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Leaning into his hands, Sanji’s nose scrunched slightly as he worked to staunch the bleeding of a gash in Zoro’s side in lieu of busy Chopper. Believe him, the cook much preferred to have been helping his dearest Nami-swan, but even he knew not to play favorites.
He had seen Zoro nearly get himself killed far too many times, now no exception, to believe the bastard when he had said he was fine. Sanji couldn’t help but be reminded of that fact when he watched the gauze he held to Zoro’s wound stain red far quicker than he’d like, the material tacky with blood. It felt as if it burned his skin, still warm against his palm.
And, of course, Zoro seemed to notice the same thing.
“You think your blood is as red as this?” came the rough timber of Zoro’s voice, forcing Sanji’s eyes to his flat expression.
“Are we really doing this shit right now?” Sanji groaned, knowing too well the question being asked despite how nonsensical it sounded to anyone else. In the time of being confined to the ship with the swordsman, Sanji had become the one Zoro had come to when he needed to have something told to him straight, no matter how backwards his way of asking was. Either way, Zoro knew Sanji wouldn’t sugarcoat it for him.
“I asked you a question, Shit-Cook,” Zoro grunted back, eye refusing to leave the blood-wet gauze, dark under the contrasting pale of Sanji’s hands.
“You’re not a bad person, Marimo,” Sanji said with a sigh, suddenly much more tired than he thought as he re-doubled the pressure he was supplying to the gauze. He narrowly missed flinching as he felt blood well up through his fingers from the fresh pressure.
A snort from Zoro made his jaw tense, though, Sanji already suspecting the next words to leave Zoro’s mouth, “That’s easy for you to say.”
“Where the fuck is this even coming from, you algae-riddled Bastard? I thought we’ve been over this shit already,” Sanji huffed back, narrowing his eyes in a challenge he was sure Zoro could hear in his tone.
“I…” the swordsman paused, expression twisting slightly in a way that almost took Sanji aback. It was rare Zoro expressed anything other than vicious glee in the heat of battle. “Everyone is so much better than I am. Kinder than I am. I’m just… I’m just a dick with a sword and a goal who can’t put the damn bottle down. I fail to see how my blood could be as red as anyone else’s. As red as yours , Curly.”
Sanji had listened patiently to Zoro as he spoke, and, despite his mounting frustration over the reopened argument, the last five words felt like nothing short of a twisting blade in his gut. He thought that of him? “Mosshead… I’m no better than anyone here. I hardly see how I’m any better than you.”
“Really? I would have slaughtered the man who disowned me for not being a ruthless killer,” the swordsman snorted humorlessly, Sanji staring down at his hands and noting distantly the bleeding seemed to have at least slowed.
“There’s a difference between kind and good, even if I would hardly deem myself kind,” he said softly, jumping slightly when a heavy hand grabbed his shoulder. Lifting his gaze once more, Sanji was met with a steely eye boring into his own, burning with unreadable emotion.
“Sure, they’re different words, but have you not looked at yourself? Did you forget the way you’d rather starve than see someone else so much as feel hungry, no matter who they are? Or the way you’ve put yourself on the line for any one of us in a damn heartbeat? It’s a stupid trait, but a noble one,” Zoro had said tartly, Sanji’s lips twisting into a frown.
“That’s a rich defense coming from you,” the cook retorted, earning a scoff from Zoro as the mosshead turned his face away once more, that fierce emotion fading from the swordsman’s gaze. “No, you aren’t going to deny this. Not now. Not when my supposed selflessness is your merit counter, jackass.”
“The hell does that mean?” Zoro grunted, still refusing to look Sanji in the face as the cook felt more and more the urge to strangle Zoro overtake the awe of his rival complimenting him.
Momentarily, Sanji debated hooking a finger into Zoro’s wound as retribution but decided against it, both for the fact Chopper would kill him and he knew Zoro still wasn’t in great shape. He’d kick Zoro’s ass another time. “It means you’re also a selfless bastard and a decent person under all of that… muscle-headed-ness,” he settled on saying instead, practically able to hear the cogs in Zoro’s head turning as the swordsman parsed out his own retort.
“I hardly see it,” Zoro eventually said, tone flat, and earned a groan of exasperation from Sanji as he applied far more weight to his hands in retort. The scrunch of Zoro’s nose at the sudden pressure shift was worth the sickly feeling of residual blood from the gauze spilling sluggishly over Sanji’s fingers.
“To be so damn observant, you’re sure fucking blind when you wanna be,” Sanji snapped, Zoro sending him a glare that was clearly asking for evidence to his claim. “You really think no one noticed? News flash, Mosshead, even Luffy has noticed the way you’d throw your life away in a heartbeat. We’ve had it out for each other, I know we have, but I’d be stupid not to notice how willing to work to collapse you are to protect us.”
“I’m supposed to be Luffy’s right hand. It’s my fucking job , Shit-cook,” Zoro snapped. “What sort of first mate would I be if I didn’t work to protect my crew?”
“This is more than protecting your crew as the first mate, dumbass,” Sanji snipped right back, feeling his proverbial hackles begin to rise. “One of these damn days you’re going to get your damn self killed if you can’t learn to sit the fuck down for fucking once . Where will we be then, huh?”
Zoro still refused to look Sanji in the face, expression dark but unreadable as he stared past the cook. Sanji huffed slightly in reply and sat back on his heels, thinking the argument had come to an end at that point.
How wrong he was.
“Curls, I… I enjoy violence. I revel in the way my blades pass through bone and flesh. How the fuck am I a good person?” Zoro said after a moment of careful silence, Sanji blinking slightly in surprise.
His mouth opened and closed once, twice, the cook struggling to tread this turn in conversation carefully. Taking a slow breath, Sanji finally spoke, words chosen carefully, “You aren’t a bad person. I can say that for absolute fact. It’s natural to take pride in your craft, no matter what it is.”
“But–”
“I wasn’t finished,” Sanji cut in over Zoro’s protest sharply, sending him a glare before his expression softened slightly. “You hold remorse for the lives of those you’ve taken. Someone who hadn’t a good heart wouldn’t.”
“But what about all of you?” Zoro protested, finally looking Sanji in the face once more. The emotion within his face took Sanji by surprise once more, the cook doing everything to keep a neutral expression. “I-I would lose all care I have for you if you were to do anything to step out of line. I hate how easily I can turn my back on any of you.”
“You’re protecting yourself and those around you. I hate how hard it would be for me to cut those ties if any of you were to betray the crew,” Sanji sighed, shaking his head slightly. “My heart is too big sometimes, and I can’t properly protect myself or those around me. Everyone has something they can’t do. We’ll just do what the other can’t. It doesn’t make us any better or worse for it.”
The little nod Sanji’s words earned made the cook smile slightly in reply, choosing to sit down properly before Zoro, elbows rested on his bent knees.
“My blood is red just as yours is, Zoro.”