Work Text:
All in the Head
Head injuries bleed a lot. That was what Chopper said. And the textbooks, and Dr. Kureha, and Robin who was never, ever wrong about anything. It was one of those times where logic didn’t make that much of a difference. Rational thought and explanation didn’t wipe clean the image of the axe slicing through Zoro’s forehead, blood spraying across the snow. Sanji could have sworn some landed five meters away, despite Usopp’s attempts to reassure them it was from a holly tree. It also didn’t stop Sanji smoking a whole packet of cigarettes one after the other, staring as the winter island got smaller and smaller.
The Sunny sailed away, ready to leave everything they had seen and everyone they met behind. Another chapter in their adventures, all wrapped up and ready for the next one. It wasn’t the first one that had resulted in Zoro being carried aboard the Sunny on a stretcher in need of stiches – nor would it be the last.
Sanji’s eyes closed, fingertips scratching against the Adam Wood, the vibrations from the ocean coursing through them. Another cigarette was lit, the smoke flowing out towards the black blur that was the previous island. Sanji wondered if they’d ever go back there.
“Sanji!”
The cook placed the latest cigarette between their lips at their captain’s, predictable cries.
“Food!” Luffy demanded as Sanji was already on their way to the kitchen.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sanji mumbled, “settle down.”
Sanji passed Nami and Robin, lounging together on the sunbeds, watching the rest of the crew dance like idiots on the lawn. Except for Chopper and Zoro. Sanji’s heart fluttered, an offer to get them something balanced on their lips. They smacked their lips together, disappearing into the kitchen to prepare the crew’s traditional feast.
~*~
Zoro’s brow twitched. Fuck, his throat was dry. He squeezed his eye shut, faintly hearing Luffy’s cries from above deck along with Usopp’s stamping feet.
“Fuck...” he mumbled. He shifted onto his elbows, his rolling his stiff shoulders back. He sniffed. There was definitely beer. And not the cheap shit the cook normally poured him.
Zoro’s eye opened. A mug of beer was being pushed towards him. Without a word, he snatched it up. As he downed it, he saw a soft, beautiful hand lingering. Fingers tapping on the floor as if wanting to interfere.
“I can lift a mug, cook,” Zoro mumbled around the drink. Sanji didn’t question it. When one could talk with a sword in one’s mouth, other things followed. He only stopped when the mug was empty, wiping his mouth with his arm. “What are you doing down here.”
Sanji clicked their tongue. Zoro finally looked. Sanji was sat beside him, wearing a black suit, although the pink tie had been loosened. The jacket was on the grown besides them, sleeves rolled up to elbows.
“I just...” Sanji rolled their eyes. “Thought you might be hungry.” They nudged a plate of food towards Zoro.
“Oh... Great.” Zoro took the plate, wincing a little as the stiches on his forehead pulled. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sanji twitch.
Zoro expected the chef to storm back upstairs, probably yelling after him to not be a pig and to take his plate back upstairs when he was done. Sanji continued to sit beside him, knees drawn up with arms wrapped around them. Zoro frowned. He picked up a piece of meat with his fingers, gravy dripping onto the plate. Sanji’s eyes rolled. Zoro shoved the meat into his mouth. Sanji stayed silent.
He tried a few more pieces, crumbs rolling onto his blankets before finally spitting out: “What’s up with you, shit cook?”
Sanji’s head fell forward, blonde bangs covering the whole of their face. They ran their fingers through their hair, letting out a long breath.
The soft, beautiful hand reached out. Gently, fingertips brushed over Zoro’s bandaged forehead.
“Does it hurt?” Sanji asked.
“Nah,” Zoro said. He clutched his plate. If he wasn’t still holding it, he would have shoved the hand away. But he was hungry and the cook was right about it being wrong to waste food. “It’s just a scratch.”
“‘A scratch,’” Sanji mimicked back at him, their voice screechy. They shook their head, their thumb rubbing small circles into Zoro’s head. “Yeah, maybe it was a scratch. Not that it looked like one!”
“Chopper said-”
“Yeah, yeah, Chopper said head wounds bleed a lot. Doesn’t say much for dumbass swordsmen who bleed a lot in general.” Sanji lifted their head. Blonde hair fell aside to reveal shining blue eyes. “A scratch... Maybe... But, with just a little more force... A sharper blade.”
Zoro sat still, the edge of his plate pressed against his stomach. A small, croaked whimper passed between them. It could have just been a random noise from the ship, the oceans, the waves and the Sunny brushing together in a certain way. This time, Zoro chose not to believe that.
“But it didn’t,” Zoro mumbled.
“Oh, come on!” Sanji hissed. “Even dumb swordsmen need their brains. You must know-”
Sanji stopped, the sentence ending abruptly as if it had slammed into a brick wall. There was a loud sniff, the cook wiping their damp eyes with their palm. They reached into their jacket to grab their handkerchief. Not quickly enough to catch the tear that rolled down their cheek.
“What the hell, cook?” Zoro meant to say it with a scoff. For some reason his voice had gotten small too.
They sat besides one another, their crew still dancing above them. Their eyes meeting in the dim light of the lanterns.
“Marimo...” Sanji whispered. “... Zoro... I ...” They paused, taking a deeper breath than they’d taken all day. “I don’t want you to die.”
Zoro snorted. “I’m not going to die! I’m not soft like some fancy-ass cooks.”
“Could you shut up for ten seconds!” Sanji hissed.
Zoro opened his mouth. Then closed in again. He waited for ten seconds, Sanji still staring at the ceiling.
“Well?”
“Well indeed.” They reached under their jacket, pulling out a small, silver flask. They poured a small measure of rum in Zoro’s empty mug, before taking a swig themselves.
“I thought only barbarians did that.”
“Sometimes we need to be barbarians,” Sanji said. They stared at their polished shoes, taping the edge of the flask.
“Cook, what do you want?”
Sanji nodded. They’d expected bluntness. Hoped for it in fact. They could shuffle here below deck, stumbling through their words until Luffy cried for more meet. Or they could get on with things.
“I was scared.”
The words hung between them, finally out in the open. Sanji’s heart still felt pressure, as if a giant was stepping down on their chest. But the tight feeling in their gut loosened slightly.
“What was there to be scared about, dumbass?” Zoro scoffed, leaning back.
“I just said!” Sanji snapped back. “You could have... You were almost beheaded.”
“Was not.”
“Hey!”
Warmth wrapped around Zoro’s wrist. He looked down. That perfect, beautiful hand was holding onto him. His cheeks prickled, warmth trickling through him from the back of his neck.
“Cook...”
“Look, I know you don’t give a damn about me.”
“That’s not true.” The words came quicker than Zoro could think them. Not that he would take them back. He winced, finally putting his plate aside, brushing at the dried gravy stuck to his chest. “We’re crewmates, yeah?”
Sanji shuffled back, their hand loosening. “Nothing more than that?”
The warm feeling flickered within Zoro, rage bubbling up from underneath it.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He said, trying not to say things too forcefully. “You broke ‘us’ up.” He pulled his wrist away, finally noticing the rum in his tankard, downing it in one shot.
Sanji bit down on the metal of the flask.
“I thought there wasn’t an ‘us’ to break up,” Sanji admitted.
“Oh, well, whatever,” Zoro came back with immediately. “Whatever we were, you were the one who said you didn’t want to do it anymore.”
“I did,” Sanji admitted.
Sanji had read countless books about life on the ocean. At The Baratie there weren’t exactly story books or anything for children. They would never bother Zeff for something like that anyway; they were there to learn and become a chef. The others had books though. Books about recipes with few ingredients, about the fantastical sea creatures they had spotted on their travels, and books about the countless rules that came with ship life. They had mentioned how men liked women, like he did, it was the way of the world. However, on ships, it was completely normal for two men to share beds. And do certain things to make the voyages more bearable.
So, when Sanji had slept right up next to Zoro in the Arabasta desert to keep warm that was all they thought it was. Like when it had happened the second time, the third time and the fourth. And when hands started to roam. Even when, just once, lips had gentle brushed against each other during a heated session.
“I won’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not,” Sanji admitted. Zoro didn’t flinch. Sanji picked up their handkerchief, blew their nose, wiped their eyes and looked at Zoro. Finally, sitting up straight, hair patted back into place.
The corners of Zoro’s mouth curled into a smile.
“When I told you I wanted to stop, it wasn’t because of anything you did.”
“Didn’t think it was. We hadn’t seen each other in two years.”
“Yeah, fair enough,” Sanji shrugged. “I just... It wasn’t because I didn’t care.”
Zoro didn’t dare move. His head throbbed beneath his bandages.
“Marimo,” Sanji shifted to sit on their knees. Part of them had been ready to call Chopper at a moments notice. Now they didn’t think they could stop, even if a sea king bit the ship in half. “I like women.”
“Yeah, I know you stupid, Cook. That wasn’t ever questioned!”
“Would you let me finish, asshole!” Sanji poked Zoro’s forearm with his toe. “Yes, I adore women. Of course I do. Men are sweaty, disgusting pigs. Women are heavenly angels. They smell of flowers and fresh ocean breeze. Their hair is silky, wonderful and-”
“Get to the point, shit cook.”
“Shut up!”
Zoro bit the inside of his cheek at the pouty look on Sanji’s face. He knew if he wasn’t injured, he would be flying through the ceiling onto the deck by now.
“My point is,” Sanji said snarkily, “that my whole life, I’ve only liked women. Then... There was you.”
“You are freaking out now because we used to fool around?”
“Shut the fuck up, Zoro.” Sanji reached out, his precisely cut fingernail pressing against the side of Zoro’s thumb. “You were an exception. And a weird, dumb exception. Like, if I had to be with a man, the last man I was going to chose would be some neanderthal who never showers and things toothpaste is a waste of money!”
“Better than a priss who’s hair products take up half his locker.” Zoro almost continued, but a wince from Sanji made him stop.
Sanji’s words finally wrapped around his head. It was as if they were cradling the bandage, seeping in through his skin. Out of all the things he expected when they left the last island, a confession from the cook certainly wasn’t on his list!
That meant he would have to come up with an answer.
“So, why did you break things off?” Zoro asked, more to stall things than anything else. He didn’t expect to see the cook’s trembling start up again.
Sanji pressed the handkerchief to their lips, long lashes blinking, the fingers on that perfect hand curling around their nose.
“Because... I know you like men.” The words were filtered through the silk.
“Huh?”
Sanji didn’t repeat themself. They tried to meet the confused look in Zoro’s eye, but it was too much. They fumbled with their jacket, looking for their cigarettes.
“What the fuck are you on about, cook?” Zoro almost demanded. “Fucks sake, what the hell happened to you those past two years? Did you lose your mind?”
To his surprise, Sanji chuckled.
“Almost.” Sanji lit a cigarette, leaning back on their hands, legs outstretched in front of them. “Marimo...” Their eyes shut, small breaths coming in and out of their nose, as if they were counting backwards. “I’m not a man.”
“Huh?”
That wonderful, pretty, perfect hand edged across the floor, a little finger brushing against Zoro’s. Zoro took it, squeezing.
“What do you mean, cook?”
“Look, I’ve never told anyone before,” Sanji continued, “mostly because I’m still working out the logistics myself. I know that I...” Their other hand trembled, ash spilling down their wrist. “There are things I want to explore with this. I’m not sure where it’ll take me. And I’m not likely to dress much different. It isn’t about clothes, or anything like that. Or smells. It’s hard to explain what this is about. It’s just something in me. My head knows who I am. I just know that...” One more deep breath. “I am a woman.”
The two strawhats, feared pirates from across the word, sat together under the deck of the Sunny, the ocean still cradling them below. Zoro’s calloused thumb stroked the side of Sanji’s hand.
“Okay.”
Sanji’s brow creased. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Zoro nodded, “thank you for telling me. Do I need to know anything new? Any new names?”
“No,” Sanji said, “I’m happy to stay Sanji. As I said... I’m not sure what else about me will change. But I am a woman.”
“Yeah. I know. You said.” Zoro let go of her hand. He cupped her face, pulled her closer. The startled look in her eyes faded as their lips finally touched.
Zoro’s chapped lips moved against Sanji’s thin ones, his head slightly tilted, eye closed tight. A low hum vibrated through their first kiss. Sanji’s lips parted, allowing Zoro’s tongue tip to slip between them, flicking against hers. Those wonderful hands gripped his shoulders. Glitter burst from Sanji’s heart, flowing through them, filling every inch of her body in a warm glow.
“Marimo,” Sanji whispered against him, “are you sure... Well, are you sure?”
“Hey.” Zoro rested his forehead against hers, their eyes as close as they could possibly be. “I don’t ‘like men.’ Sure, it’s only really been men before you. But I don’t think like you do, cook. I like what I like. I like people who are strong, people who can hold their own. I care about what’s inside someone’s head not what they ‘look’ like.”
He took that perfect hand again and held it to his chest.
“When we met, I had almost lost everything. You told me to give up. I knew I couldn’t listen to you.” Zoro paused, wondering if Sanji would throw a quip at him. She stayed still, eyes on his. “You pushed me then to follow through. I knew I’d done the right thing. Then, when we were hunting on the way to Arabasta, I challenged you. Because I knew I needed you.
“Once, I had a friend. My need to be stronger than her made me stronger. It pushed me to be better. I knew I needed that again. And I knew you could be that.”
Their lips connected again. Zoro kissed her slowly, wrapping his strong arms around her as they laid down on the camp bed, sheltered within their home.
“Is that true?” Sanji asked. “You’ve been a dick to me all this time just so you could push yourself?”
“Yeah.” He kissed the top of her head. “And it worked.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I know.” He brushed her blond hair away from her eyes. “And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.” The pink that crossed her face was the most wonderful colour he’d ever seen.
“I’d have never said it,” she whispered. Her fingers ran through his green hair, trailing over the bandages. “I didn’t think it mattered. We had more important things to deal with than putting the crew through all of my bullshit. I figured I could hold on a little longer, until Luffy got everything he needed. But then...” Her fingers lingered about the wound. “I didn’t want to lose you. I could handle it if you didn’t want me. But I couldn’t handle the thought of you dying and not knowing who I was.”
They laid next to one another for a little while, hands softly stroking, eyes never breaking apart.
“Do you think... You could be careful?” Sanji dared whisper. “For me... Just sometimes.”
“I don’t need to be careful!”
Sanji raised her eyebrows, tugging lightly on the bandage.
“We’ll see, cook.”
“I’ll take that for now.”
Zoro entwined his fingers with Sanji’s. Those long, flawless, soft, perfect fingers. He’d never forgotten a single touch on his skin from them.
“So, we’ll give this a shot, right?”
Sanji giggled. She pecked his lips once. “Sure. A shot sounds good.”