Chapter Text
The thing was, that Sanji had always thought three was an unlucky number.
He never acknowledged the fact, tried to rationalise it. He knew he was a little fucked up. That his brain had a loose screw somewhere. But who cared if he always liked his kitchen bright and ventilated, windows wide open even in the cold of winter islands. Who cared if he had to call Usopp every time a bug found its way into his pantry. Who cared if he had exactly four knives in his set. Who the fuck cared if he didn’t like odd numbers, specially not the number three.
Zoro definitely didn’t care —beside the sporadic mock of Sanji’s high-pitched scream, just before smashing the cockroach with the heel of his heavy boot, when Usopp wasn’t near to take it out gently.
Zoro never cared about Sanji’s oddities, not in a way that mattered, at least. Probably never even noticed.
How could he? Too busy lifting his weight one million, or stretching Luffy’s cheeks in laughter, or napping under the sun like a big cat, to notice Sanji buying four apples. Too busy to notice the apple pie in Nami and Robin’s afternoon snack plates and the lone fruit remaining in the basket. Too damn busy to realise, when trying to sneak into the galley for booze at night and finding Sanji there, eyes tired, biting into the extra apple, how weird it was.
Sanji would try to hide it, wiping his mouth quickly of the fruit’s juice, like Zoro would know. That he was a little touched in the head and couldn’t just buy three damn apples for the damn pie like damn Zeff’s damned recipe said.
Zoro never did, with his three swords and his three earrings. He never looked at Sanji weirdly, from above. For all his bluntness, all his sharpness, Zoro never punctured Sanji with his judgement. Instead, he would drag his feet to the cupboard where Sanji stored the not-too-fancy wine for him, would take a seat opposite at the table, grunt an oddly sweet ‘You should eat more dinner instead of snacking after, we can serve ourselves,’ and proceed to get drunk in pleasant silence beside him.
But the fact that Zoro didn’t care didn’t mean that Sanji didn’t care. It was an affront, an insult. Since the day he stepped his stupid, green feet into the Baratie. With his spiky short hair, with his rumbling laughter that Sanji remembered rolling his eyes at, when his head tilted back, baring a strong neck.
It made Sanji’s eye twitch. Since the beginning. Three. Three. Green and three. Such an eyesore.
Green, three, and sitting beside a beautiful redhead. Green, three, and linked to the dish boy that blew a hole into the old man’s roof.
Green, three, and giving his young, young life to Mihawk for nothing. For a dream, for a castle in the air, for a title. For something as stupid as pride.
Sanji remembered his cigarette almost snapping in two with the force of his teeth, he remembered screaming. He remembered, with a guilt coated in the sick flavour of hindsight, how wrong he was for doubting Zoro and his god-damn stubbornness. But in his defence, he told himself no-one could be able to predict the unpredictability of the strawhats.
It was an easy thing to learn, or to remember, really. That he also had a dream as foolish as Zoro’s. That he could chase it, if only at the price of the only place he’s ever called home. It was almost too easy, too enticing for someone like Sanji, to follow Luffy’s smile and Nami’s eyes and Usopp’s laughter and Zoro’s earrings clinking as he walked, the clanging of his swords against his hip.
Three of them. Like he was mocking the entirety of Sanji’s being. His damn fucking name. The brand that was slammed into him, reminding him he would never be more than an experiment. A failed one, on top of.
He dared to ask once, to sweet Nami who had known the asshole longer. She didn't know why the ball of grass was so fixated in the number, of course. He assumed it was arbitrary then, a coincidence, and tried to ignore the way his eyes would drift and linger there, on the nook between Zoro’s shoulder and neck where the golden teardrops taunted him. The way he started to expect their chime, to look for their rabid glint in the battlefield, dancing with every ruthless slash of Zoro’s swords.
He ignored his curiosity. Why three, why earrings. For a guy as pragmatic and single-minded as Zoro, wearing a piece of jewellery that devotedly had to mean something. It drove Sanji mad, it made him ache to know about Zoro’s past. What made him the asshole that he knew, where did he find his stubbornness, where did he pick up that confidence in himself.
Where did he learn to be everything that Sanji hated. Everything he dreamed of becoming.
So as much as he despised them, him, Sanji couldn’t leave Thriller Bark with Zoro missing an earring. It was simply not happening.
Sanji started walking, scanning the rubble of what remained of Moria’s terrains, quickly regretting not having stopped to catch a flashlight. The night was dark and closed, the waning moon barely illuminating, and Sanji didn’t see shit. He grabbed his lighter, and the little fire’s light in his palm didn’t even reach the floor.
He cursed again, a frustration that bordered into physical pain.
“Diable… Jambe!” He screamed as he kicked a large wall of debris into fine dust. When everything settled again and the silence came back with vengeance to hunt him, the floor was much more visible, around his lit ankles.
Keeping his fire going was exhausting, but Sanji was almost as close friends with exhaustion as he was with panic. Working until his lungs started to convulse, until his muscles started to strain, was all he ever did when the world shrunk and shrunk into a metal helmet. So he went, scanning every nook and crevice. Every hidden little place where treasures like that liked to get lost in.
By the time the sun started to hint itself on the horizon, tinting the sky a soft pink, Sanji’s flames were nothing more than a few flickering embers. Sanji fought against the tiredness, against the battle wounds reopening, but when the first ray of sun breached the horizon, bright and warm and announcing the end, Sanji collapsed to the ground.
“Sanjiiiiiiii!” He heard the call, groaning as he came back to himself.
The sun shone bright and hard from above when he blinked awake, and for a second, he thought he was trapped in a time loop. That he would get up, body sore, to find Zoro’s forgotten katanas. That he had to run and pant until he found a member of his family crumbling in his grasp. That he had to hold him again, feel his broken breath against his neck, and pray again.
Without noticing, he started to hyperventilate, closing his eyes tight. No. If he didn’t get up, if he didn’t look, Zoro wasn’t dying.
That’s when he was hit, his whole body screaming for the audacity of fainting against the hard, uneven floor and the impact. In a moment, he was buried under an infinite amount of rubbery limbs.
“Here you are!” Luffy screamed directly into his ear. “Weird place to take a nap.”
Sanji grunted, still dizzy and in pain, and tried to get Luffy off himself. They ended sitting up over the rumble, and he could hear the voices of other crewmates getting closer. It didn’t take mental gymnastics to understand that the ship had woken up without breakfast over the table and immediately sent a search party.
“I wasn’t napping.” Sanji said, getting up despite his aching joints and dusting himself off. Luffy bounced up with him. “Just… Resting for a moment.”
Luffy looked at him. Sanji thought his captain unable to look so sceptical. It prompted him to keep talking, to justify himself to his superior, even when he knew nothing could explain last night’s lack of judgement.
“I was looking for something and I just got a little tired. That’s all.”
That, unfortunately, got Luffy’s attention.
“What were you searching? Did you find it? Can I help?” He was already jumping on his heels, brimming with energy. More often than not, he reminded Sanji of a spoiled puppy.
“Nothing. No. And definitely no.” Sanji said, walking past him, eyes unconsciously still tracking every centimetre of soil under his feet. He lit a cigarette. “I’ll come back now and prepare breakfast.”
“But you didn’t find it.” Luffy said. Just a fact. The image of Zoro, wrong and incomplete, flashed over Sanji’s eyes. “Also, Nami already did breakfast. She’s very pissed at you.”
Sanji looked up at the sun, squinting his eyes. Almost midday.
“As she should.” Sanji answered with a sigh. “I’m delaying the crew. Aren’t you mad?”
Luffy shrugged, scratching the side of his nose. “Dunno. Is this important to you?”
Sanji felt nauseous again. It was Luffy’s charm, his talent, to disarm you by simply being. Always so painfully direct and unerring. Luffy looked at him, waiting for the answer, not judging, not even knowing, just genuinely interested. Lying to him had never been an option.
“Yeah. Uh–” Sanji coughed, wanting to die a little. “It’s important to me.”
Luffy smiled, like it was answer enough. “And you’re sure you don’t need me to help?”
Sanji scoffed. Luffy was the last person he would ask for a meticulous task like this. And to ask for help, he would need to voice out what was he searching. For who and for what reason.
Like he fucking knew. Like he could afford to answer those questions even to himself. Like he was brave enough to tell his captain, his best friend, that his chest broke in every inhale he took at the idea of leaving without the earring back on Zoro’s ear.
In the end, he told himself that accepting Luffy’s help was putting Zoro’s secret in danger, instead of his own. Luffy, surprisingly, accepted the dismissal pretty quickly.
“I’ll deal with Nami.” The captain said, already turning to leave. “She kept a breakfast plate in the fridge for you, by the way.” He beamed, running towards Franky, Robin, and Brook that were finally getting closer.
Waste of time. Of space. That's all you are for them.
He had to shake himself to get rid of that voice that barked non-stop. He came back to himself just in time to see Luffy pulling his crewmates along, back to the ship. Sanji’s eyes lingered in Brook, his light steps over a horizon that felt solid under his bones.
When he came back to the ship, the sunset was painting the dark waters that surrounded Thriller Bark in a flashing orange, almost as vibrant as Nami’s hair.
Sanji hadn’t been able to think of another thing all day, while he searched and lifted broken slabs of stone and hit walls until they became dust. Their relationship was, in Sanji’s terms, the best thing to happen to him, of course, but also as comfortable as a bed of needles.
Nami was one of his closest friends, that understood him almost too well. One second Sanji would be flirting, she would be yelling, then they would be laughing together, and the next, he would say something more. Overstep. He would take it a bit too far —Nami’s words, he was still convinced there isn’t any too far in pleasing a woman, specially Nami— and she would look at him in that way.
Like it made her sad.
But now, as the coward that he was, Sanji scurried to the galley, trying to not be seen from the chart room. By the time he cleaned the mess left by whoever cooked lunch, prepared dinner and called for the crew, he still hadn’t decided what excuse he was going to use. His crewmates appeared quickly, Usopp and Luffy playfully wrestling until they almost knocked down the water pitcher and Nami came in beautifully, like an enraged goddess, to stop them with a single yell and a punch to the top of their heads.
Good, Sanji thought, that way she can’t yell at me.
Sanji put a plate in front of everyone’s chairs —except Chopper’s taller one and the very glaring empty spot by Luffy’s side— and twirled around busying himself until he had nothing more to do. He fidgeted, wishing for a cigarette, but he had forbidden himself during meals. The smoke soured the flavours for everyone.
When he finally sat down and dared to look, Nami’s glare was already waiting for him. Arms crossed over her chest and a frown that made her all the more attractive. Sanji flinched still.
“Look who we have here!” She immediately started once she knew Sanji couldn’t escape, making the whole table to drop their conversations and turn. “Decided to grace us with his presence this lovely night.”
Nami was always mad, that was the thing about her, but Sanji, as everyone in the crew, had learnt to tell when she was pissed, when she wanted to murder you, or the rare occasions when she was actually, genuinely disappointed.
With a punch to the gut, Sanji noticed it was the later one today. It was about Sanji messing up the sailing schedule, he knew, but it could also be about him being there when shit hit the fan but not enough to stop it from happening. About being a burden, a nuisance. A worthless, filthy, waste of–
“Nami.” Luffy cut, not harshly, but also not in his usual tone.
She looked between Luffy and Sanji, clearly bitting her tongue, until a pretty little scoff escaped her lips and she focused on the meal instead, shaking her head.
Sanji refused to look around the table and meet his crewmate’s eyes. He didn’t see himself fit to face more disappointment in their faces. They ate in silence, until Brook started humming under his breath, then Usopp started playing the rhythm on the table with his fork. From then on, Franky and Luffy joined, and dinning in peace was a forgotten dream.
Nami left as soon as she was finished, but not before looking at Sanji in a way that promised she wasn’t done with the conversation, just waiting until Luffy wasn’t there to protect him.
Doing the dishes was another thing Sanji didn’t dare to look closely at.
He hated it with a burning passion. Always had, since he was a ratty ankle-bitter and Zeff refused to let him into the kitchen unless he was on dish-boy duty. As he grew up, he came to accept it was a necessary chore to do in order for the kitchen to work properly, but he still despised all of it. That’s why the second he had a kitchen he could call his and a crew he could order around, he delegated.
The problem was, well, not just one. The girls were not moving one finger if Sanji could help it, Luffy broke more than he cleaned, Usopp talked Sanji’s ears off, Chopper’s fur was a headache to get dry if he got wet, and Franky refused, being loud and wrong about the wonders of paper plates and cutlery.
The problem, then, was that doing dishes with Zoro was the only option. And the problem, at the core of it all, was that it wasn’t a problem at all.
The first times, sure, there were broken shards of porcelain flying around the galley, but after a bit, Zoro stopped whining and accepted that Yes, we need clean spoons and No, we can’t eat with our hands, you filthy brute.
And it shouldn’t have been that fun. But it was. And Zoro would complain, and reach for his swords. And pout, pout, the grown man that he was. And Sanji would threaten and kick, not as hard as he could, and his cheeks would hurt from laughing that one time he managed to put his hand under the running tap and spray all over Zoro with water. And his eyes would linger by the earrings, by the sharp bend of his waist where the wet t-shirt clung to his skin. And the dishes would be clean by the end of it all, every single time.
It was the sound of glass breaking what made him come back, again, like an unruly dog that was snapped into place by a tight leash around its neck. A beautiful cup, from a matching set he bought for the girls’ snacks.
He kneeled, reaching for the shard and realising himself short of breath, his heart hammering against his still bruised ribs. He felt every throb as he grabbed the glass piece, hissing as the first drop of blood fell to the floor. An insignificance, really. Not even worthy of one of Chopper’s colourful plasters.
A shallow thing, but it was dirtying his pointer finger, down to his palm, his hands. And he was still fighting for every gasp of air, and it was late and Nami was rightfully mad at him, and he didn’t even know how to start to make up for it.
And the dishes were still dirty.
And the earring still lost.
Chopper called him in immediately when he knocked on the infirmary door. The reindeer’s eyes zeroed immediately over the red on his hand, a little gasp before he was hopping off his stool and gathering the first-aid kit.
“Sit down.” Chopper said, already defensive. Sanji felt a little hurt, but given his own track record at avoiding treatment, he knew it was deserved. Sanji did sit down without giving problems this time, managing to not flinch when his eyes drifted to the bed.
He was mostly tired, now. Tired in that sad kind of way only living a step away from panic for days could leave him. Drained and a little bit defeated. All the things Zoro would hate him for feeling, but that were as much a part of himself as cooking or serving women, no matter how much he tried to run from it.
Chopper dressed the cut tenderly, cleaned it before rummaging for a galaxy-themed plaster and wrapping it around the pad of Sanji’s finger. The doctor looked at it for some seconds when he was done, holding Sanji’s hand between his two hooves. Sanji felt like choking on the silence that surrounded them, only interrupted by the beeping of Zoro’s monitor.
“You would tell me if you were hurting, right?” Chopper murmured, only being heard because the quiet was overwhelming.
“Yes, of course.” Sanji quickly dismissed. ”It’s just a cut.”
Chopper looked at him, then, with his big doe eyes, then at Zoro, then back at him, and Sanji really, really couldn’t take another hit like this.
“I’m not going to ask again what happened…” The doctor continued. “I’m sure you have your reasons. And– And he’s stable now.”
“He’s stable now.” Sanji repeated when Chopper’s voice wavered. It was so much easier to feel strong when someone else needed him to be. “You did a great job. That asshole owes you a big one.”
After a day of upsetting and disappointing his whole crew and failing to find the earring, the tiny smile he got from Chopper with that felt like a reward he didn’t deserve.
“I’m just happy everything turned out okay.” Chopper added after a bit of badly concealed sniffling, just to immediately start yawning. Sanji would bet both his hands and his favourite pan that Chopper hadn’t slept a wink since the incident, and he wouldn’t lose them.
He let the night, a warm cup of milk he fetched from the kitchen and the lull of the ship do its work, instead of arguing, and before long, Chopper was softly snoring. He barely woke up when Sanji was carrying him to his bunk bed, all groggy and tired, and made him promise he would wake him up the instant something happened before drifting off again.
Sanji got himself inside the infirmary again, leaning against the door as soon as it closed behind him. He reached for a cigarette. What Chopper couldn’t see wouldn’t hurt him, and Zoro was free to speak up if the smoke bothered him.
He looked at Zoro’s sleeping figure as he took the first drag. Not a word of complaint. That’s what Sanji thought.
He exhaled smoke through his nose, watching it curl and dissipate under the dim infirmary light. His fingers twitched at his side, wanting to tap against his thigh or dig into his pockets, but he forced them still. The cut on his finger throbbed, more from his mind’s insistence than the actual wound, and he resisted the urge to rub at the bandage.
He glanced at Zoro again, at the too-even rise and fall of his chest, at the way the bandages hid most of him away but still couldn’t make him seem small. Even like this, he took up space. Even like this, unconscious and quiet, he was still something Sanji couldn’t ignore.
Nagging at him. Always, always demanding attention. Always pressing for Sanji to keep up.
The empty space by Zoro’s ear was a quiet ache. One Sanji refused to acknowledge as the words climbed up his throat in a barrage and got stuck there, thick and dense and choking.
A myriad of insults, all in vivid shades of green. Then a flood of questions, of demands. How dare you. Why me. Did it hurt. Will you ever tell Luffy. Are you going to wake up. Where is your earring. Do you hate me. Why did you save me if you do. How dare you save me.
None of them breached past his lips, all dying in his throat as he smoked, feeling the words diluting with the heat, boiling until they faded with the nicotine rushing through his veins again.
He sat, he smoked, he got angry again, almost grabbing Zoro by the wrappings and yelling in his face. He smoked again and calmed down. He found that little empty spot above his shoulder again. He got anxious. He found himself matching his breathing to the steady ups and downs of Zoro’s chest. It had the same effect as following the rhythm of the waves. Zoro's life was as much a force of nature as the ocean.
As untameable.
As mesmerising.
It was really late in the night, the candle by Zoro’s bed almost burnt to the wick, and Sanji needed to be closer. That steady in and out, in and out, calling for him, anchoring him to reality without even asking for something back. How deeply unfair.
But as unfair as it was, Sanji still reached out, still laid the palm of his hand, band-aid and all, over Zoro’s abdomen. It rose, then fell, making Sanji shudder. The warmth of his skin was scalding even through the thick bandages, and Sanji could only imagine how brutal it would be to touch Zoro’s bare skin.
It was really late in the night, and Sanji hated Zoro with all his being. He also was unbearably tired, and his hand, if someone were to ask, slipped. His fingers grazed across, tracing his knuckles over Zoro’s torso, finding bumps, inflamed skin, broken bones. He found valleys he had only explored with his eyes in quick flashes between attacks. The nook of his shoulder, the dip of his navel.
Zoro’s breathing remained calm, while Sanji’s spiked again.
He hated him.
Chopper came back when the first hints of light tinted the sky pink. The sleep had made him good, his squeaky steps lighter as he hopped in the infirmary with a smile. Sanji left once the doctor checked all of Zoro’s vitals, acting like he couldn’t find his lighter, allowing himself to linger and hear that everything was still running smoothly.
Batch cooking wasn’t his favourite, a lot of the intricacies of flavours got lost when cooking in big quantities, but it was a skill Zeff insisted Sanji had from very early. It came in handy when time wasn’t on his side, like today. As the sun finally peeked out of the horizon, Sanji finished storing a full day of food for the whole crew, with extra rations to spare for Luffy. Two bento boxes remained aside, being stored in a backpack instead.
Sanji intercepted Brook as the skeleton stepped down from the crow’s nest from his night watch, a big fat yawn escaping his lip-less mouth. It was worth the shot.
“Early as always, Sanji-san. Good morning.” Brook greeted with what Sanji always assumed was a smile. “Uh– Going somewhere?” The skeleton asked when he noticed the backpack over his shoulders.
“How sleepy are you?” Sanji countered as an answer. It was playing a little dirty, knowing how eager to please their new crewmate was, but from the little time he had known Brook, he had the suspicion his sleep needs weren’t like those of the living.
“Not too much.” The musician said, eyeing the backpack strap again. “What’s the mission?” He added, lowering his voice conspiratorially. It ripped a quick laugh from Sanji, Luffy really had a good eye for people.
“We’re finding something.”
Brook smiled, already turning to get going. “Yohoho... What are we looking for?”
Sanji hesitated. Just for a second. Then—
“Gold.”
Sanji had to convince himself that it had been worth the shot.
He had to repeat to himself, as they slowly came back to the ship many hours later, that he had had to try.
Even if they didn’t find the earring, even if they wasted another day of Nami’s navigation plan. Even if Brook brought his violin with him. Even if he played instead of helping while Sanji felt his soul leaving his body when a swarm of giant spiders came crawling from the pits of Moria’s castle, after they moved the wrong slate of debris to look for the damned earring.
It had been the right call. After all, Brook had been of help at guiding him through the demolished geography where he had been trapped for god knows how many years. And, yes, he also helped, after laughing loud and obnoxiously, to kill the spiders.
Sanji cursed under his breath, kicking a pebble in his path, once the Sunny came into view. Brook had been silent for some time now, just humming under his breath from time to time, but it was clear exhaustion was finally catching up to him.
Sanji felt terrible, chain-smoking and stomping as they reached the deck. He needed to start accepting he wouldn’t find the earring. They had combed half the island, all the surface he didn’t reach alone the day before. It was gone.
Maybe one of the creatures that still crept over the place had found it.
Maybe it fell to the ocean, forever lost in the dark seabed.
Maybe Kuma took it with him, a token of his victory– The thought made Sanji want to heave, his hands scrunching closed.
Maybe–
“Sanji-san.” Brook called. Sanji turned, snapped back from his thoughts. “Eh– I’m sorry we couldn’t find what you’re looking for.”
“It’s okay, Brook. Things get lost. Thanks anyway.” He answered, restarting his walk back to the galley. Suddenly, his whole body felt heavy. He was so tired.
“Sanji-san.” Brook called again. Sanji stomped down the annoyance in his voice before answering.
“Yes, Brook?”
“A word of advice, if I may?” The skeleton asked, walking the steps Sanji had taken. When he spoke again, his voice was a whistle between his teeth. “I’m flattered you came to me for help, and as much fun as I had today–” He started. Truth be told, it hadn’t been all bad. The music was good for the soul, they said, and having someone close by made Sanji feel less on edge. “I don’t think I was the right choice.”
When Sanji blinked in his face, not getting whatever he was trying to hint at, Brook continued.
“A fine job, this one you got. It’s about eyes and hands! And I’m afraid I don’t have much of either of those.” He laughed, poking a bony finger into his left eye-socket.
“Oh.” Sanji simply said.
But he couldn’t do that.
What would Robin think. She was kind, but she scared the shit out of Sanji, with her knowing clear eyes. Robin would want to know.
“I wouldn’t want to bother her with this insignificance.” Sanji answered. He thought that if Brook could frown, he would be. He winced, expecting Brook to take offence.
“I think she would be thrilled to aid you.” Brook said instead. “She’s very attuned to the distress of her crewmates, don’t you think?” He added.
You’re clearly distressed, was what was left unsaid. Sanji wondered what gave him away.
“I would, obviously, still help you two.” Brook added with a smile. “I would lift rocks until my skin fell from my fingers! Oh–”
“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have skin. I get it.” Sanji finished for him, turning and closing the conversation. He heard Brook’s laughter all the way to the galley.
One time was a mistake, two a coincidence, three–
Three was nothing more than a shitty number because Sanji refused to visit the infirmary that night. He wouldn’t make a routine out of it. He made dinner, he cleaned, he hid from Nami, then he went to the men’s bedroom.
Nothing had changed in the day he hadn’t visited, and he didn’t know if it was good or bad. Brook was already sleeping, tired from the all-nighter, and Sanji felt a new pang of guilt adding to the colossus already beating him down.
What are you even doing? He asked himself. He wanted to dial Baratie and have Zeff yell some sense into him.
Who do you think you are, eggplant?! He would swear, Being a nuisance to your crew? And for what?!
And for what.
It should have been him, that’s the only thing that Sanji knew. The past two days only strengthened his argument. All those little whispers, all those shadows he saw by the corner of his eyes, sometimes, on bad days. They all said, you’re weak.
You’re weak and they know.
He lay on his stomach on the bed, just so he couldn't look at the bed above him and torture himself.
The silence after the battle was a thousand times more unsettling than the echoes and the shouts. Luffy was out cold, because they had won. Luffy had won, as he always did, always would.
And now he was unconscious, weak, vulnerable. His captain, the guiding star for the new age. So much more than what a man like Sanji could ever be, more than what any man could ever be. It wasn’t a choice to be made, just the next step to be taken.
But before he could even get up, Zoro was already there, offering his head in a silver platter for Bartholomew Kuma to feast upon. It chilled the entirety of Sanji’s blood, that felt like painful ice needles running inside his dirty veins. This motherfucker. This stubborn, prideful moron.
What good could do that Zoro died, when someone like Sanji was just there, ready to go?
Zoro had to understand. Zoro always understood. In that blunt, wordless, tactless way of his. In his fights, in his shouts, in his teasing, Zoro watched, and ultimately saw Sanji. It was dizzying. It was addicting.
Being someone’s equal was tough work. Being Zoro’s equal was a full-time job, and yet– And yet. Easy as spring wind, as comfortable as broken-in shoes. As fun, chaotic, thrilling as getting a new recipe right. Every time Sanji got better, Zoro redoubled his efforts, just to be an annoying piece of shit that couldn’t admit an ounce of defeat, and Sanji would smoke and hide a smile behind his cigarette, thinking a stepping stone was still part of the road Zoro was walking towards greatness.
No greatness to conquer if Kuma got him. Zoro already looked like a bleeding mess.
It wasn’t a choice to be made, just the last step to be taken. Luffy couldn’t keep going without his right hand. The crew couldn’t keep going without its strength. And Sanji– Sanji didn’t know how to name this empty fear that ripped at his skin like infinite claws, just that he couldn’t possibly keep going without Zoro.
Just a chef. No need to hesitate. You’re weak.
The hit between the ribs that took him out broke his heart.
You’re weak, it said.
He knows it.
The pain pulsed until it shattered. Sanji jerked awake, still on his stomach and gasping for air. There was a scream lodged in his throat, stuck, and his vision was blurry as hell. The pillow under his face was wet and his body was trembling, longing for an ounce of warmth.
The room was dark, the moonlight not strong enough to filter through the portholes lining the walls, and thankfully, no-one was disturbed by Sanji’s hysterics. He gulped down the urge to sob, the relentless fear, and it tasted sour, thick like tar.
He cautiously stepped outside, like that first night, and found the infirmary light flickering through the door window. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.
He didn’t know what he would do if he saw Zoro now. Panicking further was a better option than finding comfort by his bedside.
The crow’s nest also glowed, and Sanji knew the night watch rotation by heart.
Robin had been reading, if the book on her lap was any indicator, and had stopped the second she heard Sanji climbing to join her.
“Lovely night, isn’t it, Sanji-kun?” She greeted, soft smile on her face.
Sanji could still feel the sweat clinging to the hairs at his nape, the throbbing bruise on his side, the phantom of a cage over his eyes, but for her, he smiled. “Not as lovely as you, my dear.”
She scooted over, making room for him to sit. She had a blanket covering her slender shoulders and the starry night reflected on her piercing eyes, ever so beautiful. Ever so dangerous.
“Couldn’t sleep?” She asked, taking the blanket and draping it over both their laps. Sanji felt like he could cry again.
“No.” He admitted, low. Robin hummed, looking out to the sky through the open window. The wind was loud and cold up there, but not as loud as the rush of waves against the Sunny’s hull.
“It’s strange, right?” Robin said after a while. “How different everything looks at night.”
“I always enjoy the ship at night.” Sanji whispered, looking at the wide vastness of water in front of him. The Sunny at night was the only instance of darkness he felt safe in.
“Yes.” She answered. “But you also enjoy it by day, do you not?”
She was smiling, a kind glint to her eyes. She was trying to cheer him up. Very attuned to distress.
“Robin…” He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t bother Robin with this, she had better things to do.
“Yes, cook-san?” When Sanji grew the guts to look at her, her expression was so open. The soft smile still in place, willing, reassuring. Sanji would die for her.
“Could you… You see, I– I have a problem.”
“Yes, that much is clear.” She joked, and when Sanji paled, she quickly added. “We’ve been here for two extra days and no-one knows why; Nami is fuming, you must understand, Sanji, that we have hypothesized.”
“Jesus.” He groaned, burying his head in his hands.
“Luffy thinks you’re after Moria’s hidden treasure. He expects you to bring this big, heavy treasure chest, filled with gothic jewellery and trinkets. And he’s convinced Usopp and Chopper of it. Franky thinks you’ve lost your favourite lighter; a much more accurate approach, I think, to bet on your sentimentality. Nami has refused to elaborate on the topic.”
“And you?” Sanji didn’t need to ask, she would tell him either way. That was her charm, unfortunately.
“Well, Moria didn’t look the type to worry himself with fortunes of that kind, and–” Robin looked down, to Sanji’s hand where a cigarette burnt away “You don’t look like you’ve lost a lighter.”
“Robin, please–”
She giggled, cute and slow, at his desperation. His– His fucking nerves.
“I aided in the surgery, Sanji, of course I noticed one of them was gone. It wasn’t hard to tie together.”
“Oh, God.” Sanji whined. “Did you… Did you tell someone?”
“That you’re losing sleep over Zoro’s earrings? No, no-one asked me. Yet.”
That was it, Sanji was going to jump from the crow’s nest to the deck below head first.
“I think it's a beautiful thing, what you're doing.” That made him turn so fast his cervical complained. Robin could never be wrong, but this shame, this terror that had guided him for the last two days, could never be beautiful. She was simply so good, so kind, that she saw the rest in the same light. She had suffered the most, and yet she saw the good in people like Sanji.
“It’s– It’s not, I mean, I’m not… He’s just gonna wake up and complain and make it everyone’s problem, I’m just trying to save us time, I…”
Robin’s eyes looked at him owlishly, wide and curious. They pierced right through him.
“Could you help me?” He finally surrendered. She beamed like he told her he found the last Poneglyph for her to read. Her smile pillowed the hit, it didn’t feel as scary as he had thought.
“At least we made some friends!” Robin smiled as she, Brook, and Sanji came back to the ship after a new day of searching.
“That,” Sanji said, “My dear, was an undead pony, not a friend.”
“Aw, but it was so cute. I think it liked you!”
“It was rotting! And tried to bite me!”
“But still better than yesterday’s spiders, right, Sanji-san?” Brook asked with mirth.
“Do not–” He hissed. He loved Robin to bits, and Brook was mostly tolerable, but he had to admit he had found help in the most morbid members of the crew. How could they be so unaffected by decaying fauna, was a mystery to him.
“We can try again tomorrow, I want to be more thorough in the immediate terrains of the castle. I’m sure a whole night of sleep will improve my ability to assist.” Robin said, making Sanji stop.
“Robin, I–” She turned, “Maybe we should give up.”
She had spawned an eye onto every surface of this nightmare of an island, had grown an arm and lifted every rock there was. Little more was to be done.
“If that’s what you want, we’ll give up.” Robin said with finality, holding her eyes to Sanji’s until he couldn’t bear it.
“Fine, fine.” He sighed. “Nami already hates me, I suppose I should at least make it worth her while.”
“That’s the attitude!” She beamed as Brook laughed his usual yohohoho’s.
“So she does hate me!” Sanji cried out, dismayed. “Have you talked to her? Did she tell you something? Do you think I have a chance to make it up to her? Robin, dear, don’t keep me in this dark misery–”
Despite the failed mission and the fatigue, Robin laughed all the way to the Sunny.
Just like the day before with just Brook, Sanji felt it had been worth the shot, but he quickly started regretting the whole deal when he spotted Nami by the second deck’s railing, looking down at them with the scariest expression he had seen her make. A cold neutrality that had his heart sinking. It was even worse when he realised she was following Robin with her eyes, a frown appearing between her eyebrows the more Nami understood.
The thought of being a cause of bitterness between the most delightful women in all the seas had Sanji wanting to die on the spot. Then Nami’s eyes snapped back to him in a flash of fury, and he was sure he was going to die anyway. It had been days since he watched her smile, and he felt deprived like a plant without sun.
But telling her, of all people, wasn’t an option.
Where Robin was understanding like a self-made goddess that had spent her life observing and cataloguing general human behaviour, Nami was understanding like a reflection in a mirror. Ruthless and direct in a way only a woman dedicated to scam guys like Sanji could be.
She saw right through him and had the horrifying audacity of caring about what she saw. She would ask how many cartons of tobacco he had diminished in a particularly bad day, and send Chopper on his way to give him a talk over cardiopulmonary health that would always end with Sanji getting distracted, preparing a warm cocoa drink as an apology to the reindeer for worrying him.
She would see him restless, overwhelmed with energy, and send Zoro, and he would always be so unbearably annoying that Sanji had to give him a beating that left him pleasantly exhausted.
She would see him tugging at his hair, and would ask for a snack. And when Sanji arrived, tray of delicacies in hand, she would tug at his sleeve until he sat between her lounger and Robin’s, on the patch of grass under the sunshade.
She would giggle and gossip with them as she braided Sanji’s hair, put a flower from her trees behind his ear and call him pretty. Of all the things to call him.
And Sanji would feel such embarrassment, such horrible, delighting tingling. Such unadulterated joy, that he would be rendered speechless, unable to tell her how the sun and the stars were all jealous of her beauty.
She got him. But the conclusions she would take from this, Sanji couldn’t guess. What if she didn’t understand.
What if she did.
“No, no, I think this should be discussed.” Nami said while dinning when Luffy tried to dismiss her very real and valid concerns. “Everyone here has a job. Mine is to bring this ship from point A to point B.” She tapped her long nail against the wooden table, punctuating her words. “As fast and as safe as I can, so can someone explain to me why am I not being allowed?!”
Sanji really, really, wanted to fucking disappear.
“You don’t see me getting in the way of anyone’s chores, do you?! Do I go to Franky and tell him what tools to use? Or to Chopper and say he can’t have the infirmary because I feel like using it? Fuck, Sanji, do I tell you how, when, or what food to cook?!” She asked, finally addressing him head on. He could only gulp, his saliva feeling like pins and needles on its way down. No-one dared to say a word.
“Do I need to remind you all that Thriller Bark is not a real island, that I don't know how long the magnetic pull on the Log Pose will hold out before it searches for the closest island, whether it's on our route or not? That can change our whole course, that can be dangerous, and that’s not even taking into account the Red Line is close as fuck, we– We should be preparing for the New World, not here.” She finished, red in the face. “God, I don't even know what's the deal.” Nami deflated, folded her arms over her chest and fell against the back of her chair. She glanced at Robin, then, looking betrayed.
She was so upset. It was the worst sin Sanji had ever committed.
He could only watch as she left, Robin close on her heels.
He couldn’t blame Nami, every day counted in the Grand Line, and he was stuck in a loop of mindless searching, asphyxiating guilt and vitriol. This was all Zoro’s fucking fault. If he just hadn’t lost the damn earring.
If he just had let Sanji go–
“You.” He heard behind him where he was smoking against the window in the kitchen. He almost dropped the cigarette.
“Hi, Nami dear.” Sanji turned around, scared as he hadn't been in ages.
“Talk. Now.”
“It would be lovely to have a chat with you, of course,” He started walking to the door, passing by her side. “But I have night watch and must go to my post.”
His steps brought him closer to the exit, and he was practically smelling the fresh air outside–
“Black Leg Sanji!” Nami screamed, like one would do a kid.
It froze him on the spot.
“If you ever held an ounce of affection and respect for me, you’re going to sit your ass down on that chair and listen to me because this behaviour is universes beyond your usual bullshit.”
God help him.
“Yes, of course.” He said, turning and effectively sitting his ass down on that chair. Nami didn’t hesitate, grabbing a bottle of liquor from the pantry, two glasses and sitting beside him.
She poured them a drink, and Sanji thought for a second it was only so she could throw one at him. But she didn’t, she nudged his glass towards him, prompting him to drink. He did, still unsure of what was happening.
Nami sighed when she finished her own, the line of her shoulders scrunching up, then down in an attempt of releasing the tension stored there. When she finally turned, she was far from what Sanji was expecting.
She wasn’t angry. She looked at him with pity.
“Listen, I–” Nami started, angling her body towards Sanji. “I can lend you money to buy him a new one, but we really need to leave.”
Sanji blinked, once, twice. His brain leaped.
“No, what? Why– I… What?”
“Robin told me– No, don’t make that face, it’s the girls’ code.”
Sanji sighed, at least she wasn’t upset with Robin anymore. “Alright,” He accepted, ”But what made you think I would want to spend a single berry on the stupid mosshead?”
It was her turn to sigh, “I know it’s not the same, I know you want to find the old one. I get it, I truly do, but we can’t waste more time. It can be a new thing, right?"
No, no. Nami didn’t get it. Sanji didn’t want a new thing. He wanted zero physical reminders that he was a failure. He didn’t want to look at Zoro and have it there, spelled out for him, the disgrace that he was.
Why would– God, why would Sanji want to gift Zoro an earring? Just the image of it, hell, it turned Sanji’s stomach upside down with the intimacy. What would be next? Looking for one with an emerald that matched his hair, or a silver piece that went with the sharpness in his eyes? Wrapping it with a bow? Putting it on him? Tracing his fingers over the shell of Zoro’s ear after checking it was a perfect fit?
“No!” He yelled, something close to horrified. “Sorry, shit… Nami, no new earring, okay? It has to be the original, Robin says she has some places she wants to check again… I… can’t leave.”
“Sanji…” Nami said, her eyes wide and clear and looking directly at him. She had always been so good at disarming him. He collapsed.
“Otherwise he’s going to wake up and notice and blame it on me, and then I’m going to kick his skull so hard it’s going to turn inside out, and he’s going to be dead for real this time.”
“Sanji, he’s not dead. He’s not dying.”
Of course.
“I know.” Sanji rubbed his palms together, almost feeling the phantom of Zoro’s blood on them from carrying him. “But he could have. He was for some seconds.”
“But he’s not. And he’s going to be alright, with three, two or no earring at all.”
“You don’t get it–”
“I do.” Nami reached for him, his hands, making him turn and face her completely, not allowing him to hide anymore. “I really do.”
She released him, but Sanji couldn’t move. Nami reached to her own throat, placing a hand there. “I’ve had all kinds of jewellery, shit I stole, worth millions, that I never cared about more than how close they could bring me to my goal. But then Vivi gifted me this little pendant… The last night we saw her.”
Sanji could be a complete asshole, but he wasn’t blind. He reached for her hand again. “I had it around my neck, one second it was, then it wasn’t– I wanted to turn Enies Lobby upside down, but I couldn’t, we had more pressing matters to attend, Robin, and the Merry…” It clearly still weighted on her, bringing a tear to her eye. “Sanji, I get it, but you have to let it go.”
He understood what was being said to him, he wanted more than anything to comfort her. To hug Nami and tell her she was very strong and Vivi would understand, but it was not the same.
It wasn’t.
He didn’t. He couldn’t. He–
Fuck. Fuck. It was not the same.
Sanji had seen them, Nami loved Vivi.
Sanji didn’t… Zoro.
This was about getting rid of the metallic taste of shame, not about– What did Robin call it? Sanji’s sentimentality?
“Ow.” Nami hissed, when Sanji tightened his hold on her hand without meaning. “Sanji?”
He released her immediately. Ears ringing and eyes wide. What a ridiculous idea. He barely tolerated the moron’s existence, he couldn’t… Sanji would know if he did, with the way he was always obsessing.
Love was soft and kind, like a woman’s touch. Not rough and sharp and stupid. Stupid like fighting just because they could. Stupid like getting drunk together, like doing the dishes, like an unspoken challenge at the brink of a battle.
Stupid like cooking onigiri at midnight, like buying cheap wine.
Stupid like not knowing where admiration ended and jealousy started. Like sharing strength, like sharing the burden of protecting the crew. Like crafting a dream of putting a crown around Luffy's head.
Like having stupid green hair and three stupid swords with its three stupid matching earrings that turned Sanji crazy, dangling by his stupid face, tanned and so ugly it was kind of breathtaking.
“I’m not a–” He started, cutting himself off. Nami frowned deeply, murder to her eyes.
He was not. Not with man and not with Zoro.
And yet– And yet.
“Guys!” Chopper came in, rushing through the door that connected the galley to the infirmary and smiling. “Zoro’s awake!”
Sanji was not, and yet, for a second, all the shame and the anger and the confusing bullshit got squashed down by the force of a relief so heavy it threatened to make his heart burst.
You are, it said.