary, but considers there’s no harm in watching.
His gaze traces the curve of Curly’s nose, the line of his jaw and the stubble growing in. He watches the shallow movement of his chest and the way his slender hands reach for empty spaces of air.
Zoro allows himself to brush the long yellow strands from his face as the man tosses in discomfort. He wipes Curly’s face and neck as clean as he can from the sweat.
No memories ever come.
- • ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
The next visit from Leland Coates comes after another few days. Though without any sunlight Zoro only has a vague sense of time passing. His best count comes through the number of food trays that come by.
He thinks no more than a week has passed, if even that.
“The fuck do you want?” Zoro sneers, once again having planted himself firmly in the center of the room, arms crossed.
Coates looks to Curly with mild interest, “just… checking in.”
Curly’s delirium hadn’t yet been improving, and with the little care Zoro could provide he was doubtful things would .
“If you want him alive I suggest you send us some medical help,” Zoro prompted gruffly.
Coates shrugged, “He’ll survive. His reaction is unusual, that doesn’t mean it’s not unheard of .”
“Then what is happening to him?” Zoro hissed.
“He’s fighting it,” Coates scoffs with an air of inconvenience, “I suppose I’m not surprised with his genetics.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing that concerns you, Roronoa.”
“It does when I’m trapped in a box with the man!” Zoro growls, “Why are you doing this to us? What’s your game?”
“You merely got caught in the crossfire. We’re after someone else you know.” He smirks with an errant wave of his hand, “Or, well, someone you used to know.”
“Then why do this to us?” He asks.
“I already told you,” he huffs, exasperated, “easier to keep you contained. We’ll turn you in for your bounty after we get who we’re after.”
I have a bounty? Zoro quietly filed that away to consider later. That was the first slip of real information he’d gotten. Confirmation that he is a pirate (or still was? His last memories were in the early stages of that decision). He presses on with, “Who’s we?”
“We’re a group of scholars,” Coates answers with the prim edge of pride in his tone, “now, I’ve got what I wanted here. I’ll be taking my leave.”
Zoro hisses as Coates turns, “if we’re not of use to you then let us go.”
“Don’t be stupid. Your bounties are reason to keep you, enough.”
His pride bristles but he tacks a thought of escape in alternative options. If the people holding him truly neutral towards him it led him to an advantage. Zoro would just need to make his release more beneficial to them than holding him captive.
Maybe he could work with that? Offer his services of the sword and then kill them all when he got them in hand?
The man disappears while Zoro then ponders on the second piece of information he’d been given.
Curly had a bounty too.
- • ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
After the first failed attempt at breaking through the bars or the walls, Zoro was loathe to admit he wasn’t strong enough.
Yet.
He still went on the assumption that he couldn’t yet utilize the full potential of his aged body; but he had plenty of spare time to catch up.
Zoro had stolen two spoons from their meals this time and held one on each hand. They were the wrong size of a hilt, vastly the wrong weight of a blade. But having something to grip beyond a closed fist was grounding.
He took a wide stance in the middle of the cell, evened his breaths, and went through a short series of moves, the steps he’d usually take first when getting a feel for a new blade. Zoro didn’t know what he’d learned in the time he lost. But his body did , so he cleared his mind to listen.
No longer knowing his limits wouldn’t hinder him. He’d just have to assume there were none.
Each day he felt a bit more comfortable in the skin that wasn’t his, making it his own again.
As he slid into a low swing, Zoro focused on the feeling of his muscles tense. What stances he could hold comfortably and which pulled at his tendons with a twang of disuse. He pictured the tension in his swing, the control of his movements.
Like falling into dance, he practiced his repetitions. It felt as if his mind were a step behind. He had the muscles and the movement but not the right mindset.
Swi-Swing.
Sw-Swing.
Sw-Swing.
Swi-Swing.
Closer and closer, but there was something missing. A lesson or reasoning? An ability?
Swi-Swing
Sw-Swing
S-Swing
- • ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
The blond isn’t getting better.
Zoro’s not a doctor. He was decent with a needle after the countless times he’d sewed himself up after a scrap, but Curly didn’t need those skills.
He was still feverish, clammy, and uncomfortable.
Not to mention still groaning for plants.
Zoro figured the best he could do was to try and correct at least one of those.
“C’mon Curls, work with me,” he grunts, bringing the man's left arm over his right shoulder so he could haul him over his back, “this is probably overdue, anyway.”
“Nng,” Curly grunts, his hands clenching, “Wha-?”
The moment Zoro’s got him fully lifted he takes only a few strides to the other side of the cell and is rolling him onto the single cot they had. The blond huffs something that sounds like a curse, making Zoro snicker.
“Not much different but,” Zoro shrugs, “It’ll be warmer.”
The man is shaking his head like he’s got vertigo (probably does), but his eyes blink open for a few moments. It’s just a flash of seconds, but it’s the first glimpse Zoro’s ever gotten and it makes him pause.
The man has bright sea-blue eyes.
“Z-zo,” the man rasps, “ Zoro. ”
The rest of the cell falls away as Zoro latches on to the sound of his name on this man’s lips.
It doesn’t sound like the way you would say the name of an enemy.
It horrifies Zoro the very same. The blond shivers in his hold and jolts Zoro back into motion. He retrieves the blanket he’d left behind on the floor and returns to tuck it into the cot. Zoro realizes Curly had seemingly lost his moment of clarity with a pang of disappointment. The blond having fallen unconscious once again.
Nonetheless, he dutifully checks all the edges of the blanket to make sure Curly is fully covered, catching an arm falling off the side to tuck it in. He’s just gathered a cautious hold of a wrist when a glint of gold catches in the corner of his eye.
A gold glint he recognizes .
Zoro’s breath catches with the shock. He feels the brunt of force as his knees hit the ground. He folds himself down to see closer; his fingertips just barely brushing a pale jawline as he tucks his hand delicately around the jewelry. It had been hidden amongst the pale strands of hair, tangled in the cloth tying it off at the nape of his neck.
The teardrop shape, the way the color shined a familiar warmth.
It’s his earring pierced in the man's left ear, the one missing from his own set.
While devoid of the intent, the significance was indisputable.
He rubs his thumb over the metal and feels the way his chest clenches; as if he can’t breath.
Maybe he can’t.
Zoro aches with the revelation. The loss of something that was clearly so precious.
In the years he’d lost he had met someone. Someone who became so important that Zoro had parted a piece of himself in declaration of their bond.
And now he didn’t know his name.
He didn’t have a relationship with this man, not one he remembered at least.
His thoughts spiral. He’s terrified to assume the kind of relationship they have.
In a wistful way, he wonders if they were in love. That he might be tied to this beautiful man in a promise of singular devotion. But the longing is sour. It feels cruel of him to want that when the loss of his memories would so undoubtedly cause the man pain.
Zoro felt guilty. If he had been stronger this never would have happened. They never wouldn’t have gotten caught and his memories wouldn’t have been taken.
Suddenly, he looks at his own hands, checks his fingers.
No jewelry, no… ring . But still… he lifts his hand to the left side of his face.
Zoro thinks of the sea-blue replacement dangling from his ear.
The hand he’d been holding to tuck back at the blond’s side curls into his grasp. Curly mumbles something and pulls him in, cradling his hand across his torso.
It wracks Zoro with guilt. This tenderness is not for him. The balm he’s providing is a facade, an echo of something he no longer has. That they no longer have.
He feels many things towards this man. He feels pity and empathy for his plight. He feels attraction for his striking beauty. He feels yearning; a childish want for the bond they must have shared.
But…He doesn’t love him.
Zoro wishes he did.
- • ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
The next time Leland Coates shows his stupid face Zoro does a poor job of keeping his cool.
Or, more accurately, Zoro hears the man coming and finds himself pacing at the door like a caged tiger.
“Roronoa,” Coates prompts, seemingly amused at the swordsman’s state.
Zoro strides to meet him at the door with a sneer. “ Fix him ,” he demands roughly. He’s furious and he wants Coates to know he is on borrowed time .
The man doesn’t flinch, but he does raise an eyebrow as he inquires. “Did he say something to you?”
Zoro considers ignoring the question entirely, but it was likely safer if the man assumed otherwise, “No.”
“Well, I know you haven’t gotten your memories back.” Coates declares, smug as he prods. “But you know something .”
The swordsman frowns, “Why would you assume that?”
Coates looks at him with amusement, “you’re angry he’s dying. You wouldn’t bother pestering me unless you cared about the outcome.”
The words sink in like acid and Zoro spits them right back, “you said he’d survive!”
The venom only seems to amuse him further, “that was before he resisted this long.” He replies, “I can’t imagine his body would tolerate much more at this point.”
“Then fix him .” Zoro ordered, fingernails digging into his palms from clenched fists.
“I’ll consider it. But ,” Coates holds a finger up, halting a fuming response from the swordsman, “humor me first.”
“The hell do you want?” Zoro sneers.
“Tell me, swordsman Roronoa. Who do you think this man is?” Coates pointedly looks past him and to the blond shivering on the cot.
Zoro follows his line of sight. He thinks of delicate hands and soft, wheat blond hair.
He answers firmly, “ important. ”
“Hum. You’re not desperate enough, ” Coates rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed he continues with a drawl, “I’ve seen you do better, Roronoa. Ask nicely. ”
Zoro swallows, throat dry as he processes the statement and its implications.
I’ve seen you do better.
It’s maddening.
It’s infuriating.
Zoro feels his anger swell and spill outward, fury choking the air as it twists like smoke through the bars. He leans in the last few inches between himself and the door. He locks his eyes on Coate’s throat and wraps his hands around the rungs, squeezing .
He takes pleasure in the way Coates’ smug smile falters, the way the man tries to hide the way he’s trying to keep his breath even from the bloodlust permeating air. Zoro punctuates it with his request, his tone dark, “ Please, fix him.”
For a single moment, Zoro thinks it works. Coates looks entirely unsettled. But then, the man physically backs up a step and heaves an even breath.
“No.”
The word pierces Zoro with the pain of a blade.
“All you beastly pirates. You’re all the same,” Coates sneers, and the tone holds a depth of emotion Zoro had yet to see from the man. “You think your stupid muscles and your shitty weapons will get you anything you want in life.”
“Well look where that got you.” Coates continues goading, “You can claw all you want, Beast , but you’re at the mercy of knowledge greater than your own now.”
Understanding settles and Zoro thinks it tastes sour. Their captivity wasn’t as transactional as it had first appeared. There would be no bartering or negotiations. Zoro had no leverage because Coates wanted them here.
“What about our bounties? You intend for us to die in this cell?” Zoro asks, because he wants to know.
“Alive or dead ,” he tuts, “but I guess you wouldn’t know that, would you?”
“Tell me who he is.” Zoro ordered.
Suddenly, there’s a slurred voice calling for goddamn lichen from the cot.
“And why does he keep calling out for plants?” Zoro adds, exasperated.
That’s when Zoro’s heart sinks.
He’s suddenly feeling nauseous because Coates gives a tell.
Coates gives a flash of surprise at Zoro’s question and his honest response had shown clear.
He had expected Zoro to know the answer already.
And he’d looked at Zoro’s hair.
A groan, “f’ckin hurr’s! Moss?”
A chuckle. “Kelp.”
A declaration, “y’Hous’plant!”
A plea. “Please, ‘outher? Marimo?”
A cry amidst the ache of a fever, “it fucking hurts! Moss?”
A playful remark when the room smells of wet hair. “ Kelp. ”
A curse when the spoonful lands on a chest instead of a mouth, “ You Houseplant! ”
A prayer, when the blankets are tucked in for sleep, “Please? Are you there? Marimo?”
“Happ’ng? Moss’ya ‘k?” A question slurred from the back of the cell.
Zoro doesn’t notice Coates leave. He wishes the floor would stop falling from beneath his feet.
“What’s happening? Moss, you okay?”
He feels rotten as he makes his way to the cot, kneeling to meet the calls of the blond. Curly hadn’t been as delirious as he thought. He hadn’t been calling to plants; he’d been responding to Zoro.
Zoro had held Curly at arms length because he didn’t know what his relationship had been with the man. He’d been trying so hard to step directly back into his own footsteps because he didn’t want to ruin his relationship with the blond.
It was time he stopped trying to figure out what actions were correct for him and decided to just do what felt right now . He met the outstretched hand in his own steady grasp and tucked himself close to the blond.
If his relationship wasn’t how he felt now… Maybe he didn’t want it anyway.
“Here,” Zoro offers, “m’fine.”
It was the first time Zoro felt as if Curly could hear or understand him. Instead of erratic movements or waving hands, Zoro moved into Curly’s space and the blond moved as if he’d been moored from a wave.
Thin hands settled around Zoro’s neck and a warm breath rolled across his cheek, “ Good. ”