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Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sanji wishes longingly for a cigarette before reminding himself that he’s seriously trying to quit this time. He therefore waits another beat and lets his hand fall back down.
“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath and locking eyes with his young son. “Let’s try this again.”
Sora gazes inquisitively back at him with the kind of innocence only a fourteen month old can muster. Next to him, and looking decidedly less innocent, Zoro squirms in his seat.
“C - ” he starts, only to immediately reverse course in the wake of Sanji’s pointed glare. “I’m not sure this is the best way to deal with this.”
“It’s definitely not,” Zeff pipes up from where he’s sitting off to the side. He’d tried to avoid this little family gathering under the tenuous guise of ‘wanting absolutely nothing to do with your marital problems, Eggplant, fucking hell’, but Sanji had bullied him into the room as surely as he had everyone else. Hence why he’s now planted in a slightly larger chair than Zoro’s, looking far more sullen than a man of seventy-seven should be capable of doing.
Sanji holds his father’s gaze for a moment longer. “The peanut gallery will be silent unless spoken to,” he says sternly. He turns away with a huff when Zeff rolls his eyes, but nevertheless feels like he’s made his point.
Settling, he smoothes out his expression and gives Sora a look that’s far gentler than either of the ones he’d given their companions. “Hi there, darling,” he says, leaning forward slightly and resting his hands on his thighs. “Are you having a good day?”
Sora babbles something that appears to be an affirmative, and Sanji’s smile becomes more genuine. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says, nodding. “After all, the best baby in the world deserves only the best days.”
“However,” he adds, bravely soldiering on, “I’m hoping you can do something for me. We’re going to play a little game, okay? Does that sound fun?”
Sora cocks his head to the side, one hand fisted around his beloved stuffed tiger. He’d been playing with it in his playpen when Sanji had tracked everyone down, and had been adamant about its coming along.
Sanji now flicks his gaze over to its beady little eyes, mildly irked to discover that today its stare seems kind of judgemental. He quickly tells himself he’s imagining things, and instead points a finger at Zoro.
“Sora,” he says, waiting until he’s sure he has the baby’s full attention. “Who’s this?”
Seated in a high chair, Sora has no difficulty in twisting around to follow Sanji’s finger. His mouth turns up in a gaptoothed smile, and he waves the tiger for emphasis. “Dada!”
“That’s right!” Sanji croons, while Zoro somehow manages to look a combination of pleased and nervous. “What a smart boy you are.”
“Alright, now, let’s do another one,” Sanji suggests, already shifting to gesture at Zeff. “Who’s this?”
“Someone who’d truly rather be anywhere else,” Zeff mutters. At the same time, Sora exclaims, “Grumpa!”
“Close enough,” Sanji decides. “And frankly more accurate.”
Zeff’s expression suggests that infanticide is not off the table in Sanji’s personal case, never mind the fact that he’s in his thirties. Undeterred, Sanji ignores him.
Aloud he says, “Okay, baby, you’re two for two at this point. Let’s go for the full set, shall we?” Bracing himself, he makes sure that he’s firmly in Sora’s line of sight, and then points at his own face. “Who’s this?”
Sora’s eyes narrow in a rictus of scrutiny. His tiny brow furrows, and he bangs his tiger against the arm of his chair, swinging the toy back and forth by its tail until his expression clears.
He takes a deep breath, smiles, and points at Sanji in return.
“Curls!”
The temperature in the room seems to drop. There’s no sound but that of Sora’s happy giggles, and a soft thumping noise as he drums his heels against the edge of his chair. Beside him, Zoro somehow hunches even further in his own seat.
Sanji scowls at him. “If you twist up anymore you’re going to wind up on the floor,” he sneers.
Zoro holds up his arms defensively while still trying to turtle. “I’m presenting a smaller target!”
“Boy, you could be microscopic at this point and it wouldn’t matter,” Zeff says. “He’s going to wallop you from one end of the ship to the other. And you’re going to deserve it.”
“What did I say about the peanut gallery?” Sanji snaps. He holds Zeff’s gaze for a few fraught seconds before whirling back to Zoro. “Having said that, he’s not wrong! Exactly why is my baby referring to me by your stupid nickname?”
Zoro frowns. “How come he’s only your baby when I do something you don’t like? Also, it’s not my fault!” He adds when Sanji’s right heel starts smoking. “I didn’t do it on purpose! Hell, I didn’t even realize I’d done it at all.”
“Don’t swear in front of the baby,” Sanji and Zeff say in identical indignant tones.
Father and son share matching looks before Sanji turns his attention back to the disaster at hand. “Sora, sweetness,” he says, clasping his hands together in front of himself and giving his son a pleading look. “Where’s Papa? Can you tell me where Papa is?”
Sora takes a long moment to ponder this request. “No,” he decides, and shoves one of the tiger’s ears in his mouth.
Sanji makes a noise like a dying foghorn that almost, but doesn’t quite, drowns out Zoro’s snicker. He shoots a furious glare in his partner’s direction, which at least cuts the noise off straight away. “Think something’s funny, do you?”
“Uh, no,” says the World’s Greatest Swordsman. Or, as Sanji often likes to think of him, the World’s Greatest Pain In His Ass.
“Good,” he says curtly. “Because, however this has happened, we need to find a way to fix it, and fix it fast. I refuse to go through life with my only child calling me by some terrible nickname. Is that understood?”
Looking resigned, both Zeff and Zoro nod.
*****
“I just want to say, I really didn’t do this on purpose.”
Sanji makes a point of silently reading the last paragraph before turning the page in his book. He likewise doesn’t bother looking up from where he’s firmly settled into a nest of pillows in their bed, wanting his air of studious nonchalance to get his point across.
He hears a sigh from the other side of the room. Quiet footsteps signal the fact that Zoro’s making his way over, and then the mattress dips as the swordsman sits down next to Sanji’s sulking spot.
“Curls.”
“An extremely ill-advised opener,” Sanji says, still without looking up. “Might I suggest you try again.”
Sagging further down onto the mattress, Zoro groans in a manner that’s far too overwrought for a man of age and status. “You’re making too big a deal of this,” he says, his words muffled by the bedding.
“Am I?” Sanji asks. “Because I strongly suspect that, if our positions were reversed, you wouldn’t be especially happy right now.”
“Please,” Zoro scoffs. “We both know I’d find it funny if he was doing this to me.”
“Maybe so,” Sanji allows, although he secretly has his doubts. “However, since it’s happening to me, the point is moot. My baby’s reduced me to a moronic nickname.”
“Our baby,” Zoro corrects with more grace than usual. “And he’s barely a year old. He’s probably just confused, is all, and he’ll get it right eventually.”
“He’s got you and Zeff right already,” Sanji notes icily, turning another page. “Why not me?”
Zoro shrugs, as if to say he has no idea. “It’ll sort itself out.”
“You don’t know that,” Sanji says, determined to wallow to the fullest. “He could call me this for the rest of my life and I can’t even be mad at him because he’s just a baby.”
“Well, he won’t always be a baby?” Zoro tries.
Sanji thumps him over the head with his book in retribution. “Bite your tongue,” he says sternly. “He will too always be a baby.”
“Uh huh,” Zoro says, rolling over onto his back. His single eye slitted to the point that only the merest sliver of grey is visible, he drums his fingers on his stomach and squints up at the ceiling. “I’ll stop saying it where he can hear,” he decides. “And we’ll make sure that everyone calls you Papa when he’s around.”
Sanji makes a face. “That last part sounds like we’d just be asking for trouble,” he says. “I don’t know how, but Patty, Carne, and the rest of the staff would find a way to fuck it up.”
“Probably,” Zoro hums, his mouth twisting upwards in a faint grin. “We’ll get it sorted, though. Sora’ll be calling you by the right name in no time.”
“I want him calling me by the right name now,” Sanji says, his scowl returning as he’s reminded of his earlier frustrations. “It’s not fair that you get it and I don’t.”
Well aware of how childish he sounds, he’s expecting Zoro to make fun of him. He’s therefore surprised when the other man twists around until he can prop himself up on one elbow and run his free hand soothingly over Sanji’s chest.
“I know,” he says, ducking his head briefly to press a kiss to Sanji’s bare shoulder. “It’s not. Do you want to teach him to call me something dumb so we’re even?”
Sanji stares at him for a long moment. “I refuse to feel charmed by that suggestion.”
“M’kay,” Zoro says, kissing the same spot a second time. “The offer’s there if you want it, though.”
Sanji sighs. “As noble a sacrifice as that may be, my darling Moss, it wouldn’t actually solve the problem and you know it. I spent years fighting for the name I’ve made for myself, and also years fighting to shake the one I didn’t want. Names are important.”
“They are,” Zoro agrees. “That’s one thing I’m not going to argue with you on. So, we just have to convince Sora of what the right one for you is.”
“How?” Sanji wonders. “I’ve always referred to myself as Papa around him. How come he’s getting it right for you and Zeff but not for me?”
“Kid’s got a quirky sense of humor,” Zoro points out. “Maybe he thinks it’s funny?”
Sanji glares at him. “If that’s true, he got it from you, and you and I are going to have words.”
Zoro rolls his eye. “We’re always having words,” he says, sounding unconcerned. “And then we always make up afterwards. You’re not actually going to kick me to the curb over this.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Sanji grumbles. “If there was ever anything that could make me permanently hold a grudge, this might be it.”
Once again feeling frustrated, he starts to shift away, only to have Zoro follow him.
“No, come on,” the swordsman says, shifting around until most of his torso is curled over Sanji. “We’re not leaving it like this. You’re upset and I don’t want that.”
“Of course you don’t,” Sanji snipes. “You don’t want me taking anything out on you.”
Ignoring his further attempts to squirm away, Zoro plants a kiss on his jaw, his cheek, and his temple in rapid succession. “What I don’t want,” he says firmly, “is you beating yourself up over this. I don’t want you thinking that you’ve screwed up somehow because our kid’s just a little confused.”
Able to hear the genuine concern in the other man’s voice, Sanji folds. Ceasing his bid for freedom, he instead sinks back into his pillows and lets Zoro keep nuzzling at the side of his face. “Fine,” he mumbles, “but I’m still mad at you.”
“I know,” Zoro replies. “But, hey, Sora’s down for the count, and we’ve got nowhere to be tomorrow.” He waggles his eyebrows in a way that Sanji again refuses to be charmed by. “Why don’t you let me start making it up to you?”
“Subtle,” Sanji says. “You’re the pinnacle of romance, you are.”
“I am when it comes to you,” Zoro says smugly, one hand already trailing towards the hem of Sanji’s pajama pants. “And you are really, really into it.”
Since he’s terrible at denying as such, Sanji makes a regal gesture that indicates the other man should continue. He watches as calloused fingers graze over the skin of his belly, his breath hitching in anticipation as they start to dip even further.
Then the baby monitor that had been handcrafted by Franky crackles to life from its spot on the nightstand. There’s a short burst of static, followed by Sora’s familiar gibberish.
Zoro’s hand freezes, and he and Sanji share a look. Neither of them says a word in the hope that, whatever’s woken their son, he’ll quickly put himself back to sleep without any trouble.
Seconds tick by, and for a moment it looks like they’re going to get lucky. Sora’s noises fade, with the monitor lying still for the better part of a minute. Eventually, Sanji’s just about to let out a sigh of relief when -
“Curls!”
The sharp, piping cry seems to echo around the room. Then it repeats itself, once, twice, three times, and eventually becomes a steady demand when Sora doesn’t receive an answer to his satisfaction. It’s clear that the baby is fully awake now, and he’s not going down again without help.
“Uhh,” Zoro says awkwardly, “I’m not sure, but I think he wants you.”
“No shit,” Sanji mutters as Sora’s mantra continues. “What the fuck gave you that idea?”
Zoro doesn’t answer, and Sanji briefly wages an internal war with himself. On the one hand, if he goes to Sora now he’s going to be adding further fuel to the fire that he’ll answer to the stupid nickname. On the other, he’s constitutionally incapable of telling the baby no when he wants him.
Groaning, he goes to roll out of bed.
*****
“Papa.”
“Curls!”
“Papa.”
“Curls!”
“Papa.”
“Curls!”
Sora beams at Sanji from where he’s planted in his lap, looking supremely pleased with himself when the cook makes a face at him.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Sanji tells the smiling baby, his shoulders sagging. “I’m sure of it at this point.”
Unbothered in the face of Sanji’s plight, Sora makes a grab for the tie he’s wearing loosely knotted around his neck and yanks as hard as he can once he’s got it. “Curls!” He shouts, the line of fabric protruding from his tiny fist. “Curls! Curls! Curls!”
“No, not Curls, Papa,” Sanji says sternly, reaching out to reclaim his tie. “And that is silk, darling. As much as I adore you, I’d rather you not be getting sticky fingerprints all over it. Also, if you could please stop choking me while we’re at it, that would be great.”
Displeased at the notion of his toy being taken away, Sora strains for the tie hard enough that he overbalances and winds up sprawled across Sanji’s chest. Making use of the momentary distraction, Sanji whips off the tie and tosses it towards his bed, where it manages to land draped across Zoro’s elbow.
Barely bothering to move, the swordsman cocks his head slightly to the side so that he can glance at his new accoutrement. “I don’t think it’s really my style,” he notes in a lazy drawl.
“Very funny,” Sanji mutters, half ignoring him. Sora’s moved on to pulling at the buttons of his dressshirt, and he’s slightly concerned he’s going to lose one.
“Absolutely not, my precocious little terror,” he says, pushing Sora’s hands away. “Those are definitely not for you because one) they are meant to stay attached to my shirt and two) you will immediately put one in your mouth if you do manage to pull it free. This is a choking free household.”
“Funny, that’s not what you - ”
“Moss!”
Now actively snickering, Zoro raises his hands in surrender. Doing so makes the tie drop down onto a pillow, but he’s quick to rescue it in the wake of Sanji’s pointed glare. “Well I thought it was funny.”
“It wasn’t funny to begin with but especially not in front of the baby,” Sanji hisses, belatedly covering Sora’s ears with his hands. “What’s the matter with you?”
Zoro shrugs and Sora giggles like he thinks they’re playing some kind of new game. Having to choose between the baby and his partner, Sanji focuses on the former and adjusts his hold on Sora’s wriggling form.
“Someone’s energetic tonight,” he says, barely flinching when one of Sora’s flailing hands smacks into his uncovered eye. “What’s got you so hyped up, hmm?”
Shifting to drop the tie onto their nightstand where it at least won’t get trampled on, Zoro sits the rest of the way up. “He thinks you’re playing with him,” he says. “The whole Curls/Papa thing, he thinks it’s a game.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Sanji sighs. “This is the third night in a row we’ve gone back and forth like this, and it’s not working.”
“So maybe we just ride it out then,” Zoro suggests, his bare feet scuffing against the floor as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “There’s no way he calls you Curls - ”
“Curls!” Sora helpfully supplies.
“ - for the rest of your life.”
Sanji quirks an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure about that?” He asks over the top of Sora’s head. “Because he seems pretty committed at the moment, and he’s got a bit of a stubborn streak.”
“That came from you,” Zoro insists, like he always does.
Rolling his eyes, Sanji focuses back on Sora. “Baby boy, can you say ‘Papa’? Just once for me, please. Try it. Pa-pa.”
Sora replies with a string of sounds that don’t resemble any known language and a bright smile. Unable to stop himself, Sanji returns it with gusto.
“You’re such a tyrant,” he laughs, nuzzling Sora’s face and pressing a kiss to his hair. “I can’t stay mad at you, so I guess I’ll just have to keep on blaming your father for this.”
“Hey!” Zoro protests, only to wilt when Sanji gives him a pointed look. “Ugh, we’re just going in circles here. It’s ridiculous.”
Sighing heavily, he pushes the rest of the way off of the bed and crosses the room to where Sanji is sitting in an armchair they’d moved upstairs a few months prior. Unable to cram himself in, however, the swordsman comes around the back and leans forward until he’s face to face with Sora.
“Okay, buddy,” he says solemnly, “I admit the whole Curls thing was funny at first - ”
“Excuse me?!” Sanji interjects.
“ - but your Pops here is clearly blaming me for this mess - ”
“Because it’s very much your fault!”
“ - so if you want me, your Dad, to continue going through life with all my limbs intact - ”
“You’re already missing an eye, moron.”
“ - I’m going to need you to cave and call him by his proper name,” Zoro concludes. “How does that sound?”
Sora gives him a studious look, and then blows a spit bubble at him.
Zoro sighs. “Well, I tried.”
Despite the awkward angle, Sanji does his best to elbow him in the head.
*****
Over the past several months, Sora’s routine trips to the kitchen have become some of Sanji’s favorite parts of the day. The baby is a veritable ray of sunshine every time he comes through the swinging doors, and even the most hardened of souls among them (IE - Zeff) melt at the sight of him.
Sadly, today he’d a arrived with a happily shouted “Hi, Curls!” that had had half the staff snickering into their work stations. Sanji had been forced to dole out a series of precision kicks to make it clear that such reactions would not be tolerated, but he still catches the odd wheezing laugh when he walks by.
For his part, Sora had wandered up and down the aisles, trundling along in his little baby steps to receive various greetings and accolades from the assembled cooks. Once that was done, he’d been herded off to the side by Zoro, so he can keep safely out of the way.
Somewhere along his journey he’d acquired a wooden mixing spoon, and at the moment is having a grand time beating it against an upturned soup pot. Since the kitchen is already a hub of shouting and activity at the best of times, no one seems to mind the additional racket, and Sora’s clearly enjoying himself to the fullest.
“Maybe he’ll grow up to be a musician,” Zeff says thoughtfully from where he and Sanji are standing a little further back, taking in the impromptu show. “That might be a better choice than a sword obsessed lunatic.”
Sanji gives him a careful sideeye. “It worries me that you used the word ‘might’ in that sentence,” he says while Zeff shrugs. “But as the Moss has been known to say, Sora’s going to grow up to be whatever he wants. Musician, swordsman, high flying trapeze artist - I don’t care, so long as he’s happy.”
“Trust me, Eggplant,” Zeff replies with a fond look in Sora’s direction. “Happiness is not something that baby is lacking.”
This line is accompanied by a particularly heavy clang and a laugh so raucous from Sora that the baby nearly tips himself over backwards. He’s caught at the last minute by Zoro, who’s seated nearby within grabbing reach.
Waving his spoon exuberantly enough that he barely avoids clipping the swordsman in the ear, Sora lets out a loud “Tanks, Dada!”, and is quick to return to his game.
“No problem, buddy.”
Sanji smiles at the exchange, but still feels a jealous sting at the notion that Zoro’s getting called by the proper title while he’s not. Even worse, something must show on his face because Zeff claps a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“It’ll come, kid,” he rumbles. “Just give it time.”
“I’m thirty-one,” Sanji mutters, pulling his arm free in an attempt to save face. “Don’t call me ‘kid’.”
Normally that would elicit a crack from the old chef about how he’ll call Sanji whatever he likes. Today, however, he must recognize the sensitive nature of that particular topic because he lets it go.
“I’ve got dishes to prepare,” he says instead, and stumps off towards his station.
Since he too has work that needs to be done, Sanji nods and follows him.
Roughly a half an hour passes where Sanji gets lost in his work. The sounds of the busy kitchen, plus Sora, become so much background noise until he suddenly hears a note that doesn’t fit. Pulling his attention away from the dish he’s working on, he cocks his head to the side, waiting to see if -
A faint boom sounds in the distance, making the cook groan. Reaching behind him, he yanks at his apron strings until he can tug the whole thing over his head and drape it over a nearby hook.
Zoro’s standing a few paces away, holding an uneasy looking Sora, when he turns around. “That’s - ”
“Cannonfire,” Sanji agrees when a third boom rings out. This one was decidedly louder than the last two, implying that whoever’s shooting at them was getting closer. “But not the Marines, I don’t think.”
“No,” Zoro says, absently rocking Sora as he starts to fuss. “It’s too random for that. Pirates, maybe?”
“Probably,” Sanji says, reaching out to stroke his thumb along the curve of Sora’s cheek. “It’s okay, darling,” he murmurs. “I know you don’t like the loud noises, but there’s nothing to be scared of.”
Sora looks at him with wide eyes that begin welling with tears when several more shots go off in rapid succession. “Loud,” he repeats, the word coming out in a distressed warble.
“I know, I know,” Sanji croons. “The cannons are very loud, and that’s just rude of them. Papa and Daddy are going to make the noise go away, though. You’ll see.”
Using the same hand to pat the baby’s head, Sanji twists around to look over his shoulder. “Oi, old man!” He barks as soon as he spots Zeff. “The Mossball and I need to go deal with whatever’s out there, so you’re up.”
“If he’ll let me,” Zeff says, stepping forward with his arms outstretched. “But I’m not who he wants when he’s scared.”
True to form, Sora makes a protesting noise and tries to duck away from Zeff’s reaching hands. “No!” He barks, hiding his face in the folds of Zoro’s robe. “No, Grumpa!”
“Yes, Grumpa,” Sanji replies with more force than he normally would. He can hear the shots getting closer, and outside the customers are starting to raise the alarm. “You’re staying here with him until it’s safe to come out. We’ll be back soon, I promise.”
“Hand him over,” he adds for Zoro’s benefit. “We’re running out of time to waste.”
“But - ”
“I don’t like it either,” Sanji barks, his heart clenching when Sora lets out a distressed wail upon being pulled away from Zoro’s chest. “But it’s the right call and we both know it.”
“Yeah,” Zoro says, his expression tight as he shifts a now shrieking Sora into Zeff’s arms. “It’s okay, buddy,” he says in a poor attempt to console the baby. “You stay with your Gramps for now, so Papa and I can go kick some ass.”
“Dada, nooo!” Sora screams, his voice feeling almost as loud as the cannons outside. “Dada!”
Sanji doesn’t think he’s ever seen Zoro look so conflicted, which is why he grabs the swordsman by the arm and physically turns him towards the door. “He’ll be fine,” he insists against his better judgement. “We’re doing the right thing by keeping the fight away from him.”
“I know, but - ”
“Papa! Papa, STAY!”
Jerking like he’s just taken a direct hit, Sanji momentarily loses his grip on Zoro’s sleeve. Whirling around, he finds Sora reaching for him, his little hands straining outwards from within the circle of Zeff’s arms.
“Son of a - did you hear what he just said?” Sanji demands.
“The whole room heard him, Curls,” Zoro replies. “What do you want to do about it?”
What Sanji wants to do is accede to Sora’s wishes and stay where the baby can see him. Following that, he’s perhaps willing to settle for murdering the bastards who’d pushed his son to such high levels of distress.
Lurching back across the kitchen, he leans down to plant a kiss to the top of Sora’s head. “You really are the best, smartest baby on any ocean,” he croons. “I love you so much, you little wretch, which is why I’m going out there. It’s for your own good, and the best way I can keep you safe. However, you had better remember my name when I get back.”
Having briefly settled upon his return, Sora howls when Sanji pulls away again. Telling himself that he can’t let distractions get to him, Sanji turns, grabs Zoro, and runs for the door.
“Come on,” he pants, doing his best to ignore Sora’s cries. “The sooner we deal with this, the sooner we can get back to him. Let’s go show these idiots why it’s a bad idea to mess with the Wings of the Pirate King.”
*****
The invaders are a pirate crew who find their journey coming to an abrupt halt. Sanji and Zoro tear through them like a hot knife through butter, and, in the end, neither the Baratie nor those aboard her suffer so much as a scratch.
Still, this doesn’t mean there aren’t some ruffled feathers that need soothing once all is said and done. Sanji leaves the act of calming the guests to Zeff and the staff, however, choosing instead to reclaim his son at the first available opportunity,
Sora’s fussy and out of sorts for the rest of the day, such that, by the time evening rolls around, it’s obvious that he won’t be going down in his own room without a fight. He refuses to be put down for more than a few seconds at a time, and screams whenever either parent leaves his line of vision.
“Okay, the way I see it, we go with one of two options,” Zoro says after they’ve wrestled the baby into his pajamas but have otherwise failed to calm him down. “Either we spend the night in his room with him, or he stays in here with us. He’s going to scream himself sick if we try to do anything else.”
“No shit,” Sanji retorts. “Obviously he’s staying with us. We can’t leave him alone when he’s like this, and we’re both too old to be sleeping on the floor.”
“I said what I said,” he huffs when Zoro - who still routinely naps in all manner of nooks and crannies - raises an eyebrow. “The three of us will fit in our bed, so that’s the best option.”
Of course, it’s not that easy. Just crawling into bed with Sora doesn’t work because he’s too worked up. It’s only after another hour of rocking and lullabies and cuddles that he finally calms enough to lay down between them, and even then he still cries if they move too far out of reach.
“Oh, baby. Baby, it’s okay,” Sanji hushes him. Splaying one hand over Sora’s belly, he rubs it in soothing circles while Zoro offers up his stuffed tiger as a distraction. “We’re here. We’ve got you.”
Sora takes the tiger but his eyes lock on Sanji’s face. “Papa,” he warbles, red faced from crying. “Papaaa.”
“That’s me,” Sanji confirms. “Although, I wish you were saying it under different circumstances. I guess the whole Curls thing really was a game to you, wasn’t it?”
Sora sniffles, but doesn’t say anything further.
“It’s alright,” Sanji assures him. “I’m not mad. Under the circumstances, I’ve decided that you can call me whatever your little heart desires if it makes you happy.”
A low whistle emanates from Zoro’s side of the bed. “That sounds risky.”
“Shut up, Mossball,” Sanji says without looking up. “This isn’t about me anymore. It’s about him, and what he needs.”
“You say that now,” Zoro replies. “But we both know you’ll start losing your mind again if he goes back to calling you by the wrong name.”
“Well if it starts getting to me, I’ll just take it out on you,” Sanji says loftily. “After all, it was your fault to begin with. Right, Sora?” He says, tickling the baby in an attempt to get a smile out of him. “Your mossy Daddy’s the one to blame for you being confused, isn’t he?”
This question earns him another sniffle, but it looks like the worst of the crying might have finally stopped. Hiccuping slightly, Sora keeps one hand wrapped around his tiger and uses the other to grab two of Sanji’s fingers.
“Dada,” he says solemnly. And then, “Papa.”
“That’s right,” Sanji agrees with a smile. “I knew you could do it, my smart boy. Clearly you get your brains from me, as opposed to this idiot here.”
“Oi!” Zoro exclaims, and Sora lets out his first laugh since the day had gone so spectacularly to shit. “Ugh, buddy, don’t humor him. He’ll just keep going if you do.”
“He can do what he wants,” Sanji says, his relief growing as Sora continues to settle. “Especially if it means he’s starting to relax. He took today even worse than the last time we were attacked.”
“Yeah,” Zoro hums. “And it’s not like it won’t happen again. I wonder if there’s something we can do to make it easier on him the next time?”
“Maybe,” Sanji says around an abruptly expansive yawn. “I think that’s a question for later, though. He missed his afternoon nap because of everything, so I’m really hoping he goes down soon. He needs the rest.”
Zoro nods at where Sora’s eyelids are starting to droop. “I think rest is exactly what’s on the menu for him.”
Sanji rolls his eyes. “That was terrible,” he says, even as he keeps his gaze locked on Sora’s increasingly drowsy form. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Shame’s overrated.”
“You would think that,” Sanji replies. “However, sleep is not. If he’s about to go down for the count, I’m going to suggest we do the same. There’s no telling what time he’ll wake up.”
Zoro grins at him from over Sora’s prone form. “You know me,” he says. “I never have to be told twice to get some shuteye. Night, Curls.”
“Ugh, don’t call me that.”
*****
“Papa! Curls! Papa! Curls!”
Cracking one eye open, Sanji has a blurry vision of a hand coming towards him right before it connects with his face. Blinking heavily, he bites down on an urge to swear and groans instead.
“Good morning, Sora,” he says once he’s managed to find his voice. “I see you’re feeling better.”
Giggling, Sora shoves a hand in his own mouth, indifferent to the amount of drool that starts coating his fingers. He mumbles something unintelligible around the digits, but at least his tone suggests that he’s in a far happier mood than he’d been in the night before.
Yawning, Sanji struggles into something vaguely resembling a sitting position. A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s a little after seven, meaning that he’s slept in, and then his gaze shifts over to Zoro.
The swordsman stares placidly back at him for a moment before flicking two fingers in greeting. “Mornin’, Curls,” he says. “How’d you sleep?”
“Well enough,” Sanji replies with a shrug. “You?”
Zoro makes a face. “Okay until little man here started kicking me in the stomach for no reason. That was about an hour ago, and I’ve been awake ever since.”
Sanji frowns at this. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” He asks.
Now it’s Zoro’s turn to shrug. “You looked like you could use the rest,” he says. “Plus, Sora and I were chatting.”
Immediately suspicious, Sanji pins the swordsman with a look. “About what?”
“Names,” Zoro replies, which is pretty much what Sanji had been expecting. “We were practising what he should call you.”
Sanji feels one of his eyebrows start to rise without his permission. “Is that why he’s suddenly using both titles at once?” He says, pointing at a grinning Sora.
Zoro has the nerve to look sheepish. “He may have gotten a little confused,” he admits. “But, hey. Him getting it right half the time is better than none of the time, isn’t it?”
Sanji snorts. “Just so you know, I’m considering kicking you right now, but the baby’s in the way.”
“Eh, you’d find a way to get me if you really meant it,” Zoro says, waving a hand dismissively. “Plus, you haven’t seen what else I taught him yet.”
Immediately on edge, Sanji pins the other man with a look. “What have you done?”
Instead of answering him directly, Zoro grins. “Remember that offer I made you a few days ago?”
“Not particularly.”
“Please, yes you do,” Zoro insists. “You’re just being a jerk on purpose. Anyway,” he says, tapping Sora on the shoulder to get his attention, “buddy, look at me for a second, okay?”
His fingers still in his mouth, Sora obediently turns to look at his father. “Sora,” Zoro says firmly, pointing at himself. “Who’s this?”
Laughing, Sora takes his hand out of his mouth. “Moss!”
His eye bright, Zoro grins up at Sanji. “Well, what do you think?”
“What do I think about what?” Sanji asks, briefly covering his eyes with a hand. “About you confusing our son even further?”
“He’s not confused,” Zoro disagrees. “He knows who we are. He’s just got a terrible sense of humor.”
“He gets that from you,” they both say in tandem.
Zoro’s grin is even wider when Sanji cracks his fingers open to look at him, and the cook finds himself smiling back against his will. “You really didn’t have to teach him to do that,” he says.
“Maybe not,” Zoro replies easily, “but you have to admit it’s kind of funny. I’m betting we can get him to call Zeff something really dumb.”
“If so, it’s your funeral,” Sanji tells him. “I’m not touching that one with a ten foot pole. I will, however,” he continues on, “say a proper hello to the best baby before I get up. Come here, you,” he adds for Sora’s benefit. “Come see me.”
Scooping Sora up, he cradles the wriggling baby against his chest, nuzzling into his downy soft curls as Sora squirms in his arms. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he says. “I hate seeing you upset.”
Struggling in Sanji’s hold, Sora lets out an indignant squeak. “Down, Papa!” He exclaims, waving a fist in the air. “Papa, down!”
“For the record, I didn’t coach him on that one,” Zoro says, to which Sanji just laughs.
“I didn’t figure you did.”