Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a dark void, existed three sisters each shrouded in bulky cloaks of rich velvet—hoods drawn and faces hidden in shadow. They worked studiously. Their monotonous and repetitive labor begat a discordant symphony of creation.

First, and youngest, was the spinner—perched atop a stool with a drop spindle in hand. An endless accumulation of raw time beside her; it extended high above, and deep within, the cavern before being lost to the infinity of black. As fluffy as unprocessed wool and as colorful as a cloud caught before the sun—white, but with gradients of shadow flickering throughout.

Fingers pinching the Thread she was currently making, she worked the spindle with little bobs of her wrist to keep the spinning motion in a practiced rhythm. Her other hand fed the unrefined time with the same precision. As the fibers were spun into the Thread, they began to gain color – this one a vibrant green – as the timeline of the mortal took shape.

Next to her were thousands of spools housing completed Threads awaiting their assigned Spindle. Each one flickering with its own vibrant array of color; some danced with the intensity of a raging fire, and others had a rich, muted glow of moonlight through a desolate forest. Every single one, unique and beautiful.

Seated across the domain from the youngest was the artificer, who spent her time carefully crafting Spindles from the very ether surrounding them—souls came from nothing, and returned to it just the same. It was her task to make them. Hands rotating over the substance as she imbued it with all the intricacies, imperfections, and wonder of existence.

Beside her – like her sister – was the collection of work she had already finished—a mound of Spindles. It rose up into the dark canopy above; the peak lost to the shadows. Millions upon millions of gorgeously unique souls. Each one awaiting a Thread – a timeline – so that their life could begin.

Third, final, and eldest sister stood before a basin of seamless obsidian; water within kissed the edge, but never spilled over. Her task was to assign life, but also end it—her work never ceasing.

Fingers dancing across the water – moving with an otherworldly efficiency – she plucked different colored strings from the basin with all the swiftness and grace of an angelic harpist. At any given moment she had at least seven Threads hooked by her nails at once – pulling, cutting, killing – her movements executed with a masterful fluidity—expertise not to be confused for apathy.

This cycle of the three continued perpetually, until a startling clunk rang throughout the cosmic domain – echoing high and far – as the youngest’s working spindle hit the ground and skittered across the obsidian floor before coming to a stop.

Everything froze.

All three sisters collectively halted in their duties and turned to the spindle currently laying on the floor—the breaking of the time on it not by any of their hands. Threads didn’t just snap – they were as ineffaceable as time itself – their lengths were preselected, their deaths predetermined. This marked an intervention by something much more divine than them.

In unison, they abandoned their tasks to make their way to the spindle; youngest dropping the raw time still in hand, the second leaving her half-finished Spindle floating in the air, and eldest releasing her Threads to allow them to sink back into the water without disturbing the surface. They all arrived at the same time to surround the drop spindle still on the floor.

Youngest sister stooping to retrieve her working spindle, she held it aloft for the other Fates to inspect—each marveling at the sight they were met with. End of the Thread flared out dramatically so that the thousands of fibers branched off.

Free will—potential incarnate.

“Again?” the youngest murmured while gazing down—indifferent, “These never go well.”

Silent as shadow, the eldest turned towards the mountain of souls; prompting the second sister to drift lazily across the room until she stopped before her hoard. A Thread of indefinite possibilities required a good soul to properly flourish. One that would test its limits…

“Pick an entertaining one this time,” the youngest jeered.

Extending a sinewy hand from the confines of her ostentatious cloak, the second Fate waved it over the collection with slow, patient movements waiting for the right soul to call out. Her fingers twitched minutely—the large cuff of her sleeve displacing a few of the Spindles and sending them tumbling to the floor; clattering as they fell.

Her hand suddenly froze—selection made.

Maintaining her leisurely pace - time not an issue here - she delicately picked up and set aside Spindle after Spindle to work her way through the pile. She was languid, but assiduous in her task. Chipping away at the immeasurable heap until the one she desired was eventually revealed; plucking it free and holding it aloft with a reverence.

It glinted in the dim light. Forged of hardened steel that was ice cold to the touch—its lines were aggressively angular, but with a seamless, artistic configuration that belied its harsh impression. This would be a person full of hidden vicissitudes.

Raising her hand with a lazy flick – sleeve slumping down to expose an ancient, pale arm – she curled her fingers to summon the green Thread off the youngest's spindle. It jerked to life upon being summoned. Twisting through the still air – tumbling through an non-existent breeze – until it reached the Fate’s fingers and she grabbed the end with a deceptively strong grip.

With practiced hands, the second sister took the Thread and wound it tightly to the Spindle of harsh steel – round and round – until there was nothing left. She left the tuft at the end awry. Making her way back at the same ethereal saunter that made her appear as though she were floating, rather than walking.

Stopping before her sisters, the second Fate extended the Spindle to the eldest.

“We know how it works out,” the youngest sighed. “They never succeed.”

Inspecting the frayed end of the Thread with sharp eyes, the eldest watched the millions of different destinies currently branching off from the single timeline. She could affect none of them. Some ended tragically, others fulfilled, but needless to say only one of them ended the way that they wanted—the odds of this soul succeeding were slim.

It would take a stubborn recklessness that bordered on stupidity…

Finally tearing her omnipotent eyes away from the Thread, the eldest turned to her sisters and spoke, “Then let’s give him a hand.”

She turned expectantly to the second Fate.

With a slow nod the second sister once more repeated her methodical selection process before returning with a Spindle of breathtaking opalescence—shimmering like a seashell. Wrapped around it was a dazzling blue Thread that contained all the colors of the ocean within its strands. It was handed off to the eldest.

Pinching the end of the Thread between her fingers, the eldest sister twisted it sharply before bringing it up and affixing the end to the hook at the top. Her intentions imbued within—destiny set. Almost contrite for what they were condemning the human to endure, but resolute in their decision.

“Oh,” the youngest intoned softly as she realized her sister's intentions, “this’ll be fun to watch.”

In a swirl of her heavy cloak, the eldest moved to the pool with both Spindle’s in hand and swiped her fingers delicately across its surface—a cascade of ripples revealed the image of a newborn child reflected in its depths. A proud mother holding the bundle. Eccentric green hair dusting the baby’s head an eerie likeness to the Thread currently glowing on the steel Spindle...

She then extended, and dropped it.

Not even a ripple displaced the surface as the Spindle hit the water, slipping within seamlessly and drifting down to the world below. She watched unblinkingly, before being joined by her sisters. Cloaks swirling about them in a windless flurry before falling unnaturally still once more.

They stood together until the Spindle appeared around the child’s neck; its Thread glowed a radiant green.

Face twisting with sudden consciousness – a stellar frown immediately indenting its brow – the baby’s eyes promptly fluttered open to take in its first impression of the word. A strong wail followed soon after. Its impressive howling interrupted with the occasional hiccup as the child got accustomed to the sensation of breathing.

Radiant smiles lit up the parents' faces.

Cradling his wife in a trembling hug, the father placed a hand to his son’s head proudly—murmuring soft nothings to both wife and child. The Fates watched the scene unmoving. Allowing it to play out before the eldest disturbed the image with another swipe across the water, the ripples changed the sight within to show a mother holding her newborn sons.

“We’ll need three more,” she murmured to her sisters, but this one – eyes flicking to Spindle in her hand – before back down at the child with golden hair and a heart of kindness. “but this’ll be for him.”

After procuring three more Spindles by the same lengthy process, they dropped three of the four into the pool and watched as they all sparked to life around the newborns necks. Each child slowly opened their eyes, but for the smallest boy that remained still and lifeless—still awaiting his soul.

Bringing it to her lips, she gave the pearlescent Spindle a quick peck before extending it over the water. Her gaze flicked playfully to her sisters. Explaining with a smile as she dropped it, “For good luck.”

Chapter Text

~ “If you need a cook, I know where to find one—but whether he’ll join up with you is another matter.” ~

Bolting upright in bed, Sanji woke with an abrupt gasp that broke the tranquil silence—clutching his blankets in a rigid grip. His body trembled. Sweat dotted his brow despite the early morning chill lingering throughout the room; the potency of his dream creating a debilitating concoction of adrenaline and shock that had him frozen in place.

Mind plagued by weird visions of a black blade, an unholy scream, and the rancid tang of exsanguination… but already the intensity was deteriorating—growing more and more distant until nothing really remained.

Just a familiar sensation… and a foreboding chill.

Sanji swallowed—a horrible, tacky sensation.

Forcing his hands to release the linens and allowing them to fall limp into his lap, Sanji's eyes fell shut while working through his panic. His inhales were as rapid as his heartbeat. Breaths out of beat to the fluttering in his chest, it took Sanji several minutes until both eased to something resembling normalcy; everything was soon replaced by the calming sounds of the ocean’s subtle waves crashing against the hull of the ship.

His eyes finally flicked open.

Casting a glance outside to the calm waters surrounding the ocean-faring restaurant, Sanji could tell by the faint light that it was about an hour before he typically woke. A clear sky promised warm weather. Already the encroaching sunrise was beginning to stain the mellow periwinkle along the unmarked horizon into an enchanting coral. And yet, for all the color of the world outside, his room sat in gradients of grays…

Except for his chest—that perpetual, sapphirine glow that had been with him from his birth shone bright as ever.

Eyes flicking to the reassuring light that was nestled comfortably within the folds of his nightshirt; a radiant Spindle that was as remarkably smooth and iridescently colorful as the ocean’s most perfect pearl—adorned with a Thread of the purest blue.

Every Spindle was a gorgeously unique representation of the soul; hewn of an ethereal material that was emblematic of the person that bore it. Sanji's hung from his neck – just as everyone’s did – by an invisible force that truly solidified the hallowed nature of the item. Impossible to remove – whether by the owner, or another – and just as indestructible; truly the undeniable mark of a person's existence.

Thin fingers reached down to pluck the opalescent Spindle from off his own chest—his pale skin illuminated in an ethereal blue glow from his Thread wrapped securely around it. He rarely paid the sacrosanct item much mind, but something about his dream left him feeling drawn to it. Staring down at the physical representation of his soul with a thoughtful frown.

Sanji struggled not to scoff at his behavior.

Despite his reluctance to give credence to silly superstitions, it wasn't delusional to think there was a more omnipotent power at play. These Spindles were irrefutable proof that something existed beyond this life, but that only spawned more questions than answers—none of which he would ever get. Least of all by sitting here.

A dream was only a dream—dwelling on it wouldn’t change a thing and he knew that better than anyone…

Releasing his Spindle with a lazy flick, Sanji dropped it back to his chest – indiscernible despite its weight – then reached up to run a hand through his messy hair. He absently worked out some of the tangles with his fingers. Allowing the methodical motions to calm his anxieties before getting ready to start the day.

With a final tug to the curls at his nape, Sanji shook off the lingering unease, tossed aside his bedding, and clamored out of bed. His bare feet thudding softly on the floorboards. Toes wiggling to adjust to the cold before standing and arching with a languid stretch that had his sleep-bundled clothes unfolding and falling much more flatteringly about his lithe frame.

A tender pounding in his forehead announced the beginnings of withdrawal—his morning ritual calling to him like a wailing siren. He dropped his arms out of the stretch with a happy sigh. Shuffling over to his nightstand in search of several already pre-rolled cigarettes stacked neatly in waiting.

Snagging one – as well as his lighter – skillfully in hand, Sanji hooked open the window to allow the morning sea breeze to come dancing in; it ruffled his nightshirt and fluffed his bedridden hair. Wrapping around him with a comforting twist as it pulled the last vestiges of his nightmare away.

With a secure hold to the frame, Sanji heaved himself up to rest on the sill and nestle a shoulder comfortably against the jamb. He propped a foot in front of him as the other hung outside the window. Kicking it in an absent pattern devoid of rhythm or purpose.

Placing the cigarette between his lips while carefully shielding it with a hand, Sanji flicked his lighter a few times; wind doing its best to stump him, but he managed to get it on the third try. Success marked by the crackling of paper and tobacco, followed closely by a happy sigh as Sanji exhaled his first drag of the day—he tossed the lighter inside for it to land on his bedding.

Gaze turning to the ocean currently warming with the rising sun – its timid waves tinged with supple pinks – Sanji felt that incessant yearning tugging at his heart. His childhood calling. A foolish dream that he'd never stopped believing in even though he'd given up on chasing after it; mornings like these made him rethink that decision, but his melancholy never lasted for long. 

Thoughts of this restaurant always drew him back in with memories full of warmth, contentment, and an unconditional love he'd never known since the passing of his mother. A life he'd never thought he'd have—or deserved.

A sudden breeze twisted across the ship.

Heavy fluttering of the flag above brought back a sudden jarring memory of a heavy cloak swirling with the arc of an obsidian blade—its weight an unsettling force in his mind. His body jerked with a visceral intensity. Breathing once again coming up strained at the nauseous feeling it cast over him.

Sanji’s eyes flicked down once, before swiftly shooting back up—forcing out a harsh breath.

“Let it go,” Sanji murmured to himself—lips brushing against his cigarette chastely, “it was just a dream.”

Several more steady sighs helped to bolster his resolve before swinging his legs back inside and reaching out to grind the remnants of his cigarette in the ashtray. His headache was dealt with, but the only way to disperse this unease was to keep himself busy. Deciding to go down early and get a head start on meal prep before the other cooks arrived and got in his way.

Snagging the collar of his shirt and pulling it over his head, Sanji wrestled it the rest of the way off while walking blindly over to his modest closet. Nightshirt tossed aside as he threw open the doors to reveal several shirts and suits hung carefully within. All of them freshly pressed and stored so that not a single unseemly wrinkle would form—his ties, shoes, and belts were also stored just as pragmatically.

Fingers dancing along the selection of button-ups – pristinely ironed – his hand pausing on a blue one that was the same enchanting hue as his Thread. Sanji wavered before selecting the auspicious shirt and pulling it on with a casual finesse from having done it thousands of times before. He threaded each button with a practiced flick of his fingers. Cuffs swiftly followed with incomparable ease.

Next was a suit – a few to choose from – of which he selected a double-breasted; a bit formal, but most of the staff had jumped ship the day before so he needed something presentable for the floor. Especially on a gorgeous day like this—they were bound to be busy. A smile tugged at his lips at the thought of all the gorgeous women that were likely to visit; at least there were perks to waiting on tables.

Once dressed – having just finished a tight Windsor on his tie – Sanji stopped in front of his full-length mirror to quickly inspect himself and ensure that not a thread was out of place. Hands smoothing down his lapels while his eyes traced every seam. Perfect, as always, but for a single hair.

Leaning in to grab the stray and drag it properly into place before gifting himself a charming smile. He was about to leave when his gaze settled on his Spindle. Fingers twitching uncertainly as he stared down at the object in his mirror for a long moment.

He couldn’t explain it, but the normally comforting marker was suddenly unnerving.

Quickly grabbing it and tucking it safely beneath his button up, Sanji gave himself a final check – happy with the way his tie hid the bump – before heading out of his room with his head held high. Down the stairs and twisting back halls of the massive, ocean-going restaurant before happily arriving at his destination.

Finding the kitchen pleasantly empty, Sanji rolled up his sleeves, flicked the tail of his tie over his shoulder, and started on some meal prep—enjoying the blissful solitude of his sanctuary. He allowed himself to get lost in his work. Pushing aside any and all negative emotions that had continued to linger—last traces of his nightmare slipping away to be forgotten.

~ “Here we are—the ocean-going restaurant!” ~

Startled awake by Johnny’s exuberant announcement of their arrival, Zoro’s eyes flicked open and he glanced towards the horizon with the rest of the crew that had been lounging about Merry. A palpable relief washed over everyone. After several days of sailing and finally reaching their destination, it was expected that they would be clamoring to Merry’s figurehead to get a decent look, but Zoro remained in place.

His dream lingering like a heavy fog—dark, dank, dismal.

There wasn’t much to remember of the figment – a spark of blue brightness in an endless black – but the impression it left behind was hard to ignore—like a haunting premonition. He couldn’t place the color, but the light—the light he knew. It was an aberrant glow that nothing else on earth could emulate.

A Thread… but not his own.

Gaze dropping to his chest where his arms were still crossed – swords protectively within the crook of his elbow – Zoro stared at his Spindle nestled haphazardly between the open collar of his shirt. Its sharp, bright steel sparkled in the afternoon sun – as brilliantly as his swords when freshly polished – and the warm, green glow of his Thread was ever present. Wrapped as securely as it had been the day it appeared around him, Zoro was intimately familiar with its color, and it wasn’t the one from his dream…

Zoro didn’t put stock in fantasy, but he always trusted his gut.

Even if he hadn’t consciously picked up on it, there was something he’d intuitively noticed that his mind had yet to catch up on. This dream could've very well been an attempt to process it. It was impossible to say what it was, but he trusted himself enough to know something wasn’t quite right…

Zoro huffed sharply to expel the worry.

Carefully setting his swords aside and pushing to his feet – embarrassingly unsteady for a skilled swordsman – Zoro braced a hand to his forehead while trying to get a handle on this impending unease crawling up his spine. He rarely allowed trifling matters to phase him, but this was different—there was something powerful about it that he couldn’t ignore…

Unfortunately, it would have to wait.

With both hands tucked casually into his pockets – a cool expression schooling his features – Zoro approached the bow with the others to finally see the ship in all its splendor. An impressive vessel, to be sure—especially when compared to the modesty of their new caravel. 

“Whaddya think?” Johnny and Yosauk waved towards it for dramatic embellishment.

Luffy and Usopp were practically falling over the railing to get a look—their excited shouts more than enough.

“Oh…” With a soft sigh, even Nami was bewitched into a sparkling smile as she gushed at the sight, “Wow. ”

It was like no ship Zoro – or any of them – had seen before.

A large manor floating on the ocean—pyramid in shape, as three impressive floors rose up from the main deck, bracketed between two large masts. Flags flew proudly atop both, with the sheets down the mizzen adorned with colorful, nautical signalers that fluttered happily in the afternoon breeze.

Delightfully quirky in its design, it was obviously meant to resemble a fish. Figurehead in the shape of a large, imposing head – with a rather obnoxious gaping mouth – reminiscent of the saltwater bass that the fishermen used to trawl for back home off the coast of his village. A matching fin sat to the stern as a cleverly crafted rudder.

Yet despite its inherent silliness, there was still an elegance about it, and it was engineered with great skill; allowing for the hull of the ship to be completely submerged so that the first floor of the restaurant could settle conveniently just a few feet above sea level. A modest dock jutting out from the side allowed customers to row right up to the ship, step off, and walk into the establishment without need for climbing, hoisting, or hauling.

A steady, sinuous stream of smoke rose from a large brick chimney sprouted through the ship’s roof. Carrying with it an enriching scent of freshly baked breads and other mouth watering confectionaries—even from afar the smell of good food was unmistakable. Dozens of small sailboats were anchored off the portside, as well as some large schooners nearby that were a testament to the massive customer draw this place managed.

Large words adorned the ship's second floor wall;

BARATIE

They’d reached their destination, but now they were presented with the more challenging task of finding a cook that would be willing to join them—and be able to handle the harsh sailing of the Grand line. But Zoro had little doubts. There was a certain magnetism to Luffy that he’d been privileged to witness several times now, and he knew it wouldn’t fail them here.

However, before they could fully finish appreciating the spectacle, they were interrupted—a Marine ship pulled up alongside their little caravel with an arrogant Lieutenant stepping out to address them shortly after. There was some tiresome banter, but it didn’t seem like he was interested in arresting them today; until some poorly chosen words towards Johnny and Yosaku started another fight.

Quickly losing interest in their squabble, Zoro returned to his spot to snag his swords and sling them comfortably at his hip before making his way back up the stairs to Merry's bow. He returned just in time to see the Lieutenant knocking out the foolhardy bounty hunters. Looking down at Johnny and Yosaku on the deck, Zoro heaved a sigh at the two endearingly hopeless men.

“What are you doing?”

Johnny and Yosaku both blubbered back their responses.

“THIS IS BAD!” Usopp shrieked, causing everyone to glance up, “THEY’RE AIMING A CANNON AT US!”

Completely unphased, Zoro watched as Luffy bounded up to the railing excitedly – a chipper affirmation that, “I’ll handle it!” – before inflating himself with a large inhale that had the bounty hunters and the Naval officers all bug-eyed in shock. Jaws almost on the floor as the fired cannonball sailed over and was caught easily within Luffy’s stretchy body.

Zoro's face fell a moment later when Luffy accidentally sent it barreling towards the restaurant—not the Marine ship.

“You returned it to the wrong place, idiot!” Zoro barked.

Luffy fell back to the deck with regretful tears sparkling in his eyes.

“Great…” Nami slapped an irritable hand to her face.

It didn’t take long for several cooks to come rushing out onto the deck with threatening dispositions and quite large weapons to find out who was attacking their restaurant. Upon spotting the Navy ship, and then the obvious pirate colors adorning Merry, they correctly turned their attention towards them while barking angrily.

“Who’s responsible?!”

Luffy flatly raised a hand, “Yo.”

“Get over here!”

“Luffy!” Nami shouted, “Don’t—”

Rest of her sentence was interrupted by the sharp crack of Luffy’s elastic body snapping as he had already grabbed the railing and jumped back to send himself sailing off Merry and towards the sea-faring restaurant. Zoro watched him land amongst the furious cooks. All of whom – despite their shock at his rubber abilities – were quick to grab him by the arms and haul him inside—a silver lining seemed that they didn’t intend to turn them over to the Marines…

“At least he’s honest,” Zoro shrugged.

“I’m not paying for that,” Nami huffed.

Staring at the hole Luffy had just managed to blast through the roof of the esteemed restaurant, Zoro’s ire quickly faded upon an exhausted exhale—he was hardly surprised at this point. When it came to Luffy he was beginning to expect these sorts of shenanigans. Unfortunately,  Zoro could only imagine what sorts of setbacks this was going to cause; this was likely going to hinder them in finding a cook.

“Well…” Nami sighed, “c’mon—looks like we might be here a while.”

While Johnny and Yosaku remained sprawled out on the deck tending their wounds, Zoro assisted Nami and Usopp in bringing the Merry about to moor it around the back of the Baratie with the other ships. They once more got comfortable lounging in the sun; there was no telling what sort of trouble Luffy would be in. Some time passed and when their Captain hadn’t returned with an update, Zoro finally decided to speak up.

“Where’s Luffy?” Zoro grunted what they were all wondering, “Ya think they’re gonna make him wash dishes for a month?”

“That honest fool.” Nami huffed, “He should’ve blamed the Navy ship.”

“Wanna check on him? And eat?” Usopp prodded with an eager smile, “Well?”

“Might as well get something while we’re here,” Nami mused, before smirking to Zoro and Usopp, “Don’t worry, I have money—you can just get me back with three hundred percent interest.”

Zoro gave her a sour look, but didn’t decline—accepting with a lazy jerk of his shoulder.

While fending for themselves the past few days hadn’t been terrible, Zoro could admit that when it came to preparing his own meals he didn’t exactly know what he was doing; plain rice and fish roast on a spit – while filling – wasn’t exactly a fine gourmet meal...

It was also hard to ignore that tantalizing aroma that had been drifting out of the restaurant since they arrived, and Zoro was interested to see what they might have to look forward to if Luffy managed to get one of them to join; they might as well check out these so-called tough cooks that Johnny and Yosaku had regaled them about.

~ “This guy makes five!” ~

Dragging the peculiar, delusional rubber boy – it was baffling he was a Captain – by the scruff of the neck, Sanji brought him back to the kitchen to make good on his arrangement with Zeff—leaving him to the mercy of the cooks. He’d likely be scrubbing dishes. Or mopping floors. Anything at all to help with the dinner rush was greatly appreciated, and not having to pay for his labor was a bonus.

Sanji headed back onto the floor.

Bottle of wine and elegantly prepared appetizer in hand, to once more wait on the customers after the exciting interlude provided by Gin. They'd fallen behind. There was no doubt that the customers would be in a jovial mood—they didn’t mind the occasional wait when they’d just been gifted an entertaining show.

For the next few minutes, Sanji made his usual rounds without interruption—ferrying food to several tables and stopping by to top up the wine of some of the more enchanting customers; he was in the middle of romancing a rather gorgeous woman when sudden shouting put an end to it.

Glancing up to see what the commotion was – expecting more pirates – Sanji found it to be the newly indentured chore-boy was out on the floor busing tables and had gotten distracted by a table of young delinquents. Sanji was beginning to question Zeff’s decision. This kid was quickly becoming more trouble than he was worth, which was a testament to the kid’s lackadaisical attitude considering they typically hired thugs and criminals.

“Quiet down, Luffy,” Sanji barked, before pausing.

Noting the aimablity between them, Sanji took an extra moment to inspect the group. They weren’t dressed nearly as garishly as most of the regular patronage—in fact, the tattered clothing and boorish body language definitely screamed pirate. However, they weren’t causing trouble, so there was no need to refuse them service… yet.

Sanji quickly put the clues together, "Are they your mates?"

Luffy ignored him.

All three at the table – two men and a woman – snickered while making fun of Luffy. It appeared good natured, and Sanji couldn’t help but watch a little despondently at the bond displayed there.

This was the crew Luffy wanted him to join?

Among the men, there was a man in overalls that had a warm smile and bellyful laugh that was incredibly sincere even when derisive. His mass of dark hair was tied back and tucked underneath a bandana. Arms crossed in front of himself on the table, he was currently jeering something taunting – but genial – to his Captain.

Beside that fellow was another man with startling green hair – reminiscent of springtime leaves – that sat with an obnoxious sprawl and satisfied smirk. An arm hooked slovenly over the back of his chair while the other rested on the table; Sanji spoke a silent prayer for the white tablecloth—the man looked like he only bathed once a week.

He was currently saying something to Luffy, but clearly wasn't listening.

That incompetent busboy was busy cramming his finger so far up his nose Sanji was certain the rubber man was scratching his brain – if he had one – before pulling out a sizable booger which was flicked childishly into the glass of water of the green man who hadn’t noticed. He picked up the glass. Moments from taking a sip as the other crew members were now in hysterics before changing course at the last second and grabbing Luffy by the throat—forcing the glass of water down his Captain’s throat instead.

This was the crew Luffy wanted him to join?

Falling to the floor – coughing, gagging, and sputtering up water – Luffy writhed on the ground before growling up at the pirate, “What’d you do that for?!”

“What did you do that for?!”

On his feet a second later, the man towered over the rubberkid while snarling down at him. His abrupt turn caused his Spindle to lift off his chest with the motion. Arching through the air before thudding back to his chest to hang heavily against the stained cotton of his once white shirt. It had the sharpness of perfectly forged steel with a Thread of bold green…

It wasn’t polite to stare, but Sanji couldn’t help being momentarily caught by an unsettling wave of deja vu upon seeing it. He’d certainly never laid eyes on it in his life, and yet, there was an undeniable familiarity; his dream from that morning flickered disconcertingly through his mind with nagging presage, but then his gaze fell to the woman.

“Hm?”

All of his complaints ceased at that moment in wake of her beauty—her laughter alone like a siren's call to his demise as he set down the bottle of wine he’d been holding. He was enraptured. With a gracious bow and charming smile to the woman at the table next to him, Sanji excused himself to meet with this angel in human form.

In a trance, Sanji made his way over to the table with his eyes set on the gorgeous woman—a darling smile crinkled the corners of her eyes as she laughed. Her cheeks adorably plump. As he neared it became clear that she had a smattering of delightful freckles across her face that crawled their way down to her arms—what he wouldn’t give to count every one.

Sanji sidled up to the woman’s side.

“Oh, sea, how grateful I am for this day of days! Oh love! Smile upon me, for I cannot survive this pain. I would stoop to becoming a pirate or even a devil, if only I could be with you. Such tragedy!!! The obstacles between us are great!!!”

“Obstacles, Sanji?”

Romantic warbling interrupted by a gruff voice, Sanji’s shoulders shot up to his ears and a terrified shiver trickled down his spine. He turned with a grimace to find his old man – with his incredibly ostentatious chef’s hat – several feet away. Arms crossed in an audacious manner – clearly unimpressed – as he waited with a scowl for Sanji to defend himself.

“Argh!” Sanji winced, “It’s the shitty old man.”

“Follow your heart; go be a pirate,” Zeff grunted with an indifferent wiggle of his mustache, “I don’t need you here anymore.”

“What?! ” Sanji yelped, “I’m the assistant chef here; whaddya mean I'm not needed?!”

“You fight with customers. You waste hours chasing women. And you’re a lousy cook—you’re nothing but dead weight; the other cooks don’t like you much either. So go be a pirate and get out of my restaurant.”

It wasn’t uncommon for the chef to try and get Sanji to leave, but this was spectacularly more brazen than normal and his critique of Sanji’s cooking was far more vicious—especially in front of customers. Sanji knew the game he was playing. Lately, Zeff's attempts to bully Sanji into leaving had lost their subtly.

“Don’t step over the line, old man.” Sanji stormed up to the cook. His pride getting the better of him as he grabbed the chef’s smock furiously, “You can insult me, but don’t ever insult my cooking. I’m staying right here. You have no say in the matter.”

Sanji realized his mistake a moment too late.

“Don’t lay your hands on me, you underdone eggplant!”

Grabbing onto Sanji’s arm with a tight grip – his other coming up to tangle in Sanji’s lapel – Zeff twisted around with a skillful pivot and lazy flourish as he flipped Sanji off his feet and set him sailing into a nearby table. He ended up on the floor—his side smarting from where it clipped the edge. Tablecloth was draped over his shoulder, but it seemed he was the only thing that ended up on the ground.

Fortunately, Luffy’s crew had moved quickly to snag all the dishes so that not a single dish got broken, but more importantly, not a speck of food ended up on the floor. Both the young man in overalls and the redheaded girl were still in their chairs with their dishes in hand, but even the green fellow had managed to snag several plates as well—even balancing one on his head.

“You can't kick me out!” Sanji barked after Zeff furiously, “I’ll cook here forever. Until you die!”

“I won’t die,” Zeff huffed—already stalking away with a haughty limp, “I’ll live another hundred years.”

Sanji spat a wad of blood to the side childishly while muttering, “Gotta have the last word, eh?”

Zeff ignored him.

Watching the chef leave, Sanji’s lip curled irritably at Zeff’s transparent attempts to push Sanji away were growing more embarrassingly obvious and ridiculously lazy—they merely cemented Sanji’s determination to pay back his debt to the unrelenting chef. Always showing his cards like Sanji wouldn’t notice—at some point the old man would have to take the hint that it would have to take a miracle, or divine intervention, to get him to change his mind.

Pushing to his feet, Sanji straightened his jacket with a few aggressive tugs and then a final jerk of his arms to ensure the sleeves were comfortably in place. He then turned back to Luffy’s crew. All of whom watched him with varying degrees of judgment from the spectacle they had just witnessed…

All of them except the green man whose gaze was on Sanji’s tie—curiosity pinching his brow.

“Eyes to yourself,” Sanji snapped.

Clapping a hand over his Spindle, Sanji turned away, though not entirely certain what he’d expected from boorish pirates. They were rambunctious since the moment they arrived—excessively rowdy despite the other customers. Frankly, it didn’t surprise Sanji at all that they wouldn’t respect a basic courtesy as simple as not staring at another's Spindle.

Pointedly avoiding the weird man, Sanji made himself busy righting the table he’d been thrown through; replacing the table cloth with a fresh one so that the crew could set down their dishes and return to their meal. Sanji idly made a note to get a treat for the girl to make up for the unfortunate mess she’d had to witness. Perhaps something with fruit, her summery hair and tangerine scent was inspiring him to make a macedonia.

“Great! You got permission!” Luffy skipped up to Sanji exuberantly, “Come be my cook!”

Rounding on the unrelenting rubber child, Sanji snarled, “Never!”

~ “Here–he can eat this.” ~

Two days had passed since Luffy’s misdirected cannonball had blasted a hole in the roof of the Baratie—their once formidable Captain-turned-errand-boy to a fleet of seafaring chefs. It was a ridiculous predicament, but one that wasn’t a surprise for Zoro. Even after only knowing Luffy for a short time, it was already extraordinarily clear these were just the types of situations that this kid attracted.

Obviously, they couldn’t put off sailing for an entire year, but for now it seemed they were stuck at the restaurant until they could come up with a feasible solution. Whether it be to pay the damages, or perhaps convince them to forget the ordeal. Sneaking away in the dead of night was a viable option, but that one was flatly denied by Luffy—apparently he had his sights set on a particular cook.

A cook was a cook as far as Zoro was concerned, but if Luffy wanted him, then Zoro was willing to wait for the Captain to work his magic.

Truthfully, Zoro wasn’t entirely certain what Luffy had seen in him—their only introduction to the cook was some needless flirting with Nami, followed by him being spectacularly kicked through their table by his boss. He was comically woman obsessed—irritating. Also a little prissy for Zoro's taste with the suits—the guy was so prudish he even tucked his Spindle away like one those modest, religious-types.

Currently lounging on Merry’s deck, they all enjoyed the pleasant afternoon sun while Luffy remained inside the Baratie working off his debt. Nami was reading while Usopp sorted through his ammo. Johnny and Yosaku lay recovering – covered in bandages – from their encounter with that Marine Lieutenant a few days ago, and Zoro was taking his umpteenth nap of the day.

His life had been a bit of a whirlwind lately—Luffy, not entirely, withstanding.

Getting tied to post in a Marine base was enough of an irksome detour from his bounty hunting, training, and searching for a certain swordsman, but ever since Luffy had appeared, freed him, and convinced him to join his crew—it had been a non-stop express from one disaster to the next.

After everything that had happened at Usopp’s village a few days ago, Zoro was actually enjoying the chance to just lay out on the deck without a care in the world; frankly, long overdue. 

There was still a decent amount of muscle he needed to work to get back after being starved for almost a month, but his injury from their scuffle with that clown pirate Buggy was also still healing. Not to mention, those cat pirate bastards hadn’t done it any favors by targeting it; maybe it'd been a bit impetuous on his part to reopen it to make a point, but he’d do it again—he didn’t deal in regrets.

So, after all of that, Zoro was grateful for these few days of much needed recovery, especially if Luffy intended to take them to the Grand Line once they’d gotten themselves a cook. Everyone would need to be at their best.

However, it never seemed like their crew could avoid problems for long; as though summoned by their relaxation, Zoro was awoken by a sudden chill. He cracked an eye and was greeted to an unfortunate sight. Closing his eyes, counting to ten, and then opening them once more confirmed it wasn’t a dream, and finally had Zoro huffing softly in acceptance.

This didn’t bode well…

Removing his hands from behind his head and rolling to a seated position, Zoro gazed up at the approaching galleon – easily several sizes larger than the already impressive restaurant – that made the Merry look like a rowboat by comparison. Zoro had to crane his neck back to see its colors. Gaze trawling over tattered sails that could hardly hold a breeze, up masts that looked close to toppling over, until he reached a black flag fluttering as despondently as the rest of the wretched ship.

It was a jolly roger he recognized from the bounty posters – a skull centered ominously between two hourglasses – belonging to the infamous Don Krieg; the man with an armada of five thousand men. His infamous colors were a tribute to his reputation. To meet this crew was to have your time run out…

And yet, this ship looked like it could hardly sail, much less pose a threat.

State of their ship speaking volumes, Zoro didn’t know how it could still be afloat—far more like a ghost ship with its ragged sails and damaged hull. It looked like it had sailed through a hurricane made of fire. Even the wind that managed to twist through holes of the ship added to the unsettling ambiance.

Absently reaching out for his swords, Zoro pushed to his feet while never letting his pointed gaze shift from the large vessel that had finally finished its advance on the Baratie. Zoro could distantly hear the sound of them dropping anchor. Then the sounds of a rowboat being lowered into the ocean; not a straightforward attack then, but Zoro still didn’t like it.

Usopp was trembling as he grabbed Zoro’s arm, “This is bad—let’s get outta here.”

“Naw,” With a jerk, Zoro shook him off—already slinging his swords comfortably at his hip, “Let’s go check it out.”

Ignoring Usopp's distressed warbling, Zoro placed a hand to Merry’s railing and launched over it with a lazy hop to board the Baratie. He made his way through the rear entrance provided for the large ships moored out back. After a short detour, where he somehow ended up in the kitchen and was verbally assaulted, Zoro located the floor of the restaurant—arriving just in time for a fairly entertaining spectacle.

That pirate from the day before who had caused a scene was back – seemingly responsible for the destroyed galleon on their doorstep – and with him was his Captain looking worse for wear, but remarkably better than Zoro would’ve expected given the state of his ship. Zoro recognized Krieg from his wanted posters. A formidable pirate – with a bounty to substantiate that fact – didn’t bode well for this restaurant no matter how tough the cooks.

There was a lot of shouting going on – none of which concerned Zoro – but Luffy was right in the middle of all of it so he decided to stay as a precautionary measure. He found a chair at a nearby table and got comfortable. Watching curiously as the chef Luffy was attached to began walking away much to the indignation of several of the cooks.

“You got us into this mess!” One of them barked, “Where’dya think you’re going, Sanji?”

“Kitchen, of course.” Thumbing his split lip – Zoro wondered what spectacle he had missed to cause that little injury – the cook cleaned the blood with a garish flick before adding a hacked up wad for good measure that he spat on the carpet. Only then adding casually, “We’ve got a hundred meals to prepare.”

Horrified shock resounded throughout the restaurant – from chefs and patrons alike – before several chilling clicks echoed throughout the establishment as every cook around him leveled a pistol on the young man. Zoro arched his brow—things were getting interesting. Last thing he’d expected was fighting amongst the chefs, especially given the restaurant's reputation of beating the hell out of pirates that tried to rob the place.

“If you want to stop me,” the cook – Sanji – spoke softly, “go ahead.”

His words caused muted shock from the chefs surrounding him.

“I know they’re unredeemable bastards, but my job is to feed people—not judge them.” A smile crooked the cook’s lips when he added lazily, “It gets too complicated.”

Watching the pompously dressed cook speaking boldly to the room, Zoro was now realizing that their initial introduction to this cook had been deceptively underwhelming. His shameless flirting with Nami, and unfortunate trip through their table, was a false representation of the man’s stalwart personality. Seeing the scene before him unfold made him understand what Luffy had seen that he hadn’t.

There was no doubt in his mind why Luffy had selected this cook to join them on their voyage—even without the rubber boy’s spontaneous, capricious decisions it was clear that this man was precisely the type of person Luffy would be drawn to. Stubborn resolve that rivaled their own—and a dauntless attitude to back it up. Even with several guns pointing at him the cook refused to even bat an eye.

Zoro liked that.

“If a man is hungry—I feed him,” Sanji barked proudly, “That’s a cook’s job.”

Rounding on the chefs with their pistols still raised, Sanji stared each one of them down with a heated glare that dared them to fire on him. Arms still spread wide. Only after his words had been allowed to settle in did he shout again irritably—taunting them for their lack of follow through.

“Well,” Sanji snarled, “What’s the problem?!”

When one of the chef’s darted forward to tackle the obstinate cook – a wrestle breaking out as it took several men to subdue the angry cook – Zoro’s gaze darted to Luffy to gauge his reaction. His Captain had witnessed the whole thing up close. It was clear from the look on Luffy’s face that he was more determined than ever to have the cook on his crew, and Zoro hated to admit that he understood.

Slumping back into his chair to continue watching the spectacle with the other pirates, Zoro settled in for the long haul as he acknowledged that there would be no leaving this restaurant without that cook—no matter how long it took.

~ “It’s easy—abandon your stupid dream!” ~

Braced against the railing of the Baratie, Sanji panted through gritted teeth as he watched the crew members of the foolish swordsman dive in to retrieve the mangled body. His own bellowed words ringing in his ears—certainly not heard by the dying man. Already sinking into the turbulent waters – bright blue stained a grisly garnet – the swordsman was losing too much blood—even if Sanji hadn’t seen the Spindle's light dim before hitting the water it was obvious this was the end.

In shock from the whole encounter he had just witnessed, Sanji struggled to understand why it left him feeling frustrated rather than vindicated. That stupid swordsman had only proven his point. All of his stubbornness had done nothing but ensure his own pre-destined destruction—this was precisely what Sanji had been trying to warn him about.

Though he supposed in the end it didn’t matter…

No amount of reasoning could’ve changed what was Fated; if this is where his Thread ran out, then this is where his story ended. Sanji could admit he felt a little deflated. After such proud boasting, Sanji was ashamed that the dreamer in him had genuinely started to believe in the bull-headed swordsman—for a moment hoped he would pull through…

Sanji’s validation tasted bitter.

There was shouting as the rubber Captain checked in with the sharpshooter on the swordsman’s condition; they were applying alcohol to the wound, preparing to treat him—like they hadn’t just seen what Sanji had just witnessed. It appeared that none of the men had yet to fully realize that their swordsman was hanging on by his last fibers—soon his Spindle would be barren, as dead as the man that bore it. Any minute now the swordsman would be gone.

Unless…

Pointedly ignoring the scoff from the irritating head chef, Sanji used the distraction of the garish swordsman and the armored pirate currently bickering to run along the Baratie’s deck and launch over the railing onto the nearby skipper. He landed heavily. Boards creaking beneath him as he straightened; flicking the remnants of his cigarette overboard while the three men currently tending to the green-haired swordsman glanced up to him with varying degrees of shock.

“Move,” he ordered.

Digging into his pocket to retrieve an ornate tin – decorative swirls adorning its lid – Sanji flipped it open with a sharp flick of his thumb and retrieved the large needle nestled beneath a collection of hand rolled cigarettes. He shoved the tin safely away before dropping to his knees next to the swordsman. Placing the needle between his teeth for temporary keeping while his hands fell to his belt to hurriedly remove the leather strap.

Once removed, he muttered around the needle to the long-nosed pirate, “Help me lift him.”

Stunned, but lucid, the timid man hurriedly crawled forward to scoop his arms beneath the unconscious swordsman and haul him up off the bloody deck. His head lolled back lifelessly. If it wasn’t for the ragged, gurgling breaths that were still somehow managing out of the swordsman, Sanji would've thought he was dead—it meant they were battling for the man’s last few seconds.

Slipping the belt beneath the swordsman, Sanji brought the straps up around his ribcage and swiftly threaded it through the buckle. Wrenching tight—closing the wound. Blood oozed in copious amounts down the various lines and rigids of the swordsman’s body to pool on the deck—hot blood soaking through the fabric of Sanji’s pants.

This guy was crazy, but he didn’t deserve to die here.

All he needed was one more day so this mess could be sorted and this guy would be able to have one final day with his crew—be able to say a proper goodbye. It was better than most people got—it was better than he ever got. Thoughts lingering on his mother and the farewell he'd been robbed of. All it would've taken was a little compassion - a gifted day - and he would've been able to say goodbye. If he could give another that, then he would.

“Alright,” Sanji nodded to the steadily paling sharpshooter, “Put him down.”

Reaching down to his own Spindle – glowing blue and brilliant against his chest – Sanji grabbed hold of the end of his Thread and tugged it free. An arm’s length unraveling with the motion. It floated with an ethereal weightlessness—as delicate and sprightly as a tendril of smoke caught on a breeze. With frighteningly calm hands, Sanji swiftly threaded the end through his needle and then dropped down to begin Mending the swordsman’s wound.

Everything became distortedly distant as Sanji’s entire world focused on the task as he pinched the skin and forced the needle through steadily paling flesh. There was a bit of resistance before it slid through effortlessly – far easier than cloth or sail – blood acting as a fantastic lubricant. Copious amounts of blood made the skin slippery and difficult to pinch together even with the added help of the belt—tension of the muscles pulling back caused the sliced muscle to bulge.

Making sure the first stitch at the chest was good and tight, Sanji began making his way down the swordsman’s body doing as best he could under conditions. He wasn’t a doctor—however he wasn’t a stranger to a needle and thread either. Growing up on the ocean had taught him just how valuable a piece of steel and some spare catgut could be when dealing with the volatility of sailing; being able to properly repair a sail could mean the difference between life and death.

Working studiously – almost in a trance – Sanji pulled his Thread through over and over as time itself managed to get woven into the swordsman’s wound; flesh beginning to heal until the laceration appeared about a day old. It was still raw, but survivable. Even though the amount of blood loss was concerningly questionable, Sanji’s Thread glowed strongly against the swordsman’s skin—confirming he was still alive.

By the time Sanji was done his brow was dotted with sweat, and he’d soaked through the back of his shirt. As physically exhausting as the task had been, the toll on his emotions was much higher—this wasn’t his first time Mending somebody, but it never got any easier. He came back to himself in a daze. Once steady hands now trembling—it had been a long time since he’d seen a wound this bad.

Being very careful to mask his fatigue behind a façade of well-created detachment, Sanji rose to his feet while digging out his tin once more. He pointedly avoided looking at the glowing bit of Thread currently connecting his own Spindle to the wounded swordsman. That thin bit of string was that foolish man’s last tether to this mortal realm.

Struggling to get the metal lid open due to the blood coating his hands, Sanji had to take a moment to collect himself before trying again. Normally he’d take the time to clean himself and the needle, but given the circumstances, Sanji instead tucked the bloody needle back into the case before selecting a fresh cigarette. His wet fingers leaving crimson stains on the stark white papers inside. Snapping the tin shut and pocketing it, Sanji glanced down at the swordsman’s companion who looked on the verge of fainting

Addressing the fellow with the long nose while placing the fresh – albeit bloody – cigarette between his lips, Sanji gestured to the swordsman with small inclination, “I don’t know how long that’ll last, but at least for him to say his farewells.”

All he got was a choked nod.

Leaving the Mended swordsman to the safety of his crew, Sanji made his way to the edge of skipper and placed a polished shoe on the gunnel. He could distantly hear the rubber captain calling out to check on them. Without waiting to hear the reply, Sanji launched himself off the small boat and back onto the Baratie’s deck.

“Alright!” Luffy bellowed, “Set sail!”

“A–aye,” the sharpshooter – Usopp – stuttered over the word, before turning back to Luffy with a bit more vigor, “Aye, aye, Captain!”

Sanji quietly made his way along the deck to portside.

Every step had Sanji profoundly aware of his own Thread steadily unraveling to remain connected to the swordsman; it would only take about a day for what was holding the swordsman together to unravel. Once the last fiber of Thread disconnected from the Mended wound the rest of Sanji’s Thread would return safely around his Spindle, and the swordsman would breathe his last breath. There was no discernable weight to it, but the significance still bore down on him like a wave—crushing, encompassing, unstoppable.

“You’re far too kind,” Patty sneered when Sanji shouldered past, “Givin’ ‘way our food, Mendin’ strangers on a whim; always somethin’ wit’ ya.”

“Learned from the best,” Eyes flicking to Zeff, Sanji shrugged with a sneer before muttering surreptitiously, “besides what’s a day or two compared to a lifetime.”

As it was, Sanji already felt every day since the old man had taken him in was a life he hadn’t been destined to have—Thread or no. He didn’t know when he was Fated to die, but he’d already survived more than he’d expected. Every day since had been a blessing.

Zeff clicked his tongue.

Finishing lighting his cigarette with a crackling inhale, Sanji flicked his lighter shut and pocketed it before finally gracing the older chef with a pointed look. An arch brow and smarmy lip was the only indication that he’d heard. They stared each other down for a moment before turning away—all of them with their attention back on Krieg's pirates once more.

~ “I will never lose again!” ~

Everything was darkness – liquid and smooth – that same feeling that awoke him two days ago had come to claim him as he slipped further from reality with every passing second. A disorienting and contradicting sensation warped his body. Making him feel as though he were weightless – akin to floating in water – but also debilitatingly heavy; there was no way to tell whether he was rising or falling, but he could feel himself fading.

Zoro’s eyes fluttered open, but nothing changed.

Encompassed by an endless void, Zoro was beginning to question his own reality—he was conscious, but he didn’t feel alive. He couldn’t breathe—didn’t need to breathe. That fading feeling was more acute than ever—it felt like his limbs were unraveling. It was questionable if he even had a body anymore; he wanted to look down, but he couldn’t move.

All Zoro could do was stare straight above him into that infinity. He wondered if this was death, and if so, resolute to hold on stubbornly until the very end. Even when that delightfully warm sensation beckoned, he refused to close his eyes; feeling the very edges of his sanity begin to fray – thread by thread – fibers curling and disintegrating into nothingness—his essence withering…

Until everything froze.

Through the vast emptiness that bright, familiar blue sparked into existence—the unique ocean blue from his dream. A ribbon of ethereal light dancing throughout the infinity – weaving its way through the limitless black – getting closer and closer; Zoro couldn’t look away. There was a mesmerizing nature to its movements, like the swell of the ocean upon the shore—hypnotizing and unbelievably calming.

When it neared, it shot towards him with the suddenness of a whip crack, and just as poignant. Zoro thrust out his arm to protect himself despite no longer having a body to do so, but it was already too late. Tip of that blue Thread hitting its mark in the center of his chest with lethal accuracy. Right where his Spindle usually sat—right where it no longer was.

A blinding light exploded from the connection – rushing in his ears as powerful as the ocean’s roar – before Zoro found himself slammed back into his body with an abruptness that was painful. His arm shot out instinctively before he could stop it—vaguely feeling his palm connect with something. Pinned to the floor by a nauseous concoction of gravity, heat, and salty ocean air, Zoro couldn’t even begrudge the bile that rose in the back of his throat because all of it was a testament to him being alive.

Through the oppressive light stinging his eyes and the pain compounding his body, Zoro lay on his back trying to get his bearings when a pain in his chest had him realizing he desperately needed to breathe. His first inhale was loud and ragged. Extended arm falling to his side as he shot upright; dragging in lungfuls of air with all the urgency of someone who was just learning how to breathe for the first time.

Everything stung.

Mouth dreadfully dry – cracked lips and dried blood not helping – Zoro continued to drag in heavy breathes while his eyes adjusted to the sudden daylight that contradicted the black void he’d gotten accustomed to. His eyes felt like they’d had sand ground into them, and his ears wouldn’t stop ringing. However, none of this compared to the pain currently threatening to split his body in half—his bones ached.

A whimper had Zoro looking down to find Usopp was on the deck clutching his nose through muted whimpers—it was swollen and bloody. Zoro was momentarily confused, but a dull twitch to the palm of his hand reminded him he had struck something upon waking. A grimace twisted his face at the sudden explanation.

“Sorry, Usopp,” Zoro grunted.

Usopp's forgiveness was a vague mumbling.

Glancing about himself – eyes narrowed against the harsh light of the afternoon sun – Zoro realized they were aboard Johnny and Yosaku’s sailboat. In the middle of the ocean. Neither the Baratie, the destroyed galleon, or Mihawk anywhere in sight…

Zoro’s thoughts paused on the swordsman.

Bracing a hand to his forehead – events coming back to him in disarray – Zoro desperately tried to parse together what was going on; how he was even alive . At the memory of Mihawk’s blade he had at least an explanation as to why his body was in this much agony, but he couldn’t get the distinct image out of his head of his Spindle caught high against a clear blue sky as he fell into the ocean. That snap of green as his Thread broke—the glow of life obliterated.

All that fluttered was the barest trace of Thread hooked to the top—the last bit of his life keeping him conscious before his body hit the water. He was pulled out; could’ve been seconds, or hours later. Through choked gasps that were drowned by tears and seawater Zoro managed a promise to Luffy before his world was finally claimed by black.

“What happened?”

A wary glance was shared between Usopp and the two bounty hunters.

“What?”

“Well, you sort of—” Usopp floundered while doggedly looking anywhere but at Zoro. His hands working a masterful fidget routine, “After you— the thing is—”

“You died!” Johnny blurted.

Yosaku’s hand slapped over his partner's mouth a moment later while growling, “No tact, eh?”

Zoro frowned.

Hand falling away as his gaze dropped down, Zoro was met with the sight of his Spindle nestled comfortably against his chest; sunlight refracted off the normally polished silver, but it was now faded to a dull gray. Zoro gazed down at his Spindle that was woefully free of any Thread. Rough, cracked fingers dropped to numbly snag the pointed end before raising it up to inspect, but it was trivial—that green glow was gone.

For all his boasting, Zoro was humble enough to admit that he hadn’t expected his dream to be ended quite so soon. Even Mihawk’s words had given him a foolish hope that he was destined for more—for greatness. He’d never doubted he was, but it seemed Fate didn’t agree. It appeared like his own words had come to pass—he was only strong enough to get this far.

Dropping the barren Spindle disinterestedly, Zoro’s gaze fell further to the haphazard bandage work wound over his chest, but more importantly to the bright blue Thread passing through it. He reached down numbly. Mindful not to dislodge the bandages too much, Zoro wedged his fingers beneath the topmost wrappings and peered down at his – remarkably healed – chest.

“Wha—” the word was borne more out of disbelief, than actual curiosity.

“That cook stitched you up,” Usopp murmured—hollow, “You were dying.”

Zoro struggled to understand, “He Mended me?”

“Yeah,” Usopp’s gaze darted away uneasily, “he said it was so you could say your farewells, but—”

Tuning out the babbling sharpshooter, Zoro was captivated by the sight of his body—he’d seen a few Mendings before, but nothing like this. That blue Thread – the one from his dream – was stitched into his very skin to heal his wound into a scar that looked to be a day old at the very least. It was still tender, but not raw.

Releasing his bandages and hurriedly hooking his fingers beneath the ones binding his waist, Zoro hiked them up to see the edge of the wound sitting prominently on a jutted hip. Scar was still in place, but already the Thread was unraveling. As that cook’s time ran out, so too did the Thread that was keeping Zoro alive—a stitch had already disintegrated. Once the entirety of the Thread unraveled he’d be gone.

It was a sobering thing – to see one’s time left in such a measured portion – but with that knowledge came the reality that it wouldn’t last long. Which meant they had no time to waste when it came to Nami and getting Merry back—if he only had a day, then he would put it to use.

Glancing up swiftly, Zoro demanded, “Where's Nami?”

“Zoro,” Usopp tried to broach carefully, “You—”

“We don’t have time to worry about that right now,” Zoro’s pointed look ended the issue. “We need to find Nami, and get this whole mess sorted before Luffy catches up.”

Mouth still open from his attempted protesting, Usopp’s gaze flicked between the vacant Spindle and Zoro’s austere gaze several times before shutting his jaw with a click. A stiff swallow followed. Finally forcing himself to turn away from Zoro, and dropping the dismal subject for the time being.

Zoro turned to Johnny—his look telling the bounty hunter that this really wasn’t up for discussion.

“Well, uh—” Trying and failing to not glance to Zoro’s chest with unease, Johnny’s mouth worked soundlessly for several moments before bodily shaking himself. He pointedly met Zoro’s gaze. Nervous, but successful in sticking to the issue at hand, “Before Nami pushed us overboard we got a look at one of the bounties she was eyeing, and judging by the direction she took off on your ship; we have a pretty good idea where she’s headed.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Zoro glanced between the other three, “Who wants to swim back and get Luffy?”

Not looking particularly eager, all three glanced at each other before reluctantly holding out their hands to start a bout of rock-paper-scissors.

While they were preoccupied, Zoro took the opportunity to cast a deceptively lazy glance behind himself at the blue Thread currently stretching out behind the skipper. Drifting through the ocean breeze like the spider’s silk that adorned the trees in spring back home. Casting a definitive trail from his chest all the way back to the ship with the cook that had Mended him.

Barest of gratitudes manifested as a weary smile—swiftly disappearing. He turned his sights forward once more. They had other things to focus on—and he wasn’t about to waste his last day alive being useless.

TBC…

Chapter Text

~ “He still lights up when he talks about it—the fool.” ~

An echo crackled across the placid East Blue waters, supervening Sanji slamming the door to emphasize the end of his dramatic altercation with the stubborn head chef—the walls of the Baratie groaned plaintively from the force. Last of rippling resonance died out to leave Sanji standing alone on the perimeter deck with only his seething panting to keep him company.

Body trembling and shoulders heaving – every livid exhale gushed out around bared teeth – Sanji tried desperately to arrest his fury—the muscles in his jaw were beginning to sting from the strain. His hands ached with how rigid they clenched at his sides. Every muscle and tendon in him felt taut – like a bow at full draw – and the moment he lost control of that frangible grip the rage would explode.

Not a stranger to his own unreasonable anger, Sanji knew he was – perhaps – overreacting, but it didn’t stop himself from being thoroughly baffled by the entire situation he'd just bore witness to; the unusually callous behavior by the chefs that he wouldn't exactly consider nice on the best of days. Not to mention the wasted food—Zeff allowing it. Criticizing Sanji instead of the morons that had poured his brilliantly executed soup out onto the floor…

And he hit him!

There was never an instance in his life that Sanji could remember Zeff laying a literal hand on anybody, but now he’d decided to break his pact to prove a point—a point Sanji wasn’t so stupid he couldn’t read. He was furious that the old man thought it was easy for him. That he should just go.

It wasn’t that simple—if anything, it was more complicated than ever.

Anger drained from his body with all the intensity of a summer deluge—shoulders sagging, head dropping, and fists unfurling. He rolled onto his heels until his back hit the wall of the Baratie. Unloading all of his weight – both physical and mental – into the structure before slowly allowing his burdens to drag him to the floor.

Seated with his arms braced atop his knees, Sanji stared defeatedly at the sun bleached deck beneath his shoes—trying to make sense of everything. His mind was a tumultuous battlefield. Catastrophic indecisions warring within, threatening to tear him apart at the seams—the weight of his choices terrifying.

It didn’t help that the throbbing ache in his jaw was horribly distracting, or the way his suit had bunched from his descent was mildly uncomfortable, but perhaps he was just looking for the minutiae to focus on to keep his mind off of more grievous matters.

Sanji heaved a sigh.

Eyes slipping shut in a hopeless attempt to ward off those thoughts, Sanji blindly shifted through his pockets to locate his lighter and cigarette tin, but paused when his thumb found the latch with habitual ease. His brow furrowed against the haunting memory. Keeping his eyes shut against the cursed contents, Sanji flicked open the tin and selected a cigarette at random—not ready to see the blood of the swordsman he still had yet to clean from himself.

Jumping into the ocean to rescue Luffy had washed off most of it, but hadn’t ridden Sanji of the sensation that still lingered, nor the weight of his decision. Sanji’s hands were clammy as he fiddled with his lighter. Eventually getting it to spark – tucking the lighter and tin away – before taking a long drag of the tobacco in a ridiculous attempt to suffocate the building panic in his chest.

Through all his lamenting, Luffy’s voice suddenly rang out from inside the restaurant, “But this soup is really good!”

Sanji fought a grim smile—that kid was too kind.

“We know ,” one of the chef’s chimed in.

“Man, I was scared.” Another laughed through his words, “What a temper.”

“We all know that Sanji’s a great chef—”

Sanji’s lips twisted ruefully.

“—but if we don’t do something like this; he won’t listen.” Zeff summed up succinctly, “Hey, kid. That baby eggplant… will you take him with you? The Grand Line is his dream.”

Sanji’s eyes shot open.

Months – years – of their artfully violent communications had left him numb to more magnanimous affections. His heart pounded in his chest at the affirmation that he always knew Zeff understood—shared. And yet, hearing it aloud hit far more poignantly than he’d been expecting.

Laughter echoed joyously from within the restaurant as all the chef’s began speaking reverently about the soup they’d just moments ago criticized. Requesting seconds, jesting about Sanji’s temper—none of it unfamiliar. Nevertheless, it was embarrassing given what had just occurred.

“I can hear you…” Head falling forward to bury into his arms, Sanji hid his flushed cheeks while mumbling snidely, “...you assholes .”

Huffing a cloud of smoke into the pocket he’d created, Sanji shut his eyes as the haze curled back up into his face before dispersing. Sanji ground his forehead against his arms. Already knowing where this was all headed before he’d even had a chance to consider it—his choice was practically made for him. Or, more accurately, he knew his choice before given the chance to consider it.

“Take Sanji with me?” Luffy echoed. There was a pause, before declaring loudly, “No way!”

An actual laugh was startled out of Sanji—that kid was delightfully indecisive.

“Why not, boy? Don’t you need a cook for your ship? Isn’t he good enough for you?”

“I’d love to have Sanji for our cook, but he said he wants to stay here.” Luffy stopped to take another large slurp of the soup before continuing, “You can’t decide for him; he has to do it.”

“So you won’t take him unless he agrees to go?”

“That’s right,” Luffy chirped. “Seconds?”

“Well, fair enough,” Zeff grunted—Sanji could practically hear the chef shrugging, “But who knows whether that crazy crap-kid will agree to it.”

Letting his head fall back against the wall, Sanji stared out at the ocean through the gaps of the crossed balusters and let the hypnotic rhythm of the waves lull his apprehension. His mind wandered over thoughts of the chef and the circumstances that had led to Sanji being in his care. From leaving his militant family to winding up stranded on a deserted island with a pirate that ate his own leg to allow Sanji enough food to live.

“I don’t think he will; he’s stubborn.”

“More soup!” Luffy demanded—ignoring Zeff spectacularly.

 Sanji never truly felt like he needed Zeff’s blessing to go off and chase his dream, until the damned chef had given it—he felt silly for not realizing sooner how much it meant to him to have it…

However, it was a bit more complicated now than just following his dream. Even if he did accept Zeff’s blessing to go off on his own, there was still the small matter of…

Blowing out a heavy cloud of smoke and watching it swiftly disintegrate in the hot ocean sun, Sanji finally glanced down at his Spindle and the reality that he’d been avoiding ever since he’d made that split second decision to save that swordsman. He’d inadvertently bound them. This decision was so much more than simply following his dream—it also meant carrying the weight of another’s on his shoulders.

Staying here would allow the crew to lose, grieve, and then move on—it would absolve Sanji of any fault, but the cowardice of it would eat him alive. On the other hand, if he went with Luffy, he’d be willingly joining a crew with someone whose death – or future – was entirely determinable by his hand—and Sanji knew he’d unquestionably have to keep him alive.

Not for the crew, not even for the swordsman, but for himself—as selfish as that was.

So, it wasn’t a question of if he was finally ready to accept Zeff’s blessing and leave, but more a choice of whether he was content with sacrificing – potentially, yet most likely – several years of his life to keep alive a man that he hardly knew. Without even mulling it over, Sanji knew his own answer—there was no other option.

Something about this crew that had awoken a foolish hope that he’d buried deep within himself years ago. It would be arrogant to not recognize Luffy’s determination, and that swordsman’s sacrifice, had changed him for the better. To deny the opportunity at this point would be an insult, not only to himself, but to them—to everyone.

Gaze shifted from the Spindle itself to the bright blue Thread bundled safely around it, then further still; following its course as it drifted away from him and off across the ocean—his own time stretched out before him. Sanji was momentarily reminded of the unease it had given him a few days ago. He couldn’t recall why, nor the reason he’d hidden it, but perhaps it had been this. A weird sort of premonition guiding him to his future.

Placing his cigarette between his lips with an elegant hand, Sanji reached out to gently swipe at the lazily drifting Thread with a finger. He watched as the disturbance caused it to dance happily as though caught in a breeze. It was practically weightless – whimsically magical – yet carried such a tremendous burden—at the other end was a stranger that needed him to live, and ironically, that was exactly where Sanji needed to go to start living.

~ “Tell them it’s no ordinary suspicious character.” ~

Once again, Zoro was weightless – caught in that disorienting sensation between sinking and floating – only this time it was by his own design—having leapt into the ocean to prove a point. He cracked his eyes open. Ignoring the sting of salt water as he got his bearings; several feet below with no sign of rescue yet.

Both his hands and feet were expertly bound – ensuring his death – as Zoro slowly sank with his gaze remaining on the undulating surface. Streams of sunlight cut through the rippling water in a brilliant array to dapple across his body. An enchanting sight to occupy himself while waiting to either be proven right, or to finally die.

Faintly, Zoro could see the Thread of blue drifting lazily above him—caught within the swell of the water as it flowed listlessly towards the surface. It was only now that he was in the water that he could see the cook’s Thread tinctured by the fractured light shifting around him. By its most simple definition—blue, and yet, it held the same fluctuating, unpredictable radiance of the ocean.

Zoro snorted at his own sentimentality.

A cloud of bubbles burst out to tickle his face before shooting towards the surface, while Zoro sardonically wondered if perhaps he was dying…

That cook had given him a day, but it wasn’t like he was immortalized—time was only exploitable to a point. Especially when borrowed. A body Mended was cured of the specific ailment that time had woven through it, but could do nothing to stop the unpredictable nature of the present. Besides, his time was already up—it wouldn’t change anything to clock out a few hours early…

All at once, the sun was blocked out by a figure before the surface was shattered by someone diving in—it didn’t take much to guess who it was. Though Zoro had to admit he was impressed Nami was willing to risk rescuing him, especially given that saving a Mended man in his last hours was a fool’s errand.

Zoro smirked victoriously.

Swimming down to him with an impressive agility, Nami hooked a hand under his upper arm before kicking back towards the surface. He let himself be a dead weight to spite her. Making her work just a little bit harder for stealing Merry and sending them on this wild goose chase without farewell, nor explanation.

They soon broke the surface. 

Struggling with his weight despite her abilities, Nami eventually dragged Zoro to shore and hauled him back up onto the edge of the pool. She let go and clamored the rest of the way out to kneel beside him. Catching her breath through ragged inhales, Zoro took the opportunity to hack up some water that’d gotten up his nose before glancing up.

Through sopping wet hair, Nami gifted Zoro a hardened glare as she hissed, “What were you thinking?”

“What were you thinking?” Zoro parroted around a chuckle. Face down against the wet concrete, Zoro cast a covert smirk up at the woman – making sure the fishmen couldn’t see it – before jeering proudly, “What kinda cold-blooded bitch[1] can’t stand to see a man drown?”

Nami’s careful facade cracked.

Lip curling up to expose gritted teeth and eyes reflecting a curious amount of panic, Nami remained frozen while easily caught in her own transparency. Zoro had had his doubts, but this proved everything he’d suspected. Although, he was curious to see how she was going to talk her way out of this little stunt—to either him, or the fishmen all currently watching them.

“Well, help me, stupid .” Knowing he was going too far, Zoro couldn’t stop himself as he goaded playfully, “I almost died just now.”

Nami snapped.

“You bastard!”

Leaping to her feet, Nami turned and brought her heel down into Zoro’s back with a furious vengeance that would’ve been poignant on a normal day, but was especially painful right now. Zoro groaned into the ground—only partially in jest. Even with the Mending, his body was still in a lot of pain from his other injuries and the exhaustive toll the fight with Mihawk had caused.

Zoro could feel his vision starting to spin.

Not done with her act, Nami hooked her foot beneath him and flipped him onto his back before stooping down to grab him by the throat. She hauled him up—her grip biting. Nails digging in unnecessarily hard as she got him to his knees before stooping down to get right in his face with a cold look.

Zoro was impressed by her conviction to her character.

“If you mess with me again,” Nami hissed, “you’re dead.”

“If you say so,” Zoro placated with a facetious smirk. All of her threats were empty now in the wake of her previous mercy. “I’m dead anyway…”

Confusion twitched on her brow before her gaze finally drifted down to Zoro’s chest where his Spindle hung heavy, empty, and dull. He could see her eyes then shift lower to the blue Thread phasing through his bandages to the wound beneath—holding him together, body and soul. 

While she was careful to mask her reaction lest a fishman notice, it didn’t stop Zoro from catching the fearful understanding in her eyes. There was a profound horror—and sadness.

“All those bandages…” she murmured in a jilted understanding.

“Ran out of clean laundry,” Hoping to keep it lighthearted enough so she wouldn’t give herself away, Zoro smirked, “so I—”

Before Zoro could finish any more of his witty commentary, Nami released his throat and caught him hard in the stomach with a fist as he fell—she definitely wasn’t pulling any of her punches to sell her animosity to the fishmen.

Zoro’s knees hit the concrete, then he immediately slumped over.

Managing to roll onto his back, Zoro gasped up at the sky – working through the miasma of pain, blinking back the nausea – eventually getting the ringing in his ears to fade out just in time to hear one of the fishman busting through the gate in a panic. Zoro vaguely made out talk about their sharpshooter—they’d located him in one of the nearby villages. All but groaning in annoyance, Zoro refrained from rolling his eyes; everything was going from bad to worse.

“You guys go,” Nami jerked her head towards the gate. Then sneered at Zoro, “I’ll deal with him.”

There were some general murmurings of agreement before the leader and several of his underlings left to investigate. Zoro took the opportunity to recover now that the attention wasn’t on him. All he could do was hope that Usopp was lucky enough to get somewhere safe before the fishmen arrived.

Once the gate shut behind the leader, Nami sprung into motion; grabbing Zoro by the bonds around his ankles – not being especially delicate – and dragging him across the scraggy concrete with little regard to how it bit into shoulders. Already Zoro could feel the bandages having torn away to reveal skin which was quickly becoming chewed raw—adding it to the list of injuries for the day.

Zoro let his head drag lazily.

Gazing about the encampment with a stellar inverted view of the dozens of remaining fishmen lounging about in the afternoon sun. Most were napping, but some were watching the spectacle that was himself. Taking the opportunity to count and memorize their positions, Zoro then lifted his head as Nami finished dragging him the rest of the way into the fishmen’s hideout—presumably to their brig.

After dumping Zoro on the floor, she left before returning shortly after with his white katana and knife in hand. Respectfully placing the sword on the ground in front of Zoro, Nami then dropped to knee to cut the ropes on Zoro’s wrists. She quickly returned to the doorway and cast a glance about warily as Zoro distangled himself. Holding the severed ropes in his hands – a physical testament to their navigator's true character – Zoro glanced up only for Nami to cast a sharp look back at him.

“Get out of here—quickly,” she ordered. “Before Arlong gets back.”

Then she was gone.

Shucking off the last of the ropes and pushing to his feet, Zoro rolled his eyes at Nami’s naive assumption he would actually run away. He was under orders from Luffy to get Nami back, and until she had given her reasons and Luffy had accepted them – which was a questionable endeavor – Zoro intended to stay on this island. Besides, it was clear there was a lot more going on than just a betrayal on her part.

Unsheathing his white katana with a satisfying flourish, Zoro inspected the blade and was happy to find the altercation with Mihawk had left her fairly intact; the same could not be said for his other swords. However, one sword would be more than enough to take care of the fishmen waiting outside for him.

He only had a day left to live—and he needed to blow off some steam.

~ “That woman’s evil! She murdered Usopp!” ~

A silence followed Johnny and Yosaku’s departure, the three pirates left alone on the dirt path connecting Cocoyashi Village with the fishman encampment known as Arlong Park. Sanji was still catching up on the details of what was happening, but it appeared that the enchanting girl of this crew was entangled in a nefarious plot. Truly a damsel in distress that needed rescuing, but with Luffy currently – stubbornly – napping in the middle of the road, they had no choice except to wait.

As much as Sanji would love to chase after the auburn-haired goddess, he’d sworn his allegiance to the rubber fool, and Zeff had drilled a proper sense of loyalty into his head from a very young age—usually with a kick from his pegleg. So, if his captain chose to wait here, then this is where he would remain until further instruction.

Taking his time to pull out a fresh cigarette, Sanji popped the lid on the tin and was vividly reminded of the other pressing issue hanging over the crew. Sanji had no clue what their expectations were for himself regarding the swordsman, but no one had said anything yet. Perhaps it was because of the mess with Nami, but they were actually ignoring it suspiciously well.

Sanji selected a roll with the least amount of blood.

Lazily placing the cigarette between his lips, Sanji snapped the tin and pocketed it—his gaze darting covertly to the swordsman. Sanji watched as the man jerkily removed his sword – sheath and all – from the strap at his hip before moving to join Luffy on the ground. All of his movements were purposeful, but stiff—a stubbornly masked pain showing through the cracks of the swordsman’s thin veneer of resolve.

Bending over appeared too much for his injuries and the swordsman fell the last few feet into a seated position next to their captain. He grimaced. Recovering with a harsh exhale through gritted teeth and then shifting his sword so that it was nestled protectively within his arms—resting against his shoulder before crossing his arms to cradle it to his chest.

Sanji was wary of how to approach the swordsman.

They hardly had a conversation at the Baratie before Zoro got nearly eviscerated by that Warlord, and just this minute they had scuffled before Nami’s departure. His hands flexed in embarrassment—ashamed that his first interaction upon arriving with the swordsman was to argue with him, but he couldn’t exactly help it. Crewmates or not, the guy had moved towards a woman with violent intent.

Sanji opened his mouth, but swiftly shut it.

Perhaps it would be better to talk about it later when they weren’t caught in the cross hairs of a fishman occupancy, but then again… there was no guarantee they’d get another chance if things got out of hand, or if they got separated. He felt a bit ill at the thought. Something he hadn’t even considered was the tenuous game they’d be playing if the swordsman agreed to Sanji’s offer to Mend him.

If they ever were separated for longer than a day, then his life would be forfeit—once that Thread pulled free, no other Thread could replace it. Sanji could keep pulling his own Thread through for as long as the swordsman allowed, but there was simply no time for someone else to replace Sanji’s with their own.

Sanji silently lamented their situation before it had even begun.

Even with the best of intentions, if anything were to ever go wrong, then Sanji would inadvertently have to let the man die—this was far more complicated than he’d initially planned. And even if everything went exactly right; someday he would have to sit there, watch the Thread fall free, and let the man die of his own volition.

Anxiety began to make his skin itch, so Sanji focused on lighting his cigarette while trying not to think of the future, but simply the now. He snapped his lighter shut, and pocketed it while taking a heady drag. Even with that first inhale to calm himself, Sanji immediately felt like he needed another cigarette—more like ten.

After getting through half the smoke, Sanji finally decided to go for it and blurted, “How’s your wound?”

Zoro was quiet for a long time.

So long, in fact, that Sanji was beginning to question whether the swordsman had fallen asleep, but just when he was about to ask—the man spoke.

“Good,” Zoro murmured. “Usopp explained what happened.”

Neither moved at the statement – a weight carried with the name of their potentially fallen comrade – both sitting with that knowledge before Zoro shifted his head towards Sanji minutely. They shared a long, respective look, then the swordsman gifted him a stiff nod of gratitude.

It wasn’t particularly overwhelming, but given their situation and relationship, Sanji could see the sincerity within the action rang true. This man didn’t seem the type to show appreciation readily. Accepting that for the time being, Sanji decided to broach the much more insane proposition at a different time.

Judging from where the Thread appeared through Zoro’s bandages, there was a decent amount of time left before the wound would repon—at least until tomorrow. His thoughts turned to the sharpshooter he’d only had a brief altercation with about his uneaten mushrooms—and, of course, during Zoro’s Mending.

Thinking back to the way the crew had been laughing so amicably together when he’d first spotted them at the Baratie—it was hard to believe that same crew was now crumbling apart. Especially that darling woman; he couldn’t believe that she could turn around and murder her comrade so easily, but then again, he’d only met her the one time.

Chewing on the paper of his cigarette thoughtfully, Sanji debated reopening the wound that was so fresh amongst the crew, but they would know better than him what could’ve transpired. He stopped his gnawing to take a quick drag. Exhaling a cloud of smoke before once again putting his attention onto the swordsman that was partially turned away.

“Hey,” Sanji broached softly.

“Yeah?” Zoro grunted.

Not exactly saying the word – more like letting it let it fall out of him – the swordsman’s response left a lot to be desired in terms of their already rocky amicability, but Sanji chose to be the bigger man and ignore it.

“Could Nami really have killed Usopp?”

A suspiciously knowing chuckle crooked the swordsman’s mouth – there was a joke that Sanji was missing – but Zoro quickly explained with a biting grin and hapless shrug, “I told her she wasn’t really a bitch, maybe she decided to prove me wrong.”

Sanji stared in disbelief.

From their limited interactions at the Baratie, Sanji had figured the swordsman was spectacularly arrogant, but he hadn’t expected him to be a crude chauvinist. Sanji was momentarily questioning his decisions. Certainly, he was beginning to wonder if had accidentally bonded himself to an absolutely intolerable mess of a human being. Their previous argument was a testament to that…

“Bitch?” Sanji echoed furiously.

Already on his feet, Sanji had had enough of the swordsman’s disregard for that woman—more than willing to put his Thread to the test and pummel some respect into the bastard.

~ “The rest of you are beneath my notice—I have to save Luffy.” ~

Pain was an old friend.

Years of training had hardened him to the reality of suffering, but today was certainly endeavoring to put itself at the top of his list in terms of agony. Mended or not—the list of injuries he’d sustained today was crippling compounded. Finishing off that octopus fishman had taken the last of his strength, and now that he’d slumped to the ground, he wasn’t sure if he would get back up.

At this point, it would be easier to locate the parts of his body that didn’t hurt.

Distantly, he could sense a presence behind him, but there was nothing he could do. His body had stopped listening to him. Even with the Mending, he’d pushed himself to the limit. All he could do now was brace for the hit—except it never came.

A shadow cast over him, followed by a tremor through the air that caused his hair to quiver. His eyes flickered open to see a polished shoe braced a few feet in front of him. Through his distorted vision he could see the sliver of blue Thread creeping from his chest up towards the man, but even without it he could tell it was the cook.

Zoro didn’t need to turn his head to know he had just saved him—again.

Pushing aside that irritating thought, Zoro focused onto the much more pressing matter of his captain who was currently drowning. All he’d need was a few seconds to get down there and break the concrete. With Sanji keeping the second fishman distracted – Zoro could distantly hear them bantering – this was their opportunity.

Shakily planting his hand on the coping of the pool, Zoro began to drag himself towards the edge with the intent of going in after Luffy—if the cook could keep the fishman sufficiently occupied, then they might have a shot. Just as he was about to tumble over into the water, he was stopped by the cook yelling at him. Zoro didn’t have the energy to turn his head, but flicked an irritated look up out of the corner of his eye—the bastard was wasting time.

“If you go into the ocean like that you’ll die!” Sanji snarled. His hand fell to his chest. Planting firmly over his Spindle and Thread while reprimanding, “This does nothing!”

“Shut up!” Zoro snarled—some of his aggressiveness losing its racouness through his wheezing breaths. He’d roll his eyes, but that was a waste of his limited strength. Once more pulling himself towards the water while growling, “Luffy’s got to be at his limit by now—I can’t wait around for you to fight.”

“I know.”

There was a cheeky tone to the words that had Zoro freezing. Slowly turning to face the cook, Zoro watched as the man was already in the process of hooking his finger in the knot of his tie to loosen it while the other flipped the buttons of his jacket. He already had a shoulder half off by the time his tie was discarded.

“I know there’s no time—I’m stopping you because I know that all too well, you shit swordsman.”

Breaking into a run while expertly kicking off his shoes, Sanji had already launched himself towards the ocean by the time he barked, “So you can’t blame me for doing this, right?”

One of the fishmen began laughing victoriously.

“You fucking idiot!” Zoro bellowed, “That’s exactly what these guys want!”

It was too late—Sanji was already underwater and the fishman was diving in after him.

A heavy silence followed the departure of the cook and the fishman, Zoro left to kneel at the edge while trying to make out either of the two through the tumultuous waves fragmenting the dark waters. He tried to follow the Thread, but it very quickly was lost to the shadows. All Zoro could do was wait and hope the cook hadn’t made a huge mistake—for both their sakes… and Luffy’s.

Seconds passed until a sudden pain rocketed into Zoro’s chest.

Doubling over onto his elbows and choking around the sudden lack of air in his lungs, Zoro desperately heaved through the sudden shock to his already damaged body. Zoro soon recovered, but the pain lingered. Eyes opening to locate the Thread dangling from his chest that he was certain had been the source of the sudden agony.

It appeared there was a little more than just time connecting him to the cook.

Another cascade of pain came through the connection and had Zoro placing a hand to his chest while holding his breath to combat the flickering agony he could feel lancing down the Thread with the poignancy of an electric current. Bursts of pain and emotion shocking him—two more successive hits, followed by a third that brought Zoro back to his elbows.

“Stop fucking around, Cook,” Zoro grunted. “Luffy doesn’t have time.”

A sickening sensation in his gut had Zoro fighting not to retch, but the back of his throat stung with the acrid taste of bile; phantom or not, the pain he could feel from the cook had real world effects on his body. An ache in his ribs confirmed the cook broke something. Despite the ever present tang of copper on his tongue from his own blood, Zoro felt a phantom flicker of the taste that didn’t belong to him.

Zoro warred between his want to trust the cook, and his need to rescue his captain.

Crawling into the ocean when dealing with his own wounds – then adding Sanji’s on top of that – was a recipe for disaster, but if the dumbass didn’t get his act together fast, Zoro wouldn’t have a choice.

Soon the pain faded just like the rest, then silence.

Nothing could be felt through the Thread, until a surge of relished victory flickered throughout Zoro’s body, followed by desperate urgency. Zoro could feel his heart pounding faster just from the sensation. Leaning closer to the edge – once again searching for the cook – before Sanji broke the surface with an explosion of water and a desperate gasp.

Zoro could feel the relief radiating down the Thread.

After getting through the first few necessary inhales, Sanji hastily glanced about before swimming over to Zoro and grabbing the edge of the pool. Sanji clung while taking a moment to hack up a substantial amount of water before bracing his hands and clamoring swiftly out. Rising to his feet just as Zoro opened his mouth—only to have his intentions read.

“Don’t worry…” Hands braced on his knees, Sanji rasped—his voice was concerningly ragged, “He’s alright.”

“He is?” Zoro sagged in relief.

Judging from what he felt through the Thread, he’d feared the worst—except this cook had not only saved Luffy, but survived a fishman on his own turf in the ocean. A formidable task. Zoro had already accepted Luffy's decision to take on the cook due to his resolve, but it was reassuring to know that he could hold his own in a fight—maybe even moreso.

“Half of him,” Sanji clarified.

“Half?!”

“I’ll explain later!” Sanji growled, but his ire wasn’t directed at Zoro.

Finally pushing off his knees and straightening with a few tottery steps backwards, Sanji shook off the last vestiges of his fatigue. His tongue drew across his upper lip to catch some of the blood that trickled down his face from his brow. With a vulgar hack, he gathered the blood up to spit the wad to the side before rounding on the water the fishman was just emerging from.

"Get your ass outta there, you shitty fish!” Sanji snarled, “I'm gonna filet you!"

Both Zoro and Sanji watched as the fishman effortlessly launched from the water to once more join them on land. He looked in remarkably better shape than Sanji—unscathed, in fact. Apparently the cook hadn’t landed a single blow in the underwater skirmish, but at least he hadn’t died.

Zoro tuned out the fishman’s boasting.

Much more interested in the cook who was slipping his shoes back on – giving a tap of the toe to the ground to ensure they were snug – and now pinning an eerily calm look to the fishman. He looked like he was calculating something—perhaps selecting. With a flash of decisiveness, Sanji darted past Zoro with a speed that once more had his hair rustling and launched himself at the fishman who was still mid-rant. His foot connected beautifully right across the face before he had a chance to finish his sentence.

It resonated with a painful crack.

Sending him down, but Sanji didn’t give him a chance to hit the ground; keeping him elevated by a swift kick upwards before pummeling the fishman with meticulously placed strikes—each accompanied by a taunting anatomizing of every body part he struck. Zoro finally understood that look from before; the cook had been eyeing the fishman up as though he were a calf to slaughter.

Once satisfied with his work, Sanji allowed the fishman to fall to his knees while the cook repositioned his footing to finish him off.

“Why, you little—”

Sanji didn’t let him finish.

A final kick sent the fishman rocketing across the courtyard with all the intensity of cannon fire—his body connecting with the concrete wall in an explosion just as deafening. Rubble and debris spraying the courtyard.

Thick clouds of dust filled the area before slowly settling to reveal a hole in the wall in the shape of the fishman.

This guy was more than just a pompously dressed cook.

“Like I said, insignificant small fry.” Sanji grinned, “Looks like we’re the winners of this game.”

Zoro couldn’t help but smirk—Luffy’d found a good one.

It was comforting to know that at the very least the crew would be in good hands with him once Zoro’s time was up.

~ “We’re celebrating our victory—don’t be a wet blanket.” ~

A joyous bustle of activity hummed throughout the quaint village as the residents puttered about to ready for a festival in celebration of their liberation. Various decorations – flags, sparklers, and ribbons – were thrown up across the buildings and street lamps, while others erected tents, tables, and chairs. Many of the rest were off preparing foods and collecting ale stores for what has to be a grand celebration.

Laughter and conversation created a pleasant din that was a horrible juxtaposition to the somber atmosphere within the local doctor’s residence where the Straw Hat crew had finally gathered. Zoro was doing remarkably better after a nap – which Sanji was still struggling to understand – but it did nothing to change the fact his Thread was gone. They all watched as Zoro sat patiently while the doctor finished examining the swordsman’s Mended wound – as well as his barren Spindle – before declaring to the room what they all already knew.

“You’ve got maybe a half day at most.”

Zoro’s expression never shifted, but the crew buckled.

A jilted sorrow filled the room – verbal confirmation hitting heavier despite their expectations – Usopp was doing his best to fight back tears while Nami had clamped her hand tightly across her mouth, but her sparkling eyes gave away her despair. Sanji remained carefully unreadable—despite his resolve, he had no intention of putting the swordsman on the spot in front of his crew. Thankfully, Luffy broke the silence by announcing with abundant confusion.

“I thought Sanji just Mended you so you could get to a doctor,” Luffy frowned innocently, it was clear he didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. Rounding on the doctor and demanding, “What’s wrong?”

“A Mending is a good short-term solution, but…” the doctor glanced nervously before gesturing to Sanji, “Your cook Mended him on his deathbed—I can’t fix a wound on a dead man.”

“But Zoro’s alive?”

Sanji refrained from sighing—their captain was remarkably slow.

“Yes, Luffy,” Nami nodded. Having gotten a better control of herself, “But his Thread’s gone—Sanji’s the only thing keeping him here right now.”

“Quite frankly, I’m impressed,” the doctor glanced to Sanji, “I’ve never seen one like this before—it’s very rare. Most of our Mendings are for the elderly to give them a few more days to get their affairs in order. This is… it’s a miracle you even managed to catch him in time.”

Sanji didn’t comment—simply accepted the praise with a short nod.

Turning back to Zoro, the doctor added, “You’re a very lucky man.”

Once again, Zoro didn’t react beyond the carefully crafted resolve he’d constructed for himself. It didn’t surprise Sanji that the swordsman had already resigned himself, but it didn’t help to quell the nervousness in his gut at what he was about to propose. Hoping to mask his vacillating feelings on the matter with a facade of indifference, Sanji’s mouth was suddenly dry.

“So what?” Luffy scoffed, “Then Sanji can just keep Mending Zoro—no big deal!”

“No big deal?” Usopp scoffed. “Do you even know what you’re suggesting?”

“You’re asking Sanji to give up years of his life.”

“I’m sure Sanji doesn’t mind! Do ya Sanji?”

Sanji opened his mouth, but was cut short.

“Stop it,” Zoro interrupted. “All of you.”

Everyone collectively turned to the swordsman.

“This isn’t the place—it’s not about me,” he continued with a passionate insistence. Taking his time to meet with every set of eyes in the room to ensure they all understood what he was saying, “These people have been enslaved for years; they deserve to celebrate.”

From the moment the swordsman had spoken of his goals in the Baratie, Sanji had understood exactly who the haramaki-wearing idiot was; in a sick sort of irony he related heavily to him. Confidence—this swordsman had in spades, but there was an equal part recklessness to him. And, with certainty, not an ounce of self-preservation. He was stubborn, but brusque—realistic to a fault in his decisions. All of it culminating in someone Sanji couldn’t help but begrudgingly respect for an assuredness he never quite found.

“Zoro—” Nami began, but Sanji quickly interjected.

“A few more days doesn’t matter to me—sorry, Nami.” Offering the navigator a swift apology before turning to meet the swordsman’s cool gaze. His determination clear. Without a word, they understood one another as Sanji said, “I’ll keep Mending him—and we can deal with all of this after we depart.”

Sanji’s offer was met with silence, so he broached, “Everyone alright with that?”

A collective agreement flickered throughout the room, but Sanji’s gaze was on Zoro—needing to gauge the swordsman’s reaction as a foundation for his future offer. This wasn’t the time nor the place to discuss it—he’d prefer to do it just between them.

Zoro’s resolute gaze never wavered—his nod just as guarded as every other time.

~ “Yeah, but it’d take a normal person two years to recover.” ~

Between the festivities, Sanji had quickly taken the time to Mend him as discussed without bringing attention to themselves so the villagers could continue their celebrations. Neither said anything to each other. It helped that they were both happily buzzed off the assortment of liquors provided, but Zoro would’ve had to be several kegs deep not to notice there was something on the cook’s mind.

For the entire first night, Zoro watched the cook hover with embarrassingly little awareness of how obvious he was being. Zoro counted the cook’s attempt to approach at least seven times before giving up. It wasn’t until the following evening that Sanji made his move.

Finally coming to join Zoro where he had taken up residence in the alley between two buildings just off the main avenue. He had a delicately arranged plate of assorted meats. Along with two tankards of ale that each had an enticingly frothy head bubbling over the rims.

With only a polite inclination, Sanji offered Zoro one of them – which he took with a stiff nod – before dropping down to sit across from Zoro. He didn’t say a word. Taking his time to enjoy his beer and sample the array of food he’d gotten for himself, but his casual demeanor wasn’t fooling Zoro in the slightest—it was clear there was something on the cook’s mind, and he had a pretty decent idea of what it was.

However, Zoro was not so inclined to speak for others, nor chase after someone that did not have the courage to voice their desires—so Zoro waited. He chugged his mead happily. Living solely within the moment – enjoying the little things – lest tonight truly be his last day alive.

After nearly an hour of companionable silence, Sanji set his tankard aside and Zoro watched as the cook attempted to psyche himself up.

“Looks like things are winding down,” Sanji alluded vaguely to villagers. His fingers twitched on his pant leg. Eventually meeting Zoro’s gaze to say, “We’re probably going to set sail in the morning.”

Zoro nodded—not about to address the unspoken deadline unless directly asked.

Sanji’s gaze shifted down, then up, “It’ll probably only last until midday.”

Zoro nodded again.

At that, a tick of impatience managed to warp Sanji’s eye – exactly what Zoro was waiting for – meaning that Zoro’s tactics were beginning to work. He’d gladly be purposefully obtuse to escape the banality of roundabout smalltalk. Either get to the point, or leave him alone.

“You gon’ say somethin’?”

“Not much to say,” Zoro muttered. Shoulder lifting in a dismissive shrug to his own impending death—he’d had a few days to come to terms with it. Letting his eyes wander about the avenue of joyous people – looking for, but unable to locate Nami – he then returned his gaze to the cook and admitted with gratitude, “but I am glad I got to be in service to a friend before I go.”

Zoro watched the cook study him—curious as to what he saw.

“You really weren’t spewing bullshit, huh?” Sanji’s question was only partially rhetorical, “You don’t care if you die.”

At that , a flicker of defiance showed on the swordsman’s brow.

“There’s a hell of a difference between caring and accepting.” A grim look twisted the swordsman’s features for the first time since they’d met, and he muttered with a sigh, “I suppose I was just meant to make it this far.”

“Or not.”

Zoro arched a brow.

“I mean…” the cook broached with a bashful glance. He trailed off while inspecting Zoro just as thoroughly as the swordsman was him. Waiting patiently – his gaze never wavering – as he pinned Sanji in place until the cook continued, “It’s a little… incredible—don’t you think?”

Nothing shifted on the swordsman’s face, but Zoro allowed a congenial curiosity—a willingness to listen. His gaze was sharp. Only a calm blink gave his ascension for Sanji to continue with his outrageous offer; Zoro still wasn’t certain he’d believe it until it was uttered.

Sanji licked his lips nervously.

“That we met just before yours was intended to run out.”

Without missing a beat, Zoro replied, “I’m lucky like that.”

“Or it was meant to be,” Sanji countered just as quickly.

A wry grin split Zoro’s face before he had a chance to reign it in—surprised by his own lack of restraint, but deciding to excuse himself due to lack of sleep and several days of inebriation. He allowed a chuckle to accompany the smile. Inspecting the cook slowly as he wondered if his original theory about him had been correct; his Spindle was no longer tucked modestly away, but his words were demonstratively religious.

Some people believed that the Threads were proof of destiny – so why try to outrun it – while others only considered them a manifestation of existence. Zoro stubbornly found himself in the middle—on the razor’s edge of indecision. If anything, his Mending only proved his suspicions—to exist beyond the end of your Thread was a contradiction to the whole idea that their deaths were predestined.

Zoro finally scoffed, “Didn’t take you for the religious type.”

That managed to catch the cook off-guard—his eyes widening cartoonishly before a radiant smile lit up his face to compliment his sparkling laughter. Zoro watched it—mesmerized. It was the first time he truly got to see such an innocent, almost charming side of the normally sauve, vulgar cook.

"I'm more of a romantic," Sanji disagreed. Laughter tapering off with his own biting smile – like he knew he was splitting hairs, “I’d like to believe there’s perhaps a bit more to the world than what we see.”

Zoro’s lack of response was telling enough, but Sanji didn’t back down.

That charming smile was a permanent fixture now as Sanji leaned in and asked almost conspiratorially, “What about you?”

“I don’t much like the idea of someone else determining my future for me, and I sure as hell ain’t getting into a debate with you about it.”

Frankly, the idea that someone other than himself had any say in where and when he died infuriated him to his core, but gave him the relentless desire to test that theory. If everything was predestined, then there was nothing to fear—in a way, he was immortal. All he could do was test his luck, and let come what may.

A testament to the contradiction of the Threads was that he was still alive – that was all that mattered – and he was willing to test the limits of his fate until the very end. If there was a divine plan, then he intended to live it as chaotic as possible.

Ignoring the hint – practically stomping on it – Sanji challenged, "What do you believe in, then?"

"Myself," Zoro responded without pause—self-assured as ever.

“And how’d that work out for ya?”

Zoro arched a brow—impressed by the cook’s sudden tactless words.

“If you got something to say, Cook ,” Enunciating the moniker as exacting and sourful as he could muster, Zoro then stated calmly, “Just say it.”

“I said everything I wanted to before you got cut in half.” Sanji murmured, “A bit of self-preservation mighta done you some good.”

“I don’t care to try to understand how this shit works,” Gesturing vaguely towards his chest, Zoro then shook his head dismissively, “so I’m going to live my way, and let the rest work itself out."

“Now who’s religious?” Sanji scoffed derisively, “Sounds an awful lot like fatalism if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Zoro grunted.

“So, you’re accepting my offer?”

For the first time since Luffy had brought it up, Sanji was now addressing the outrageous – some would even call blasphemous – idea. He’d watched the cook very carefully when it was initially suggested, but the cook had hidden his intentions very carefully. There was no telling exactly how the cook felt about the situation, but a part of him couldn’t believe it was simply altruistic.

"What's your angle?"

“No angle. I never intended for this.” Sanji admitted bluntly, “I just wanted to give you a chance to join up with Luffy and say your proper farewells, but…”

“But now you’re here.”

Sanji nodded.

Regretting his earlier brash behavior, Zoro could very easily imagine the situation from Sanji’s perspective and position he was forced into. Zoro allowed himself a modicum of remorse. However, he didn’t mince words when admonishing the cook for his ridiculous fears.

“I should already be dead; that’s not on you.” Zoro was obstinate as he gave the cook his out, “This isn’t your problem anymore.”

“—the hell it isn’t.”

“Why’d you come?” Zoro murmured, eyes critical, “If you knew…”

An uncharacteristic shyness caused the cook to withdraw in on himself – it was minute movement, but one Zoro caught nonetheless – before his gaze flicked away. Zoro’s sharp eyes tracked the motion. Catching sight of Luffy, Sanji’s motives were immediately made clear—it was almost tragic.

“He got to you, too.” A smile quirked his lips and Zoro leaned back in understanding, “He’s intriguing, eh?”

Sanji’s sharp gaze returned to Zoro.

“I want to see where this goes, I want to see what he does, I want—” Sanji balked to stifle his own building passions. Zoro could see him silently berating himself. Returning both his gaze and the subject at hand back to Zoro, “But that won’t happen without you.”

Zoro chuckled at that, “You drastically overestimate how long I’ve known hi—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sanji shook his head, “Frankly I don’t care, but I’m not starting off my allegiance to this crew by letting someone die who I could’ve saved. I'm a cook, I feed people—in a way, this is no different.”

And for that, Zoro had no objections—to do so would be a disservice to the cook’s convictions.

“It may be years,” was all the swordsman alluded to his consideration.

“I’m willing to part with a bit of old age if it’s in service of a friend—just like you said, right?”

A genuine smile returned to Zoro’s face as he commended the clever cook on his strategic ability to use his own words against him—it was hard to argue that. He could admit – despite the weight of this arrangement – that he’d gladly take living over death, but the cost…

It was something he would never be able to repay.

“And what do you want?”

“Don’t ever mention it.”

Zoro extended his mug, “Deal.”

TBC…

Chapter Text

~ “If we see that island… then we’re approaching the Grand Line.” ~

“How did you…” Sanji started brazenly, but trailed off in uncertainty. Looking around the galley in hopes the room itself would speak and provide answers before inevitably falling back to Zoro with an uncomfortable smile, “wanna do this?”

“Quickly,” Zoro grunted, then shrugged, “Preferably.”

Sanji made a face at the dry commentary.

After catching sight of the infamous island of the Pirate King – Loguetown – Nami had given them approximately an hour before they would be nearing port. Luffy had bemoaned heavily about the wait, but excitement was palpable for the entire crew. It was the perfect opportunity for them to stock up on supplies, stretch their sea legs, and enjoy a last stint of relaxation before heading into the volatility of the Grand Line.

They intended to split up for a while which meant the swordsman needed to be Mended before going their separate ways. Sanji had initially Mended him at about midday the first time, and judging from where the Thread sat on the swordsman’s chest he was nearly out of time. Last thing they needed was for a simple miscalculation to lead to the swordsman's premature death.

Sanji was nervous, even though he would never admit it.

Mending the swordsman while unconscious had been one thing, but now they were both awake – and sober – so they were unable to avoid the situation any longer. They were going to have to get used to it sooner or later. Sailing together for the foreseeable future, it was best that they figure out a routine.

Without another word, Sanji gestured towards the galley table – silently ordering Zoro to sit – before motioning at the swordsman’s shirt and beckoning for him to undress. Sanji watched in awe as the swordsman managed to struggle with the task. Tugging the hem of his ratty shirt from the confines of his haramaki before gracelessly wrestling it over his head with all the expertise of a cat trapped in a burlap sack.

Sanji turned away from the tragic scene.

Needing to wash his hands, Sanji used the excuse to swiftly walk away from the swordsman and work on recovering his aplomb. He should’ve cleaned his hands properly the other times as well. However, there hadn’t been time, but it was the polite thing to do going forward—though Sanji highly suspected the swordsman didn’t care…

And might not even know the purpose.

Judging from the grime in the swordsman’s hair, his general pungent musk, and the fact Sanji had yet to see the swordsman actually bathe, Sanji figured his original assessment of the man was correct. He likely only washed once a week, or when he got particularly dirty. That had Sanji taking a mental note not to add anything to the swordsman’s diet to exacerbate his already substantial body odor.

At the sink, Sanji rolled up his sleeves and then took his time to properly scrub his hands clean. He cut the tap and patted his hands and forearms dry with a fresh towel. By the time he had finished and turned back around, Sanji found the swordsman had managed to discard his shirt and was lounging with his elbows propped on the galley table—his wound on display.

Sanji stared at the horrid sight.

There were still a few stitches threaded through the top of the wound, but the rest had unraveled and as time slipped away so too did the Mending. A large portion of the swordsman’s hip and stomach were starting to split open, and blood was oozing from the fresh looking gash in faster quantities.

Despite Zoro’s body being in better condition to handle the injury, it was clear that the pain had an exhaustive toll on the man. His breathing was getting a bit heavier with every passing second. A flush started to climb higher to bring with it a light sheen of sweat as he worked through the discomfort, but aside from the wound Zoro was remarkably healthier than he had been a few days ago.

Time was a fickle thing.

A Mending couldn't undo what had happened – time couldn't go backwards – it merely added time onto what already existed, but the rest of the body acted accordingly.

Being well-rested had returned the swordsman to a more stable state. His skin had regained its natural flush. The swordsman was well-built. Lean, but strong—if a bit undernourished, but Sanji intended to fix that, since the stronger Zoro became, the less trauma the wound would inevitably cause every time it opened…

Sanji hoped.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Sanji used his foot to drag a stool over to Zoro before plopping down onto it. He sat nearly at eye level with the other. Gaze falling to the obnoxious spread of the swordsman’s thighs and the distressing realization that his legs were going to half to nestle within them.

Sanji failed to keep the disdain from twisting his lips.

Knocking his knees childishly against Zoro’s with a snidely muttered, “Move.” quickly garnered a retaliation in the form of the swordsman snapping his thighs shut to cause Sanji’s knees to crack together. Sanji retaliated in kind. A back and forth of petty smacks and kicks until they eventually ended up with Sanji’s knees pressed up against the bench with Zoro’s legs just beginning to be forced to rest atop the cook’s thighs.

It wasn’t ideal… but neither were happy which made for a fantastic compromise.

Zoro’s petulant frown was directed at the ceiling as Sanji set about Mending him.

It was so much more awkward sober…

Just like the first time, Sanji removed himself from the situation by thinking about the fundamentals of the task at hand—the simple function of needle and thread. There was familiarity in the motion.

Years of his childhood were spent having his injuries stitched up by his older sister before learning to do it himself—sometimes Mended, others not. Once leaving and getting taken in by Zeff, Sanji had discovered the skill held an even more important meaning.

Clothes required mending when you didn't have the funds to replace them as his estranged family had. He’d learned very quickly to respect the clothes he had and maintain them just as studiously. That slow passage of time was just as lethal to clothing as any of roughhousing with pirates and customers alike. He’d sewn back on more buttons than he could count. And the list of things that needed darning felt like it never ended; holes in the heels of socks, inseam wear on trousers…

Sanji remained lost in thought, and before either knew it they were done.

Snagging the washcloth from his shoulder with a decisive whip, Sanji extended it to the swordsman who took it just as Sanji pushed himself to his feet. He turned his gaze away while Zoro wiped himself down. It was irksome how the swordsman was mostly just pushing the blood around rather than actually moping it up, but Sanji wasn’t about to critique the barbarian on his bathing techniques after only knowing him a few days.

At the sink, Sanji managed to flip the tap with his elbow and began scrubbing the swordsman's blood from his hands. It wasn't nearly as copious as the first time – having covered his forearms and gotten onto his clothes – but there was still a gradient of garnet well up past his wrists.

Pointedly keeping his gaze on his task – perhaps a bit too fastidious – Sanji worked his thumb between his fingers and scrubbed furiously to get the blood out of the creases of his skin. He rubbed until a pink flush rose on the pale flesh—replacing the blood. His gaze drifted down to the metal basin. Watching the lines of red spiraling within the water as it circled the drain.

It wasn’t a large amount of blood, but it was still blood that the swordsman was going to have to lose every day from now until…

Sanji shut his eyes.

Finishing up his washing and cutting the tap, Sanji turned away to grab another dish towel to dry his hands and avoided the reality currently draining down the sink. He tossed the towel into a bin to be washed. Reaching into his pocket to dig out his watch and flicking it open—noting the time was just a little past mid-day.

Taking into account the stitches that were left, and the time it took to Mend him, they likely had until around three o’clock daily to Mend the swordsman before risk losing him. So he decided to voice as much.

“Three o’clock,” Sanji muttered as he pocketed his watch. “That’s you’re cut off.”

A sardonic smile twitched the corner of the swordsman's mouth, but didn’t seem inclined to let Sanji in on the joke—and Sanji had no interest in asking. However – after pulling on his shirt once more – Zoro caught Sanji’s curious look.

All the swordsman said was, “Lucky.”

Sanji’s gaze fell to the swordsman’s ear – noting the three sparkling golden earrings – then his hip where only one blade currently sat, but used to house three. Ever since meeting Zoro, Sanji had been keenly aware of the swordsman’s proclivity towards the number, but had no intention of asking why.

“I suppose,” Sanji murmured.

With his shirt tucked into his haramaki once more, the swordsman rested his hand upon the sword hilt and grunted, “We done here?”

Ignoring the grating tone, Sanji gave a flippant wave towards the galley door—wordlessly dismissing him until the next time they would have to deal with it… Tomorrow.

~ “I doubt I'll see her again. Still… I was weak.” ~

Once getting an absurd loan from Nami, Zoro made his way through the bustling crowds of Loguetown in search of a bladesmith to replace his two missing swords. He trudged along with his hands shoved into his pockets. A dark cloud hung over him.

Not just because of Nami’s swindling, nor the weird run-in with the swordsman that bore an uncanny resemblance to the previous owner of his white katana, but because he was still trying to shake off the weird moment shared with that cook.

It wasn’t the worst scenario in the world, but something he’d could’ve done without. He wasn’t exactly used to sitting with his legs propped on top another’s—let alone a man’s. Not that that was an issue, but when it came to the irritating womanizer Zoro didn’t exactly enjoy giving him the upper hand on anything .

That being said, they were crewmates now, and there was very little privacy on a small ship, especially when stuck at sea for weeks at a time. He’d prefer to keep things as civil as possible when it came to the crew. Even if that meant sucking it up for a few minutes each day.

At the very least the cook had been quick about it—not wanting to drag it out any longer than he absolutely had to, which Zoro had to respect him for.

Finally locating a bladesmith, Zoro entered to find a brooding shopkeeper at the counter already waiting for him. The shop was decently stocked. All manner of weapons adorned the walls – varying in quality, size, and style – he'd certainly find something here, and hopefully for the price of the pitance Nami loaned him.

"I need a sword," Zoro announced.

Immediately the shopkeeper fell into some well-rehearsed schmoozing, so Zoro decided to cut to the chase. He dug Nami's money from his pocket. Slapping it down on the counter and clarifying his intentions.

"I have 100,000—sell me two."

It wasn't lost on him that the shopkeeper's amiable nature immediately evaporated, but Zoro didn't have time to equivocate.

"Two swords for 100,000?" He grumbled irritably, "You'll only get a blunt sword for 50,000."

"I'll take whatever you got," Zoro grunted. "I'm low on cash right now."

Then something shifted on the man's face.

"Could… Could I," the shopkeeper stuttered in a poor attempt at affectatious indifference, "have a look at that sword?"

Zoro frowned at the odd behavior, but tugged his sword free regardless.

Offering it to the shopkeeper to inspect, Zoro watched as the man held the blade and proceeded to cycle through an unsubtle, and frankly confusing, array of emotions before eventually looking up with disinterest and declaring, "This sword’s no good."

Zoro’s hand lashed out to tangle in the shopkeeper’s collar, " What? "

"Wait!” The shopkeeper blubbered instantly, “Sorry, I lied."

He held up the sword.

“Perhaps we can work around your lack of funds. This sword is nothing special, but it might be worth something .” The shopkeeper reasoned with a placating wave of his hand. His eyes flickered to the Thread floating off of Zoro’s chest, then to the empty Spindle. He astutely concluded, "You wouldn't mind parting with it, I'm sure?”

Zoro’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ll give you 200,000 Berries for it,” he held up three fingers, “then you’ll have 300,00 and you can buy three swords for 100,000 each.”

Zoro frowned, “What are you talking about?”

“Forget it—500,000 Berries,” the shopkeeper offered much to Zoro’s growing confusion. Again his gaze fell to Sanji’s Thread and with a sympathetic moue corrected, “What the hell—I’ll give ya 650,000.”

“Listen…” Zoro broached slowly, “this sword isn’t for sale at any price.”

An excited gasp had Zoro glancing over his shoulder.

" That sword?! "

A figure suddenly lunged across the counter to inspect the katana. Zoro hackles rose, but he immediately recoiled at the realization it was the same, damn woman from earlier that bore an unnerving resemblance to Kuina. As she cradled the sword reverently in her hand, she reached up to lift her glasses to get a closer look before announcing assuredly.

"This is Wado Ichimonji—the Straight Road to Peace!"

Zoro's ire eased, replaced my curiosity, "'Wado' what?"

That Marine continued gushing over the blade to the shopkeeper which then devolved into yelling which Zoro quickly tuned out. His gaze still on Kuina's blade—Wado Ichimonji. He had known the blade was important to her, and Koshiro, but he'd never been told it had a name…

"Oi, you," Finished with his berating of the Marine, the shopkeeper brandished a finger at Zoro then pointed irritably away, "There're swords worth 50,000 in those barrels—pick two."

Still unsure of why the shopkeeper was so upset, Zoro just nodded and made his way to the barrels. He paused at the Marine that was watching him. Without a sword in front of her, she registered Zoro for the first time.

“I met you on the street earlier—” she balked.

Having finally noticed the Thread hanging from his chest, she stood abruptly as the scabbards she’d been laying in clattered around her. A hand on her chest. Already stepping towards him with an unnerving concern that had Zoro’s already sour face darkening.

“Oh my Fates,” the Marine gasped. “Are you okay? ”

“‘ts fine,” Zoro waved her off.

“But your—”

Zoro gave her a pointed look.

Catching herself in the terrible social faux pas, she clasped a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her shock. He didn’t entirely blame her. Seeing someone walking around without a Thread wasn’t exactly normal —quite often it was treated with a solemn reverence and mournful respect.

Satisfied by her silence, Zoro stepped around her and towards the barrels of swords that the shopkeeper had indicated earlier. He began rooting around. Hoping to find at least something suitable as the Marine stepped up beside him once more.

“You must like swords…” she broached with an awkward exhilaration. Clearly trying to cover for her previous rudeness by attempting to make friendly conversation, “Three swords, huh? Just like that bounty hunter.”

Zoro already knew where this was headed, but decided to play along.

Pulling a decent katana from the barrel, Zoro kept his attention on the blade as he inspected it while echoing, “Bounty hunter?” with a feigned incredulity. He unsheathed the blade. Noting the weight of the tang, the quality of the steel, and sharpness of the blade—none too impressed.

“Haven’t you heard of him?” She pressed, “His name is Roronoa Zoro.”

With deadpan risibility, Zoro muttered, “I know the name well .”

As though waiting for the opportunity, the woman dove eagerly into monologuing about his own misdeeds and the tragedy of fallen swordsmen to live by less honorable conduct. Zoro was obviously inclined to disagree. Hunger was a substantial motivator when it came to man's morality.

Zoro idly wondered what about his demeanor gave the impression he wanted idle chat. He made a mental note to ask Usopp so he could adjust his behavior to prevent this in the future.

She finally ceased her nattering with a forlorn sigh, "These swords must be crying."

"Well, there are probably good reasons for that," Zoro reasoned absently. Alluding to his own misfortune before picking up a different sword, "A man's gotta do what he can to eat in these times."

"Well, I like ‘em!" The shopkeeper groused, “This shop used to be filled with men who wanted to sail the Grand Line—then that monster took over this town. And what happened? The customers stopped coming.”

“Captain Smoker is not a monster!” The Marine defended hotly, “He’s got the power of the Devil Fruit!”

Zoro perked up at the mention of the dangerous fruit.

Once more the Marine fell into her self-righteous monologue about the sanctity of swords and her quest to relinquish them from the hands of evil men. Zoro decided to play with her a bit. Hand falling to the hilt of his own sword – Wado Ichimonji; as she had said – and cradling just beneath the guard, Zoro extended the sword out with an inviting air and spoke up to get the Marine’s attention.

“Do you plan to collect this sword too—the one called Wado Ichimonji?”

“Huh?! Um…” Holding up her hands in surrender, she waved them about, “No! It’s not that I want the swords—I just don’t want evil men to have them.”

Zoro smirked, then released Wado—he enjoyed getting that rise from her.

Returning to his search as the woman once more returned to her odd silence, then in an odd show of kindness began noticeably perusing the barrels, but there was a tension in her that belied her casualness. Zoro could practically see her mustering up the courage before finally murmuring, “Can I ask why a dead man’s looking to buy a sword?”

“Do I look dead to you?” Zoro grunted irritably.

She flushed shamefully before stilling, “Ah… this sword.”

Pulling out the little book, she began flipping through the pages hurriedly before exclaiming in victory, “I knew it!” She grabbed a blade of gold and burgundy from one of the barrels, then rounded on Zoro, “It’s Kitetsu the Third. Take this one!”

With the sword still extended towards Zoro, the Marine turned her incredulity onto the shopkeeper as to why such a fine blade was in the discount bin, but Zoro was far too captivated by the blade to pay them any mind. He reached out to take it. Hand pausing over the scabbard with a jolt at the strength of the aura it radiated. Instinctively causing his hand to retract, Zoro fought the urge and forced his hand to grab the sword and unsheath it properly—needing to know what this strength was.

A malevolent sentience whispered through the steel—it called to Zoro.

The shopkeeper shouted, “No, not that one! I can’t sell that one!”

“Why the hell not?!” The Marine rounded on him irritably.

“This sword’s cursed,” Zoro observed aloud.

There was clear hesitation from the shop keeper as he replied, “You’ve heard of it?”

“No,” Zoro murmured—eyes still on the blade thoughtfully, “I can just tell.”

“Well, you’re right. The first Kitetsu and its successors are good blades, but they’re all cursed!” The shopkeeper warned, “Famous swordsmen have died tragic deaths because they wielded the Kitetsu swords. These days, no swordsman in the world uses a Kitetsu… and if he did, he wouldn’t be around long.”

“Empty threat,” Zoro murmured, then hooked his thumb under Sanji’s Thread. He held it up for both to see, “I already don’t have long.”

The shopkeeper refused to meet his eyes, “Even so—no matter how much I’d like to rid myself of that sword—I might be cursed for it.”

Zoro had already tuned him out.

Rotating the blade slowly to inspect every angle of the weapon, Zoro paused as the light from the window caught the curling hamon that caused the sunlight to flicker like flames. There was bloodthirst in this blade. It wanted his blood—a fact that had a thrill running through Zoro’s veins.

“I like this sword,” Zoro smirked. “I’ll take it.”

He could feel the sword’s excitement rattle throughout.

“Are you a fool?” The shopkeeper screeched, “I can’t sell you that sword! If you died, it’d be like I killed you myself!”

Zoro decided against a quip that a Warlord had already seen to that.

“How about this then—my luck versus this sword’s curse?” Zoro smirked—he had more than enough luck to spare, “Why don’t we find out which is stronger?”

Despite looking at the shop keeper, Zoro’s challenge was directed at the cursed blade. Eyes flicking only momentarily to the Thread as a rush of excitement sent his body tingling—it wasn’t like he had anything to lose. He no longer had a life to forfeit. All he had was borrowed time from another man.

“If I lose…” Zoro murmured—this time he spoke directly to Kitetsu. He bounced the hilt in his hand playfully before whipping it up towards the ceiling, “then I'm not man rough to possess it…”

Zoro held out his arm.

Challenging the blade outright, “ Am I?! ”

Every calculated twirl of the blade brought it closer to his arm, but Zoro refused to falter for even a moment—if it was a battle of wills, then he would surely win. He listened to the sound of the steel falling – closer and closer – until it curled in surrender around his arm. That demonically sharp steel sinking deep into the floorboards as it pledged its fealty to him.

Zoro’s eyes slid open in victory.

The Marine woman crumpled to the floor while Zoro never felt more alive.

A hungry smile crawling across his lips, “I’ll take it.”

~ ”I’ve got to admit big cities have a lot going for them…” ~

Perhaps he’d been at sea for too long, but there were some women walking the streets of this grand city that put the elegant ladies at the Baratie to shame. Sanji’s neck was already sore from the amount of times he’d whipped back to look at someone he’d passed. At this rate he was going to need to ice by the time he got back to Merry.

One lady in particular had even gotten him to stop in his tracks – puffing smoke hearts incessantly – as she had stalked by him. She had towered over him – her height exacerbated by a pair of red heels – and Sanji had nearly crumpled in love on the spot. Willing to drop to his knees and proclaiming his devotion to her, but instead watching from afar wistfully.

She was mesmerizing – from head to toe – but there was something more.

Long, obsidian locks flowed around her in almost unnatural waves. A stark white hat adorned with an ostentatious plumage of red fathers sat atop her enchanting hair. It swayed with every step she took, and yet, never caught on the fabric of her cloak. Slipping effortlessly across her shoulders and down her back, but not even a hair went out of place.

Truly—she must have been a goddess in human form.

Losing sight of the gorgeous woman amongst the bustling crowds, Sanji said a soft lament then continued his perusing of the local fish market. He’d gotten a decent allowance from Nami. While Merry was well-stocked from Conomi, Sanji still wanted some extra meat for the first leg of their journey as there was no telling what they would face at the beginning of the Grand Line.

As he wandered—eyes kept drifting to him.

It didn't go unnoticed by him that covert glances and subtle mutterings were being directed his way, or more accurately, to the Spindle on his chest that had a Mending Thread floating off into the distance. He knew it was an irregular sight. Most people that Mended someone usually were with the dying person until the end; he hadn’t really considered how much attention it would draw…

Thankfully, it was easy to ignore.

Browsing idly – not entirely certain what he wanted – Sanji knew he needed to get something on the large side to last Luffy’s terrifying appetite. A marlin would do, or a tuna. Sanji skidded to a stop. Pausing at the sight of a fish that was unfamiliar to him before trotting up to the stall to inspect the massive creature, Sanji leaned down to get a closer look .

From his seasoned expertise, Sanji would wager it was a type of tuna, but had distinct facial features reminiscent of an elephant. Colossal, gorgeous ivory tusks protruded from under the upper jaw to curl elegantly upwards while its bulbous snout and massive, drooping ears splayed out across the ice. 

Scales a dazzling array of elegant blues interspersed with spots of breathtaking silver. There was little doubt that when in the water it helped the creature blend in seamlessly amongst the light that would speckle the surface of the water and move through the water in streams of dancing radiance.

“Hey,” Sanji glanced up while pointing down at it curiously, “what’s this weird looking fish?”

“This is an elephant true bluefin,” the fishmonger explained with an all too eager smile. “Never seen one in the waters I take it? It swam in from the south seas—I caught it myself!”

Sanji found himself genuinely impressed, “You caught it?!”

The fishmonger nodded proudly as he reached for it, “Want me to slice it up?”

Mind buzzing with excitement at the possibilities that came with such a southern water delicacy, Sanji was already calculating which cuts of the fish he’d use for which dishes and which portions he might do some experimenting with. He didn’t want to have any of it go to waste. In that regard, he’d much prefer to gut the fish himself.

“No,” Sanji grinned, “I’ll take it whole.”

“You’re a big spender,” the fishmonger remarked.

Sanji had to refrain from scoffing.

At the rate at which Luffy consumed food, Sanji would be lucky if he could stretch this fish out for even a week. Not to mention that Zoro and Usopp weren’t exactly light eaters either. He’d seen first hand at the Baratie and on Conomi how they could clear a plate. This entire voyage was truly going to be a test of his abilities.

Thankfully, Nami appeared to have a significantly more refined palette, so at least there would be one person on the ship which he could shower with a bit more of his skillful creations. He already had several dishes in mind for her. Filling up a decent portion of his notebook simply on things he already knew she’d enjoy—those tangerine trees on Merry had given him endless inspiration.

Drawn from his musings of the auburn goddess, Sanji blinked incredulously – and muttered aloud, “What’s he doing in a supermarket?” – as he spotted Usopp strutting by. Sanji watched as Usopp paused suddenly. Dropping into a squat to grab a cartoon of eggs excitedly.

“WOAH!” Usopp exclaimed, “These eggs are so cheap!”

“What are you—a housewife?” Sanji muttered under his breath.

“ Oh! ”

Sanji instantly perked up at the sincere, feminine croon that was directed at him.

“You poor thing.”

“Hm?”

Disregarding Usopp to turn to his siren’s call, Sanji found himself immediately crowded by two women that had their gaze drawn to the Mending Thread. Sanji stood bewildered as he was cornered. One plastered to his side with shameless abandonment while the other began touching his face with reassuring hands.

“Who’s the poor dear? A family member?”

“Ahh,” Sanji stammered.

“A parent?

“A friend?”

“A lover ? ”

If he had been giving himself whiplash before, Sanji was definitely straining his neck now from the amount of back and forth his head was doing to keep up with the women’s questioning. He stupidly struggled to understand what was happening at first. Unsure of why they were interested in Zoro , but his brain finally caught up with the rest of him.

Managing to recover his aplomb—suave mask falling effortlessly into place as he divulged bravely, “A friend.”

“Is he quite ill?”

“Tragically,” Sanji hammed up his pain. Wistfully bracing a hand to his brow and pretending to grimace, “He doesn't have much time left, but he's a dear, dear friend. And I wanted to give him as much time as he needed to grieve with his family.”

“You generous man,” the first woman sighed.

Second following suite with a heavenly squeeze to his arm, “You’re an absolute saint .”

“I mean…” Sanji drawled with a magnanimous dismissal, “I just did what anyone would’ve done.”

“You put on such a brave face,” one crooned. “You must be absolutely torn up.”

“I have to be strong,” Sanji faked a thick swallow. Allowing some manufactured vulnerability to show as if by accident—forcing the faintest of tears to allow his eyes to momentarily gloss over as he choked, “for them .”

“Come on," the one on his arm gave an encouraging tug, "let’s go somewhere quiet to talk.”

Somewhere – distantly – Sanji felt something short-circuit in his brain as the smell of something burning reached his nostrils, but he happily ignored it. This was, perhaps, the single greatest moment of his life to date. Spinning around and slapping down his money on the counter for the mildly confused fishmonger.

Sanji ordered, “I’ll be back.”

It seemed there were some perks to this whole Mending situation after all…

~ “Ah, having three swords… Makes me feel whole again.” ~

Leaving the shop with the new katanas at his hip, Zoro felt remarkably more complete. There was a comfort to the weight that – despite the asymmetry of his body – made him feel more balanced than not—they were an extension of his psyche. A part of him that gave the sensation of a phantom limb when they weren’t at his side.

These swords were notably heavier than the two he had recently lost, but the extra weight carried with it a palpable excitement. He couldn’t wait to test them out. Especially the demon blade—there was bloodthirst from that one that complimented his own tenacity that would make it a wonderful companion.

A partner.

Dropping his hand to rest along the grouped hilts – his palm cradling the guards protectively – he allowed his fingers to fall between the hilts in muted reverence. He could feel the difference of wrappings against his skin. Each one a unique telling to the personality and age of the blade that bore it.

Wado was well-loved.

White wrappings old and worn, but a softness to them from the pilling fabric over the years—exacerbated by abuse it had taken from his teeth. However, despite her wear, it was all properly earned. A thing of pride.

Yubashiri was tight—pristine.

Kept safely displayed with reverence on the shopkeeper's mantle meant that the blade never got the proper use that it was created for. A travesty. Unspoken promise given to the man that Zoro intended to give this blade the life it deserved—a legacy that would make its name proud.

And finally… Kitetsu.

Surprisingly, its wrappings were in nearly as good condition as Yubashiri’s since the owners of the blade never managed to use it long enough to effect any actual wear before meeting their untimely end. However, the wrappings were stained with blood. It was impossible to tell due to the eery red hue of the fabric, but it had undoubtedly absorbed an obscene amount… from more than one man. It wasn’t discernible by sight, but Zoro could smell it—the faintest tang of copper leaching from it.

Zoro could feel his arms aching in excitement, but forced it away; they would be in the Grand Line soon enough, he’d get his chance to let them loose then.

At that thought, Zoro’s mind finally returned to the crew and he began to wonder where they had wandered off to. He paused. Debating if he should head back to the Merry and wait there, or go searching for them. It might be faster if they all headed back to the ship together…

A wind started to pick up throughout the city.

While Zoro didn’t have Nami’s keen sense when it came to the weather, as the breeze ruffled his hair and tugged at his clothes the swordsman couldn’t shake a sickening feeling that something was wrong. He needed to find the crew. However, the island was huge and it may be a hopeless endeavor, unless…

Scar twinging lightly – almost as if beckoned by thoughts of the cook – Zoro glanced down at the hidden wound and brought a hand up to rest lightly upon his chest. It was healed, but there was a different sort of ache—deeper. Perhaps psychological, but not quite as phantom. More like a reminder – an itch – the best he could come up with was the ticking of a clock. Like time itself was tapping at him from within with a taunting rhythm to remind him this moment was borrowed at best.

More than just skin and tissue, where Sanji’s Thread tied him together he could feel an undeniable pull that went through to his very core. He followed that glowing blue guideline as it disappeared into the crowd. He was fairly certain the Merry was in the opposite direction, but locating the cook would probably be better than waiting around at the ship. Plus, the swirly idiot seemed to have a propensity for sniffing out women, and he might actually be useful in finding Nami.

With his gaze on the blue Thread, Zoro began making his way through the crowd and noticed for the first time the way it phased unaffected through the people that stood between him and cook. He had never actually seen a long distance Mending before, but it would make sense that no one other than the owner of their own time could touch it.

As he continued to follow his lifeline back to the cook, he began to notice that the crowd was thinning and many people were actually hurriedly making their way in the opposite direction. He could make out the occasional hushed muttering of the word ‘Pirates’. An optimistic, but resigned, part of him hoping that it wasn’t Luffy that had caused a ruckus.

Rounding the corner to a massive courtyard, Zoro paused when he found himself facing the rest of the crew that had arrived at the same time. Nami’s arms were laden with bags of various goods she had purchased, while Usopp assisted the cook in carrying a large, weird-looking fish of some sort, but a crucial person was missing. They all collectively registered the others at the same time, then shared a knowing look.

“So,” Zoro grunted, “where is he?”

“He said he wanted to see the execution platform,” Nami explained.

“Isn’t it supposed to be right here?” Usopp asked.

“Yeah,” Nami nodded, then pointed over the vast crowd, “It’s that scaffold over th—”

As they all turned to look up at the massive platform at the center of the square, they all jumped comically to find their one and only captain at the top locked in a pillory. His trademark straw hat vibrantly visible. That irritating clown of a pirate stood next to Luffy cackling victoriously.

Zoro’s jaw dropped in muted horror of this idiot of a captain he’d chosen to follow.

Nami’s face darkened in irritation.

“WHAT?!” Usopp screeched in horror. “LUFFY'S ON THE EXECUTION SCAFFOLD!”

Sanji startled with a jolt.

Zoro could feel the panic pulsing down the cook’s Thread.

Trying to comprehend the cook’s terror while also controlling his own was a confounding endeavour. His chest contracting painfully in response to Sanji; pulse speeding up with the nervous pounding of the other’s heart. Then Zoro felt a decisiveness flicker through his scar. His own thoughts realigned as the cook’s emotions were checked.

Hand falling readily to the hilts of his swords to keep steady, Zoro darted around Usopp to take off in the direction of the platform while barking to the cook, “Let’s go.”

It was redundant—he could already feel the cook’s intention.

“Hold this for me,” Sanji ordered as he tossed the elephant tuna to Usopp – who struggled to hold its massive weight – before falling into step beside Zoro. He ran a few strides before turning to the sharpshooter. Pointing at him and adding, “Treat it like a lady! Got that?!”

Usopp blubbered a bit in protest, but it was lost to the screaming of the spectators.

More and more people turned their attention to Luffy as Buggy crowed in victory. Zoro’s hand dropped to his arm. Ripping free his bandana and tying it swiftly, never breaking stride as he and the cook sprinted to the execution platform to save their captain. 

~ “I… am going to be King of the Pirates!” ~

“STOP THE EXECUTION!” Sanji bellowed as loud as he could.

“Sanji! Zoro!” Luffy yelled back “Help!”

“So you’ve come, Zoro!” The clown cackled while raising his sword, “but you’re a second too late!”

It appeared that the clown knew Luffy and Zoro, but Sanji wasn’t even surprised at this point. After they’d rolled up to the Baratie to immediately incite chaos – not to mention the fiasco with Nami – Sanji had already accepted that Luffy caused trouble everywhere he went—and trouble tended to find him.

Whatever they did to this clown was none of his business—his only concern was saving Luffy.

“Tear down the scaffold,” Zoro growled while placing that white blade between his teeth.

“Got it,” Sanji agreed.

As the two of them charged towards the massive crew separating them from the execution platform, Sanji spotted that gorgeous woman from the market and – much to his dismay – quickly discovered that she was the leader of most of these morons trying to get in his way.

“Outta my way!” Sanji snarled.

A sharp heel to the chest launched the grunt sailing backwards to knock into several more pirates and take them all to the ground. Sanji leapt over the pile of limbs. Already darting forward to take out the next hindrance that came charging at him blade drawn.

Out of the corner of your eye, Sanji spotted the swordsman dispatching the pirates just as effectively. Zoro had more than proven himself as a reliable companion on the crew and was grateful, if mildly irked, that he could call him an equal. Neither needed to worry about the either, but despite their reliability, they weren't making nearly as much headway as they needed. For all the men they managed to knock aside, several more took their place.

That clown cackled taunting, “You can watch the whole thing from over there—your captain is dead!”, then he swung the blade down.

“Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Nami…” Luffy still had that horrifyingly happy smile on his face, “Sorry—I’m a goner.”

The swordsman rounded on Luffy mortified, “NO!”

“Don’t talk crazy!” Sanji barked up, but froze.

A disconcerting pressure suddenly fell over the whole island.

Sanji’s hair began to rise.

Dark clouds swirled overhead with a sentient propensity that belied natural causes. With a devastating crack and blinding flash of light, a massive bolt of lightning carrended down. Stark, jagged lines dissecting the stygian sky before landing directly on the platform with a deafening explosion.

Flames engulfed the structure as the force of the blow immediately caused it to crumple noisily – splintering of wood and groaning of steel – under its own weight. Sanji could only faintly make out the sight of that clown charred black by the lightning, but no Luffy.  Forcing himself to move, Sanji began sprinting towards the scaffold once more – eyes searching for a glimpse of his captain – as the entire platform crumpled in on itself.

Then the rain started.

A hard, unrelenting downpour nearly as out of place as the sudden – and convenient – strike of lightning began to fall upon the square. Almost as though in response to the fire. The raging inferno was snuffed out before the last of the charred wood crumbled to the ground. Nothing to be heard – not even from the crowd – as trilling of rain filled the din.

Sanji stared in awe at the rubble as their captain climbed from the wreckage unscathed, except for his missing hat—there was something unfathomable about this rubber idiot…

Straw hat in question floated listlessly down through the thundering deluge – brim catching on the occasional lip of wind – until it drifted back to the ground. Landing amongst the remnants of wood and steel with a soft plop. Luffy stooped down to pick up his hat. Plopping it on his head with an ease far too casual for having just narrowly avoided death, then snickered cheekily, “Oh man, I’m still alive—lucky!”

Sanji couldn’t fathom their luck—though neither could the stunned spectators.

Gaze flicked to the swordsman that was currently in the process of resheathing his swords – two tucked away, the third being swiveled around accordingly – Sanji couldn’t help but think back to their conversation on Conomi.

“Oi,” Hand extended towards the swordsman earnestly – the other shoved in his pocket lazily – Sanji waited until he had Zoro’s attention before urging, “You sure you don’t believe in a higher power?”

The swordsman’s brow ticked.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” he sneered. Hand flicking so his white sword slid into her sheath with finality marked by a sharp click. “Let’s get outta here. We’re not in the clear yet.”

~ “To the Grand Line!” ~

Getting Merry out of port and onto open waters was tumultuous, but they had a favorable wind. Quick work – along with Nami’s astute direction – they managed to adjust the sails to prevent capsizing. They reefed the mainsail adequately, then relied on the storm jib to carry them along the coastline until a break in the swell would allow for them to crest into more open waters.

As the ship managed to steady its course, Sanji spoke up, “There’s a light.”

With a hard jerk to ensure the final mast-tackle was in place, Zoro turned to join the rest of the crew at the bow of Merry. Luffy was seated precariously on the railing – Nami holding the back of his vest – as they stared ahead at what Sanji had spotted. Through the raging storm Zoro could just faintly note the outline of the imposing lighthouse and the much more stark beam of light shining off into the turbulent waters—away from the island, and away from Loguetown.

Usopp joined them and asked, “The island’s lighthouse?”

“That’s the guiding light.” Nami explained. Her voice nearly lost to the howling wind as she shouted, “Beyond that light is the entrance to the Grand Line.”

An exciting thrill raced across the ship.

All at once the reality of where he was – what he was here to do – came to rest on Zoro’s shoulders along with the knowledge that he probably wasn’t supposed to. His gaze fell to his chest. That radiant azure cutting through the dark storm just as it had when he’d been unraveling into the fabric of time.

Unnerved by his own vulnerable thoughts, Zoro’s gaze shifted to Usopp beside him with his soothing Thread of sunlight lighting up his face. To Nami’s – an ardent orange of the sweetest sunset – and Luffy’s – that torrid red as bright as the sash on his hat, then to Sanji’s. Only to follow that captivating glow back to himself.

Gaze inevitably drawn to the cold, caliginous bit of steel on his chest—no light, no time…

Alone in the dark, but for the flicker of light – of time – gifted to him by that cook…

Zoro glanced up once more.

That cook sat along the edge of Merry’s railing with a leg propped up with all the casual affectation as someone enjoying a clear, sunny day. He was a man comfortable with the ocean—unphased by the angry clashing of sky and sea. Growing up on a sea-faring restaurant likely hardened him to the dangers of sailing.

And as irritating as he’d grown to find the ridiculous womanizer, Zoro couldn’t help being intrigued—there was a kindness to the cook that had Zoro vexed. Grateful, yet frustratingly indebted, to this man that he would now be bound to for the remainder of his life.

How was he supposed to reconcile that fact—much less thank…

“So,” Nami turned back to the crew, “what’s it gonna be?”

Zoro watched the cook flick his sodden cigarette overboard before wandering off.

“D-d-do we have to do this in the middle of a storm?” Usopp blubbered.

Interrupting Usopp’s wailing – mostly going unheard under the raging storm anyway – Sanji returned with a large barrel. Zoro watched with a silent curiosity. Clearly the cook had some sort of intention, but growing up on land had kept Zoro ignorant to some of the intricacies of maritime culture. He knew how to sail, but it was only recently he’d abandoned the law-abiding lifestyle of bounty hunting to follow a rubber idiot into the world of piracy.

“Okay,” Sanji announced with a feral grin. Slamming the barrel down on the deck, the cook straightened but left a hand to gently rest across the lid. Casting a glance to the others before urging, “Let’s launch this ship into the great ocean!”

Zoro smirked in understanding.

Remembering fondly when the new ships at the port would be finished, launched upon the water, then named along with the ceremonial pouring of liquor upon the bow. He mourned the thought of wasted ale, but relished in the comradery of the sentiment. It would only be once that he would have the privilege of entering the Grand Line for the first time… and with this crew.

“All right!” Luffy cheered as he hopped down from the railing.

There was a sharing of glances before Sanji stepped forward to show the others his intentions. He lifted a leg to place his heel atop the barrel, and announced loudly, “I’m going to find the All Blue.”

Without hesitation, Luffy bound forward and mimicked the cook by placing his foot on the barrel. He bellowed to the raging sky, “I’m going to be King of the Pirates!”

Zoro stepped forward.

Thankful to the storm – both shadows and rain – for masking his eyes as he sent a covert glance to the cook at his right hand side. Up until now his dream had bore the weight of two souls, but now it had gained a third. As he placed the sole of his boot against the top hoop of the barrel, Zoro declared his intent – not just as an aspiration – but as a promise.

For Kuina… and for Sanji’s time.

“I’m going to be the World’s Greatest Swordsman!”

Nami was next—as self-assured as ever.

Her hell thunked happily atop the barrel as she grinned, “I’m going to draw a map of the world!”

They looked to Usopp, whom – despite still trembling in fear – placed his foot with theirs before screaming in an attempt to frighten his own reservations away, “I’m going to become a brave warrior of the sea!”

And with that—the barrel was broken.

Ale blessing the bow of the ship as they declared, “Grand Line—here we come!!!”

~TBC…~

Chapter Text

~ “This is the world’s greatest ocean!” ~

They’d just been swallowed by a whale.

Of all the things that Zeff had prepared him for—hurricanes and pirates and Sea Kings—Sanji hadn’t even considered the idea of being eaten alive right at the gate. He supposed it shouldn’t be surprising. Already he could hear the old man barking irritably, ‘What’d you think the Sea Kings did, you stupid brat? Smile and wave as you pass by?!’ How embarrassing…

Sanji cracked open an eye.

Preparing for the worst, but met with something far stranger; high above the mast and sail was the sky—an unnaturally perfect blue. He sat up immediately. Startled to find they were still aboard Merry—safely intact—surrounded by endless calm waters.

Perhaps the whale had missed and redirected them out into the Calm Belt, but even if it had, the Red Line was nowhere in sight. Nothing but doldrums stretching out in every direction. Curling, puffy clouds crawling at less than a snail's pace across the horizon; frankly, they didn't appear to be moving at all…

Glancing about at the crew that were recovering—amongst the oars that they’d barely pulled aboard in time—Zoro was pushing himself up with a groan while Usopp and Nami were still curled up in fear. He swiftly jumped to his feet. Hurrying to Nami’s aid—practically sliding across the deck—Sanji came to a flourishing stop at her side to offer her a hand.

“I think we’re in the clear,” Sanji reassured. “Momentarily.”

Warily opening an eye, Nami’s gaze flicked about before realizing the same peculiarities that he had before shooting upright. Her jaw falling slack even as she extended a dazed hand to Sanji. With her hand in his, Sanji hauled her to her feet before casting a glance over to the swordsman currently nudging Usopp with his boot.

The sharpshooter was coaxed up eventually, but blubbered, “Where’s Luffy?”

“Don’t tell me—”

“It’s fine,” Zoro interjected with a quiet reassurance. Hands sliding into his pockets as he glanced at Sanji and Nami, “I saw him grab hold of the whale before we got sucked in.”

“So we did get eaten by a whale?” Usopp groaned, “I thought I imagined it.”

“Maybe,” Nami mused, “but does it look like we’re inside a whale?”

That brought them back to their strange surroundings with a collective confusion. Nami cautiously moved towards the stairs to get a better look at their situation – ever the diligent navigator – with Usopp and Zoro motioning to follow. Sanji nearly darting ahead when he caught a glimpse of blood. Perhaps the swordsman had gotten clipped when all three of them had been tugging on the broken whipstaff right before Luffy had the stellar idea of firing a cannon at a whale.

“Hey—” Sanji spoke without thinking.

Instinctively reaching out to catch the swordsman’s attention only to realize too late what the blood was obviously from. He managed to retract his hand just in time. Only barely missing actually touching the swordsman as his hand curled comically above his head before dropping to his side like the crack of a whip.

Zoro arched a brow.

Sanji hurriedly looked away.

Embarrassed at his own forgetfulness – feeling the touch of shame pinch the tips of his ears – Sanji swiftly strode after their navigator to escape from the perceptive swordsman. His tactless naiveté nearly caused an uncomfortably public conversation. No doubt the swordsman thought him utterly clueless—shameful.

Sanji stomped up the stairs as casually as he could manage.

He soon joined Nami and Usopp at the bow of Merry for a better vantage point. Thankfully distracted from the swordsman by the sight that awaited him; a tiny little island – no bigger than Merry herself – sat just off the bow amongst the calm waters.

There was a modest house upon it cradled by a few blissful palm trees. Its thatched roof was meticulously cared for—with a hatch propped open from inside to allow sunlight to trickle inside. Several barrels littered the outside wall, but were still stacked with a deceptively fastidious organization. The rest – many empty – were strewn about the yard in a charming contradiction. Out front there was even a lounge chair that appeared to get a decent amount of use. And a freshly strung up clothesline told of recent occupancy.

Once more Sanji found himself looking about the entire area as something unsettling tickled at the back of his mind; this island, this house, these waters—even the sky. It was all gorgeous; serene to the point of disturbing, but all looked too manufactured; a fake little bubble.

Warily, Nami broached, “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Zoro echoed.

“I don’t know what to think,” Sanji grumbled. Watching the house with growing trepidation, “I was sure that whale swallowed us.”

“Is this a dream?!”

“Yeah. It’s gotta be a dream.”

“But what about that house on that island?”

“Probably a hallucination.”

Not even a second later something surged out of the water, Sanji moved to place himself between the threat and Nami as Zoro darted forward as well. A mirror to his own instincts that Sanji was beginning to appreciate for its reliability. Especially since it appeared like the Grand Line was never going to let them catch a break.

~ “And the weak of heart… cared more for their lives than the promises they’d made…” ~

“Well,” Usopp levered himself up with a grunt. Hands falling to brush excess dust from the seat of his pants and then the knees before allowing them to rest comfortably upon his hips. With a general motion towards the ship, he declared, “While Luffy’s busy I’m going to do what repairs I can to Merry.”

“Good idea,” the cook agreed as he stood next. “And I’ll make us some lunch.”

Zoro watched them begin to leave.

Sights set in particular to the cook that continually surprised him with his practical insights despite being such a womanizing fool half the time. He had discovered Sanji’s character well enough given the events of his Mending, but more and more he found a depth to the cook that surprised him. Always revealing just a little more than he likely intended when he spoke.

There was no doubt in Zoro’s mind that Sanji was determined to carry his life the rest of the way for the sake of Luffy and the crew, but listening to the cook bicker with Usopp about the whale was strangely enlightening. There was significant stubbornness to back up his romanticism; a devotion to his promises that Zoro was only beginning to understand.

Zoro struggled against the urge to reach up and touch his chest where the Thread was unraveling, but apparently his disquiet was noticeable.

That old man noted with a sharp look, “You okay, boy?”

Frowning at the odd phrasing, Zoro arched a brow only for the elder to incline his head and let his eyes flick down. Zoro followed the motion to find a sizable patch of blood having leached through his haramaki. Already so much time had passed since his last Mending at Loguetown, but he had hardly noticed; keeping up this schedule was going to be harder than he thought.

The cook stopped instantly—pulled out his pocket watch, checked the time, then swiftly pocketed it.

“C’mon,” Sanji inclined his head towards the ship. “Let’s do it now before I get started on lunch.”

Zoro rose in silent agreement.

As they made their way back to Merry, Zoro could distantly hear that doctor voice his concern and Nami’s tactful explanation of their situation. He supposed it was going to be a regular thing. Even on the Grand Line – especially with the cruelty of the sea and the selfishness of men – the Mending between him and the cook would likely become even rarer to encounter.

Upon returning to Merry, Usopp began pulling out spare lumber and tools from the storage to begin repairs to the mast while Zoro followed Sanji to the galley. The cook held the door in a remarkable show of congeniality. Without being told, Zoro shed his shirt and tossed it aside, then did the same with the haramaki; both adorned with a sizable splotch of blood on the fabric. At this rate he was going to have no unstained clothes left.

Zoro tossed the ruined haramaki onto the galley table.

Almost as though the cook had read his mind, Sanji piped up, “We should probably bandage your hip so you stop bleeding through on all your things.”

Zoro nodded in silent agreement as he took a seat.

After the cook washed his hands, they resumed their slightly awkward seating arrangement as Sanji made quick work of double looping his Thread through the needle and beginning to stitch Zoro up. There was never any doubt in Zoro’s mind that the cook didn’t know what he was doing, but the initially the intimacy of the act had caused him to waver; they already moved much faster than the previous few times. Familiarity had bred confidence.

However, that didn’t change the nature of their situation and the fact that it was going to take place for the rest of his life. As much as he preferred silence, it almost felt necessary to loosen the tension this arrangement provided.

Zoro decided to offer some semblance of camaraderie by attempting conversation.

“So,” Zoro puffed the word, then fell silent.

Unsure of what exactly they could even talk about as Zoro couldn’t see them having much in common. The cook was seemingly only passionate about food and women; two things that Zoro had absolutely no interest in. Frankly, the only thing they had in common was Luffy—and being stupid enough to chase a pipe dream.

Zoro started at that thought.

Eyes flicking back down to cook as he supposed he’d never thought about the guy in that regard, but they were both here because of that fact. Though he still didn’t know what that dream was. Nami, Usopp, and Luffy’s were all pretty self-explanatory, but Sanji’s had been an enigma.

Zoro supposed that was as good a place as any to start.

“What’s, uh…” Zoro paused at the suddenly intimate feeling of his question, but swallowed his pride in an effort to ingratiate himself with the other. “You said something about an All Blue?”

Sanji’s hands stilled.

Immediately regretting his decision, Zoro idly wondered if he could just shove the cook off and leave with the job half done—they could finish it later. This was far too awkward for them. Too nice. Already the unease was causing his hands to curl into fists on the bench as he debated just punching the cook to get out of this; surely getting the cook mad would make him forget his lame attempt at being amiable.

As Zoro continued to hurriedly cycle through his options, Sanji shook off his surprise and then proceeded to resume his work on Zoro. He didn’t even glance up. Pointedly keeping to his task as he finally explained, “It’s an ocean.”

Zoro stared.

This was the perfect opportunity to let the conversation wither and die between them, but he knew that the right thing to do was keep pressing the cook; for the sake of himself, the cook, and the crew.

Silently cursing this whole ordeal, Zoro asked awkwardly, “What’s so special about it?"

The cook was quiet.

Zoro could see him debating on how to respond.

Violently telling Zoro to mind his own business was clearly poised on the tip of the cook’s tongue, but it appeared as though the cordial nature of the inquiry had taken him by surprise. Zoro was interested to see which avenue he’d take. Almost hoping the cook would tell him off so he could say he tried and then they could sit in well-earned silence.

Sanji proved him wrong…

"It's supposed to be the confluence of all the oceans—every type of fish and sea creature can be found there. It's a cook's paradise…” the cook trailed off with a melancholic reverence. Lost in his own imaginings. Hands working gently until he returned to himself with an indifferent mutter, “The Grand Line seems like the best place to start looking for it.”

Zoro nodded in thoughtful agreement.

At that, Sanji scoffed a derisive laugh, then glanced up, “Why? Do you actually care?”

"You're crew," Zoro stated simply.

Murmuring irritably, Sanji sneered, "Way to avoid the question."

"No," Zoro scowled. “That's my answer.”

Hands halting entirely, Sanji glanced up at Zoro with a shrewd look. His eyes narrowed. Quite obviously studying Zoro before pressing, “How's that any different?”

“I’m allowed to not care about things, but still recognize their importance to others. Just like I know you think my dream is stupid,” Zoro grunted before acknowledging with a modicum of gratitude, “but you seem to respect it anyway.”

And that managed to catch the cook off guard.

“I…” Sanji balked before quickly looking back at his hands. Zoro was surprised to find a modicum of bashfulness about the normally vulgar cook. From this vantage Zoro could make out the way Sanji’s jaw tightened before admitting, “I may have misspoke back then—you and Luffy…”

The cook didn’t finish his sentiment, but he didn’t have to.

While Zoro had been unconscious for most of the altercation at the Baratie, Usopp had filled him in enough to understand what had happened. That it was Luffy’s stubbornness more than anything that had persuaded the cook in the end—had persuaded them all. As different as they may all be, they had that in common; and Zoro was willing to protect that bond. Even if the cook was beginning to get on his nerves…

“I hope you find it,” Zoro offered instead.

Sanji didn’t respond, but the rest of the Mending was spent in a far less hostile silence.

~ “All routes eventually become one.” ~

Precariously balancing the armful of various winter clothes and thick woolen blankets, Sanji managed to expertly maneuver his way into the galley and swiftly shut the door to keep the wayward winter wind from sneaking inside. He still felt a whisper of it caress his ankles. Effectively sending a sharp shiver up his spine as he hurried over to Nami to assist her.

All of her garments were stacked readily on top for her to take with a grateful smile, “Thank you, Sanji—you’re a lifesaver.”

“Anything for our amazing navigator,” he crooned.

Quick to snag the massive coat and pull it on in an elegant sweep, Nami then grabbed earmuffs, a scarf, and mitts to begin hurriedly pulling them on. Sanji was already across the room to the enchanting Miss Wednesday. A coat already at the ready atop the pile for her as well.

“Here you are, my lady,” Sanji gestured invitingly as she took it.

Absently tossing the spare coat and blanket to the other man – hitting him in the face disrespectfully – before moving to assist the woman with her coat. Once she had it buttoned, Sanji unfurled a heavy blanket with a harsh flick. Swirling it around her in a gracious motion before jerking it into place at the last second to allow her to snag the corners and keep it place.

“T-thank you,” she stuttered through a shiver.

Sanji nodded with a kind smile.

Grabbing himself his own jacket, Sanji pulled it on while moving to join Nami currently peering out the porthole. He nabbed a spare scarf, slipping it around his neck with a quick jerk back and forth to weasel it beneath the hair at his nape. The soft fleece already cut the chill that had begun to creep between the gaps in his clothes. Sharp twist with an expert tuck had the stray ends of the scarf folded neatly before Sanji tucked it within the front of his jacket. Careful that no errant tassels got caught.

“Is it really snowing?” Nami murmured to herself in disbelief.

“I’ll get a head start on it,” Sanji offered, desperate for the distraction.

Growing up in a restaurant – with a sea-hardened sailor for a role-model – Sanji’s natural state was to putter. Whether it was to prep exorbitant amounts of ingredients for hundreds of customers, tidying a kitchen that was always fighting back the creep of used equipment, or any of the other million things needed to keep a sea-fairing restaurant afloat: hosting, restocking supplies, fighting off pirates, inclement weather… the list went on.

The point was: Sanji preferred being busy.

Peering through the porthole with a soft sigh that clouded the glass, Nami reached up to scrub it away only to leave a glassy smear of water in its place. However the deck was still discernible. Usopp and Luffy running about playing in the newly fallen snow… and Zoro napping nearby.

“Should we wake Zoro?” Nami mused.

“Leave him,” Sanji murmured softly, “He needs the rest.”

She grumbled, but didn’t say another word.

Snagging a spare pair of fluffy, knitted mittens from the pile and shoving them into his pocket, Sanji gave a terse wave to Nami and the gorgeous blue-haired vixen – ignoring the weird man with the crown – then ducked outside. Even with the galley suffering under the chill, the air outside was bracing. Just the slightest wind already cut through the thin cotton of his slacks and started to pinch pink kisses to his nose and cheeks.

Sanji glanced to the swordsman currently snoozing below.

For a moment, he caught himself debating on grabbing a blanket for the swordsman as well, but swiftly brushed that aside and walked past him. There was a whole crew aboard this ship that could coddle the man. And besides, if the swordsman truly did get cold he would just wake up and go inside.

Before heading to the anchor room to retrieve a shovel to attend to the piling snow, Sanji ducked back into the storeroom to deal with the errant cross breeze he’d noticed earlier when retrieving the blankets. The gunports cut a sharp path through the room. Flecks of snow swirled around the head of each cannon before drifting further into the room to create a tapered line across the planks.

Sanji quickly got to work.

Using the side of his foot to swipe away the building pile of snow by the wall, Sanji turned to brace his back against it while putting his heel on a secure point of the carriage before kicking it back. The protesting groan of the wheels squealing even sharper than normal due to the cold. With the cannon forced back to bear on the safety ropes, Sanji snagged a spare hank from a nearby hook and shook it loose with a sharp flick.

Sailor’s expertise had him tying the bowline without even looking. Looping it securely onto the cannon before cinching it off with a sturdy, but easily loosened wagoner’s hitch. That way if they came across any trouble the cannons could be readied in a single motion. Even Luffy couldn’t mess it up.

Sanji then flicked the latch to close the gunport—instantly cutting out the cold breeze.

As he moved to complete the task with the second cannon, Sanji couldn’t help but compare the comforting methodical nature of working with the rope as his own Thread. He tutted irritably with a puff crystalized breath. Everything came back to stitching up that swordsman lately—he couldn’t escape it.

That damned swordsman…

Asking him about his dream so nonchalantly—like they were friends!

Worst of all the swordsman had got the better of him. He’d been first to extend a gracious hand. It had utterly disarmed him to the swordsman; there was no way the swordsman hadn’t noticed. It had been as effective as clipping the back of Sanji’s heel whilst walking—the swordsman might as well have shoved him to his knees too for all the shame it had caused.

No doubt the swordsman had gloated to himself endlessly afterwards…

Sanji forced out a hard exhale.

Recovering his aplomb behind close eyes and a reserved expression, Sanji took a deep breath in – sharp spark of cold air crackling in his nose – before turning his attention back on the rope in his hands. He finished the bowline with flick and snap, then hooked it over the carriage like the other. Tying it off and giving it a pluck for good measure to check the tension, Sanji knocked the second gunport closed before finally storming from the storeroom.

He refused to let the swordsman win this… whatever it was…

Back out on deck and met with another brusque swell of wind, Sanji could already feel a sinister tingle in his fingertips of frostbite. He dug his mitts out and pulled them on. Now heading for the anchor room, only to pause beside the still dozing swordsman.

Snow was beginning to pile atop the swordsman’s green hair in such a way that it reminded Sanji of the dusting of icing sugar atop the festive green mochi they would make at the Baratie during the colder weather. A smile threatened to curl his lips at the memory, but was swiftly stifled; the swordsman was not going to coerce any semblance of affection out of him—no matter his topiary seduction.

Sanji couldn’t fathom how the man was still sleeping, but regardless, the swordsman appeared content—which Sanji took as a good sign. The more the swordsman recovered, the easier the Mending would be on both of them. Logically the stronger he was, then the better the wound would heal every time Sanji Mended it.

Not that he wouldn't relish the opportunity to violently awaken the swordsman – the temptation to stomp on him simply because his guard was down was visceral – but this was truly the first time the swordsman had gotten any sort of rest since they’d left Conomi.

Sanji refrained from kicking the sleeping swordsman, but only just.

Stomping off through the deepening snowfall towards Merry’s bow to get a start on shoveling before they were too overwhelmed—grateful for the distraction from his muddle thoughts.

~ “Welcome to the town of celebration—Whiskey Peak!” ~

As the last of the islanders slipped from the guest house that had been provided for their crew, Zoro cracked open an eye before pushing himself. His arm slung comfortably over the back of the couch. A smug smile sliding into place as he gave a lazy glance about.

The rest of the crew was gone to the world: Luffy stuffed full on free food dozing on the floor; Nami slumped at the table she had spent the evening hustling poor men out of their money currently sleeping; Usopp had drank himself into a stupor on a couch nearby; and that dumb cook had absconded with a barmaid at some point.

Zoro scoffed softly.

It wasn’t lost on Zoro that the Mending appeared to garner a ridiculous amount of sympathy, but at the very least it was nice to know that it was—in some small fashion—a perk for the cook. Zoro didn’t think it was nearly fair enough payment. However, Sanji looked like he was enjoying the attention it afforded him so Zoro wasn’t going to press the matter.

It was , however, a little weird to feel the cook’s flirtatious flutterings and elated emotions, but while partaking in his own enjoyment—good ale—it had been easier to ignore than others. The cook’s anger sparked far more violently within him than lust. Even the cook’s eventual… arrival could be brushed off, but Zoro still didn’t want to think about it any time soon.

“Pervy cook,” Zoro muttered to himself.

There were more important things at the moment than their weird bond.

Pushing to his feet with a grunt and placing a hand to his neck while straining it to the side until it gave a satisfying pop, then doing the same with the other, Zoro sighed happily. His hand fell to rest on his swords which were singing with impatience. Finally ready to go find out if his assumptions about this whole island were correct.

They’d made port at an island of pirate lovers which was far too convenient for a place as notoriously hostile as the Grand Line, but Zoro held his tongue. Allowing the crew to enjoy the festivities, especially after the hard sailing he’d apparently slept through. However, even while imbibing his fair share of ale, Zoro had never dropped his guard.

Ever since they’d had that run in with Ms. Wednesday and Mr. Nine at the Red Line, Zoro had had his suspicions that there was a possibility of them running into the mysterious Baroque Works; an elite agency of bounty hunters. He hadn’t trusted the idea of such pirate loving people in the first place, but the fact that those two had asked to be taken to this island—well, they’d pretty much confirmed Zoro’s theory.

Either way, Zoro intended to find out.

Quietly making his way out of the guest house and keeping to the shadows cast by the startlingly bright light of the moon, Zoro cast a careful glance down the alley only to pause in surprise; the bright glow of Sanji’s Thread immediately gave him away. This was a problem he hadn’t considered yet as stealth wasn’t typically his preferred tactical method; he liked the much more practical head-on approach.

While it was convenient to no longer have the glow from his own Spindle to potentially give away his position; there was now a startlingly obvious trail of bright blue leading directly to him. He’d have to be cautious about which route he took. A single misstep could ruin any chance at keeping the element of surprise.

He certainly didn’t hope this wouldn’t be a regular issue.

It was a clear night, which would actually make for a pretty fun hunt if it came down to a fight—which he sincerely hoped it would. He followed the telltale murmur of voices in the distance. Careful to keep an eye out behind himself for where he left Sanji’s Thread in his wake.

Voices growing more discernible with every step, Zoro decided to get a better vantage by clamoring up some boxes in a back alley and hauling himself onto the low rooftop. From there he kept scaling upwards and around. Always keeping the villagers in earshot until he was high enough to actually get a good look at them and catch what they were saying.

It was almost laughable how obvious it all was.

Kitestu rattled excitedly.

Zoro swiftly dropped a hand to its hilt and shushed it, “Quiet.”

It was easy to recognize the two from earlier—the ostentatious outfit on Mr. Nine and the bright blue hair from that Miss Wednesday were an instant giveaway—both of whom were shrieking about something. He also recognized the mayor from earlier; an odd, warbling fellow with even stranger hair. And finally, a woman of decent build and height.

Their voices all mingled over top of one another so it was hard to make out, but eventually they were shushed—that mayor admonished them sternly, “Calm down. Take a look at this.”

After some rustling around in his jacket, the mayor pulled out a crumpled piece of paper that he extended to the others with a dramatic flourish, “I did some checking up on them.” From this far away, Zoro couldn’t make it out, but he recognized it instantly. Already grinning into his fingers as he waited for the inevitable reaction from the unsuspecting bounty hunters—he was almost ashamed to count himself one previously.

“THI—Thirty million?!”

“Only a fool judges a pirate by his appearance, Miss Bunbay,” the mayor caught himself on the word. Coughing and clearing his throat before attempting once more, “Miss Monday.”

All three began blubbering in muted shame as it appeared that the mayor was the only one in this nest with any sense at all.

“Regardless, I’ve taken care of them,” the mayor continued, “We can still make a favorable report to the boss. Take everything of value from their ship and tie them up immediately. If we have to kill them, their value drops by thirty percent—the government wants to execute them publicly.”

And with that, Zoro decided to finally get involved; his hand falling to Wado’s hilt and an excited smile splitting his face.

~ “The Princess of Alabasta—Nefertari Vivi~” ~

“A princess, huh?” Sanji mused.

“Don’t make it weird for her,” Nami warned without even glancing up.

Plunking down the hefty wooden crate – filled to the brim with vibrant, plump oranges that shifted modestly at the treatment – Sanji dusted his hands happily before glancing over his shoulder at their navigator, “Nami—I’m appalled you’d even suggest such a thing. I’ll be nothing but a gentleman.”

“Uh-huh,” she hummed. “ Sure .”

Her quill made a pointed scratch to accompany her skepticism.

Sanji chuckled.

They fell into a comfortable silence as Sanji set about the repetitive task of juicing the box of oranges that they’d gotten from Loguetown. He wanted to use them while still fresh and had a drink in mind to compliment the pleasant weather, but only hoped that the Grand Line would hold her temperamental nature long enough for him to serve it. Intending to use half now for a few recipes he had in mind while preserving the rest for longer days on the ocean.

Every soft thunk of his knife slicing the next orange was broken intermittently by the pleasant scratching of Nami’s quill as she worked on one of her charts. Sanji enjoyed listening to the difference in her strokes. Some were short and stiff—just a flick of the nib—while others were a long hum as she carried out a particularly smooth topography line.

Sanji had gotten through about a quarter of the crate when he heard the quill return to the inkpot, but not removed.

“I didn’t want to bother you before,” Nami began softly. Her voice cautious and small, “but now seems like the best time…”

Sanji stilled.

“Is everything alright?” She pressed, “With you and Zoro?”

Sanji suddenly didn’t want to talk about it.

Half an orange poised above the reamer as a trickle of dread shot down his spine to match the errant drop of juice that fell from the citrus. Sanji could feel his heart skip a beat at the situation that no one had dared to speak aloud since the Baratie. It had been so effectively ignored that Sanji had almost begun to buy his own con that this wasn’t affecting him.

No one had said a word, especially Nami…

Even after all had been said and done on Conomi, when Nami boarded the ship to find Zoro happy and healthy with Sanji’s Thread keeping him alive she hadn’t even spared a glance. She’d acted like nothing was amiss. In a way, Sanji was grateful, the more that the crew treated Zoro like he wasn’t a dead man walking, the easier it was for the two of them to pretend this arrangement wasn’t insane .

But without anyone to talk to about this decision, he was beginning to feel like he was going crazy anyway.

And it didn’t help they’d enforced a no talking about it rule. Something which he’d initially been grateful for, but now was beginning to rethink; perhaps ignoring it entirely wasn’t exactly healthy for them.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he forced a smile so that a blithe inflection would sell the words.

Grinding the orange against the reamer with arguably too much force as he felt the metal begin to tear through the skin and poke against his palm. Sanji tossed the abused rind into a bin piled high with orange peels he intended to candy for both the girls at a later date. Tactfully snagging up the other half in an attempt to shake off his unease.

Sanji muttered, “Just glad I was able to get to him in time.”

"Sanji…"

Sanji stared down at the orange half awkwardly, then succumbed.

Setting it down and moving to the sink, Sanji slowly washed his hands – desperately trying not to think about the blood he was getting used to seeing being washed down its steel drain – as he rid himself of the sticky citrus before turning to their navigator. She sat at the galley table, staring up at him, but her gaze was hopelessly distant—she was looking at him like he was the one that had died. Finger tapping the table in a nervous metronome.

And when he forced a smile it only caused her sorrow to deepen.

Sanji sighed heavily and strode over to her.

Falling down onto the opposing bench of galley table with a sloppiness that told of exhaustion he was finally allowed to show—that he had been bottling up. He offered her his gaze, but had no words. These last few days had been so chaotic he hadn't allowed himself to even coalesce his own thoughts let alone the situation as a whole.

Nami finally broke the silence.

“It must be such a weird place to be mentally—for both of you,” Nami whispered. “I’m not even part of it and it’s messing me up.”

Sanji nodded gently.

“I just…” Nami balked.

Jerkily gesturing to Sanji as she leaned back in defeat over what exactly she wanted to say next, her lips parted around her consternation. Her brows pulled down into a frown. Struggling through her thoughts before bursting into hysterical babbling.

“You’ve Mended a dead man—you’re stuck with him until the end. If anything goes wrong then he’s gone—I can’t imagine that type of responsibility for someone else. You— You can’t—” She stuttered before glancing about incredulously. “You can never Mend someone else. Or… Or Weave!”

“Well, I…” Sanji forced a laugh—humor an instinctive shield against reality. “We’re on the Grand Line—how likely is it that I’m gonna even find someone that wants to marry me?”

“I just…” Nami slumped back with an exasperated indulgence. “I feel like you didn’t think this through.”

“I certainly didn’t,” Sanji humored her.

Sanji instantly regretted the decision when – instead of lightening the mood – he could see a sincere sadness brimming in her eyes; he sighed in resignation. 

“I thought I was giving him time to set his affairs in order with all of you,” Sanji admitted, but found his voice falling into a whisper as he said his next words, “I don’t know if I would have saved him if I had known this would happen…”

A heavy silence followed his morbid confession…

“What would you have done?"

Those words trapped her in the same way Sanji had been bound ever since the Baratie. Her gaze drifted to her meticulously clasped hands – that she’d carefully placed away from the drying ink of her charts – then even lower to her own chest. Slipping a hand free to reach down and snag the end of her lustrous gold Spindle and flicked it up to inspect thoughtfully; her eyes reflecting its warm, honeyed glow with a breathtaking sublimity.

After several minutes, she spoke.

“I think a lot about how I would’ve done it, ya know,” Nami trailed off softly. She dropped her Spindle. Hand coming up to rub at her brow to try and force the emotion away that was so clearly rising like a storm inside. When she forced her next words they were clipped, “kept my mom alive.”

Sanji was carefully silent.

“I get it though—why we don’t.” She clarified, then shrugged. There was a frustration mingling with her gratitude, “I don’t think she would’ve even let me. She wouldn’t have wanted to take a even a minute from me, but I wish she had.”

“It’d be a dangerous cycle,” Sanji agreed. Careful with his words to not reveal too much of himself, but unable to stop himself from thinking of his own mother. Voice soft as he continued, “If every child just gave away their Time to their parents.”

Nami nodded with a sharp look away.

An unsettling silence followed them as Nami fought back her own tears brimming at the cusp of her lashes and Sanji struggled to find the right words to say to make everything better, but the fact was there was nothing. This was the reality they were in. This was the reality Sanji had trapped them all in by saving the swordsman’s life without thinking of how it would affect the future.

It was no surprise that the World Government had banned it, except with explicitly given permission, but Sanji was just starting to realize why…

"I think I could've done it…” she finally murmured. “Saved him.”

Sanji nodded.

“But I don’t know how to feel about it.” When Nami admitted her next words, her guilt tore at her face, “I’m glad he’s here—alive, but I feel like I’ve trapped my grief in a bottle.” She threaded her hands through her bangs to message exhaustedly at her scalp, “It feels like I’m not supposed to think about it—that it didn’t happen—but it did. Usopp gets it, but I don’t think Luffy does—or maybe in his own weird way—but Zoro’s a walking corpse and we’re all acting like he’s not.”

Sanji nodded silently once more.

“I feel terrible for not being there, and…” Nami sighed brokenly, “I keep wondering if I hadn’t run off, if maybe things would’ve been different.”

Sanji put a decisive stop to her spiraling.

“There’s nothing you could’ve done to change that outcome,” Sanji reassured sternly—practically ordering her to believe it. She glanced up. Clearly she was trying, but Sanji understood the struggle only too well as he murmured,  “I even tried – I told him to abandon it; that it was stupid – but there’s not a force on this earth that would’ve kept that idiot from trying.”

Nami accepted the words with a painful smile, but her eyes flicked to the galley door.

“And what about him? Shouldn’t we… I don’t know …” In her pause, the distant laughter of chatter could be heard which was a necessary reprieve from their dower conversation. Nami started to giggle at the obvious hilarity of what she was suggesting, “Do we talk to him about it?”

Sanji stared at her hopelessly.

“Do we just ignore it?” Nami asked softly—pleading.

Every fiber of Sanji’s being wanted to agree – to brush it all off with a careless laugh and a charming smile – but part of the reason he hadn’t wanted to talk about it was because it meant facing the very real reality of what was staring them all in the face—and avoidance was an old friend. It sat hand in hand with grief. Far easier to allow it all to exist just out of sight than torture yourself with a perpetual reality you couldn’t change.

However, that clearly wasn’t what Nami was asking, or what she needed. She needed reassurance when it came to Zoro. Something Sanji hardly felt qualified to give as he and the swordsman didn’t exactly get along at the best of times, especially given she had a much more comradely relationship with the guy. All Sanji could speak to was the man’s character that he’d had time to observe.

When Sanji finally spoke, he found the answer in the swordsman’s own words.

“He’s crew,” Sanji stated simply. “If he needs us—he’ll say something.”

Nami stared up at Sanji with a vulnerable sort of hope which Sanji returned.

“As for the other thing; it's the Grand Line,” Sanji attempted in weak consolation, “we could die any day—we’re all dead men walking.”

That shocked a bark of a laugh out of Nami—breaking her from her morose stupor as she looked Sanji over with a weak smile before drawling, “I suppose there is that.”

This time, when Sanji smiled, it was genuine—then he returned to the kitchen to continue working on some drinks for the crew. A comforting silence filled the galley accompanied by the din of laughter from outside and waves crashing against Merry’s hull. Nothing about their situation having changed, and yet, reassured by the other of the unpredictability in store.

~ “Don’t forget the cardinal rule—never underestimate the Grand Line!” ~

Sprawled out on the deck as they sailed towards the next island, Zoro was brought from his sunshine-induced dozing by a sharp ache deep in his chest. He scowled, but kept his eyes shut. Wrestling with the sting in his sinuses followed by the squeezing sensation at the base of his throat had Zoro coughing irritably to force it down.

The cook was being emotional again.

Implementing some pointed breathing exercises to get them under control, Zoro then cracked an eye and tilted the hands beneath his head just enough to send a glare at the galley. The cook was in there. Accompanied by their navigator that was causing the cook to get choked up for any number of ridiculous reasons—all of which Zoro knew were stupid.

Because everything with the cook was stupid.

A temperament as predictable as the beginning of the Grand Line considering the amount of whiplash Zoro got from trying to keep up with it. One second the cook would be scratch-your-face-off horny and the next be on the verge of tears because a girl had rejected him. Violently angry – like with that lighthouse doctor – so much so that it would influence Zoro's reactions too. Then he'd be as lofty and effervescent as a songbird. Just once he'd appreciate an afternoon without being privy to Sanji's thespian whims.

It was difficult to control his own irritation at the cook, but sometimes, coupled with Sanji’s knee-jerk hostility,  Zoro struggled to keep himself in check. He wasn’t controlled by the cook, but Sanji's emotions were certainly a catalyst to his own. A fact so embarrassing that Zoro would take it to his very early grave before ever admitting it aloud; not just for his own sake—and pride—but for the cook’s well-being.

There was no way the cook could ever find out that Zoro held a conduit to his emotions. Things were already tenuous enough as they were between them; throw in emotional vulnerability and they might as well call it quits right now. All it proved was there was still a long way Zoro had to go yet in terms of discipline, and for both their sakes he needed to get it under control.

And fast.

As with most of the cook’s whirlwind emotions, it wasn’t long until a comfortable hum of normalcy returned to their connection. Sanji was content—even had that happy little flutter he got when he was cooking. It was quickly becoming a comforting sensation to Zoro so much so he could find himself drifting off to sleep to its cadence.

In that regard, Zoro supposed that not all of Sanji's emotions were quite so terrible…

A little while later the cook came twirling out of the galley looking as bright and spry as the afternoon sun. He clamored half up the mast. Tray held aloft dramatically as he called out, “Oi! Wanna try a special drink I made?!”

Zoro lifted his leg as his hands were still currently poised beneath his head.

Grunting absently in confirmation as a bit of liquor would be a grand way to stifle these weird blips of connection with the effusive cook. He only hoped he would get used to it. Not entirely excited about the idea about sharing the cook’s emotions until he died…

TBC…

Chapter Text

~ “There it is—the second island of the Grand Line!” ~

Upon finally reaching Little Garden – despite Miss All Sunday's ominous warning – Sanji was in a pretty good mood all things considered. There was a certain whimsy to the place; a vast jungle. The uncharted wild. Everything that Zeff had told him about when it came to the indomitable spirit of the Grand Line came to bear.

There was the unfortunate situation of their dwindling supplies – given their hasty departure from Whiskey Peak they hadn’t managed to resupply – but this island would hopefully fix that. Sanji was curious to see what he could find; and perhaps even come across something exotic that he might be able to experiment with. Tempering his excitement with a reminder of his duties, Sanji ducked into the galley – intent on making lunch – but stopped short with a groan.

Seated – or, more accurately, slumped – at the table was another of his seemingly endless responsibilities, but this one was much less enjoyable than the prospect of lovingly curating a meal for a princess. He found instead a drooling, snoring, and bleeding piece of moss. Face down on the table taking another – Sanji had genuinely lost count of how many the swordsman had managed – nap.

This was way beyond post-battle recovery at this point; it was habitual.

Every bit the brutish neanderthal Sanji had come to expect as Zoro’s massive, sloping forehead took the brunt of his weight on the table while his arms hung slack at his sides; just too short to allow his knuckles to graze the ground to complete the comical effect.

A decently sized pool of drool had formed under the swordsman’s slack mouth that was still uttering a discordant pattern of snores—more reminiscent of animal, or machine, than man.

As Sanji approached the slumbering vegetation, he debated which approach he should take to wake him: whether by kicking him through the table, or off of it. The swordsman had more than enough time to properly recover. And Sanji had no intention of making lunch while listening to his subpar attempts at breathing. Besides, it was for the swordsman’s own good; keep him on his toes, hone those supposed reflexes.

Fortuitously for the swordsman, Sanji’s thankless errand was taken from him when a particularly uneven inhale had Zoro struggling through a snort before rolling into his drool. Sanji made a face while Zoro groaned unhappily. Head lifting abruptly to stare about the galley with a befuddled expression.

Sanji just stared at the swordsman.

Taking in the breathtaking culmination of life that he had preserved. The way his hair stuck up in a ridiculous flare from being pressed into the table, the long strand of saliva still clinging to his face, and the obnoxious way he smacked his mouth to rid the dry sensation left over from sleeping with it open. Sanji tried to remind himself that Luffy picked this man—and that needed to be enough for him.

“I need to make lunch,” Sanji explained. After stubbing out his cigarette and flicking it into the trash – giving an opportunity for the words to sink in – Sanji continued with a vague gesture to the swordsman’s bleeding chest, “Wanna get that outta the way now?”

Ignoring Sanji, Zoro blearily squinted out the porthole nearby, “Wherarewe?”

Sanji clenched his teeth over the disregard, “Little Garden—Luffy and the Princess are going exploring while we wait for the log to set.”

“Right,” the swordsman slurred, then immediately started tugging on his shirt. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

After wrestling off the garment, Sanji watched as Zoro plopped it down carelessly atop the puddle of saliva before moving to remove his swords. Sanji stared at the shirt with the unsettling suspicion the swordsman was going to put it back on afterwards. The man’s indifference to hygiene was becoming more apparent every day. In fact, since setting out from Whiskey Peak, Sanji had yet to see the swordsman take an actual bath that didn’t consist of rain or falling into the ocean.

With his swords carefully set aside – the only items the swordsman appeared to treat with any iota of attentiveness – Zoro then removed his haramaki and hucked it to join his shirt. His chest was fully exposed to Sanji's view. The oozing blood, the peeling flesh, the bubbling adipose. Surprisingly, Sanji found himself having gotten much more accustomed to the garish sight. At this point, he was vastly more concerned with the haramaki.

Sanji snagged it.

“You still haven’t washed this?”

Sanji turned the heavy fabric over in his hands. Inspecting the multiple layers of dried blood that had overlapped with each other, then immediately regretted his decision to touch it. He genuinely couldn’t hazard a guess as to when it had last seen soap and water.

“‘T’s fine.”

“No,” Sanji huffed. Dropping the haramaki back to the table with as much disrespect as he could muster before moving to the sink to wash his hands as a precaution, “It isn’t—you already smell like you don’t bathe. Don’t make it worse.”

Zoro barked back with a puerile defiance, “If you have a problem—say it."

“Did I not just—” Sanji glanced over his shoulder at the swordsman incredulously before balking. A disdain replaced his consternation. Shaking his head as he snagged a towel – proceeding to pat his hands and arms dry – while turning back to the swordsman with a jeer, “Clean the wax out of your ears: You. Stink.”

Zoro’s hand fell to his white katana on the table.

Fingers curling gently around the ivory sheath as his thumb came to rest beneath the guard with a hard tension. He met the cook’s confrontational gaze. Waiting to ensure Sanji had nothing more to say before angling the sword outwards to show his hand at the ready for if Sanji really wanted a fight, then took a solitary step forward.

“You wanna go, Cook?”

“Get. Back.” Sanji held out a hand to keep Zoro at arm's length. Mouth twisting in disgust, “I can smell your crusty earrings from here.”

Zoro bared his teeth.

Sanji narrowed his eyes.

They stood off against each other – both waiting for the other to make a move – before a drop of the swordsman’s blood plopped to the floor between them. Minimal movement, but enough. It broke the tension as they both leaned back with the similar scoffs of disinterest and dismissive mutterings, Zoro dropping on the galley bench while Sanji dug out his needle kit.

Plopping down on the stool and assuming the position, Sanji got to work immediately, but sure enough, their proximity allowed him a front row seat to the sour tang of body odor mixed with a pungent musk. He bit his tongue for the first few minutes – even considered dropping the subject – before ultimately succumbing to his irritation. There was no way he could put up with this for the foreseeable future.

“Seriously,” Sanji muttered. Gaze pointedly kept on his hands, “If I’m gonna be stuck sitting this close to you every day, the polite thing to do would be to not smell like a moldy sock—when was the last time you bathed?”

Zoro refused to respond, but his lips twisted in annoyance.

Sanji’s gaze flicked up.

"Do you even know what a bath is?"

“Of course I do,” Zoro defended hotly.

Sanji’s eyes narrowed, “You sure about that?"

“You lookin’ for a play-by-play or somethin’?”

Sanji twitched at the insinuation.

“No, you ignoramus—just…" Sanji heaved a sigh as the enormity of this pointless battle began to wear on him. "All I'm asking for is a little courtesy—anything would help. You even have my permission to use my cologne.”

“—the fuck is that?”

Sanji wanted to believe the swordsman was being intentionally obtuse, but he was starting to suspect the man truly had crawled out of a hole in the ground and gained sentience.

Sighing heavily, Sanji indulged the brute, “That little bottle with the amber liquid in it I use in the morning—the spray one that smells like sandalwood.”

“You mean perfume?” Zoro finally scoffed. “That shit Nami uses?”

Sanji snapped, “It’s not perfume!”

“It’s smelly shit in a bottle,” Zoro clarified, “the hell’s the difference?”

“Ingredients, strength, cost—to name a few,” Sanji immediately rebutted. “Different things are called different things for a reason, you overgrown child.”

“Whatever,” Zoro tsked as he leaned back on his arms. “I don’t care anymore.”

Sanji succumbed to his annoyance and jabbed the needle into the swordsman's chest.

“OW!”

The swordsman barked with a jump.

Hand clamping over his chest instinctively before dropping it just as swiftly as an irritated flush crept onto the tips of his ears. Clearly chuffed about getting caught off guard. It didn’t hurt, but Sanji managing to get the proud swordsman to yelp was definitely a cause for anger.

Zoro bared his teeth in an attempt to regain some of his machismo, “—the fuck, Cook?!”

More than fine with a fight, Sanji’s eyebrows jumped in clear invitation for him to retaliate, but something flickered across the swordsman’s face. Lips twitching. Brows pinching. His eyes darted down to Sanji’s Spindle, then back up, before, surprisingly, leaning back once more with a calmed demeanor. Not saying a word to indicate for Sanji to get back to work.

Sanji couldn’t fathom what the swordsman was playing at, but reluctantly resumed his stitching.

Zoro muttered softly, “You got balls calling me a child.”

A saccharine smile on his lips, Sanji simpered, “Bigger than yours, jackass.”

Zoro rolled his eyes, but kept quiet for the remainder of the Mending.

~ “I’ll fix you a sweetheart lunchbox, Princess~” ~

Outside the galley, Zoro tried not to let the cook’s ridiculous nagging get to him, but it took everything in him not to go back inside and start a fight. The audacity of that cook. Badgering him about something that was absolutely none of his business…

He did not smell.

A swift gander about the ship confirmed that they had indeed arrived at their newest destination – Little Garden – although the name was hardly apt. The trees were massive; far larger than anything he had ever seen. And the foliage was also astonishingly bizarre. Broad leaves and ferns of curious shapes and colors. All of it shrouded in a thick layer of moist heat that had the air itself looking hazy and the shirt on his shoulders feeling damp.

The crew clearly had juxtaposed opinions on the place.

As expected, Luffy was barely holding himself back from slingshotting himself into the woods to go explore. And surprisingly, the startlingly brave Princess was also looking on excitedly. Nami had taken up residence at the top of the stairs. Arms crossed and lips set. Meanwhile Usopp and that duck both appeared to rather be anywhere but here.

Zoro decided to put the annoying badgering to rest.

“Oi, Usopp!” Zoro barked at the sharpshooter. Heavily clopping down the stairs towards the man currently pressed against the mast muttering prayers, only to crack open an eye when Zoro stopped short of him. Pointing at himself as he pressed, “Do I stink?”

The question was initially met with confusion.

All the sharpshooter did was stare at him which had Zoro beginning to think that his suspicions were correct that this whole thing was something the prissy cook was blowing way out of proportion, but soon Usopp blinked with a nervous understanding.

“I mean…” Usopp trailed off with an incriminating wince.

Zoro’s jaw dropped comically.

Hands shooting up with instantaneous mollification, Usopp began waving them about while blabbering a slew of information – “Sometimes it’s a little much standing right beside you, but it’s not that bad. Although, you probably could use a bath or just a shower maybealittlemoreoftenohmygodpleasedon’tkillme!” – that inevitably ended with him cowering comically with his arms curled protectively over his head.

Zoro frowned at this new information.

Eventually, Usopp – bravely – cracked an eye before slowly lowering his hands upon finding Zoro simply scowling down at him thoughtfully. He was still visibly wary. Hands twitching anxiously at his sides as he waited for Zoro to speak.

Finally, Zoro demanded, “How often do you bathe?”

“Like every few days…” Usopp was looking more and more concerned by the minute. Eventually broaching the topic as though terrified of the answer, “Why? How often do you?”

Zoro gave a shrug, then glanced about.

“I dunno—when I start getting itchy?” Realizing that the guess wasn’t good enough, Zoro tried again, “Every other week?”

Usopp looked pain-stricken.

As Zoro took this all in stride, the reality that the cook might be in the right was beginning to set in which Zoro found remarkably irritating. He demanded consensus before conceding. A childish part of him couldn’t let the cook win so easily!

“Nami!” Zoro barked up at the redhead still leaning against Merry’s railing. She glanced his way. Not saying a word, but meeting his gaze with a reluctant mien, “What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“How often do you bathe?”

She made a face, but indulged, “Every morning.”

Zoro reared back, “WHY?!”

“Oh, do not act like we’re the crazy ones here.”

Zoro glanced at the Princess.

Vivi nodded, “Same.”

As Zoro’s world came crumbling down around him, his gaze finally landed on the last resort; his captain. The one guy that Zoro could trust. A beacon of brotherhood amongst this sea of thieves.

Zoro goaded hopefully, “Luffy?”

“Like once a week,” Luffy shrugged.

“See!” Zoro gestured violently, victorious.

“He’s rubber,” Nami enunciated with an exhausted sneer. “It takes so much longer for his skin to hold a smell—you on the other hand…”

Zoro looked about—betrayed, “Does everyone feel this way?”

Nothing was explicitly stated, but the calculated manner in which everyone masterfully avoided his gaze spoke volumes. The general agreement lingered palpably over the ship. All of it more than sufficient in getting the point across.

“Fine,” Zoro grunted unhappily.

Careful to hide his sheepishness behind a veil of brazen disinterest. The wound dealt upon his dignity had less to do with what the crew thought about him, and more so that the damned cook was right. He didn’t like that; the cook winning an argument.

“I’ll do it tonight.”

“How admirable,” Nami drawled.

Zoro ignored her.

A moment later – frankly, a saving grace to Zoro’s embarrassment – Sanji reemerged from the galley with two lunches prepared, already tucked into a pack that Luffy was quick to stretch his arms out to snag. Zoro watched idly. Once the pack was donned, there was no longer anything holding the excitable captain back from his first real adventure on the Grand Line.

Barely waiting for Sanji to finish getting Vivi her supplies as well, before launching off the ship and excitedly hollering while running off into the thicket. The princess was close behind. Astride her opinionated spot-billed duck, Vivi rode after Luffy, but turned back to give a cheerful wave, “See you when we see you!”

And then they were gone.

“Ms. Wednesday sure is brave,” Usopp muttered.

Nami shrugged, “She had to be to infiltrate that gang of crooks…”

Usopp nodded sagely to that reasoning.

Decidedly in need to rid himself of his sealegs, Zoro cracked his neck to relieve the stiffness that was lingering from his nap in the galley. He shook off the rest of his fatigue. More than interested to see what sort of things would inhabit a jungle of this kind; maybe even find something worth fighting.

“I’ve got time to kill, too.” He grunted, “I think I’ll take a walk.”

Usopp bugged, “Take a walk?!”

Ignoring the fearful sharpshooter, Zoro propped a hand to Merry’s railing and leaped over to land easily on the shore. He’d made it several strides before a voice caught him. A deep, raspy timbre that was beginning to become a voice of unwanted reason.

“Zoro!” Sanji barked, “Wait!”

Zoro lazily glanced back, “Hm?”

“We’re running out of food.” Surprisingly amiable, Sanji explained, then gestured vaguely towards the forest, “If you come across anything that looks edible—bring it back.”

Zoro contemplated the request.

Initially, he had no qualms about acquiescing to something for the benefit of the crew, but an order coming from the cook irked him; especially with that bathing harassment.

“Will do,” Zoro drawled while shoving his hands into his pockets. Purposefully turning away from the cook to allow for maximum disrespect as he muttered, “I’ll bag something you could never kill.”

Fire ignited instantaneously.

Just like with Sanji’s fear, Zoro could feel the vibrant anger crackle through their connection as poignantly as if it were his own. He kinda liked it. That buzzing of adrenaline that flooded his body fed by the cook’s ire; an acidic tingling at the back of his throat; the invisible tension that danced across his skin. It was strangely addictive… that spark of human connection.

“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!!!” Sanji screeched.

Zoro glanced over his shoulder, disinterested, “Hah?”

“Cocky bastard,” Teeth bared around his cigarette, Sanji jeered down at Zoro—nothing short of loathsome, “You think you can bag a bigger beast than I can?!”

A raging inferno of eclectic emotions—all of them burning. There was anger, indignation, and disbelief. And best of all—defiance. An obstinacy that he liked . He liked that pushback, that competitiveness. A desire to fight.

Turning abruptly to face the cook, Zoro wanted the full effect of his apathy to set the man on fire. He kept his hands in his pockets. Zoro couldn’t have stopped pushing those buttons even if he wanted to. Keeping his stance lax as he drawled, “Definitely.”

“Oh, it is on,” Sanji snarled. Foot slamming down on Merry’s railing, she groaned under the force of the blow as Sanji barked, “I challenge you to a hunt!”

Zoro’s expression was passive, but his excitement was feral.

Without another word, Sanji kicked off Merry to land next to Zoro on the shore before immediately setting off into the jungle. Zoro rolled his eyes before following. Making in the opposite direction as Sanji pointed at him and shouted some more.

“It's a contest over the most kilos of meat!”

“Why not tons?” Zoro scoffed and felt Sanji’s irritation flare before finally giving some relief, “Sounds good to me.”

They stormed off, but Zoro basked in Sanji’s irritation for long after they’d parted ways.

~ “This island is still in the jurassic age—it’s stuck in time.” ~

Dinosaurs!

That was something worth writing to the old man about; an island full of gargantuan reptiles that had been thought to have gone extinct. Sanji couldn’t wait to work with the exotic meat. He was curious if Zeff had been here, or if his ship had followed a different path. What other wonders he’d possibly seen instead.

There were actually quite a few things he needed to regale to the old man—it had only been a few days, but the ocean made time feel nebulous.

An endless cascade of events, each more exhilarating than the last: the successful rescuing of Nami and her island; followed by the near-death-experience of their captain at Loguetown; then the Red Line, Reverse Mountain, and that strange whale; and even the town of bounty hunters that had nearly killed them if not for the swordsman’s quick wit.

Sanji huffed out a cloud of smoke, irritably—he hadn’t actually thanked the swordsman for that.

The swordsman…

That was the other thing Sanji should probably let Zeff know about… but was reluctant to put that strain on that geriatric heart.

For all Zeff knew, the swordsman had died—like he was supposed to, like he was Fated to do. And Sanji could hear the wearied sigh the geezer would huff upon reading the news. He undoubtedly would scold Sanji for being too kind. And stupid. And various other things he already had come to accept about this situation.

In all likelihood, Sanji would never say anything. He might very well die on this ocean before getting back to the old man, so what Zeff didn’t know wouldn't hurt. And, if by some miracle, he got off the Grand Line and got to go home—well, then, the swordsman would already be dead.

Sanji chewed anxiously on his cigarette.

Thinking about the swordsman so callously always left him roiling in guilt, especially the more he began to see the man as a friend and not just a sailing companion. Atrocious bathing habits aside, the guy had admirable traits. Brutishly strong, astoundingly loyal, and deceptively wise.

Sanji glanced down at the huge lizard he’d hauled back to the ship.

As confident as he was that he’d won their little hunting contest, Sanji had to reluctantly admit that the shitty swordsman had likely bagged something probably comparable. The swordsman was skilled, even if Sanji would never admit it aloud. All the more reason Sanji couldn’t wait until the swordsman returned and he could shove Zoro’s stupid, ugly face in this obvious victory.

Only there was a problem…

It had been several hours, and not a single crew member had returned to the ship. Not that Luffy was the paragon of timeliness – no doubt their captain would be the first to disembark and last to board the ship at every opportunity – but the fact that Nami and Usopp were both missing was surprising. Those two weren’t exactly the bold, exploratory types.

Another thing that was a cause for concern was that the Thread connecting him to the swordsman hadn’t moved for quite some time. The swordsman was remaining stationary; a miraculous feat. However, this caused Sanji to be faced with the terrifying thought that the swordsman may actually be taking a nap in a dinosaur infested jungle.

Sanji slapped a hand to his face.

It was a wonder that the swordsman lasted as long as he had… The fact he’d even made it to the Baratie was becoming a more remarkable feat with every passing day. As time ticked by, Sanji could only imagine what stupid choice might make all his hard work go to waste, but that was a catastrophe for another day.

First things first, he needed to find the crew—and then rub his win in Zoro’s stupid face.

Following his Thread back to the swordsman was a dangerous gamble as there was no guarantee that he'd be somewhere sane. He could be on top of a mountain for all Sanji knew. However, at the very least, he knew Zoro was nowhere near the ship, and perhaps he was with the crew. Which was the best place for him to start.

So with that, Sanji set off back into the jungle.

~ “This is a matter of honor!” ~

The situation wasn’t ideal.

Stuck atop a wax candelabra like some sort of deranged human candles on a cake, Zoro, Vivi, and Nami were in the process of being turned into statues; their entrapment courtesy of one of the henchmen of the Warlords out to destroy Vivi’s kingdom.

All three of them had been unlucky enough to be caught off guard. Zoro was admittedly a little irked by that. Another thing to add to the list of blows delivered to his dignity to accompany Sanji’s bathing beratement and the fact that his blades were effectively useless against this Devil Fruit power.

Most of his body was already becoming immobile due to the thick, crusty layer of wax that had hardened over his skin, but luckily it acted as a decent compress to stop the bleeding from his severed calves. Luffy and Usopp’s timing had been stellar, but perhaps a second earlier could’ve stayed his hand. As it was – if they survived this – his ankles were going to need substantial medical attention after only managing to cut halfway through each. 

Zoro forced a stiff grimace through the hardening wax on his face.

The cook was going to be livid.

Forced to stitch Zoro up daily, and now this—even if he did it himself there would be hell to pay. He could sense it. Already hearing the cook’s irate voice shouting in his ear about the mess and the stupidity of it.

And speaking of that mercurial chef, now would be a good time for him to show up; maybe lend a hand considering their team wasn’t exactly doing well.

Even with Usopp and Luffy to the rescue, the odds weren't exactly in their favor—and there was a high chance they might still be turned to stone – or rather, wax – before Luffy got around to freeing them. Zoro decided to err on the side of caution. Unsheathing Wado with a graceful flick, then extending her gleaming blade towards the unmarked sky.

“What are you doing?” Nami drawled.

“If I’m going to be a statue,” Placing his other hand on his hip for good measure, Zoro argued, “I want this pose.”

Vivi piped up, her tone noticeably irate, “This is no time to be playing around.”

“Forget that.” Nami interrupted, “Do something to stop your legs from bleeding—it hurts just looking at it.”

“Then don’t look at it.”

Nami ignored the suggestion flawlessly, “What kind of moron cuts off his legs to run away?”

“Wrong,” Zoro grunted. “I was cutting off my legs so I could fight .”

“That’s even stupider.”

“Shut up, okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zoro saw the princess watch their back and forth with a growing consternation pinching her brow. Lips pursing unhappily. Jaw set. Eventually her distaste manifested in the form of a derisive scoff, followed by sour pontification, “I don’t see how you two can be so relaxed about all of this.”

“He's only relaxed because he's already dead," Nami rolled her eyes.

“NAMI!” Vivi exclaimed in horror.

Zoro chuckled, “She’s right.”

There was no use ignoring the obvious fact that everyone seemed intent on pretending didn’t exist. Luffy hadn’t said much, but that was pretty standard for that kid. Nami and Usopp on the other hand had been notably unsubtle in their attempts to not stare. Or bring it up in conversation.

He was a dead man walking.

Frankly, it was refreshing to have Nami address it instead of the alternative. She kept up the facade well enough. Violent and manipulative, but always watching him afterwards with those grief stricken eyes—already having buried him while still breathing.

He didn't know what to say to fix it…

To console her…

“I’m technically already dead,” Zoro smirked at the princess to reassure her that he wasn’t perturbed by their navigator's callousness. Only once she looked less appalled did he continue, “but that’s not the reason I’m relaxed—I trust him.”

Zoro glanced back down to Luffy, currently facing off with that strange wax man.

Every passing day there was more revealed about this kid than just an optimistic lunatic that climbed a wall and set him free. He was beginning to see a Captain worth following; someone that was as stubborn as he was and willing to persevere for his dream despite the odds. That ridiculous aspiration seeming more possible with each passing day.

In all likelihood, Zoro knew he may not last to see it happen, but he hoped he could stick around long enough to get a glimpse of that horizon. He knew it would be asking a lot, but he was pretty sure the cook would understand. Thankful that despite their differences they shared this simple bond to Luffy.

"He's an absolute dumbass, but he hasn't failed us yet." Zoro glanced out of the corner of his eye at Nami, “Ain't that right, Nami?"

She was still meek over her comment, but managed a hum of agreement, "Mhm."

Zoro then glanced back at the princess.

Not speaking a word, but simply asking with his silence if she agreed—if she saw what he did. She turned back to Luffy. Visibly cataloging everything she had come to understand about him since their meeting in Whiskey Peak, and their short time sailing together, before coming to her conclusion.

She nodded to Zoro, then turned back to watch Luffy with a firm, almost regal, resolution, “Then I trust him too."

Zoro grinned—he was starting to like this girl.

~ “There’s no draws in a challenge!” ~

“I cannot believe you didn’t say something sooner,” Sanji huffed as he dragged the – frustratingly unwilling – swordsman into the galley for the second time that day. His grip on Zoro’s wrist indisputably tight. Even so, the man dragged his feet as though this whole thing was an inconvenience for him .

The audacity of this man…

Just casually allowing himself to bleed out while they bickered until Sanji nearly slipped in the swordsman’s blood and fell off the dinosaurs they had been arguing atop. Then shrugging it off like he wasn’t on the verge of organ failure—like he wasn’t walking around with exposed bone. Acting as though Sanji was the one overreacting.

Sanji struggled to deconstruct his anger.

Given that he already had to stitch up the swordsman every day, Sanji had assumed that in the future any large injuries would be easy for him to handle, but the absolute lackadaisical attitude about it just rubbed him the wrong way. He knew it didn’t make any sense—and struggled to contain it. Unfortunately, Sanji's ire manifested itself into a childish tug on the swordsman’s wrist as he pointed at the table.

“Sit down!”

Zoro grumbled, but followed the order.

“And get those off while I get everything ready,” Sanji gestured to the swordsman’s heinous boots.

Undoubtedly soaked in the swordsman’s blood, but that was the least of Sanji’s concerns as he hurried about the kitchen nabbing alcohol, bandages, and spare catgut. He also filled up a bucket with hot water. And grabbed a few salves for good measure. Dumping everything down on the galley table and taking a seat on the bench just as the swordsman had finished removing his boots.

“Not only do I have to deal with you every afternoon,” Sanji bemoaned while positioning the bucket of soapy water at the ready. Already scooping up a large pitcher and splashing the swordsman’s filthy calves to begin warming up the dried blood and help rinse off the dirt and ash, “but now this?”

“OI!” Zoro yelped before leaning forward and hissing, “I’ll do it myself if you’re going to keep complainin’.”

“As if. You can hardly walk—there’s no way you could do a decent job without passing out first.”

“Been patching myself up long before you came along, Cook.”

 "As entertaining as it would be watching you struggle," Sanji drawled while ladeling another pitcher of water. He emphasized his next comment with a disrespectful jerk that had water splashing all over the swordsman, "let's just get this over with—the jungle is hot and that meat ain't gonna keep."

Zoro opened his mouth, but visually fought to restrain himself.

An entire war waged across the swordsman’s face before inevitably ending in him biting his tongue, leaning back on a hand, and gesturing exhaustedly to his legs. Sanji returned Zoro’s petulant pout with a snide smile. Snagging an ankle and heaving the swordsman’s leg onto the bench, Sanji positioned the foot between his thighs before setting work cleaning the wound.

The swordsman didn’t smell much anymore—thankfully. Whatever that debacle was involving wax and fire had managed to take care of the lingering rank, but now the swordsman leeched an aroma of ash and copper.

After a few more splashes of water, Sanji then set to work vigorously scrubbing out the wound until nothing but vibrant pink muscle and bubbling adipose peaked through. Not a speck of dirt, ash, or blood. However, it wasn’t long before blood began to ooze out.

They’d need to work quickly.

After inspecting the wound closely, Sanji decided to go with a much heavier and condensed suture, but knew it would provide a much harder struggle than the chest. And the swordsman’s muscles were strong. Already Sanji could see the risk of the catgut ripping through the soft flesh if he tried to pull the muscles back together. He would have to be cautious, but also ruthless. This wasn’t going to be pleasant for the swordsman.

“I need to stitch much deeper than your chest,” Sanji warned. “This is going to hurt.”

Grabbing the bottle of booze Sanji had provided and taking a long pull to imbibe some resolve, Zoro wheezed out, “Get on with it.”

Sanji nodded.

Using his lighter to sterilize his needle, then an ample splash of the hard liquor to the wound and his hands, Sanji set to work on the initial knot; extra careful that there was no chance of slippage. He then began on the first few sutures. This was remarkably different from all the other times—this was real. Well, more real. And they only had one shot to do it right.

Sanji worked studiously, but was unable to ignore the hauntingly obvious comparison of catgut to Thread.

While Thread pulled through effortlessly – the healing nature of Time caused the wound to pull closed – there was still effort involved; the reefing of Time was exhausting work, but smooth—like the pulling of silk. That juxtaposed to the vivid sensation of the coarse catgut vibrating through the needle as it pulled through thick muscle was a stark contrast.

“Alright,” Sanji warned. “One, two—”

On the unspoken three, Sanji braced on Zoro’s knee for leverage while pulling the first few sutures closed in a single, hard pull. The result was minute, but effective. Sanji kept the catgut taut with a thumb before setting about looping through the next few stitches. Offering another warning to the swordsman before tugging the next section of the wound closed all the while listening to the grind of Zoro’s teeth against each other. A horrifying symphony of creaking—like a hardy mast caught in a heavy wind.

About halfway through the work began to ease, as the more of the wound closed, but forcing the muscle back into place caused the skin to pinch garishly. Flesh twisted and jagged. Rippling in ways that reminded Sanji of a tree that had been wounded and attempted to heal.

“It’s not gonna look good,” Sanji warned.

Zoro scowled through a heaving breath, “Do I look like I care?”

Sanji mimed the words mockingly, but kept his head low so the swordsman wouldn’t catch it.

Of course the swordsman didn’t care. Sanji would confidently wager a decent amount of Beri that the gnarlier a scar looked meant something of significance to the moronic swordsman. A laudable acquisition. Every single one as a badge of pride.

As they neared the end, Sanji broached, “How is it?”

“Compared to my chest?” Zoro drawled breathlessly, “Ain’t shit.”

The lie was ignored.

They shared a solitary second of camaraderie in the hollow mirth of the current situation; Sanji huffed a laugh that would’ve passed for a scoff, and Zoro’s head slumped back to gift the ceiling with a delirious smile. Chuckling a dark mockery as Sanji finished tying the knot on the stitching, then cut it to release the leg from his custody.

With one leg finished, they immediately moved on to the other as the swordsman refused any reprieve in his desire to get it all done in one go. Sanji worked quickly; cleaning, sterilizing, stitching. Zoro cradled the bottle of liquor like a lifeline. The galley filled with heavy breaths and pained grunts until the second wound was closed, Sanji nabbing a nearby knife to sever the knotted catgut and in doing so cutting the tension in the room.

They both collapsed in varying degrees of relief. Zoro flopped back with a groan as Sanji caught the bench behind him with both hands. Slumping heavily so his shoulders cradled his ears as he panted; brow uncomfortably drenched beneath his bangs and the back of his shirt entirely soaked.

Snatching the bottle out of the swordsman’s sluggish grasp, Sanji downed his own fair-share of the liquor to satiate his parched throat, and more importantly, numb the icy chill that was beginning to replace his previous adrenaline. His skin felt unsettlingly clammy. All of it compounded by the thick jungle heat that swirled around them that had been strikingly absent in his panic.

Sanji cradled the bottle while glaring at the swordsman.

Returning normalcy had that rage from earlier rearing its ugly head as Sanji’s frustrations towards the inconsiderate swordsman mounted. The building list of transgressions. The unspoken perturbation. Everything Sanji had done for the swordsman – all altruistically intended – and yet, it felt like with every choice Zoro was purposefully throwing it all back into his face.

Sanji didn’t want half-hearted gratitude, but was an iota of conscientiousness too much to ask for?!

That being said, Sanji did feel owed a small amount of recompense in the form of beratement over the swordsman’s idiocy, “You are the dumbest man I’ve ever met.”

And they’d both met their captain.

Zoro grumbled something that resembled, “Shut up.”

Sanji wanted to huck the bottle at him.

"What could you possibly have to gain by pulling a stint like this?"

The swordsman didn’t respond.

Frustratingly discourteous, Zoro continued to simply lay on the bench and stare at the ceiling with a blank expression that could’ve been anything from contemplative to mindless. It made Sanji violently livid, but he managed to restrain it.  

Zoro’s hand came up to rub absently at his chest.

Eventually – with a, frankly insulting, sigh – Zoro pushed himself up to level Sanji with a stoic expression. He reached out with a dismissive shrug. Snagging the bottle from Sanji before he could react, then proceeded to mutter against the lip with a deprecating chuckle.

"I had nothing to lose—might as well go down fightin’.”

That irked Sanji more than he thought it would. The absolute disregard from the selfish bastard. He had begun to suspect the swordsman had adopted a stellar lack of self-preservation recently, but hearing it so brazenly grunted left Sanji feeling used.

His anger from before returned tenfold.

"So, that's it then?” Sanji murmured through tight lips. Sneering through a scathing laugh in a pathetic attempt to conceal his murderous imaginings, “Fucking hell, borrowed Time’s given you zero self-preservation… I thought you were bad before, you selfish sonuva—”

“This isn't about you,” Zoro cut him off.

Sanji reared back—appalled.

Wrenching his leg out of Sanji’s stunned lap to drop his foot back to the floor allowed the swordsman to lean extra close to keep Sanji’s attention.

Nothing separated them now.

“You don't get to talk down to me like you have any idea who I am – or was – before we met—I will always do things my way.” To make his point, Zoro then grabbed Sanji’s Thread and lifted it up to make sure the cook was paying attention, “Don't think for a second I'd be anyone else with or without this.”

Sanji was stunned.

All his ire had effectively been thrown out the porthole at the sight of the barbarous swordsman touching his Thread so callously—like it meant nothing. As if it weren’t the most intimate thing you could possibly do. As though it really was nothing but a tether to the mortal realm.

A cold fury washed over him, but thankfully kept him grounded enough to grit out, “Let. Go.”

Zoro did—surprisingly.

Rising to his feet and stepping over the bench, he had the grace to appear minorly apologetic to his faux pas, but didn’t speak to it. He got dressed silently. Blood-stained and soot-marked haramaki back in place with those precious swords rightfully at his hip, the swordsman snagged the bandages on the table, as well as the mostly empty liquor bottle, before finally addressing Sanji.

“I am who I am,” Zoro stated as if it were an apology, then turned to leave.

Sanji said nothing.

At the stifled whine of the door behind wrenched open, Sanji shamefully gave in to his petty frustration and sneered, “Don’t waste my Time.”

“I’m trying not to,” Zoro barked back.

Sanji was left alone with the slamming of the galley door.

Turning to slump on the galley table with a disheartened groan as he replayed the whole interaction over in his head with mounting regret. He knew he should have kept to their pact of not talking about it. This was exactly why he knew they shouldn’t bring it up. They hardly knew each other well enough in the beginning to entertain such a delicate subject, and as time wore on Sanji began to realize that Zoro was someone that didn’t do anything delicately.

Conversation or otherwise.

Lightly bonking his forehead against the hardwood in a frustrated rhythm, Sanji cursed this whole awkward situation. He thought of Nami—her concerns. He’d been foolish to think none of this would come up. That he could keep the lid of this jar sealed nice and tight until they absolutely had to address it, but his own anger had been his undoing.

And it really hadn’t sunk in until Zoro had grabbed his Thread, but that was it. That was the person he’d be bound to until death. There was no one else on this planet that would ever be able to touch him in that way. At least so long as the swordsman lived.

He hadn’t expected it to hurt as much as it had, but the romantic in him had died at that moment.

Perhaps expressing himself could help, but Sanji had no clue where to even begin when approaching the swordsman. The conversations they managed were strained at best . Zoro asking him about his dream had nearly sent Sanji into a coma. There was no way on earth or in heaven that they could possibly discuss how this made them feel .

He could hear the swordsman’s vicious mockery at the mere thought of suggesting it.

Ultimately, it appeared as though he might have to take his own advice and bite his tongue on the matter unless the swordsman wanted to discuss it, because so far Sanji's attempts had been horribly misconstrued by his emotions. Nami was right – as usual – but it didn't provide a solution. All Sanji could do was stew in the growing enormity of his choices.

Sanji’s eyes slowly slid open.

Blurry, swirling hardwood slowly came into focus, before a familiar bulbous shape came into view and had Sanji immediately shooting upright. The stain on the galley table left there by Zoro earlier that day. Scrubbing hadn’t managed to remove it. It appeared no matter where he turned the swordsman was unavoidable.

“Ugh,” Sanji groaned in disgust.

Gathering up all of his frustration towards the swordsman and locking it deep, deep, deep down, Sanji pushed himself to his feet and made his way back out onto the deck. He still had those dinosaurs to field dress. And, with Vivi desperate to get back to Alabasta, he couldn’t be wasting time with his own silly problems.

~ “I have to get strong enough to shatter steel.” ~

“Two thousand, five hundred, fifty-four, two thousand, five hundred, fifty-five…”

Grunting out each syllable in measured bursts to accompany his training, Zoro brought the weighted bar forward over his head in a strict, calculated movement. Every muscle in his body contracted with purpose to stop the strike. Pose held to ensure maximum retention before hefting it back over his head to repeat once more.

“Two thousand, five hundred, seventy-one, two thousand, five hundred seventy-two…”

Once they’d safely left Little Garden – thanks to the assistance of the giants – they’d immediately set a course straight to Alabasta courtesy of the Eternal Pose the cook had managed to locate. Zoro had escaped to the bow of the ship. Throwing himself into his training while trying to sort out his muddled thoughts; a binary of vexation that inevitably all came back to the cook.

The cook…

They hadn't talked since patching Zoro’s ankles – pretending as if it hadn't happened – but the cook was good at that; good at pretending like nothing was wrong. It made Zoro wonder what else the cook was hiding. However, as outwardly apathetic as Sanji might try to appear, Zoro had a direct path to how he really felt… and it was anything but copacetic.

Dense, moist heat of the jungle island still hung over the ship making it stiflingly hot, but Zoro could feel nothing except an icy chill through Sanji’s Thread. The cook was still furious. And not in his usual, playful way. There was a deadly serious frigidity to the fury Sanji was trying to stifle, and had eventually succumbed to.

Zoro knew that it could’ve been handled better, but at a point he refused to compromise who he was. In fact, he hated the thought of that cook thinking any of this had to do with him—that this wasn’t who he was. Sure, the cook had no frame of reference, but the implication his recklessness was borne out of despair, rather than intrinsically given, was infuriating.

What was the point of life if not to live recklessly?

Maybe it was selfish of him to not change when given a second chance, but who he was had gotten him into this predicament and if he needed to change as some form of recompense then the cook might as well cut him loose now to save them both the disappointment.

What that cook might deem as a disregard for his life was the only way Zoro felt he could do justice to time given. If he didn’t push the limits of the immensity of every second, then it would ultimately be a waste. Frankly, the cook should be taking it as a compliment.

This dream of his was only feasible if he remained true to who he was, but Zoro hardly knew where to begin in explaining this to the cook.

“Two thousand, six hundred, three, two thousand, six hundred, four…”

All this little excursion had done was put into stark relief where he was compared to where he needed to be. The conversation with the cook had riled his already irritated state of mind. He ignored a flare of pain growing in intensity—in fact, it grounded him. Made him see straight through the miasma of Sanji’s emotions clouding his head.

If the cook wanted to be vexed about anything, then it should’ve been the time Zoro spent not getting stronger. Had he been strong enough to cut that weird wax-man’s candelabra then they wouldn’t have gotten into this mess in the first place. Luffy, the crew, those giants. They all could've been spared if he could have freed himself properly.

These wounds were just recompense for that weakness, and he was grateful for them. To feel the damp, heat of life trickling across his skin; staining it. The proof of his existence. He could feel the blood soaking through the bandages on his ankles, but refused to stop. Every second he wasn’t getting stronger was truly the wasted time. He would sweat, and bleed, and break until he saw his dream fulfilled—until he saw Sanji free.

Vivi’s horrified voice echoed across the ship, “Everyone! Come quickly—this is bad!!!”

Zoro paused his next motion mid-strike.

“It’s Nami!” She screamed once more—panic poignantly apparent in each word, “She’s burning up with a fever!”

Setting the bar down as gently as he could – its weight still causing the deck to give a shuddering groan in protest – Zoro snagged his shirt, a towel, and then began walking back around to the front of the ship. He was patting his brow when his steps faltered. A wave of almost debilitating concern rocked through his chest.

Hand shooting out to brace against the outer wall of the galley, Zoro pressed the towel firmly against his brow while trying to recover from the onslaught of foreign emotions. He could feel every panicked skip of the man’s heart, every hitch in his breathing, and the way his eyes were already tearing up. It caused his own to begin to gloss over, but decisively put a stop to that before it had a chance to occur.

Zoro scowled aggressively to force any trace of emotion from his face.

Only then did he lift his head, glaring down the walkway to the main deck where he could hear Sanji blubbering over Nami. Zoro grit his teeth. Hand closing to form a fist against the wall while fighting to muffle his vexation.

That fucking cook.

It was going to take some serious concentration on his part to keep these discombobulating emotions in check. There was no way they could exist like this. Otherwise he was going to be a hazard to himself—and the crew.

After some stiff breaths to get Sanji’s worry under control, Zoro tapped his fist against Merry softly to reaffirm his own steadiness before glancing up. Distantly the sounds of worried voices could be heard. With a short snort and small shake, Zoro pushed off the wall to finally go see what was causing so much strife.

Hardly reaching the top of the stairs when he found everyone gathered around Nami who was sprawled across the deck. Her hair was a mess, and her breathing heavy. A concerning flush caused her skin to practically glow, but the sheen of sweat made her look disturbingly ill.

“Help me get her inside,” Vivi requested.

Sanji was already scooping Nami up in his arms.

Door to the storage room was propped open by Usopp as everyone hurried inside to take Nami below deck to the woman’s quarters. There was general shouting and clamoring. Zoro watched uselessly from above until they were all gone.

“I’ll…” Zoro muttered to the empty deck, “keep watch, I guess?”

TBC…

Chapter Text

~ “You’ve got a kind heart.” ~

Sailing on the Grand Line was already a treacherous endeavor, but managing it with an incapacitated navigator, an unusable Log Pose, and a time constraint, only exacerbated their predicament. The past twenty-four hours were spent in shifts of eyeing the horizon for any sign of land while the rest maintained Merry’s course. At this point even a passing ship with their own doctor would be appreciated.

Luck appeared to be on their side, however, as a steady chill had begun to take over the ship meaning that an island was near. Now all they needed to do was locate it. While Luffy, Zoro, and Usopp kept an eye on the horizon for any sign of an island, Sanji broke away to check in on Nami and Vivi—especially the princess.

She had refused to sleep last night, but Sanji understood.

Sleep had been devastatingly elusive with Nami’s condition the way it was. Feverish dreams kept their beloved navigator stuck in a fitful sleep, her brow tight and her lips tense as she wrestled with the illness wracking her body. None of the crew had managed a wink the first night, but Sanji could see there was more to Vivi's somber mood than just their situation.

There was a guilt she carried needlessly for their navigator. She blamed herself for their conflict with that Baroque Works agent on Little Garden. Certainly convincing herself that if it hadn't been for her own involvement, then Nami would never have fallen ill; trapping herself in desperate bargaining.

Words wouldn't bring her to reason, but Sanji could provide a small reprieve.

Carefully shutting the door to keep what little heat they had managed to trap in the women’s quarters, Sanji descended the stairs with a tray in hand. It was laden with hot tea already steeped to perfection: ginger and peppermint for Nami to help reduce her fever; and chamomile for Vivi to ease her anxiety and alleviate sleeplessness.

Vivi glanced over at his approach to offer a welcoming smile.

It was weak.

Setting down the tray at the table, Sanji immediately set to work preparing the princess' beverage by unwrapping her teacup. He plucked a preheated mug from the confines of the warm towel, then poured a serving. Stirring meticulously as he twirled the honey wand over the tea with exceptional proficiency. He was determined to get the ratio of honey just right. It may not have been objectively practical in its importance, but it made him feel useful – and set his muddled mind at ease – so he would continue to do it.

Knowing nothing had changed, Sanji broached for the sake of conversation, "How is she?"

"The same," Vivi murmured. Arms flexing before amending, "Breathing is a little easier."

As the last of the honey dissolved, Sanji set all the utensils aside and scooped up the cup and saucer to proffer them consolingly to the princess. She took them gratefully, but Sanji could see the exhaustion in her smile and hands. After a few moments tentatively blowing on the surface she managed a small sip before sighing happily.

“This is wonderful,” she remarked.

Sanji grinned.

Vivi sipped her tea quietly, but her eyes remained pinned to Nami's glowing life force.

There was no indication that its power was wavering, but Sanji knew from experience that it could fade in an instant—with no warning. Watching didn't help, and yet, it was hard to look away; there was something reassuring about keeping that manifestation of life in sight, as though – maybe – if you stared hard enough you might be able to discern the entwined Thread beneath that ethereal glow and be able to count the seconds remaining…

He’d done it before.

With his mother when she was ill, and with himself, alone on that rock in the chill of night as his body steadily ate itself. Staring unblinking at the Spindle he’d cradled in his skeletal hands wishing for an inkling as to his survival. There was something cruel about seeing when your time was up, but it was worse to watch someone else…

And as Vivi watched Nami’s Thread slowly unravel, Sanji could see the strife on her face.

“It’s hard not to consider,” Sanji voiced her turmoil. “Huh?”

Vivi rounded on him, surprised.

A shameful blushed immediately ignited across her cheeks, and she looked ready to deny it, but then her gaze shifted to Sanji’s Thread; drifting lazily in the cold air – wispy and whimsical – before swirling up through the ceiling to where the swordsman lounged on deck.

The swordsman…

Sanji could almost laugh.

There was still a lot of anger towards that moron that he knew needed addressing, but the severity of Nami’s situation provided a much needed reprieve from it—and offered a healthy dose of perspective. Their unspoken, instinctual ability to put it all aside to help a crew member was something Sanji was beginning to appreciate about the swordsman. And frankly, it was the intermission he needed to reassess before coming back at the swordsman full bore.

“What…” she paused, cautious, “What happened—if you don’t mind my asking?”

Sanji chuckled, oddly endeared by her politeness.

“I don't mean to pry,” she gushed before Sanji could even answer. Beginning to babble nervously, “It’s just that, well… Initially, I thought that your swordsman was just injured, but then I noticed his…”

“Yeah,” Sanji answered her implication, “he's—his Thread is gone.”

"Extraordinary," Vivi sighed before inhaling sharply. Realizing her perceived callousness with a shameful blush, Vivi coughed softly before divulging, “I mean… not extraordinary! Please do not think me rude. It’s just— I’ve never seen anything like it! I’ve seen a Mending before, but never one where the person was already— It’s just… Well…”

“It’s alright,” Sanji placated her growing panic. And a wry smile broke across his face at the reality of his next words, “He’s not too sensitive about it.”

She nodded, but still took a hearty gulp of tea to hide her embarrassment.

Deciding to indulge her curiosity – and hopefully ease her mortification – Sanji explained casually, “There was a warlord back in East Blue—he got injured. I hadn’t joined the crew yet, so I Mended him as a favor, but once I had… I couldn’t let him die.”

“So," Confusion still trickled across her voice, "that swordsman… and you… aren't—”

Sanji made a face before he could stop himself.

“Oh, I—” Vivi floundered as she realized her implication, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Sanji reassured her quickly—she hadn’t known. From her perspective he could understand how it must look; which – if he was being honest – wasn’t something Sanji had considered up until now. The tips of his ears pinched in embarrassment, “He’s crew, he’s… a friend, but it’s… No… Nothing like that.”

An awkward silence followed the misunderstanding as Sanji began to wonder how many other people were misconstruing their situation for something – god forbid – intimate . He couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered it, but truthfully it hadn’t crossed his mind. It wasn’t like it was a Weaving , but he could see how it might come across that way at a distance; the way his Thread led right to the swordsman's chest, almost as though it were tied to his Spindle rather than flesh.

Sanji suddenly wanted to throw himself in the ocean.

Vivi took pity on him.

“I’ve only seen a deathbed Mending one other time,” Vivi spoke up to break the unsettling silence intermingled with Nami’s labored breathing. Sanji pulled himself from his mortification to glance at the princess. She sighed before clarifying, “My mother.”

"'m'sorry," Sanji offered instinctively.

A sadness touched the young woman’s voice, but without another word, Sanji understood—he could hear it in everything that wasn’t said. And his heart ached for an experience that never needed to be explained. The pain in watching a loved one slowly fade, and yet, still feeling like they were snatched from you without warning. A goodbye balanced on the tip of your tongue that you’d never get to say—the bitterest pill to swallow with a cup of regret.

“She was sick,” Vivi sighed. “My father Mended her for a few days so we could say our goodbyes, but I was little—I didn’t…”

She trailed off, but Sanji understood.

Forced to sit at his own mother’s bedside – watching her die – because someone else had decided what he was allowed to do with his life, his Time , had never sat well with him. It had been the catalyst for his doubt, even if he had been too young at the time to know it…

All of the reasons just sounded like excuses: royalty weren’t allowed to Weave due to potential political incentives; children couldn’t Mend their parents because of unconditional biases; people were supposed to accept when their Thread ran out and embrace death with grace.

“It took a while for me to understand why, but I do now. I was so mad at both of them for not…” Words trailing off with a delicacy that was countered by a swift hand wiping away the stray tear. “He would’ve kept doing it forever, but she made him stop in the end. The Mending kept her alive, but it didn’t fix her illness—she didn’t want to be bedridden for the rest of her life. And… taking the time of someone she loved…”

Sanji nodded consolingly.

This was a tragic story that he had heard before, seen before, but never could understand…

“She was superstitious,” Vivi gave a sad smile, “Always said she knew her Thread was short – she was right, of course – but…” Her melancholy turned to irritation as her hands tightened around her teacup, “I've always wondered if things would've been different if they had gotten a Weaving; if she had all that extra Time, then maybe she wouldn't have gotten sick…” Her gaze returned to Nami as the irony of the situation was not lost. “Or if she had then she would've gotten better because…”

Sanji could see her tormented introspection play out across her face, but held his tongue.

"It doesn't make any sense," Vivi sighed bitterly. "I’m sorry—it’s so stupid .”

“No,” Sanji rebuffed sharply. “I get it.”

Vivi’s eyes shimmered with relief.

"Do…” Lips pursed around the word, Vivi paused as her eyes fall to the glowing Thread that danced between them then back up at Sanji with distraught resignation, “do you think our choices even matter?"

And there it was—the crux of the whole damn problem…

There was physical proof hanging from his neck that he had a soul – that his time on earth was finite and that he was part of something bigger – but that wasn't enough. The romantic in him always believed it wasn’t that simple—and what he’d divulged to Zoro all those weeks ago was the truth. To him, the very existence of the ability to Mend and Weave meant that their lives weren’t set in stone; that death wasn’t predetermined.

It was there in every couple that chose to weave their Threads so they could die together; it was there in the way Threads vanished with their owners when they passed; it was there in the fact that despite someone’s Time being gone they could still be tethered to this life.

When faced with the harsh reality of death, it was hard not to doubt that this great, romantic idea of a grand plan was all fabricated, but the more Sanji lived, the more everything he’d been told about time, about life, about destiny felt wrong – it was too perfect; too manufactured – like the inside of that whale…

“I dunno for sure,” Sanji whispered with an uncomfortable vulnerability, “but…”

If these Threads were a predetermined timeline – if Zoro was truly meant to die – then why was he still here?

Up until that moment at the Baratie, Sanji had only had his suspicions – this ludicrous hope – but that reckless swordsman had come storming into his life with all the ferociousness of a hurricane and vindicated everything in the most brilliant way…

And now, Sanji was left in the wake of its destruction trying to balance the dichotomy of his beliefs with the injustice of death, especially his mother’s. And Vivi’s mother. And everyone else that he’d ever known to pass… Zoro . Every person that deserved a longer life, but wasn’t allowed to be given it because of some rules made up by nameless people that thought they had it all figured out…

“I think they do...” Sanji absently touched his Spindle – a reflex more than anything – then offered Vivi a reassuring smile, “It would be a pretty bleak world otherwise…”

Sadden, but clearly relieved, Vivi smiled softly, “I suppose so.”

They both sat in silence for the rest of the time it took for them to finish their tea. Nami tossing as restlessly as she had the past few days. And when Sanji left to return above deck, neither said a word about the needle Sanji left behind on the serving tray; just in case.

~ “There’s only one doctor in this country—and she’s a witch.” ~

With the blessing of the locals on the winter island, the crew worked to bring Merry into port while Sanji all but dragged Zoro to the galley to get his Mending done with. Zoro had agreed to stay back to guard the ship while the rest took Nami to the village to find the doctor. The cook was frantic. Door to the galley barely shut before Sanji was grabbing at his jacket to help with the zipper which was where Zoro drew the line.

Zoro swiftly batted him off with a growl, “I can get undressed by myself!”

“Can you?!” Sanji snarled, skeptical, “I've seen you—you get undressed like a child.”

Zoro feigned a lunge at the cook.

Jerking his face at the other confrontationally didn’t exactly help refute the claim of childishness, but it gave him enough space to get the zipper undone without interference. He then dropped the jacket to the floor before grabbing the collar of his shirt and began to haul it over his head. Barely getting his arms out of it before the cook was snatching it from him and motioning to toss it aside before freezing, the cook’s head shot up as surprise rippled down his Thread causing Zoro’s hands to pause at his haramaki.

Sanji blinked, “You bathed?”

Zoro immediately grimaced.

“Yeah,” he finally huffed.

An impressive concoction of emotions whirled across the cook’s face – everything from bewilderment to relief – before eventually settling on a painful grimace of gratitude. His normally comely features twisted into something ugly. The muscles in his jaw were working extremely hard. A word of recognition stuck on his tongue while a nauseous sensation trickled down his Thread.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Zoro drawled, then turned away.

Swiftly stripping off his swords while listening to the dramatic cook nearly deflate in relief – there was no reason for him to wheeze like that – Zoro caught out of the corner of his eye the cook tossing his shirt onto the table before hearing a haughty sniff.

“I just don’t think I should be thanking you for something you should’ve been doing in the first place,” Sanji accompanied both scathing enunciations with a sharp poke to Zoro's shoulder blade.

Zoro's eye twitched, but he refused to take the bait.

"If anything, you should be thanking me! "

A final poke had Zoro heavily debating snagging the finger and ensuring the cook wouldn't be able to poke him ever again, but wrestled that urge down. The cook was noticeably protective of his hands. And regardless of the reason Zoro could respect that. However, one more poke and he was committed to breaking the bastard’s nose.

Luckily – for both of them – the cook relented, but continued rambling to himself as he moved to the sink to wash his hands, “It’s just basic hygiene… And we’re at sea . Do you want to get crumpet foot, or gangrene, or—"

Zoro rolled his eyes.

Ignoring the cook's nagging with – what was becoming a very well-practiced – ease, Zoro removed the rest of his clothes; bandana, haramaki, and the bloody bandage on his hip. He was loath to give kudos to the cook, but the precaution was… not entirely terrible. And his haramaki held it in place wonderfully. That being said, it was a nicety that he would be taking to his grave, which ironically, was whenever Sanji deemed it.

Dismissing the oddly humorous morbidity, Zoro dropped into place at the galley table and leaned back comfortably. Arms braced atop the tabletop. Legs spread to accommodate the cook. Waiting while Sanji finished patting his hands and arms dry even as his mouth still babbled nonsensical threats until he came to stop in front of him. Finally running out of steam, the cook whipped the cloth up to hang from his shoulder and reluctantly met Zoro's gaze for the first time.

Chewing on his silence before muttering softly under his breath, “But… thanks.”

The wave of gratitude caught Zoro off guard.

It was markedly more unsettling than Zoro had been expecting – having to fight off a blush – but the only thing that kept him unphased was his need to never let the cook win. He mustered up a curt nod, then looked away. Biting his tongue on a dismissive rebuttal to keep the weird sort of peace they’d managed to create since their blow up on Little Garden.

Sanji silently took up his usual spot.

Needle procured from that little cigarette tin that was always on his person, Sanji fingers twisted elegantly in the bit of Thread drifting between them before threading it through the eye effortlessly. He then scooted close to swiftly set to work getting the Mending done. All of their banter a moment earlier forgotten as Sanji put all his attention on the task at hand.

It was surprising how easy it was for them to go from being passionately at each other’s throats to this silent, affable camaraderie.

Zoro wasn’t certain what that meant…

Allowing Sanji to work for a bit while mulling over the outrageous possibility that they were becoming friends , Zoro tried not to scoff lest he mess up Sanji’s needle work. He was several stitches in, but not nearly as far along as expected. It was then that Zoro noticed how uncharacteristically cold the cook's hands were.

 Apropo of his fiery temper and penchant for explosive theatrics – as spicy in personality as his cooking – the cook typically ran hot in Zoro's limited experience, but currently the tips of the fingers brushing across his skin were icy. His finesse with the needle was also lacking. A subtle clumsiness that only Zoro could perceive from having watched Sanji perform this same task over, and over, and over…

"Your hands are cold," Zoro noted.

"It's a winter island," Sanji groused. "Can't exactly help it."

"Are you cold?"

Quick as a whip, Sanji snarled, "As if!"

Zoro could feel that irritation crackle down Sanji's Thread.

Already a furious warmth was returning to the cook – an almost inhuman heat – that Zoro took note of for future reference. He was curious just how hot Sanji's anger could properly burn. It even warmed him , but perhaps that was just in his head—and while he was loath to admit it…

It was… nice.

A disconcerting nostalgia flourished within the warmth that the cook held. Reminding Zoro of his childhood: the homestead hearth on winter nights when gales would come in off the coastline to batter the windows; the heat that lingered in the kitchen after a freshly cooked meal; the tingling sensation as the summer sun would burn the back of his neck while out in the forest training. It was all encompassing. Enveloping. Almost oppressively surrounding until its absence made you mourn the loss.

Lost in that comfort, Zoro hadn’t acknowledged their silence until Sanji's heat faded and he was left to the cold reality of Merry's gallery. His body doused in the gelid air of a winter island. And by the time he had collected himself, Sanji was already done, at the sink, and cleaning the blood off his hands.

Zoro masked his disappointment masterfully as he rose to get dressed.

It wasn’t lost on Zoro that the cook had been additionally avoidant since Little Garden. These little sessions were already fairly short and to the point, but this one was especially glib. And he wasn’t so ignorant as to not know why. As much as Sanji’s concern for Nami had tempered the acrid anger, Zoro could still discern its presence lurking beneath the surface.

By the time Zoro had finished dressing, Sanji had managed to get all the blood off himself.

"We should be back early tomorrow,” Sanji explained as he turned back to Zoro with cloth in hand. Hurriedly drying his hands as he rambled, “Or at the very least I can head back once Nami is there and safe.”

"Look, Cook," Zoro grunted, then waited for Sanji’s typical irate attention at the moniker. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he tentatively broached the subject they’d been avoiding for days, "We can’t be stuck together forever—frankly, I might go crazy if we had to.”

“Oi!”

“We’ll be smart about it,” Zoro pressed on despite Sanji’s scowl, “but if it happens it happens.”

The massive weight of it being left unspoken.

Sanji visibly bit the inside of his cheek on a instinctive argument.

Mulling over Zoro's words with a quiet reservation before ultimately acceding to the point. Zoro had a suspicion Sanji's reluctance was more to do with hating agreeing with him rather than the actual thought of him dying. So Zoro offered a rare – non-antagonistic – smile in agreement.

"Fine," Sanji allowed, "but…"

Zoro could discern a visceral pain twisting in the cook.

"You–" Sanji tried again.

Once more falling into a conflicted silence, Sanji struggled to get out the words he so desperately wanted to say, but emotion caught tackily in the back of his throat. His Thread vibrating with something rare. Something Zoro had only felt one other time – when he knew he had gone too far – when he had grabbed Sanji’s Thread.

Zoro had regretted it instantly.

In the heat of the moment – and Sanji’s emotions overwhelming him – he’d allowed their confrontation to get the best of him. An embarrassing display of weakness. He knew this wasn’t exactly the best time to bring it up, but the ship hadn’t finished docking yet—and this felt necessary.

“About—”

“Don’t,” Sanji cut him off with a sharp look, so Zoro relented. The rapport that they were fostering allowed for few words to pass between them, which Zoro appreciated. “It was a stressful moment – some shit was said – but I wanted this topic off limits for this exact reason, so let’s just drop it. ”

Allowing himself to focus on Sanji’s Thread, the swordsman listened to the sincerity that washed over him from the cook like waves on twilight sand. Utterly tranquil. No matter how vivacious the cook typically was about everything , he was genuinely resolved on this matter.

Zoro nodded shortly.

“Worst case scenario,” Sanji extended hand as though attempting to physically press the importance of the notion into the space between them, “I give you permission to—” Again, Sanji struggled to say the words—that raw feeling tickled the back of Zoro’s throat unpleasantly.

“I got it,” Zoro grunted—putting the cook out of his misery. 

Sanji visibly shuddered at the release of his held breath.

“Good,” Sanji nodded with a breathless gush. Awkwardly refusing to make eye contact as he nodded again between nonsensical mutterings of reassurance – “Good, okay… Right...” – before he darted around the swordsman. Not daring to look at Zoro as he ducked out of the galley without another word.

~ “The only doctor in this country – Doctor Kureha, whom people call ‘The Witch’ – lives there.” ~

Everything ached.

As Sanji awoke in a haze of lethargy, he struggled to parse the events prior to his unconsciousness. He remembered the rabbits, the avalanche, and… He groaned softly as the memory of hitting that tree rippled throughout his body. That sharp pain in his lower back sizzled unpleasantly at the thought.

They were somewhere warm though, Luffy must have managed to get them to the castle atop the mountain, but there was no telling how long he had been out for; hours, days…

That crap swordsman!

Sanji jolted awake, but immediately regretted it.

A jolt lanced up his spine at the sudden movement; acidic pain trickled down his nerves and his stomach rolled with a crackling nausea. He slumped back onto the bed to subdue the urge to vomit. Arms braced around his head, Sanji inhaled heavily through his teeth as he fought to get control of the pain.

“Careful, boy,” the cackle from a woman – The Witch – had Sanji stilling in place. “You did quite a number on your back.”

Swallowing down a wave of vertigo dancing on the back of his tongue, Sanji gritted, "What time is it?"

“Bit past midday,” she informed. “Your friends are fine.”

Sanji crumpled with relief.

That reprieve was short lived as the reminder of their swordsman’s stupidity had him cracking an eye to confirm that his Thread still drifted off connecting him to the swordsman. Its blue glow a welcomed sight. Even after giving Zoro permission, Sanji had an inkling that the swordsman might not save himself just on principle; the infuriating bastard.

Far more cautiously this time, Sanji shimmied his elbows underneath himself before slowly pushing up and managing to roll onto his side. He huffed a painful sigh at the exertion, then took a deep breath to continue. Swinging his legs off the medical table, then easing himself upright before finally glancing up at this elusive doctor they’d nearly died to find.

Admittedly, Sanji was caught off guard by how well preserved this one hundred forty year old woman was, considering the tales from the villagers had him picturing someone more resembling a shriveled prune. While age was apparent in her face, she appeared closer in age to his old man, than to someone more than twice his age. And her clothing was also drastically out of place—the cropped t-shirt especially.

“Thank you,” he murmured. She flicked her hand absently in response, but Sanji prodded further unsure if this was actually the doctor they were looking for, “Miss Kureha?”

"That’s 'Doctor' to you," she corrected with a smug grin.

“Doctor,” Sanji repeated with sincere gratitude.

As she approached, Sanji’s gaze fell to the familiar blue button up that she carried – folded neatly – in her hands. The woman offered him his shirt which Sanji quickly took. Noting that it had been washed, mended, and ironed.

Sanji’s head shot up once more to thank her, but a swift hand made it clear she didn’t want to hear it.

“Someone else I need to be attending to?”

“Hm?” Sanji hummed curiously as he shucked on his shirt.

She gestured vaguely to his chest.

As he glanced down – before his eyes even landed on his Spindle – Sanji realized too late what the old woman was referring to and immediately looked back up. Words caught on his tongue awkwardly. Unsure of how to explain such an odd circumstance; up until this point he’d only really had to play it off to get laid.

“Ah, no,” he floundered. “He’s… um…”

A solemn nature fell over the doctor, “Dying?”

Sanji was going to correct her, but stopped himself, “More or less.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You climb my mountain bare-handed with a girl ill from a thought to be extinct disease,” the doctor muttered. “A captain that's lucky to not have lost any limbs to frostbite, and yourself with a crushed spine—now you tell me you have another that’s due to die. Is there anyone on your crew that’s not in mortal peril?”

“Our sharpshooter is doing alright,” Sanji drawled honestly.

“Well, thank goodness,” the doctor matched Sanji’s scathing tone.

With the last of his buttons done up, Sanji began to tuck in his shirt while taking extra precaution around the back near his bandages. The wound was still incredibly tender. After a bit more fussing with his cuffs and collars, Sanji finally felt more like himself.

“Do you have intentions for burial?” Kureha pressed, “Or are you taking him out to sea?”

Knowing there was little point in lying, Sanji met the older woman’s stern gaze and finally admitted, “There’s… no intention to let him die.”

Despite her thorough line of questioning, she wasn't surprised by the news which led Sanji to believe she was far more perceptive than she let on. Those old, sunken eyes bore into him critically. A stalemate of understanding stretching out uncomfortably between them before the doctor decided to make the first move.

“You’ve Mended a dead man?”

“It’s… not how it sounds,” Sanji tried to defend himself, but knew what it sounded like—and his conversation with Vivi had only compounded it. He was still coming to terms with the fact that strangers saw him as a lovestruck fool…

“Oh-ho! And how should it sound?” An excited grin crinkled the old woman’s face as she admonished him playfully. Sanji swallowed weakly, knowing there was nothing to say. The doctor attempted a sardonic banality, but the way her smile cracked belied it, "You do realize that it’s illegal?”

Sanji stared.

Of all the stress, and grief, and doubt, and faith, and regret, the absolute last thing on his mind had been the legality of it—his body jerked reflexively at the ludicrousy of the comment. Laughter nearly caught him off guard in the form of a yelp, but luckily his exhaustion allowed him to stifle any sound before it had a chance to surface, eventually finding his voice with a dry drawl.

“We’re pirates , ma’am.”

“Yes, boy , I figured that much out on my own,” she replied with a fond scoff. There was a scathing mockery to her tone as she continued questioning him, “How long do you intend to forestall his demise?”

“As long as necessary,” Sanji avoided the question tactfully.

The swordsman’s dream was not for him to speak to.

" Really? You're okay with that? Just giving away your Time indefinitely?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not at all—it's just odd .” The doctor drawled, “People tend not to be so carefree with their Time unless they're getting something in return…”

Something uncomfortable rolled over in Sanji’s gut at the accusation as it forced upon him the reality of his actions—and their perceived altruism. He knew why he was doing this, but that didn’t change the subtle nuances of it. As selfless as the act may appear, there were levels of complexity ocean deep.

“Or they’re in love." The doctor paused, then taunted with a sultry tone, “Do you intend to die with that boy?”

Sanji flushed violently at the implication, “ Hell no!”

The doctor chuckled.

“So, what’s the catch?” She pressed, “Why’s he so special?”

“He’s… not,” Stumbling over his instinctive admission, Sanji winced at how harsh it sounded aloud. It was difficult to attribute anything special to that boorish, malodorous, sword obsessed neanderthal, but it was hard to ignore the positive traits that were building a foundation of trust between them, “but he is.”

She arched a brow, but he continued.

“I didn’t think it through at the time, but that doesn’t matter.”

Beginning to feel like a broken record – defending his brash decision in an endless cycle of repetition – time brought with it a surprising confidence, Sanji found these words coming easier to him with each iteration, regardless of what people thought, he knew why he was doing this.

“I know it's the right thing to do. I know it’s the right thing for this crew. They need him – he needs him – so… I need him."

Luffy's name was left unspoken, but understanding glimmered in the doctor's eyes.

There was no need to say anything more on the matter, she had seen for herself the stubborn determination of that kid. His willingness to go to the ends of the earth for his crew—even risking death. It was impossible to ignore the conviction he inspired.

“Alright,” the doctor held out hand to placate Sanji. “Relax. I was just teasing you—I wanted to know your mettle. I'm a woman of medicine, if I believed our deaths were predetermined, do you think I would try so hard to keep people alive?" Kureha said the words cold and calculated, before allowing herself to smile, “I like your spirit.”

Sanji felt a bit of the weight shift from his shoulders.

He offered a weak smile, "Thank you, ma'am."

“I told you, that’s ‘Doctor’ to you delinquents,” she drawled, but was already walking off with a dismissive flick of her hand, “Now, you take it easy while I go check on your friend.”

~ “The one with the broken back—I like your spirit.” ~

Zoro truly had no clue what was going on.

They’d arrived at the top of the Drum Rockies highest peak just in time to see Luffy send the captain they had met earlier – and had taken a bite out of Merry – flying off the edge of a cliff. Zoro assumed it was a good thing as the devil fruit ox man that he’d just had to carry up here on Usopp’s behalf appeared relieved about it. However, that did nothing to explain the castle, the doctors, or the blue-nosed reindeer the Luffy was now attempting to recruit to join their crew.

All he did know was Luffy, and that cook, had gotten Nami to the doctor in time, so he decided to just stay put until someone told him they needed something.

A woman had just arrived with an imposing entrance that led Zoro to believe this was the doctor that Luffy and that cook had gone looking for. She was different from what Zoro had pictured. The villagers had painted quite a vivid imagery of a hunchbacked witch in tattered rags and gnarly features, but this woman looked like she’d be more at home in a rum soaked tavern. Hustling patrons out of coin and drinking weathered sailors under the table.

She immediately began barking orders.

Ushering any and all wounded – this included their navigator and cook that had been lurking nearby – back inside to be tended with a tone that made it clear that it was not up for debate. She even cornered their navigator and cook who were attempting to escape. They didn’t get far.

Admittedly, and only to himself, Zoro was relieved to see the cook—not that he was concerned for the bastard!

Earlier that day, Zoro had gotten a wave of the most acute pain he’d ever felt from the other. And the timing had been terrible; mid-swim in arctic water, sudden and visceral. He'd nearly drowned. Ending up disorientingly downstream from Merry, lost in the frigid wilderness, before finally finding Vivi and Usopp. It had been an exciting excursion.

As the succession of injured bodies paraded back into the castle, the doctor cast a final glance about to ensure she hadn’t missed anything – seemingly satisfied – until her gaze stopped on Zoro.

Flexing his hands restlessly under that heavy stare, Zoro could see recognition spark across her face despite the illusory effect of her sunglasses. A sinister smile split her crinkled face. Dramatically extending a finger at Zoro – Usopp cowering out of its path as though it might cause him harm – the doctor barked.

"You, boy," the old hag curled a boney finger. “C’mere.”

Zoro made a face.

“Don’t make such a distasteful expression at me, brat .” She jeered, then gestured towards the Thread currently floating just beside her. It tracked a perfect path from the cook in the castle behind her directly to Zoro’s chest. "Indulge a doctor’s curiosity."

Again, Zoro’s hands tightened on reflex, but he couldn’t rightfully refuse. The wound didn’t belong to him, and neither did the perpetual scar. His dream, his body, his life . All of him was held together by a piece of Time that belonged to someone else—the Mending didn’t feel like his to control.

Zoro conceded without a word.

Uncrossing his arms to shove his hands defeatedly into his pockets, Zoro followed after the doctor who had already turned away with a victorious grin and strode inside the castle. He nodded a silent farewell to Usopp and Vivi – who were mildly confused – but Luffy was already busy chasing that reindeer. After a short trek through the castle, Zoro finally located what had to be the infirmary.

The doctor scowled at him, “What took you so long?!”

Zoro refrained from blaming her confusing castle, but was spared from having to provide an explanation as the doctor was already impatiently striding away.

“Get over here.”

Carefully navigating his way through the room of bandaged soldiers and villagers, Zoro stepped into the back room of the infirmary where the doctor was already waiting. A medical examiners table at the ready that was clearly intended for Zoro even if he would prefer to stand; from what he had seen of her it didn’t really seem like had a say in the matter.

With his stolen jacket removed, Zoro sat upon the examiner's table and waited. Zoro didn’t appreciate the way his feet dangling above the floor made him feel like a child, but perhaps that was the point. Purposefully holding his tongue, Zoro refused to partake in this interaction until absolutely necessary as the old woman bent down to inspect the Mending.

Given her career, it wasn’t strange that she’d be overly familiar with people’s Threads, but she still managed to catch Zoro off guard – his brows jumping – by dragging her boney finger down the wound. Her flesh passed through the Thread as though it didn’t exist. Eventually withdrawing her hand to place it on her hip while staring at the wound with an interesting combination of awe and apprehension.

“Fascinating,” was all she murmured under her breath.

"We done here?"

“Quite rude, aren’t you?”

"I should go back to my crew," Zoro deflected.

“Speaking of your crew , I’m impressed by the loyalty of your little… gang,” she noted. “What I’ve seen you all do for each other… and even for Chopper.”

“We have each other’s backs,” Zoro agreed with cautious tact.

“Especially that cook of yours,” she alluded. "Not many people are willing to keep someone alive they wouldn't Weave with."

Zoro’s eyes slowly narrowed, but he refused to respond to the implication.

"That boy is giving you his life ," she chuckled softly. "I hope you're being grateful.”

That, on the other hand, had Zoro’s brow hardening. He had no qualms with whatever superficial absurdities people thought when they looked at him, but a slight against his character was far harder to ignore. If there was one sin he could fault himself for it was his pride.

“You think I’m not?”

“ I certainly don’t,” the doctor mused. And she seemed to relish in getting a rise out of him, “but does he? "

Refusing to let anything show on his face was far easier to do than ignore the way his gut tightened guiltily at the truth. The vivid memory of how furious the cook had been with him on Little Garden. He knew they were at odds. And somehow this perceptive witch had seen more than he preferred she had. However, Zoro had no intention of getting into it with a stranger, so he held his tongue, albeit stubbornly.

That didn’t stop the doctor from prodding maliciously, “You’d be dead if he hadn’t chosen to save you.”

“I'm not responsible for his choices,” Zoro murmured.

"You weren't , but going forward it has to be different." She leaned in close to make her next point poignantly clear with a wave of plum soaked breath, “Every decision that boy will ever make has you in mind – it has to – so maybe remember that."

Zoro loathed being lectured, but only managed to hold his tongue in the light of her acumen.

It felt foolish in hindsight how easily they'd managed to agree to this little… compromise, but it was becoming apparent with every passing day that the weight of his life was far more complicated than either of them had expected. And not just for himself, but everyone around him. All the grief lingering over the ship like a tense fog.

He felt ridiculous thinking everything would stay the same.

Zoro glanced up, but the old woman was gone.

Taking that as an informal dismissal, Zoro sighed heavily while hopping off the examination table and made for the door. Lost in thought. And a myriad of emotions. All of them centered around that womanizing cook and this complicated situation they were now stuck in…

He absolutely despised feeling this way.

Rubbing aggressively at the hair at his nape in a mild attempt to shirk some of this weirdly misplaced guilt, Zoro finally gave in with a huff and shouldered back outside to join the rest of the crew. He’d bring it up with the cook soon, but not right now. They had other priorities at the moment, and it wasn't like either of them were going anywhere.

“Zoro,” a familiar voice acknowledged in surprise.

Head shooting up to find Nami propped up in a bed on the opposite end of the infirmary, Zoro nodded in greeting while dropping his hand from where it had still clung anxiously at his neck. Shuffling up to her bedside as his hands found his pockets, Zoro inspected their navigator with a modicum of relief; she looked remarkably better – sweaty and a little weary – but healthy.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Better," Nami cast a glance around him, but the doctor had already left. No doubt tending to the other wounded. Nami sighed, "I'm trying to convince that doctor to let me go, but she's stubborn."

“Yeah…” Zoro mused over the blunt encounter with her. “She’s… something.”

An odd silence fell between them that Zoro didn’t quite understand, but Nami was looking at him weird.

“What…” Nami’s eyes flicked nervously towards the infirmary door, then back to Zoro. She swallowed stiffly. A tension riddling her that Zoro wasn’t familiar with, “What’d she want with you?”

Zoro inclined his head down to Sanji’s Thread currently floating between them, “Just curious.”

Once again, that bizarre atmosphere surrounded them as the normally loud and opinionated navigator squirmed with a sudden unconventional taciturnity. The set of her shoulders shifting, the hands in her lap fidgeting, and the shimmer across her eyes growing. There was something visibly being suppressed as Zoro fought the urge to lean back as he watched the pressure building and building until finally she exploded.

“I’m sorry!” She blurted.

Zoro stared down at her in confusion.

“It’s… fine?” He broached with an awkward attempt at consolation. The sight of tears causing his hands to flex uncomfortably in his pockets. Unsure as to why she was apologizing to him , but going along with it, “We only lost a few days of sailing—and Vivi understands.”

“ What?! ” Nami managed through an incredulous sniffle.

Zoro gave a minute shake of his head—utterly confused.

" No , I—" Nami’s scathing tone immediately made him aware he had misinterpreted. Watching as she continued to struggle to keep her fresh tears at bay while managing, “‘bout what I said on Little Garden.”

Zoro began replaying their conversation over with a frown, “Why are you apologizing?”

“You’re dead! ”

Zoro blinked.

“I mean, I know you’re not, but…” She coughed through a sob, “And then I… It— It just slipped out, but I didn’t mean to be so—”

Everything clicked into place as Zoro finally deciphered Nami’s teary ramblings as he recalled her snide comment when they’d been cake decorations. Frankly, he thought it had been brilliant, but it didn’t look like Nami wanted to hear that. And that it was part of a much bigger issue. While it didn’t feel like a big deal to him, he was beginning to acknowledge that that wasn’t the case for everyone else—and he was the only one that could fix that.

“And none of you will say anything!” She continued to babble through her sniveling as Zoro took a tentative seat on the edge of the bed so he could be at eye level with the distressed girl. “You’re all a bunch of stupid boys that refuse to talk about your fe—”

Zoro hauled her close with one arm.

A subtle, yet effective, method of comforting her while also forcing her mouth to be muffled to keep her from blathering more nonsense. She stiffened initially. Zoro could sense her fighting down the urge to push him away. Frustration waging a war with indignation as she refused to relax into this partial hug Zoro forced an attempt at comfort.

“It’s fine,” Zoro grunted firmly. “ I’m fine.”

She took in a final shuddering inhale, then slumped weakly into his shoulder.

All the tension that had been building within her drained away with her previously shed tears as she groaned irritably into his shoulder; whether it was directed at herself, or him, was debatable. Zoro knew it was likely at everything. It truly felt like they tumbled into one disaster after another.

A few minutes passed before Nami murmured something unintelligible into his shoulder. He let his arm fall away with a softly grunted, “Hm?” She lifted her head. Her eyes were still puffy, but face markedly less red. Palming away the last stray tears with a watery chuckle, "You smell like soap."

"I bathed—why is everyone so surprised?!” Zoro growled hotly.

“For Sanji?” Nami teased.

"For in general!" Zoro barked.

Despite his violent response, Nami’s expression only continued to soften as she stared up at him. The last of her guilt washed away, but in its wake revealed a motherly concern. Her lips tightened around a smile. Finally breaking with a chuckle, “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

Zoro jutted his jaw petulantly.

This was utterly humiliating…

"How are the two of you?"

Zoro grimaced.

Everywhere he turned there was someone at the ready to interrogate him about this situation, as if he didn’t have something permanently affixed to his chest to remind him every moment of the day that those seconds didn't even belong to him.

They were stolen.

Gifted was perhaps the word the cook would prefer, but they both knew that this act of service was under duress; neither could refuse. And that was truly becoming the crux of the matter…

“That’s a bit more complicated,” he admitted.

“Have you talked to him about it?" She pressed.

"We're…” Zoro trailed off at the thought of the disjointed conversation and agreement they had come to earlier that day. And Sanji's vehement reinstatement of the gag order on the whole ordeal. It kinda put a wrench into them sorting things out, so he finished tactfully, “working on that."

It wasn't exactly a lie, but at least more believable than Usopp…

Nami didn't look convinced.

In fact, her expression was infuriatingly reminiscent of Kuina's, the way she would gaze down her nose at him every time he lost a fight—exasperated. Consoling. Pitying .

"Stop looking at me like that," Zoro warned.

Nami arched a dry brow, unaffected. Unthreatened, "How should I look at you?"

"I dunno, but cut it out."

Some of their navigator’s old spark returned in the form of an irate scowl at the tone Zoro had chosen to take with her, but she didn’t appear to have the energy yet to act on it. She did a magnificent job at drilling her annoyance into the side of his head with a glare. And then, surprisingly, conceded defeat with a guileless smile as she dropped her head back to his shoulder.

They sat like that for a while until Nami murmured, "Promise me you'll talk to him.”

Fighting off – and failing spectacularly – a grimace, Zoro glared at the floor while contemplating how he was supposed to do that when Sanji had explicitly forbidden it…

She offered a conniving grin that Zoro could feel against his shoulder, "I'll knock ten percent off your debt."

"Right back to bribery, eh?" Zoro drawled, "You must be feelin' better."

Not even bothering to deny it, Nami pressed with a manipulative sincerity, “But you’ll talk to him?

“Yeah,” Zoro reassured with a weak smile, still unsure of what that would entail. “Yeah, we’ll… talk.”

~ “Who ever heard of a seafaring reindeer?” ~

Out in the castle courtyard – surrounded by their crew – Sanji lay amongst the snow that was currently doing wonders for his aching back. Numbing not only the abuse done to it by the avalanche, and the insane witch doctor, but also the less than ideal departure from the infirmary.

Being dragged down several flights of stone stairs probably aggravated it a little, but considering it was Nami and Vivi he could only count himself extraordinarily privileged. And mildly disgusted with himself for forcing the ladies to subject themselves to any form of labor. He would’ve gladly allowed them to simply let him roll down the steps, but they refused—like the goddesses they were.

He would have to make it up to them back on the ship, but for now, enjoyed the reprieve from insanity…

Everyone was preoccupied with that reindeer that was currently in the process of bickering with their captain. Sanji wasn’t able to catch much of it, but the stubborn repartee was amusingly familiar. Each of them had been just as adamant that it couldn’t work, but Luffy was… well, Luffy.

And so, predictably, the reindeer headed back inside to pack his things.

While Usopp and Luffy bounded off to ensure the ropeway and gondola were still secure, the rest of the crew waited idly for the reindeer to return from his farewells. Nami properly took in the castle that she hadn’t had a chance to see from the outside yet. She murmured soft adulations to Vivi at her side. Meanwhile, that swordsman could be heard shuffling just off to his right, not that Sanji cared.

Sanji finally cracked open an eye to gaze up at the night sky.

Large, fluffy flakes of snow materialized out of the vast void above to drift down with listless abandon to the earth below. The occasional one landing on his cheek and melting with a soft kiss. Eyes darting about to follow one for a few seconds before skipping to another. Over and over in a hypnotic cycle that eased his breathing and quelled some of the pain. It was actually incredibly tranquil – an ethereal interlude from the rigors of sailing – so, of course , the crap swordsman had to ruin it.

“What’d ya do to your back?” Zoro grunted.

“Nothing,” Sanji wheezed. Annoyed at the swordsman’s astute observation. Or perhaps someone had told him; Usopp – the blabbermouth – probably found out from Nami, “Fuck off.”

"Did you fall?"

An innocent enough question, but his tone was uncalled for.

"No, but you clearly did," Sanji snarled. "Hit every branch when you tumbled down the ugly tree."

Zoro had the audacity to chuckle.

As though satisfied that he'd gotten Sanji ready to spit fire, like he enjoyed seeing him riled up, which only made his aggravation worse. The angrier he got, the more the swordsman won, but if Sanji didn’t retaliate he’d be a doormat. Obviously the only solution was to kick the crap swordsman’s face in until he couldn’t chuckle anymore.

"Shut up!” Sanji barked with a futile kick in his direction, “Or I’ll—

"What?" Zoro was cheesing now. Utterly content as he sat by Sanji's rage fueled immobile form as though basking in the glow of a campfire. "Make empty threats?"

"The second I can move again I'm gonna kick your spine out your ass ."

"Big words from a guy that got his ass handed to him by a little bit of nature."

“Oh- HO?! ” Sanji barked incredulously. He desperately attempted to crane his neck back to glare at the swordsman just out of sight, but the strain was directly on his back. “If that ain’t the pot calling the kettle black; Usopp's already told me about the river, you loser. How'd you get lost in a stream? It only goes one direction.”

Silence rang out as a jubilant victory.

Smirking proudly at the thought of the frustrated face Sanji could picture on the normally stoic swordsman—relishing the imagery. His smug musings were broken by a bit of soft shuffling in the snow, then a spray of snow collided with his face. It was so outrageous that it took Sanji several moments to realize the puerile swordsman had kicked snow in his face.

“You shitty —”

A devastating crash interrupted their banter followed immediately by the banshee shrieking of the doctor that echoed out the various windows and embrasures of the castle—amplified by the still night air. The clanging and crashing of metal soon followed as the witch’s penchant for throwing armory followed. It appeared as though the reindeer’s farewell wasn’t as well received as they had hoped.

“Awfully noisy in there,” the swordsman noted.

“What a bunch of rowdies,” Nami huffed. “Can’t they control themselves?”

"Is that him?" Zoro grunted.

Sanji couldn’t lift his head, but could hear the crisp gallop of hooves on fresh snow steadily approaching.

“Huh?!” Nami sounded unnerved, “What's going on?!”

“Someone’s chasing him,” Vivi noted.

It wasn’t hard to guess who…

“EVERYBODY GET IN!” The reindeer bellowed, “WE’RE GOING DOWN THE MOUNTAIN!”

They all collectively shrieked, “ WHAT?! ”

Confusion was tangible, but the angry shrieking of the senile doctor swiftly made the situation abundantly clear. Her angry voice sent a chill down his already throbbing spine. Everyone began scrambling to get to their fett, grab their belongings, and make their escape.

Sanji, however, still couldn’t move.

A bit of tugging from the ladies suddenly illuminated an entirely new problem as Sanji realized there was absolutely no way they would be able to pick him up and heave him into a moving sleigh—the proceeding logic then had Sanji in panic mode.

“No!”

“Zoro!” Nami ordered.

“NO!”

“Got ‘im,” Zoro sighed.

“OI, NO! Don’t you fucking dare—” Sanji balked in horror. “ARGH!”

All other complaints were sufficiently stifled as the swordsman lunged forward to scoop Sanji up into his arms in the most undignified display that he had ever been subjected to; cradled in a man’s arms as though he were a damsel in distress—a maiden in need of rescue! He did his best to buck out of the swordsman’s arms, but his wounded back had him completely immobile. Grimacing through the painful jostling as the swordsman began to move.

“DO I LOOK LIKE A FUCKIN’ LADY?! ” Sanji shrieked, “ PUT ME DOWN!!! ”

“Shut it, Cook,” the swordsman grunted.

“I'LL KILL YOU!!!"

As the reindeer came sprinting towards them with a large sleigh in tow, the beast slowed down enough for Nami and Vivi to hop aboard while Usopp tumbled head first inside. Zoro sprinted alongside before leaping casually over the railing. Landing with infuriatingly solid footing aboard the moving sleigh with Sanji safely in his arms, Zoro then promptly dropped him onto the floor.

Sanji wheezed at the new wave of pain that exploded up his back, “Fucker.”

Smirking proudly, Zoro dropped down into a luxurious sprawl with his arms thrown along the coping of the sleigh. He waited for Sanji to crack an eye. A smug expression already merrily in place as Sanji directed loathsome waves of fury up at the swordsman in the form of a heated glare.

“Thought you weren’t a lady,” the swordsman chuckled. “Was I supposed to be gentle~?”

Sanji shakily lifted a hand to flip him off.

Managing to stay alert long enough to hear somebody shout – “Luffy!” – before the distinct sound of their captain’s elastic arm stretched out to snag the back of the sleigh, and then the sleigh was airborne. A moment of weightlessness brought some reprieve to his injured back before landing atop the ropeway. That jarring motion sent a wave of pain through his back that had Sanji finally claimed by unconsciousness.

~ “There’s a full moon—and a sky full of cherry blossoms~” ~

As they disembarked from Drum Island, the spirits of their crew were in remarkable juxtaposition to how they had been upon arrival. The somber concern was replaced with unabashed levity. All the usual commotion of celebration – good food, ample ale, and jubilant laughter – echoed across the cold waters as Merry sailed off into the night; they were finally on their way to Alabasta. To take down a Warlord .

Leaning against Merry’s galley wall – staring up at the sky till lit up in an ethereal glow for their departure – Zoro remained out of the way of Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper’s shenanigans. The whole crew in high spirits. There was a lot to celebrate, not just the satisfaction of helping an island from a tyrannical leader, but for their crew as well; Nami was healthy once more, they'd just gotten a new crew member, even the cook was back on his feet.

Zoro’s eyes slipped shut while focusing on Sanji.

There was no real impingement to the cook's movement anymore, and Zoro couldn't feel his pain either, so it seemed the cook was well on his way to a full recovery. He actually healed relatively fast, much like Zoro. Which was a relief, because Zoro didn’t exactly want to always be subjected to someone else’s pain on top of the perpetually opening wound on his chest.

The cook was also very happy right now, but it dipped extraordinarily just before—

“Oi, jackass.”

Eyes flicking open and gaze stopping short at the sight of the cook standing a polite distance from him with a tray in hand. He was brilliantly illuminated by the bright moon reflected in frigid ocean water. That radiant glow highlighted the snow falling around them, especially the flecks of rose petal snowflakes caught in Sanji's hair—little sprinkles of crystalized cherry blossoms clinging to finely spun silver.

It was kinda nice…

A grunt accompanied Sanji’s gesture – arms thrusting forward – to ensure Zoro glanced down at the tray hoisted in the cook’s hands. Several mugs were scattered spaciously. Steam curling delightfully from each one, the various colors alluded to their personalization, as Zoro realized that despite their conflict the cook had still made him a drink.

Sanji tilted his chin towards one on the corner, “That’s hot shoujo.”

Taken aback by the cook’s thoughtfulness, Zoro stared at the man then down at the mug once more before forcing himself to reach out and take it. He’d known the cook was mindful of everything they liked, but hadn’t thought he’d put the same effort in with himself as with the ladies. Apparently he’d underestimated the cook’s conviction which was foolish in hindsight as Sanji was infallibly passionate in every aspect of his life, but Zoro was beginning to understand that better.

Zoro glanced back up and murmured with a soft sincerity, “Thanks.”

A pause.

Detesting the awkward silence left in the wake of their sudden civility, Zoro quickly grunted, “Cook.” to cover for any residual gratitude. He took a boorish swig to ensure his guise, then forced a burp as an added precaution. By the time Zoro lowered his mug, Sanji’s face was laced with nothing but disgust—corroborated by the vile sensation shooting down his Thread.

Sanji’s brow twitched.

“Don't mention it,” Sanji muttered back. Eyes wandering over Zoro before stopping at his hair and smirking, "Mosshead."

“Curlybrow.”

“Shithead.”

“You seem to be doing better,” Zoro noted.

"Once everyone is properly fed," Sanji's demeanor was airy, but his gaze made it clear he hadn't forgotten their earlier bickering. His tone unnervingly sacrine as he promised, "I'm going to make you cough up a lung."

Strangely enough, Zoro found himself fighting a smile as he liked the cook's overly complicated threats. And his promised fights. Unable to refrain from perking up in excitement at the implication of a brawl, even if it was from the intolerable cook

If anything, Sanji’s willingness to challenge Zoro made him more tolerable, even a smidgen closer to likable—and not just because Zoro enjoyed a good fight. He appreciated that the cook refused to treat him differently. Regardless of the wound, the situation, or even their conflicting ideals, the cook would never deign to treat him as fragile, and if they had a better rapport Zoro would've thanked the man…

Something must have shown on his face – an embarrassing mistake – because the cook paused expectantly as though waiting for Zoro to speak. He immediately thought of Nami—and her grief. And their crew, the reassurance they were owed, especially Sanji, but now wasn’t the time to dampen the mood.

Zoro awkwardly inclined his drink in gratitude, but remained silent.

Momentary confusion – and perhaps a sliver of disappointment, but it was likely just a trick of the light – flickered across Sanji's face before accepting the dismissal without another word. He turned abruptly; tray held flawlessly steady despite his quick movements. Zoro watched as Sanji trotted off to deliver drinks to everybody else, then turned his gaze skyward to once more watch the falling pink snow. Purposeful to appreciate this stolen moment in time…

TBC…