Chapter Text
Leaving O’Hara was awful, the lowest moment of her life. Leaving every home and group she attempted to find refuge with afterwards was easy enough, there was no place she stayed long enough to grow attached to. Leaving Baroque Works was easy, it was a means to an end and she knew not to plan to stay. Leaving the Strawhats was… hard. It was really hard. No matter how much it hurt, she was prepared to do what she had to do.
But then she didn’t. The crew fought through hell for the slightest chance to bring her back with them. She spent days baring the ugliest parts of herself and begging to be left alone, and yet, Luffy came barreling through uncharted territory with a smile on his face. She saw them all and broke completely, crying and begging for her life and their support. Being reunited on the Merry felt too good to be true. After fully resigning herself to die, she somehow ended up in the arms of her friends. Against all odds, she lived.
Which was how Nico Robin ended up sitting blankly at her desk on the Sunny, with a book open in front of her despite her reading lamp having died down too much to read the better part of an hour ago. She had given up hope on living, so the moment she was reunited with the Strawhats as they sailed away on the Merry was more than she ever could have hoped for—but she wasn’t ready for this part. Life had always been biding time before starting over. If she wasn’t getting ready to run, then…?
Then what?
The obvious answer was the same thing she’d been working at since learning how to read. She’d been practicing this for years, right? Keeping the lost language alive, piecing together history, finding the poneglyphs, read, write, compare, read, write, compare… She could do it all on muscle memory now. Logically, she knew she still cared, still wanted to solve the mystery, but she only knew she still cared logically. It doesn’t feel too comforting to need to logic yourself into caring about something. It was this creeping knowledge that she could only function on autopilot that led her to giving in the first time her captain saved her from certain death. Which was, in itself, still running away.
So if Robin was not getting ready to run, and was not forcing herself into autopilot, then it seemed most comfortable to hunker down and wait for the world to stop happening around her. Make herself as small as possible. Wait as everything outside of her body passes by, feeling like a blur. She picked up her hand and flexed it in front of her. Good to know she still exists.
It’s difficult to feel disconnected like this. It doesn’t make it easier, but it at least made sense to feel so detached when she had no roots. There was no face to put on, no friends she felt like she was lying to when she smiled back at them. Before all this, there were always bars—alcohol helped, in a sick way—and never any shortage of people sipping a drink who would catch her gaze and hold it, or allies she figured were in similar situations. She didn’t do it often. It was not a perfect fix, and it doesn’t last long, but sometimes after months you just want to feel something; feel connected, in one way or another. It was over and she was out the door long before morning.
She peered up at the clock. It wasn’t long after ten, barely twenty minutes since she’d last checked the clock. She closed her eyes and exhaled.
At around eleven, Robin strode through the halls of the Sunny with her shoulders held deceptively high. Trying not to think too hard.
I’ve seen the way he looks at me. I’m not wrong, please tell me I’m not wrong.
Rounding the final corner to the workshop, Robin had her last chance to back down.
She stood in front of the heavy wooden door, raised a hand, and knocked.
A far-off voice beckoned her, and she stepped in. There were so many tools and materials and pieces of scrap collected over time filling the shelves and workbenches to the brim, the backdrop of the gear-lined walls made the room look full and productive, and maybe a bit chaotic. Usopp sat at a workbench towards the center of the room. He stuck his tongue out in concentration while staring intently at a small projectile under a magnifying glass, with powders of various colors and thin metal pieces scattered in front of him. Franky sat at a desk against the back wall, facing away from the door, with multiple rulers intersecting on a page as he mindlessly tapped his pencil against the desk.
Given the path they were taking through the Grand Line, the crew was in for a lot of travel time on open water in the near future. They were sure to stock up on supplies whenever docking anywhere because of it. Everyone had also fallen into a routine of training, crafting, preparing whatever they may need in the journey ahead. Robin has mostly kept to herself, but knew both Usopp and Franky had been spending a lot of time building or improving their weapons. The number of bulky metal fixtures leaning against tables and crumpled balls of paper in the trash cans proved as much.
“Hey, Robin!” Usopp grinned and waved at her, still standing in the doorway. At the shout, Franky rose from his chair and made his way towards her.
Robin gave Usopp a small smile in return. “Franky, I noticed that there’s a board a bit warped by the porthole in my cabin. It may just be water damage, or nothing important, but I thought I should let you know.”
Franky’s brows furrowed. “Water damage? Weird. That shouldn’t be able to happen.” He turned around to call out to Usopp that he was stepping out for a bit, and walked off with a wave.
Franky and Robin turned the corner to the main hall of the Sunny. “So, what does it look like? Is the plank coming out at you, like, away from the ship, or is it still flat just kind of misshapen?”
“Hm.” Robin thought for a moment. “I think it’ll be easier to explain when we’re there.”
The two of them round their way through the last stretch of hallway leading to her cabin. Robin pushed open the door and immediately shut it behind the two of them. She whirled around, facing Franky as he was backed against her door.
Unfazed by being cornered, Franky stared at the wall of the ship over her shoulder. He hadn’t seen the inside of her cabin since it was under construction: the porthole was directly above her desk, which contained the room’s only current light source, and was flanked on either side by bookshelves stacked full of thick leather-bound books and her own binders. Her bed was made and her cabin was tidy, save for one book open on her desk and one closed on her bedside table. On her bookshelves were a few dainty ceramic vases in pinks and purples, though all were empty.
“I mean, it's hard to see since it’s kinda dark in here,” he tilted his head and squinted, “but it looks totally normal to me.”
“Forgive me, I made that up to get you alone.” Robin’s gaze was locked on his.
That caught Franky’s attention. He snapped his head to look back at her. Her eyes were wide and the warmth of the low light reflected off her cheeks softly, and the slight tilt up of her head ruffled her bangs to the sides so her face was unobscured, determined and set. She stood with the lamp behind her, so she almost had a gold halo encasing her dark hair. She was so beautiful.
“Oh.” Was all Franky managed to say in response to that, definitely sounding like all the wind had been knocked out of him.
“I’ll be forward.” She said, matter-of-factly. “I want you. And if I’m not mistaken, I think you want me too.” She pressed her hands to his chest and took a step closer. Franky took a step back and was flush against the door. “I think there’s something obvious to do here.”
Woah woah woah. What?
Franky’s head was spinning. Surely he misheard her, right? He went from performing shipwright duties to being backed up against the wall and felt up within minutes. And anyway, he was still reeling from the last time she touched his junk. This came out of far left field. The lack of room between the door and Franky’s body was beginning to feel a bit stifling and the far corners of the room started to close in around him too. The cabin was starting to feel really hot.
“Huh?” Franky responded eloquently.
“I think my intentions were clear,” she continued, her expression unchanging. “I’m trying to take you to bed. If you’d like to, of course.”
Franky wasn’t going to lie to himself. Ever since he met her, he’d fantasized about similar declarations and what might happen afterwards in both above and below board ways. Holding hands and going on dates on islands sounded wonderful. Having her in other, similarly romantic ways, he imagined more than a few times in his bed at night. He’d imagined how she would look underneath him, how flushed her face would be pressed down into his pillow, just how different from her typical collected demeanor she would act when she was so close to climax, whether she would pant or moan or—Nope, not doing this. He needed all his blood in his head right now. Contemplating this while they were a hair shy of being pressed up against each other was absolutely clouding his judgment. His head was swimming. The very same woman from his fantasies was staring him down, right after having propositioned him for sex.
…But that’s all it is, isn’t it? Sex? She whisked him away and, three sentences later, asked to fuck him. Of course Robin would be to the point, but there’s no possible way to stretch three sentences into a declaration of love, it could barely even be considered a friends with benefits suggestion. Well, he probably wouldn’t be picky. He guessed it wouldn’t need to be a declaration of love…
Her eyes tracked on his with intensity as he studied her face. The warm light gave the illusion that she was blushing, but it didn’t seem like she was. Her mouth and her jaw were set, determined. Her thin fingers pressed into his bare chest hard enough to surely feel metal below skin, and keep him pinned to the wall. She was wearing a tight dress that was standard for her, and looking down from this angle up against her, her curves looked sinful, and if she got any closer she was going to learn how he felt about it. He had met her gaze several times in the—what felt like—eternity since she asked the question, but in actually focusing on them her eyes almost seemed… hollow. For all the urgency in her words, her eyes were a far cry from the half-lidded full-of-desire look that would fit it. She looked expectant, transactional. Intense, but empty. And there she stood, expecting a reply.
“Robin, what’s…” He broke her gaze to stare past her for a moment. “What’s going on? This isn’t like you.” Maybe he was wrong, and this was like her, but it doesn’t matter either way.
When his gaze met hers again she looked puzzled. He might have been mistaken, but she seemed a touch annoyed, too.
He took in a deep breath, readying himself for his next words. No matter how much he wanted this, something in his gut felt wrong.
Robin was flabbergasted. This isn’t like me?
Franky was alluringly flustered, with his cheeks turning deep red and his breathing too deep and too fast. His sharp features contrasted his undeservingly caring look. She felt his chest rise and fall beneath her palms as she tried to figure out what to say now. She had questions, too many to voice and most of them inappropriate to ask. What isn’t like me? Are you turning me down? Why would you decline? Was I wrong? Why do you look so concerned?
Neither of them were sure how much time had passed before he lifted her hands off his chest by the wrists and released them at her sides. Robin still hadn’t wrapped her head around the situation enough to respond in any other way than a blank stare. He stepped around her to open the door.
He paused in the doorway to look her up and down one last time, with a maddeningly soft look on his face. He raised a large palm to the top of her head and pet her hair gently. “Think about it.” He caught her eyes again. “Come back to me when you do. We can… I dunno. Talk about it..”
Robin’s body tingled, warmth radiating from the places of her head and neck he stroked and settling in her chest. His hand lingered at the base of her neck before pulling back. Even after he pulled back his hand, she felt warmer than she had before.
The doorknob clicked and he was gone.
Franky stood with his back to her door, heart still racing, trying to make sense of what just happened.
What did you just do?! Run back in there and tell the woman you’re down to fuck. Do you have any idea what kind of opportunity you’re fumbling right now? Well, didn’t exactly decline her, he implied he’d be down later, if she thought it over. That was what he said, but he wasn’t really sure what he wanted her to change. What would have to happen differently for him to feel okay with sleeping with her?
What she would need to do differently was getting way too ahead of the situation, after accusing her—he wasn’t really sure what of—like that, he’d be lucky if she ever so much as looked at him in that light again. Was he making a mistake?
With his parting words he was trying to imply his willingness was definitely not why he was turning her down right now. His willingness could not be less of an issue. Being backed against a wall by her did considerably more for him then he cared to admit. And anyone who happened to be in the halls of the Sunny right now would also find out. He should probably leave.
If Robin were to make a move on him, he figured it would have been direct, confident, maybe even a bit morbid or outlandish. No long, poem-worthy confession of love or anything similar had even appeared in his wildest dreams. Hard to imagine frills and flowers with her. Her blunt tone hadn’t been the issue. The content of her words, disappointing to be sure, was not what raised the most red flags—It’s a little weird she’d made up some excuse to get him alone, acting like it was urgent? She could have just asked to talk to him, he spends most of the day out and about on the ship—a bit crass, but that on its own he probably would have ran with.
It was that look on her face. That unwavering tone in her voice, devoid of emotion.
Granted, it was just sex she was asking for, but the point still stands. If she was to make any move, he’d hoped it would be more than just sex. He didn’t think he imagined the connection they had on the sea train heading to Enies Lobby. She was someone who knew damn well how ugly the World Government’s dark side was, like he did, and it was cathartic to talk about it with someone who understood firsthand. Doubly so rewarding to piss them off as much as they had together. Of course, everyone had more important things on their mind than socializing, but her actions still made an impression on him.
It took a lot of guts to turn herself in for her crew, facing not just certain death but whatever the hell they would have done to her first in Impel Down, which may very well have ended up being worse. To resign herself to an organization she had already been hurt by so much must have been tough, but then to turn around and find the will to fight at the prospect of the government taking everything from her, again? To be faced with another buster call?
At the dock where Robin and Spandam waited to board the ship for Impel Down, he watched her at her breaking point. Going numb and collapsing, even with bullets flying at her. Unbelievable strength. He can still see her fall to her knees at the full horizon of Marine ships approaching, surely feeling horrified but with the most blank expression on her face.
The gears were turning in his head. That blank expression…
Yikes.
Robin stood in place by her door for several minutes. The realization of what she’d just done had set in, and shocked her back into the present for a moment. For one, trying to make sense of the lingering light, almost tingly sensation on her shoulders that Franky’s very brief touch left. As well as trying to make sense of absolutely everything else.
To state the obvious, that did not go as planned. Robin’s mind was blank aside from that sentiment as she readied herself to go to bed. Alone.
She spent hours tossing and turning in bed and staring at the ceiling. This alone was nothing new—it would have been more surprising if she were able to sleep—, but the subject on her mind was. She knew on some level that she could be turned down, she didn’t think she would be (or else she would not have asked) but she knew there was a distinct possibility she was wrong, and he was not attracted to her. That whatever spark she’d felt when he joined the crew officially was completely one-sided.
Had she succeeded in making herself less lonely and numb for a bit? No. But this topic was a better one to keep her awake than everything that usually plagues her, if there is any sort of a silver lining.
Come back to me when you’re sure. It isn’t direct confirmation, but it is something. His words coupled with how his face lit up after she mentioned wanting to be alone with him and wanting him felt like enough evidence to her. So what went wrong?
She had been fully transparent with her desire and her wants. In the past, she usually asked at the end of the conversation, but it was also typically the first conversation she’d had with the person. She and Franky knew each other, she thought she knew enough to proceed. Her directness was likely going to make him flustered (and, if she was being fully honest with herself, she was looking forward to that), but maybe things would be different if she had padded the question a bit more.
He had gotten flustered, and had been excited, but that all quickly melted to… concern?
This isn’t like you.
What exactly isn’t like her? It seemed to her like everything she’d done had been perfectly in character, no matter how odd others might see it. Her straightforwardness? Being so logic driven? Hell, even the lie to get him out of the workshop was on brand. She had been lying and cheating and stealing for as long as she’s been alive. The whole crew had to know by now she’s always left carnage in her wake, trying to or not. She had to learn how to take advantage of people to survive on her own.
She scrunched her eyes shut and sighed. Shit. It didn’t seem wrong when she was waiting to be approached by strangers in a bar, but she chose to pursue Franky because she thought he might be into her. Thinking back to the stars that flashed in his eyes for a brief moment when she asked made her kick herself further. She had tried to use him.
Did he see through that?
It was much later that Franky was heading back to the workshop, walking hastily through the halls and probably appearing a bit disheveled and worse for wear. All he wanted to do was mark his work so he’d remember where he’d left off for tomorrow and put his restless mind to bed.
Usopp, finally content with his work, had the first model of a small projectile sitting out on the workbench. All his other materials were being tidied up for the night, and his area was looking clean for the next morning. “Oh, Franky, was everything okay in Robin’s cabin?”
“Huh?” Franky damn near dropped his pencil and whipped around to look at him, like a deer in headlights. “Oh, uh, yeah. Everything’s fine.” He completely forgot about her excuse. “I’m not sure what she was talking about.”