Chapter Text
Sanji stepped over the threshold of his home. Daybreak illuminated the kitchen on board of Going Merry, and weak sun rays reflected off the surface of the kitchen counter. His hand opened one of the drawers and trailed the neatly arranged knives. Sanjiʼs fingers, as well as both of his arms, were tightly bandaged. Only his fingertips peeked out of the gauze. The weight of a knife gave Sanjiʼs hand trouble, the fridge door opened with greater effort, and he didnʼt remember tomatoes being this heavy.
The fruit should have been cut in seconds. Instead, the knife in Sanjiʼs hand hovered over it, unable to fall down on the unsuspecting tomato. Sanji gritted his teeth when he saw that his hand was shaking. He tightened his grip, but the tremor only worsened.
“Stupid, self-proclaimed electric god…” Sanji muttered under his breath. He didnʼt want to think about the island in the clouds, not now.
His cuts came out uneven and amateurish. He prepared another tomato for its demise. Its end should have been more elegant than its predecessorʼs, so Sanji cursed when it wasnʼt. He took another one. Just like practice made perfect, it would put him back in shape again. The blade slipped on the peel of the third tomato and split the skin on Sanjiʼs left index finger open.
“Dammit.”
“What are you doing?”
Zoro leaned on the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Why are you here?” A bitter tone slipped into Sanjiʼs voice. Zoro caught him at a bad time. A very bad time.
“Iʼm supposed to be standing where you are.”
“Forget it. Iʼm not letting you touch anything in this room.”
“Like the knife that you almost cut your finger off with?”
The remark pushed back the prepared words on Sanjiʼs tongue. He washed his finger along with the cutting board and set the restless tomato down for another try. Before the knife could split it, Zoroʼs hand gripped Sanjiʼs wrist.
“Youʼre an idiot.”
Sanji answered with a warning kick. While his foot was busy, Zoro snatched the knife from his hand.
“Chopper told you to rest. Heʼll tie you to the bed if he hears about this.”
“I got this, Mosshead.”
Zoro slipped past him and slapped him on the back, sending Sanji stumbling forward. He turned as soon as he regained balance.
“I said—”
“Hey.”
He froze at the unusual tone coming from Zoro. It wasnʼt a plea—the dense swordsman would never do that—but it carried a soft quality that persuaded Sanji to spare this a moment of thought. He did the one thing he had never thought he would do while facing the green haired idiot, and he backed down.
The morning air was as dry as it could get out in the middle of the ocean. Short waves slapped the shipʼs hull as it made its way to the next island. After leaving his rightful place, Sanji leaned on the taffrail and lit a cigarette to drown out the salty smell.
Rich clouds lolled in the sky. Sanji watched them and imagined ships sailing along their hills. One of those ships sported a pirate flag with a straw hat. Below deck, the crewʼs cook laid unconscious, bandaged head to toe after having suffered the brunt of a thousand thunderstorms at the hands of a local god. Not long after waking up, the cook stood face to face with that same hell. He survived the second time as well, but it took a toll on his body. While his legs recovered swiftly, his coveted hands and arms remained weak. The shipʼs doctor told him they would only need more time to mend because they werenʼt trained to fight and endure.
Sanji didn’t need to imagine how that cook felt. He put away the butt of his cigarette and headed back into the kitchen.
To great surprise, Zoro didn’t look too out of place at the counter. His scowl showed concentration, and his fingers wrapped around the knife handle like they would hold a sword. As expected of a swordsman, not a single movement fell short.
Sanji almost commended him in his mind before he looked under his hands. The kitchen counter drowned in absolute chaos. Fruits and vegetables in indistinguishable pieces mingled in a big pile spread all over the place.
“What are you doing?”
Zoro turned without pausing the cutting.
“Salad.”
“Salad?” Sanji rushed over. “What kind of salad is this?”
“Itʼs a salad.” The sounds of the knife butchering an innocent tangerine accompanied the blossoming argument.
“Stop it! This is murder,” Sanji yelled and bumped Mosshead aside before he could maul another treasure from Namiʼs orchard. Unfortunately, Zoroʼs bulkier frame didn’t budge.
“Go away and let me do your job,” the obtuse simpleton said.
“Who died and made you king?”
“I drew the short str—stop pushing me!”
“Stop wasting food!”
Sanjiʼs feet left the ground, and before he knew it, Zoro was carrying him to the door slumped over his shoulder. The audacity shocked Sanji enough to make him speechless. Zoro didn’t bring him outside, only set him down by the door with a satisfied nod.
“Mosshead?”
“Iʼm not letting you destroy yourself more than you already have.” Zoro headed back to the battlefield by the cutting board.
“I canʼt watch this,” Sanji insisted.
“Then donʼt.”
“I have a responsibility for the crewʼs food. This is not up to my standards. This is not up to any standards at all.”
“You canʼt turn off, can you?”
“I donʼt want to turn off.”
Zoro stopped working on his abomination of a salad. It seemed Sanji finally said something that got through to him.
“Fine. What do I do?” Zoro asked.
Sanji didn’t follow.
“What do you want me to do?” It wasnʼt sarcasm, it was a genuine question.
“You want me to…” Sanji asked for an explanation.
“If you canʼt cook with your hands, cook with me instead.”
Sanji had never heard Zoro offer him a helping hand. Actually, they hadnʼt interacted with each other too much outside of insults and occasional pissing contests. He didnʼt know Zoro very well at all. The swordsman looked capable and dignified when he wasnʼt acting dense, which was sadly all the time.
“Fine,” Sanji said before he could even come to any conclusion.
Zoro hummed. It was about the closest to a confirmation that Sanji would get. He approached his new sous-chef.
“First of all, we have to save whatever it is youʼve done here.”
“Save? I think the salad is done.”
“Okay, firster of all, do not think. Then separate the vegetables and the fruits.”
Zoro grunted but didn’t complain. Sanji could only guess what it was behind Zoroʼs actions that made him cooperate. Perhaps it was the same thing that made Sanji accept his help.
They turned the disaster into two kinds of salads. Sanji had Zoro season the vegetables with appropriate spice and freshen up the fruits with berries and cream. Now, it would be edible at least.
Zoro watched the salads, separated into servings for each crew member, like he didnʼt understand what made this batch better than his original.
“We need more food,” he remarked.
“Of course we need to make more food,” Sanji quipped back with annoyance, a knee jerk reaction to anything Zoro would say. “Luffy will eat the table too if we donʼt.”
Zoro didn’t react to Sanjiʼs sharp tone. This was just how they always talked after all.
“Sure. What now?”
Sanjiʼs mind went over everything in the pantry and the fridge. After the salad debacle, he selected the simplest of the simplest breakfast meals.
Half an hour later, most of the food was done. Zoro heated sausages, toasted bread, even cooked rice. Condiments, butter, honey, jam, dried seaweed and soy sauce were put on the table for everyone to use at will. The crew had varied appetites, so Sanji would sometimes mix cuisines together in a buffet if the overall arrangement allowed it.
Throughout, Zoro had obeyed him like a dog. It was a pleasant surprise that he had come in handy like that. With such high spirits, Sanji decided to add one last thing to the table.
“Beat six eggs over in that bowl.”
After Zoro nodded, Sanji went over to a shelf. For a rolled omelet, he took sugar, salt, mirin, oil and then borrowed the bottle of soy sauce from the table. His hands strained to hold it all, so he rushed back to the counter. His small smile disappeared as soon as he checked in on Zoro. When a pack of salt fell to the floor, Sanji pushed the ingredients on the counter before he would drop them all.
“What is this?”
Zoro gave him a quizzical look. “Prepping the eggs.”
“Youʼre not prepping them, youʼre ruining them. Youʼre supposed to throw the eggshells away, not beat them with the eggs.”
“What are you talking about?” Zoroʼs whisk continued to draw circles in the ungodly mixture. “Everyone knows thereʼs calcium in them. Itʼs good for the bones. You could use some too.”
“Only if you want to turn my teeth into dust.”
The eggshell fragments were big enough. Sanji stole the bowl away from the idiot swordsman and took out a sieve. If Zoro wasted a single bite of food because of his incompetence, he would have him walk the plank before the food hit the trash can.
As he poured the eggs into a clean bowl over the sieve, his arms started shaking. Larger hands covered his and helped him carry the weight of the kitchenware.
“How can you be so stupid?” Sanji asked. “Has the moss on your head riddled your brain too?”
Zoroʼs hands squeezed Sanjiʼs. “Was that a bad idea?”
“I canʼt cook with someone who doesnʼt know how to beat eggs.”
“You donʼt have a choice.”
“Why not?” Sanji retorted. “Itʼs my kitchen, and I should get to choose my assistant. I should have Nami-san help me out.” As soon as he uttered that name, his thoughts turned into a whirlwind. “Her soft beauty and peerless kindness would work magic, turning every meal into a feat of perfection. The wonders we would cook would bring us together like nothing else can. Supporting my weakened body, she would put her warm hands on mine and—”
“Hey, love cook. We finished pouring the eggs an hour ago.”
Sanji all but dropped the bowl and sieve and shook Zoroʼs hands off his.
“Listen, Mosshead.” He pointed his finger at Zoroʼs face. “Iʼm already set on making this dish, so youʼre going to listen to me very closely, and youʼre going to do exactly as youʼre told and nothing else.”
Zoro pressed his lips into a thin line. This was precisely the kind of situation where he would blow up and they would go at each otherʼs throats. It had happened enough times for Sanji to be able to identify the starting moment of that sort of argument.
However, Zoro kept quiet.
“Why are you helping me?” Sanji asked.
“I told you I drew the short straw.”
Sanji tried to read something on Zoroʼs face, but his eternal scowl gave him nothing.
“If you want to be all mysterious about it, fine.” Sanji slid the bowl with eggs in front of Zoro. “Beat these eggs. After that, I'll tell you what to add and how to whisk it well.”
Zoro exhaled and got to work. After the previous experiences, Sanji glued himself to Zoroʼs side and churned out instructions.
“Heat oil in the skillet. Wipe the oil with a folded paper towel. No, take chopsticks for that, donʼt wipe it with your hands. Yes, keep the chopsticks. Pour a thin layer of the eggs into the pan. I said thin! Spread it out. Not with the chopsticks, swirl the pan. Let it cook. Roll it like a pancake, you know what those look like, right? Grease the empty area. Pour another thin layer into the pan. Let it spread under the folded part. Cook it, fold it together. Thatʼs right, repeat. No, you forgot to grease the pan again. What part of ‘thin layer’ do you not understand? Repeat. Yes, until all of the eggs are gone or do you want to eat them raw? No, that was sarcasm. Pay attention to the pan, not me, youʼre gonna burn it.”
When Zoro finally folded the last layer into a bumpy rolled omelet, Sanji let out a sigh of relief. It was only after Zoro stepped aside that Sanji realized he had been so close that he was leaning on Zoro the whole time.
“Iʼll put this on the table.” Zoro turned off the stove.
“No, no,” Sanji said. “Let’s taste it first. I would usually do that during cooking, but this one is a little tricky. Just cut off a small part of the edge.”
Sanji found another pair of chopsticks. When he turned back around, Zoro was holding out a morsel towards Sanjiʼs mouth between his fingers.
“I can still feed myself, thank you.” Sanji plucked the piece from Zoroʼs hand with chopsticks and tasted it.
Still enormously far from perfect or at least delicious, it tasted quite appetizing. Under Sanji’s supervision, the eggs were seasoned well, so the omelet just lacked in execution.
“Alright,” Zoro concluded. “Iʼll cut it.”
“I didnʼt give you the okay.”
“I could see it on your face.” Zoro gave him an annoying smirk.
“What?”
“You were smiling.”
Sanji was too dazed to pay attention to anything else. He let Zoro finish setting the table and made rounds to gather the rest of the crew. Nami, Robin, then Zoro and the rest of the bums gathered around the table with Sanji following suit. Everybody dug in and picked their favorites while Luffy stole everything he could get his seemingly infinite number of hands on. Zoro ate slower than usual. Sanji didn’t know why he noticed it, but he did.
“Oh, what’s this?” Nami’s unmistakable voice caught Sanji’s attention. She pointed at a plate with collapsing yellow cubes on it.
Zoro answered first. “Omelet.”
“Say what?” Sanji had to make sure.
“Um…” Zoro dusted off his hardly used brain. “Omelet egg roll.”
“You mean rolled omelet?”
“Yeah, that one.”
Sanji looked at the plate again. What was supposed to be cut cross-section style into presentable rolls was butchered into cubes like melting pieces of cheese.
“It was a rolled omelet until you decided to turn it into scrambled eggs.” Sanji raised his voice at Zoro. To the rest of the crew, that was nothing out of the ordinary.
“What’s so bad about this?” Zoro dismissed him with a grimace and ate a piece to prove his point.
“Everything! I cook this for you every morning. Why do you not know how to cut it?”
Zoro shrugged. “I don’t look at the food much. I just eat.”
“How is that possible?”
“I trust you.”
Sanji opened his mouth, then froze.
“I don’t care what I’m eating if it tastes well,” Zoro said with his mouth full. “And your cooking always does.”
Sanji closed his mouth. He took a piece of Zoro’s omelet himself.
“...You’re an idiot.”