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The sudden thunderstorm turns out to be a bad omen, leading to an fight with the girl that he met earlier, the girl that gave a name to the promise that he's carried for so long – the one she declares she'll take from him now while she stands still in the downpour like a ghost. Zoro accepts her challenge with a sort of facetious curiosity, wondering how the swordswoman would react when he draws out Sandai Kitetsu in the clash.
Unexpectedly, she doesn't seem intimidated at all, despite previously witnessing the same sword pierce deep in the floor after spinning past his outstretched arm.
Brave, he thinks, briefly.
Even in the torrent, her stance is firm and her technique is solid as she darts between muddy puddles. Still, he defeats her after he maneuvers her back against a wall, striking the sword into the stone beside her head as a final blow.
She gulps, but her eyes shine with defiance, daring him to cut her down. Maybe he would have answered her, but a rivulet diverts his attention down to a gleam at the dip of her blouse.
Weak.
He sees the faint word on her collarbone, its iridescent sheen pronounced by slick water; like a moth to a flame, he reaches out to trace it. It's a familiar word, on a similar location – though instead of looking like a child's scrawl, it looked like it was spoken by a ignorant adult. Not self-inflicted then, he thinks, with relief, while his thumb moves absentmindedly to the edge of her shirt collar. A portion of the word is partially overlapped by another one, but she's already knocking his hand off her, her face fierce, anything but weak –
“Just cut me down already!” she snarls.
“I'm not going to,” he responds, flatly. He has already sheathed his sword, ready to rejoin his crew, but she draws him back with her shouts.
“So you're not taking me seriously... Is it because I'm a woman? I didn't pick up this sword for fun!”
Zoro turns to stomp back towards her, pissed. Maybe the heady buzz of electricity and tension in the air has fried his nerves, or his sense of reason. “I don't care about that!” He points at her in reciprocated accusation. “It's because you remind me exactly of my friend that died! You even say the same things as her, you rip-off!”
The word copycat flares up on her skin for a moment, above the word weak.
She gapes. “How childish! I've only ever been me, so don't compare me to whoever she is! I'm the one that's wronged here!” She throws out an unexpected taunt. “In fact, maybe she was the one imitating me!”
“Why you–” The nerve of this girl, saying that after she lost. Any remaining trace of Kuina on her face vanishes when his eyes swipe over her figure once more. “You could never be her,” Zoro declares coldly, before leaving her in the rain, never looking back.
He doesn't think about the other word – pretty.
Zoro still doesn't think of that word when he sees her again in Alabasta, when he runs away from her confrontation only because following Luffy's orders and preventing the demise of a kingdom takes precedent over alleviating the misunderstanding that remains between them.
After two years, a large pirate becomes permanently scarred across his chest, darkened and expanded by its repetition through rumors and gossip, perpendicular to his other scar gifted by Mihawk. His old epithet hunter is still present below it, running parallel down the path of his oblique muscle, though it's no longer as prominent as it was before.
In the scattered chaos of Punk Hazard, Zoro runs into her again, or maybe she runs into him, when her sword swings at him to protect her subordinates from his strike. The clash of metal reawakens the unresolved tension between them with a reverberation that runs down to his fingertips.
He never thought that he'd ever see her again – the girl that didn't respect him enough to offer her name when she first challenged him. He only hears that it's Tashigi from the mouths of other Marines, so he has no choice but to call her by nicknames.
“So it's Captain Copycat now?” he taunts slyly, but she doesn't care enough about that when the violet smoke is rolling in and they're all too busy running.
This time, Zoro doesn't see the phrase show up on her skin because she's buttoned up her military coat to the top and her hands are covered by stiff gloves. The only visible word on her right now is the oversized justice that's splayed across her back while she's standing between him and the harpy. He scoffs at the sight of it.
Tashigi hears him, and she returns her own scoff in petty retribution after her eyes drift down to his chest – annoying.
She then accuses him again of not being able to cut down women – as if the only possible reason is because he thought so lowly of the opposite sex – and she speaks that misconception with enough conviction that even their mutual enemy believes it too. Zoro's unable to get a retort out before she's pointing her sword at the harpy woman, seizing his fight.
Stubborn, he thinks, conceding only because his curiosity gets the better of him again.
He watches her as she darts around in both attack and defense. Her movement is tighter and quicker than two years ago, with her strength improved even more so through her mastery of Haki, but the harpy turns the tide when she summons an icy realm and sinks a vicious bite into Tashigi's right shoulder. He hears her cry out in pain. He hears her refusing to let go to save her sword arm.
Reckless, his heart beats, while his body moves on its own accord.
Zoro cuts the snow-woman in half for that.
Tashigi deals the final blow through her broken shoulder; somehow she's still mad at him afterwards, dismissing his claim of her victory.
Prideful, he thinks, and that makes her easier to tease.
He opens his mouth to capitalize on that, but she clutches at her injury with a sharp hiss and her knees buckle as her adrenaline finally drains dry. He braces her fall onto the snow-frosted ground without much thought, holding her with a steady hand at her forearm and her hip.
The deep laceration frayed the threads of her coat, leaving a part of her shoulder exposed enough for him to make out the word marine through the blood dribbling thickly down her arm, staining her pink sleeve, flecking the snow red. As he bandages her wound, he raises an eyebrow when he sees enemy in a feminine script flash across his knuckles with dull repetition.
Zoro tilts his head to meet her eyes; Tashigi's glare is glazed but unwavering, and he suspects that she's only able to hold onto her consciousness through her dogged mantra, a reminder of the part he plays in her mind. He's suddenly aware how close their bodies are to each other now, and how the other offending text on his torso is displayed right in front of her as she clenches his coat tightly, pulling him closer like she's issuing a threat.
“Why– “ she barely mutters before passing out.
There's absolutely no reason to answer her now, so he doesn't. Instead, he does what he can and carries her out to safety when the smog starts to seep into the room.
Some minutes later, while he's searching for a way out of the maze, she regains enough consciousness to continue shouting at him and then to fawn over Shusui – he knows the sword's name this time. Her energetic recovery is equal parts a relief and an annoyance. He bestows her a new nickname accordingly.
Zoro wonders what she might think of it, if she ever sees it on herself.
Zoro sees Tashigi next in a newspaper when he and his crew are drifting along at sea.
It's not much of an article – just another editorial pretending that the government is doing good in the world – but he catches her in the corner of the accompanying photo.
While the focus of the photo is on some recently-captured pirates, Tashigi's busy caring for the injured in the background. When he squints closer, he notices that her arms are curiously branded with both savior and traitor, one on each.
It's a shame he might never find out the parts of the story the article has purposefully left out.
With multiple large explosions and bloody scuffles breaking out around him, Zoro doesn't know how he spots Tashigi during the climax of the Final War, because she's almost unrecognizable in this state. Her glasses are tangled in her hair, there's a limp in her stance, and blood streaks across her face like war paint. The condition of her clothes is no better; her coat is shredded into strips and her blouse is torn open from injuries, revealing the the blotted combination of fresh words and bruises splattered across her skin.
She looks the worst he's ever seen her – not that he's one to talk right now; he must be her mirror image after he's been scraping all his victories by teeth from the endless enemies that threatened his king – but even so, relief soars in his heart at the sight of her, because she's still alive with her eyes blazing, not weak at all –
Maybe that burning is what draws his attention to her, when their gaze meets across the distance of the battlefield like a spark.
It's too far to read her expression, too far to read the words on her skin, but apparently it's not too far enough for Tashigi to find the new blade he's wielding unrecognizable.
“Enma?”
Zoro sees the sword's name form on her mouth as it drops open and her eyes widen, though from this distance he can't tell if she's jealous or impressed. He almost laughs.
The brief interaction sends him into a memory in the past, when she first declared her dream to him once upon a time in a sword shop in Loguetown. How much have they stayed the same – that she still wants his swords? How much have they changed – that he doesn't consider that sentiment particularly annoying anymore? He hadn't fully appreciated those sorts of easy moments back then, when he had been so young and dumb and solely focused on his goals without knowing the true fear of death knocking at his door. The nostalgia of it turns the corner of his mouth up.
“Come and take it,” he mouths back.
They find their way back to each other, after the end.
Zoro's in a booth at the back of some bar, drinking by himself while everyone else is celebrating the recent victory with dancing or singing or other rowdier methods. The party technically started three nights ago, but Zoro already had his fill of feasts and festivities yesterday, so today he wants to drink in peace.
Tashigi's still in bandages when she walks towards him, but at least she's not limping anymore. When he acknowledges her approach, she awkwardly hovers for a moment with her drink in hand before she references the empty space on his left.
“May I sit?” she asks, rather politely.
Zoro's caught off-guard – only because this is the first time that they're meeting without drawn swords – but he nods.
He starts to question why she wants to sit beside him when she still hasn't given any indication of her purpose here; she's been completely silent since she sat down a few minutes ago. He observes her in his peripheral. Her expression looks like she has something to say, but whenever she opens her mouth, she ends up sipping her beer instead. Her tankard's already half-emptied. He throws her a bone, breaking the ice first.
“Are you here to celebrate or to wallow?” In battle, he saw her draw her blade at her former superiors, planting herself between them and innocent bystanders, both traitor and savior. How did she feel about that? “The World Government that you used to work for is gone.”
“Of course I'm glad that corruption has been conquered,” Tashigi says quietly, “ but I can't pretend that I'm unaffected by learning the truth of the Void Century. How long had the government been complicit in all of this? How many innocent lives had been lost to keep the secret? The whole thing is a complete tragedy.”
She releases a shaky breath before she composes herself. “But then... I also can't help thinking that it's a relief, in a way. No matter how many years it takes or how deeply beneath the sea it's buried, in the end, the truth will always be freed. There's some poetic justice to be found in that, at least.”
“That's probably worth celebrating,” Zoro states, mildly.
She hums without actually answering, finishing off the rest of her drink; the alcohol melts away what remains of her rigidity and she softly slumps onto the table, resting her head in her arms.
“Hey, you okay?” Zoro waves a hand in front of her. He doesn't think that she's drunk, but her lack of wariness around him is an unfamiliar look.
She groans. “Well, some my viewpoints may have been fundamentally shattered, but at least my principles are still intact. If that's what you're asking.”
“I wasn't, but why are you worried about that now?”
“Are you telling me to shut up?”
“More like lighten up.” Ruminating in self-doubt wouldn't be productive in her current state. “It's a party, after all. Worry about that shit later.”
She huffs, but her mouth crooks up. “Fine, I'll try.”
She seems to be taking his advice into consideration when she looks out to the smiling faces of pirates, marines, and civilians all mingled together, cheering over drinks. There's fondness on her face when she listens to the harmony of their songs and chatter, and she closes her eyes in contentment as the celebration starts to wind down for the night.
In the subdued atmosphere, he breathes in tempo with her; the slow rhythm of it is soothing, like a meditation. Zoro finishes his bottle, leaning back on the bench instead of picking up another drink at the counter, unwilling to disturb the peaceful lull that had settled around them.
There's a soft, unexpected poke at his arm, and Zoro looks down with a jolt.
Though Tashigi's still resting on her arms with her heavy-lidded eyes, one of her hand is raised to slide her index finger idly down his forearm. A hum erupts under his skin as he watches her trace over the length of the word, but he doesn't pull away.
“Hero, huh?” she murmurs.
The word appeared on him after Wano; the blurry nature of the font was caused by the chorus of a hundred grateful voices and more since then – merely a consequence of his captain's orders.
“It's not like I call myself that,” Zoro grunts.
“It's a far cry from 'pirate',” she comments. She doesn't speak or look at that particular word with such vitriol anymore, but he's not used to her gentle tone yet. He swallows when her finger delicately grazes over the word at his open palm – monster. “This one seems exaggerated too, but which one is actually the truth?”
“I thought you already made your mind up about me,” he mutters. He eyes a faded stubborn that runs across her wrist as she averts her eyes, tucking her bangs aside.
She exhales before admitting. “If you must know, Roronoa, I thought you as a hero too, more than once. The first time was grudgingly, but the second time I was grateful, even though I didn't show it. I had been betrayed by someone that I trusted then, so I was bitter when I ended up being helped by someone that I didn't – someone meant to be an enemy.”
“But I never asked to be called by any of that,” Zoro says bluntly, “Not a pirate, a pirate hunter, nor a hero... I've only ever thought myself as a swordsman.”
She looks a little guilty, but he didn't mean it for it to be a reproach, only a statement of fact.
“A swordsman...So a man of honor, then?” she says, wryly. “As if you weren't messing with me back then at the sword shop.”
He tsks. “What did I do?”
“You could have corrected my misconception of you before you let me happily pick out your sword for you.”
“Yea, but I never lied, though–”
“We'll have to disagree on the premise of lying by omission,” she says curtly. “Anyways... it's embarrassing to say–” her voice turns softer with another admittance, “–but I was hurt by that, so I didn't know how else to think of you. I'm sorry I assumed the worst.”
Tashigi looks straight at him when she says that, holding his gaze with resolve, while her eyes shine in familiar defiance. Her shoulders are squared like she's expecting him to dismiss or chasten her, but he has no intention of doing that, not when he likes this look on her.
Fierce, never weak.
Seriously though, she could lighten up a bit.
“Well, if you feel so bad about it,” Zoro responds lightly, lowering his tone to match her murmur, “maybe you could start thinking of me as just a man.”
Tashigi blinks, blushing after a beat.
“I- I see...” Her nervousness fades, but she's still shy when she's leaning closer to him, sending a new, pleasant kind of tension down his spine. “You make a fair point. Perhaps we can start over.” She offers him a smile with the same earnestness that she always has.
Stubborn, he had thought once, but maybe he could have called it honest.
She extends a short hand in the sliver of space still left between them. “My name's Tashigi. What's yours?”
He humors her, taking her hand in his. “Call me Zoro.”
“Nice to meet you, Zoro.”
“Likewise, Tashigi.”
Her touch is warmer than he thinks. Her lips are softer than he knows. He wants to know too, who she is her past her identity as an ex-Marine or a swordswoman, underneath the prideful, the selfless, the pretty –
Tashigi finds the word rival on his ribs, small and neat.
“Who is it?” she wonders, suggesting the idiot cook, but Zoro snickers at the guess. A different rival did spawn on him a long time ago, an ugly one on his knee, but it's long since morphed into something more akin to brother.
This surviving rival was stamped by someone with an iron will like his, engraved like a memory that he'll never forget.
Before answering Tashigi's question, Zoro's eye flicks to where he saw copycat on her once. He's glad to see no trace of it left when he finally tells her about Kuina, the only person he's never defeated.
Zoro's hand splays over her smooth back, below the word swordswoman that crosses her shoulder blades.
“It's in the same place as yours,” Tashigi marvels, referring to his own swordsman by drawing a circle around it.
“Sure,” he says, unfazed, because that's really the only place where it makes sense for that word to be.
Zoro grins when she sees sword nerd nestled under her heart, kissing it.
As the months pass, the more time Zoro spends with Tashigi, the more he understands that she invokes in him a feeling different from the exhilaration of fulfilling his goal, his friend's goal, or his captain's dream.
Zoro knows that this feeling belongs solely to her, but he's unable to put it to words until later.
In one of the mornings when he wakes up beside her, he carves love onto her skin.