Title: Hana Arashi Meets Wadou
Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters do not belong to me.
Warning: Spoilers for Enies Lobby and aftermath.

"So, what's up with the white one?"

He isn't exactly sure why he asked such a question. Back before everything—before he fought Luffy, before he donned a mask—he would've never asked Zoro a question about something as personal as his swords. Maybe it's because now he's been one of those swords—well, in a sense—so he feels like he has a right, or at least is allowed, to know something like that. Or maybe it's because he's somewhat drunk, and it's hard for him to be afraid when he's drunk.

Likewise, Zoro isn't exactly sure why he decides to answer such a question. He isn't drunk at all, and, really, since Usopp is drunk, he won't remember if the swordsman chooses to simply ignore him. Maybe it's because he hasn't told anyone—not even Luffy—and he can't deny that he's felt closer to Usopp since they were handcuffed together. And maybe it's because Yubashiri is destroyed, and he can still see the way it broke away in front of his eyes—and without it, he feels a little sensitive.

Usopp blinks in surprise when Zoro hands him the white sword across the galley table and says, "Hana Arashi, meet Wadou."

Despite his lack of sobriety, he feels a warm flush of honor at being referred to by his sword name, and he looks down at the sword he's now holding. It's Zoro's smallest sword, but it feels heavy in his hands, heavy with the importance that he knew it held. It's so overwhelming, holding one of his strongest nakama's most precious possession, that he almost doesn't pay attention when Zoro starts to talk.

He doesn't speak for long—Zoro's never been a big talker, like Usopp. He tells him about a young girl and two thousand and one defeats, and a promise made in moon-kissed grass. He tells him about how she slipped on a staircase and died. And Usopp can already guess that the sword he's holding is hers, and then he thinks that if he were sober he'd be afraid of it—because it'd be like a ghost sword. But he isn't sober, so he isn't afraid, and he can't, in fact, stop looking at it and rubbing the pads of his thumbs in circles over it.

Zoro watches him silently when he's done. He keeps his expression hard and indifferent, because he feels more vulnerable than he thought he would. Usopp's gazing at Wadou like he really understands, and maybe he does. After all, he reminds himself, Merry had been from that blonde girl Usopp was so fond of; and though he didn't think Usopp had made her any vow aloud, there was probably still that unspoken promise of I'll take good care of this and it will make me strong, for you, for both of us.

Usopp seems to be thinking the same thing, as the haze of alcohol starts to wear off, because his brow is furrowing and his eyes are starting to water. Zoro steps out to get some air and give him a moment alone. He clutches Wadou tight, sniffs loudly; he holds the sword to his chest so the drops of his tears won't mar it. Because he cherishes it now, because Zoro does and he knows why, and because Merry is gone, and he can still see the way it burned away in front of his eyes.

When Zoro comes back, Usopp is asleep, as he thought he might be. He's holding the blanket from the sniper's hammock and he drapes it over the boy with the gentleness he reserves for his swords. He hesitates once, but decides to leave Wadou where it is for now; he can trust him that much, he knows. And in the morning, Usopp will know that, too.