Chapter Text
You’d think that fights to the death shouldn’t be boring.
Sanji paused where he stood next to the body of the pirate grunt he’d just kicked in the head. He wasn’t even sure what it was that had started this current brawl—he hadn't been around to see it—but, somewhere off in the distance, he could hear Luffy laughing through his fight with the enemy captain.
He wished that he’d thought to grab his suit jacket when he’d been called out of the galley. He could really use a smoke.
Observing the rest of the battlefield, Sanji could tell the enemy pirates were way in over their heads. He could spot at least three of them cowering in terror before a posturing Usopp, and the lovely Nami had started pilfering through the pockets of those already on the ground. In the distance, some explosions alerted him to Franky’s current location, and Brook’s Yohoho! rang out in response to whatever natural chaos followed.
Sanji could almost bring himself to feel remorse about all this, considering the obvious disparity in skill, but he just could not be bothered. They didn’t exactly seem like the most pleasant bunch to begin with.
To his left, a new pirate started towards him. Sanji hadn’t taken note of him waiting on the sidelines, but he was taller and carried himself with a mite more confidence than the other members of his crew. He stopped about ten paces away and gave Sanji a once over, face drawn up in a condescending sneer.
“So, you’re Blackleg, eh? I must say, I expected something a bit more impressive, based on the papers.”
“Tell that to your crewmates,” Sanji gestured lazily over to the people on the ground who he’d already fought.
“Who, them?” The man laughed, reaching for the hilt of the cutlass at his waist and drawing it out. “They’ve always been weak. They don’t have the discipline that I do.”
This guy sure liked to posture, huh? Lunch prep would be late at this rate.
It’d be good to end this fight quickly.
Putting his hands in his pockets, Sanji suddenly leapt forward, keeping his eye on the blade. When his left foot hit the ground, he immediately spun down into a crouch before launching himself towards the man sideways, extending his leg out with force.
Sanji expected the man to try and block him with his blade, considering his sorry excuse for a swordsman’s stance, but he was surprised to see the man just thrust out his hand instead.
The moment Sanji’s shoe made contact with the man’s palm, the man disappeared completely with a sharp fwish.
Still flying forwards, the pirate was suddenly behind him, hand grabbing onto his shirt collar. With a constricting pressure at his neck and a stinging sensation drawing a line down his arm, Sanji’s body swung upwards, hanging in the air uncomfortably. The pirate kept his hold on his shirt, slowly pulling his cutlass’ blade away from Sanji’s skin.
Sanji snarled and prepared to kick back at the man, but he was dropped before he could do any damage.
He landed on the ground in a less-than-graceful crouch before straightening and scrambling back.
“Didn’t expect that, did you, straw hat pirate?” The man laughed, stepping over some of his downed crew members. “I’m the one who ate the blip-blip fruit. When I touch an object, I can teleport to any space around it, as long as I am able to still maintain contact. Don’t disregard me as part of this useless cannon fodder!”
The man, apparently a power holder, monologued obnoxiously as Sanji stumbled back. He clutched at his forearm, glancing at it to find a long cut running down the limb with precision. There was blood seeping through his shirt, and Sanji felt a slight sense of vertigo when he noticed the cut made it down to the back of his hand.
Oh, he was pissed now. He kicked the ground once, twice. Flames licked up the side of his leg as he fully focused on the other pirate.
He saw surprise creep onto the man’s face when Sanji advanced towards him again, this time with genuine intent. Frankly, he was disappointed that this fight had taken him more than one attack—with one of his arms (his hand) having been damaged to boot.
“Diable Jambe!” Sanji shouted, noting with some amount of satisfaction that the man didn’t know how to react. At least this time he didn’t reach out with his hand for fear of being burned, and instead held up his cutlass, which Sanji easily dislodged with a small kick.
Amateur.
There was a satisfying crunch as his flaming dress shoe collided with the pirate’s jaw. The man got knocked back into the terrain, where he fell, crumpled and unmoving.
Sanji scoffed from above the form of the pirate, giving the ground one last aggravated kick to dispel the rest of his flames. He heard some cut off shouts from behind him, but he didn’t have to turn around to tell that it was just their resident houseplant finally showing his face.
This really wasn’t Sanji’s morning.
“Did you get lost on your way to the battlefield, shitty swordsman? Where the hell have you been?”
“Oi! I’ve killed more of these guys than you, third-rate cook!” Sanji could feel Zoro stomp up closer behind him.
The cut on his arm bled sluggishly as Sanji shifted his weight. He tried not to think about how the slice edged its way onto his hand. It won’t impact my ability to cook. He still felt a bit messed up.
The area around them was starting to calm down, with most of the enemy pirates either slumped on the ground or trying to drag themselves away. The beautiful Nico Robin was coming over one of the round hills of the island, Chopper in tow. Sanji was just about to call out a greeting to her when the dumb marimo decided to open up his big mouth.
“What the hell happened to your hand?”
Sanji turned his head to glare over his shoulder at his still-battle-ready crewmate. “None of your business, moron.”
He reached up with his non-damaged left arm to adjust the collar of his shirt, struggling slightly to right it after that man had messed it up so badly. He refused to look a mess because of this measly dispute. Though, with the way his sleeve was now torn and blood-stained, that might’ve been a losing battle.
Zoro paused, taking in what damage he could see with an intense look in his eyes, and glanced over at the downed swordsman. The bloodied cutlass laid a short distance from his hand. Zoro turned back with a put-off expression.
Sanji could feel his face heat up with some amount of humiliation. “What!? What are you looking at, idiot moss?”
He wished that it were anyone else. This had been a low moment for him.
“You’ve really lost your touch, cook, if these uncoordinated assholes got one over on you,” Zoro snarked. He seemed, vaguely, more pissed off than usual. For some fucking reason.
Sanji bristled. “Fuck off!” he screeched, ”He had a devil fruit! Was I supposed to just know that off the cuff?”
“Hm. Sounds like an excuse to me.” Zoro breathed out harshly, although the curve of his mouth edged up towards smugness, his canines flashing. He stepped forward, and took Wado out of his mouth. “I bet I could have gotten him without any,” he looked pointedly at the blood dripping from Sanji’s fingers, “issues.”
Sanji stomped his foot once as he finished turning around, effectively riled. “And I would take that bet, idiot! I probably would have had to come to your rescue!”
“Hah?” Zoro dropped his smile at that and trudged over towards Sanji, stepping past the enemy pirates that he’d downed.
Sanji grumbled and readied himself for another fight. At least this one will have been gratifying. But, to his surprise, Zoro didn’t bring Wado back up to his mouth. Instead, as he neared Sanji, he sheathed all of his swords, and Sanji was left with his leg hanging uselessly in the air.
Sanji’s face stalled a bit when Zoro reached for his damaged arm. He breathed, irritated, “What are you doing.”
The mosshead didn’t answer; he just lightly picked up the frayed edge of Sanji’s sleeve and hunched over to peek inside at the wound. He just stared at it for a second. Sanji didn’t flinch. He kind of still wanted to kick him.
“Hey, you big oaf, what the hell—”
His voice cut out entirely when Zoro grabbed at his wrist, lifting it slowly, almost gently, up towards his face. Sanji could feel the callouses from his swords and his absurd training regiment, but Zoro was lacking the blunt assuredness he usually moved with. Gone was the slam of a tankard on the table, or the purposeful shoulder check that was sure to unbalance him if they passed each other in a doorway. Zoro turned his hand over with grace, the placement of his fingers firm, but with only the force required to move him.
“It’s kind of deep. You should get Chopper to check it.”
“I… what? You’re being weird. It’s not that bad.” Sanji’s first instinct was to be offended. Was this some kind of strange, backwards insult? Implying that he was weak because he’d gotten injured in a nothing fight like this?
Zoro’s thumb was steady against the knob of his wrist. His fingers wrapped around the underside of his palm, index on the pulse point. He was still hunched over, face close enough to the open slice that Sanji could almost feel the sting of his breath. They painted an odd picture—a parody to the illustrations in the storybooks he’d read as a child. Zoro was in no way Sanji’s knight in shining fucking armor, but. Well.
Zoro lowered the hold on his wrist and stood his full height to reach eye level, but neither of them moved further. They made eye contact. “It’s just deep, is all. You’re always goin’ on and on about not fighting with your hands or arms or whatever. It seems important enough.”
Zoro was still holding his goddamned bloody hand.
Sanji wasn’t sure what his face was doing anymore. “...I’ll check in with him later.”
There was an awkward beat where Zoro sort-of-glared at him and Sanji refused to admit defeat and pull away. Zoro, seemingly having a moment of clarity, dropped Sanji’s hand and took a step back, about as sheepish as Sanji had ever seen him manage. Sanji’s blood was on his hands, but he didn’t really seem all that bothered by it. Sanji supposed his blood was on his own hands too, right now.
The battle around them had settled, with more of the crew now coming over the hills. Sanji could still hear Luffy laughing, if he listened for it. He lifted his injured hand up to cradle it in his other palm and started slowly back towards the Sunny. He really could use that smoke.
“You’re disgusting.” Sanji felt something like a smile trying to pull at the corners of his mouth.
“Hah?! Hey, you bastard cook, what did you say?!”
He could hear the grin that was hiding in his voice.
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True to his word, Sanji did go to see their reindeer doctor once everyone got their lunch. Chopper cried and yelled at him about why Sanji didn’t go to see him immediately after the fight, as was the little guy’s right, but he got in gear before the tears even had the time to dry.
He cleaned and wrapped the wound neatly, with all the care in the world.
Sanji caught everyone eyeing his bandaged hand with concern for the following few days, but it ended up being alright. He wasn’t even that upset when it managed to scar. He could still cook.