Chapter Text
The Baratie was not the strangest ship Nami had ever seen, but it certainly came close. The floating restaurant was built to look like a fish, the name of the restaurant written in large black signage at the top. The bright colours were well maintained, almost like the restaurant wanted to be found. She supposed they wouldn’t get any business otherwise, but in these seas, any flashy ship like that would attract trouble from miles away.
Hell, she was technically the trouble, with the hole Luffy blew in the roof. It was a good thing that she wasn’t planning to stick around with them for much longer. She’d probably land herself dead or in jail if she allowed Luffy to keep running her life.
When they entered the ship though, she understood why the Baratie never had to worry about the scumbags of the sea. A man, blond and lanky, stood in the center of the room, holding a pink-haired Marine off the ground. By his neck. She snorted. Usopp whimpered, stumbling back.
Zoro, that lughead, looked like he had the wind knocked out of him. He was staring at the waiter with his head tilted forward and his jaw dropped, blinking owlishly. It was kind of off putting.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Nami asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Zoro didn’t answer, still staring. She hoped this wasn’t his attempt at flirtation.
She dragged Zoro and Usopp to an unoccupied table, plopping down in her seat and scanning the menu.
“Uh, Zoro?” Usopp asked as he nudged Nami’s ankle with his foot. She looked up.
The idiot still hadn’t sat down. Nami was about to chew him out, but her words died on her tongue when the blond waiter looked in their direction.
Oh. They knew each other. She glanced at Usopp, who was squinting at them, eyebrows raised.
“Mosshead…?” the blond man said.
Nami whipped her head to Usopp, mouthing ‘Mosshead!?’ Usopp returned her silent shock, equally bewildered.
“Curly,” Zoro said. His lips curled into that grin Nami only saw when his swords were drawn.
There was a beat where nothing happened, the two men looking at each other, sizing each other up. Zoro’s hands landed on his swords. The blond guy, Curly, though Nami doubted that was his actual name, grinned, something equally as dangerous.
In a flash, they clashed right in the middle of the restaurant, Zoro’s swords connecting with Curly’s leg for a moment before they both danced away from each other.
“Are they… mad at each other…?” Usopp wondered aloud.
They lunged at each other again, the customers jumping to move their tables out of the way. When Curly’s foot connected with Zoro’s chest, throwing him back so that he crashed to the floor with enough force that he bounced off it, Zoro grinned.
“No, this… I’ve never seen Zoro get like this before,” Nami said, her eyes not leaving the two men.
Zoro wheezed, pained but still with that toothy smile plastered on his face. “That all you got, crybaby?”
Curly growled and launched into another flurry of roundhouse kicks that Zoro met blow-for-blow with his swords. Nami held her forehead, her mouth hanging open as Curly pounced, knocking both of them to the floor. “Thought you were supposed to be the best,” Curly teased.
Zoro growled and grabbed Curly’s collar. They rolled on the ground like two feral animals, grabbing and pulling each other. Curly came out on top, Zoro on his back and pinned between Curly’s thighs, both of them breathing heavily.
Nami blinked, her eyebrows almost to her forehead. They stared at each other like they were the only people in the room. Her stomach churned like when she accidentally stumbled into the wrong backroom of a seedy bar.
The entire room was silent for a long, terrible moment. Then, a gruff voice yelled, “Eggplant!” accompanied by thundering footsteps. Curly, Eggplant, whoever, jumped off of Zoro and stumbled to stand and straighten himself off. An old man in chef’s whites and a ridiculously tall hat stomped directly towards the blond, chewing him out for making a mess of things.
Nami was more interested in her temporary crewmate, who still lay on the floor. He was flushed, sweaty. Completely disgusting. Definitely turned on.
“Gross,” she said. “Usopp, go help him up.”
“What? Why me? You help him up.”
“I don’t need help,” Zoro said, glaring daggers at both of them. Usopp shut right up, and Nami rolled her eyes.
He peeled himself off the ground and sat in his chair hard enough to kick it a few inches across the hardwood. His eyes stayed trained on Curly.
Nami cleared her throat. Zoro turned to her. “You gonna explain what the fuck that was about!?”
“Oh, right,” Zoro said.
The old cook stopped his rant, crossing his arms and staring at Curly expectantly.
“That’s ‘Mosshead,’” Curly said, pointing at Zoro.
The old chef’s eyes widened. “The little punk from that summer camp?” He turned to Zoro, who had decided to pick wax out of his ear with his pinkie finger. Gross. She half expected him to start beating Zoro up, too, but instead he huffed. “Not so little anymore, eh?” He pivoted and hobbled off on his peg leg.
“You’re on service duty for another month, by the way,” the chef told Curly, “and send Mosshead to join that straw hat kid on dishes.” At the kitchen door, he turned to address the quiet restaurant. “What are you all looking at? We’ve got an establishment to run here. Either eat up or get out!”
Then…
Sanji’s stomach churned as the Baratie swayed back and forth with the violent stormy tide. They’d closed for the day, not that they’d be getting any customers between ports, especially in this weather. Sanji tried not to wobble as he stood in front of his guardian’s—Zeff’s—desk.
He looked up from his papers and peered through his glasses. “I’m sending you away for the summer,” he said. “To a camp.”
“What!?” Sanji yelled, his insides burning and his face flushing and his muscles clenching. “You can’t!”
Thunder clapped outside. Sanji’s stomach flipped.
Sanji had heard about ‘camp’ before, but it had to be different in the East Blue. Everything was different here. Maybe it was normal to send kids away for the summer. Sanji didn’t like that idea at all. Sanji liked it here. He got to practice cooking, and he got to mess around with Zeff and the rest of the chefs and cooks.
Zeff’s face was stern. “I can and I will. I’m tired of looking after you. I need a break.”
Tears pricked Sanji’s eyes. He had to change Zeff’s mind. “I’m the one looking after you, you shitty geezer!! Old fart!! Lazy bum!! You’ll die without me!!”
Zeff picked Sanji up by the scruff of his shirt, Sanji squirming and kicking and sputtering.
“It’ll do you some good, eggplant. The decision is final. I’ll take you there next week.”
Sanji screamed and kicked pleas and insults all the way to his room where Zeff deposited him and left him alone. Sanji huffed, kicking his trash can over and screaming loud and high so that he knew Zeff would hear him. It wasn’t fair!
He cried and sobbed for the next hour. What if they found out who he was at the camp? Were all camps connected? Did they test all the boys there? Sanji hated boys. They were all mean and stronger than Sanji and liked to fight and hit each other. Sanji didn’t like any of that stuff.
Zeff was the worst.
.
“Zoro! Zoro! Come look at the ship that’s here!!”
Crack!
Wood splinters flew into the air as Zoro hit his training boulder with his bokken too hard. It snapped right through the middle, the top half hanging limply from the bottom. It swung as Zoro held it in front of him, the two pieces clacking against each other. That was supposed to last him the entire summer!
He turned on the culprit, that idiot son of the blacksmith, Fifi or Jiji or something. Zoro growled, lunging at him, but Kiki stepped out of the way, laughing when Zoro tripped and fell on nothing.
When he raised his head, wiping the dirt off his hands and chin, he had a view over the edge of the hill where he could see the port. There was a huge boat that looked like a fish.
“Isn’t it goofy? Wonder why that poor kid has to travel around in that.”
Zoro ignored him and watched one small, blond kid walk down the slipway surrounded by three bigger, gruff old men in cook’s clothes. They were all ribbing the kid, mussing up his hair and shoving him around. Zoro didn’t know adults and kids could act that way to each other. It was weird. The kid kept trying to bat them away and was yelling at one in particular, the guy with a huge hat that even Zoro had to strain to see the top of from the hill.
“What a weirdo.” The blacksmith’s kid laughed. “C’mon, are you really gonna stay here all day? Me and the boys are gonna go steal the cabin numbers!”
“You owe me a new bokken!” Zoro yelled as the kid ran off. Whatever. Zoro didn’t like any of the kids from his village, anyways. He always liked the summer, because Koshirou would send them off to camp and Zoro could stay and train with…
He clenched his broken bokken and smashed it to the ground. It didn’t matter where he was. He’d become the best no matter what.
Now…
“What do you think?” Zoro asked, startling Sanji. He was leaning against the railing at the aft of the Baratie—the tail of the fish—smoking a cigarette. The glow of the cherry reflected in Sanji’s eyes, the blues not as bright and big as when they were children, but deep and dark, like the ocean. Zoro’s stomach swooped.
Sanji narrowed those eyes at Zoro, one still obscured by the curtain of blond hair hanging over it. Some things never changed. He took the last drag of the crumbling cigarette and put it out on the railing. The entire bar was marked with black dots. “You’re still here,” he said.
“My captain’s contracted to work for you for a year, remember?” Zoro said. He swung himself onto the deck fully, leaning his back against it. “And I’ve got a week.”
The ocean waves lapped up against the hull of the ship. He had become accustomed to the sound, spending more time on the seas than on land. The sea suited Sanji more, though. It made sense to see him here, for Zoro to finally find him again on the ocean.
“Your captain, huh?” Sanji tsked, lighthearted. “Still can’t believe you’re a pirate now. They’re still calling you ‘pirate hunter,’ y’know?”
Zoro grinned, lopsided. “Heard of me, huh?” Sanji took out another cigarette and lit it up. He tried to hide the smile that formed on his lips, but Zoro caught it. “He asked you to join us, right?” Zoro pressed. “We’re gonna go to the Grand Line.”
“I know,” Sanji said. He turned to Zoro, still hiding under his bangs. “You, of all people, should understand why I can’t.”
Zoro quirked an eyebrow. “And you ‘of all people’ should know why I’m asking you to come anyways.”
Sanji tilted his head up so Zoro could see his eyes again. It knocked the breath out of him. “Would you have, though? If you didn’t happen to stop here?”
Zoro puffed out a breath, scoffing. “Why does that matter? We’re here now, aren’t we?”
Sanji blinked, then he removed his cigarette to laugh. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?”
Zoro couldn’t help but grin, his heart hammering in his chest. It squeezed with anticipation, a rubber band pulled taut, waiting to be released.
He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten him. Couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to ask. To come find him again. Now that he was here, now that he found Sanji again—Sanji as he was now? Strong, confident, talented. The same boy with the same dreams that they’d shared so many years ago?
He knew Sanji would come with them. He had to. Even if Sanji didn’t realize it yet. Luffy had set his mind to it, which meant it would be so. When Luffy wanted something, he was going to make it happen.
“Neither have you, Curly-brow,” Zoro said, poking Sanji right in the center of his eyebrow swirl. “Which is why you’re gonna join our crew.”
Then…
Sanji bit his lip really hard to make sure he didn’t cry as he watched the Baratie drift further and further away. A guy with messy hair and pimples introduced himself as ‘Braydon’ and said he’d be Sanji’s counselor for the month. They walked through a field surrounded by small buildings made from wood that Braydon called ‘cabins.’ Other than the camp, the entire island was just a huge forest—it stretched on forever behind the cabins. Sanji’s cabin was small, the only thing differentiating it from the rest being the big ‘3’ hanging next to the door. It creaked when it opened and Sanji winced, peeking inside from behind Braydon.
He was immediately assaulted by a million senses. Eight, maybe ten boys were all chatting and laughing and fighting. A group of them sat on the floor with a weird card game, yelling strange words and tackling each other. There were two rows of bunk beds lined up against the walls, the blankets spilling off. The top bunks didn’t even have guard rails. The floor was dirty, clothes and bags and wrappers covering it. It smelled funky, and it was stuffy. Sanji hoped the bathroom was nearby because his stomach churned unpleasantly. Braydon pointed to the bed at the very end of the cabin, on the bottom bunk. It was the only one left empty. He addressed the other boys in the cabin, telling them his name and had them introduce themselves, too. Sanji didn’t pay attention. He didn’t look at any of them, but he could feel them all looking at him.
It was just for one month. Zeff promised. He still thought it was a stupid idea. Even though Zeff banned him from cooking, Sanji could still come up with recipes. What kind of chef left his restaurant for a whole month to live in a stinky cabin with a bunch of idiot boys who didn’t know the first thing about work?
Sanji set his bags down on the bed, frowning. He went about unpacking as quietly as possible, hoping the other boys would just ignore him. At the bottom of his bag his stuffed mouse, ChuChu, stared up at him. Sanji looked around, making sure nobody was watching. He quickly stuffed ChuChu into his sleeping bag and zipped it all the way closed.
He pinned up the pictures Zeff sent with him on the wall next to his bed. There was one from the day he and Zeff opened the Baratie. The ship sparkled in the background and Sanji grinned with a peace sign in the front, Zeff looking at Sanji with a smile.
All that treasure—it wasn’t good enough to save Zeff’s leg. But Zeff had pointed at the ship that they’d used that treasure to build and told Sanji, “See? Now nobody will ever have to go hungry on these seas again.”
That was the best day of Sanji’s life. It was the day he decided that he’d stay with Zeff for the rest of his life. He didn’t tell that to Zeff, though. The only reason Zeff kept Sanji around was because of their dream to find the All Blue, but now Zeff sent him away to live in a stuffy cabin with stinky boys and banned him from cooking.
Sanji crawled into his sleeping bag and turned to face the wall so nobody could see him crying.
.
The boy from the ship shaped like a fish was at Zoro’s table for dinner. He supposed that meant they were in the same cabin. He’d put his stuff there in the morning when they swapped cabins for the second session of the summer, but he hadn’t been back since. It was really annoying to have to move right in the middle of camp. This was the only boy his age who showed up for this month, too, so if he hadn’t come, maybe Zoro wouldn’t have had to move.
The kid was quiet, not saying a word as he ate his food. Zoro got bored watching him so he turned his attention to the other guys who were debating if it would be easier to fight one tiger-sized mouse or a hundred mouse-sized tigers. Zoro declared that he could take on both at the same time, and the guys all laughed. A boy with a buzz cut and a missing tooth complained about how gross the food was and got up to shovel it into the trash can.
“Stop!” a voice shrieked.
Everyone turned to look at the source. It was the boy from the fish ship. His cheeks were flush and he gripped the table, his knuckles white as he glared at the other kid. “Y-you can’t throw that out!”
“Oh, you’re the fish boy. What’s your deal?” the kid with the buzzcut asked.
“Y-you shouldn’t waste food!” the blond kid declared.
Now that Zoro got a better look at him, he noticed that his eyebrow curled at the end like a spiral. The other one was covered by his hair, obscuring his other eye as well. He’d probably be a terrible fighter with a blind spot like that. Zoro couldn’t imagine disabling himself like that on purpose.
“Who are you, my mom?” the buzz cut kid asked and continued to fork his food into the trash.
The blond kid leapt up and kicked the trash can over, catching the uneaten slop on his own plate. Zoro’s eyes widened. That was good form. Maybe he judged the kid too soon.
The entire mess hall had fallen silent, all eyes on the scene playing out. The blond kid shook like a leaf, but stood his ground. “If you aren’t gonna eat your food, give it to someone else,” he said, and shovelled the slop into his mouth to prove his point. He made a face of disgust as he chewed and swallowed. He took his plate and sat down, continuing to eat with his eyes glued to his plate.
The entire table erupted into laughter. They jeered and called him names and did all the stupid things they always did when they picked on the newbie. But the boy didn’t cry. He looked like he wanted to cry. But he just kept eating, not saying a word.
He was weird, but he was really tough. Maybe he’d want to spar with Zoro. He’d be no match for him, of course, but he might actually put up a bit of a fight.
.
At 8:30pm, Sanji and the rest of the boys were herded back to the cabin and told to sleep. The summer solstice was only a week ago, so it was still light outside, twilight bathing the camp property in an orange glow.
Sanji was the first to get ready for bed, sitting in his bunk with his knees drawn to his chest. There was no way he’d be able to sleep yet. He just had to get all worked up during dinner. Now everyone was going to know who he was. Luckily, he had practice tuning it all out. It was just how boys were.
Braydon shut the lights off and told them they had half an hour to talk before it was quiet time. Sanji looked at the bunk above him. It was a metal frame, the curly springs holding up the thin mattress. There was no movement or dip. Weird. He was pretty sure Braydon would notice if one of them was missing. Probably.
Just to be sure, Sanji climbed up the metal bar and peeked over the edge. The sleeping bag was stuffed with pillows. There was nobody there.
He glanced over to Braydon’s bed. He has his own area sectioned off with shelves, but Sanji could see him from the top bunk. He was facing the wall with bright foam earplugs in, reading one of those gross magazines Sanji always found in the line cook’s lockers.
He made up his mind. Quietly as he could, he toed on his sandals and crept to the back door, slipping outside. The relief of the quiet outdoors washed over him. Crickets chirped, and the wind whistled through the leaves, carrying the voices of the older kids out in the field, kicking a ball around and laughing.
Sanji started walking. It’d been a long time since he was on an island like this. The Germa castle was all stones and perfectly pruned shrubs and trees lined up in rows. Sometimes they would visit another country on another island, but Sanji was never allowed outside unsupervised.
The Baratie barely had any plants, just a few herbs in the back garden that Patty took care of. The islands they’d port at had towns filled with markets and bustling with people. Forests often loomed behind them, an intimidating mass of green that dared Sanji to enter and explore.
The camp didn’t feel separate from the forest the way those towns did. It was enveloped, trees only cut down to make room for walking and for the field in the center of the camp. There was no sign of civilization except a steep cliff behind the cabins packed with dirt and with roots sticking out. As if someone had carved into the landscape to slot the cabins in.
It was easy to walk around unnoticed. The cabins all faced the same way; one tight loop that contained the entire property. He was able to weave through the buildings, making note of where everything lay.
He counted how many water pumps there were. One was in the camper’s village, where his and the rest of the cabins were in a cluster. There was another in the staff village. Some of the cabins there were really nice looking, but the building that had a sign that said ‘kitchen’ over the door was run down. He almost approached it, but there were a couple of adults walking by, so Sanji scurried off.
There was a water pump out by the small beach. The sand was cold under Sanji’s feet. The ocean didn’t feel like the ocean here. The camp was tucked away in a cove, right in the depth of the crescent. Sanji looked out on a small bay, with a hollow square of planks floating and bobbing to create a makeshift swimming area. Next to the beach there was a rickety wooden port. A few sailboats and rusting rowboats were docked, bobbing with the muted tide. Would he get to ride them? He’d always wanted to learn to sail properly.
The next water pump was by the kitchen at the back of the mess hall. Sanji went on his tip-toes to peer into the window, glancing at a pile of dirty dishes and not much else. Maybe the kitchen staff would let him work with them. Their menu could really use some upgrades.
The last water pump was all the way at the other side of camp where all the recreational buildings lay. There was a library, a carpentry, a pottery studio and a huge gymnasium, at least relative to the rest of the buildings. The water pump was right outside of it, a puddle of water underneath the spout.
Something crashed inside and Sanji jumped. The lights were off but when Sanji crept closer he could hear movement from inside. Maybe it was an animal? He pushed the door open and ventured in. The temperature immediately dropped when he entered, the floorboards creaking under his feet. The building was huge and like nothing he’d ever seen before. They had a few different courts back on the Germa castle grounds, each for a specific sport, and always pristine. The floor here was marked with different coloured lines all overlapping each other, creating a messy pattern of boxes that Sanji had trouble tracking. Along the side there was seating, metal benches on raised steps that had gaps large enough Sanji could see the underside of. At the back there was a stage, faded curtains drawn and the unfinished wall behind the back curtains exposed. Sanji had been to the theatre before but those were always in their own grand building, with intricate carvings and felt seating facing the stage in an auditorium designed for the arts. The stage here was certainly not for operas or dramas. It wasn’t extravagant or elegant or pristine or even practical. But the cracks gave it character. And Sanji loved that. And Sanji liked that better than the other theatres.
In front of the stage there were panels that had latches to open them. The one on the far right had been pulled open, a bin of sports supplies exposed. A pair of short legs dangled from it and Sanji watched as a boy his age rummaged through it, unaware of his company. He tossed things out haphazardly, a soccer ball, a foam ball, padded boxing gloves. Did he not realize it was past curfew?
Eventually the boy made a noise of triumph and stumbled back and out of the bin, holding two wooden swords in his hands. Bokken, if Sanji recalled correctly from his time learning swordsmanship.
“What’re you doing?” Sanji asked.
The boy jumped, spinning to hold out his swords towards Sanji. He had green hair. Sanji remembered him from dinner—he was the kid who claimed he could fight the tigers and the giant mouse at the same time.
“Fish boy?” the green-haired kid said, louder than he needed to in the empty room.
Sanji scowled at the nickname. “I’m not a fish boy! My name’s Sanji. You’re the idiot from my cabin. It’s past curfew, you know.”
“Idiot!? You’re the idiot!” the kid yelled. “And Sanji’s a stupid name!”
Sanji’s eyebrow twitched. “What the hell did you say!? I bet your name is stupider! Stupid grass head!! Moss face!!”
“Moss face!?” the kid yelled, grabbing at his hair. “My name is cool! It’s Zoro! It’ll be known around the world one day!!”
Sanji fumed. Zoro was a cool name.
“Hey, Sanji,” Zoro said, his entire demeanour changing suddenly, “do you wanna fight?? You can fight, right? I usually fight with santoryu but I need to practice with ittoryu—you can have the other bokken!” He shoved the wooden sword towards Sanji, eager and grinning.
Sanji had no idea how to respond, so he kicked Zoro in the shin. It hurt his toes and he yelped, hopping around and clutching his foot. Zoro yelled too, holding his shin, the bokken clattering to the floor.
“What the hell was that for!?”
“I don’t fight with swords, got it!?”
“But you do fight, right?”
“I’m not gonna fight you! We’ll get in trouble! If you’re gonna sneak around at night, at least try to be less obvious!”
“It’s not my fault the cabins are so hard to find. And I needed a new bokken, mine broke this morning. No thanks to you.”
Sanji stared at him. “The cabins are—wait—haven’t you been here for a month already?”
“Yeah? What’s that gotta do with anything?”
It took another ten minutes to convince Zoro to clean up his mess (let Sanji clean up his mess) and another twenty for Sanji to lead Zoro back to the cabins. He was sure they were going to get caught but somehow they didn’t.
It bothered Sanji how unbothered Zoro was. He couldn’t understand how Zoro could do all these things, expecting it all to turn out okay. Maybe he was immune to getting caught and Sanji was the one who ended up with all the bad luck.
When Zoro got into his bed he immediately fell asleep, adding another snore to the choir.
Just one month, Sanji reminded himself. One month and he’d be back with Zeff and it’d all just feel like another bad dream.