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This was always what he feared. Zoro never spoke of it because it would never happen. It is happening right now. He is shrouded in darkness, blinking his eye open in the bottom of a ravine. How— his head throbs. He remembers the sky growing dark, that maybe the amount of time had passed that the crew would call him lost.
Blindly, he reaches for his swords, sifting his hand through the mud beneath him. It seeps through his robes to his skin. His legs splay out in front of him and he’s becoming too aware of the ache radiating from his hips, the shivers racking through his body. His breath stops short in his lungs. He tries to inhale, steady, steady, too shallow, too— his fingers knock a sheath, gasping his breath to a choke.
-
Hours have passed and Sanji is wet and cold and cursing his way through a jungle. Thorns have marred his jacket and cut his face. Mud fills his shoes. He lost care for such things an hour ago and now just plunders through the foliage.
Nine hours ago, Zoro was a directionless idiot that would meander back to the ship at any given moment. Five hours ago, he was likely drunk in some bar and trying to find his way out of an alley. Then it was not just night but beyond night, nearing morning, and Sanji had run out of bars, out of streets when he caught sight of the tiny path skirting toward the jungle.
He stuffs his panic to frustration, imagining the absolute joy of laying into him. Oh, when he finds him.
He stops and scans his surroundings. It’s pitch black and loud, filled with a cacophony of insects and the rushing water of some creek he can’t see. Sanji’s calls drown in the noise, his haki reaching just a bit further. He exhales. There’s nothing.
-
A hazy light cracks over the ledge above him, enough to bring a sliver of focus to his vision. His haramaki feels tight, like his stomach is bloated. Zoro looks down and hears something bubble in his throat, sees each sword secure at his side, each pommel caving into his ribcage.
-
Sanji sits on a stump. The sun seeps through the canopy, wicking the cold from his sweat. His head hangs in his hands, a cigarette from his lips.
An entire night gone by. There’s no more path, just thick ropes of vine and root. Surely, Zoro wouldn’t just keep going. Sanji fumbles for his lighter, daring not to entertain that line of thought. He doesn’t think he’s been captured. With the crew fanned out, there would be a sign by now, a tell of marine presence or otherwise. Usopp and Chopper are on the Sunny in case he comes back. At this point, Chopper must be frantic and prepping the infirmary. Sanji is unsure which direction to turn, circle the jungle again, go through and out toward the neighboring port. It’s not close. A three day walk from the bar patrons’ estimation.
He hears footsteps, watches a hand float to his knee and at that he knows she has not found him. Sanji glances at Robin as she kneels in front of him. She looks as worried as he.
-
Zoro’s fallen before, been thrown, beaten, sliced and bound. He has seen Death. He’s never taken his eye from a stairstep. Stop it.
They know he’s gone. Soon, that dipshit will pop his pretty head right over the ledge with a smug grin and a hurl of insults.
He deserves it, he’s the picture of foolishness laying over his own swords. The mere thought of being seen like this— of seeing himself like this. Again, foolish. He has been reckless, a risk to the crew, to his body, acting as though he, himself, is the sword, as if they each do not thrum on their own. And this, a reminder of fragility. Jinbei would say that here is where immortality is forgone, that it is, in truth, not gained in taking the sword of an opponent. The cook would tell him to stop being so fucking melodramatic.
Tentatively, he touches Sandai Kitetsu, then grips. The weak pressure of it grates through his ribs, heaves his body. Okay, okay if he can just— he can’t stop it. His breath comes in blood spluttering rasps. Slower, he thinks, go slower. Calm down. Calm the fuck down. His stomach pulses against the pommels as his chest lifts less and less erratically and he lets go.
The crack of light shifts, casting the shadows of heavy leaves over Zoro’s back. He is terribly cold but the shivers have gone dull, the pain numb. He thinks if he could just let sleep shake this off, shut his eye, rest.
-
“No, no, no, no. Shit,” Sanji’s voice cracks in his chest, feet scrabbling down the far slope of the ravine. “Fucking idiot— Zoro!” he yells desperate, willing him to move. Zoro’s slumped over, chin to his chest and far too still.
Hands cascade over the ledge, reaching Zoro as Sanji falls to his side. He watches Robin trace over his body. A hand lifts his chin, another presses into his neck, swift, deliberate and waiting— a pulse. At the sight of his face, Sanji’s throat tightens. His eyes are hollow, blood stains his jaw in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. Fingers multiply across his chest to his ribcage, uncovering the black blooming from the edges of the sword hilts. “Robin..” Sanji says, looking up at her on the ledge, as if her touch can’t see how bad this is.
Sanji stares at the swords, placing his hands on Zoro’s shoulders. He’s trembling and doesn’t want to see how moving him may contort his face. But looking at the swords, it’s just so wrong and too much to think that Zoro may take this for more than simply the accident it is.
“Sanji-kun,” Robin says evenly, dropping next to him, “we need to hurry.” He is taking too long, too nervous that his swords are the only thing holding Zoro together but slowly, he pushes, unfolding him off pommel by pommel.
“You’re okay, moss, you’re okay,” Sanji repeats under his breath, more to himself than to Zoro. One hilt slips, and he hears Zoro’s bones shift followed by shuddering breath drawing deep in his lungs.
-
Sanji moves quickly, Zoro limp on his back. His legs burn but he can see the crow’s nest peeking over the low slung buildings in the village. So close to the edge of this godforesaken jungle. For more than a day Zoro laid in that ravine. He shouldn’t have waited so long to go look for him, should’ve left far before the sun first went down rather than just—
“Cook..?”
Sanji starts at the sound of Zoro’s voice. It’s dry and slow, a relief only lessened by the fact he’s not trying to thrash his way to the ground. So badly Sanji wants to stop and look at him. He can’t afford to slow their pace, “It’s me, mosshead, we’re almost to Chopper.”
“My swords?”
Sanji huffs a small smile, too predictable, “Robin’s got ‘em. She’s not far behind.”
“I messed up. I—”
“Hush, love, it was an accident, alright?”
There’s a long pause and Sanji can’t help but imagine the crinkle in his forehead, a distant look taking his eye with the mind to measure his worth. He waits for him to say something, anything now that he’s awake. “Hey!” he's barely able to bury his panic in this second silence, “C’mon, you with me?”
Sanji feels Zoro’s cheek roll to his shoulder, breath warm and uneven on his neck.
-
Sanji hasn’t left the infirmary. He’s seen Chopper slice into Zoro’s belly and stitch him back together, hydrate him with bag after bag of fluids. Chopper has come at him with a barrage of questions and each he sidestepped, explaining only the necessary information— that he and Robin found him laying over a jut of rock.
Neither have spoken much since Zoro woke up earlier in the evening. Chopper propped him up and fussed with his bandages till Zoro finally got flustered and tried to wave him off. Only a moment ago, and with the addition of one more blanket, Chopper felt comfortable enough to leave the infirmary to get some sleep.
The door clicks shut and Zoro turns to Sanji sitting by the end of the bed.
“Does everyone know?”
“Right to it then,” Sanji mutters, sitting back against his chair, “I didn't tell them. Only me and Robin saw and she didn’t say anything.”
Sanji watches the tension leave Zoro’s body and he can’t stand how relieved he looks, that this is what he’s thinking about.
“I can’t be the swordsman that fell on his swords.”
Sanji shoots him an assessing look, “Do you even know what that metaphor means? It was an accident. You fell. No one on this crew would think differently of you.” He straightens, feeling the heat of his frustration, “What is a shame, or whatever the hell it is you’re thinking, is that you think any of us would.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“Zoro..”
Zoro just stares at him, brow furrowed.
Sanji exhales, “Because I knew you would make this complicated. The fact that you’re even asking proves my point. Shit like this happens. It’s simple. It was an—”
“Stop saying that,” Zoro snaps, “You wouldn’t be if you thought it was simple. You’d just be yelling at me for getting lost.”
Sanji starts to speak and stops, he was trying to move this along but now tension is flaring back through Zoro’s body.
“Just stop saying it was an accident.”
Sanji eases his voice, trying to draw him back, “Zoro, okay I—” he tries to push himself up and Sanji instantly moves forward as his breath catches with a flash of pain, “Stop, you’re gonna give Chopper a damn heartattack.”
There’s a tense silence as Sanji hovers over him before scooting the chair closer and sitting back down.
Zoro sinks into the pillow, laying his hand on his stomach, either trying to calm himself or see if something's ripped. “She fell, alright?”
“Who—” and Sanji quiets as the ground suddenly becomes unfamiliar and this layer of information clicks into place. Too much starts making sense. He stays quiet, giving a small nod, hoping he’ll say more, knowing this isn’t something they do.
“I just don’t wanna know it was that easy.” Zoro says quietly, not looking at Sanji. He leans his head back and lets his eye fall shut like he’s shutting away the conversation.
Sanji wishes he had a cigarette, that he had the presence of Robin. The ability to be so there while hardly at all. It’s not difficult to forget all the banal ways one can go when they live in a world of pirates and bounties and a government always aiming to take them. And Zoro, honed as a sword, sees death as a force that he, himself, can conquer, an opponent he can stand in front of to protect who he loves and when he can’t—
He looks far away, exhausted and Sanji shifts toward him, laying his hand close to his, “Zoro, love. Sometimes it just is that easy.”
And with those words, Zoro covers his face with his arm and breaks.
-
It’s the middle of the night. Sanji rests his head on his arms at the end of the bunk. He isn’t sure how many hours have gone by since the infirmary softened with the glow from the deck lights and Zoro stopped shaking. At one point Zoro reached for his hand and at another sleep overcame him and he let go.
Sanji's mind is turning in every direction but sleep as he rubs his thumb along Zoro’s ankle. There’s a scar there he forgets about sometimes, another thing he wasn’t there for, another illustration of just how far Zoro will push himself. To think he had a whole life before ever boarding the Merry Go, in a dojo surrounded by people Sanji will never meet, then as the bounty hunter he knows next to nothing of. Yes, years have pieced together aspects of each of their pasts but it comes in broad strokes, neither ever asking for anything more because it doesn’t matter.
But now watching Zoro sleep, remembering every time his hand has trailed him on the stairs, when he’s yelled at Luffy or Usopp for running on the deck after a storm, Sanji is realizing that maybe sometimes it really does.