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When he felt the wall crumble under the pressure of his fist, Zoro knew that something had changed in him. Plenty of times in his life he was pushed to the limits and there was nothing bad about that. In fact, he had to admit he liked when he was pushed that far; it meant he was growing stronger if he could survive it. He had no issue with getting injured either if it meant getting better. When blood dripped down his face, he would just flicker his tongue out and lick it off and move on. But, even he knew when it was too much for him.
His hand curled tighter on the cook; he was half leaning against him, and half letting him walk down the hall of the dungeon. He wished he could just gently pick him up and make it easier on the other, but the blonde, though even half delirious, was not having it at all. He could tell because he kept in step with him, not breaking stride, as if he wanted to prove he was alright to fight, even if his arm wrapped around him was shaking ever so slightly at each step that they took.
It wasn't even revenge that he was thinking about; that would be bad enough. It was something else; it was something more foreign to him. He just wanted to feel pain out of the sheer need to feel it because otherwise he wasn’t sure if he could control himself. Not concentrating in battle was one thing to make one weak, but the sheer anger that he had felt and was going to continue feeling was going to prove disastrous if he didn't find a way to tame it. He would lose his bearings, and could even possibly injure the cook by mere accident with his uncontrolled strikes, especially knowing that the blonde would join him in battle no matter what shape he was in.
"Want to squeeze me to death while I'm down, huh, Marimo?" Sanji grunted roughly, but there was even amusement in his voice and Zoro realized that his hand around his waist had tightened so much that he was squeezing the cook against himself like they were one.
He loosened his grip considerably, yet maybe that was too sudden, as Sanji stumbled and caught himself before almost falling forward to the ground. His legs were shaking, yet he stood holding his own, sliding his hand up and pulling himself up without so much as making a noise.
Gritting his teeth, Zoro wanted to say something, anything, but if there was no meaning behind them..no purpose for them, he would be wasting valuable time. The cook readjusted the white t-shirt on his shoulders, since it bunched up and he knew he hated that..he hated to be not neat.
Zoro stared at his shirt on the cook’s frame; he looked even smaller to him in his clothes, but not at all weak, just that his frame was slimmer, so his shirt rolled up around his chest and stomach, and was looser around his arms.
There was another feeling that made it difficult for him to even swallow his own spit though he did his best to take measured breathes and to try to remain calm by remembering his countless hours of meditation.
The cook was supposed to be protected by him. Even when the idiot stood in his way, it was his job to protect him..but what had he done? He had failed to get to him in time. How could he live with himself knowing that?
He clenched his fist to the point he felt pain, but he wouldn't do anything violent near Sanji; yet, he had to do something, anything, that could help him feel grounded again, even for a fraction of a second before he did something irrational.
He unclenched his fist, and hesitantly reached out his hand.
He really just hoped the cook could hold out his hand too.. maybe he could find his sanity this way.
Sanji heard him moving and looked over. He probably thought Zoro was going mad since they just walked a while holding up eachother, but he hoped the cook could figure it out and remember enough to just grab onto him.
The blonde scanned his arm with his observant blue eye; his face was bruised but no longer bloody or dirty. Zoro did his best to clean him up with his bandana. He slowly put his cigarette back to his cut lips, and stretched out his shaking hand to meet him halfway.
Zoro didn't hesitate to grasp the cook's hand once it was presented to him, and he felt his long fingers lightly make their way around his hand.
The cook's hands were very beautiful; but oddly so, Zoro thought they would not be as soft, yet his palm felt nice against his rougher skin that was decorated with permanent calluses.
He did not believe in any gods, yet the cook's hands were always sacred to him; after all he remembered countlessly how the man would treat them and make sure they were never used in battle. He gently outlined the inside of his palm, seeing how the lines connected together, and how there was no scaring anywhere. But, of course a lot of shit that the cook had gone through, he kept within, not everything would show on his skin, it never really did....yet now adding to that...
He lightly closed Sanji's fingers into a small fist and breathed in and out.
The cook took out his cigarette and observed how his hand was enveloped by his larger one and he softly smiled at the gesture... seemingly taking in the moment for himself as well. Maybe his memory lapsed again. Damnit, Zoro hoped that wasn't something long lasting.
"Tout ira bien," the cook whispered suddenly in his native tongue and looked up at him with a very calming expression.
Zoro's hand jerked slightly at his words but he did not let go. He had not expected him to speak this way so soon .. ...but he slowly nodded though it took him a moment to even do that because he didn't know if it was ever gonna be fine, but he would try to think that way for him.