Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

-/-

In the storm of chaos following the news of Sanji’s kidnapping, they don’t immediately notice the ringing of a transponder snail. In fact, it goes unheeded for awhile, until Zoro manages to wrestle his frantic captain to the ground and sits on him to calm him down, and Law finally realizes the humming he’s been hearing has been coming from Zoro’s haramaki.

“You have a transponder snail?” It’s a big one, too. Actually, how in the world was he keeping it hidden?

“Yeah, got it from Mihawk,” Zoro says absently. “Said he wanted to be able to reach us if he needed to. But Perona is the only one who ever actually calls me. What do you want?” he adds into the receiver.

“Oh, good, you finally remembered how to answer the snail,” comes Mihawk’s smarmy tones, the snail adjusting to mimic his expression as he speaks.

“Mihawk? The fuck are you calling me for?”

“Your etiquette still needs work too, I see,” is the dry reply. In the background, Zoro thinks he hears shouting and a crash, and something whizzing by the receiver, but if he does Mihawk doesn’t acknowledge it. “Really, I can't possibly imagine why you have yet to win that boy’s affections. Truly, it boggles the mind.”

“Get to the point, old man,” Zoro snaps, hoping to head off that particular topic of conversation. The last thing he needs is his crew being aware that not only is he completely stupid for their cook, but that he’d spent the better part of two years bemoaning this fact to Dracule fucking Mihawk.

“Curiously enough, that relates to my point. I'm calling to let you know we have your cook—” Another sound like an explosion, closer this time, and an impact that is unmistakably a diable jambe— Zoro’s witnessed enough of those to identify the sound of one hitting, even in the background of a transponder snail call. Whyever they took Sanji, he’s not making things easy for them.

Naturally.

At the same time as this, Luffy, hearing his words, throws Zoro off of him and grabs the snail. “You were the ones who kidnapped Sanji?! Give him back! He’s my cook! You can't have him! I’ll kill you!”

“Do calm down, Straw Hat, I was actually—”

“Sanji! Sanji! Can you hear me?!”

A slight scuffle, as of someone grabbing the receiver.

“Hey Captain, I hear you, but I can’t talk, I’m a little busy right now—!”

There’s another crash, and a roar that sounds like Crocodile yelling, “Get back here, brat! I’m going to break every bone in your fucking body! There won’t even be enough left for a box when I’m done with you!”

Another scuffle follows this, and a shriek of someone else yelling, “Nonononononononononooooo!” in the background.

“As I was saying,” Mihawk says, having apparently retrieved the receiver, “I would like you to come get your cook before—” Crash, “—Crocodile goes through the SECOND WORST BREAK UP HE’S EVER LIVED THROUGH!!”

This last bit called away from the receiver, followed by another crash, and Crocodile bellowing back, “Yeah?! Well I’ll tear you and that compensating for something sword of yours into atoms! Now let me go so I can kill that little bastard!”

Beyond them, another, unfamiliar voice calls, “How dare you back out on our deal, Clown!” and then the unmistakable voice of Buggy the Clown wailing, “Please, please, it was a misunderstanding! Fellas? Come onnn!!”

And then there’s a loud thud, and Mihawk saying, “Sit down, you overgrown sandbag! I already told you, we are not provoking Straw Hat. Now shut up, I am trying to talk on the snail.” He huffs, and when he speaks again some of the chaos seems to have been tamed because he says, much more calmly, “As I was saying, Roronoa, please come retrieve your boytoy—” (“Whose boytoy?!” Sanji demands in the background, and is ignored.) “—so that I can return to what little peace and quiet I am allowed these days.”

“Uh,” Zoro says intelligently. Nami snatches the receiver from him with a glare.

“We're on our way, sir!” she says. “Just tell us where!”

-/-

In hindsight, the kidnapping is kind of embarrassing.

Siren Mask, the captain of the Mask Pirates, had done her homework before even setting out to retrieve him. Biding her time, waiting until the crew had split up and then waiting even further to when they reached Zou and found themselves stretched thin trying to help the Minks— and when she had finally chosen her moment, she’d lured him away on his own, overpowered him with a team consisting of only women, and used her Song-Song powers to knock him out before he could escape.

He was on her ship before he even knew what hit him, with no trace left behind for the other Straw Hats or the Minks to follow.

Well, maybe not that embarrassing. He has to give her credit, she’s as brilliant as she is beautiful, he’s assuming, being unable to see her face to tell. But she’s probably beautiful. He assumes. It would be embarrassing to lose to her if she’s not.

After over a week on her ship, they’d joined up with the 66 and he’d been forcibly reunited with Judge and his siblings, and then—

—well, to be honest, he’s never even heard of Cross Guild before. They’re newly formed, and judging from what Reiju has told him, their main appeal to Judge is their sheer numbers. Between their numbers and Germa’s tech, Judge is convinced that will be enough to reconquer the North Blue.

Of course, Reiju didn’t bother to tell him who Cross Guild actually are, or rather who they’re made of, meaning that the first time he finds out who he’s actually dealing with is when he’s led into a plush and tacky room and finds himself face to face with Buggy the Clown, Sir Crocodile, and Dracule fucking Mihawk.

He stares at them. They stare back. Mihawk is the first to speak.

“Oh, we’re fucked.”

“Isn’t that Straw Hat’s cook?” Buggy asks, quivering.

“That is absolutely Straw Hat’s cook,” Mihawk confirms. “Which means there’s no way in hell he’s here of his own free will. People don’t just leave Straw Hat’s side, especially not to get married and especially not to their former enemies.”

“I assure you,” Judge tries to begin, but a snap of Mihawk’s fingers silences him, a fact which seems to surprise him as much as it does Sanji.

“I wasn’t talking to you. You. Boy.” His yellow eyes bore into Sanji’s. “What does he have on you? How is he getting you to agree to this?”

For a moment, Sanji considers not answering truthfully, or even at all. These men are enemies of the Straw Hats, some moreso than others, true, but not to be trusted all the same, and he doesn’t want to give them any ammo for how to hurt him should the desire to do so strike their fancy.

On the other hand, he and Zoro have talked a little bit about their time training, and reading between the lines of what Zoro says and doesn’t say, he’s been able to get the idea that Zoro likes Mihawk, and despite knowing it’s foolish, part of him feels that he can trust the man to not hurt him in at least this specific situation.

“He threatened to hurt Zeff and the rest of my family at the Baratie if I didn’t comply.”

This gets an eyebrow from Mihawk, but it’s Crocodile who responds.

“Zeff,” he says. “As in Redleg Zeff. The pirate cook.”

“He’s just a regular cook now,” Sanji says. He takes out a cigarette and lights up, taking a long drag. “You know him? Or just by his reputation?”

“We met once, about twenty years ago. I was running a personal errand in the East Blue and my food had run out, so when I came across another ship I was going to attack it and steal some of their food. When I tried, the old man kicked the shit out of me, gave me bruises I’m still feeling to this day, and then cooked me lunch and sent me along with a few days worth of rations anyway.”

It sounds like a fond memory, and Sanji can’t stop himself from grinning at that, suddenly overcome with a burst of affection for the old geezer. That sounds exactly like something he’d do. It sounds like exactly how Zeff raised him to be.

“That’s my old man!” He turns his head enough to blow a cloud of smoke in Judge’s direction. “This asshole said he’d hurt him if I didn’t go along with his stupid plans, but I owe that old bastard everything. I couldn’t let him get hurt because of me.”

“Hm,” Mihawk says. “You are every bit the noble self-sacrificing idiot my dear protege made you out to be, then.”

Sanji lowers his cigarette. “What? Zoro talked about me during his training?”

Mihawk props his head up on one fist. “Extensively. Which is why I know that any attempts to force this farce of a marriage to go through would result in more death and chaos than I feel like dealing with right now. Not to mention the blow to our numbers here. It would be dreadfully inconvenient.”

“The greatest swordsman in the world is afraid of one measly little boy?” Judge asks. Taunts. Sanji rolls his eyes.

“The greatest swordsman in the world has reasons he would prefer not to be counted among that measly little boy’s enemies,” Mihawk corrects. “For the moment, at least. Besides… I’ve grown rather fond of Roronoa, and I know how much he’ll be wanting his—” He pauses, looks aside at Sanji, and clears his throat meaningfully. “—rival back.”

“If you’re doing this for that mosshead, don’t bother,” Sanji huffs, smoke clouding around his head. “He’ll be happy to see me gone.”

“Well I know for a fact that isn’t true.” He stands and makes his way over to the transponder snail sitting on the table. “I think the easiest way to deal with this is simply to call and have him come pick you up.”

While they were having this conversation, unnoticed by Sanji, Crocodile was staring him down, and as Judge makes a noise of protest at calling Luffy to come get him and Mihawk dials the code into the snail, Crocodile suddenly leaps to his feet with a yell.

“You!” he growls. “I know that voice! Mr. fucking Prince!”

“Ah, shit,” Sanji says, and launches himself ceilingward as a golden hook rockets towards him.

-/-

“What are you planning, Hawkeyes?” Crocodile asks once Mihawk hangs up.

There’s soot on his clothes, and some of his skin has been marked by strangely glassy footprints, but once Mihawk knocked him flat he seems to have at least calmed down from his murderous rage, and once he was no longer fighting for his life, Roronoa’s dear cook had calmed right down too.

“What do you mean? I’m simply saving us the trouble of getting on the bad side of Straw Hat and his crew. I would think you of all people would be able to get behind that.”

“Yeah right,” Crocodile says, resuming his usual seat on the tacky green couch beside Mihawk. “Since when are you afraid of Straw Hat?”

“I’m not,” Mihawk says bluntly. “However, I have no desire to face the wrath of his father.”

At the (supposed) mention of Dragon, Crocodile bares his teeth in a snarl, and Mihawk rolls his eyes.

“Down boy. You know very well I’m referring to that red-headed vagabond of mine. I’ve only barely escaped the doghouse after drawing my blade on the boy at Marineford; I can only imagine what fate would have in store for me if it got back to him I’d allowed…” He flicks his fingers vaguely in the direction of Judge and Buggy. “This.”

“You know,” Blackleg says, taking a long, casual drag on his cigarette, “This is a very strange conversation you’re having.”

“And you don't know the half of it. Now, come along.” He rises and extends a genteel hand to Blackleg to guide him away. “I have some wine squirreled away for special guests, and then I want to know all about how Roronoa is doing these days. You can tell me if he's followed a specific piece of advice I gave him before he left.”

“Uh,” Blackleg says intelligently.

“Or I could leave you with Crocodile and Vinsmoke?”

Blackleg puts out his cigarette in one of Crocodile’s ashtrays and takes the proffered hand.

“That’s what I thought.”

-/-

Honestly, if there’s anything weirder than sipping wine with Dracule Mihawk in a tented kitchenette while his biological father stews in the next room over not having his way, it’s having Mihawk then offer to make him some lunch.

“I’m afraid my cooking doesn’t compare to yours in any way, but seeing as you’re a guest it seems only fair that I not make you prepare your own food,” he says.

Sanji frowns. He doesn’t think Mihawk ever ate at the Baratie, but he might have just missed it. “When have you ever eaten my cooking?”

“I haven't, but I did spend two years hearing from your crewman about how you’re the best cook on all the seas, so I assume it must be good.”

“Zoro again? I… I didn’t know he’d have mentioned me at all, except maybe to trash me. Definitely not to brag about my cooking.”

Mihawk snorts, and moves over to a fridge to retrieve a few things. “For two years, every meal I set in front of that little ingrate, all I heard in thanks was how much better you would have made it. Under different circumstances it might have even been a blow to my ego.”

Sanji watches him work. Judging by the ingredients, he’s making spicy seafood pasta, and Sanji’s head is spinning with the sheer implications of Mihawk deciding to make that dish for him. He tears his eyes away from Mihawk’s slender hands preparing the food and up to his face instead.

“I hope you’re not suggesting he turned his nose up at your cooking just because it wasn’t mine.”

“No, he always made a point to eat every bite I gave him. He even finished off mine and Perona’s if we ever found our eyes bigger than our stomachs. Said the last thing he’d ever do was waste a single bite of food.” He pauses his work and looks up. “Are you hurt, Blackleg? Your nose is bleeding.”

“Huh? It’s fine!” Sanji retrieves his handkerchief and sets to cleaning himself up, while Mihawk finishes preparing their lunch and brings it over. Yep, spicy seafood pasta. Something inside of him aches. “That looks amazing. If it’s anything like you were giving Zoro, I can’t believe he’d object.”

“I think it was more the circumstances he was objecting to,” Mihawk says. “He missed the people he wasn’t eating with.”

And doesn’t that just dredge up unhappy memories? Sanji shoves a forkful of pasta into his mouth, letting the blend of the seasonings and spices burn the sorrow of that time from his memories even as it burns his throat. Mihawk doesn’t use the same recipe or even style Zeff taught him, but it’s still delicious.

“You know it’s a funny coincidence, this is actually my favorite dish,” he says, a desperate attempt at making the subject more lighthearted. For some reason, all this earns in response is an ever-so-slight incline of Mihawk’s eyebrow that makes him feel like an idiot.

“Still,” Mihawk says after a moment, “it’s nice to have another mouth to feed, albeit temporarily. I’m afraid I’ve started to miss having Roronoa and Perona underfoot since they left. I have no intention of cooking for Crocodile or that wretched clown, but it’s simply not the same when I’m only preparing enough food for myself anymore.”

“I know what you mean,” Sanji laughs. “Iva wouldn’t let me cook for anyone but myself for ages while I was with them. When you’re used to feeding a whole crew— especially a crew with Luffy on it— it gets hard to stop being in that mindset.” He stares down at the plate of pasta in his hands. It is good, delicious even, and he can’t imagine Zoro finding any fault with it at all. That just makes him feel a way he doesn’t want to analyze, though. “I know we took that time to train because we needed to be stronger, and everything Iva and the others taught me has been poured back into my crew so I can’t even regret it in the long run. But… I belong with them. Not being able to take care of them for two years was the worst experience of my life. What if they were starving, and I wasn’t there?”

He finally looks up to find Mihawk watching him thoughtfully.

“The pair of you are truly cut from the same cloth,” Mihawk murmurs. “When he didn’t actively have a sword in his hand all Roronoa did was moan about how worried he was for all of your safety.” He dabs lightly at his lips with a napkin. “Still, I suppose failing to keep you all safe was the kick he needed to actually ask for help training, so there are silver linings.”

Sanji is not aware of standing until his chair crashes to the floor, until his hands slam onto the table. Some distant part of him is yelling at him to sit down, that Mihawk is his only ally in this place and he needs to stay on his good side, but the insult has sent fire singing through his veins to burn that part of him away.

“How dare you?!” he demands. “Don’t ever talk about him like that! No matter what weird dynamic you two have going on, nothing gives you the right!” He glares. Leans closer. “He might be the single most infuriating person I’ve ever met, he might have the brains of a caveman and even less manners, he might he crass and boorish and have an ego the size of the Grand Line, but he has never once failed us!”

He fixes Mihawk with the full force of his fury, and is strangely unsurprised to find Mihawk looking placidly back.

“Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?!”

“Currently, you. Sit down, Blackleg, I meant no offense to your dear swordsman.”

Sanji snorts out twin streams of smoke, but rights his seat and resumes it anyway.

“I don’t care if you are the world’s strongest swordsman. I won’t let you talk about Zoro like that.”

“Better and better,” Mihawk says, resting his chin in one perfect hand. “Truly spectacular. Very well, I expect an invite to the wedding. It’s the least you can do for me since I’m going to set you up with your dear little mosshead.”

“Uh,” Sanji says intelligently.

-/-