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Scars on the back are a swordsman's shame.
Zoro had told her that once, when she was on the deck one night and he was getting some training in, his form shirtless. She inquired about the unmarred skin on his back and he gave that cryptic explanation, leaving soon after before she could ask more.
"He said that when he fought Mihawk," Usopp explained when she mentioned it the next day. "Must be an honor thing. He gets his front ripped to shreds but keeps his back in perfect condition."
"Perhaps a scar on the back would mean you've accepted defeat," she mused, her eyes trailing over the muscled back of the swordsman as he swung the ridiculously large weight in his hands. "Or it marks one as a coward."
"Must be why I have no scars there, either," Usopp boasted. He proceeded to tell a long-winded tale about his various fictional adventures, but Robin had already stopped listening. She had far more interesting things to focus on.
Zoro never kept his back to her when he was sleeping. When the crew landed on an uninhabited island and decided to sleep under the stars around a campfire, he always faced her or slept sitting up against a tree or a boulder. She thought it amusing at first; it didn't matter what direction he was facing, all she had to do was sprout her hands on his shoulders and twist his neck until it broke. But she supposed he already knew that and did it as a sorry means of easing himself. Whatever helped him sleep at night.
"Lovely night out," she commented one on one such nights. He predictably grunted in response, and she hid a smirk of amusement. Wonderful conversationalist.
"Scars on the back are a swordsman's shame," she said, repeating his words from days earlier. "I'm curious, why is that your philosophy?"
She saw his lips purse in irritation, likely because she was disturbing his peace. He remained silent, and she almost thought he'd fallen asleep if not for the way his hand tightened around his sword.
Suddenly, his eyes flew open when he felt a poke on his side, and his sheathed sword swung around to strike the bothersome touch, only to be met with a flurry of petals. He growled low in his throat and turned to glare at the raven haired woman, who only smiled innocently.
"Why do you want to know, anyway?" he asked petulantly.
She shrugged elegantly and traced a finger down the trunk of the tree he was leaning against. "I'm curious to know how your mind works. Out of all the crew, you're the most mysterious."
His sharp eyes followed her movements. "Planning to use it against me in the future?"
"Not unless you plan on betraying me," she answered simply.
"I think you're the one most likely to do that."
She didn't have a response to that, but her hand stilled on the bark. Her eyes clouded over with memories of the various organizations and people she once knew, who felt burdened by the curse she bore and turned her in. She wondered how long this crew would last before they found out the truth and sought the high reward for her capture. Or maybe they'll just kill her when she's most vulnerable.
"Scars on the back mean you've been disgraced," he eventually said. She hadn't expected him to answer after such a long pause, and she had to refocus after being lost in thought. He continued. "If I get scarred there, it means I didn't accept death like a man."
She hummed in contemplation. "I see. If you were to get scarred there, your honor would be destroyed."
"Something like that," he muttered. He closed his eyes again, apparently deeming the conversation over. But Robin wasn't done.
"What compels you to fight so hard that you'd be allow your body to get destroyed so much?"
He huffed at her insistence and simply said, "I made a promise, and I intend to keep it, no matter what happens to me."
She gazed at him with eyes full of more questions. A promise? He puts his life constantly at risk to fulfill a promise? Not for glory, or for power, but for another person. It only made her want to know him even more, now.
But he was done talking. She heard snores emanating from his still form, and his grip was slack on his sword.
"Thank you, swordsman," she murmured. She made her way back to the others, but not before using her powers to poke his side one more time. She giggled when he jolted back awake.
Robin's eyes opened as she thought back to that conversation two years ago. Who would have thought they'd end up here now?
The archeologists' slender hands traveled over the flawless expanse of the swordsman's back, the firm muscles contracting with every breath. His skin was rough, but nowhere near the extent of the rest of him.
It had become a relaxing activity for her to do nowadays, trace the lines of his body. She considered it a high honor to have gained enough trust from him to do this.
"That tickles," he grumbled, making no move to stop her.
She giggled softly in his ear and continued, pressing a kiss near his nape and reveling in the shiver it caused. He was like a giant housecat with the way he'd growl and pretend to dislike her, but all the while purring and stretching in her arms.
No, maybe not a house cat, she thought. Perhaps a tiger.
As she imagined him with round fluffy ears and a green striped tail, she giggled again. He'd look far too cute to be considered intimidating, at least by her.
"I'd ask what you're laughing at, but it's probably something weird." He tried to sound grumpy, but she saw right through it.
"Weird by your standards, maybe," she murmured, her tone still carrying a hint of laughter. "But would you ever consider wearing a pair of cat ears for me?"
He sputtered in surprise at her question. "I- what?! Where the hell did that come from?"
She shrugged. "Just a thought. You'd look quite fetching with them."
He mumbled something unintelligible before shifting in her hold, his large body facing her now. "Stupid's more like it."
The dark-haired woman closed her eyes as he wrapped his strong arms around her and nuzzled his face in her chest, a gesture that had become strangely familiar to the couple.
Combing her fingers through his hair, she hummed in contentment and tightened her hold on him. His calloused hands roamed over her back, slipping under her nightshirt to have better access. Hands that held deadly weapons so strongly also caressed her so tenderly. A man of many contradictions.
"What's this?" He asked.
"Oh, I got that protecting Rebecca," she said nonchalantly.
It was nothing new. Injuries were common in their adventures, especially now that they were facing more and more dangerous enemies.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I figured it didn't matter. You get injured far worse than I do."
He skimmed over the fresh wounds, and she felt the sting. They weren't severe, but she hadn't been able to sleep on her back comfortably since they left Dressrosa. He didn't respond, so she assumed the conversation was done and resumed finger combing his hair.
"Let me see them."
He abruptly sat up, catching her off guard. Opening her eyes, she looked up at him with thinly veiled surprise.
"It's not a big deal, Zoro," she murmured, tugging on his arm so he'd lay back down. But he didn't budge, and his face was set in a determined scowl. She knew that look all too well; he wasn't going to let this go.
Sighing – and already missing his warmth – she pushed herself to a sitting position and turned her back to him, slowly sliding her shirt off. "Are you sure this wasn't an excuse to get me to strip?"
He didn't deign her teasing question with a response, only gathering up her hair and gently placing it over her shoulder. For a brief period, he didn't touch her, but when he finally did, he trailed a finger down the largest scratch.
She shivered and let out a breath. The touch felt strangely intimate.
"Scars on the back are a swordsman's shame." She repeated the words he once shared with her.
"Yeah," he murmured, his hands exploring the rest of her wounds. "But you're not a swordsman."
"No, but doesn't that sentiment apply to most fighters?"
"No. It's different for those who carry a sword. Luffy could have scars on his back, but it wouldn't destroy who he is. If I were to be scarred, my goal would lose all meaning, and my promise would be broken."
She contemplated his words. She couldn't say she understood his philosophy completely, but the passion and seriousness in his voice made her want to stand beside him while he accomplished his dream, while he completed his promise to his dear friend.
"So these aren't going to sully my image?" She asked, her voice a tad lighter.
He scoffed and pressed an unexpected kiss to the wound, causing her breath to hitch. "Don't be stupid."
Her smile returned and she faced him. His eye stayed firmly on her face, not straying to look down at her bare upper body.
"I suppose I'll have to watch your back from now on. I wouldn't want all your hard work to go to waste."
He huffed in amusement, and a ghost of a smirk appeared on his lips. "I've taken good care of my back just fine. It's you who needs watched, apparently."
Her eyes crinkled as a soft laugh escaped. She knew that was his way of saying he would take care of her. And he's done splendidly so far.
"Then you better watch me closer, swordsman," she teased, using the old nickname she used to give him. "I'll need constant surveillance to make sure this doesn't happen again."
"Oh I plan to." His smirk widened to a full-blown smile, and his eyes finally dropped down to her chest.
With the mood lightened, a new tension settled between them, and their lips met, once, twice, until they were intertwined in a familiar dance, and he showed her twice over how much he truly cherished her. When the moment was over, she laid on his chest, her muscles thoroughly relaxed. As his fingers traced her back, a content look fell across her face.