Work Text:
Now
Sanji speaks to Zoro four hours into their fight. “Are you going to kill me yet?”
Across from him, Sanji leans against one of the few pieces of rubble large enough to support his weight. If he had a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a smirk instead of an empty smile, it would look normal.
Zoro clenches Wado. With two more steps, he could slice off Sanji’s hands. “And what if I am?”
He had tried to stop his haki from howling around the cook, to de-escalate this battle into another of their spars. The future Pirate King couldn’t fly with broken wings. Yet here the cook was, affirming that this fight was inevitable. Zoro believes in fate as much as in God, making Sanji’s question the biggest fuck you .
Another swing of Enma shoves aside his distractions. Sanji launches off the rubble with a fiery kick and Zoro blocks with Kitetsu.
(“If I’m not myself, I want you to kill me.”)
He has a promise to keep.
———
Then
It started with a trip to the galley.
Though Wano was long gone, a restlessness weighed down Zoro that no exercise could cure. His body couldn’t cope with mundanity after months of constant fighting, tensing every muscle and agitating his mind despite days of meditation.
Normally, his pent-up energy would head into a fight with the cook. Instead, he drained their limited post-party sake supply. The cook had looked engrossed in carving out yet another sea king for Luffy. Dumbass still hadn’t realized that Luffy won’t forgive him for Whole Cake Island because their captain saw nothing to forgive.
Should he nap off the restlessness? Try to work it off again? Yet a voice halted his decision.
“When were you gonna mention your Conqueror’s Haki, Mosshead?”
Zoro turned from the galley door, a bottle in hand. “Why would I?”
The cook shrugged. “Well, it’s making you feel even more irritating than usual. Almost like our shitty captain.”
Zoro reached for his sword—maybe the cook really was up for a fight. “Sure you’re not sensing yourself, shitbrows?”
“Please,” Sanji scoffed, “I know the difference between myself and unstable haki coming from a perpetually lost swordsboy.”
“‘Unstable haki?’ Embarrassed that a ‘lost swordsman’ is a Supreme King when you’re not? Tired of being the Prince of Moronica?”
Sanji waved the knife around. With his blood-soaked apron, the action would intimidate anyone who thought the cook fought with his hands. “As if I’d want to be some ruler—I barely have free time as it is. Besides,” he snorted, placing the knife down, “without the kingly qualifications, I’m stuck being the prince of morons like you.”
“Oh?” Zoro hummed. “Know you’re not worthy?”
Zoro didn’t understand why he stayed or bothered to respond. But there was something about the cook lacking the potential to conquer that kept him here.
The cook held up a finger. “First of all, from what we’ve seen of conquerors, they need a strong willpower. They’d never give up on what matters to them.”
Not like myself when fighting Luffy, went unsaid.
Zoro rolled his eye. Everyone on the crew agreed the cook had little choice but to do so. “Remember your extreme honor code? You’ve never fought with your hands, kicked a woman, or let someone starve, even when you should’ve.”
“Second of all,” Sanji continued, ignoring him as usual, “a king needs extreme ambition—”
How is finding a fifth ocean not ambitious? Zoro wondered. What Sanji heard is the swordsman’s scoff.
“Lastly.” Sanji shoved up a third finger. “A king must be willing to lead. To rule others. They can’t just be content with serving others.”
Zoro frowned. The cook offered kindness to the G5 marines, the geisha in Wano, and every starving soul they’d met. They offered kindness in turn. Sanji taught him that a leader must serve and be served by others. Zoro’s awakened haki bristled around the cook’s kingly qualities. His haki recognized a worthy opponent—a rival conqueror.
Sanji wasn’t a conqueror. But he had the potential to be one, so why won’t he act on it? Why won’t he do more with converting sworn enemies to trusted allies? Zoro led out of respect; Sanji could lead out of love.
(Zoro couldn’t understand how the World Government wrote Sanji off as “just a cook.” )
“Curlybrow, you think all those nutty fanboys of yours agree with that?”
Sanji laughed it off. “Damn, Marimo, why are you defending me? Maybe I shouldn’t give you another bottle.”
Another laugh, as if the cook couldn’t sense the tension between their haki. Maybe that was why the cook got on his nerves—even more than usual. On the ship after Wano, Luffy re-established his authority as the primary conqueror through one look and a fierce wave of haki to Zoro. Sanji, though, can’t control haki he’s unaware of having.
“Give me another drink anyway,” he said.
———
Now
Sanji’s laugh is brittle, a brief flash of emotion before another kick wipes it away. He’s like the sea whose waves lull at their side: lifeless, bearing little resemblance to its usual raging self. “Are you scared to fight me?”
What a dumb question. Even with Conqueror's Haki clouding his mind, screaming alongside his rationality that Sanji is a threat , dangerous , Zoro could never fear the cook. His eyebrow is just as ridiculous when flipped in the opposite direction; his determination to kill Zoro matches his drive to keep Luffy from the fridge. So what if the cook could kick his head off even quicker than usual?
All Zoro feels is frustration for the cook. His rival would hate that his emotions had been screwed with, that his body is no longer the one that fed the crew or cooked besides Zeff. As Sanji’s leg drives Zoro’s into the ground and forms a crater, with Zoro’s swords pressed against the leg to keep his head attached, Zoro couldn’t hate the man.
———
Then
Sanji’s cigarette hung in his hand, a rueful smile on his face. “I’d say the ocean hates me, huh.”
Zoro opened his eye. Only the two of them remained on the beach: Half the crew had headed off to the ship, and Luffy had dragged the remaining half to a mountain-sized beetle.
With his bare feet smothered in sand, arms wrapped around his knees, Sanji faced the sea. The scene reminded Zoro of those trashy romance novels where a lover waited for their partner’s return. He also recalled warbled sea shanties of wayward lovers, though the partner never returned in those.
“What brought that up?” Zoro asked. Trust the cook to open up late at night when it’s just the two of them. The dumbass must feel really shitty if he’s opening up to Zoro of all people. Or maybe that’s exactly why he’s talking to him—Sanji can dump his worst feelings onto Zoro without being pitied.
Sanji traced a finger through the sand, drawing some abstract image known to his mind only. “The sea hates devil fruit users for being ‘unnatural.’ Despises even Luffy, the future Pirate King, the incarnate of joy and freedom. Won’t be long before it starts hating a lab product like me, for fuck’s sake.”
Zoro refused to imagine Sanji in front of the All Blue but unable to swim. That’s stupid , he thinks. Why would the ocean hate its biggest lover? “You’ve always been a weirdo. If you can swim before you can swim now.”
“The ocean’s pretty temperamental.”
“We’ll just throw you into the water to show nothing’s changed.”
Sanji side-eyed him before turning to the ocean. Zoro wonders whether he sees an ocean of a different shade of blue with all of the world’s fishes.
(Looking back, maybe this had been his chance. He could’ve pressed what made Sanji desperate enough to seek Zoro. But this is wishful thinking. Conversations aren’t their language. They spoke through spars, back-to-back fights against enemies, and bickering that veiled worry.)
“If we throw you into the ocean,” Zoro said, “it’ll clean up your aggravating face too.”
The cook looks back at him with a scowl. The muddling thoughts and feelings crowding Zoro’s mind faded when he intercepted a kick.
Finally , he thought, pulling out his swords. This I can do.
———
Now
“You can’t win, curlybrow.”
Sanji is strong, an Emperor’s Commander. Yet Wado presses hard into the cook’s throat and reverses Sanji to the ground. Despite their haki-driven fight, the cook never gives into bloodlust. His kicks burn but do not scorch.
Sanji’s grin is more blood than teeth. “You’re not the ‘King of Hell’ for nothing. At least I made this fight as bitter as possible.”
The cook leans further into the sword, blood drawn through his exoskeleton. Wado feels somber to cut him; Zoro doesn’t know how a sword can seem sad, but the drooping blade maintains her lethal intensity.
Funny, how easy it is to lose rivals.
“Zoro.” The bastard has the audacity to smile. The look is gentle now, not of hollowness but acceptance. “Can you guys find the All Blue for me? Course, Nami will do most of the work ‘cause of your shitshow navigation. But I want the crew—Luffy, especially—to be the first to see it.”
They have never said they cared for each other. Instead, they had extra food after a rough fight, vintage wine finding its way into the kitchen, backsides protected in battle. They screamed the words in front of Kuma in Thriller Bark, and whispered them in Wano’s candle-lit makeshift infirmary.
Zoro pins him down, his blades more red than white, and he wonders whether Sanji still believes in those unspoken words.
———
Then
Instead of drawing straws, the other crew members had agreed that Zoro and Sanji should guard the ship. The two needed some “alone time in confined quarters,” as Nami had put it. Zoro had scowled. Their recent, inexplicable tension didn’t warrant a crew intervention.
(From Robin’s knowing smile and Usopp’s “Have fun, you two!” , the crew might’ve had more in mind.)
Zoro had politely told them to fuck off. He had to, however, make amends with the cook. They needed to be at their best to help Luffy, which happened when they worked in tandem.
The cook must’ve thought the same, since he offered Zoro sake during his smoke break. They stood against the ship’s rail without conversing, but Zoro could be patient. The cook struggled with silence: he would fill the gap with questions, insults, random thoughts or all three when fiery enough.
The cook finished his first cigarette and sighed. “Ever think about what comes after? After we’ve reached Laugh Tale. Then, Luffy’s the Pirate King, and you’re still the world’s dumbest swordsman—”
“Oi.”
“But what comes after that? I’ll be the Baratie's Head Chef and bring the restaurant to the All Blue. What will you do?”
Zoro took another gulp of his drink. Smart cook, bribing him with alcohol. There was only so much philosophical bullshit he could take. His whole life revolved around his dream; why would he think about what’s after? Each day, his dream motivates him to wake up, to train, to meditate.
“I’ll train to keep my title as the world’s strongest swordsman,” Zoro said.
Sanji frowned. “That’s it? Anything else you’ll do?”
“Learn four-sword style.”
“And after that? ”
“Five-sword style.”
Zoro waited for Sanji’s annoyed huff with his cigarette before he continued. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll crash at your restaurant. Run you dry of booze for asking me so many questions.”
A spark of Diable Jambe went off in Sanji’s eye. “You think I’d let you free load off of me?”
“I wouldn’t be freeloading. Having the world’s greatest swordsman around would draw in a lot of customers.”
“As if my food or status as the cook of the Pirate King wouldn’t do that. If you’re sticking around, you’d do other work instead.” Sanji spread his hands wide, his backdrop the open ocean. “That’ll bring in crowds: ‘World’s greatest swordsman, now your personal busboy.’”
Sanji rambled about the logistics of running a restaurant in a mystical ocean, of advertising two crewmembers of the Pirate King onboard. Zoro closed his eye and listened.
They were talking about the future when the crew returned hours later.
———
Now
“Kill me,” Sanji says.
The cook is numb to the sword against his throat. Zoro’s blade does not waver, yet he is far away from this beach where Sanji lies in a ragged suit on blood-doused sand.
He thinks about the cook’s smirks and scowls. His love for women and cooking, his hatred for his birth family and wasted food, his sorrow for his mother and the childhood he never had.
“Kill me,” Sanji repeats.
Zoro answers:
“No.”
Shock overwhelms Sanji’s face. “I’ve spent this whole time trying to kill you. Why won’t you do the same?”
“I have an oath to keep.”
“You… you swore to kill me if I’m no longer myself, and I’m not.” For once, Zoro isn’t the one who sounds lost. “Now’s your chance. Kill me before I reach the crew. If you let me live, I’ll go there right now and show what a mistake your mercy is.”
Zoro grabs Sanji’s shoulder. He positions the cook for a clean cut through the neck, and he sees the sickening moment when Sanji becomes relieved. With a flick of his head, Wado would pierce the cook’s arteries, a fatal blow no regeneration could fix. A twist of his hands, Kitetsu and Enma would pierce the exoskeleton and destroy the vital organs. Sanji closes his eyes, accepting, and Zoro makes up his mind.
Zoro picks up Sanji and throws him into the ocean.
Before the waves cover up the cook, Sanji’s expression satisfyingly shifts from confusion to frustration to confusion again. Sanji bursts out of the water, his surprise discarded for fury. “What the fuck? ”
Zoro grins. He can’t believe he missed this asshole.
“What…” Sanji sputters, unable to string together a sentence fit for children. “Just—why? Why’d you do that , you shithead?”
Zoro points at the water. “You’re not drowning.”
(“I’d say the ocean hates me, huh.”)
Sanji at last notices he floats in the waves instead of sinking to their depths. He quiets, and Zoro cuts in before the moron processes his spinning wheel of emotions. “See, cook? You’re not some fucked up, heartless power ranger.”
“How’d you know I wouldn’t drown?”
“Hands.”
Sanji abandons his emotionless facade, his confusion evident. “What?”
“Hands,” Zoro repeats slowly, taking pleasure in Sanji mouthing the word. It isn’t often he surprises the cook. “This whole fight, you never attacked with your hands. You spent a lot of it talking, delaying , because you had to fight but didn’t want to. Because you’re still yourself. You never tried to strike me in the back. My haki views you as the same nuisance. You have emotions, or else you couldn’t create your dumb ‘flames of passion.’”
And you still care about the All Blue .
Zoro returns his swords to their sheathes. Wado gives a soft hum of approval. “I promised to kill you if you’re no longer yourself. But I don’t have to. You’re still Blackleg Sanji.”
Sanji pulls himself out of the water and lies on the sand. With his head down, it’s as if he lost the strength to hold himself up. “When will you realize I’m not myself? I keep getting worse. You have to kill me now, when I won’t fight back that much. Given enough time, everything you said about me will be gone too. What will you do when I can’t swim anymore?”
“Then fuck the ocean.”
Sanji chokes back his laughter, and Zoro hides his smile. “What, mosshead? You’re gonna pick a fight with the sea herself?”
“We’ve already picked a fight with the world—how hard can it be? Maybe Jinbei would be upset, but he could use the chance to bring fishmen up to the sun like that pink mermaid princess wanted. As for the rest of us? Chopper could come up with pollutants, Brook could screech off-key sea shanties to the ocean, Usopp and Franky could invent ways to nuke it, Robin could non-stop give it the middle finger… Nami’s a weather witch so she could just dry it up. And Luffy’s the fucking sun god.”
The longer he spoke, Sanji’s laugh devolved into a wheeze. The sound is a cross between a donkey and a hyena, but Zoro’s grin widens. The laughter beats the cook’s unnerving silence.
“If you turn into what you fear, our crew’s got the best doctor and the smartest man alive on speed dial. Hell, we can go to Germa and kick Judge’s ass until he changes you back. And if it fails,” Zoro says, because he’s a realist despite all the miracles their crew performs, “those who know you won’t hate you anyway.”
Zoro offers him a hand. Although the cook doesn’t bat the hand away, his glazed eyes aren’t much better. “Even if we find a cure, it won’t fix what’s changed. Some emotions are already gone. What future is there for someone irreversibly fucked up?”
Zoro would claw his way up to heaven from hell for a dead rival. He’d climb even higher to save a rival still living. Verbal honesty to the cook is the least he would do. “You’re living for the All Blue, for making those dumb advertisements, for reuniting with that old cook. Then, you’re living to see what comes next. That’s all there is to it.”
“A rather vague plan.” Sanji accepts his hand and leans on Zoro. Zoro, after a moment of hesitation, leans back.
“We’ll figure it out.”
Sanji redirects Zoro with a huff, and they limp back to the Thousand Sunny.