Chapter Text
They’ve got about a hundred more chefs on the line, a handful of waiters, even a maître d'hôtel. Sanji clearly thinks he should be able to do it all himself, the cooking that is. The waiter duties he says can go to Hell. He’s clumsy in the kitchen during the rush, grumpy as a dish washer, anxious as a waiter. When he gets his official uniform he just as quickly grows out of it, only by a few inches, but still inches. Zeff can never keep up.
A year in, he rushes around the kitchen in the routine he’s set for himself. His crew has become familiar with the routine as well, and aside from the fresher faces aboard, are also familiar with his short fuse personality. His rudeness is a permanent resident of the kitchen, and it seems to penetrate through everything except Patty and Carne's thick skulls. His new leg is now familiar as is the recent weight both he and Sanji have put on, which, considering the boy's growth spurt, is right on track to relieving him of his title of shortest in the kitchen. Though, there’s still plenty of years before he will be able to reach the countertops without a stool.
Dinner winds down around eight, only a few stragglers, fishermen, sailors, a group of rowdy marines, are all left to walk drunkenly to their own boats. Some of the younger and newer chefs are catching their breath on the deck outside. Zeff lets them for once, his focus needled in on the kitchen's missing occupant.
“Where’s the Eggplant?” he says, locking eyes with Patty. The staff continues their bustling, passing between the two of them. Patty wipes his hands on his apron and pushes his way through the noise.
“Thought you sent him to start cleaning the outdoor tables?”
“That was twenty minutes ago. Should be finished by now.”
“I’ll go check.” Patty offers mischievously.
“Absolutely not. You’re not getting out of work that easily,” He says. He raises his voice to address the rest of them, “when I come back this place better be drip-dry!” A chorus of aye chef follows him out of the door and into the cool night. He swings around the backside of the ship, where customers aren’t allowed. He finds Sanji sitting against the railing, head between his knees. He can’t tell if he’s slacking on the job or passed out. Still, his forehead twitches, muscle memory. He chooses to be civil today. Sometimes, when Sanji would refuse to practice waiting tables, he would attempt to wiggle out of the task. It hardly ever worked, Zeff had all of his hiding spots memorized.
“Why are you slacking off?” Sanji remains unmoored. Zeff crouches to his level and shakes his shoulder, when his head lifts it lolls right back down to his chest. His eyes are glassy with fever, no doubt about it, but Zeff feels his forehead just in case and when he pulls it back it’s smeared with sweat. Sanji doesn’t attempt to push his hand away, he doesn’t do much of anything. Zeff shakes his shoulder again. “Oi, come on. No more kitchen for you today, can't have you getting the customers sick.” When that doesn’t get a response, he starts to panic, just a little.
For lack of what to do, Zeff feels his forehead again, then his neck, then, bracing his wooden leg for the added weight, swoops him up into his arms.
“Shit.” He says to the air. He has no idea how to take care of a kid. Let alone a sick one. Why did he think he could do this again?
He rapts on the back door of the kitchen with his wooden leg and hopes that someone will hear him. One of the lanky new hires pops his sweaty head out and pales.
“Go get Patty or Carne to pull one of the boats around for me, or go do it yourself, I don’t care. Just do it quickly.” Though the two chefs are idiots, and often unreliable, in situations involving the safety of their blossoming crew, they were the most dependable people he could ask for. He still preferred to be the one to take the boy to the hospital himself, though.
A few moments later, Carne pulled around with one of the two seater boats they often used for when they could not dock the restaurant at smaller ports.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“No clue. I’m taking him into town to get checked out. I can’t believe I’m considering this, but I’m trusting you fools to hold down the fort while I’m gone.”
Carne just smiles, huge and gnarly. “We’ve got your back, boss.”
#
Zeff should have had a doctor on the crew from day one. He’d thought they’d do okay with the minimal first aid skills the lot of them had collectively. Now, watching Sanji sit in a pool of his own sweat, he considers sinking himself to the bottom of the East Blue.
He’s lucky that the town they’ve docked at is tiny, meaning the hospital staff aren’t stretched thin and the wait is short. Still, it feels like several years pass between the time he sits them down on the peeling leather chairs and when the nurse finally calls their names. Zeff realizes his hands are shaking with adrenaline. Or anxiety. The nurse looks concerned, but immediately gets Sanji hooked up with an IV and fluids. Eventually he settles into one of the chairs provided. When the initial bustling stops, the nurse finally turns to him, an older woman with long hair and a crisp voice.
“The doctor should be in soon. Likely it’s just a bug, I promise the IV makes these things look more serious than they are. He should be cleared to go home tomorrow, with all the right bedrest and medication, of course. You’ve done good, dad,” the nurse says, the corners of her mouth are ticked upward with a grin.
“I’m not,” he starts, then bites his tongue and clears his throat awkwardly. It could be a potential issue if they assumed he was just some strange man hanging around some kid. He supposes it’s not too far off from the truth. “Thanks.”
#
Sanji isn’t happy when he wakes up. He looks like he’s going through the five stages of grief just by sitting in the hospital bed.
“This is overkill.” He says. “I’m perfectly healthy,” Zeff does not agree with this sentiment, but he does notice that he looks closer to being so. His cheeks are a rosier color and his eyes aren’t glossed over anymore. Most importantly, his spunk is back.
“Relax. I don’t like it here either, but they’re sending us back at noon so you’ll have nothing else to complain about.” He rubs his fists together, looking much like a stressed bear.
Sanji looks out the window, the sun catches on the baby hairs at the back of his neck, warm like a hug and not a fever. Grumpy as always, breathing and alive. So alive. Zeff feels a little silly for believing Sanji would die just like that. Who else then would find the All Blue?
#
When they are in fact released that afternoon, and the nurse tells Sanji to stop worrying his dad, and Sanji doesn’t yell at her because she’s a lady but he does kick Zeffs shin when they’re out of the building, he doesn’t try to deny it this time.