Chapter Text
Sanji made a point not to think too deeply about his childhood before Baratie, but now he’s racking his brain in search for a time, any time, that he could ever remember having an assistant in the kitchen. Not other chefs that were working around him on their own dishes or bus boys or dish washers, someone by his side just to help him. Although, when he thought about it, back then he would have refused the help, with his ego far too proud as a fledging chef.
He spent a lot of time alone cooking and there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s what he was trained to do, and he enjoyed it. Enjoyed creating dishes that’ll fill empty stomachs and watching as delight bloomed across his crewmates face when they took their first bite. But now, as Nami hummed next to him, eyebrows drawn together in concentration as she stirred the sauce in the pot, he realised how much he liked having an assistant. How much he liked having the company.
It also helped that it was fantastic company. Nothing got better than Nami-san.
The first time she’d walked in to offer help, he’d tried to persuade her to relax instead, in the kitchen of course because he’d never turn her away, but she hadn’t listened. She’d fixed him with a hard stare as his words rolled over her and held her hand out, waiting for a knife to help him peel potatoes.
That was a few weeks ago now, and he’s glad she didn’t listen to him. His kitchen was now filled with humming, quiet conversations or peaceful silences- with someone. It’s nice. It’s not every day, after all she’s the navigator, not the cook and she did have other responsibilities. But those little moments together, at least once per week now, made him start to notice the difference. Nothing bad, he still loved to cook but there was no one peering over his shoulder to see what he’s doing or how he’s doing it (or asking for food- Luffy) or shooting him wonderfully smart remarks that brought a smile to his face or… well, he could go on all day.
They get along very well in those small moments together, when they’re not fighting for their lives or surrounded by the rest of the crew and it mades him happy. He got to see her truly relaxed, walls down, and their actions are almost domestic, it made his head spin slightly. He tried not to think too much about that though when he’s dealing with sharp objects or high temperatures.
But he does wonder what spurred this on, the thought lingered in the back of his head. Her offer came completely out of the blue and they’d already been sailing together for so long, so naturally he wondered why. She’d never offered any explanation and he hadn’t asked, because why would he? He was thrilled to have time alone with her and to pass on his knowledge to someone who was so interested.
She hadn’t helped him tonight though, not that she said she would, mind you. Sometimes she’d mention in passing that she’d be there but other times she’d just appear, and it kept him on his toes.
After dinner though, as she put her plate on the side (just before he could get it for her), she left him with a quick, “See you later” and was gone. Maybe he was becoming too predictable because whilst dinner may be finished with, she knew he would occasionally prep ingredients for the next day and apparently, he’d have her company for that tonight without even breathing a word of it.
He couldn’t wait.
.
.
.
As much as he’d like to wait for her, that’s never how this worked. Sometimes she’d come later, depending on whether she got held up with something, so he always started, and she’d join in.
Tonight, he went to the toilet after organising the potatoes he’d need for the next day but on his short trip he didn’t catch sight of her. That wasn’t necessarily bad, but it could mean she’d been distracted with something. It was foolish, because he knew how this worked and he shouldn’t expect this from her, but he was slightly disappointed. He shook his head; he was being ridiculous.
Despite giving himself a talking to in the toilet, it didn’t stop his eyes from drifting to see if the orange haired navigator was around. He was sorely tempted to knock on the library door to offer her a drink, just to confirm it but he stopped his feet from wandering off course.
So when he pushed open the door to the kitchen, he couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping to stare at the sight of Nami already sat down on one of the stools, knife carefully peeling the potato in her hands.
So, she’d beaten him here, huh?
He didn’t get the chance to compose himself before she was looking up and her lips curled upwards, like she could read his thoughts.
“You’re slacking, Sanji-kun. I thought you’d abandoned me to peel potatoes all by myself,” she teased.
He smiled then. “Never, Nami-san. The day that happens I’d forfeit my own hands.”
She smiled back at him and they settled into comfortable silence as he sat on the stool opposite her, taking the knife she’d left out for him and grabbing a potato. There’s something relaxing about doing this. The same sweeps of the knife almost sent him into a trance and all the stress of the day bleeds from him as his mind wandered. He’d never found potato peeling a chore. It anything, he looked forward to the monotony of it.
He’s not sure how long they peel in the quiet of the kitchen, but he almost jumped as Nami started to quietly talk.
“The first time I offered to help, it was because I missed Bell-mére,” she said it softly and it should sound sad, but she sounded soft instead. “She used to get me peeling the potatoes when I had nothing to do or thought I’d studied for too long.”
Ah. Well, that answered one of Sanji’s questions. There was something quite special about not having to ask after the reason but being told instead. She wasn’t always very forthcoming about her childhood and he’d never blamed her; he hadn’t been either. It’s why he'd never enquired.
“You should have seen the first time I’d ever done it; you’d have turned in your grave. There was almost nothing left by the time it’d been peeled and I’d somehow managed to cut myself multiple times,” she continued, chuckling to herself and dropped a perfectly peeled potato into the steel bucket before moving onto the next one. “She hadn’t been angry though. Well, she had at my cut fingers, but she stopped what she was doing to show me how to peel the carrots next.”
“I’m not surprised she wasn’t angry. I can’t imagine being angry with you now, let alone when you were younger.” It was the truth; it was no secret that he was soft around children and he’d seen first-hand a young Nami- she was adorable. He’d have stood no chance.
Still doesn’t.
“What about you?” She asked tentatively, eyes flickering up to his, unsure about whether this was a topic that she should broach. That she could breach.
Sanji smiled lightly and answered with ease, his voice filled with fondness at the memory. “My Mum thought the world of whatever I made. Some of it was truly horrible, Nami-san, I’d had no training whatsoever apart from some tatty books and the opinions of mice.”
“I find that hard to believe- about being a horrible cook, that is. Feeding mice I’m totally on board with.”
He picked up another potato before he responded, “It’s true! There were pieces of eggshells in it, it was overcooked, yet also undercooked because I hadn’t set the oven properly.” There was a firm smile on his face though, despite the description he was giving.
“I sense this didn’t deter her,” she guessed, pausing the potato peeling as she waited for his response.
He laughed. “Not at all. She still boasted to the nurses and handmaids whenever she had the chance and when I was leaving, she’d tell me to bring some more next time.”
“Ah. So that’s where you get your kind heart from.” She nodded to herself, like she’d solved a piece of her own puzzle.
He tried to keep his cool, but he couldn’t stop the blush that bloomed across his cheeks. Instead of responding to that, he decided to continue on.
“On the cruise ship I worked on before Baratie, I was passable at best, but definitely better than the rest of the chefs. The real wakeup call was when I got to Baratie. Zeff was horrified by the bad habits I’d picked up and spent all his time picking on me.”
“Like what?” At his blank look she clarified, “How did he pick on you?”
“Ragging on me in front of staff and customers. To be fair, I probably needed to be taken down a peg or too. I couldn’t be told back then. Oh, and that damned peg leg, hurt like hell,” he groaned, recalling the way Zeff had kicked him when he’d wanted to throw away fresh food. “The worst, though, was the nickname- little eggplant. That’ll haunt me to my dying day. He had no tact, the damn old man, and he’d call me it regardless of who was around. Even the regulars knew of it.”
“Fatherly love, then,” she summarised, an affectionate smile on her face.
Sanji laughed but nodded his head. “Unfortunately so.”
They continued on like that, trading stories back and forth from their childhood. Not always revolving around cooking in Nami’s case, but small things, like the time she’d convinced Nojiko to let her cut in a fringe and her sister had wound up with a mullet until it grew out or how Sanji had singed his hair trying to show off around the oven.
The pile of unpeeled potatoes started to dwindle as the bucket with peeled potatoes filled up. Sanji was so lost in conversation that he hadn’t noticed until they were both reaching in for the last potato and as they both looked at each other and then down to the last potato, he felt a competitive thrill go through him. He managed to snag the potato just before she could, but she didn’t look sour about it, so he took that as a sign to continue.
There were no more potatoes to peel but Nami still stayed sitting with him.
“So, what made you stick around?” It was ballsy and he was risking scaring her off, but it’s the one thing she hadn’t freely given during their conversation and he really wanted to know. To finally scratch the itch of curiosity.
Nami doesn’t respond straight away, she fiddled with the knife in her hands and it’s only for a second, but it felt like a lifetime to Sanji. He was holding his breath, waiting for some form of reaction from her.
She breathed out and finally looked at him. “I realised I enjoyed spending time with you.”
That’s not the explanation he’d expected. At all.
He has to fight down the urge to sputter off nonsense, it would not win him her favour. “I enjoy spending time with you too.”
“I didn’t doubt that for a second,” she said, her voice playful.
There’s a clever smile on her face and as much as he enjoyed that, he wanted her to know he was serious. He enjoyed her company.
“I’m serious,” he hummed, not looking up from the final potato he’s peeling, and he might need to long this one out, just to keep himself busy, so he didn’t chicken out. “I’ve always enjoyed cooking, but you’ve only made it better with your company. I’ve never had an assistant before, but I’m glad it was you.”
Nami’s flushed and she looked like she was struggling on how to respond. He wondered if he’d gone too far. It’s not how he’d planned this evening to go and it’s clearly not what she’d intended either. Yet here they were.
“Because I’m a woman or…” She trailed off and the silent ‘because it’s me’ was left in the air, but they both know it’s there.
She’s watching his face carefully and he didn't know what to make of that. It felt like he was balancing on a tight rope and any wrong answer would send him plummeting without a safety net to catch him. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable or put an end to their occasional kitchen activities together.
It almost sounded like a confession when he finally spoke, and he supposed it was.
“Because it’s you,” he said, his voice sure and face even.
The tension in the room increased tenfold and it felt like he needed to use one of the knifes to cut at it. It’s diffused instantly when Nami smiled softly at him and it sent his heart racing.
The next second she’s up on her feet, leaving their potato peeling bubble, like nothing happened. “We need to put these in water and into the fridge, right?”
“Yeah,” he replied breathlessly, stunned by the sudden shift. What had even just happened?
She walked into the kitchen, pulling out a much smaller container and filling it with water. She turned and raised an eyebrow as he’s still sitting there. He realised a beat later that she’s waiting for him to follow after her with the potatoes. Who was the professional chef here? He was on his feet in seconds before he could be prompted any further and they fell back into their normal rhythm, like nothing had happened.
… Had anything happened? He’s going to need some time alone to replay this scene and figure it out.
As soon as he’s done putting the potatoes away safely in the bottom of the fridge, ready for tomorrow, Nami’s done washing up the knives they’d used and then it’s just them, alone in the kitchen.
Nami’s leaning against the kitchen unit, arms folded and looking at him expectantly, because she doesn’t look like she’s leaving anytime soon. It made him nervous and he resisted the urge to play with his hands.
“Thank you for your help, Nami-san,” he said gratefully, and he really meant it. He hoped she knew that, that it came across.
“Anytime, Sanji-kun.” She pushed away from the counter to walk towards him and he’s frozen, watching her get closer and closer until he had to tilt his head down to keep looking at her face.
Her hands are on his tie and he realised after a beat that she’s adjusting it. He’d loosened it earlier, like he always did this late at night and she knew that too. He wondered if this was an excuse to touch him, but he squashed that thought down as quickly as it appeared. Maybe it just looked weird.
Her hands were warm and as she played with his tie, they brushed against his chest and it sent his heart into fits.
When she looked up at him, seemingly happy with the end result, she’s so close that he could count the fair freckles that littered her nose if he wanted to. And he really wanted to, but he’s distracted by the way her eyes are searching his. She looked expectant and he didn’t know what to do with that. Or what she wanted.
Nami lingered, her hands still clasping his tie lightly but resting against his chest idly and he’s stopped breathing because it’s all slightly overwhelming and he didn’t want the moment to break before he figured out what he’s supposed to be doing. The voice in the back of his head is screaming at him to ‘make a move, you idiot’, but he can’t bring himself to act on it. What if he’s wrong? What if he’s building this up to be something bigger than it actually was?
There’s another long moment where he can practically feel her breath on his face before she’s pulling away and he’s instantly regretting not acting on what the voice had told him because he felt like he’d just missed his moment.
The smirk on her face made him wonder if that’s not the case at all.
She released his tie and patted his chest before taking a step back. He missed the closeness already.
“Goodnight, Sanji,” she said lowly and then she’s turning around, walking towards the door.
The door swung closed behind her and for the first time in hours, he’s left alone in the kitchen. The scent of her perfume is still under his nose and the skin under his shirt burned from where she’d touched him.
He’s not sure what’s just happened. From the atmosphere to her new behaviour, he’s left reeling trying to catch up. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but this seemed to be a new development… towards something.
But right now, it’s late and his brains just turned to mush, so he’s not figuring it out now. He just hoped he could get his mind to settle down enough that he’d be able to actually sleep.
He flicked the kitchen light off behind him.