AN: This one is a mixed bag. It was sparked by yet another 'what if' talk. Well...argument. That I lost. To a child.

Anyway. I have a new job and it keeps me very, very busy. Hope to keep more chapters rolling in. I forget which character I'm on now. Chopper? Nami? Robin? When does it end!?

Chapter Twenty-Five: Shusui

Characters: Zoro, Brook

The drips echoed around the cavern, water forming into pools that left an almost wraith-like series of reflections on the wall. Bio-luminescent moss clung to the stones and the humid air barely shifted in their cramped prison.

When Zoro opened his eyes, he was still there. And Brook sat cross-legged next to him, one hand on a steaming cup of tea cradled in his lap.

"How many this time?"

Brook sipped his tea. "Two. How are you feeling?"

Zoro sank his head back against the wooden pole. "Nostalgic."

"Huh?"

The sweat on his eyelids felt cool and sticky as he blinked away the fogginess in his head. The swordsman sighed, "Nothing. This just brings back memories from long ago."

A pregnant silence fell over the duo. There was tension caused by an unspoken argument between them. Finally, Brook broke the stillness with an anxious voice. "Does it still hurt?"

"Nah," his nakama lied, with a slight smirk. "They still think you're some object?"

"Yes, I shocked one of them quite a bit when they tried to move me!" Mirth burst through the skeleton's laugh and tone as he regaled the events that Zoro had missed. "Ah, but they still do not know that I am alive."

"Good. That's an edge we could still use."

"Yohoho, good one, Zoro-san! But...you're bleeding again."

"Yeah, just a little. Don't worry."

"When you say that, it makes me worry. I can see with my own eyes how badly you're wounded...thought I suppose I don't have eyes. Yohoho!"

The green-haired man didn't even bother entertaining his nakama with a response to that. Really, that wasn't even a skull joke anymore. Didn't stop him from trying, though.

Brook sipped his tea. Zoro rotated his wrists, ignoring the cramping in his arms bound behind his back. He glared out of the corner of his eyes at the teacup in the skeleton's hand. "You're doing that again?"

"I find it soothing. Also, it passes the time. It's very boring down here."

The swordsman made an acknowledging grunt and closed his eyes again. For a moment, his mind dipped into a bloated haze.

Flashes of lightning basked the rain-swept, rocky plains. The sharp contrast added pure black and white luminosity to an otherwise greyish battlefield. Thousands of shades of grey, and red. Red was everywhere.

Zoro ran and cut, cut and ran. The rain was too heavy, his one eye clouded with oily water and sweat, and exhaustion took him. Anyone who got in his way died; there was no time for pity. Or mercy. These people were responsible for everything.

Somewhere behind him, Luffy's fight with the vice-captain shook the foundations of the small island. The land heaved and groaned; somewhere, Usopp's voice shrieked in terror and Nami yelled for help.

In front of him, the pale-faced swarm of shirtless, branded pirates cut off his view of the nakama he was trying to save.

He was hungry. Not thirsty—there were at least three steady trickles of water coming from the ceiling that he could reach, one that ran down his exposed shoulder. Water wasn't difficult, though it tasted like mud.

It had been a month since that battle. Time helped him adjust, but it wasn't always easy. Fortunately, there were times like these he could enjoy the new connection with Brook. If it hadn't been for that battle, their current situation would be a lot less amusing.

Brook's humming somehow chased away the stifling heat. Their prison was located under a jungle, and it wasn't that deep. There wasn't much airflow. Not that it mattered, really; his musician was a professional. The songs that filled the silence could grapple tornadoes and win.

The white, glistening backs of the pirates swarmed Brook's position, like a tornado of flesh and steel. They were falling in waves, but they were puppets—all controlled by the same source. A source that recognized the skeleton as a threat.

He couldn't see him anymore. The bodies had stopped dropping. Brook's voice had gone quiet.

"Zoro-san...Zoro-san!"

Zoro didn't realize he'd passed out until Brook's voice jolted him awake. The tall skeleton was now standing up, leaning over his position. "What?" he said, yawning. "Keep it down, or they'll hear you."

"They will be here shortly. They're bringing it, yohoho!"

His face stretched into a grin, a part of him warming up to the skeleton all over again. "So you did it."

"The rear admiral in charge is very superstitious. He believes Shusui will give him the power of an immortal samurai in exchange for taking your life."

Zoro almost laughed at that. What a story, the 'power of an immortal samurai'. Only the kind Brook would think up, and why not? It suited Zoro perfectly. "All right. You should hide now. We'll show these punks why they shouldn't mess with a swordsman's weapons."

"But remember, Zoro-san. Moving requires lots of energy, so please do not take too long."

"I know that. Leave it to me."

Like a trick of the light, the skeleton disappeared from his field of view, just seconds before the door at the end of the cavern burst open. A tall man with abominable red dreadlocks tied into an ugly ponytail, adorned with the coat of a rear admiral came crashing into the underground prison. He was joined by four Marines of lesser rank. Three were unarmed—idiots, thought Zoro. Overconfidence was a disease that plagued these people.

The fourth low-ranked Marine held Shusui, the legendary katana he'd received from Ryuma years ago.

With an arrogant bounce in his step, Rear Admiral Zelbov approached the captured Straw Hat's post, where the swordsman was chained to a two-foot thick pole. The other Marines stayed at a smart distance, but Zelbov grabbed Shusui by the handle and swung it around like a machete. Zoro almost grimaced, silently apologizing to the sword for having to endure that kind of torture. Though Brook may not mind, Shusui would.

"Hey, Elbow," he greeted the rear admiral, keeping the amusement from reaching his face. "Ready to give up yet?"

"It's Rear Admiral Zelbov!" snapped the rotund man, waving the sword. This was starting to tick Zoro off. "You're pretty cocky, for someone about to be executed by his own sword."

"Yeah, yeah. Get it over with already."

The rear admiral looked pained. This wasn't what he was expecting. He wanted terror, begging, pleading, or at least a bit of crying. "What are you last words, bounty hunter?"

Zoro yawned immensely. "You're putting me to sleep."

With a frustrated cry, Zelbov raised Shusui over his head and sliced down at Zoro's exposed neck.

Shusui froze. Figuratively first—the katana stopped in mid-air inches from its target. Tendrils of green and blue swam around the blade, mimicking a the burning fire of an angry soul. Zelbov's eyes bulged. Shusui glowed, the combination of colours swirling together to form solid ice, starting from the sharpened edge, down the hilt and engulfing the rear admiral's hand.

Zoro looked up at the Marine in charge, a satisfied smirk on his face. He would have stopped the blade on his own—but he preferred it this way. He trusted Brook.

Anyway, it was probably very boring, being trapped in a katana. Even one as active as Shusui.

"Sh-Shusui!" sputtered Zelbov, in pain and surprise. His bulging eyes were bloodshot. "What is the meaning of—"

A faint, ghost-like skull appeared over the hilt of the sword. "I am sorry, but I tricked you, Zelbov-san. You will not kill this man, so please release me and I will not harm you."

Instead, the rear admiral's face flushed with rage, and he strained with all of his might to pushed the katana down, to slice into Zoro's flesh and seal his fate. The harder his pushed, the further the ice spread, until the crystals formed around his feet and rooted him in place.

"You are so unreasonable," complained Brook's voice, with just the slightest of whine. "Yohoho, well, I did try to warn you."

With an ear-splitting crack, the ice around the katana's hilt shattered, taking the Marine's frozen hand with it. Shusui pitched forward.

"Forty-five degrees!" cried the disembodied voice of the skeleton's soul, and the katana pitched forward and severed the thick chain that bound his nakama.

Shusui pitched down, biting into the rain-soaked ground. Zoro dropped beside it, jarring his knees on the rocky ground.

The bones of their musician were so covered in muck, it was hard to tell which parts had been him, and which were nothing. He was dead. Humour was snipped away from the bitter, cold truth—that there was nothing left to save.

Zoro felt a sense of calm. He should be terrified of the thought of facing his captain; he couldn't go back to him without Brook. Despite all his training, he didn't have the strength. Despite his experience, he didn't know what to do. This was senseless. This was a waste. .

This was impossible.

No, Brook wasn't gone. He might have had the face of a skeleton, but that had been a shell—parts that moved when willed to—and Zoro could still feel his presence. That's why it didn't hurt. He'd lost plenty of friends in his life, and this was completely different. Something was left of Brook. Something unseen.

"You're stuck," he surmised, closing his eye. The raindrops were ice, unnaturally cold as they pelted his skin. "What can I do?"

When nothing happened, except for a slight gust of wind to rattle what was left of the skeleton's ribcage—to remind him with stabbing regret—Zoro thought he was going insane. Maybe he finally snapped, or maybe he himself was dead.

Then it came to him. The reason he still felt the musician's presence. Shusui. Ryuma—Brook's shadow—the former masters of the legendary weapon. It was just ridiculous enough to make sense. He saw a ghost of what he needed to do, like an irritated whispering from the sword itself. But the command turned his stomach violently. The katana had a twisted conscience of its own, demanding him to perform an act that required a kind of strength from him that went far beyond muscle and steel.

"Fine," he growled, and gripped Shusui's hilt.

Zoro didn't think of the consequences then, because he didn't care. He had two choices; he could stand by and wait until the soul of his nakama drifted away and was lost forever, then suffer the pain and guilt of letting his dream take precedence over the life of his comrade. Or he could follow his instinct, his heart, and tether himself to the former skeleton for the rest of his natural life.

Even if it meant he had to share his victories from now on. Together, he and Brook were stronger than they had ever been alone. And it meant not having to say goodbye.

It was a price he was willing to pay.

Brook stood beside him, gazing over the unconscious bodies of the Marines and the still-twitching Rear Admiral Zelbov. His tea was gone now, and his usual gaudy outfit had been replaced with something more old-fashioned, darker and ethereal. The last of the green wisps faded from Shusui's blade as the projection of the skeleton's soul surveyed the damage.

"I believe Wado Ichimogi and Kitetsu are being stored in a locked cabinet nearby," he said conversationally, bony hands clasped behind his back. "Thank you, Zoro-san."

Zoro was busy wrapping the bleeding wounds on his arms with cloth cut from the uniforms, and looked up at his nakama. "For what?"

"For not using me as an instrument of death," came the reply, as though it were obvious. "I think there will be a time—very soon, yohoho-where you and I will not need to hold back. Until then, however, I find I do not enjoy the taste of blood.

Zoro remained still,, his face expressionless. This was the first time since the incident that Brook gave him a bold-faced opinion on his current state. He'd accepted it gracefully when it happened, with all the poise and humour he was known to possess. Luffy and the others were distraught at first, but were convinced by their own relief over not saying goodbye to ignore the obvious challenges. Everyone had just accepted that Brook's ability to adapt couldn't possibly falter.

"Before," the green-haired man said, with a great weight in his words. He put the katana's sheathe back where it belonged. "On that island. You said this couldn't last. That Shusui wasn't a permanent solution."

The image of Brook flickered slightly, as though a hand had passed through it—an omen if there ever was one.

"That's correct."

They had agreed, without using words, that this secret was to be kept from Luffy. At least until after he'd achieved his dreams. Or until the truth couldn't be hidden any longer. No distractions, no mistakes.

"Well," said Zoro, sliding 'Soul King' Shusui back into its sheathe gently, looking sideways at the apparition. "I don't enjoy the taste of failure. If you're really grateful to me, you'd better start thinking of some way to fix this problem."

Brook looked as if he wanted to repudiate that, but the steely look from the swordsman's one silenced him. After a moment, he said, "I cannot promise anything, you know."

"Then don't." There's only one promise you need to worry about, he added silently. Turning his back on the apparition of the katana's inhabitant, he stepped over Zelbov's body and began to walk way.

"Ah, Zoro-san, the exit is the other way..." came a voice from his waist.

He glared down at Shusui's hilt and for a brief moment, considered granting Zelbov's wish and leaving 'Shusui' behind.

Then he heard an explosive, all-too-familiar voice shake the halls beyond the prison door. Luffy had found them, and judging by the cacophony of scolding remarks and shrieks of fear—so had the others.

Four days of no food and a little too much blood loss—maybe infection—made him lurch forward when he took a step. He felt a bony hand on his shoulder, for the briefest second. He didn't acknowledge the gesture, but figured the musician didn't need it.

Before, he'd thought of this arrangement as a price to pay, something he had to do even if it cost him a penalty.

He was wrong.