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Nami bolted upright, her lungs burning as if she were still beneath the crushing weight of the sea.
The Going Merry was silent, the dark cabin filled only with the rhythmic, soft breathing of Robin in the next bunk. But inside Nami’s head, the nightmare was still screaming. The walls of the cabin began to press inward, the ceiling lowering, until the air felt too thin to breathe.
She needed to get out.
Stumbling onto the deck, she collapsed against the stern railing. Above, the moon turned the ocean into a sheet of shimmering silver, but Nami’s vision was fracturing. The smooth wood beneath her palms began to warp, transforming into the rough, blood-stained edge of a drafting desk back at Arlong Park.
The memory surged over her. She was back in the map room. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and stagnant salt. Then came the sound: the heavy, rhythmic thud of Arlong’s footsteps approaching the door.
She gripped her hands together, squeezing until her knuckles turned a ghostly white and the circulation died. She should have felt the bite of her nails digging into her palms, but she was numb—drifting away into a panic that felt like drowning in shallow water.
In her mind, she relived how Arlong had dragged a man into the room. It was a villager she recognized, his face a mask of primal, pale terror.
"Please," the man sobbed, "I only had seventy-thousand berries. The harvest was bad... my daughter was sick—"
Crack. Arlong struck him. "Shut up, human."
The fishman turned to Nami with a cruel, serrated grin. "What do you think, Nami?" His voice boomed, vibrating the very floorboards. "He’s thirty-thousand short on his tribute. What should we do with him?"
Nami remained frozen, her tongue like lead.
"You know what I think?" Arlong whispered, leaning down until his cold breath hit her ear. "I think you’ve forgotten what happens to humans who no longer have value."
She was technically still on the deck of the Merry, but she had been hollowed out and transported back in time. Her breathing hitched, turning into shallow, jagged stabs of air. Tears tracked silently down her cheeks. The strength left her knees, and she slid down the wood until she was a small, shaking heap on the deck.
"Nami?"
A muffled voice reached her, but it sounded like someone shouting through a mile of thick glass.
"Nami," the voice warped, becoming Arlong’s hiss. "I told you to finish that map yesterday."
In her mind, her small hands clutched a quill so hard it ached. Arlong moved with the predatory blur of a shark. He seized the villager by the hair and slammed his head down onto the corner of Nami’s drafting table.
The sound was sickening—a wet, heavy crack.
Crimson splattered. Warm droplets hit Nami’s cheek and bloomed across her unfinished map. She sat paralyzed, her jaw locked shut; she knew a single scream would only invite the monster’s wrath.
"Clean it up," Arlong spat, motioning for his men to drag the limp weight away. "I’ll expect that map by morning."
She didn't feel the hands on her shoulders at first. She didn't feel the shaking. She was back in the map room, staring at the red pool that used to be a man’s life.
"You're on the Merry," the voice behind the glass whispered. "Nobody can hurt you anymore."
Nami curled into a ball, staring at her hands. In her mind, they were covered in blood as she scrubbed the stone floor. She was trapped in that cold, stone prison forever.
Then, the phantom chill was replaced by a sudden, solid warmth.
The scent of sandalwood and steel cut through the smell of salt and blood. The "glass" between her and the world began to shatter.
"You’re safe. You have your crew, remember?"
Her crew.
"Luffy. Usopp. Sanji. They got you out. Arlong is gone."
Nami’s gasps slowed into long, shuddering sighs. She blinked, the wooden deck of the Merry coming back into focus. She realized she was tucked into the crook of someone’s chest, her face pressed against the dark, sturdy fabric of their shirt.
She stayed there, letting the steady, rhythmic beat of their heart anchor her to the present. She was alive. She was free.
"He's gone. I'm free," she whispered, the words a fragile mantra.
"Yes."
This time, she recognized the voice. It was Zoro.
The last of the tremors left her limbs. She lay there in his arms, the silence of the sea finally feeling peaceful rather than suffocating. Eventually, she pushed back, sliding an inch away. Zoro let her move, but he kept his hands steady on her shoulders, refusing to let go until he saw the light return to her eyes.
"I... I'm sorry," Nami whispered, looking at her lap. Her face flushed with a mix of exhaustion and raw embarrassment. "I didn't mean to... I just..."
Zoro didn't let her finish. He took both sides of her head in his hands and tilted it up.
His expression was uncharacteristically soft, though his gaze remained sharp, searching her face for any lingering traces of the nightmare. Only when he was sure the "glassy" look had faded did he relax.
"Rough night, huh?" he murmured.
A startled, watery laugh bubbled up in Nami’s throat. Her face was swollen, her eyes puffed, and snot was unceremoniously dripping from her nose. She reached up to wipe it with the back of her hand, but Zoro stopped her. Without a word of complaint, he took the hem of his own shirt and wiped her nose as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“You don’t have to ruin your shirt.”
A ghost of a smirk played on his lips. “I’ve survived legendary swordsmen, Nami. I don’t think some snot is going to kill me.”
“BARELY survived, and don’t go making it weird by being nice to me.” She declared, pointing at him threateningly.
“Afraid to find out you might actually tolerate me?”
She growled before punching him lightly in the arm.
Zoro let out a quiet sigh of relief, just glad to have her acting more herself.
———-
Months had passed since that night. After she’d gone back to bed, they never spoke of it again. That was Zoro’s way—being a rock when she needed him, never dwelling on the past, and never demanding more than she was willing to share on her own. She could rely on him when a storm hit.
Tonight, the storm didn't wait for her to reach her bed.
Nami jerked upright, her chair scraping harshly against the floorboards of her cabin. She had fallen asleep at her map table, her cheek pressed against the dried ink of a half-finished chart.
The dream was still projecting in her mind.
She had been back in the courtyard of Arlong Park. Her smaller, younger hands clutched a stack of freshly finished drafts. In the center of the plaza, a group of Fish-men were laughing, gathered in a circle. In the middle was a human—a stray bounty hunter who had been foolish enough to try and sneak into the compound. He was bloodied, his guns snapped in half and discarded on the stone floor like useless toys.
Arlong sat in his massive chair, a glass of blue liquor in one hand. He spotted her and gestured for her to come closer.
"Nami! Perfect timing," Arlong boomed, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "You spend so much time looking at the world through ink and paper. I thought you might like a live demonstration of 'geography.'"
Her heart was hammering against her ribs as she stood from her desk on the Going Merry. The air in the cabin felt thin, tainted by the phantom smell of stagnant pool water and Arlong’s cigar smoke.
This time, when she walked onto the deck she didn't walk to the stern. She stepped out into the cool night air and looked up. The crow's nest loomed against the stars. Without a second thought, she began to climb.
She found Zoro exactly where she expected—leaning against the railing, the moonlight reflecting off his moss-colored hair. She walked up and leaned on the railing next to him.
“Has anyone ever told you that you move too loud for a thief?” He teased without looking at her.
When no retort came, the silence stretched too long. Zoro turned to find Nami was pale, her skin almost translucent under the moon. Her hands were gripping the wooden railing in front of her with white-knuckled intensity. She had that glossed-over look in her eyes—the look of someone seeing two worlds at once.
He didn't probe, and he didn't offer empty words. He simply shifted his weight, moving closer until his shoulder firmly touched hers. A silent, steady presence in the dark.
They looked out over the sea together, but Nami wasn't seeing the waves. She noticed her own nails were digging into the wood like last time, the splinters threatening to break her skin.
With a casualness that drew no attention to the gesture, Zoro reached down. He uncurled her rigid fingers and laced them with his own. He let her squeeze his hand instead, his calloused skin acting a a sturdy cushion.
The memory surged back, unbidden.
She saw the fishman grabbing the bounty hunter by the hair, dragging him toward a heavy stone statue of a sea beast that sat poolside. With one hand, Arlong hoisted the three-hundred-pound carving. With the other, he looped a thick iron chain around the man’s waist, padlocking it to the statue's base.
Arlong kicked the statue into the pool.
The weight dragged the man off the concrete and into the turquoise water with a massive, violent splash.
"Watch," Arlong commanded, grabbing Nami by the shoulder and forcing her to the edge.
Through the clear water, Nami saw the man’s face. He wasn't just drowning; he was thrashing against the stone, his fingers clawing at the iron links until his fingernails tore away, leaving plumes of red mist in the water.
Her lungs began to burn as if she were the one beneath the surface.
"He’s begging for the air, Nami," Arlong laughed, his grip tightening on her shoulder as the man’s body finally went limp, anchored to the bottom. "But the sea doesn't care about his feelings. This is the world you live in. A world where humans sink, and we breathe."
"—breathe, Nami."
Arlong’s laughter bled into a low, gravelly rasp.
The courtyard vanished. She was in the crow's nest, but the suffocation was real. She was gasping, chest tightening. Zoro had turned her toward him; they were now both kneeling on the floor of the crows nest. He took the hand already laced in his and pressed it flat against his chest, pinning it there.
"Breathe in time with me," he commanded.
He drew in a deep, deliberate breath and released it in a slow, steady stream, his gaze never leaving hers. Against her hand, she felt the rhythmic surge and retreat of his chest—it was steady. Indestructible.
She began to mirror him, the rise and fall of her chest matching his. For a few minutes, they sat in a shared cadence until the phantom water in her lungs finally receded. Her breathing leveled out into a shakey normal.
As the fog of the panic attack cleared, she found herself locked in his stare.
“Better?” he whispered.
She nodded. “Better.”
The silence that followed was heavy but comforting, lasting until Nami finally found her voice again. “I’m not losing my mind, am I?”
Zoro gave a low, resonant hum. “No.”
“Then why does this keep happening?”
“We’ve spent the last year dodging lightning and outrunning assassins in the most treacherous sea on the planet,” he said, his tone flat and pragmatic. “Your brain is just playing the highlights to keep you on your toes.”
She looked away. “…But it isn’t those memories I’m seeing.”
He didn't flinch, acknowledging the ghost she hadn't named. “Arlong.”
Nami nodded silently, turning her face away.
Zoro shifted, sliding down to sit beside her. He leaned back against the railing, his shoulder pressing firmly against hers. “You were small,” he said, his voice grounded and certain. “Your brain isn’t going to let go of those years without a fight.”
“I suppose…”
“And when they show up again,” he added, “you just come find me.”
She searched his face, looking for the usual edge of teasing or a sarcastic bite, but she found only a rare, raw sincerity.
“Hey,” she murmured, “I warned you about being nice.”
Zoro’s mouth quirked into a smirk. “Just take the help and shut up, Navigator.”
Nami studied him. His casual indifference was a far cry from the way others treated her, yet it never translated to a lack of care when the world started to fracture. She appreciated that he never doted on her because he knew she was strong—something she wasn’t used to experiencing with men.
Noticing the lingering fatigue behind her eyes, Zoro reached for the heavy blanket kept in the crow’s nest and draped it over her.
“Go back to sleep,” he told her. “I’ll keep an eye on things. Deal?”
By ‘things’, she knew he meant her.
She pulled the wool tight around her shoulders and let her head come to rest against his arm. “Deal. But just know, if Sanji finds us like this, it might actually kill him.”
“Even better,” he whispered.