Chapter Text
It had started with an apple.
It was an innocuous enough thing, one of many that had arrived with the Baratie’s latest restock shipment, three whole crates of them because Zeff was trialling a new apple pie on their dessert menu, fist sized and shiny red.
Sanji had swiped it from Patty as he had passed through to the pantry with the crates and tucked it into his pocket.
In case I get hungry late r, he had thought as he did it. It was the early days of the restaurant then, less than a year out from the rock and hunger still scared Sanji more than any childhood ghost story or the long list of things other kids his age where afraid of.
(For that first year it even scared him more than the thought of anyone finding out who he really was, of being dragged back to Germa.)
By the end of the day later hadn’t come and the apple remained untouched but the same what if that had lurked in the back of his mind for months lingered, the little staticky noise that told him every meal might be his last, to keep every last morsel just in case.
And so that’s what Sanji did; he kept the apple, kept it wrapped in a scrap of newspaper and stowed under his bed in the little room barely bigger than a cupboard that he had to himself.
(There were often complaints from the staff about that room, about the fact that Sanji didn’t have to share like everyone else. Zeff’s response was always that no one in their right mind would make an 11-year-old bunk with a staff full of ex-cons and pirates, not if they wanted him to turn out an even halfway decent man.)
The apple wasn’t alone for very long.
The static in Sanji’s head never waned completely, relentless in its whispering and over the coming weeks he had swiped more and more from the kitchens. No real thought was put into what he took and eventually the apple was surrounded by handfuls of other fruit, loaves of bread, assorted vegetables and so on, all stowed together in a broken crate that Sanji had rescued from being thrown out.
On the days when the static grew too loud to ignore or the nights when Sanji would jerk awake from a nightmare about those days on the rock, he would pull the crate out and run his hands over its contents, the act dulling the static and making sleep come that bit easier.
The apple went bad first.
It was an unsurprising turn of events. It had been there the longest after all but with the apple went everything else and soon Sanji’s carefully collated stash was a mess of mould and rot.
He’d been in the middle of attempting to salvage what he could when Zeff had swung the door to his room open, knelt on the floor by the crate, sifting through its contents with panic bubbling under his skin because it was all useless now.
Sanji remembered the fear that had shot through him most vividly, the way his head had snapped around to stare, wide-eyed at Zeff. He remembered the way he’d frozen, and his hands had started shaking as he waited for the inevitable; the yelling, the outrage, because Zeff was sure to be furious at the waste of food if not the stealing.
But to Sanji’s surprise he didn’t.
Instead Zeff had scoffed and shook his head, asked Sanji “No one ever teach you rations should be non-perishable food, brat?” with no trace of the anger Sanji’s jack-rabbiting heart had expected and knelt – slowly, with a grimace of pain flashing across his face – beside Sanji on the floor.
Zeff’s eyes had proceeded to scan Sanji’s meagre excuse of a stash. “This mess wouldn’t be of any use in an emergency.”
And that was that. Zeff had instructed Sanji to clear away the rotten food and when he had finished and returned to his room laid out on the floor was an assortment of basic non-perishables, mostly dried meat and fruits.
(Only when he got older had it clicked in Sanji’s head that essentially none of the items Zeff had given him were served in the Baratie’s dining room and therefore would not have been available in its kitchen. Of course Zeff wasn’t fazed by Sanji’s lacklustre attempt at an emergency stash when he almost certainly had one of his own.)
Zeff had talked him through each item before stacking them neatly into the crate which was then restowed under Sanji’s bed. Afterwards he had stood, ruffled Sanji’s hair – ignoring the indignant squawk it drew out of him – and left the room with a simple nod and reminder that Sanji had to be up earlier than usual the next day to help with the restock.
They never talked about the stash again but over time the static quieted to a tinny whisper that was easily silenced by a look over the crates contents.
Sanji couldn’t recall when he’d started the stash on The Going Merry, not exactly; he only knew that it hadn’t been long after he’d joined the crew, somewhere between Loguetown and the Grand Line. Old habits, – and fears – it seemed, died hard.
Because the feeling of hunger - of true, aching hunger - had never really left him. It had settled somewhere beneath his skin, made a home in the pit of his stomach and even now, nine years removed, he could still feel it, that bone deep, stubborn feeling of emptiness that refused to be shaken off.
Usopp had once asked Sanji, nervousness more acute than usual lacing the sniper’s voice, what would happen to the crew if they ever got stranded, how long their stores of food would last, how long it took to starve.
isn’t something you ever have to worry about whilst I’m around, he had said.
I would starve myself to death and let you scavenge my remains before I ever let you suffer that fate, he had thought.
He had meant it.
The stash wasn’t exactly masterfully hidden, tucked as it was beneath a floorboard in the galley that had come loose when a crate had landed on it during a storm, easy enough to find if one were looking for it but who on the crew would be looking? Luffy wasn’t allowed in the galley outside of mealtimes without Sanji’s supervision, Zoro was only ever in there to make avail of the bench for one of his many naps, and Usopp and Nami the table for his tinkering and her map making.
No, the galley was his domain, and he was free to do with it what he liked and so his stash remained hidden beneath the crew’s feet, packages of dried meat and hardtack, dehydrated fruit and bags of nuts, all safely stowed ready for the day where they were needed, or for, more often, the bad days, when Sanji’s mind and memories were at their worst and – just like back then – he needed the reassurance.
Today was one of those bad days.
Often, it felt like in Sanji’s mind hung a pendulum, one that swung between memories of a dank dungeon and a barren rock, aching bruises and gnawing hunger, between cruel, echoing laughter and the eerie silence of the sea. Back and forth it swung, back and forth, over and over again.
The pendulum had been favouring the rock recently and today Sanji woke gasping, heart pounding, with a gnawing hole in his stomach, the memory of sun scorching his skin and static roaring in his head.
“Shit,” he muttered, dragging a still shaking hand down his face. A quick glance around the room showed that Luffy, Usopp and Zoro were all still asleep which was a small mercy.
(Sanji was constantly worried that he would wake one of them with the sound of the panic that so often dragged him from sleep. It was not an interaction he ever wanted to have.)
He knew there was no point trying to go back to sleep - he never could after a nightmare - so he slipped gently from his hammock and dressed as quietly as he could, conscious of not disturbing his sleeping crewmates.
Once dressed Sanji stepped out of the boy’s room, easing the door closed gently behind him. He stayed there for a few seconds, just breathing deeply and listening to the quiet sounds of the early morning; the gentle lap of waves against Merry’s hull, the distant screech of a seagull and the barely audible sound of Nami’s movement in the crow’s nest where she was on second watch.
The sun was just starting to redden the horizon, just about early enough to begin prepping breakfast Sanji reckoned, or at the very least something for Nami when she came down from watch. Decided, he made his way across the deck to the galley, already turning ideas for breakfast over in his mind.
His mind which was still full of static. Sanji shook his head, a futile attempt to dissipate it, to rid himself of the echoing what if what if what if that had been ringing like a bell since he had woken. He should have stopped for a smoke.
As he shouldered the door of the galley open and stepped inside Sanji’s path took him over the loose floorboard. The creaking sound it made as he put his weight on it almost seemed to echo around the empty room and Sanji let out a huff of breath through his nose.
He hadn’t intended to check on his stash, wanted more than anything to lose himself in the familiar rhythm of preparing the crews breakfast but the static was so loud, and Sanji could already tell it wasn’t waning anytime soon, could tell that cooking wasn’t going to cut it.
“Fine,” he muttered to the empty room, spinning on his heel and kneeling in one fluid motion, easing the lose plank with ease. He cast his gaze over the carefully organised stacks of food, counting each item and willing his head to clear.
Look,, he told his traitorous brain. There’s plenty, enough to last us weeks if we’re careful. Now would you please shut up.
Positioned as he was, only halfway facing the galleys door, he didn’t see the movement of someone approaching until the door was swung open and Nami’s serene voice filled the room, calling out a good morning.
(Why did it have to be Nami? He would have taken Zoro walking in over Nami. He couldn’t lie to her and certainly couldn’t bear the thought of her being angry with him.)
The clatter of the plank of wood when it slipped from his hands was as loud as a gunshot to Sanji’s ears. His breath left him in a rush, and he froze now as he had then, froze like a child caught in the act of misbehaving and the seconds seemed to drag on for an eternity, every beat of the heart that was now slamming against his ribcage an age.
He didn’t know what to do or what to say so he didn’t do or say anything. He simply held his breath and waited, waited for the shock, the outrage, the anger, because if anyone was going to be angry, deserved to be angry, it was Nami. Sanji had been lying to her the most after all, lying about how much money he needed to restock, lying about what he’d spent the money, her money, on, lying so that his stash, the stash that was now laying exposed so damningly between them, was always full, always ready. But the yelling he expected, just like then, never came.
Instead Nami had fallen as silent and still as he had, the only movement her keen eyes flitting over the scene in front of her. Sanji could have pleaded innocence, made up some flimsy excuse or reason but Nami was too smart to believe any half-baked explanation he could stumble through and the way he had dropped the plank like it burned when she had entered the galley too telling of wrongdoing, so he stayed, half crouched and mute, waiting.
(When he thought about it later, really thought about it, Sanji couldn’t say what had made him so afraid, couldn’t verbalise why the thought of his stash being discovered was so terrifying, why he expected anger and outrage like he had when he was a kid. Even then that fear was irrational. Maybe it was the fear of judgement. Maybe it was just the thought of being known.)
Eventually those eyes found Sanji’s and when they did Sanji saw in them something he had not been expecting: recognition.
The expression quickly spread to the rest of Nami’s face, and she took one hesitant step into the kitchen. Sanji still didn’t move.
It was Nami who broke the suffocating silence. “I haven’t seen those rations before.”
Sanji looked down at the stash, then back up at her. “I- no.”
“It isn’t our main stash.” Not a question but rather a statement of fact.
“No.”
Silence fell again but it only lasted a beat before Nami spoke once more. “Come with me.”
Sanji hadn’t been expecting that. He shook himself, found it in him to say anything other than no. “You know it pains me to refuse you, my dear, but I have to get started on breakfa-”
“Sanji.” There was no room for argument in Nami’s tone and Sanji snapped his mouth shut, swallowing his protests.
“Okay,” he said instead, rising to his feet and gesturing to the door. “Ladies first.” His smile was strained, he knew. He was never good at hiding it.
He stayed a step behind Nami as he followed her wordlessly across the deck and into her room, choosing to stop by the door as they entered whilst Nami continued to the far corner.
Nami turned back to face Sanji and seemed surprised to not find him beside her. “I don’t bite,” she said, with a small smile that was a mix of fondness and something else he couldn’t fully place. Exasperation maybe. “Come here,” she continued, with a slight jerk of her head and who was Sanji to refuse her. He made his away across the room to stand beside her.
When he reached her side Nami knelt, moving to grab for the handles one of the many cupboards that lined the walls of her room. The one she opened was small, right in the corner and Sanji was sure he had never seen it opened before, had probably never even registered its existence until now.
From where he was stood the only contents of the cupboard Sanji could see was a small, ornate wooden box. It reminded him of the ones Nami used to store her jewellery in. Maybe it was.
The sound the box made as Nami lifted it was distinct, unmistakable: the clink of coins knocking against each other.
“That isn’t where you keep the money.” Not a question but a statement because Sanji knew it was true. His being allowed in Nami’s room wasn’t a common occurrence, but he was granted entrance more often than the other boys. It was because he had manners, Nami said, and wouldn’t leave the place a mess, plus he knocked. Sanji was allowed to bring her tea and snacks, and sometimes they would sit together, talking into the night. Because of this he knew that the ships finances were kept in a locked box in a cabinet under the window against the back wall
“No, it’s not.” Nami didn’t look at him when she replied but she did open the box, shifting it slightly so Sanji could see its contents better and sure enough it was full of beri. “It’s not much,” Nami went on softly, “A couple thousand or so, just about enough to get us by. In an emergency.”
Sanji hadn’t talked much to Nami about the events of Arlong Park or her past there, knew from personal experience that the last thing she needed was to be reminded of the worst years of her life when she had only just laid them to rest.
(He thought about it though, couldn’t help himself, not when it was all so achingly familiar; replace chains in a map room with a helmet in a cell, a vindictive fishman with a resentful father and the same sinking, hopeless feeling of being trapped.)
As he looked Sanji thought of what Nojiko had told them, thought of the mother who would still be alive and of how different Nami’s life would have been if only they’d had just that bit more money when it was needed.
In an emergency.
Money, food; there wasn’t much difference really, not when your life was on the line, not when the difference between having and lacking was the difference between life and death.
“No one else knows about it and I don’t want to ever need it,” Nami continued. “But it helps. On bad days it- helps, to know it’s there.”
She turned her head up to meet Sanji’s gaze and flashed a weak smile. “Small comforts, right?”
Sanji opened his mouth, closed it again, blinked back the tears he could feel welling in his eyes.
(He was right to have been scared. It was terrifying, being so wholly known.)
He didn’t trust himself to speak, was worried the barely holding dam of his emotions would break completely if he did, so he settled for a shaky nod.
Nami’s face softened impossibly more, and she stood, snapping the lid of the box closed and replacing it in its spot as she did. She took Sanji’s hand, gave it a single squeeze and tugged him to sit next to her on the bed.
Sanji found his voice then, swallowing roughly. “Thank you,” he whispered simply, squeezing her hand back.
Nami smiled again – God, he really would do anything for that smile – and dropped her head down to rest on his shoulder. “Anytime,” she whispered back.