A/N: I AM ALIVE! Wow, it's been soooo long since I last wrote something I've almost forgotten how to write in character!

Hello everyone, this is Sorahime the Azn (or The Azn One)! If you've been on my profile, you will realize that I have done absolutely nothing on FF for practically a year now. Anyway, I have been really busy with real life in the past year, and have had no time to write anything at all! Sorry to all the people who had us on alert, we have been sucked in by real life.

Anyway, now that I've apologized...HERE'S A STORY! I was very recently inspired by the newest chapters of One Piece, and have spent ages coming up with this angst-riddled little sucker. It's very introspective/retrospective, and I'm sorry if I bore you with these kinds of things. Once again, I'm writing in Zoro's POV to stick with something I can do.

This is set during the two years the Strawhat's were training. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing, though I heartily wish I did...

A Little Less, A Little More.

So, this was what it was like to be empty. To have nothing left inside; no hopes, no dreams. To have no one there to push you on, to have no one to depend on.

Lonely

Empty

Homesick

He wondered if it was really meant to turn out this way. If their dreams were worth this much. If keeping their promises was worth more than being together. If only he could have been a little less focused, and a little less fuelled by purpose. If only he could have appreciated them a little more, while they were still with him.

But now they were gone, and he was alone on this god-forsaken island except for an annoying pink-haired Lolita girl, the one person he wanted to defeat, and a bunch of bloodthirsty baboons.

He misses them. He really does. More than he would ever have thought possible. Three days had morphed into two years. Two whole years. Two years to get stronger, to learn new things, to become better fighters than they were before. To have a better chance of survival in this new, unpredictable era of pirates.

He supposes he should be grateful for this opportunity to train non-stop, to have no distractions, to be single-mindedly focussed on his goal of becoming stronger; which had always been his aim in the first place.

And he is.

He is stronger, more powerful, a better protector than he ever was. But on this lonely, windswept island, he has no one to protect, and he wishes that he was home again. If only strength and tenacity could stop the aching in his heart.

Music. In his head, he can still hear the melodious, haunting tunes echoing in his ears. His body can still feel the rhythm in the music, perfectly in time with the clanking of his weights. If only he had been a little more aware of the beautiful sounds, and a little less preoccupied with his self enforced training methods. After all, you didn't meet a musical, sword-wielding skeleton every day.

Ship. Well, the Thousand Sunny, to be more precise. He misses the sturdy ship, longs for the gentle rocking of the Adam wood under his feet, and is homesick for the vibrant green lawn which was his favourite napping spot. He could have been a little more careful with it, a little less destructive as he fought with the cook. He should have taken better care of the giant vessel that held the cyborg's dream.

Books. Old musty books written in ancient, undecipherable languages; squiggles and lines and dots and symbols that he would never understand. He regrets the way he treated their owner at the beginning, regrets his suspicions about the archaeologist who quickly became one of their nakama. Maybe he could have been a little less cynical about her loyalties and her motives; maybe he could have given her a little more trust.

Medicine. He could still smell it, even now, after patching himself up after another tough day of training with the World's best swordsman. Nowhere near as well as the tiny reindeer could have. He should have realized it. He should have been a little nicer to the blue nosed reindeer, been a little less dismissive of his talents. Just because he wasn't the best fighter, it didn't mean that he wasn't useful. Hell, he should've known that better than all the others, considering all the times he'd been stitched, patched and bandaged back together by that small fluff-ball of cuteness and brains. And he'd never even once said "Thanks".

Food, food, glorious food. He still feels the twinge of annoyance as he remembers the pointless scuffles with the curly-brow, the meaningless arguments, and the brawls that honed his skills more than beating up a bunch of weak-assed Marines ever could. He could have been a little more appreciative of the gigantic feasts the shit cook created (which were far better than he would ever admit), fought with the idiot a little less (but he started it!). But then, he supposes, that would have completely defeated the purpose of their little scuffles, which screamed "I care about your health, you freaking idiot, stop doing such stupid things all the time!" to anyone who could hear.

Stories. Grand, unending stories, filled with hope for the future. Their lying sniper could weave a tale of any kind, and so convincingly sometimes he could see himself standing on a tiny island with a tribe of pigmy elephants, cheering on their brave, six-year-old Captain Usopp as he single-handedly defeated the giant goldfish that had terrorized their home for years. He should have listened a little more, paid more attention to the grand saga's that entertained the crew for nights on end. He should have given the sniper a little more credit, ignored him a little less.

Maps. Strange squiggles he could never wrap his head around, all with arrows pointing north, when North was obviously up there. Seriously, did that mean all the islands were standing up vertically out of the water! He shakes his head to clear his mind of the thought. No need to confuse himself even more. Perhaps he could have been a little more patient with her, been annoyed by her attitude a little less. Hell, maybe he should have even paid off his astronomically high debt before they were blasted off in all directions.

Hat. The hat. It'd meant so much to the rubber boy. Their captain was a strange creature, but strange in all the right ways, binding them together so tightly they could never hope to be the same when they were apart. Internally, he blames their captain for his mood now; he would never have reacted so badly to being friendless a few years ago. But his conscience tells him that it's a good thing. That he has grown emotionally, and mentally, as well as physically. And growth is always a good thing, isn't it? He should have been a better first mate, been a little less removed from them all. He had always been a lone wolf, but it had never been a bad thing until now.

He should have been a little less grumpy, a little more approachable, a little less focussed on himself, and given a little more of himself to them. He really should have appreciated all of them and everything they did for him so much more.

Silently, he wondered. Perhaps if he had been a little less like himself, and a little more like them, he would have been a better, happier person. But then again, if he had been a little more like himself, and a little less like them, it wouldn't hurt so much now.

It was a little too late, and yet not late enough for him to be with them again.

So he stands up, resolute, swords on hip, haramaki tight, earrings jangling. It was a too late to go back and change the past, but he could start changing the future now.

A/N: So, how was it? I'm sure Zoro wasn't that mean, and I'm very certain he's thanked Chopper at least once! Sorry for anything confusing/non-sensical, good job if you understood! Anyway, I really hoped that you liked it, please tell me if there's anything I need to change/fix, because I haven't written for so long my grammar has completely gone out the window!

Comments, feedback, flames, anything is much appreciated! See you soon (hopefully XD)~

Sorahime The Azn