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Nico Robin dies at Enies Lobby, falling from the roof of the Tower of Justice. She wakes up almost immediately, back on the Going Merry, moving at full sail in the direction of Water 7.
She knows instantly that this is somehow the Captain’s fault.
Her plan is the only obvious conclusion, when she takes stock of her surroundings and determines through subtle prodding that none of the crew remember the things she does. Akainu already knows where she is and will have already given Spandam the authority to issue a Buster Call. CP9 will come for her soon enough, and she has no idea how the Strawhats found her last time. She knows down to her bones what she has to do.
She waits until they reach shore and offers to stay with the ship, after suggesting to both parties involved that the Swordsman might like to take the Doctor shopping. There’s no reason to assume this reality is any less real than the one that already killed her. It’s better to leave this version of the Strawhat crew confused than hurt.
Once it’s been long enough for all of them to pass out of her sight, Nico Robin walks into the sea to die. She wakes up almost immediately, back on the Going Merry, moving at full sail in the direction of Water 7.
These are the possibilities she reviews in the time leading up to her third arrival at Water 7, written out in poneglyphs to organize her thoughts and practice her fluency and make sure they remain private:
This could all be the result of someone’s Devil Fruit power. Unlikely. They had been a particular interest of hers when she was still young enough to make use of the library of the Tree of Knowledge. The only power she’s ever run across that she wasn’t already familiar with is the Captain’s. Of course, she has run across the Captain’s, so the possibility remains on the list.
This could be a government attempt to torture her. Unlikely. She can’t identify a point at which they could have administered the drugs that would require.
This could be a bad dream. Highly unlikely. She’s been able to wake herself from nightmares for years and this one won’t end.
This could be whatever awaits her after death. Unlikely, impossible to prove or disprove, and utterly beyond her control either way.
This could be the work of some unknown artifact. A more likely option. Requires further research.
Her first and strongest conviction remains that this is somehow the Captain’s fault, the latest iteration of his stubborn refusal to let her die. The rather absurd and yet completely plausible image of him fistfighting whatever entity might control death springs to mind. She has no evidence to support this beyond her own continued existence, and the ache that crept over her bones when Long Nose told her that a pirate can’t leave their crew without their captain’s permission. She hasn’t seen the slightest change in his behavior between iterations that might indicate advance knowledge. Besides, given how stubborn he is, she has about as much influence over this possibility as she does if this is her afterlife. She may as well start with the assumption that this is something she can control.
So she accompanies the Strawhat’s Doctor into the city, nudging him towards a library rather than a bookstore in order to better sample potential texts. When a large masked man approaches them, she ducks into a shortcut, taking the Doctor’s hoof in her hand as she goes through the familiar steps of losing a tail while telling him it’s just to get a better tour of the city. She refuses to flutter like a startled bird and sleepwalk her way through a story she already knows the ending of. At the library, she rapidly searches the shelves of the nonfiction area—focusing on the strange-but-true sort of books—and then quickly skims the mythology texts as well. Mindful of their recent adventure on Skypeia, she expands her search to the children’s section, focusing on local tales.
She and the Doctor settle in the back corner with their books spread out over a table. The Doctor makes for a comfortable study partner, busily reading away and occasionally providing delightfully morbid medical facts whenever anything tickles his fancy.
It doesn’t take long to skim her way through most of the children’s books. Nothing about repetition, or time, or even stories of life after death. Disappointing. She leaves the Doctor in their corner to return them to their place.
By habit, she’s left one eye open by the door, so she sees the masked man enter long before he walks up behind her and intones “Nico Robin.”
“Blueno,” she says, because let him wonder. She doubts he’ll ever fear her, but at least she can unsettle him.
He doesn’t let on, of course. “Do you know what will happen if you don’t come with us?”
She gives him her best coolly assessing look. “I imagine I’ll end up hunted by the government with a bounty on my head.”
He doesn’t even acknowledge her joke. “Our commanding officer has been given the authority to issue a Buster Call.”
The two words strike a frisson of fear against her spine. At the same time, she’s been operating under the immediate and unspoken fear of just such a thing for the past twenty nine hours, without pause. She’s rather reached the end of her ability to be terrified and found the holes in the story instead. “Against Water 7, the primary shipbuilding base of the entire World Government?” On the eve of Aqua Laguna, which is likely already displaying signs of approach? When CP9 has spent four years on an infiltration mission to locate the plans for Pluton somewhere within the city, no less? It would be stupid and self-destructive in more ways than one, to an extent she rationally doubts even the Marines would approach. She turns back to the bookshelf, opening another eye to watch her own back where he won’t be looking for it. “Forgive me if I find your threat less than convincing.”
He remains silent for a long moment. Probably trying to figure out if he can drag her out of here. In her mind, she plans out exactly where and how many hands she’ll need to restrain him long enough to bolt.
“So you refuse to come peacefully.”
“I refuse to come at all,” she says, and slides her last book back into place with a sharp thunk.
He leaves. She goes back to the Doctor. She has no success in her further research.
They set out to return to the ship, only to run into Long Nose, stumbling and dripping blood.
The Doctor immediately flies into a tizzy. She catches Long Nose with seven arms as he falls, even as her stomach lurches.
CP9 specializes in targeted assassination, much like her. Why would they need a Buster Call, when they can target her crew one by one? She snaps open ten eyes across the surrounding streets, trying to spot the signs of a trap—this has all the hallmarks of one, a reverse lapwing, sending out an injured target to attract sympathy so they can make another attack.
She sees no signs of a trap. Instead, she sees the shadow of naval ships on the horizon.
And she very clearly sees the first shell of a Buster Call slamming into the walls of the rushing canals.
Nico Robin dies under a collapsing wall, when even the bulk of the Doctor’s largest form is not enough to hold off the weight of an entire crumbling city. She wakes up almost immediately, back on the Going Merry, moving at full sail in the direction of Water 7.
She abandons the Strawhats without an explanation as soon as the ship reaches land. There are startled questions following her, to be ignored. The Captain calls after her—something entirely normal about having fun, and coming back soon.
She waves one hand in acknowledgement, and waits until she’s out of sight to break into a run.
Galley-la is as easy to infiltrate as it was the last time. Three loops ago, she reminds herself, determined to keep a record. This is her fourth time waking up en route to this city of fountains.
It should matter more to her, that she can look up and see this place standing once again in spite of her reckless, careless, stupid assumption they were bluffing. It should bring her relief that this city has risen from the dead, miraculously undamaged by the potential cruelty of the world.
It doesn’t matter. Somewhere in the place deep inside her where a little girl in a rowboat has never stopped weeping, and has only gotten louder since Aokiji brought her nightmares back in the flesh, all she can feel is miserable fury. Why here? Why now? Why, if she has been given the chance to right one of her mistakes had it not been the chance to wake up in the West Blue—to see the Tree of Knowledge intact again—to have another chance to see her mother’s face—it’s not fair, she doesn’t want this, bring her further back—
This all pounds a relentless loop inside her head as her hands scale the side of the building, slipping her into the office next to Iceburg’s. Kalifa will take a break to meet with Blueno in the afternoon, since it’s easier for her to schedule leave than a shipyard worker. Three loops ago, Kalifa walked in and found Nico Robin selling her soul firsthand.
She has no idea what Kalifa and Blueno will discuss this time, and can’t bring herself to care.
A careful eye and ear tell her when Kalifa has escorted Iceburg back to his office and scolded him to stay put. Kalifa lists a series of projects Iceburg said he’s in the middle of that need working on, but a hunch says it’s the final offering of a bowl of snacks for the man’s newly acquired mouse that will keep him put.
The world’s most dangerous weapon, left in the hands of a man gentle with helpless things. She can’t decide if it’s a joke or not. Much like Kalifa sounding genuinely fond of her charge, whose assassination she’s been anticipating for six months now. It could all be part of her cover, of course, but even an ear trained for twenty years to detect the limits of genuine fondness or intentions of a trap behind honeyed words detects no falsehood. Kalifa is genuinely fond of Iceburg. Kalifa would kill Iceburg without hesitation.
And people call her a demon.
The bad memories bubbling up are pushed aside as soon as Kalifa leaves the building. She has a job to do.
Eight hands spring from the chair to restrain Iceburg, one clapping over his mouth. A ninth settles carefully over the mouse, sheltering it. Nico Robin climbs through the office window of Water 7’s mayor and informs him, “Don’t worry, I’m not here to kill you. I just can’t have you screaming before you’ve heard what I have to say.”
He tries to bite her hand on his mouth. Well, he was a dockworker.
She settles in the chair on the other side of his desk, crosses one leg over the other, leans her cheek against her attached right hand, and says, “I would rather die than see Pluton unleashed on the world.”
He’s not an unreasonable man, she recalls, not so bound by his own preconceptions that he can’t take in new information. Her words hit home; his eyes widen. Or perhaps that’s just him recognizing her. The loudest sound in the room is a very dismayed mouse.
“I’m not here to kill you. I have information for your ears only. Once that’s done, I’ll be leaving your city. Are you going to scream?” The hand on his right wrist has a finger close enough to brush his pulse, which is beginning to slow. She loosens her grip on his neck just enough that he can shake his head, and then lets her arms unblossom. The mouse, still squeaking with indignation, runs back to its protector and dives into his pocket.
“Nico Robin. The last I heard, you wanted to find the ancient weapons and use them yourself.”
She meets his gaze steadily, recalling the file on Tom’s Workers she’d been given. “You of all people should know what the Government will say anything they want to avoid an unbecoming truth.” She adds, once that’s had a moment to sink in, “Or kill anyone they have to.”
He frowns at her. “I’ve been dealing with the Government for over a decade now—“
“The official representative is a decoy. Cipher Pol 9 is watching you. They’ve been watching you for years, but they’re running out of patience. And they know where Cutty Flam is.” He doesn’t quite flinch at that, but she’s sure his pulse has skyrocketed.
“Cutty Flam is dead,” he says, cold.
“Mhm.” A polite little lie she has no need to challenge. Let him keep his dignity. She passes herself a piece of paper and a pen instead, writing down a quick list of names. “These are the names of their agents.” She folds the paper over, again, a third time, and sets it on the desk. “You’re not going to want to believe me, so I don’t recommend reading it until you’ve secured your position. Ask the Strawhats for help. They’re inclined to protect people, and the Captain already likes you.”
“Your crew?” Sharp, suspicious. They’ll only suffer for associating with her.
“No longer. As I said, I’m leaving the city. But I’ve spent enough time with them to know they won’t be suborned.” Distracted, perhaps, but never bought off. Hopefully this will distract them while she gets a head start. And if the crew can benefit from Iceburg’s charismatic sway on the city before CP9 attempts to scapegoat them, even better.
“That’s a bold assumption, that Strawhat Luffy likes me. I just had to tell him his ship will never sail again.”
She trained herself out of tells a long time ago, and still can’t stop her breath from hitching. “What?”
“Your old crew was pretty hard on that poor ship. Her keel’s cracked. There’s no coming back from that.”
“I see.” So she can claim having sailed on the last voyage of the Going Merry. Another ache to settle on her bones like a layer of dust on an archaeological site. She’ll have to brush it away years from now to excavate whatever feeling lies beneath. “Perhaps that’s for the best. They’ll do better for something to occupy them while they wait.” They’ll sail away from Water 7 on a new ship and leave her behind like a ghost. She was never going to be anything more to them.
He steeples his fingers in front of his face. “Why are you telling me this?”
“CP9 wants me to kill you. I’m not going to help them.”
Iceburg nods. A man who would take over the shipbuilding trade of the Marines and the hearts of a greater proportion of the local population so he’s too much trouble to kill understands spite.
Reviewing her mental list, it seems she’s covered everything. She stands to leave.
“Is there anything you want me to tell your crew?”
Is there? She’s sorry she couldn’t say goodbye, but that will sound like the weakness it is—like something that could send them hurtling pell-mell after her, trying to pull her back into their orbit like it’s permanent, like one day they won’t come to the end of what they’re willing to do and give her up like everyone else.
She’s seen their captain fight gods and monsters. She’s seen wonders and villains. She’s seen hope of her future and proof of her past and a dream of peace, one that was never meant to last. It has already occurred to her that there’s no limit to what they can accomplish.
But there is also no limit—no limit in reach—of what the government is willing to do to stop her. There will always be more Marines and ships and vice admirals who saw firelight reflected in her childhood tears. They won’t stop pursuing her until she’s dead, and a life on the run is too much to expect anyone else to keep up with. Better that these brief, shining weeks fall behind her than burn down to ashes. She can hold the memories as treasured artifacts, things once lost now preserved for later study.
“My former crew,” she corrects him. “Tell them whatever you see fit.”
She collects a mask and cloak on her way out of Galley-la and slips onto the afternoon sea train headed for the eternal festival of San Faldo, away from Enies Lobby, out of Water 7.
Her muscle memory of solo flight comes back faster than any conscious consideration. She hasn’t needed these skills since before Baroque Works. Before the Strawhats. It’s easiest to think of them that way, fitting the one discarded life next to the other in the catalogue of her mind—the only one she’s ever been able to count on keeping.
She falls asleep that night to the sounds of an unending festival without knowing what will happen and even with nightmares of Buster Calls, it’s an unspeakable relief to wake up still in San Faldo, on a new trajectory. The newspaper the next morning, as the winds of Aqua Laguna begin to blow, reports a failed break-in at Galley-la stopped with the help of the Strawhat Pirates after the disappearance of the Dock 1 foremen. Iceburg sustained no reported injuries. She breathes a sigh of relief and starts stealing wallets until she has enough to book passage on a ship headed towards the South Blue. They let her have a berth early, even though there will be no sailing until the weather settles.
Nico Robin falls asleep alone in a strange bed while the ship creaks and rattles around her in the ripples from Aqua Laguna. She wakes up almost immediately, back on the Going Merry, moving at full sail in the direction of Water 7.
She abandons the Strawhats without an explanation as soon as they reach shore. There are startled questions following her, to be ignored. The Captain calls after her—something entirely normal about having fun, and coming back soon. She doesn’t acknowledge it.
If Iceburg wasn’t the element that needed correcting, perhaps she’ll have to save Cutty Flam directly, or at least acquire the blueprints herself. She’ll have to get him to trust her first to accomplish either goal. Figuring out how to do that might need more than one try, as loath as she is to admit it. He listened to her on the sea train, but that was after he’d been captured by CP9 and irreversibly contaminated by the Strawhats. She can’t pull off the same effects. If she ever changes a life, it’s by ending it. There’s no reason he should listen to her now.
Bent on intelligence gathering and paying no heed to consequences she won’t have to live with, Robin marches up to the door of the Franky house—loud in all senses of the word—and pounds on it with five fists at once.
It’s cracked open by a suspicious doorkeeper in a mask. “Whadda you want?”
“My name is Nico Robin. I’m here to see Cutty Flam.” She keeps it simple. Those two names should get her—
The door is ripped open, all the way off its hinges, and a familiar enormous man in a garish mask glares down at her. “Oh, if you want to go, sister, we can go.”
“What would you do if I told you I would rather die than allow Pluton to be unleashed upon the world?” she asks him, rather than respond to the challenge.
He’s a very physical man. She sees the words literally take him aback, send him flinching away from the doorway.
She’s prepared for a lot of things. Running, fighting, arguing her case. She’s not prepared for him to reach up and slide the mask off, giving her a cock-eyed penetrating look.
You act tough, but you got a heart in there like anyone else.
“I’d say it sounds like you could stand to sit down for a bit, sis. Come on in.” He turns and leads the way back in, leaving the door on the floor.
Nico Robin earned her doctorate in archaeology at the age of eight, without yet knowing one damn thing about how life really worked. She’s long since realized that nothing guarantees a person will have an intelligent response to the world—not rank, not status, not shipbuilding skills or a crowd of lackeys. She should have remembered the things this man says, like he can look right through her armor and see her bones beneath.
“You want a cola?” he calls out from inside, while all of the aforementioned lackeys give her wide-eyed look for a few seconds before shrugging and going about their days. It seems this is as normal as anything gets around here.
She takes the cola. And a seat.
There’s no need to be careful telling him about CP9’s infiltration of the city as there was with Iceburg. He listens to the whole thing, covering his eyes and growling under his breath about “Idiotburg,” at the extent of the infiltration of Galley-la. The peanut gallery gasps gratifyingly at all the appropriate pauses she leaves for them, which breaks the tension somewhat.
“If you’re going to help him, you can’t do it alone,” she tells him. “You may be strong, but Cipher Pol will outmatch you, if you’re not careful.”
“You offering?” he asks, pulling his sunglasses down his nose far enough to look over them at her.
“I can’t. I have to go. But there’s a pirate crew that just arrived in this city that can help you.”
“Pirates, huh?” He sounds dubious. “And where do I find them?”
“Big bro? Big bro!” The shouts come from outside. “He can’t have got you too! Big Bro!”
“What the heck…?” He stands just as a handful of roughed-up toughs tumble through the gaping doorway. She recognizes the look in their eyes. They’ve been contaminated, irreversibly.
“That ship we saw, Big Bro! Some guy with three swords kicked our asses!”
She smiles and takes another sip of her cola. “It seems your family can tell you.”
He makes a frustrated noise. “And you wanted me to team up with these guys!”
“I still do. Don’t let a bad first impression dissuade you.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “Would you want to ally with anyone who couldn’t defend their ship?”
His hair deflates, briefly. “Alright, fine. You wanna make the introductions?”
“I can’t.” She finishes her bottle of cola, the bubbles prickling all the way down. “I have to leave. The World Government is after me.” Telling him she never wants to see them again could endanger his and the Strawhats’s immature alliance.
His face darkens immediately. “You know, I get that your whole thing is running away, but you said it yourself earlier. If you’re going to help your family, you can’t do it alone.”
Her turn to be taken aback. It’s not fair, that he can do this to her.
“I never said I wanted to help them. Maybe I’m just trying to help myself.” She knows who she is. She’d damn the world to let her crew live, but her own survival has always and only been selfish since she was a little girl chasing forbidden secrets just to earn time with her mother.
“Keep telling yourself that. You act tough, but you got a heart in there like anyone else.”
She leaves without another word.
She doesn’t hide her face as she boards the sea train, letting the invisible eyes of the city follow her. It’s her turn to play the wounded lapwing, jumping from island to island, splitting the attention of the Marines.
On her second night out of Water 7, she stays awake, watching the rain illuminated by the enormous clocktower ticking forward at the center of Pucci. She doesn’t know precisely what time she died, in Enies Lobby, but she has a suspicion.
At 1:47 AM Nico Robin closes her eyes long enough to blink. She wakes up almost immediately, back on the Going Merry, moving at full sail in the direction of Water 7.
Nico Robin has no idea what to do now. This is the sixth time she’s lived this morning over, seen a frog doing the front crawl, listened to the Strawhats chat with Granny Kokoro while she stays in the galley with a cup of tea. A new possibility occurs to her. This could all simply be the punishment from the universe she’s been trying to outrun for as long as she can remember.
She sleepwalks her way through two days that echo her first memories of the city, unable to muster the will to change. Maybe if she just lets this play out—catalogues everything—admit she’s helpless to change anything and lets the misery wash over her like Aqua Laguna—maybe that will be enough.
So she does. She lets the time carry her along. She fails to kill Iceburg twice—once on orders, once very much against. She yells at the Strawhats like it will change anything. She stares out the window of the sea train and feels it rattle in her aching bones.
Enies Lobby is exactly how she remembers it, up until the point where a cyborg throws her and himself through a wall.
This time, when she looks down, the Captain is there.
Things change.
After living through her third Buster Call, Nico Robin finds herself on the true last voyage of the Going Merry, bound back for Water 7. Luffy comes up and stands on the deck next to her as they escape the nightless island just in time to watch the dawn. The light spills clean and fragile into the morning after a storm and she breathes it in, letting her ribs expand. Her bones are aching less, now. Next to her, Luffy laughs.
“I’m glad we did something new,” he says, cheerful as the sun. “That frog chase was getting boring.”