Chapter Text
~ "Friendship is not determined by how much time you spent together!” ~
They had finally reached Alabasta—the heat had been creeping over the ship for a few days now and today the humidity finally hit. Sanji could feel the damp spots of his shirt clinging to his skin. As soon as he was done Mending the swordsman, Sanji intended to take a cold shower before they had to head ashore for supplies.
While Sanji kept his gaze down, his sights wandered to the bandage on his left arm—and the ‘X’ hidden beneath. He trusted everyone that this was necessary, and was more than a little impressed that the swordsman had come up with such a clever double bluff. It wasn’t something he had expected from Zoro—and Sanji wondered if he’d underestimate the training obsessed moron.
There appeared to be more to Zoro than met the eye, even if they couldn’t stop getting on each other's nerves all the time…
Sanji’s back was feeling much better, but his ego… not so much.
Even after some petty fights – and a couple much more violent ones out on deck – Sanji still hadn’t recovered from the embarrassment of being carried by the damned swordsman. Zoro hadn’t teased him too much for it, but that hadn’t stopped Sanji from feeling condescended to. Every time Sanji thought he could let it go, the memory of Zoro’s arms around him had a shiver of indignation crawling up his spine.
As if it wasn’t horrifying enough to need help, Sanji could not abide being carried like a princess when that was his thing. He was the one that was supposed to scoop someone up – preferably a lady – to rescue them. And now, Sanji’s reputation was forever marred by having to be on the receiving end.
Zoro just had to ruin everything.
And be better than him.
Sanji clicked his tongue softly, then readjusted the needle in hand again.
Blood mixed with sweat to make the process particularly tiresome, and the swordsman clearly hadn't bathed in a few days. His musk was strong. And the humidity didn't help. The swordsman was visibly sweaty.
“You stink,” Sanji muttered.
Zoro’s face soured, “I bathed yesterday.”
“And we’re at a summer island—it should be every day.”
“Nothing is ever good enough for you, is it?”
And that struck a nerve. Sanji considered himself a fairly easy person to please, especially in regards to women, but Zoro acted like every request was the most burdensome task on the Grand Line.
There was little doubt that criticism from anybody other than the swordsman probably wouldn’t hit as hard, but Sanji was becoming more and more susceptible to Zoro’s jabs every day. He couldn’t explain it. And maybe it was because the longer they sailed together, the more they had all come to care for each other, but Sanji hated it.
The more he cared; the more he wanted to kick Zoro overboard every time he spoke.
“Nope,” Sanji popped the word venomously, then tugged the Thread a little tight to make Zoro wince, “I have notoriously high standards.”
Zoro snorted—and Sanji scowled.
“What?”
And Zoro just blinked.
Tugging the Thread taut, Sanji reiterated, “What?!”
“Oh…” Zoro mused. Strangely sincere, “You weren’t making a joke?”
“Why’d you think I would be?”
“I mean…” Zoro snorted. His brows lifted, like it was obvious, before finally chuckling with something close to pity, “Your standards are puddle deep. You’d fuck a pig as long as it had tits.”
Sanji snapped, “That's it!”
Dropping the needle and lunging, Sanji tackled Zoro completely off the bench; they tumbled across the galley floor in a mess of flailing limbs as Zoro tried to stop Sanji from grabbing his throat. The swordsman was stupidly strong. And it would’ve been easier if he wasn’t also covered in a substantial amount of sweat and blood.
“You fuckin’ piece of shi—”
Zoro’s hand smacked over Sanji’s face, “Fuck you, Cook!”
Sanji twisted to sink his teeth into the side of Zoro’s hand.
Zoro’s other fist quickly clipped him in the temple.
The door slammed open—and both boys froze.
Nami stared down with an exhausted glare.
“Are you guys fucking serious?” She sighed. “We need to be a united front for Vivi—could you put your petty shit aside for a day?”
Sanji bit back on pinning the blame on the instigating swordsman. Leaping off the ground and throwing his hand up in a salute, Sanji blubbered to the navigator, “Yes, Nami, my deepest apologies. It won’t happen again.”
She nodded, then glanced at Zoro.
The swordsman was still sprawled on the ground, but muttered, “Yeah, whatever.”
It was just for a moment, but Sanji could’ve sworn she sent Zoro a disappointed look—and the swordsman glanced away sharply. Sanji could hardly believe his own eyes, but Zoro actually looked guilty for a second. There was no way Zoro would ever be remorseful for picking on Sanji, but at the very least he seemed ashamed on behalf of causing Vivi unnecessary stress.
Apparently, the swordsman did care, at least for some people—and a conscience existed deep beneath that arrogant, callous exterior…
Which only served to irritate Sanji further, because Zoro appeared to have understanding for everyone on this ship except him. His frustration flared through him like fire. While Zoro continued to rub at his chest with an absent scowl.
Sanji swallowed his rage—and ignored Zoro.
Locating his discarded needle, Sanji tucked it away and left the half-Mended swordsman on the floor of the galley while following Nami back outside. He focused on getting their provisions ready for when they reached port.
~ “Once a pirate, always a pirate.” ~
It had been several hours of trudging through the desert—and Zoro couldn’t tell if they had even moved; the dunes all looked identical. And it was only by Vivi’s confident lead that any of the crew trusted they were headed in the right direction.
Zoro cast a glance back to make sure Chopper was still on the make-shift sleigh they had made. The poor reindeer was not suited for this weather—and Zoro could only imagine how overheated the kid was, “You still alive, Chopper?”
Chopper raised a hoof with a weak wave.
Zoro chuckled, then turned ahead.
Shifting the rope into his other hand, Zoro reached up to carefully swipe the line of sweat from his brow, then adjusted the cowl to sit a bit lower. The fabric absorbed the residual sweat. He then reached into his jacket and pulled out the water skin. Taking a big pull, Zoro was careful to ration it by swilling it around in his mouth, then letting it sit for a bit before swallowing tiny bits at a time.
It helped, but there was a residual thirst that wasn’t quelled; a phantom exhaustion that came echoing down Sanji’s Thread in waves. He cast a covert glance at the cook. Walking next to him in a steady, heavy stride as he kept his head down. The blue hood hid Sanji’s face from view.
Zoro swallowed the last of the water.
An uncomfortable wave of guilt swirled in Zoro’s chest as he knew he still hadn’t gotten up the courage to approach Sanji; Zoro was reminded of Kureha – and Nami – their admonishments over his behaviour towards the cook. He knew he needed to do better, but Sanji didn’t exactly make it easy. Every time they were alone – like this morning – Zoro was on the cusp of trying, then Sanji would say something to set them both off.
And…
It wasn’t like he exactly hated it—he liked fighting with the cook, even if it was childish. The bickering and wrestling felt far more real than words. And Zoro, reluctantly, had to admit that no one had pushed – and antagonized – him the same way Kuina had…
With a steady mantra telling him to try, Zoro extended his waterskin to the parched cook, “Oi, Cook.”
Anger flared as Sanji rounded on him with all the aggression of someone ready for a fight—and Zoro immediately felt guilty. He was beginning to realize his petty behaviour and antagonism was just causing a wider rift with every passing day. They were at each other's throats—and Zoro really hadn't made it easy.
Spotting the waterskin, Sanji’s anger fizzled into surprise as he blinked, then suspicion replaced it as Sanji cautiously reached out to take it. Zoro felt another blow at the damage he’d done to them. It hadn’t been intentional, but that didn’t mean he didn’t bear the responsibility…
Sanji uncorked it, sniffed it, then gave a raspy, “Thanks.”
Zoro nodded, then looked away.
A flicker of something rippled along Sanji’s Thread—and for once, it wasn’t bad. Zoro chanced a glance to spot Sanji looking at him with a grudging respect. He recorked the waterskin, then handed it back to Zoro. After tucking it away, Zoro returned both his hands behind himself to rope behind him.
Zoro offered a stiff smile.
Sanji stayed in step with him.
Glancing over his shoulder at Chopper – who was still passed out on the make-shift sleigh – then back to Zoro with a curious expression, “You’re kind of a pushover, huh?”
Zoro shot Sanji a dark look—and Sanji cracked.
Laughter – crisp and bright – cut through the miasma of humid heat like an ocean breeze—and Zoro felt it wash over him. He spent so long drowning in Sanji's anger, he never really noticed how nice his joy was, “Kidding. Shit. Don’t bite my head off.”
“You’re the one with the temper, Cook,” Zoro scoffed. “Not me.”
Sanji snorted, “You just bring it out of me.”
“That still sounds like a you problem.”
“Yeah, you are my problem.”
Their bickering continued, but not with the same vitriol from that morning; whether it was from the heat exhaustion, or the temporary truce provided by the water, they had found a stable middle ground. The day wore on. And eventually Usopp began to wane next; the sharpshooter lagging further and further behind the pack.
Sanji glanced at Zoro, and without a word held out his hand.
And Zoro understood the cook without even a flutter of their connection.
Handing Sanji the reins to the sled so he could continue hauling their overheated reindeer, Zoro gifted Sanji a small nod of respect before turning back to retrieve their meandering sharpshooter.
~ “But it was hopeless. No matter how hard I tried…” ~
The journey to Yuba was long, hot, and… emotional.
They had done their best to keep Vivi optimistic, but arriving to find the rebels had already departed had been a heavy blow. Even so, the princess had put on a brave face—and they decided to rest for the night before heading out to Katorea to stop the rebellion before any more lives would be lost.
As the women did what minimal washing up they could in a town without any water, the boys took over the sleeping area to begin setting up their beds for the night. Chopper and Usopp were running about, Luffy had disappeared to explore, and Zoro was already lounging on his sleeping pad.
Sanji was outside having a final smoke.
Thoroughly appreciating the desert's cool nights in contrast to the oppressive heat during the day, Sanji gazed up at the clear sky; the stars were particularly bright—and the moon provided more than enough light to illuminate the abandoned city. The desolate walls accentuated by sharp shadows. It made the whole place feel even more haunted than it already was.
As he nursed his smoke, Sanji glanced down at his Spindle, then dug his watch out of his pocket; he opened it with a flick of his thumb. He did some quick math from that morning to now—and figured he’d need to Mend the swordsman now rather than in the morning.
Zoro…
Sanji took a drag, then lifted his hand to scratch his brow with his thumb.
It felt like they had made some progress today, despite the fight that morning; Sanji found it hard to place, but there was just something about the swordsman that set him off—and every time he got set off, the swordsman was quick to follow. He would say they were terrible for each other if not for how much he was starting to enjoy it. Which was probably a scathing indictment of his own poor choices in friends if a fist fight was preferable to talking…
All of it was buried beneath layers of confusing feelings, resentment, and beliefs; he couldn’t tell where their budding friendship began and his genuine animosity for Zoro’s carelessness ended. He despised Zoro’s indifference, but respected his loyalty. And Sanji wasn’t sure what to do about it, so they always ended up fighting.
Sanji flicked the finished cigarette into the sand, then toed it out for good measure.
Making his way back inside, Sanji found Usopp and Chopper finally curled up in their beds while talking softly—and Zoro was nearby with his head propped beneath his hands. He was still awake, despite his propensity to nap, but Sanji wasn’t going to question it. As Sanji neared, he could see far more of Zoro’s shirt was stained with fresh blood than usual at this time of day due to their interruption…
At the rate the swordsman was splitting open again he’d be on his last few stitches by morning, and might even be the reason he was still awake now. The wound no doubt hurt, even if the swordsman was freakishly immune to pain.
Sanji stopped at the edge of the bedroll, but Zoro kept his eyes shut and didn’t acknowledge him.
It irked him in a way he couldn’t quite put into words, so just grunted instead, “Get up.”
Zoro cracked an eye, but didn’t move.
“I didn’t finish Mending you this morning,” Sanji gestured to Zoro, “Lemme do it so you can sleep.”
“I can sleep through anything,” the swordsman bragged with an arrogant drawl—and Sanji debated stepping on the boasting bastard.
“I’m trying to be nice,” Sanji scowled. “Can you just take the fuckin’ help without this tough guy crap?”
Zoro actually looked surprised.
Blinking once, the swordsman stared up at Sanji from the floor, before slowly nodding. His hands slipped down to the floor as he slowly rolled onto his feet, then he was standing and watching Sanji expectantly.
Sanji turned and headed off to find a more secluded room.
After a bit of wandering, they found a small dining area just off the main sleeping quarters; Zoro shouldered off his robes, then tugged off the white shirt that was now permanently stained by his perpetually returning blood. Sanji watched quietly, but didn’t comment. Zoro made his way over to a table, then hopped up to sit on it. And it became apparent where Sanji would have to stand.
Sanji swallowed down his embarrassment, then made his way over.
Stepping between Zoro’s legs, Sanji made a point of not thinking about the weird intimacy of the situation; for some reason this was so much more weird than when seated and knocking knees. He could feel the heat from Zoro’s thighs radiating onto his hips. And Zoro’s boots lightly pressed against his thighs.
As he dug out his tin to find the needle, Sanji kept his focus on his hands to distract from their proximity; he quickly snagged the end of Thread currently dangling from Zoro’s sternum, then threaded the needle. Sanji immediately went to work stitching the swordsman back up. Working quickly, but as gently as possible, while Zoro muffled his discomfort as best he could; the soft grunts of pain kept stubbornly trapped in his throat.
Knuckles white, Zoro’s hands clutched the edge of the table as Sanji got down to the hip—and Sanji quickly finished the last two stitches. He looped the Thread through the final stitch, then removed the needle to inspect the wound that was now temporarily healed. As Sanji glanced over the swordsman’s healed body, and spotted the noticeable way Zoro’s shoulders relaxed at the relief of being fully healed.
If only for a moment…
Sanji couldn’t imagine what it must be like for the swordsman—torn open day after day after day…
A never ending cycle of punishment, which seemed a fitting price for cheating death, even if Sanji didn’t think it was fair; he didn’t think a lot of this was fair. And it was irritating that Zoro couldn’t see how this clearly meant something—and maybe it was because he was tired, or sympathetic to Zoro’s plight, but Sanji didn’t have it in him to fight about it tonight…
Sanji tucked the needle away, and dropped the issue before it even started.
Putting the tin back in his pocket, Sanji moved to look for a sink, then paused. Sanji stared down at his bloody hands. The sudden realization that they were in the middle of a desert, in a town with absolutely no water, “I didn’t think this through.”
“Want me to lick it off?”
Sanji froze.
All of the words he knew, and Sanji even heard the question, but surely the swordsman hadn’t just said what Sanji had understood he had said. He rounded on Zoro slowly. His bloody hands still raised while staring at the other man in disbelief, “Come again?”
Zoro flicked a finger between Sanji’s hands—unfazed, “Want me to lick it off?”
Sanji made a face.
“What?” Zoro shrugged, “It’s my blood—I don’t care.”
Another beat passed as Sanji pictured how exactly the offer would go—and the image of Zoro licking his fingers had a wave of hot panic flooding his chest. The sensation of Zoro’s tongue between his fingers. And for a split second, Sanji couldn’t breath at the arousing thought.
There had to be something deeply wrong with him that even reacted to the notion, but Sanji quickly rationalized that it wasn’t Zoro, it was the thought of his tongue. Well, not his tongue, but a tongue.
Sanji stifled an embarrassed groan.
It had been a while since getting laid, and apparently his libidio was willing to punish him for that. Sanji immediately forced the thoughts out of his head with a furious shake.
Zoro rubbed at his chest absently—and looked at him a bit weird.
Sanji chose to ignore all of it.
“Ignoring that,” Sanji scoffed, “even if that wasn’t weird, I don’t need to trade your blood for your spit.”
Zoro shrugged again, “I dunno, figured one was less of an issue.”
“You’re so fuckin’ gross.”
“Whatever,” Zoro rolled his eyes, but proceeded to dig his water skin out of his jacket. He tugged off his bandana, then splashed a tiny amount on the fabric. Tossing it to Sanji with a, “There.”
Sanji caught it.
A little surprised, but not willing to waste the water – and the thoughtfulness – Sanji quickly found the wet spot and rubbed as much of the blood off his hands as he could. He couldn't get all of it, but enough so that the creases of his fingers no longer felt sticky. When the fabric was practically dry again, Sanji handed it back with a quiet, “Thanks.”
Zoro grunted.
While Zoro busied himself with tying his bandana back on his arm, Sanji attempted to wipe the rest of the blood off on the hem of his robes. The fabric was already torn and dirty from walking all day in the desert. And at this point he couldn’t make them any less salvageable. As Zoro finished, Sanji dropped the robes, and they shared a silent look at the sudden absence of any sort of distraction.
Zoro glanced around the room like he was just now realizing they weren’t in the sleeping quarters, “Which way we come from?”
Sanji stared for a bit.
The swordsman was sometimes concerning. And Sanji would like to chalk it up to the blood loss from the perpetually opening wound, but it really did seem to be a flaw of character.
Sanji pointed at the door, “There’s only one door.”
A beat passed as Zoro glanced over, then scowled and blushed, “Shut up!”
“C’mon,” Sanji sighed, “Follow me.”
Zoro looked like he was ready to decline out of spite, but wrestled his tongue in place.
It was another weird display of politeness from the swordsman, but Sanji could tell Zoro had been making some sort of effort throughout the day to be amiable. He’d even shared his water. Whether it was because of Nami’s scolding, or a change of heart, Sanji was able to appreciate the effort…
Sanji led Zoro back down the hall towards the sleeping quarters.
“Ugh,” Sanji bemoaned to fill the weird silence, “I have sand and sweat in places I’ve never had ‘em before.”
Zoro grunted in agreement.
Casting a glance over his shoulder, Sanji teased, “But I’m sure you’re used to being like this, eh?”
Zoro rolled his eyes, “Just because I don’t bathe everyday doesn’t mean I don’t clean myself.”
Sanji’s eyes narrowed, “How?”
“What the hell do ya mean ‘how’?”
“My bad, I forgot you only recently gained sentience,” Sanji waved a hand, “What’s the plant word for ‘explain’?”
Zoro’s brow twitched – and he looked ready to fight – but again refrained. He still scowled though while scoffing, “In the sink. Duh.”
“What are you doing to our sink?”
“I run the tap, I wash my face,” Zoro explained with an irritable growl, “then I splash some water on my pits and balls—give ‘em a scrub.”
They had reached the door to the sleeping quarters, but Sanji could feel something disconnect as he murmured. His hand planted on the handle while looking at Zoro in horror, “You wash your junk in the sink?”
“You don’t?”
“I wash my face in there!”
“Relax,” Zoro scoffed. “It’s not like I’m rubbing my balls on the faucet.”
“But you scrub your balls, then touch the tap,” Sanji countered.
“I guess, I don’t exactly pay attention to the order, Cook.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Sanji made a face while refraining from gagging, “I hate you.”
Zoro rolled his eyes.
As Sanji shoved the door open, he could hear the swordsman chuckling after him—and pointedly refrained from turning around and tackling the infuriating man. He only held off out of sheer self-preservation. There was no water—and the last thing he wanted was to work up a sweat in this heat.
What he really needed was the comforting embrace of a beautiful woman…
Making his way across the room, Sanji located Vivi’s sleeping pad, then flopped down to wait patiently for the princess to return…
~ “Since you’re going to die together you might as well be friends.” ~
“Hey you!!!” Luffy slammed up against the bars of the cage, “Fight… me…”
Usopp yelped, “Stop touching the bars!”
As Luffy slumped tiredly to the floor, their captor – the Warlord responsible for this whole mess – chuckled condescendingly from his spot at the nearby dining table, “You did well to make it this far, Straw Hat. I never thought I'd get to meet you in person…”
Luffy muttered something, but his face was smushed against the stone floor.
“And now that I have, I'm going to kill you,” the Warlord mused, “But the guest of honor hasn't arrived yet, I've sent my partner to fetch her.”
Nami clasped a hand over her mouth with a yelp, “Vivi!”
The Warlord glanced up at the ceiling, “Shouldn’t be long now…”
Visibly upset, Nami turned away to not give the Warlord the satisfaction, but Zoro continued to watch carefully for any sign of movement. The Warlord did appear true to his word. He lazily enjoyed a glass of wine while lounging in the ostentatious chair—and was practically ignoring them.
Luffy still lay on the floor recovering from touching the Seastone bars of the cage while Usopp waved a hand uselessly in front of his face to attempt to fan him.
While they all waited, Zoro allowed himself a moment of embarrassed self-reprimand; he still couldn’t believe he’d let Luffy lead them – him – into this stupid trap. There was a point where following the rubber pirate was going to get him killed…
Although, Zoro supposed that had already happened…
Zoro scoffed softly to himself, then shut his eyes.
Listening to the casual thrum of Sanji through their connection, Zoro could tell the cook was scheming—and was on the move. He had a plan, and was putting it in motion. He was also still outside, judging from the slight heat exhaustion still lingering.
Zoro was getting better at understanding the more convoluted feelings that he could feel from the cook. And the shift from worry, to an exhilarated confidence, was all the reassurance Zoro needed to know Sanji was going to save them all.
As Zoro opened his eyes, he couldn’t help a small chuckle—as humiliating as it was needing to be rescued, Zoro appreciated how reliable Sanji was when the time came. And he had to admit, that despite Sanji’s foolish, flirtatious personality, the cook’s competence was one of his more endearing qualities.
Enough to maybe – kinda – make Zoro start to like him a bit…
“What’s so funny?”
Glancing over at Nami – she didn’t seem to appreciate the laughter given the situation – Zoro just muttered, “Don’t worry—the cook is coming.”
Nami scoffed, “How do you know that?”
A beat passed between them, then Zoro lifted his shoulder in a lazy shrug—and lied, “Because you’re here—he’d never let anything happen to you.”
Nami looked skeptical, but turned back to the cage.
Arms tightening a fraction, Zoro looked away while hoping the dismissive excuse was enough to keep her from getting suspicious. He supposed he should be more careful with his information about the cook. It was a big enough issue that he felt it at all, let alone that he hadn’t told him yet.
It wasn’t a conversation he relished the thought of—and debated if he’d even ever tell him. The fact of the matter was they could barely talk about the Mending without jumping down each other’s throats. If Sanji knew that Zoro had a window into his emotions, the betrayal alone would be catastrophic—and Sanji would likely never allow himself to relax ever again…
As Zoro turned away from the cage, he found the Marine seated on the bench nearby looking at him. And when Zoro acknowledged him, he took it as an opportunity to speak, “Your partner?”
Zoro arched a brow.
A beat of silence passed between them, until the Marine gestured to Sanji’s Thread—and Zoro suddenly understood what he was implying. He never quite got used to people making the mistake. Even if it was the obvious conclusion for most people, Zoro still felt embarrassed at the implication of any sort of intimacy with the annoying cook.
Zoro made a face, “No. Just a crew member.”
Confusion pinched the Marine’s face as he looked at the Thread, then began to put the pieces together with a dawning realization, “You were at Loguetown,” the Marine finally confirmed. “My second ran into you.”
Zoro twitched.
That woman that looked like Kuina…
“Yeah,” Zoro grunted. “What of it?”
“You’re still alive.”
Refusing to react to the accusation – illegal or not – Zoro stared the Devil Fruit user down while drawling dryly, “Marine’s best and brightest you are.”
Unphased by the insult, the Marine bit back, “How long has that man been Mending you?”
“Does it matter?”
The Marine tutted softly, “Pirates.”
Zoro rolled his eyes.
Turning his back on the Marine, Zoro pointedly ended the conversation before it could go any further; he was already struggling to deal with the actual ramifications of being perpetually kept alive, he didn’t need to be lectured on the legality of it. Although, now that he was in it, the fact the World Government had banned it made a lot more sense.
Reaching down to his swords, Zoro pulled them free of the holster then made his way over to the bench on the far side of the cage from the Marine. He leaned the swords against the wall, then sat. Bracing his hands behind his head, Zoro shut his eyes and settled into a light nap.
Allowing the calm, assured confidence of the cook to rock him to sleep…
~ “This man is living proof of grudging respect between enemies!” ~
“Despite his best efforts to appeal to my empathy by turning into my crewmates, I knew better than to fall for such cheap tactics,” Sanji placed a dramatic hand to his breast. “Nothing could ever truly replicate my wonderful—”
Midway into his heroic retelling of his own battle to help save the Kingdom of Alabasta, Sanji balked as one of the chambermaids faces grew pale in horror as she looked at something over Sanji’s shoulder.
Sanji glanced over, only to deflate at the interruption.
Zoro was standing in the doorway.
A healthy flush from the Alabastian sun was present on his face – as well as a thick layer of sweat – which partially accounted for the swordsman’s heavy breathing. The other reason was the massive amount of blood staining his bandages. It was well past their typical Mending time of the day.
“Oh my—” one of the women gasped.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Sanji reassured with a placating hand. “Believe it or not, this is normal for him.”
Zoro grumbled something tiredly.
With a flirtatious flick of his hand, Sanji excused himself, “I’ll see you fine ladies later.” then rounded on Zoro with a much less excited expression, “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
They made their way down the expansive halls of the royal mansion; Zoro moved a little slowly, but Sanji knew better than to offer any help. The swordsman occasionally paused to brace on the wall to catch his breath. And Sanji eased his pace to not totally torture the stubborn idiot.
“Training?” Sanji finally broke the silence.
“Hm,” Zoro confirmed softly.
Returning to the secluded rooms Vivi – and her father – had supplied for the crew while they waited for Luffy to wake up, Sanji kicked a chair towards the pale swordsman, then moved to grab a second for himself. Zoro slumped heavily into it with his legs sprawled open in a boorish manner and waited with weary breaths. Sanji dragged a spare chair over—and they proceeded with their daily ritual of knocking knees irritably before settling on a position that neither was fond of, but would suffice.
As Sanji dug out his tin to locate his needle, Zoro stiffly tore his bandages off to reveal the reopened wound from the Warlord. A permanent reminder of his brazen overconfidence and foolish dream…
Sanji set to work quickly.
Keeping his gaze on Zoro’s chest, Sanji couldn’t help notice the myriad of other wounds littering the swordsman’s body from the coup a few days ago. The Devil Fruit user Zoro had fought had sliced him up a lot. As important as it was to stitch up Zoro’s main wound, Sanji could see the real stitches of others were tearing; some reopening and others aggravated.
Zoro wasn’t allowing his body to heal on its own at all.
Sanji muttered, “You’ll have to find Chopper after this and get yourself rebandaged.”
“It’s fine; they were restrictive anyway,” Zoro grunted—a flicker of discomfort contorting his face, “I wanna get some more training in while Luffy’s recovering.”
“You don’t have to train every minute of every day,” Sanji murmured. “You can rest once in a while.”
A beat passed as Zoro sat with the words, and Sanji could feel Zoro tense under his hands—Sanji was breaking his own rule. The swordsman remained quiet for a while. And just when Sanji thought he might ignore him, Zoro spoke—voice was pointed and unwavering, “Every minute I’m not getting stronger is a minute I take from you.”
Sanji’s hands faltered.
Heart pounding in his chest rapidly at the poignantly blunt reality, Sanji felt the deafening rush of blood to his ears. His fingers felt deceptively cold despite the hot blood currently staining them. With a jilted swallow, Sanji cleared his hearing, but refused to look up from Zoro’s chest.
His voice was a whisper when he murmured, “I thought we agreed not to mention it.”
“You brought it up.”
Sanji’s eyes fell shut guiltily.
Every time Sanji thought he could just let it go something had him opening his mouth and putting them both back into this situation. He was the one that demanded they leave this whole thing alone, but time and again he couldn’t keep to the rule. It felt impossible to pretend this insane bargain wasn’t happening, even if Sanji wanted nothing more than that…
It felt naive in hindsight to believe they could do this day in and day out, but never talk about it—Sanji realized now it was a foolish request. He’d thought Zoro was someone he wasn’t. And hadn’t considered just how much it would take to keep someone alive who had no faith…
Sanji’s eyes flicked open.
With a heavy sigh, Zoro’s chest flexed under Sanji’s hands to drive the point home. The final part of his still open would pursing open to allow another healthy burp of blood to come leaking out and trailing down Zoro’s chest to follow the previously drying rivulets. It was a sight Sanji was getting incredibly used to.
Sanji’s gaze finally lifted—cool, but livid.
Upon meeting Zoro’s gaze, Sanji found a just as hopelessly stubborn and irritatingly resolute glare as he would have expected to find on himself had he looked in a mirror. It infuriated him. Hands trembling for only a moment – whether it was rage, or something more, he didn’t know – but got it under control a second later with a hard grip and punishing tug on the Thread.
Zoro hissed.
Body arching with the pull of Thread as the knot cinched tighter around the puckered flesh and began to stretch with an unpleasant elasticity that was reminiscent of Luffy. Sanji caught himself before the Thread could slice through the skin. Lowering it just enough to allow Zoro to slump back into the chair, but still tense to keep the swordsman’s attention squarely on him.
“I’m not keeping you alive for you not to live.”
“I’m living exactly as I would with or without your help,” Zoro murmured with a chilling intensity even under the Alabastian sun. “Or is the way I live not the right way?”
Sanji matched it with a fiery glare.
No matter how they tried to deal with this – whether avoiding it or confronting it – they ended up back here. Sanji had no clue what else he could do to get it across to the swordsman; and Zoro didn’t appear intent on backing down either. They glared each other down for a long moment, and a part of Sanji wondered if they were just finally going to have it out.
And then the moment passed.
“Fuck it,” Sanji muttered. “Do whatever you want.”
“I do.”
Sanji bit his tongue.
Turning back to his hands, Sanji refused to continue the conversation; his grip a bit more aggressive than intended, but as with everything Zoro endured it without complaint. Sanji didn’t know what he wanted, or expected, from the swordsman. If Zoro wanted to work himself to the bone until the day he died then it wasn’t any of his business.
As Sanji finished stitching up Zoro’s chest, he pushed himself up and headed out of the sleeping quarters to find somewhere to wash up but paused at the door to mutter a – “Don’t strain yourself.” over his shoulder – before leaving.
Zoro murmured something in response, but Sanji was already gone.
~ “They’ve gone to sea, because that’s where pirates belong.” ~
Laying in his hammock – the gentle sway of Merry on evening waters – Zoro stared up at the ceiling while listening to the thrum of Sanji through their connection. The cook was becoming as constant as the wind and the waves. An unyielding part of his life that filled the cracks when there was nothing else to distract him.
Sanji’s emotions were loud.
Always, but they’d been loud ever since their fight in Alabasta, especially since they’d departed and left Vivi behind; a listless sort of sadness hovering through their connection. And not even that shady archeologist joining the crew had managed to assuage his melancholy.
After a few more minutes of struggling to sleep, Zoro threw aside his blanket and hopped out of his hammock as softly as possible without waking the rest of the crew. He pulled on his boots with a haphazard lace, then made his way topside. The evening was clear and cool, but still heavily humid from Alabasta’s climate. And a faint light from the galley cut through the night.
Zoro found Sanji playing cards.
Seated at the galley table – the deck laid out in a game for one – Sanji tapped the table idly while staring down at it. His cigarette loose between lips, the ashtray nearby piled high with the remnants of others. Zoro steeled himself, then pulled open the door. Before even stepping fully inside, Sanji grumbled, “No booze—get out.”
Brow twitching, Zoro tried and failed to remain calm—the sneer perhaps a little scathing, “Still pouting about Vivi?”
“Of course,” Sanji snarled; Thread flaring with righteous fury, “You heartless bastard.”
Zoro rolled his eyes.
A long, irritable silence hung between them, but for all Sanji’s outward bravado, Zoro could tell that his heart wasn’t really in it. He was being performative at best. And a crabby brat at worst…
Taking a step towards reconciliation, Zoro moved first – ignoring Sanji’s tensed shoulders – and fell onto the bench across the table from the cook. He extended a hand for the cards, and after momentary surprise, Sanji gathered them up and offered them. Without a word, Zoro shuffled them, then dealt them each a hand.
They played a game in near complete silence. Occasionally, breaking it to announce their move, but otherwise letting the creaking of the ship fill the din. Sanji lost, but Zoro didn’t say anything. Another game started without animosity, then another. As they finished a third game, Zoro finally left the cards pooled between them.
Zoro threaded his hands in front of him while Sanji lit up another cigarette. He waited for Sanji to exhale, and then spoke, “Look, I’m…” Zoro struggled with the vulnerability of the moment. “I’m not good with words.”
“No shit.”
Zoro flexed his hands.
Fighting to stay calm despite wanting to just reach out and deck the cook out of his seat, Zoro let out a slow exhale; maintaining his cool while managing not just his own irritation, but Sanji’s as well, was a lesson in patience. However, it was good training…
After a beat, Zoro glanced up, “I don’t want you to think me ungrateful.”
Sanji took a puff, “How should I then?”
Zoro chewed on his convictions.
“I made my peace with death a long time ago,” Zoro murmured. Eyes straying to the white sword resting against the galley table, “It’s a fickle, pointless thing.”
Sanji was cautiously quiet.
“Whether I die in the East Blue, or on the Grand Line, it doesn’t matter; if it did, then I would’ve never gone to sea in the first place.” Zoro paused before continuing, “I don’t take my life for granted, but people die. And there’s no real meaning to that.”
To Sanji’s credit, the cook ruminated on the words rather than simply reacting, but Zoro could feel the conflicted emotions trembling through their connection. He took a long drag on his smoke, then flicked the Thread resting on the table between them, “You don’t think this has meaning?”
“Would it matter if it did?”
“Wouldn't it?” Sanji pressed, “Wouldn't it be reassuring to know that this was meant to happen?”
“It wouldn’t change who I am,” Zoro equivocated.
And Sanji finally faltered.
A crack in the wall between Sanji’s faith and Zoro’s agnosticism…
“If you want to believe in gods, or destiny, then fine, but keep me out of it. I don’t care if there’s a grand plan—or not. Either I’m playing by my own rules, or I have no free will. Knowing makes no difference, so I don't care.”
“So, to you,” Sanji clarified, “it doesn’t matter whether I was meant to save you or it was my choice?”
“No,” And Zoro could feel the hurt resonate through their connection. He struggled between honesty and mercy. Attempting a reassuring smile that felt foreign on his face, “but I’m grateful either way.”
A weird, unfamiliar flutter skipped through their connection—and Sanji’s face softened a fraction at the confession. He didn’t look happy, but felt appeased. Like, maybe, they were starting to understand each other…
Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Sanji heaved a sigh, then reached out to snuff the dwindling cigarette into the pile of ashes. He dug out another. Speaking around it – the cigarette bobbing – while pausing between words to light it, “You have absolutely no whimsy, you know that?”
Zoro gave a coy shrug.
Sanji shook out the match, then flicked it into the ashtray.
After a heady drag, Sanji plucked it free to thrust it at Zoro with a swirling gesture, “Not the least bit curious about any of this crap?”
Zoro shook his head.
“Jeez,” Sanji tutted.
However, despite Sanji’s disdain, Zoro was beginning to understand the other; the cook didn't even know what he believed, no more a religious man than Zoro, but Sanji sought meaning where Zoro didn't. And that was what they could not reconcile.
Zoro dipped his head in apology, “If you wanted to save someone seeking redemption, or to prove your faith, then you chose the wrong man.”
“You’re right…” Sanji admitted. A wry smile quirking his lips, “I think I did…” Sanji took a languid drag before scoffing, “I guess that’s what I get for choosing to Mend somebody with a death wish.”
Zoro’s shoulders lifted in a quiet chuckle.
There was no denying that, so the least Zoro could do was offer Sanji an out to this pointless bargain.
“So…” Zoro alluded, soft and resolute. “You want to end this then?”
Sanji blinked, then choked.
Hacking around the smoke he’d forgotten to exhale, Sanji recovered after a few hard coughs, but his eyes were still watery when he rounded on Zoro, “Are you kidding me?!”
Zoro arched a brow.
“It’s a little too late for that,” Sanji snarled. “Don’t ya think?”
“It’s never too late,” Zoro argued easily. He added a lazy shrug for good measure; the one he knew was flippant enough that it always managed to irk Sanji, “And if you want to believe you have a choice in the matter, then now’s the time to prove it.”
Eyes still watering, Sanji stared with his mouth still slack while taking in Zoro’s gambit, before recovering and immediately growling, “No, fuck that. You’re stuck with us, you dumb motherfucker. And I’d like to think that’s my choice.”
And Zoro had to admit, that while he might not agree with Sanji that any of this fate stuff mattered, he kind of liked how fiery the cook got when he cared—Zoro smirked, “Fine.”
“Fine.”
A playful aggression washing through Sanji’s Thread had Zoro cracking a smile, “Jackass.”
“Shithead,” Sanji spat, but couldn’t force his typical anger either. Something dramatically had shifted, and Zoro was loath to admit that Nami’s pestering had proven correct—and they just needed to try.
With a risible shake of his head, Sanji rubbed his thumb against his lower lip, “We’re never going to see eye to eye on this, are we?”
“If I agree with you on that, does it not count?”
“Fuck off,” Sanji chuckled, then tapped his cigarette over the ashtray. “Deal another hand.”
Zoro obeyed.
Scooping up the pile and straightening them out, Zoro began to lazily shuffle them, before glancing back up at Sanji. And Zoro pressed, “But…”
“Oh, here we go…”
“Like what we agreed on Drum,” Zoro restated firmly. “If it’s going to run out, then let it; don’t risk yourself for me.”
“But if—” Sanji clearly wanted to argue, but cut himself short. “Fine, whatever. It's your life.”
Zoro arched a brow.
“You—” Sanji balked. Finger extended readily to admonish Zoro, but caught in the irony of his own words—and after several seconds conceded with a flippant wave, “Touche.”
Zoro grinned.
And Sanji rolled his eyes.
As Zoro began dealing the cards for the next round, Sanji nursed his cigarette with a relaxed mein; a proper comradery falling between the two for the first time…
TBC…