Stolen // One Piece

chapter forty-one

Nami had trapped her lower lip between her teeth, and was nibbling absentmindedly as she scribbled on one of her newer maps. The crew members were only an hour away from the island, but she couldn't help but worry about what new dangers awaited them.

Luffy, while recovering fairly quickly (Chopper had mumbled that it had been a miracle that he managed to pull through, despite quite literally dying for a few minutes) was still nowhere near recovered enough to engage in any battles, even with Sea-Kings, as Robin had pulled him out of the ocean only to find most of his stitches had been reopened. If the Straw-Hat Pirates ran into any opposition, marines or other pirates, Luffy would be in immediate danger.

Though the Captain would never admit it, he wasn't doing very well. His eyes now carried heavy dark bags and his face looked sunken in, almost as if he hadn't been eating enough. He was sluggish, and his usually thin frame had somehow gotten thinner. While his muscles were still sharply-defined, they seemed to cling to his limbs, and Nami noticed that Luffy took much longer to finish the meals that Sanji placed in front of him. Whatever ailed the Straw-Hat Captain appeared to be stealing the life from him.

When he had slept in her bed she watched him silently, his chest rising and falling in an uneven pattern, breath shuddering from his mouth, the sound reminiscent of the rattling of wooden shutters from a heavy gust of wind. She knew something wasn't right.

Nami had stroked his sleeping face gently, running her thumb over the raised skin of his scar. She had always wondered where it had come from, as had the other Straw-Hats, but they silently agreed that there were some things that they could not ask. Things that simply were and needn't be questioned.

It wasn't like Luffy was secretive, Nami knew that if she asked he would tell her, but she knew there were certain things about his past that were only his to offer. Like the faint lines lines on his forearm, beginning at his elbow.

She hadn't noticed them when they first met.

At first she only saw his eyes, brown like oak trees, the sun filtering through the leaves and shining on the bark, revealing the glittering amber of sap. She was reminded of the tranquility of strolling aimlessly, deeper and deeper into an endless forest, while birds sang and called to each other up above, a cool breeze wrapping around her and whispering to the shadows that hid in the trees.

And then his jaw, sharp and boyish and surprisingly handsome. His nose next, sloped and pointed. And then she noticed his frame, skinny and lanky and somehow she knew those arms could support the world, and for a moment (and a lot of moments after) she wondered if the Gods had carved him from marble themselves.

And then she got him thrown in a cage and nearly blown to smithereens. A truly wonderful introduction.

After all of the other events involving Buggy concluded, when Nami and her two unlikely new friends had set sail in that sad little dingy Luffy called a "ship," Luffy saw her burned hands and fussed over them, wrapping them and telling her to be more careful, that his navigator needed to have working hands in order to keep them all safe.

Nami was unsettled by his attention, having been on her own for so long, but seeing his unwillingness to lose at anything (especially an argument over the health of his crew mates) kept her quiet as he worked. She was surprised at his tenderness, the way his hands gently turned hers over and the way he was so careful about not hurting her. But Luffy... was Luffy, so her bandages were messily wrapped and inconveniently placed, limiting her movements.

While her new "Captain" was once again checking her hands for any missed injuries, Nami had finally noticed the faint lines on his arms. 

White, only an inch long each. Old and healed, and unexpectedly human. This seventeen-year-old boy, who had taken down an entire pirate crew, survived gunshots and swords, so determined to become the King of the Pirates, who looked and acted invincible, was once so broken he had turned to self-harm.

He caught her staring at them, and she looked up to meet his eyes, but he turned to look away. She saw something dark flash in those beautiful brown eyes and decided she wasn't going to mention the scars, ever.

Nami noticed them again when she held the knife above her head, ready to plunge it into her own shoulder another time, when she looked up and realized he was preventing her from doing so.

At first she was angry; angry that he saw her so vulnerable, angry that he knew she needed help, angry that he wouldn't abandon her the way she was expecting him to.

And then she saw those lines, and the look of recognition in his eyes, and she knew that it was okay to ask him to help her. She understood that he wanted to be there for her, and she begged him to rescue her from that horrible fish-man.

And he did. And she would be forever grateful for him.

At times she would forget about those scars, and she would watch him take down entire fleets, entire armies, monsters and marines and other pirates, and she would suddenly remember just how strong he was. Luffy was unbreakable.

Except he wasn't. He was never unbreakable and he never would be. He was just as human as anyone else, and just as easily broken. He was just better at hiding it.

He tried to kill himself, Nami's mind unhelpfully reminded her, as she sat in her desk chair, scribbling and crossing out and rewriting. And he had. He had tried to drown himself in the ocean, because his mind had become so tired of hiding the fact that he wasn't okay.

Then he was kidnapped, and whatever bad memories that had been made on that ship only added to the pain he was already in.

He cried. He cried in her arms. She had held him while he sobbed. Her Captain, her savior was shuddering apart at the seams. Saving him from that god-awful ship wasn't enough, but there was nothing she could do to reverse the effects that Bluejam had on him. That his grandfather, his enemies, even his own brothers left on him.

Instead of healing, he had distracted himself, and losing his crew mates for two years only made things worse for him. He had no one to turn to, no one to comfort him, to hold him and tell him that it was alright that he couldn't heal on his own.

Now there was something very clearly wrong but Luffy wouldn't say anything about it.

Nami decided she would tell Chopper that she had the feeling something was not right, and so she stood, setting her papers down and blowing out her lantern, and made her way into the kitchen, where the others were waiting.

"Nami!" Sanji sang, smiling. "I called for lunch but I didn't know if you heard me," he continued, setting a plate of food in her spot on the table. Upon seeing the concerned look on her face, his smile slid from his face. She frowned and looked at Chopper.

"I think something is wrong with Luffy—" she began, but the door opened, and the aforementioned nineteen-year-old stepped through. He was pale, his eyes were dazed and unfocused, and there was red at the corner of his mouth.

"Chopper," he croaked, voice hoarse and breaking, "I threw up blood."