Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He has no idea where he is, but it’s a shitty excuse for an island.  It has to be some kind of joke, that the asshole Shichibukai sent him somewhere that the town moves around.  And no one could even blame Zoro’s faulty sense of direction, if there was anyone here to complain to, because the town actually does move.

After days of trying to track the chimney smoke over flat plains of mauve-puce-chartreuse grass, Zoro can finally confirm that with his own eyes.  He stumbles out of the vegetation, chest-high where it’s merciful and well over his head where it’s healthy, and trips over flattened ruts from wagon wheels.  There’s a trampled circle here, the size of a decent town square, with a few fire pits still leaking wisps of smoke into the afternoon air.

So maybe he still hasn’t laid eyes on the people, but there’s definitely a civilization here somewhere, and at least he can breathe without inhaling blades of grass for a while.  The remnants of the fires stink, clearly fed with animal manure instead of wood, but it’s almost comfortable to collapse into the flattened grass and stare at the sky for a while.  Zoro hasn’t been able to escape the whispering susurrus of the grass for days, so even this slim distance is a relief.

Shitty fucking island.  If he could find the shore he could find a boat, get out of this place, but the damn grass stretches endlessly in every direction.  Zoro can’t even catch a whiff of salt over the dry, sun-soaked turf. At least there are plenty of dumb, flightless birds running through narrow tunnels near the ground, and the strange, long predators that eat them.  He hasn’t gone hungry, even if it’s hard to keep a fire burning hot enough to cook on when there’s nothing to burn but grass, grass, and more grass.

Whatever.  If he follows the wheel ruts, he’ll find the people, and they must know where the coast is.  He’ll get off this miserable pile of hay and back to Sabaody, and no more time wasted.

Levering himself up, Zoro circles the edge of the trampled space, and picks a direction.  The tracks split off in only two spots, and he chooses the one where the grass seems flatter.  Hopefully the caravan, or however these people travel, doesn’t move too fast.

Along the way, he finds a handful of lost items.  Fewer than he would expect, once Zoro starts noticing them, and somehow the man-made objects are jarring against the empty monotony of the landscape.  A piece of broken ceramic, some fabric with embroidered edges not much larger than his bandanna, a handheld fan woven out of the grass itself, with a picture of a horse woven into the pattern.

And a newspaper.  Zoro has no way of knowing how current it is, but he recognizes the face on the front page, and has to sit down on the side of the tracks to read the article.  The Marines have captured Fire Fist Ace, and they’re wasting no time setting the execution date.

Zoro crumples the paper in his fists, tearing a hole through the center of it.  He really has to catch whoever made these tracks.  His captain needs him.

It becomes much easier to find people once the entire prairie lights on fire.  At first Zoro doesn’t realize that the warm breeze funneling down the flattened tracks is unnatural, but soon enough he can hear screaming over the endless noise of the grass, and after that the situation becomes apparent pretty quick.

A gout of flame bursts above the grass, sending sparks soaring across the prairie.  A particularly loud scream heightens, and abruptly cuts off. Breaking into a run, Zoro charges into the commotion.

Broken wagons scatter the area, some already reduced to scorched husks, others crackling as the flames consume their colorful enamel surfaces.  Some of the screaming is oxen, some human; Zoro can see rustling in the deep grass, doubtless people trying to flee. At first he can’t see who - or what - is causing the destruction, only the chaos consuming the area.

Then a streak of blue slices across the sky, followed by green, and by the time a third pink streak crosses his vision, Zoro can make out the figures flying above him.  A fresh burst of flame erupts nearby, and a red streak flashes out of it, joining the others in a lap around the carnage.

He can pinpoint the moment they spot him, killing intent as strong as anything he’s ever felt nearly driving Zoro to his knees.  But Zoro didn’t face off against Shichibukai and Admirals just to let some nameless foe intimidate him like that, so he lays a hand on his katana and stands his ground.

They hit the ground like comets, and their landing poses are too choreographed for Zoro to quite take them seriously.  Not that he hasn’t faced foes that take camp to a new level before now, but these guys look like something out of a kids’ comic.

“Explain yourself,” the figure in red demands.  He must be in charge; the others fan out a step behind him in an equally practiced show of aggression.

“Why should I?”  Zoro retorts. Four of them, no visible weapons; Zoro would suspect devil fruit, but they seem to have too much in common, and the matching suits are strange-

“We’re here to pacify this island,” the red guy declares, “so if you refuse, we’ll eliminate you, too.”

“Pacify?”  Sure, he’s heard that kind of rhetoric before, too, but it’s always rich, when the guy spouting it is standing against a backdrop of ruined lives.

The one in green shuffles his feet, toeing at a bit of scorched wood, and the blue one shifts impatiently.  The only woman, hanging back slightly from these three in a stupid pink suit that looks like a butterfly, if butterflies had massive, barely-covered breasts, sighs.

“The leader of the other residents of this place hired us to settle a dispute over grazing rights,” the blue one smirks.  “So if you’re planning on getting revenge for these worms, let’s get it over with.”

“Whoa, I’m not from here,” Zoro mutters, raising the hand that isn’t on his swords.  “Don’t care about grazing rights.”

Four of them, and Zoro can tell they’re strong.  It’s not good odds, with him injured from Sabaody, and if these guys are mercenaries, there’s no good reason to fight them.  Sucks for the caravan people, but Zoro doesn’t have any skin in this game. Who knows, they might have gone after whoever hired these weirdos just as mercilessly.

“Unlikely,” the red guy says, inflectionless.  Zoro wishes he could see the man’s eyes, but he and the blue one are wearing shades Franky would be jealous of.  If the green guy is anything to go by, watching with a bloodthirsty grin and sharklike eyes, Zoro needs to do some fast talking.  Where’s the witch when he needs her.

“Nah, I’m a -” Zoro stumbles a moment, trying to figure out a plan, “- a bounty hunter.  Got off course, boat crashed, been wandering around this shithole for days,” he adds.

“You any good?” the green guy asks.

Zoro bristles.  “I’m going to be the greatest swordsman in the world-”

Greenie snickers, and it takes all of Zoro’s self-control not to draw on him.  The pink woman rolls her eyes.

“Fine,” the leader declares.  “I believe you have nothing to do with our mission.  We’re leaving.”

“Hold on,” Zoro says, as they turn to leave with the same overblown synchronization as their entrance.  “Uh, any chance I could catch a ride off this island?”

“Why should we help you?” the blue one asks, skepticism in every line of his body.  All four of their capes swish with the same panache as they halt.

“You guys are mercs, right?”  Zoro says. His mouth is running ahead of his brain a little, but he’s got to get away from here.  “I’ll fight with you. Can’t hurt to have another sword or three.”

“The Germa Kingdom is not simply a mercenary organization,” the red guy proclaims haughtily.  Zoro figures that’s it, no dice, but the pink woman takes a step forward, laying a hand on the leader’s arm.

“Interesting proposition,” she says, placing a finger on her chin as she leans her weight on the red man, hip jutting out.  He turns to look down at her, expression unreadable behind those glasses even as the green one makes a surprised face.

“We have plenty of ordinary foot soldiers,” the blue guy counters, equally indecipherable as he turns to the woman.

“I’m no ordinary soldier,” Zoro cuts in.  “Get me off this grass heap, and I’ll prove it.”

The red guy shrugs, and the pink woman moves closer.  “What’s your name, swordsman?” she asks.

“Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro,” Zoro announces, as confidently as he can.  “They call me the Demon of the East-”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” the woman says, waving off his introduction.  “They do say fortune favors the bold. You’re sure you want to join under our flag?”

For a day, or a week, or however long it takes to get on his way, Zoro can swing his swords on command.  He hasn’t exactly done mercenary work before, but how hard can it be?  Jaw clenched, he nods.

The pink woman slinks up to him, hips moving in a way that has Zoro concerned about her spine.  The exaggerated protrusion of her chest can’t be healthy, either.

“An especially talented soldier might earn other rewards, too,” she purrs, licking her painted lips and lowering her gaze to look through her eyelashes at him.

Zoro stares at her.

“Huh,” she says, and suddenly there’s a much more normal-looking woman standing there.  Same ridiculous outfit and voluptuous curves or whatever, but she straightens up and peers at him with a sharp gaze that’s much more reminiscent of Robin than Zoro is comfortable with.  “Well then, I believe we can come to an agreement. Allow me to introduce the commanders of Germa 66.”

“Sparking Red, Vinsmoke Ichiji,” the leader declares, striking a pose.  And here Zoro was almost taking them seriously.

“Shocking Blue, Vinsmoke Niji,” the blue one proclaims, with a pretentious swirl of his cape.

“Winch Green, Vinsmoke Yonji!” the green guy shouts, thrusting a fist into the air.

“And Poison Pink, Vinsmoke Reiju,” the pink woman finishes, with an exaggerated wink.  Zoro does his best not to gag at the pageantry, but he can’t guess what his own face looks like.

“At your service, I guess,” Zoro says.  Ichiji lifts an eyebrow - a weird, curly eyebrow, Zoro is noticing now; all four of them have them - but only gives a supercilious wave and directs Zoro to follow them back to the coast.

It’s barely over the next rise in the prairie, only hidden by the sheer height of the stupid grass.  Zoro is a bit infuriated by that, but there’s only one ship anywhere in sight, so he would have had to ask these guys for a ride anyway.

It’s a weird ship, no matter what other bizarre feats of engineering Zoro has encountered.  The thing is more a fragment of castle than anything else, a bit of wall and part of a battlement on the back of a giant snail.  A flag bearing a bold double six flies from the top of an off-center tower.

“Germa 66 is a mobile nation,” Reji informs him as they board.  A platoon of soldiers, all eerily similar, cheer as the siblings return.  “We have dedicated all our history of scientific invention to improving our military prowess under the reign of Vinsmoke Judge, and his dream to regain sovereignty over all the North Blue.”

“We are Father’s most successful project,” Niji adds smugly.

“Father?”  Zoro asks, with a glance at Reiju.  She seems the most likely to answer.

“The King,” she explains, giving him a patronizing little smile.  “The four of us, Germa’s top commanders, are all his children, and the most significant success of his scientific endeavors.”

Zoro holds back a sigh.  Of course they are. “So it’s not Devil Fruit?”

“No,” Reiju says simply.

“Germa 66 is the cutting edge of technology, the rise of a new, superior human race,” Ichiji declares.  The words are vainglorious, but the man’s voice is merely smug, almost disinterested.

“Dunno what use we’ll have for a regular swordsman,” Yonji drawls, eyeing Reiju.

“I’ll show you right here-”  Zoro begins. This guy is just asking for a fight, and it isn’t in Zoro’s nature to play nice with men who doubt him.

“Later,” Ichiji cuts in.

“Aww,” Yonji complains.

“Let’s get under way,” Niji demands, “and then we’ll see if you’re worth the trouble, Pirate Hunter.”

Zoro huffs, glares, rolls his shoulders in a way that he knows most men find intimidating, but doesn’t protest.  He can wait that long to make these assholes eat their words, and if he’s lucky he’ll get something to eat himself beforehand.

As it turns out, there’s a meal waiting in the command room of the snail ship, and Zoro is not so much invited to eat as simply drawn along in the Vinsmokes’ wake, with Reiju smirking over her shoulder at him every so often.  The siblings sneer at the food, complain about the earlier massacre, talk shit about the people who hired them in the first place, and generally ignore Zoro. It’s not the kind of decompression ritual Zoro is used to - these guys don't seem to have an adrenaline high to come off of, and their energy doesn’t really change.  But they do wander off individually after the meal, and Reiju leads him to a utilitarian little room after Ichiji puts off the question of a demonstration until the next morning.

“We’re returning to the main fleet, to report back to Father,” she informs him.  “If you can impress Ichiji before then, you have a much better chance of getting where you want to go.”

Getting there alive, she doesn’t say, but Zoro hears it echoing through the rest of her words.  Whatever. He’s up to the challenge.

“Just wait,” he promises, and she leaves with a final lilting laugh.  Strange woman. Reiju is giving him more support than she has any need to, and Zoro doesn’t have the faintest idea why.

He doesn’t worry about it.  A solid night of sleep will put him much closer to finding his way back to Luffy than trying to untangle Reiju’s motivations would.  For all Zoro knows she’s just bored, and looking for entertainment.

Morning comes with the familiar feel of waves beneath him, albeit more mellowed by the heavy snail than the Thousand Sunny.  Zoro stumbles through monotonous stone hallways until Yonji’s raucous laughter leads him into the command room from last night.

The Vinsmokes look both more and less human, somehow, out of their combat suits.  They’re wearing normal clothes this morning but it’s practically a uniform, with negligible personal touches.  It makes their starkly unique hair colors stand out even more.

“There he is!”  Yonji crows.

“You claimed a lot of big titles yesterday, Roronoa Zoro,” Niji says, smirking behind dark glasses.  “Time to back them up.”

“We’ve assembled some of our best soldiers in the courtyard,” Ichiji explains, barely looking up from a newspaper.  “If you beat them all, consider yourself hired.”

“Hope you don’t need them all alive,” Zoro boasts.

He’s disappointed that he’s not getting the chance to fight one of the brothers, but Zoro bites back the impulse to up the ante.  In the grand scheme of things, he should probably be glad they’re making this easy for him.

And it is easy.  Germa’s troops are prime examples of soldiers, with musculature that’s almost too perfect and loyal enthusiasm to match.  They handle their weapons with well-trained professionalism, but none of the passion that makes a truly talented foe. Even beat up and run ragged as he is, Zoro barely breaks a sweat clearing the courtyard.

Yonji whoops, and Niji slow claps as Zoro sheaths his swords.  Even Ichiji grins, and none of them seem too concerned that Zoro just demolished a crew of their strongest soldiers with ease.

“No comparison to the average swordsman,” Ichiji muses.  He’s probably looking between Zoro and the soldiers groaning in the courtyard, but it’s impossible to tell with those pretentious sunglasses.

“Told you,” Zoro grumbles.

“We’ll have to improve their training program,” Niji says.  “That could be a good use for you.”

Zoro shrugs.  “You’re the boss.  Now that’s finished, you got a paper I can borrow?”  He’s eager to see if there’s any update on Ace, or anything about Sabaody.

Yonji snickers, and goes to kick the beaten soldiers around.  Ichiji tosses Zoro his newspaper and walks away with Niji, neither of them sparing so much as a backwards glance.  Perfect, because sure enough, there’s a familiar head of fluffy black hair right on the front page.

The news is shocking, and Zoro can hardly breath through his rage at failing to be there for Luffy.  At least this is confirmation that his captain survived, even if his brother didn’t. That means the rest of the crew is probably fine.

He’s staring at Luffy’s photo so intently that he doesn’t notice Reiju coming up behind him until she leans over his shoulder, smacking her lips nearly in his ear.  Zoro jumps, crinkling the paper in his startled grip.

“Interesting tattoo,” Reiju idly says, running one blade-sharp nail along the image of Luffy’s arm.  She smirks at him, as if she can feel his discomfort at even the suggestion of her claws near his captain.  “Friend of yours?”

Zoro grunts and scowls at her, and she goes on her way with a laugh.  Now that she pointed it out, he focuses in on the writing on Luffy’s skin.  3D2Y? Well, that’s simple enough that even Zoro can figure it out, even if it leaves a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He reads the rest of the article, and while he can’t call any of it good news, Zoro at least feels confident that Luffy will be okay.  His captain obviously has a plan, so Zoro will follow it. With two years’ time, he can become strong enough to prevent anything like this from hurting Luffy ever again.

This might even be a decent place to do it.  The Vinsmoke siblings aren’t dedicated swordsmen, but they’re strong, and Zoro will be able to fight all kinds of opponents if he sticks with them.  Decided, he wanders inside, looking for Ichiji.

He finds the brothers together, lounging around a table.  They’re surprisingly casual out of costume, and Yonji waves Zoro over with a grin that’s almost friendly.

“We will rejoin the main fleet tomorrow,” Ichiji says.  “Once we receive our next mission, we can discuss sending you on your way.”

“About that,” Zoro begins, slouching into the chair Yonji offered.  “Now that you know I’m as good as I say, what’s the chance of extending my contract here?”

Chapter Text

Zoro gets a mostly-official title, something-something sword combat expert or whatever, and pretty much free run of the place.  The Vinsmokes seem to like him, or at least the brothers are amused by Zoro’s proficiency despite his lack of specially engineered advantages, and he spends a lot of time around them.  He trains by himself, runs drills with Germa’s soldiers, often eats with the Vinsmokes, and sometimes even gets ordered out into the field with them.

After a few weeks of this, Zoro feels pretty comfortable around the Vinsmoke siblings.  Sure, they’re a special kind of psychopath, and every so often their lack of empathy makes Zoro’s instincts screech to attention, but they’re not so bad.  He’s gotten used to them, enough that he feels confident joking around a little. It’s almost fun.

Vinsmoke Judge is another matter.  Zoro has only met the guy once, and he wants to keep it that way.  A blustering megalomaniac to the core, with just enough fucked-up science to back it up; the worst kind of petty villain.  At least his kids have an excuse to be so off-balance.

They’re fresh out of a battle, one of the few Zoro has seen all four siblings mobilize for.  The petty civil war didn’t need that much firepower, but the Vinsmokes like to show off their choreographed teamwork from time to time.  Zoro got to duel a reasonably tough general on the sidelines, and the guy seemed like enough of an asshole that he isn’t too worried about the moral implications of taking money for it.  Even better, Yonji had the bright idea to raid the losing side’s wine cellars on the way out, so it was a good day, in Zoro’s book. Enough so that he asks the question, when they’re all relaxing in the main castle afterwards.

“So,” he begins, kicking back with a bottle of appropriated sake, “where’s three?”

It’s been bothering Zoro for a while.  Ichiji, Niji, Yonji, and the numbers out of sequence on their raid suits.  At first he figured Reiju was supposed to be three and they tossed out the naming convention because she’s a girl, but by now he knows that she’s older, so that theory doesn’t check out.

Speaking of Reiju, she was reading the newspaper off to the side, but at Zoro’s question she whips around to look at him even faster than he’s seen her move in battle.  The brothers swivel to stare him down too, in one of those eerie moments of synchronization, so much creepier than the trained posturing they do.

“Uh, sorry,” Zoro offers.  “He die or something? I don’t wanna bring up bad memories.”

Niji scoffs at that, and Yonji outright laughs.  Fair, Zoro supposes - they aren’t the type to dwell on memories, if they even have the capacity to feel bad about stuff like that at all.

“That’s what Father prefers to say,” Ichiji answers.  It’s especially cryptic with the damn sunglasses the bastard never takes off, even indoors.

Reiju doesn’t make a sound, simply watching the conversation unwind with hawk-like intensity.

“Hey, hey, let’s show him!”  Yonji exclaims, slamming a hand on the tabletop like it’s the funniest idea he’s ever heard.  “Why not?”

Ichiji levels him with a disapproving scowl, but then cracks a grin.  “Why not indeed. It’s been a long time since I last visited our little failure.”

That gets Niji snickering too, as Reiju watches, emanating icy disapproval that washes right over her brothers.

“C’mon!”  Yonji laughs, clapping Zoro on the shoulder as he gets up.  To his surprise, Reiju follows them out into the hall, all silent judgement as she trails behind.

Zoro still can’t tell where the different snail ships connect, but then, he’s only seen a handful split off from the outskirts of the country.  The first time they sailed in, it took a while to travel from the edge of the artificial landmass to the central castle. It’s the sort of thing Franky, or maybe Usopp, would be fascinated by, but Zoro prefers not to think about it too hard.

That said, he’s pretty sure they’re still on the same snail, just farther down.  How there’s an underground level beneath the castle is another question best left unasked.  Is it inside the snail? Zoro doesn’t want to know. It’s enough to see the ground getting closer through every window they pass, until the windows disappear entirely, and Yonji leads the way down a dimly lit, undecorated staircase.

Dungeons, mostly empty, and the few signs of life Zoro sees skitter back to the darkest corners of their cells as the Vinsmokes pass through.  They walk along another deserted corridor, dust gathering at the edges, the brothers sauntering by as if this is any normal hallway, or a path outside in the sun.  Of course, they move that way when they’re walking on corpses, too.

The emptiness is giving Zoro the creeps, somehow even worse than an occupied Marine cell block.  Reiju doesn’t help matters, still following silently with a completely shuttered expression on her face.

They reach another staircase, blank grey stone lit with guttering torchlight, and Yonji laughs as he strolls down, chattering with Niji.

“Wonder if he’ll be surprised!  How long’s it been, anyway?”

Niji shrugs.  “I don’t keep track.”

“A waste of time and energy,” Ichiji comments.  “Though you’re right, it has been a while.”

Oddly, the damp smell of stone lessens as they reach the bottom of the stairs, cut by the scent of fresh bread.  Zoro wonders if he’s imagining it, or if they’ve just got a really weird mold problem.

“He’s still doing that?”  Niji mutters.

“Useless failure,” Yonji replies.  They turn the corner, and Zoro is surprised to see that the corridor ends in a single cell.

It’s big, for a cell, and strangely appointed.  Most of the space is taken up by a restaurant-quality kitchen, of all things.  There’s a small bed and dresser set pushed up against one wall, with a pile of disassembled gymnastic gym equipment heaped up beside it, and a tiny washroom crammed into one corner.  

The lighting and acoustics are terrible, the darkness swallowing the insufficient torchlight even as the Vinsmoke siblings’ laughter echoes tenfold off the walls, and the whole experience is jarring enough that at first, Zoro thinks the cell is empty.  Nothing is placed too close to the front, leaving a body-length gap of empty gloom beyond the bars. Zoro eyes the bare stone, noting poorly cleaned bloodstains despite the lack of other grime, and the tidiness of the rest of the cell.

“Come out, come out, eyesore!”  Yonji jeers, slamming against the bars.

“Say hello to your guests, failure,” Niji adds, with a dark grin.

Zoro is beginning to regret asking his question.  This is worse than callous enjoyment of a bloody fight - it’s starting to feel like the kind of disgusting disregard for human life that Luffy punched a Celestial Dragon over.  Whoever lives in this cell has obviously been down here for a long time.

“Don’t make me come in there to remind you of your manners,” Ichiji threatens, and Zoro can finally make out movement in the dim light.

Dull metal is the first thing Zoro sees, pale hands steadying a heavy, barred helmet as the figure peers out from behind one of the counters.  A hint of gold hair curls out from under the helmet, brushing the collar of a white shirt that’s incongruously similar to what the Vinsmoke brothers are wearing.

“Saaan-ji,” Yonji sing-songs, still rattling against the bars of the cell.

Sanji.  Well, Zoro guessed it.  The man in the cell straightens up, and despite his anxious posture and sunless pallor, there’s a certain family resemblance.  All four brothers are close in height, have similar builds; sure, Yonji is the tank of the group, but this Sanji isn’t that much smaller than Ichiji and Niji.  Not physically.

“Yonji,” the third brother says, hands dropping from the helmet and fluttering back up unconsciously, a nervous tick if Zoro has ever seen one.  “Ichiji. Niji.”

“Those are our names,” Niji drawls, an unkind smirk stretching his face.

“We almost forgot about you,” Ichiji adds.  “Glad to hear you remember us.”

Sanji doesn’t respond, shifting uneasily at the edge of his strangely professional kitchen.

“We’ve got a new friend!”  Yonji proclaims, grabbing Zoro by the shoulder and pulling him toward the bars.  “He asked about you, failure.”

Zoro definitely regrets it now.  His idle curiosity put this man in danger, it’s obvious in the brothers’ predatory body language and Sanji’s transparent fear.  Zoro knows people can be cruel, that innocents get hurt all the time, but it’s one thing to shrug off the violence of battle, and another to know he’s endangered someone helpless through his own ignorance.

Ichiji beckons imperiously, and Sanji drags his feet a few steps closer to the bars.  As much as Zoro wishes he could cut this short, he knows the situation is out of his hands.

“That’s our failure of a little brother,” Niji sneers, with a dismissive wave.  “Still disappointing people who don’t even know he exists.”

“Roronoa here asked why we don’t have a number three,” Ichiji idly explains, with a sharper gesture ordering Sanji closer still.  “You don’t even have the decency to be forgotten, do you, Sanji?”

Sanji creeps forward, reluctance in every line of his body.  Even with his face hidden, Zoro can tell from the quaver of the helmet that the blond is eyeing the gap between himself and the bars of his cell.  

“Zoro’s an impressive swordsman, even though he’s just a regular guy,” Yonji says, shaking Zoro by the shoulder again.  “What’s your excuse, huh, good-for-nothing? Useless even for a normal human, aren't you?”

“Let alone for a prince,” Niji adds, gaze sweeping across the elaborate kitchen.

Hands fisted at his sides, Sanji stands an arm’s reach from the bars, shaking.  His brothers laugh, a sound so cruel Zoro thinks it should have a different name, and Yonji lets go of Zoro’s shoulder to snatch at the blond.

Sanji stumbles away a second too late, and Yonji yanks him up against the bars by the front of his shirt.  Startled by the resounding clang of the blond’s helmet against the metal, Zoro lurches back, but not before getting a glimpse of wide blue eyes under curled eyebrows.  

Ichiji and Niji watch impassively as Yonji shakes Sanji against the bars, filling the dungeon with clanging and yelps of pain.  Zoro feels sick, flinching as blood begins to patter onto the stained floor.

“Leave me alone!”  Sanji cries, voice interrupted by a sharp gasp as Yonji drags at him.  The fourth brother adjusts his grip, pulling against the blond’s shoulder and forcing one arm flat against the bars.

“This healed up pretty well after all,” Yonji says conversationally, shoving Sanji’s sleeve up to bare a fading scar and old, mottled bruising.  “Lucky Sanji.”

“Boring,” Niji comments.  “It would have been funny seeing him try to cook with only one arm.”

“Oh?”  Yonji grins.  “I could break it.”

Panting in terror, Sanji goes limp in that unforgiving hold.  Zoro recognizes the response, a victim hoping the torment will end quicker if he gives in.  As the blond’s head is dragged down by the weight of the helmet, he gets another flash of those blue eyes and is surprised to see rage mixed with the fear.

“Father will be waiting for your report,” Reiju interrupts.  Zoro jumps; he had forgotten she was there.

“Boo,” Yonji complains.

“We should go,” Ichiji confirms, with barely a glance at the cell as Yonji throws Sanji to the ground.  The clang of metal on stone drowns out Yonji’s grumbling.

“Better things to do,” Niji jeers, following the other two up the stairs.

Zoro stays behind, unable to break eye contact with Reiju even as Sanji coughs and drags himself to his knees.  Her expression is blank, but now that he knows her a little more, Zoro can see the bitterness behind her eyes. He’s sure she can see his own distaste.

She turns away without a word, going up to the bars and crouching down to the level of Sanji on his hands and knees, blood dripping through the bars of his helmet.

“Were you working on those dinner rolls?” Reiju asks.

Zoro wonders if he’s hearing things, but Sanji’s posture goes from defeated to eager in an instant.  Pulling himself up, the blond scurries back into his kitchen.

“Yes!” he exclaims, taking a tray of bread out of a cabinet.  “They’re really good this time, will you try one?”

“In a minute,” Reiju says gently.  She stands and Sanji wilts, but she only moves a few steps to the far side of the bars.  Set into the wall is an odd window, with a latched door. For delivering meals, Zoro would guess, if there wasn’t a full kitchen taking up most of the cell.

Hanging beside this door is a small key.  Reiju takes it, pulls another key out of a pocket she certainly shouldn’t have in a skirt that tight, and opens the main door to the cell.  Sanji reluctantly sets his tray back on the counter, turning warily to watch Zoro as Reiju approaches him. She lights a lamp hanging over the counter, and reaches for his face.

The first key is for the helmet, Zoro realizes, watching Reiju grab the bars like a handle and dig around at the side of it.  He’s distracted from the indignity of keeping that key right outside the cell by Sanji’s anxious whine, hands going straight to his hair as Reiju sets the helmet aside.

“Let me see,” Reiju chides, pulling Sanji’s hands away from his face, and Zoro feels like he should look away.  He doesn’t, too curious about her mysterious third brother. Besides, it’s a little late to give the man any dignity.

Blood grabs his attention first, dripping from a split or bitten lip, Zoro can’t tell from this distance, but Sanji’s hair is more arresting.  It’s a gleaming blond that catches all the light in the cell like gold, so much more appealing than his siblings’ harsh colors. The glimpses that stuck out beneath the helmet didn’t do it justice at all.

Pulling a first-aid kit out from under the sink, Reiju cleans the blood off her brother’s face and tapes up a particularly bad bruise spreading across his cheekbone.  Sanji leans back against the counter with his eyes downturned, hands gripping the edge so hard that his knuckles turn white even beneath his snow-pale complexion.

Zoro is left flat-footed on the other side of the bars, unsure if he should stay or go.  All he knows is that this is a turning point, but he can’t figure out what’s at stake.

“There,” Reiju says, setting the medical supplies aside.  She brushes Sanji’s hair across his bruised cheek, smoothing the gold into some semblance of order.

The blond scrambles for his tray of rolls, presenting one to Reiju on a delicate china plate, with a fancy napkin.  “Would you like some tea?” he offers, already turning toward the stove.

Midway through the turn, he catches Zoro’s eye across the cell, and flinches.  It brings Reiju’s attention down on him immediately, and she frowns at Zoro.

“Come in here,” Reiju demands, with an imperious gesture at the floor beneath her feet.  Zoro comes. That look in her eyes isn’t something to mess with.

With the light in the kitchen, the inside of the cell isn’t so gloomy.  It’s clean and organized, and if he doesn’t look too far outside of the lamp’s reach, it’s almost normal.  The sight of the bars at the far edge of the light makes his skin crawl.

Sanji stands at the stove, eyeing Zoro from under the fall of his hair as he fusses with the tea.  Mindful of causing any avoidable conflict with Reiju glaring at him like that, Zoro comes around the far side of the counter and keeps her between himself and the blond.

It’s a surprise when Sanji places three teacups on the counter, avoiding Zoro’s eyes as he pushes one over.  “Cream and sugar?”

Reiju’s cup already has a swirl of cream, and she reaches out to ruffle Sanji’s hair as she takes it.  He leans into the touch, and Reiju shoots Zoro a look over the top of his head.

“I’m good,” Zoro grunts.

The blond looks almost disappointed by that, and casts around the kitchen, gaze landing on his tray of rolls with a brightening expression.  “Try a roll?”

“Sure.”

He’s not expecting much, but far from tossing Zoro a roll, Sanji goes through the whole fussy process with the fancy plate and pretty napkin, even looking Zoro in the eye as he hands it over.  Reiju pointedly takes a bit of her own, wiping her fingers neatly on her napkin.

Zoro follows suit.  Again, he’s not expecting much - bread is bread - but his mouth starts to water as the scent of butter and herbs emerges from the fresh bread smell clogging the entire dungeon.  By the time he’s got the thing to his mouth, his stomach is rumbling like he hasn’t eaten all day.

“Do you like it?” the blond asks hopefully.

“‘S good,” Zoro says, around a mouthful of soft bread.  Surprisingly good.  

Sanji grins, wide and innocent, and Zoro almost forgets where they are.  Damn, this guy has a smile that lights up a room.

“It’s the rise time, I think, and I switched out a few of the herbs.  Oh, and the butter-”

Zoro doesn’t know what any of that means.  He munches through the rest of his roll, and eyes the tray on the counter a bit wistfully.  Not that he cares all that much about food, but it kind of sucks that nobody on the Sunny can cook like that.

“You’ve done well,” Reiju says, taking a precise sip of tea, and Sanji’s smile gets brighter yet.  “I’m sure Cosette will want your recipe.”

“I’ll get it written up!”  Sanji exclaims, and pauses.  “Do you think Father will like them?”

Reiju looks away under the pretense of wiping her lips, but Zoro catches the wrathful look on her face.  “These are the best dinner rolls I’ve ever had, Sanji. Anyone would like them.”

The undercurrents are strong enough to drown in.  In a million years, Zoro would never have guessed half of the mixed motivations he’s stumbled into here.  Stuffing the rest of his roll into his mouth, Zoro pretends not to see that vengeful look on Reiju’s face.

“Want another?”  Sanji asks immediately.  Zoro nods, and this time the blond does just hand him the roll, already seeming more at ease with Zoro there.

“Thanks,” Zoro says, and Sanji is so obviously excited to see him eating that Zoro is almost embarrassed.  He can’t quite shake the habit of eating as fast as possible to prevent Luffy from stealing his share.

Reiju finishes her tea, all the emotion wiped from her face.  “Do you need anything, Sanji?”

Sanji shakes his head, looking dejected as Reiju reaches for the helmet.  “Will you come back soon?”

“I’ll come back when I can,” is all Reiju promises, lowering the helmet over Sanji’s golden hair.  The click of the lock makes Zoro wince in sympathy.

The cell feels darker, like closing that lock shut half the light away with it.  Zoro follows Reiju out with a guilty glance back at where her brother is already holding his hands up to the helmet, readjusting to the weight on his head.  Pocketing the key to the door, Reiju hangs the other back on its hook and turns away.

“Isn’t it a bit much, keeping that key right there?”  Zoro grumbles, once they’re out of earshot of the cell.  It’s the least of the issues he has with all this, but one of the easiest to talk about.

Reiju shoots him a grim smile.  “Judge used to keep it locked in his own chambers.  He decided that was too inconvenient, and unnecessary besides.”

“Unnecessary?”  Zoro asks.

“This way, the kitchen staff can unlock him for meals, and Judge doesn’t have to think about his third son,” Reiju says, ignoring Zoro’s actual question.  He doesn’t ask again. It’s obvious that Reiju will only give him the information she decides upon, and in her own time.

Chapter Text

By the time Zoro and Reiju come back upstairs, the rest of the Vinsmokes are sitting down for dinner.  Zoro takes his cue from Reiju and acts like nothing has happened, and especially not like he just got to eat the most delicious dinner roll of his life down in their dungeon.

About half the time, Judge eats with his children, looming down from the head of the table.  Zoro usually makes himself scarce during those meals, so he’s relieved to see the topmost chair empty.  He wants to get a few questions answered while the situation is still fresh.

The meal is served by a pretty, mousey slip of a woman; Zoro has seen her around a few times now.  She takes the Vinsmoke brothers’ usual jeering in stride, bowing out with a polite apology and remarkable poise.  Zoro can’t help thinking, rather dismally, that even her admirable calm wouldn’t stand up to Luffy’s enthusiasm. It’s impossible to find a chef that can handle Luffy’s demands.

Glancing at Reiju, Zoro wonders how likely she is to kill the conversation - or him - if he brings up Sanji.  She’s eating calmly as ever, ignoring Niji’s complaining about his next mission and Yonji’s table manners. No way to tell; he’s just gonna have to go for it.

“So, what’s up with that?”  Zoro asks, gesturing vaguely downwards.

Reiju gives him a look that would freeze the blood of lesser men, but Zoro is prepared for it after months sailing with Nami.  He turns his back to her and tries to look casual.  

“Sanji?”  Yonji asks, or at least that’s what it sounds like, through the mouthful of food.

“He’s a failure,” Ichiji says, dismissive, like that explains everything.

“A shame to the Vinsmoke name,” Niji adds.  “Should’ve been like us, but he turned out weak and soft instead.”

“The three of us were born with the benefits of all Father’s scientific breakthroughs,” Ichiji explains, “but Sanji didn’t get any of it.”

“Plus, he’s a scaredy cat and a bleeding heart,” Yonji says.  “Not even basic soldier material.”

“Once it was obvious he would never amount to anything, Father put him away,” Ichiji shrugs.

“Everyone thinks he died as a kid,” Niji sneers.  “We used to go down and visit him more often, but it’s boring.  All he does is cry.”

“More fun to go out and fight,” Yonji adds.  “It’s too easy to break him.”

“Father prefers to forget about him, even though he couldn’t bring himself to kill his own flesh and blood.”  Ichiji’s lip curls, the first sign of disrespect Zoro has ever seen any of the three direct at Vinsmoke Judge.  “So little Sanji lives down there, cooking for the rats.”

For a great shame on their family name, the brothers are sure cavalier about it.  Their explanation doesn’t account for the extra cruelty of the helmet, though their merciless indifference follows the same trend.  Anything weak is useless, only as valuable as it is entertaining, and apparently they’ve decided that their last sibling isn’t even that.

“You can go visit him, if you want,” Ichiji says, fishing a key out of his pocket.  “Might as well give him a purpose.”

Zoro catches the key as Ichiji carelessly flips it across the table, and he can feel Reiju’s gaze now burning into him.  “Uh, thanks.”

“You’ve served Germa well so far,” Ichiji says, turning his attention back to his meal.  “See that it stays that way, and you'll have whatever rewards you desire when our plans come to fruition.”

One thing Zoro has practiced a lot, living here, is keeping his mouth shut.  Especially when the Vinsmokes say grandiose shit like that, there’s no reason to respond.  Permission to go bother their imprisoned brother isn’t something he was looking for - Zoro doesn’t particularly want any kind of reward from them, and wouldn’t ask for permission anyway - but he’s not gonna bother saying so.

The rest of the meal passes uneventfully, aside from the feeling of Reiju’s eyes boring into the back of his head.  Zoro shrugs that off too, and does his evening training afterward. At least he has plenty of time to keep in shape.

Reiju corners him outside his room that night, appearing out of the darkness to slam him up against the wall.  At first she doesn’t say anything, merely pinning him there with her eyes after she lets go of his body.  

“Sanji was our mother’s favorite,” she finally says.  “In her memory, if you harm him, no one will ever remember you lived, let alone realize you died.”

Zoro has seen this kind of darkness from Robin, once or twice.  It’s a kind of calculated violence that goes beyond fighting, even the kind of premeditated hunts that Zoro made as a bounty hunter.  He’s not intimidated by it.

“Kinda hypocritical, don’t you think?”  Zoro challenges. “I don’t see you saving him from your brothers.”

“I’ve spent years distracting them from him,” Reiju hisses.  “Nations have fallen to draw their attention away from Sanji.”

“Okay,” Zoro says, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Why don’t you just break him out?”

“Stop prying into my family’s business,” Reiju responds.  “Do you think I haven’t tried? Sanji won’t survive on his own.  I can’t free him from this cage only to abandon him to the wolves outside.”

That sounds like a quitter’s excuse, but it’s not an argument Zoro cares to have right now.  He shrugs, and turns to open his door. Putting his back to Reiju sends a chill up his spine, but she lets him leave.

~o~O~o~

For most missions, Vinsmoke Judge only sends out one or two of his prized children, and Zoro is left to drill clone soldiers in swordplay.  It’s kind of dull, but it leaves Zoro with plenty of time to nap or train on his own, so he doesn’t complain. Still, after a particularly monotonous few days, Zoro is bored enough that the key Ichiji so flippantly tossed at him is burning a hole in his pocket.

Besides, he’s curious.  Zoro has heard of political prisoners, even political prisoners who are members of the current royal family.  But it’s usually one extreme or another; languishing in squalor, or living in luxury behind a door that locks from the outside.  Prince Sanji is trapped in a dungeon where his brothers occasionally show up to beat him, but his sister humors his hobbies and gets him all the cooking supplies that he wants.  The dichotomy must be a stressful way to live - the blond probably has no idea what any given day will bring.

Well, today is bringing Zoro.

If he can find his way there.  Fuck, maybe this castle is on multiple snails after all, because somebody has definitely moved the dungeons.

Eventually he feels like he must be on the right track, because he’s hardly seen anyone and there are no windows in the vacant halls.  Zoro thinks he remembers going down a staircase or two, too. He finally finds a door that opens onto an empty block of cells, and ambles down the corridor.

“Pardon me, sir!” a voice squeaks, and Zoro almost runs into a girl in an apron as he comes around another corner.  She jumps back, and Zoro reaches out to grab her before she can tumble down the stairs behind her.

The near miss sets his heart thudding in his chest, and for a moment Zoro is so distracted by the memory of another wide-eyed girl that he doesn’t recognize this one.  As he lets go of her arm, he realizes that she’s the chef he’s noticed a few times.

“Sorry,” Zoro mutters, moving to get past her.

“Are you lost, sir?”  the girl asks hesitantly.  “Can I help you get somewhere?”

“Nah, think I finally found it,” Zoro says, waving down the stairs.  They look familiar. “Another cell down there, right?”

She nods, hands clenching in her apron skirt, gaze darting between Zoro and the stairs.  Obviously she doesn’t want him to go down.

Zoro eyes her, and sighs.  “Who are you, anyway?”  

“My name is Cosette, sir!  I work in the kitchen.”

“You’re Cosette?”  Zoro blurts. He vaguely recalls hearing the name from Reiju.

The girl freezes.  “Yes, sir.”

Zoro’s not sure what to ask.  Something tells him there’s not much she can answer.  “You bring him his meals?” he finally says, tilting his head down the stairs.

She opens her mouth, closes it, starts again.  “Ingredients mostly, sir.”

“So you know about the whole cooking thing.”  It’d be hard to miss.

“Well, yes, sir.”

“Stop calling me sir,” Zoro grumbles.  “You’re a chef here, right? You talk to him about it?”

“I’m not allowed to speak to Sanji-sama, sir,” Cosette squeaks.  “We’re to pretend he doesn’t exist.”

Zoro sighs.  Doesn’t anyone realize how stupid that sounds?  “But he gives you his recipes.”

Cosette’s eyes widen, and she shoves her hands into her apron pockets.  Paper crinkles.

“I’m not gonna do anything,” Zoro says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  “Just curious.”

“Sanji-sama is a great chef, sir!”  Cosette answers. “I’ve learned so much, using his recipes!”

“Huh,” Zoro says, taking that in.  Cosette starts looking a bit less like she’s been caught out doing something forbidden.

“Are you going to see Prince Sanji, sir?”  she hesitantly asks.

Zoro nods.  “I’m not gonna hurt him or anything,” he adds, when her expression of apprehension doesn’t fade.  “You can go do whatever… chef stuff you do.”

“Very well, sir!”  Cosette dips a quick curtsey.  “I’ll be going, sir, but please call on me if you need anything!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zoro grumbles, waving her off.  She actually smiles at him, and scurries away down the hall.

“And stop calling me sir!”  Zoro calls after her. There’s no response, but he feels like he got his point across.  He’s not here to make trouble for the staff, who have to deal with the entire Vinsmoke family every day, and he’s even less interested in disrupting the supply chain for the only good thing the third Vinsmoke son has going for him.

Just like the first time, when Zoro gets down to that solitary cell, it looks empty.  The lamps in the kitchen are dark, and at first, all Zoro can hear is the echoes of his own footsteps off the forbidding walls.

But there’s a delicious fried smell in the air, reminding Zoro of festivals he went to as a kid.  A drop of water drips from the faucet and sizzles off of something in the sink, and as Zoro examines what he can see past the island counter, he catches a faint twitch of shadows in the corner.

“Smells good down here,” Zoro comments.  

Pale hands appear first, gripping the edge of the counter, before Sanji peers over the top.  The action is childish, almost pathetically so; it makes Zoro think of Chopper, always hiding around doorways.

On one hand, Zoro is tempted to scoff at an adult cowering that way, but the sight of the helmet reminds him that this is an extraordinary circumstance.  He lets his other instinct take over, the one that’s telling him to protect something helpless. Somebody needs to.

“Want to try a bite?”  Sanji asks, eager and hopeful.

“Yeah,” Zoro replies, and walks up to the bars.

Sanji stands, a spring in his step as he whisks something out of the warming rack below his oven and lights the kitchen lamps, fussing around with a bunch of tiny plates and bowls.  He barely hesitates to cross the empty space at the edge of his cell, bringing a fancy little tray of calamari with him.

Ignoring the chopsticks laid neatly across the corner of the tray, Zoro takes a bite.  He almost moans. The calamari is lightly battered, perfectly crisp on the outside and deliciously soft on the inside, the sauce is a brilliant complement to the spiced batter, and it’s all Zoro can do not to tip the entire tray directly into his mouth.

“Is it good?”  Sanji asks, hovering just beyond the bars with one hand balancing the side of his helmet.

Nodding, Zoro concentrates on eating the rest instead of coming up with a reply.  The guy must know his food is great.

When he hands the tray back through the bars, Zoro can just barely make out a grin crinkling the corners of Sanji’s eyes behind the helmet.  The blond takes a step back, adjusting the weight again, and Zoro frowns.

Seeing Sanji with that heavy monstrosity of a helmet on already rankles, even though Zoro has only seen him without it once.  Snagging the key for it off the wall, he pulls out the door key and goes to open the cell.

“Where did you get that?”  Sanji demands, scrambling to put the island counter between them, his whole demeanor changing in an instant.  “Did Ichiji put you up to this? Only they have those keys-”

“Whoa, I’m not here to beat you up or anything,” Zoro says, pausing in the doorway and raising his hands.  

“Why are you here?”  Sanji demands, fear quaking through his attempt to sound tough as he trembles on the far side of the counter.

“Bored,” Zoro begins, and realizes that sounds a lot like something one of the other Vinsmokes would say.  “Uh. Curious, too. I’m not used to - the soldiers are boring. My crew -”

He stops, and tries to get his thoughts in order.  His motivations are all kind of selfish, even though he doesn’t mean Sanji any harm. 

“Your crew?”  the blond asks, standing a little straighter.

“Pirate crew,” Zoro clarifies.  “It’s a long story, but I’m not gonna stay here long.  Gotta meet back up with them.”

“You’re a pirate?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.  “Yeah, but I told your family I’m a bounty hunter.  Used to be, so it’s true enough I guess. You aren’t going to tell them, are you?”

He figures that might complicate things, especially if the Vinsmokes have heard of Luffy.  At least they don’t seem to pay much attention to bounty posters. This Vinsmoke, however, relaxes; apparently, the shared secret was a good move.

“I wouldn’t tell them anything,” Sanji mutters, so Zoro takes a few steps into the cell.

“Can I come over there?”  he asks, holding up the other key.

Sanji nods, and even meets him halfway.  Zoro tries not to jostle the blond too much as he grabs the edge of the helmet and searches for the lock, but Sanji still makes a small sound and has to reach up to steady it.

“Sorry,” Zoro absently says, finally getting the thing off and setting it aside.  He reaches out to ruffle Sanji’s hair, the way he saw Reiju do - the way he might with Chopper, or Usopp on a good day - and only realizes that might be weird when he registers how soft the blond strands are under his hand.

Sanji seems to be having a similar moment, leaning into Zoro’s touch before pulling away with wide eyes.  He brushes his fingers through his hair, and it falls partially over his face, concealing one of those distinctive Vinsmoke eyebrows. 

 And a fading bruise.  It’s no wonder the blond doesn’t like people to come in here.

They stare at each other, and Zoro can’t think of anything to say.  He’s no good at small talk, and being rough the way he is with Luffy will only scare this guy.  The uncertainty leaves him hung up on the color of Sanji’s eyes and the way his hair felt, both so unexpectedly vivid.

“How’d you learn to cook like that?”  Zoro finally asks, and Sanji unfreezes.  

He crosses the kitchen, sneaking a look back at Zoro, and holds up a book.  “Reiju brings me recipes. I have plenty of time to get them just right. Was it good?  I thought it might not be quite done, but…”

“It was good,” Zoro assures him, reaching for deep reserves of patience and barely managing not to roll his eyes at the blatant fishing for praise.  Nami better not ever try to tell him he’s too blunt ever again. Not that she’s here to see.

“Really?”  Sanji asks, flipping through the cookbook and running his finger down the page.  He drifts across the kitchen, touching the dirty pan cooling in the sink. “I think the oil could have been hotter, it might have crisped up better, don’t you think?”

He looks like a real chef, Zoro realizes.  Like he belongs here, in a kitchen, completely in command of his surroundings.  “Dunno, cook, you’re the guy to answer that.”

“Cook?!”  Sanji squawks, spinning to stare at Zoro with an affronted expression.

Zoro grins.  “Got a problem?”

“I want to be a chef, not some run-of-the-mill cook!” the blond says indignantly.  “A great chef! I’ll find the All Blue, and-”

Sanji stops, gaze caught on the helmet cast aside on the counter, and digs his hands into his hair.  The outburst fizzles away, and the blond glances sidelong at Zoro, wariness overcoming his posture.

“I’m going to become the world’s greatest swordsman,” Zoro says.  “Never heard of All Blue, but a man’s gotta have dreams.”

Awkward.  Zoro isn’t used to offering this kind of emotional reassurance.  If Luffy was here, he’d have just the right stupid thing to say, to give the cook back the confidence Zoro got a glimpse of.

“It’s stupid,” Sanji says bitterly, hanging his head and wrapping his arms around himself.  “As if I could ever find the All Blue, when I can’t even leave this cell.”

Zoro hesitates.  It’s an insensitive question, maybe, but no one has ever said he’s a tactful guy, and after what Reiju said...  “Haven’t you ever tried to escape?”

Sanji stares at him, anger and vulnerability and fear all clear as glass in those wide blue eyes.  “Yes.”

“And?”  Zoro presses.

“It didn’t work, I’m too useless to even run away,” the blond whispers, tugging at his hair.  “Can’t do anything right, not even vanish.”

Zoro doesn't feel like he should try to dig into that swamp of self-worth issues.  He’s more interested in this failed escape attempt, but Sanji is looking more fragile than ever.  It would be cruel of Zoro to keep poking fingers in that wound, so he decides to ask Reiju more about it later.  She definitely knows something.

Instead, he claps the blond awkwardly on the shoulder, powering through the deep flinch to give him a gentle shake.  Sanji leans into the touch again, even though Zoro is a stranger who barged in here to ask intrusive questions, as if he’s starving for any scrap of positive attention he can get.

“You’ll get out there someday,” Zoro promises.  Inane, but there’s not much else he can say in this situation.

“All Blue is an ocean where all the currents of the five seas meet, and you can find any fish in the world,” Sanji says quietly.  “If you’re a pirate, you must have sailed all over. Have you ever seen anything like that?”

“No,” Zoro says, “but we’ve sailed into the sky.  Want to hear about it?”

Sanji nods, bright and eager again, and Zoro wishes Usopp was here.  That kid could really light up the cook, Zoro is sure of it. Still, he does his best to tell the story in an exciting way, and by the time he describes Luffy flinging the mythical golden bell out of the sky, some of the anxiety is gone from Sanji’s face.  It’s more satisfying than Zoro is willing to admit.

Zoro isn’t sure how long he’s been down here, but his muscles are stiff when he shifts his weight off the edge of the counter.  “I should go,” he says, and he and Sanji turn simultaneously to look at the helmet.

It’s cold in Zoro’s hands, and even heavier than he remembered.  Maybe some of the weight is guilt. It certainly seems to get worse when he has to lock the thing back over Sanji’s disconsolate expression.

“Will you come back?”  the cook asks, trailing behind Zoro as he leaves the cell.  He stops at the edge of the light, toeing the line of that dead zone in front of the bars.  

“Yeah, sure,” Zoro says, keeping his tone casual as he closes this lock, too.  “Wait until you hear about the time Luffy declared war on the World Government.”

“I’ll make you lunch next time,” Sanji offers, his tone bleeding into pleading as he parallels Zoro’s path to the stairs.  Zoro pauses.

“I’d like that,” he says, trying to meet the blond’s gaze without being able to really make out his eyes.  “See you, cook.”

He doesn’t look back after that, taking the stairs two at a time until he gets back up into the empty dungeon corridors.  Despite having permission to be there, he doesn’t want anyone else to find out he went to visit the discarded Vinsmoke son.

~o~O~o~ 

Zoro pokes his head into the Vinsmokes’ main hall, sees Judge sitting there with only Niji, and decides to have dinner in the soldiers’ mess instead.  While he eats, he can’t help wondering how many of these dishes have been improved by the lost Prince’s passion.

Talking about his nakama took a weight off Zoro’s chest that he hardly knew was there.  For that alone, Zoro would go visit Sanji again, but seeing the cook so excited over the stories makes something in his chest give a contented rumble.  It’s rewarding in an unfamiliar way, and Zoro wants to figure it out.

He still has plenty of questions, too.  Mulling them over in the ambient noise of the mess, Zoro decides to talk to Reiju sooner rather than later.  She’s fiercely protective of Sanji, but Zoro gets the feeling that if he makes it clear he won’t hurt the cook, she’ll open up about him.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Zoro spends more time than usual meditating, and then goes looking for Reiju.  He feels like he’ll need the extra calm.

She’s taking tea in a secluded garden when he finds her.  It’s a courtyard he’s never visited before, and he stumbled into it through a door he was sure led out to one of the main courtyards.  The snails have definitely moved.

Reiju sets her teacup down with barely a clink, and watches Zoro wander in with an inscrutable half-frown.  “What brings you here, Demon of the East?”

“As if you can’t guess,” Zoro grumbles.

“You aren’t the type to beat around the bush,” Reiju muses, a dark hint of amusement in her voice now as Zoro circumnavigates the flowering shrubs screening the little patio where her table sits.  “There is such a thing as being too bold.”

“Whatever,” Zoro says, throwing himself into the chair across from her.  “You’ll talk circles around me if you want to. Not gonna bother with that game.”

He steals a piece of her tea cake, and gives Reiju a taste of her own unimpressed stare.

“I’ve already made myself clear,” she says.  “My family’s business is none of yours, and little boys who stick their noses in places they aren’t welcome will face consequences.”

“Well, your little brother already asked me to come by for lunch, so I guess I’m welcome there,” Zoro retorts.  “Might as well help me understand what the deal is with him.”

Stony silence.  Zoro rocks back in his chair.  Reiju taps her fingernails against her teacup.

“It’s not complicated,” she finally says.  “He didn’t meet Judge’s expectations, so Judge locked him away.  Ichiji and the others have always been in the habit of tormenting him, and I do what I can to soften the blows.”

“You do a shit job,” Zoro comments.  Why use precision tools when a hammer will do; if Reiju won’t come clean with the details that matter, Zoro won’t make nice either.  He doesn’t want to keep going in circles, repeating this same conversation.

“Don’t make such brazen claims about things you can’t possibly understand,” Reiju hisses. “Sometimes I still can’t see him for months at a time, and it wasn’t always this easy.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Zoro does his best impression of swaggering certainty, daring her to prove it.

“You must realize that Judge has no love for his children,” Reiju continues.  “We’ve always been his little soldiers, coveting our general’s approval. Good little soldiers show no weakness, and love is pure frivolity.  Judge would cast me aside just as easily as Sanji, and then where would he be?”

“Dunno, but he’s still stuck in a dungeon with a damn cage over his head,” Zoro points out.  It’s the best lead-in he’s gonna get, so he takes it. “He said he tried to escape, once.”

“And you want the whole sordid story?”  Reiju demands. “What, will you tell me how everything went wrong?  We were children. Sanji had the nerve to face Judge down, but he didn’t have a chance of physically resisting.  Thrown straight back in his cell, and it broke him.”

Only things stay broken.  People heal, and Zoro is certain he’s seen the will to fight in the blond.  He doesn’t bother to tell Reiju. If she doesn’t want to see it, she won’t.

“So I keep our brothers away, and bring him books,” Reiju says, with a blank expression on her face.  “He likes cookbooks and restaurant menus, personal accounts of adventures and flowery romance novels. That’s all I can give him of the outside world.”

“Are you responsible for that girl?”  Zoro asks. “The cook girl, Cosette. I ran into her yesterday.”

Reiju shoots him a milder version of that murderous look she had when she threatened him about hurting Sanji.  “I’ve found that most kitchen staff cannot be trusted. Judge punished too many of them in the early days of Sanji’s interest in cooking.  Cosette does her job, and more than that, she gets something out of it. I can rely on her to make sure Sanji has the things he needs.”

“Figured.  I’m not gonna mess with her, so you can stop looking like you’re going to dismember me overnight.”

“I wouldn’t wait for night,” Reiju retorts.  “The only reason you’re still alive after expressing so much interest in Sanji is that I believe it will do him good to have some more human interaction.  If my opinion changes-”

“Death, violence, probably torture and no one will find my body, I get it,” Zoro interrups.  Reiju has a melodramatic streak just as bad as the rest of the Vinsmokes. He’s still not impressed, but Zoro is starting to feel like he understands her position a little better.  “Damn, I think Sanji is the most well-balanced person here.”

Reiju seems grimly satisfied by that statement.  Zoro hopes she and Robin never meet. “As long as you understand.”

~o~O~o~

He meant to go back down to the dungeons around mid-afternoon, enough time for the cook to put together a meal without feeling pressured.  Kind of stupid - after all, it’s not like time really matters when you’re a prisoner, and Zoro is hardly a stickler for regular mealtimes. Moot anyway, because Zoro has no idea what time it is when he finally finds that last staircase.

Like both previous occasions Zoro has come down here, there’s a smell of fresh cooking in the air, and absolutely no sign of life.  This time, he snags the key off the wall and walks right to the door, stomping a little to make sure he doesn’t sound too much like the Vinsmokes.

Sanji pops up from behind his bed as Zoro fumbles with the key, looking significantly less anxious than before.  “You came back!”

“Said I would.”  Zoro kicks the door open, and Sanji flinches at the noise.  “I don’t make promises I won’t keep.”

The cook doesn’t have a response for that, standing quietly as Zoro approaches him.  It’s easier to find the lock on the helmet this time, even though the whole thing is rough work; solid and effective, but it’s not meant for anyone’s ease of use.  The key sticks a little, and when it finally gives, both Zoro and Sanji let out a sigh of relief.

Zoro tosses the thing aside, and it only feels right to give the cook’s hair a sort of reassuring ruffle.  Sanji’s body language is calm as he soaks in the touch. There’s no point in comparing this to any normal standard, so Zoro doesn’t bother to feel awkward about it.

“What kind of pasta do you like?”  Sanji asks, smoothing his hair down over one eye.  He tugs at the ends, not quite looking at Zoro, but his voice is steady.  “I was just starting a red sauce.”

With a shrug, Zoro follows the cook into his kitchen, watching the place come alive as he lights the lamps.  “Dunno enough different kinds to care.”

“You’ll like this,” Sanji declares, confidence returning with the light.

Zoro is learning to hate the shift.  There’s clearly so much more to Sanji than this dreary cell allows.

“You always know when I’m coming,” he says, as Sanji pulls his half-finished meal out of hiding.  Stepping closer, Zoro can see that all this food must have been set aside only moments ago.

The stovetop is still hot, the bowl of partially chopped vegetables the cook pulls out of his fridge barely chilled.  His cutting board is already damp with tomato juice as the blond goes back to work.

“Had to get good at sensing it,” Sanji says, eyeing Zoro sidelong as he chops.  “My brothers… they’re much more likely to come in here if they see I’m in the middle of something.”

“You can hear people coming that far away?”  Zoro asks, taking a step out of the cook’s space.  Sanji visibly relaxes.

“Not exactly,” the cook mutters.  “It was in one of my books, and Reiju helped me learn.  Observation haki.”

Zoro goggles a bit at that.  This guy knows haki?  

“How long have you been practicing that?”  His crew has only just started to learn what it is, let alone how to use it effectively.

Sanji shrugs, and starts on a new set of vegetables after scraping the minced ones into a pan.  The sharp smell of garlic wafts through the kitchen. “A few years, I guess. Reiju helps me work out, too, when she has time.” 

The gymnastic equipment, Zoro assumes.  He’s got more to ask about that, too, but it can wait.

“If you can use haki, why don’t you just…” Zoro mimes punching through the bars, imagining how they’d look if Luffy had a reason to go through them.  “Bust out?”

The chopping gets sharper, somehow, as Sanji grimaces at him.  “And what next?”

Scowling, Zoro tries to think up a good, inspirational answer to that.  All he comes up with is a very Luffy-like whatever you want, and he doesn’t think that’s enough.

The water on the stovetop boils, and the cook adds the pasta.  Zoro sighs and leans against the far end of the counter. “Won’t know unless you try.”

“Oh, I know,” Sanji says quietly.  He drops his gaze and looks smaller, all of a sudden; more like the child he was when that happened, Zoro supposes.

Irritating.  “What’re you making over there?”

The cook perks up immediately, the topic of cooking unfailingly capturing his attention.  “It’s a new recipe from the area around Dressrosa, Reiju brought me the book a few months ago and I’ve been working my way through it, the spices they use are really interesting!”

“Yeah?”  Zoro grunts, and that’s all it takes to send the cook spiralling off into a monologue about seasonings that Zoro has no hope of following.  He makes a hmm-ing noise every so often, and nods when Sanji looks his way, and that seems like enough input to keep the cook content.

The guy is way more tolerable when he’s happy.  Zoro understands the bouts of insecurity - it’s almost more surprising that Sanji talks back at all - but the cringing is still kind of annoying.  Zoro doesn’t have much patience for stuff like that, and he can’t tease Sanji the way he does Usopp when the sharpshooter acts cowardly. This is an entirely different kind of fear.

Peering over the Sanji’s shoulder, Zoro watches him mix his lightly sauteed vegetables into a pan of tomato-based sauce.  His motions are sure, as practiced and confident as Zoro’s morning katas. Letting that sit, the cook turns to the pot of pasta and fishes out a few pieces.

“Does this taste right?” Sanji asks, holding out a bit of pasta on a fork.

Zoro takes it, chews, and frowns.  The pasta is perfect. “Yeah. Hey, how do you usually test stuff, with…?”  

Sanji’s eyes track Zoro’s gesture to the helmet, lying forgotten on the bed with its narrowly spaced front bars facing the ceiling.  

“I can manage small bites,” he mutters, shoulders hunching under an imagined weight.  “Through the bars.”

He waves at a handful of long, narrow forks, stored in a jar beside the stove.  Within easy reach, where frequently used objects should be kept. Zoro grimaces.  

Trite platitudes aren’t Zoro’s thing.  What’s the point in saying how much that sucks, when it’s so obvious?  He can’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound condescending.

Stealing a glance at Zoro through the veil of his hair, the cook tests a bite of the pasta himself, and turns off the heat.  He darts around the kitchen, pulling out plates and dishing up the food, and Zoro is almost embarrassed by how easily the action smooths over his tactless comment.  The last detail is a little folding table whisked out from beneath the bed.

“I don’t have chairs,” Sanji says, tugging at his hair with one hand and tapping the tabletop with the other.  “Niji broke them. Reiju will sometimes sit on the bed with me…”

“That’s fine,” Zoro interrupts.  “Pirate, remember? You don’t need to stand on ceremony or anything.”

Sanji still looks uncertain, glancing up at his shelf of cookbooks before setting the table.  Zoro doesn’t care what he’s read; he’s never had a formal dinner in his life, and this would be a bizarre place to start.  Frankly, this is more his style, and besides, the smell of the pasta is mouthwatering. He’s not gonna wait around for the cook to feel guilty over niceties.

Dropping onto the bed, Zoro picks up his fork, and the cook’s attention is immediately on him instead of the cookbooks.  He takes a bite and holds Sanji’s gaze, not trying to hide his enjoyment at the taste, and the cook’s cheeks flush.

“It’s good, cook,” Zoro confirms, thwacking the bed beside him.  Damn blondie should eat his own serving before it gets cold.

The cook takes a few steps toward him, and hesitates.  It’s clear he’s nervous to come any closer, shuffling his feet that critical arm’s-length away.  Zoro holds still, and doesn’t think about why Sanji acts this way. It’s too late to teach his brothers any kind of lesson over it, as much as Zoro would like to punch one of them in the throat right now.  Preferably Niji. That bastard is insufferable.

Going back to his meal, Zoro lets the cook work it out on his own, and after another few seconds of anxious hair-pulling, Sanji perches on the edge of the bed next to him.  Zoro rolls his eyes and chews.

Sanji eats neatly, cutting the food into tiny bites, each noodle halved into birdlike nibbles before the cook brings it to his lips.  After a minute Zoro realizes why - helmet sized. He stiffens, and Sanji definitely notices, going still with his fork halfway to his mouth.

“It’s nothing,” Zoro mutters, raising a hand to pat his shoulder before thinking better of it.  “You don’t deserve this shit, is all.”

That, of all things, makes the cook frown in confusion.  Zoro might go ahead and blacken Niji’s eye after all. Maybe it won’t teach any of the Vinsmokes a lesson, but it will make Zoro feel a little better.

Fuck it.  Zoro reaches out, deliberately slow, and ruffles the cook’s hair again.  That seems to be a safe touch, though the man still winces away slightly as Zoro starts to move.  He tries to think of it like petting Chopper’s fur, but the lonely innocence in Sanji’s deep blue eyes is different.  Reiju must be doing something right, if the cook can still look like that.

It’s just weird, because Sanji is Zoro’s own age, slim and pale but not weak - Zoro can see decent muscle mass shifting under his clothes when he moves, and when the cook isn’t cringing in fear he moves confidently.  In those moments he doesn’t seem like a man who would crave even the simplest gestures of affection like this, and Zoro is frustrated by it.

He brushes Sanji’s hair flat again, and the cook sits quiet and content, turning in toward Zoro and angling his head to make the action easier.  It’s infuriating. Finishing with a slap on the back, Zoro slings his arm across Sanji’s shoulders and shakes him gently.

“Stupid cook,” Zoro mutters.  He doesn’t know what Sanji makes of the gesture, avoiding the cook’s eyes as he goes back to eating, but Sanji seems to realize that Zoro doesn’t mean anything bad by it.

They finish the meal in comfortable silence, and once again Zoro can only think that he’s never had a better bowl of pasta.  Practice makes perfect and all that, and Zoro trains with the same intensity that Sanji obviously dedicates to his food. He understands effort, and this guy isn’t sparing any.

Still, no one gets this good at anything without failing a few times along the way.  Sanji probably doesn’t have a story like Zoro’s scar, but there must be something.

“What do you do with the stuff that doesn’t turn out?”  Zoro wonders. “Can’t have been this good forever.”

“I eat everything,” Sanji says, expression shuttering as he shrugs out from under Zoro’s arm.

“Really?”  Zoro asks, taking his turn to look at the long shelf of cookbooks above the sink.  All those recipes, the cook must have fucked one or two of them up. “I mean, you must’ve burned something bad enough to throw out at some point.”

“I would never throw food away,” the cook insists, voice tight.  He turns away, getting up to gather their plates, but not before Zoro gets a glimpse of the haunted look in his eyes.  

Damn it, Zoro can’t seem to keep his foot out of his mouth tonight.  Sanji starts washing the dishes, shoulders tight, and he figures he’s messed with the blond enough.

“Hey, uh, thanks for dinner,” Zoro says.  Sanji turns to look at him in surprise. He won’t apologize, but maybe he owes the cook something.  “It was really great. You’re a good cook, cook.”

Sanji grins, bright and charming like he’s standing in a beam of sunlight.  “The best cook, marimo.”

“Marimo?”  Zoro mutters, but he can’t put much heat into it.  Not because he doesn’t want to scare the cook, but because hearing Sanji fearless enough to tease him back is too gratifying.

Zoro wants to see more of that confidence.  The cook would be spectacular if he could stand tall with that broad grin, and Zoro wants to see it happen.

~o~O~o~

All three brothers are back when Zoro goes upstairs, drinking and throwing bottle caps at a newspaper article detailing Ichiji’s latest mission.  The Vinsmokes aren’t mentioned, but the unprecedented shift in the war sure is, the unexpected results and current upheaval.

It’s harder than usual to face them.  Zoro doesn’t care about their exploits, or their bragging, or their pride.  He doesn’t like the way they treat their servants and soldiers, but nobles are like that the world over.  The way they’ve treated their own brother is something else entirely.

“Hey, Zoro,” Yonji cheers, flicking a bottle cap so hard at the wall that it sticks in the stone.  “Check it out, Ichiji ended these guys’ war in like, an hour.”

“We won’t even need foot soldiers soon,” Niji sneers.  “Then what will you do all day, Roronoa?”

Ignoring the question, Zoro wanders over to snag a bottle for himself.  He takes a long drink before bothering to answer. “Leave, probably.”

“What’d you do all day today, even?”  Yonji asks. “Drilling our soldiers sounds so boring.”

“It’s not so bad.”  Zoro hesitates, but he’s going to need clearance for his next plans with the cook.  If one of these three stumbled onto them without warning… “Checked out the dungeons this afternoon, too.”

“You visited our eyesore of a brother?”  Niji inquires.

“Yeah.  Can I bring him outside?”  Zoro asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of the dungeons.

Yonji, as usual, laughs at him.  Niji just scoffs, and Ichiji makes a distasteful face.  

“Why would you want to?” Ichiji says, like there isn’t a good answer he can imagine.

Zoro shrugs.  He knows he can’t act too invested in this, or they’ll definitely say no.  “He’s more interesting than the rest of your soldiers.”

“Interesting?”  Yonji snickers. “That no-good failure?”

“As long as Father doesn’t see him, you can do whatever you want to him,” Ichiji decides, with a dismissive wave.

Zoro doesn’t like the suggestive lift of Niji’s eyebrows at that answer, but in the back of his mind, he wonders if he shouldn’t play into the assumption that he has… less than honorable… interest in the cook.  Maybe if he needs to, later; it would definitely amuse these three, and might make it easier for Zoro to write off time alone with Sanji. He’s just glad Reiju isn’t here to hear the allusion.

Chapter Text

It’s a few days before Zoro has time to visit Sanji again.  He wants to have the whole afternoon free, to make the most of bringing the blond outside.  There are a few things Zoro wants to test, and… and, maybe, in the back of his mind, the beginnings of a plan.  Zoro’s not a planner. He doesn’t want to examine that thought too closely.

After lunch, with Yonji and Niji bickering over fighting styles, Zoro heads down.  Today seems like a good day to do this - Ichiji is gone on a mission, and this time Judge went with him, something about observing test results in the field.  Whatever. Those two are the ones Zoro most wants to keep Sanji clear of.

The cell isn’t quiet as a grave this time.  The lamps in the kitchen are on, and the cook is washing dishes at the sink.  Sanji still looks over his shoulder as soon as Zoro comes around the corner, anxiety clear in his posture, but his back straightens as soon as his eyes confirm what his Haki must have been telling him.

“Hey cook,” Zoro greets him, snagging the helmet key and going to open the cell.  It’s beginning to feel normal. “You almost done with that?”

“You come at such odd times, marimo,” Sanji complains, turning off the sink and setting the last dishes aside.  “I just finished cleaning up, but I can make you something-”

“Nah,” Zoro interrupts, taking a few steps into the cell and stopping by the cook’s pile of gym equipment.  As he suspected, at least some of this stuff is self-defense oriented. “Ate already.”

The disappointment is so obvious in Sanji’s posture, even with his expression hidden, that Zoro almost feels guilty.  But he’s got something more important to do today, and the cook comes over to him without prompting, so Zoro figures he can’t be too upset.

Zoro reaches for the helmet, and pauses.  Sanji sways back a half-step, confused, and Zoro shakes his head.  “Leave it for now. C’mon.”

“Why?”  Sanji asks, but follows Zoro to the door regardless.  He stops at the threshold, reaching up to grip the sides of the helmet with clenched fingers when Zoro tries to gesture him through.

“We’re going outside, come on,” Zoro repeats.  The cook shudders.

“I don’t want to.”

Sighing, Zoro walks back to Sanji, who flinches away from him.  He has to take a deep breath, remind himself that the cook is used to instantaneous punishment if he disobeys and that Zoro is asking him to do something directly against all the rules of his life.  This isn’t Usopp balking at a scary cave, or Chopper hiding from strangers. It’s an unfair position to put the man in, so Zoro tries to be patient.

“It’s okay,” he coaxes, taking Sanji by the elbow as gently as he can.  “I got permission. We’re not gonna see anyone, just get a little sun.” 

He’s going to ask more of the cook.  Not now, but… Zoro can’t help wondering if the island Kuma threw him to wasn’t so random after all.  He doesn’t like other people meddling in his life, and it’s nothing so grand and stupid as fate, but Zoro will allow that all this is more than mere coincidence.

That’s for later.  For right now, he has to convince Sanji to leave his cell.

The cook lets Zoro lead him out into the hall, stumbling over nothing as they cross the threshold, with one hand still frozen on the side of his helmet.  Instead of making a big deal out of it, Zoro pushes on and all but drags Sanji up the stairs. Aside from a glimpse of one wild-wide blue eye, there’s no change in the blond’s misgivings.

Half-way up, Zoro lets go of Sanji, and turns to get a fresh assessment.  It’s a long flight of steep stairs, and the cook’s breath is coming sharp and fast, but it’s clearly from nerves and not physical strain.  Zoro expected as much - Sanji seems delicate, fragile even, but he hasn’t wasted away to nothing down in the dark.

When they get into corridors with more signs of life, the cook hesitates more.  Once again Zoro has to remind himself not to growl impatiently for him to follow.  Hopefully if today goes well, Sanji will stop dragging his feet so much.

Today, Zoro still has to stop and go back for the cook, when Sanji falters at the intersection of the last hallway out of the underground levels, peering around the doorway at the bright shaft of light cutting across the corridor from the west-facing windows.

“Zoro!”  the cook squeaks, tugging against his hand as Zoro tries to pull him into the light.

“What?”  Zoro asks, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

Sanji wavers, free hand flitting to Zoro’s grip on his forearm.  For a moment Zoro thinks the cook will just give in, and is oddly disappointed.  “I haven’t - Zoro, I haven’t left that cell for - it’s been years.  I’ve been locked up, underground, for years.”

All of a sudden that casual beam of sunlight looks a little different.  Zoro watches a few motes of dust float through the light, and can’t even imagine what seeing the sun for the first time in years would be like.

“Okay,” he says, quietly adjusting his grip to grasp the cook’s hand instead.  “Okay. We’re still going, but whenever you’re ready, cook.”

Sanji takes a deep breath and squeezes Zoro’s hand, tight.  He has a strong grip, and Zoro idly wonders what the cook would be like with a sword.  It’s another thought to come back to.

“Okay,” the cook repeats, and takes a small step out into the sunlit corridor.  Nothing spectacular happens. Sanji shivers a little, reflexively adjusts his fingers in Zoro’s, and they keep going.

It’s not a big deal, or maybe it is; neither of them says anything else, but Zoro feels kind of proud when the cook doesn’t stop again.  There’s something brave about it, as Sanji passes through all the shafts of sunlight that follow without flinching.

All the same, Zoro is glad that the courtyard he picked out for this is small and shady, overhung by stone walls and expressionless windows on every side.  Less overwhelming than dragging the cook out the front gate. Sanji might not be protesting, but he’s still holding Zoro’s hand so tightly that Zoro can’t forget about it.

“We’re just gonna do some flexibility stuff,” Zoro tells him, staying close to the wall and letting Sanji stand practically in his shadow.  The cook peers up at the sky, a narrow square of blue high above, and suddenly Zoro can’t get the helmet off him fast enough. 

He has to see the cook’s reaction.  Sanji makes a startled noise when Zoro lets go of his hand, reaching for him almost desperately until he figures out what Zoro is doing, and even then he turns in so close to Zoro’s chest that he can hardly get the damn thing off.  When he does, dropping it to clatter against the cobblestones, Sanji has his eyes screwed shut, one hand going immediately to his hair while he clutches at Zoro’s shirt with the other.

“Oi,” Zoro protests, pulling Sanji’s hand out of his hair before the blond can yank it out.  He’s breathing too fast again, and shaking like a leaf. “Breathe, cook, it’s fine.”

Sanji cracks his eyes open and stares at Zoro, blinking furiously.  Even the barely-visible sliver of his blue eyes is infinitely brighter than the pale, cloudless sky above them.  Holding his gaze and his trembling fingers with equal determination, Zoro waits for the cook to calm down.

“Is this too much?”  he eventually asks, when Sanji breaks eye contact to glance at their surroundings.

“No,” Sanji mumbles, shaking his head.  Even the shady light of the courtyard makes his hair shine, and the desire to see him in real sunlight spikes through Zoro like a sword, an itch that doesn’t go away.

“Good,” is all he says, brushing that weird urge aside.  “C’mere, we’re going to run through some stretches.”

The courtyard is lined in cobblestones but the interior of the square is grass, and Sanji lets Zoro tug him out into it.  He frowns when Zoro drops his hand again, but visibly grits his teeth and straightens his spine.  

Zoro nods, and puts a step or two between them.  “Okay. Just copy me, to start.”

It’s practically anticlimactic.  Zoro runs through some basic stretches, and Sanji follows along.  The cook flinches every time a seagull flies overhead, and Zoro has to step in to correct his form a couple times, but only barely.  Otherwise it’s quiet. Zoro made sure to figure out what all the rooms around this courtyard are, and as far as he could tell, they’re empty.  For such a big castle, not many people live in it.

No distractions, and after a while, Sanji calms down enough to talk.  “Why are we doing this?”

Of course he opens up with a complicated question.  “Like you said,” Zoro huffs, sliding into a more difficult stretch, “you’ve been inside forever.  Fresh air’s good for you.”

“And this?”  Sanji presses, taking the new pose easily.  If nothing else, the guy is flexible.

“You do this kind of stuff anyway, don’t you?”  Zoro hedges. “All that equipment in your cell. Why?”

Sanji nods, wobbling a little as Zoro introduces a stretch with only one foot on the ground.  “Reiju insists.”

“She’s got you doing self-defense, right?  What kinds?”

The cook nearly falls, concentration broken as he watches Zoro.  “It’s… yes. Unarmed, kick-based styles, mostly.”

“Really?”  Zoro asks, surprised.  It seems like an odd choice, but Sanji does have long legs, and Reiju doesn’t really use weapons, from what Zoro has seen.  “Show me.”

Nervously, Sanji takes a few steps back, tapping the toe of one shoe against the grass.  He shifts his weight, swinging one foot nearly as high as his head - damn, the guy is flexible; Zoro doesn’t think he could get anywhere near that from standing still, and - 

Falls over.  The momentum carries his whole body into the air, and Zoro catches a moment of perfect, frozen surprise on his face before the cook collapses on the ground.  Sanji yelps, brushing his hair out of his face, and stares up at Zoro in alarm.

“Damn, your balance is shit,” Zoro says, dismayed.  He thought the blond was moving pretty well, but the guy can barely seem to stand up straight out here.

Sanji buries his hands back in his hair, tugging at handfuls of it.  He looks like a kicked dog, and Zoro realizes that he expects Zoro to hurt him for this.  Doesn’t even get up, just curls up in the grass with his knees tucked tight over his vulnerable stomach, and shakes.  Waiting to be punished for failure.

Zoro really has to get his hands on one of the cook’s brothers.  None of them are available, and he hesitates to put his hands on Sanji instead, kneeling beside the cook with one arm outstretched.

“Hey, hey, it’s not a big deal,” Zoro tries.  “You didn’t twist your ankle or anything, did you?  This is just practice, that shit happens.”

Turning his head just barely enough to peek out at Zoro, the cook chokes down a whimper.  His expression is still scared, but Zoro takes the risk and grabs one of his hands anyway.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeats.  “I guess trying that outside is disorienting or whatever.  It’s okay, you can try it again later.”

Sanji levers himself up, still curled into himself and not looking Zoro in the eyes, but it’s an improvement.  He reaches for his hair again, shaking his head as if to deny Zoro’s statement, and Zoro grabs that hand, too.

“You ever tried learning to swordfight?”  Zoro asks, holding both the cook’s hands in his, conscious of the strength in them.  He means it as a distraction, but Sanji only shakes his head harder, a sob cracking out of his throat.

This is why Zoro doesn’t do this comforting shit!  He’s terrible at it, and now, instead of getting Sanji some nice, confidence-boosting fresh air and exercise, he’s stuck with the cook crying in the grass.  Reiju will kill him if she finds out.

Zoro hauls to cook closer, which gets him a moment of panicked squirming before he can tuck Sanji’s head in against his shoulder.  He murmurs something he hopes is soothing; Zoro isn’t really sure what he’s saying, too busy stroking Sanji’s hair and trying to gauge his state of mind.  Eventually it works. The cook sniffles and pushes away, looking pale beneath his reddened eyes, and the pair of them take a few deep breaths in silence. Zoro is feeling a bit rattled himself.

“Let’s call it quits for today,” Zoro says, helping Sanji to his feet.  “We’ll work on your balance next time.”

The sun is setting anyway, deeper shadows filling the courtyard.  It’s probably a bad idea to keep Sanji out for too long.

Zoro goes to pick up the helmet, and stops.  It’s heavy. Really heavy, and if he had to train while wearing something like this, he’d definitely develop bad compensations for the weight.  It’s no wonder Sanji couldn’t pull off a delicately balanced kick like that, when he must be used to doing it with this thing on his head.

He doesn’t put it back on the cook, tucking it under one arm instead and throwing the other around Sanji’s shoulders.  If they cross paths with anyone who has a problem with it, Zoro is ready to pick a fight.

At least the cook responds well to physical affection.  This is closer to the kind of reassurance Zoro is capable of giving, the kind he might offer Luffy or Chopper.  He’s no good with words, but the half-hug keeps Sanji from crying as they walk back through the halls.

When they get down the stairs, the cook is practically eager to get back in his cell, ducking out from under Zoro’s arm and rushing to his kitchen.  Following more slowly, Zoro pretends not to see Sanji sniffling and wiping at his eyes as he makes tea.

He takes a closer look at the blond’s workout kit instead, sorting through the disassembled pieces and calculating what types of exercises Sanji might be missing, what Zoro could add to compensate.  It gives the cook time to pull himself together, and it’s important information, too.

“So,” Zoro asks, once Sanji has served him a cup of tea and seems calmer, “why no swords?”

“I’m no good at it,” Sanji replies tartly.  It’s as obvious a dodge as Zoro has ever seen.

“Yeah, well, I bet you weren’t good at cooking right away, either.  Turned out okay at that.”

“Okay?!” 

“Just saying, plenty of time to practice down here.”

Zoro waits, and the cook stops puttering around, sneaking a look at him beneath his hair.  “I was really bad at it, okay? Reiju worried I would hurt myself. Besides, I don’t want to learn.”

“Why not?”

“A real chef doesn’t fight with his hands,” Sanji mutters.

“Where’d you get that idea?”  Zoro asks blankly. Sounds like a load of crap.

The cook does that surreptitious thing where he looks over his shoulder, curling in over himself, eyes flickering toward the front of his cell and up the stairs, afraid that one of his brothers will come down at any second.  “Read it. Not that you’d know about reading, moss for brains.”

“Can’t believe everything you read, curly.”

Scowling, Sanji goes over to one of his cupboards, nervous glances out into the rest of the dungeon all the way.  It’s a corner cabinet, full of weird-looking pots Zoro hasn’t seen the cook ever use, and Sanji starts carefully pulling them out onto the floor.

There’s a stash of books behind the unusual cookware.  Zoro is startled by the demonstration of trust. These books are obviously precious, hidden away where none of the other Vinsmokes would ever find them, but the cook is willing to get into them to show Zoro.

“Red-Shoes Zeff,” Sanji says, as if the name should mean something to Zoro.  He’s clutching a thin book tightly in both hands, seemingly torn between showing it to Zoro and moving it too far from the safety of its hiding place.

“Who?”  Zoro grumbles, getting up to join the cook at the back of the cell.  Actually, the name sounds kind of familiar.

Sanji looks irritated at Zoro’s lack of enthusiasm, but that rare grin creeps across his face as he explains.  “He’s this amazing chef, and a strong pirate captain-”

“Wait, I’ve met that guy,” Zoro blurts out.  He’s definitely seen the pirate flag emblazoned across the front of the thin book before.

“You’ve - you’ve met Chef Zeff?”  Sanji gapes.

“Yeah, he’s semi-retired now or something, runs a floating restaurant back in the East Blue.  Gets his kicks beating the shit out of anybody stupid enough to attack the place.”

“Did you get to try his food?” the cook asks eagerly, clutching the book to his chest.

Zoro nods.  “It was good.”  Sanji’s is just as good, now that he’s thinking of it.  “Did he write a cookbook or something? Kinda tasted like yours.”

“My food tastes like Chef Zeff’s?” Sanji squeaks, before answering the question.  “Not exactly. This is, um…”

Zoro watches the cook dither for a minute, before reaching out to move Sanji’s grip off the cover and get a look for himself.  Snatching the book back, Sanji glares at him.

“Don’t touch it!  It’s a logbook. Reiju found it for me, because I was so interested in All Blue.  It’s from one of Red-Shoes Zeff’s voyages in the Grand Line, so it has information about his goals, and the recipes he cooked for his crew, and some of his philosophy on what makes a great chef.”

“Where did your sister get her hands on a pirate captain’s personal journal?  That damn old man almost knocked Luffy’s head off for even mentioning his records of sailing the Grand Line.” 

“What is he like?”  Sanji asks, sounding desperate.  “The journal talks about All Blue.  If a great pirate like Chef Zeff believes in it, it must be real.”

“Tough as nails,” Zoro says.  “I don’t know about All Blue, but there are worse guys to idolize.  Old man must have the right idea on some stuff, to live the life he has.”

Zoro is glad Luffy failed to convince the geezer to join his crew.  Sure, it means they all have to trade off in the kitchen and Nami tacks more interest onto his debt every time she cooks dinner, but he wouldn’t want to sail under the shadow of an old-time great like that.

Sanji is still staring at him, wide eyes and bated breath, so Zoro goes to sit on the bed and thumps the mattress at his side, beckoning the cook over with a roll of his eyes.  “Come here and I’ll tell you the whole story. It’s not that exciting, but the old man is a beast.”

~o~O~o~

I don’t want to be like my brothers.

Zoro sighs.  The cook snuck that in there, when Zoro tried to tell him that Red-Shoes Zeff hired plenty of cooks who used weapons.  All that stuff about chefs not using their hands to fight, Zoro was ready to argue about - maybe not today, but later, once Sanji has some time to cool down.  But the idea that Sanji can only associate weapons and fighting that way with how his brothers treat him, Zoro is less willing to challenge.

After all, it’s a good sign of independence.  Fear, and abuse, and all that too, but despite all the violence he’s suffered here, Sanji still shows signs of wanting Judge’s approval.  The only way Zoro can think of to get it is learning to fight the way the other Vinsmokes do, and the fact that Sanji refuses to try is encouraging.  It’s a weird place to take a stand, but Zoro won’t stop the cook from making that decision. Not with those reasons.

Which leaves him frustrated as he finds his way back above ground.  He doesn’t know how to help the cook, and barely knows why he even wants to - it’s still nothing Zoro wants to examine too closely, with nearly two years here stretching out in front of him.  Waiting it out will be easier if he doesn’t fight against the current. Zoro is no stranger to patience; he can do this, if he doesn’t rock the boat.

Still, his blood races when he finds Yonji alone upstairs, looking annoyed and restless.

“Hey, come spar with me,” Zoro demands.  He’s got some aggression to work out, and Yonji won’t guess why.  Probably won’t even notice that Zoro’s mood is any different from usual.

Yonji is an uncomplicated guy.  Despite everything, Zoro rather likes him.  Zoro isn’t much for talking about how people can improve themselves, but he figures Yonji doesn’t have as far to go as Ichiji or Niji on the route to decency.

Not that Zoro is exactly a good person.  He’s done his share of morally questionable shit, but that’s why he feels like Yonji is okay.  The guy is just out to have a good time, so if he got some less violent hobbies, things would sort themselves out.  Unlike the other two, Yonji’s aggression is all out on the surface, and there’s no deeper well of malice under the topmost belligerent layer.

“Thank fuck,” Yonji says with a grin.  “Nobody’s around, I’m so bored and it’s way too early to sleep.”

It’s dark outside, night fully fallen over the snail ships, but Zoro has noticed that the Vinsmokes don’t seem to need much sleep.  Convenient for the perfect soldiers Judge wants them to be, but it only gives them more time to get destructive when there’s nothing to do.

They’ve done this a couple times before, but Zoro has never gotten Yonji one-on-one.  Either Ichiji or Niji is always around, watching and making snide criticisms that end every sparring session before it can really get good.  He’s excited to work off some of this agitation, and see what Yonji is made of without his brothers standing over him.

The main courtyard should be enough space.  It’s empty, flooded bright with moonlight, and Zoro can feel his own grin darken as Yonji cracks his knuckles.

They don’t bother to set any rules.  Zoro’s in no mood to follow them, and he’s pretty sure Yonji has never thought twice about injuring a sparring partner.  That kind of raw violence suits Zoro just fine tonight.

Of course, it ends with him flat on his back, biting back a groan after Yonji decks him, but he got the fourth Vinsmoke good, too.  Zoro might have a cracked rib or two, but Yonji is limping and wiping blood off his face, so Zoro is satisfied enough.

“You been practicing on the side?”  Yonji laughs, spitting out a mouthful of blood.  “This is the kind of stuff that I’d expect, from a guy calling himself a demon.”

So maybe he wasn’t fighting too clean, at the end there.  It’s another nicety that would be wasted on Yonji. “‘Course I have,” Zoro mutters, wincing at the soreness in his chest as he sits up.  “I’m gonna be the world’s greatest swordsman. I have to get at least to you bastards’ level.”

Yonji only snickers, pulling Zoro up in a way that just makes the soreness worse, but overall, Zoro is feeling better.  Nothing like a good fight to work through some issues, even if Yonji has no idea. It’s enough to keep him balanced for now.

Chapter Text

“Wanna come along?”  Yonji asks, poking his head into Zoro’s room without so much as knocking.

It’s a good thing he isn’t easily startled.  Zoro exhales slowly, the best he can do at this point to end his meditation correctly, and glowers up at the man.  “Where?”

“Got a mission,” Yonji shrugs.  “Bandits or something, sounded like your kind of deal.  Supposedly one of them has a magic sword.”

“Huh.”  Zoro perks up.  The swords are never magic, in his experience, but the tricks are usually interesting, and he hasn’t left Germa 66 for a while.  “Sure.”

Yonji grins, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder.  “Ship’s leaving in ten.”  

Swearing, Zoro jumps up and throws a few things into a rucksack.  Of course this bastard wouldn’t bother giving him any kind of warning.  Yonji watches him pack, snickering, but at least he doesn’t leave. Zoro follows him out of the castle, hops onto the snail ship, and off they go.

He doesn’t really think about it.  Most of these missions only last a few days, and as much as Zoro wants to keep spending time with Sanji, he has his own crew to think of.  He needs to get stronger, and fighting alongside the Vinsmokes is the best way he has of accomplishing that. When he gets back, he’ll take the cook out again.  It’s usually a few days between visits, anyway.

The sea air is refreshing, as he hangs out on the deck with Yonji.  The Vinsmokes don’t participate in crewing their own ships, and Zoro isn’t expected to help out with that either, so whenever he goes on missions with them, the sailing is a whole lot of dead time.  

Most of that time, Zoro naps.  But Yonji is the most easily bored of his siblings, or at least the worst at entertaining himself, so Zoro doesn’t have much choice but to chat with him.  At least Yonji shares his snacks. And his booze.

“You gone to visit the failure lately?”  Yonji asks, tossing a grape in the air and catching it in his mouth.

“Once or twice,” Zoro allows.  The question makes him uneasy, but not as much as hearing it from one of the other two would.  “Why?”

Yonji shrugs, and throws a grape at Zoro.  It bounces off his head. “No reason. Kinda wondered what he does when we’re not around, is all.”

“I ate some of his cooking,” Zoro says, watching Yonji for any kind of reaction.  There isn’t one. “He’s really good.”

“Stupid hobby for a prince of Germa,” Yonji replies.  It sounds rote, like he’s repeating something he heard instead of saying something he believes.

“Not much of a prince right now, is he?”

Yonji tilts his head to the side, actually focusing on the conversation for the first time.  “Guess not.”

“So who cares what his hobbies are?”  Zoro grumbles. “He’s a great cook. You wouldn’t talk so much shit if you tasted some of his food.”

For a moment, Zoro is sure he’s gone too far.  The Vinsmokes react unpredictably, often violently, to all kinds of things, and this is a touchy subject.  But Yonji only tosses another grape into his mouth, watching Zoro with a blank expression, and shrugs again.

“Who cares,” he repeats.  “Not like he’d cook for us.  I don’t wanna spend any more time down there with lil’ Sanji than I have to, anyway.”

Zoro is happy to end the conversation there.  He can’t help feeling like he just dodged a bullet.

~o~O~o~

A few days later, their destination appears through the thick fog that has surrounded the ship all morning, and Zoro begins to realize that this will not be as straightforward as it sounded.  Yonji seems to have the same idea, glowering out at the low-lying island.

As they get closer, Zoro further realizes that it isn’t the island they’re seeing.  It’s a massive retaining wall, huge chunks of stone piled ship-high as far as he can make out through the fog.  The ship circles the edge for hours, until they reach a narrow channel.

“Let’s just go over it on the way out,” Yonji mutters, giving the wall a dirty look.  “Or through.”

Zoro isn’t really against that idea.  A warm breeze flows out of the channel, carrying a swampy reek, and the waves go nearly still as they sail in.  The air is heavy and damp, the ocean shallow and brackish. At least the fog thins out, so they can make out the island proper, still nearly a league away.

Yonji paces across the bow like a caged animal, looking more frustrated every minute.  “Who would live in such a stinking, miserable stretch of ocean… what kind of shitty excuse for a country is this…”

Tuning him out, Zoro still can’t really disagree.  The smell is the kind that you can’t get used to, renewed with every breath.  Dense weeds clog the water around them, and clouds of birds scatter away often enough that the noise never ceases.  It’s one of the most instinctively unpleasant islands he’s ever visited.

By the time they reach shore, Zoro’s nerves are stretched thin between the swamp gas and Yonji’s complaining.  He’s more than ready to hunt down some bandits, but first they have to make nice with the people paying for the job.

The only reason Zoro can focus on the island’s representative - a deeply unimpressive man with sweat beading at his hairline and an extremely affected way of handling a handkerchief - is that he can tell Yonji isn’t paying attention at all.  Someone should probably listen, just in case this guy has some useful information. What he learns is disheartening.

Zoro has long since realized that the Vinsmokes take jobs in conflicts that the Marines won’t touch.  Whether that’s because the island is too small for the World Government to care about, or because the problem is too morally grey even for them, it doesn’t matter.  Civil wars in unimportant countries, assassinations, power grabs where money is the only driving force, the Vinsmokes will do it all. Zoro figured there was more to this than bandits, and he’s right.

This island is dissolving.  Limestone, acid rain - the science escapes him, although Zoro can’t help thinking Nami would find it fascinating.  The point is, most of the island is one big acidic bog, and the local government keeps digging big chunks out of the bedrock to shore up that wall out in the ocean, in a vain attempt to keep the ocean from washing straight over the low-lying land.  Of course, removing the bedrock only makes the bog spread into the holes.

The bandits, then, are people displaced by the project, their homes and farms and whatever dug up for the wall.  Zoro would feel worse for them if they were doing something about it, but they’re still just terrorizing random travelers and the remaining outlying villages.

“Should just let the ocean wash the whole place away,” Yonji mutters, as they look out over the landscape from the edge of the main city.  It’s built on the highest bit of land around, but that’s not saying much.

“Let’s just do the job,” Zoro growls.

“It’s going to take forever to find them all in this mess,” Yonji complains.

The livable portion of the island is shrinking by the day, but the island itself is pretty damn big.  As they follow the poorly-maintained road out of town, Zoro resigns himself to being here a while.

After a few hours of walking, the city is well out of sight through the shreds of mist and scraggly trees.  This environment is unsuitable for people, but it’s rife with strange plants and hordes of insects. Birds, too, and the occasional larger animal that races off when Yonji starts throwing whatever comes to hand at them.

Yonji lobs a chunk of rotten wood at a massive turtle, sunning itself in a stretch of open water not far from the dwindling path, and laughs as it disappears into the pool.  So far, he’s in a good mood. The complaining is normal, and Zoro prefers it to the black rage that can overtake the fourth Vinsmoke son when he’s really put out.

“What’s the plan?”  Zoro asks.

“You’re looking at it.” Yonji shrugs, waving out across the bog.  “Find the bandits, beat them up, collect the pay.”

Nothing but stinking swamp in every direction, the setting sun lighting the spindly pine trees up with gold.  Zoro didn’t expect more of a strategy from Yonji, but he doesn’t have to like it.

“They aren’t gonna be hiding along the main road,” Zoro sighs.  There’s an outcropping of rock not far away, partially hidden beyond a screen of trees.  If Zoro was a bandit, he’d want somewhere dry to sleep. “Let’s check that out.”

Yonji suits up and shoots away, landing on top of the outcropping with a loud cracking sound.  Cursing to himself, Zoro picks his way off the path.

Parts of the bog are stable, hillocks of deep sphagnum moss with brush and trees growing out of them.  Zoro’s boots sink into the moss, water seeping up around his feet, but if he moves quickly he doesn’t get wet.  Unfortunately, not all the little rounded hillocks are solid all the way through.

One of them slides out under his feet, floating away over a patch of open water as Zoro tries to regain his balance.  It’s futile, and over the splash as he falls in, Zoro can hear Yonji’s laughter echoing across the bog.

The water is shallow.  The mud beneath it is deep.  Slogging through hip-high muck, Zoro has to push several floating moss-islands out of the way before he can find one stable enough to climb out onto.

“Fuck you too,” he calls up to Yonji, who has settled onto the edge of the rock to watch.  Yonji only laughs harder, slapping a hand on his thigh with far too much enthusiasm.

By the time Zoro gets there, he’s entirely coated in muck.  There is, obviously, no bandit presence on the tiny outcropping, but several more dense clumps of trees in the distance suggest other patches of solid ground.  Nothing to do but keep going.

Yonji doesn’t even give Zoro the satisfaction of letting him push the damn Vinsmoke into the bog, dodging out of reach every time Zoro catches up to him in the world’s slowest and most unbalanced game of tag.  Luffy would probably love it. They check out a few more dry-ish high points, until the sun is too low to see further.

“I hate you,” Zoro informs Yonji, as he lies panting on the damp moss of the latest solid hillock.  They catch a few hours of sleep, interrupted by the screeching of bog creatures, and start again when dawn breaks.

Germa 66 mission rations are terrible, and dragging his pack through the bog is miserable no matter how minimalistic Zoro’s supplies are, but it’s better than starving.  At least he has his sword kit with him; cleaning the mud off his katana is imperative. It’s almost as good as meditation, when they stop after another day of nothing but empty bog.  He certainly can’t actually meditate, with Yonji pestering him all the time.

Yonji gets quiet on the third day, circling restlessly while Zoro slogs through the muck.  It’s a relief in more ways than one when they find some bandits that afternoon; Zoro isn’t sure why Yonji hasn’t left him behind yet, and he doesn’t like his odds of getting off this island if the Vinsmoke does.  They needed something to keep Yonji entertained.

Unfortunately, what they stumble into is only half a dozen bandits and a few tents.  From the screaming as Yonji rips through them, Zoro understands that this is a branch of a significantly larger force who will surely make them pay for this, but all of the men are dead before it occurs to Yonji to press them for information.  Zoro doesn’t even get to participate, squelching his way up to the tents as Yonji finishes throwing the bodies into the bog.

“At least they had booze,” Yonji grumbles, yanking the cork out of an unlabeled bottle of moonshine with his teeth.

“This is the worst,” Zoro agrees, poking the bandits’ fire back to life.  At least they had food. It’s a big step up from military rations, although the smell of even this perfunctory cooking only makes Zoro think of Sanji.

What he wouldn’t do for some of the cook’s food right now.  Actually, Zoro just wishes Sanji was here - it would be hilarious to see the pretty blond all covered in mud, and Zoro is sure the cook could do something impressive with the bandits’ stash of dried beans and salted fish.  

He wants to get back and help Sanji work on his kicks.  His form looked really promising until the balance thing.  Hopefully Sanji will be over the stress by the time they’re done here.  It’s only been a few days, but Zoro is starting to wish he hadn’t left the cook behind without a word.

~o~O~o~

The next few days are more of the same.  They head mostly-north, according to Yonji; all Zoro knows is that the mud is just as deep, but the rocky outcroppings are larger and closer together, more of the island’s bones left behind after the excavation for the wall.

“Why don’t you go find them, and pick me up on the way back,” Zoro mutters one afternoon, wringing stagnant water out of his coat.  It will probably reek forever, no matter how well he washes it once they leave.

Yonji, squatting on a log collapsed against the latest chunk of mossy limestone, looks at Zoro like the idea hasn’t even crossed his mind.  “I’d never find you,” he dismisses, picking bits of bark off and flicking them into Zoro’s hair.

Zoro pauses to stare at him.  That’s close to the last thing he’d expect Yonji to be concerned about.

“What?”  Yonji demands.  “You’re part of us now.  I can’t leave you here.”

“I’m really not,” Zoro points out.  “I mean, I’m leaving. Eventually.”

Yonji shrugs.  “And going where, huh?  Anyway, it’s not such a bad gig, is it?  And Reiju would bitch at me if I just left you here, I don’t wanna deal with that.  So you’re coming with me.”

“Okay,” Zoro sighs.  “But first you’re gonna let me dry off a little.”

“Why bother?”  Yonji snickers, but he pokes around looking for turtles to harass while Zoro lies in the sun for a while.  Aside from the swampy reek, it’s a nice afternoon. There’s a bit of a breeze cutting through the humidity, and a cheerful bird singing somewhere nearby.

That night, they find an abandoned bandit camp.  It’s only a circle of sooty rocks and an area of cleared ground with marks from a tent, but Yonji perks up like a bloodhound, grinning into the dark.  Over the next few days, they find more signs of activity, and flush a few small groups of bandits out of hiding. By the third or fourth time, Zoro stops trying to make it through the muck in time for the fight.  Maybe when they find the main hideout the bandits will last longer than a few seconds.

After another week or two of this - Zoro lost track somewhere between nearly losing his swords to a massive snapping turtle, and almost getting shot by the dozenth group of bandits Yonji has gone after like a foxhound - Zoro steps out of the muck and onto ground that actually feels dry.

He’s feeling too grim for much relief.  The latest section of bog had as many hillocks made of bits of roofing as moss, an entire village swallowed up by the stagnant water.  It was easy to see why, a few lonely boulders all that remained of a ridge that would have kept the swamp at bay. 

Now they’ve reached the far side of the island, where most of the bedrock is still intact.  Zoro can see where chunks have been quarried off, but the ground is solid dirt near the remaining low cliffs, with narrow ravines running off in all directions.  A few of these have thin streams of rainwater flowing out into the bog, clear in a way that suggests they are too acidic from passing through the limestone to support much life.

“Now what?”  Zoro grumbles.  It’s just a different kind of maze, all hidden caves instead of floating moss.

“We keep hunting,” Yonji grins, with the same bloodthirsty glint to his eyes that has lit his expression for the last few days.  

Same shit, different day.  They comb through the ravines, ambushing and being ambushed by displaced-villagers-turned-bandits.  It would be a great time to have a Vinsmoke with observation haki along. It’s a shitty place to be stuck with fists-first Yonji, who keeps blowing holes in the ravine walls and nearly crushing Zoro with falling rocks.  Once again, Zoro can’t help thinking how much better this would be with the cook around. It’s too far-fetched to wish his crew was here, but Zoro can almost imagine Sanji coming on one of his family’s missions.

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Zoro complains later that night.  After the latest skirmish, the sun dropped too low to penetrate the ravines, and they’re taking advantage of the latest cave Yonji carelessly excavated to take a break.

“Yeah, this is getting boring,” Yonji agrees, kicking a few loose chunks of rock out of the way.

“I’m gonna nap for a week,” Zoro grumbles.  “Fuck. And get something decent to eat.”

“From the little failure?”  Yonji looks over, abruptly sharp-eyed with interest.

Zoro grunts, and shrugs.  He hadn’t put that much thought into the comment, but yeah, Sanji makes the best food in Germa 66.

“What’s so interesting about him?”  Yonji asks. “I don’t get it, he’s always been so useless.”

In the light of the half-assed brush fire they’ve scavenged together, Zoro can’t figure out Yonji’s expression.  Curiosity, sure, but the violent kind that will get Zoro in hot water? Or just idle teasing? Either way, Zoro doesn’t want to talk about Sanji with Vinsmoke Yonji.

“Dunno,” Zoro says, wary of brushing Yonji off too obviously.  “There’s more to him than you think.”

“Is it like Niji said?  He thinks you’re fucking lil’ Sanji.”

Of course Yonji won’t drop it.  The guy doesn’t even have the decency to be tired after all the bullshit chasing and smashing he’s done today.

“I guess he’s kinda pretty,” Yonji continues, the uncomprehending doubt in this voice one of the clearest emotions Zoro has ever heard from him.  “If you like… skinny blondes, or whatever.  But he’s so pale and fragile.”

“Not really my type,” Zoro dismisses.  He’s never been so glad to hear that kind of distaste.  If his visits to Sanji inspired anything close to that kind of curiosity in the other Vinsmokes…

“What is your type?”  Yonji prods, smirking.

“What are we, schoolgirls?”  Zoro growls. He doesn’t have a type.  No time to waste on exploring that kind of thing, so he’s taken whatever is offered when the urge struck in the past.  It can be fun, but not worth putting much effort into.

Still.  Occasionally… he can see the appeal.  The way Usopp still talks about Kaya, the unreserved smiles of young couples in town on the islands they visit.  That seems simple.  Zoro wouldn’t mind something straightforward like that, with someone he trusts.  It’s nothing he feels like explaining to Yonji.  The guy doesn’t have the emotional sensitivity to understand it.

This is the moment that the bandit leader attacks.  After the first flash of surprise, all Zoro feels is clean relief.  Yonji shoots out of their cave, ripping into the crowd of bandits filling the ravine beyond, and Zoro stands up, cracking his knuckles.

“Thanks,” he says conversationally, eyeing the guy who looks like the leader.  He’s got an extra furry collar thing, and a big over-decorated sword.  Weird patterns and ribbons and shit all over it.

“What?!” the man demands, swinging at Zoro.

“I really didn’t want to be having that conversation,” Zoro explains, sidestepping and drawing Kitetsu.  “And we’ll finally be able to leave this awful island, once you’re dead.”

It’s a one-sword kind of fight, even after all this buildup.  Zoro toys with the guy for a few minutes, and finds out that the so-called magical sword is nothing more than a cheap optical illusion caused by all the paint and streamers on the blade.  Might have been more impressive in daylight, but the effect is lost in the dark.  Stupid of the man to ambush them now.

Wiping his own blade on one of the strips of cloth hanging from the bandit’s, Zoro turns to find Yonji perched on a stack of corpses, grinning in the moonlight.  Blood drains from the pile into the narrow creek running along the bottom of the ravine.

“That was anticlimactic,” Zoro comments.

“Eh, still fun,” Yonji shrugs, jumping down and splashing through the stream.  He leaves bloody footprints behind as he walks closer.

Zoro sighs, and rolls the remains of the bandit leader to the foot of Yonji’s pile.  “I’m gonna sleep now.”

“Aww,” Yonji whines, but doesn’t stop him.  

By sunrise, the smell of death is too strong to ignore, so Zoro clambers up the ravine wall after Yonji without complaint.  The ocean is visible not far away, and it’s not hard to guess that the bandits came from that direction - there’s a wider ravine connected to this one, and it leads right to the beach.  The bandits’ hideout is a large cave near the mouth of it, and Yonji spends a few minutes trashing the place.

“See?”  he crows, holding up a bottle of the same rough moonshine they’ve liberated from some of the other bandit groups.  “Fun!”

Zoro’s not above hunkering down for a drink.  Yonji’s not wrong; they deserve it after spending all this time here.  The stuff tastes like Franky might use it for polishing steel, but it’s good and strong.

At the coast, they find a ramshackle boat, and Zoro is about ready to thank the gods he doesn’t believe in for the luck.  They won’t have to backtrack through the bog.

Between Zoro actually knowing how to sail, and Yonji’s brute strength, they make it back to the city within a day and a half despite the weak wind.  Zoro doesn’t have the patience to listen to the island’s representative talk this time, Yonji all but snatches the job’s pay out of the guy’s hand, and they practically run back to the snail ship.

“Get going!”  Yonji barks, and the crew buzzes to life.  The ship plows through the brackish stretch of ocean inside the retaining wall, and when they reach it, Yonji does in fact leap off the prow to blast a hole right through.  Zoro can’t even bring himself to feel bad about it.

Almost a week back to Germa 66.  Watching Yonji jump around the ship, bothering all of the soldiers, Zoro lets out a deep sigh.  At least he’ll be able to get some naps in. Seems like Yonji might leave him alone for a few days, more interested in the ship and the soldiers than the guy he’s spent the last few weeks alone with.

Zoro finds a spot out of the way and flops over on the deck of the snail ship, missing the Sunny’s soft lawn.  He isn’t used to missing things like that, or people. He’s never really had people to miss, before. But he misses his ship and his crew, startled every time he thinks of them and they aren’t there, and now… he misses the cook, too.

It’s been over a month since he’s seen Sanji.

Chapter Text

By the time their snail ship returns, docking back into its place as part of Germa 66’s outer wall, Zoro has had enough of wasting time.  With a quick wave at Yonji, he jumps off and heads for the dungeons.  Not at a run, he’s not that anxious, but he’s not gonna loiter around and wait for the fourth Vinsmoke sibling to invite him away somewhere for a victory drink, either.

They’ve rearranged the place again while he was gone, but Zoro still manages to make good time finding the stairs down to Sanji’s cell.  No sign of Cosette or anyone else, only his own footsteps ringing off the bare stone floor as he walks through the last corridor.

“Zoro!”  Sanji’s voice wails, echoing up the dark stairwell.  It’s so startling that Zoro stumbles and almost smacks his face into the wall.  Instead, he starts running.

Sanji calls for him again, and horrible scenarios start flashing through Zoro’s head as he thunders down the stairs.  It was too long to leave the cook, his other brothers must have done something, but what?

When he gets to the bottom, the cook is clinging to the bars at the nearest corner of his cell.  Zoro has never known him to do that, even now that Sanji doesn’t hide every time he senses Zoro coming.  He never gets this close to the bars, where one of his brothers could grab him.  If Sanji is taking the risk of getting this close, something must be really wrong.

“What, cook?  What happened?”  Zoro demands, barely slowing as he skids to the door.

“Marimo, Zoro -” the cook repeats, dashing along the bars beside him, gripping the side of the doorframe.

Zoro fumbles the key, trying to give the cook a once-over as he does.  Nothing looks broken, he can’t see any blood, but that doesn’t mean much.  Sanji whines, fingers white-knuckled on the bars.

Finally, Zoro gets the door open, and the cook throws himself into Zoro’s arms.  “You were gone for so long!”

That’s all he gets out before he starts sobbing, and Zoro is left standing in the doorway holding him, with that horrible helmet knocking uncomfortably against his jaw.

“Back now,” Zoro mutters.

Sanji’s sniffling echoes inside the helmet.  As Zoro waits, uselessly patting his back, it’s the only sound in the cell.  Nothing sizzles on the stove, no drips in the sink; even the lights in the kitchen are dark.

Shaking in his arms, the cook feels way too fragile.  Zoro doesn’t want to think of him this way, not when he’s seen that Sanji has the potential to be so much stronger.  But right now he’s all thin wrists and trembling limbs, the only strength in him the relentless grip he has on Zoro’s shirt.

Another few snuffles, and the cook spins away, wrapping his pale fingers like a vice around Zoro’s wrist and dragging him into the cell.  Zoro is too started to resist even if he wanted to, and Sanji doesn’t let go of him as he hurries into his kitchen and rummages through his cupboards.

Somehow he comes out with a perfectly arranged crudite tray, prettily cut vegetables and little bowls of dip and a strangely incongruous stack of handmade granola bars, all without releasing Zoro’s wrist.  Pulling him over to the bed, Sanji urges Zoro down and settles close beside him, placing the tray over their laps.

“Eat,” Sanji demands, voice still watery as he takes one of his infuriating long forks and passes a thin piece of carrot through the bars of his helmet.

Zoro shifts, making to get up.  “I’ll go get you the key -”

“Eat,” Sanji pleads, grabbing his arm again.  His fervor is almost manic, the way he’s eating mechanical and distressingly fast, and Zoro thinks better of leaving his side.

Taking a few bites, Zoro focuses on the cook instead of the snack.  Sanji seems calmer with every piece of food that passes either of their lips, his shaking subsiding until the tray is nearly empty and his breathing is almost back to normal.

The cook presses the last square of granola into Zoro’s hands, watching him eat it with intensity Zoro can feel despite being unable to see Sanji’s eyes, and breaks tiny pieces off of his own with ruthless efficiency.  Zoro isn’t convinced the cook has even tasted a thing, but as the delicately balanced flavors of honey and nuts burst over his tongue, some of the tension leaves Sanji’s shoulders.

“Keeps your energy up,” Sanji whispers between nibbles.  “You won’t get hungry.”

He wasn’t all that hungry to begin with, but that’s another thing he doesn’t think Sanji will be able to comprehend right now.  Instead he munches through the rest of the bar and pulls the cook up against him, hoping that will convince Sanji that he’s really back.  Zoro doesn’t know why it affected the cook so badly, so he doesn’t know what else to do.

It’s only partially effective.  Sanji lets Zoro get to his feet and lay the tray aside, but he won’t allow more than an arm’s length of space between them.  Zoro can’t go get the key to the helmet - Sanji won’t leave his kitchen now and whines so pathetically that Zoro isn’t willing to just make a dash for it, even for the few seconds that would take.  Even while the cook cleans up, he keeps turning to make sure Zoro hasn’t moved away, and reaching out to catch his sleeve or wrist.

“Cook,” Zoro finally says, taking Sanji’s hand off his sleeve and putting it back on the dish towel beside him.  “Just let go for a second, stay here so I can take that thing -”

Sanji makes a noise like he’s been stabbed.  He drops the tray he’d been washing into the sink with a splash that soaks the front of his apron, heedless of the hot water, and wraps both arms back around Zoro’s torso.  Sobbing into his shoulder, the cook seems just as distraught as when Zoro came down here.

So much for progress.  Making a shushing noise, Zoro tries to remember what Chopper does when one of them is upset, but even Usopp doesn’t get this scared.  Even Chopper himself doesn’t, not for real.

“Cook,” Zoro tries again, tugging gently at the locks of hair that peek out the bottom of the helmet.  “Don’t you want this off?”

“Don’t leave,” the blond mumbles, barely audible.  Zoro sighs, and relaxes his arms to let Sanji lean into him more securely.

The cook is inconsolable.  Zoro can’t stand being down here a minute longer, and he certainly isn’t going to leave Sanji alone like this.  “Then you’re coming with me.”

Throwing Sanji over his shoulder - and it’s an odd balance, with the extra weight on his head; Zoro knew it would be, but the reality of it is still off-putting in a harsher way than the few pounds of metal should be - he makes a quick check to see that all the lights and faucets and whatever are off, and carries the cook out of the cell.

Sanji yelps and kicks for a few seconds, but settles down when Zoro doesn’t drop him onto the bed to leave him behind or anything.  Zoro can feel his heart hammering as they walk through the door, but the cook only grips the back of Zoro’s shirt and buries his face in Zoro’s shoulder, inadvertently whacking him with the edges of the helmet.

“Hold on,” Zoro directs, swinging the cook back onto his feet beside the little window where the key hangs.  Working around Sanji’s grasping hands, he manages to unlock the helmet and yank it off, tossing it aside to clang against the floor.

One glimpse of Sanji’s stress-flushed face before the cook ducks back in too close to see, and Zoro doesn’t bother trying to talk to him further.  Picking the blond back up - more gently, and more easily too, without the unbalanced extra weight - Zoro wrangles his long legs into a semblance of order, and starts up the stairs.

Sanji ought to be complaining.  If Zoro knows anything about the personality under all this insecurity, it’s that the cook is particular, and not shy about letting people know when he doesn’t like something.  But he’s unresisting in Zoro’s hold, quiet aside from harsh breathing, and it raises Zoro’s hackles in all kinds of ways.  Whatever’s wrong with Sanji, it’s deeper than just missing Zoro for a few weeks.

Well.  Zoro knew that; knows that Sanji has a lifetime of shit to deal with, after growing up here.  It’s a miracle he acts as normal as he does most of the time.  That’s what makes it so alarming to watch him fall apart like this.  There must be something else Zoro doesn’t know.

The other Vinsmokes are lucky that he doesn’t cross paths with any of them on the way upstairs.  There’s no chance that Zoro would be able to restrain himself, but the hallways are clear as he stalks through them.  The sun is setting over the ocean by the time he gets to his room, casting long shadows throughout the small space.

Balancing Sanji’s weight in one arm, Zoro collects a damp cloth from the washbasin in the corner, and puts the cook down on the small bed.  No point trying to leave his side again, even though there’s barely an extra body’s worth of space in the room.

“Look at me,” Zoro orders, brushing messy hair out of Sanji’s face.  “C’mon.  It’s fine, you’re gonna be fine.”

Wiping tears from his skin as the cook sniffles, Zoro ignores the tight feeling in his chest.  Sanji’s eyelids flutter, breathing evening out as the cool cloth soothes the puffy circles developing under his eyes.

“Everyone leaves me alone,” Sanji sighs, hands chasing Zoro’s too slowly to catch up until he lets them drop into his lap.  He wavers from side to side, clearly worn out by his episode.

“Not leaving,” Zoro tells him.  That tightness has traveled all the way up his throat, leaving barely enough space to get the promise out.  Kicking his boots off and laying his swords aside, Zoro manoeuvres them both under the blankets and refuses to think about it.  “Go to sleep, cook.” 

“Is it okay?”  Sanji asks drowsily, even as he burrows in against Zoro’s side and goes heavy with sleep.

“Wouldn’t drag you up here if it wasn’t,” Zoro mutters, throwing an arm around him.  The cook smells like fear-sweat, stale washcloth, and damp metal, but under that is a hint of spices.  It’s a much more suitable scent for Sanji.

Even with the adrenaline of this whole mess leaving his system, Zoro isn’t ready to sleep.  He lies as still as he can to avoid disturbing the blond, and does his best to meditate instead of think.  It’s difficult with his emotions running high, and the warm body in his arms.

Perhaps the only real mercy Zoro can credit the Vinsmokes with, is that Sanji doesn’t seem to have the first idea that this might be uncomfortable, or inappropriate, or dangerous.  Their abuse hasn’t stretched this far, and Zoro feels disgusting even touching the idea, or the cook.  

Reiju will kill him if she even suspects him of thinking of it, that much is certain.  Zoro is pretty sure he knows why Reiju tolerates having him around Sanji, and it’s to get her little brother off these ships, not to get her little brother off, and gods forbid anything else.

Zoro is feeling shitty enough about it all on his own.  Imagining the cook as an object of attraction for even a second feels wrong.  The last thing Sanji needs is that kind of attention.  He’s too vulnerable, even if Zoro can’t deny the flashes of beauty in his smile, and his moments of confidence.

He’s just going to have to hope that Reiju can’t read his mind.  It’s a fact that Sanji is pretty, that sometimes Zoro has to pause and catch his breath over him, but it’s no less a fact that he’s not gonna do anything about it.  Reiju can’t murder him over looking.

She definitely would, if she caught him at it.  With a shudder, Zoro doubles down on shutting out that line of thought.  Tired or not, the least problematic course of action now is to get some sleep, distracting blond all warm and snuggly in his bed notwithstanding.

~o~O~o~

When he wakes the next morning, sunlight is streaming through the window, and Zoro’s bed is uncomfortably warm.  It takes him a minute to realize why, until he turns his head into a fan of golden hair spread across the other half of his pillow.  Zoro’s heart catches in his throat, and the only thing stopping him from smoothing Sanji’s hair back from his face is the sound of someone clearing their throat across the room.

Zoro’s blood freezes.  His swords are beside the bed, Sanji is on the far side of it from the sound, Zoro should be able to jump up and deal with whoever it is before the cook is in danger - 

“Good morning, Roronoa Zoro,” Reiju says, in the most poisonous tone Zoro has yet heard from her.  He flinches, a bone-deep shudder that does nothing to dispel the sudden tension in his muscles.

She’s leaning against the wall next to the door, with Sanji’s helmet in her hands, looking infinitely casual except for the murderous glint in her eyes.  There’s no way to tell how long she’s been watching them sleep.

“Morning,” Zoro croaks.  Sanji doesn’t stir.  After crying that much, Zoro isn’t surprised that the cook is still exhausted.

“I hope you enjoyed your little jaunt with Yonji,” Reiju muses, spinning the helmet in her hands like it’s a paper toy.  “You certainly took your time.”

“It was kind of horrible, actually.”

“For others, too,” Reiju says, staring him dead in the eyes.

“Look, I had no idea -”

“I told you never to hurt him,” Reiju interrupts.  “You haven’t struck me as such a careless man.”

Zoro looks down at Sanji, an unsteady frown the only part of his face not concealed beneath the messy spill of his hair.  “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t think,” Reiju snaps.  She sets the helmet by her feet and crosses her arms over her chest with a glare.

“How should I have known he’d be like this?”  Zoro retorts.  “Doesn’t seem like time should matter much, down there.”

Reiju paces a few steps, the width of the room and back, in complete silence.  “I didn’t know, either,” she finally says.  “The first time.”

It’s Zoro’s turn to cross his arms and scowl, waiting for whatever secrets she’s willing to share.  There are more choking the air every time they talk.

“Sanji is completely dependent on others,” Reiju reminds him.  “For everything.  Early on, I didn’t realize what that could mean.  Even more than today, I had no choice when Judge ordered me away.”

That’s almost enough information right there.  Zoro can easily imagine how a younger Sanji would have been traumatized, if Reiju - his only source of comfort - vanished for an extended period of time.

“I was gone for nearly three months.  This was before I found Cosette, before I realized the other servants couldn’t be trusted.  For all that time, no one went down to the dungeons.”

At least this isn’t another story about their other siblings beating Sanji senseless.  Zoro wants to be relieved, but by the look on Reiju’s face, the rest of her explanation will be easily that bad.

With a quiet hiss, Reiju turns to look at the bed again.  “Has he told you why he will never waste food?  Not a bite.  Every scrap eaten, even when he was still learning and would make himself ill with it.”

Zoro shakes his head, putting a hand on the sleeping cook’s shoulder.  He can guess where this is going now, but he wants to hear it from Reiju herself.  “He’s told me he won’t.  Not why.”

She glares at his presumption to touch her precious brother, but continues the story.  “For all that time, no one fed him.  No one brought him supplies, nothing.  He almost died.  For months afterward he could barely keep anything down, and even now he has nightmares about it.  If I have to leave for more than a week, he’s a mess by the time I can see him again.  Every time, he thinks he’ll be forgotten again.”

Dropping his eyes, Zoro glowers at the floor.  He couldn’t have known, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like a callous asshole for leaving so casually.  It’s an awful feeling, completely outside his control, and Zoro hates it.

“But you were still here.  That girl Cosette, too.  He wasn’t alone.”

“He cried when I told him I didn’t know how long you would be gone,” Reiju spits, elegantly painted nails drawing blood on her palms as she fists her hands.  “Panic attacks over food even while I helped him organize ingredients.  He’s eating twice as much as usual and still losing weight.  I couldn’t do anything for him.”

Zoro blanches, making a conscious effort not to clamp down too hard on Sanji’s shoulder.  His hand still shakes, but the blond doesn’t wake.  Maybe he’s not doing anything good for the cook after all, if his leaving put Sanji so badly off.

“I’ve left him down there too long,” Reiju says.  She stares down at the helmet, all the rage draining out of her voice.  “Sanji will never be able to grow this way.  I can’t break him out of the cell, or the fear.  He’s pinned all his forgotten hopes on you, Roronoa.  Don’t betray that again.”

It’s the closest either of them has come to saying it out loud.  Zoro meets Reiju’s eyes as she brings her gaze up, the fire there undiminished even if her tone is calm.  Brushing aside the instinctive protests, that she can’t boss him around, that it isn’t a betrayal when no one has put words to the promise hanging between them, Zoro gives her one firm nod.  

Maybe she hasn’t said it, maybe Zoro won’t let himself think it in such certain terms, maybe Sanji doesn’t even know why he’s so attached - none of that matters.  He came close to failing without even realizing there was a risk, and Zoro can’t stand for that.  It’s time to do better.

“I don’t break my promises,” he says, raising his chin with a belligerent frown.  Even unspoken, this one feels too important.

“Only time will tell,” Reiju retorts.

Time.  That’s the problem again.  Lately every day with these people tests Zoro’s patience.  He has no idea how Reiju has lived this way for so long.  

Eyeing her, Zoro has to wonder if she isn’t just as twisted up as Sanji.  She acts cold, but in these moments, it’s obvious that she has a deep well of hatred for her family.  Probably more than enough hurt to match, too.

“I’m going to become the world’s greatest swordsman,” he tells her.  “I’m going to meet my captain at the time he set, and stand at his side all the way to the end of the Grand Line, no matter who gets in his way.  And I won’t fail here, either.”

He still can’t say what it is he won’t fail, but Reiju seems to approve of the subtlety.  With a heavy sigh, the tension drains out of her, and she runs a hand through her pink hair.  When she looks back at Zoro, there’s a more lighthearted smirk on her face.

“You’re not the type to do things halfway, I know that,” she says.  

Nodding, Zoro dares to think this encounter might be over.  Instead, Reiju is across the room in a flash, one hand gripping his collar as she pins him to the bed with the other.

“If I catch you getting so familiar with Sanji again, you better hope he’s awake to stop me from slicing you open,” she threatens.  “If he’s not, I can have the blood cleaned away before he knows what’s happening.  It will be a shame, but don’t think for an instant that you aren’t disposable.”

Zoro swallows hard, and doesn’t try to defend himself.  He kind of agrees that she would be within her rights to do it.

“My little brother likes you,” she continues, nails digging into his shoulder.  “Keep it that way.  I’ll know if you do anything to upset him again.”

Reiju leaves without waiting for a response, swanning out of the room in complete silence.  Zoro lies where she left him, feeling the lingering prickle of her nails in his skin, and Sanji’s soft breath against his side.  As he does, he misses his crew with a clarity that’s still unexpected, no matter how often it strikes him lately.  Reiju is like all the worst parts of Robin’s uncanny prescience mixed with Nami’s complete lack of hesitation to rail at him when she’s unhappy.  Getting woken up this way was almost nostalgic.

Chapter Text

Zoro makes time to see Sanji every day after that.  Sometimes all he can manage is a few minutes in between arranging drills or sparring with Yonji, but he knows that Sanji recognizes the effort.  The cook doesn’t burst into tears the minute he comes down the stairs any more, after a few days.

The other Vinsmokes notice too; Zoro is under no illusions about that.  When he passes Reiju in the halls, she gives him a hard stare and the warning in it is more than clear, but she deflects the topic whenever her other brothers mention Zoro’s suddenly busy schedule.  Yonji complains, now that he’s decided he likes Zoro as a sparring partner, and Niji pokes and prods at the subject whenever there’s an opening, even if he never voices his curiosity or displeasure outright.  Ichiji just gets an uncomprehending look on his face, and says that as long as the soldiers’ drills continue to go well, Zoro can spend his free time however he likes.

Eating dinner with them becomes more of a pain than usual, so Zoro begins to avoid doing so.  It’s a perfect time to visit the cook, anyway.

Tonight he’s making some kind of fish with garlic cream sauce, or something; Sanji has been chattering excitedly about it since Zoro came down here, but most of the details go right over his head.  Whatever it is, the cell smells amazing as usual and the cook is in high spirits, so Zoro doesn’t need to know.

“Weather’s been really nice the last couple days,” Zoro says.  “Come out with me tomorrow.”

Sanji frowns over his shoulder, and goes back to stirring his sauce without responding.  Even though Zoro isn’t surprised, he’s getting frustrated.  The cook has refused to leave the cell ever since Zoro brought him back down here the other morning.

He’s going to have to try another tactic.  Sanji is agreeable enough when it comes to practicing his balance without the helmet here in the cell, but he shuts down as soon as Zoro tries to get him outside.  All this training will be a waste if Sanji won’t leave, and he’s really improved over the few short sessions Zoro has coached him through.  Zoro is eager to see what he can do with a good, open space.

Sanji likes romance novels, right?  Reiju said something about that.  Not really Zoro’s thing, but he’s paged through a few of Franky’s on particularly boring days at sea.  “You could pack a picnic,” he coaxes.

Sure enough, the cook perks up at that, peering back at Zoro with much less sullen defiance.  This idiot has an idealistic streak a mile wide.  There’s a moment of wide-eyed excitement, and then Sanji’s expression shifts into something unreadable.

“Reiju came down to see me the other day,” the cook suddenly says, and Zoro has a bare second to wonder about the change of subject before Sanji continues.  “She asked if you were bothering me.  Asking for anything strange, or touching me in ways I don’t like.”

Zoro goes hot, then cold, then very, very still.  “Am I bothering you?”

Sanji shrugs, lowering the heat on the stovetop and turning to face him.  “I know what she was really asking.  I’m not a child.”

“I wouldn’t…” Zoro begins, and has to swallow hard against the thick uncertainty.  “What did you tell her?”

“I told her that I like spending time with you.  That I trust you.”  Sanji folds his arms across his chest, leveling Zoro with the most serious look he’s seen from the cook.  “So I’ll go on your little picnic.”

Zoro nods, unable to pick out a response to that.  It doesn’t feel right, all of a sudden.  This Sanji is so different from the one who woke up all slow and sleepy in Zoro’s bed only days ago.

It’s a relief when the cook breaks eye contact, bustling around his kitchen to assemble the finished meal.  By the time it’s set out on that rickety table beside the bed, the atmosphere is cleared as if they hadn’t spoken of anything uncomfortable, and Sanji explains the details of the food with all his usual enthusiasm.  They sit side by side, Zoro tells a story about Vivi and Carue, and once again Zoro is certain he’s never eaten anything as delicious in his life.

“You’ll have to bring me a picnic basket,” Sanji says, as he whisks the dishes back to the sink.  “I… don’t have one.”

“Sure,” Zoro mutters, feeling a flash of that same uneasy wrongness.  

Discomfort makes him awkward when he has to lock the helmet back over Sanji’s golden hair, and he brushes it out of the cook’s eyes a little too roughly before he does.  Sanji blinks, shying back as Zoro reaches out to hold his head still, and Zoro can feel a frustrated flush building in his cheeks.

“I’ll get your basket,” Zoro promises again, and hurries out of the cell before he can make this feel any worse.

He stops by the kitchens on his way upstairs.  That’s where he would find a picnic basket, right?  

Several of the cooks outright avoid him, scurrying between workstations without making eye contact, heads lowered and movements stilted.  Zoro scowls, getting ready to yell his request to the room at large when a slender girl slips up beside him.

It’s Cosette, looking much more confident in this room than anywhere else Zoro has seen her.  “What can I get you, sir?”

“Told you to call me by my name,” Zoro mutters.  “I need a picnic basket.”

For some reason, it feels like an embarrassing thing to ask for.  Zoro blushes, watching Cosette peer up at him in surprise.

“A picnic basket?”  She repeats.  “Certainly.  If you’ll just come with me… may I ask what you need it for, sir - Zoro?  The chefs would be happy to prepare food as well.”

Zoro glowers at her until she leads the way into a dimly lit servants’ hall, lined with storage rooms.  “Don’t need any food, just the basket.”

“Certainly,” she says again, glancing back at him with such glaring curiosity in her eyes that it drags the answer out of him.

“The cook’s gonna make the food,” Zoro says, avoiding her gaze.  “It’s for him.”

He realizes that she probably doesn’t know who he means by ‘the cook,’ but it must be obvious in context.  The moment she understands definitely is, as the curiosity on her face changes to something warm.

Thankfully, Cosette doesn’t comment.  She hides a small smile behind one hand, and leaves Zoro in the hall as she rummages around in a storeroom.  The basket she comes back with is the size of his entire torso, and already packed with dishes and whatever else in little wicker compartments.

“I hope you have fun,” Cosette wishes him, blushing brightly as she hands it over.

“Yeah,” Zoro mutters, feeling his own cheeks heat again.  “Thanks.”

She accompanies him out of the kitchens, and once he’s alone in the main corridors Zoro feels both frivolously foolish and like anyone who sees him will have caught him red-handed in some wrongdoing, with the oversized wicker basket hanging off one arm.  Luckily no one does, and he tosses the thing down beside his door with deliberate nonchalance before going to sleep.

~o~O~o~

He makes it down to the dungeons well before lunchtime the next morning, after directing the soldiers he was supposed to train to spar amongst themselves today.  As usual, the men and women of Germa 66 are unfailingly enthusiastic, and take the orders readily.

Sanji isn’t so agreeable, tearing all the dishes and accessories out of the picnic basket and into the sink, grumbling about dust all the while.  He already has neatly wrapped packages of food laid out on the counter, but does at least seem pleased by all the little wicker boxes, which fit perfectly into the basket with no wasted space.

Once all the plates, glasses, and silverware are washed, dried, and tucked securely back into the basket, Sanji insists on carrying it himself.  Zoro is not allowed to touch it, so he throws the cook’s helmet under one arm - Zoro is still convinced that this is the thing that will get them in trouble, if one of the other Vinsmokes catches them outside the cell without it - and they head upstairs.

Sanji is less affected by the sunlight streaming through the windows today, walking close to Zoro and keeping himself on the far side of the hallways, but not flinching in the doorways.  Zoro casually bumps his shoulder and follows the cook’s lead, acting as if the light is no big deal.

Of course, it can’t be that easy, and Reiju is waiting around the next corner.  Zoro is disappointed in himself for being so startled.  Cosette works for Reiju; it only makes sense that she would have reported back about Zoro’s weird request.

She must have been disguising her presence somehow, because Sanji is just as surprised, jumping and lurching into Zoro as he regains his balance.  Reaching out to steady him, Zoro feels her eyes burning into the place where his hand catches Sanji’s elbow.

“Reiju!”  Sanji gasps, alarm transforming into joy.  He steps up to her, away from Zoro, and she strokes the hair out of his eyes, smiling softly.

“I heard you were having a picnic,” she says, gaze flicking to Zoro.  He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.  She can make whatever she wants of it.

“Will you come with us?”  Sanji eagerly asks.  

Reiju shakes her head, and Zoro can only feel relieved.  “Not today, but I know a good spot.  I’ll show you.”

Pouting, Sanji follows along at her side and Zoro trails along behind them, watching how the cook leans in as close as he can, basket bumping his hip where it’s looped over his arm as he gestures with both hands, and feeling rather annoyed.  That damn woman is always meddling.

The corridors she leads them through aren’t familiar, except in the way everywhere in the castle is, all stoically undecorated stone hallways.  Sanji tells Reiju about the food he prepared, trying to convince her to join them for lunch, and Zoro peers down all the unfamiliar halls, hoping none of the other Vinsmokes are about to appear out of nowhere.

Finally, they reach a door to the outside, and Sanji hangs back beside Zoro again as Reiju goes to open it.  Zoro is surprised to see a bright expanse of grass beyond it, no sign of enclosed courtyards or cobbled roads to be seen.

“It’s the far side of the castle,” Reiju idly says.  “There’s a bit of forest over that hill, not far.  It can be quite nice, in this kind of climate.”

“You can grow trees on these snail things?”  Zoro mutters.  Maybe it shouldn’t seem so strange - they had trees on the Merry, and now the Sunny, too - but a green space like this doesn’t fit the Vinsmoke’s image at all.

“Mother -” Reiju begins, before cutting herself off with a short frown.  “The late Queen enjoyed this landscape.” 

For a moment, she and Sanji both look terribly small, and young.  Zoro has pieced together enough of Queen Sora’s story to know that he shouldn’t get into it casually.

“Sounds like a great spot,” he says gruffly, clapping a hand on Sanji’s shoulder.  “Right, cook?”

Sanji lets Zoro guide him through the door and Reiju follows them out, the three of them moving into the shadow of the castle as if it’s enemy territory.  Nearly noon, and there’s only a narrow band of dimness before the striking line of sunshine.

Glancing at Reiju, Zoro decides that he doesn’t particularly care what she thinks right now, and slides his hand down to grasp Sanji’s, leaving his helmet in the grass.  The cook startles, looking down and squeezing reflexively, and Zoro jerks his thumb toward the low hill.  “C’mon, cook.”

Another leery peek at the edge of the shade, and Sanji gives him a determined nod.  It’s all Zoro can do to walk normally, slowly out into the sunlight, and not stare at the cook too intensely the whole time.

He does stare as they step over the line, sunlight hitting Sanji’s well-polished shoe first and then flooding up his body as he finishes the motion, raising his free hand to his eyes and blinking furiously in the light.  Damn cook looks radiant, pale skin practically glowing and still nowhere near as bright as his shining golden hair.

Zoro gulps, moving a little closer when Sanji shivers and drops the picnic basket off his arm, grip still steady in Zoro’s.  A breeze ruffles his hair and he brushes it back into place, slowly lowering his hand and looking at Zoro.

It feels like the first time, startling and almost incomprehensible.  Zoro can hardly make sense of how lovely Sanji is, even with his face all scrunched up and anxious.  The cook slowly relaxes his shoulders, taking a deep breath of fresh air, and twists to find Reiju.

Like a splash of cold water, Zoro realizes she’s still there, no doubt watching every uncontrollable emotion that he just experienced, seeing the cook in full sunlight.  They’re still holding hands, for fucks’ sake, staring into each others’ eyes like some stupid story.  He’s so dead.

No one says anything, but Reiju comes out into the light and wraps Sanji up in a hug, somehow without pulling his hand out of Zoro’s.  Putting his other arm around her shoulders, Sanji presses her close and shudders hard.  It puts Zoro closer to her than he’s really comfortable with, especially in this moment, and he could almost scream from embarrassment as he hears the two of them sniffle back tears.

“I’m proud of you,” Reiju whispers, pulling away far enough to look into Sanji’s damp eyes for a moment.  He buries his golden head back against her shoulder, audibly crying now, and Reiju shifts enough to look at Zoro instead.

She does that thing where she makes enough eye contact to impress her threats of death and violence directly into Zoro's brain, and he scowls at her.  Sure, he doesn’t think he should exactly be here for this - not this close - but Reiju’s eyes are watery too, so he’s not feeling all that intimidated.

“I have to go,” Reiju says, gently detaching herself from Sanji once it’s clear that Zoro will not be cowed.

Sanji discreetly wipes his nose and Reiju brushes his hair out of his face again, smiling in such a private way that Zoro has to look away.  The cook’s hand is trembling in his.

“Pull it together, cook,” Zoro says, giving it a light tug.  “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you because you’re all emotional.”

That gets Sanji to turn and glare at him, red-eyed and sniffling but clearly ready to fight.  “Shut up, marimo.”

Sighing, Reiju quirks an eyebrow at them, and shoots Zoro one more threatening stare before leaving.  The castle door shuts behind her, and Zoro gestures out over the grass.  “How fast can you run, curly?”

“Faster than you,” Sanji challenges, swiping up the picnic basket and making a dash for the top of the hill.

They reach the crest at about the same time and go careening down the gentle slope on the other side, stumbling to a halt in the flat area bordering the patch of forest Reiju mentioned.  Evenly matched now, but Zoro can already tell that Sanji will be out of his league once he gets used to having space to run.

“C’mon, put that down, let’s get warmed up and do it again,” Zoro grins, enjoying the affronted look on Sanji’s face.

The cook growls, finding a safe place for the basket and stretching out his long legs.  After a few races up and down the hill, Zoro throws himself into the grass, panting with the kind of carefree exuberance he’s only ever felt after playing with Luffy and the others.

“Tired out, marimo?”  Sanji pants, leaning heavily on his knees.  “Told you.”

“You can’t have run like that in years, what gives,” Zoro grumbles, utterly unable to put any spite into it.

“Come have a snack, and we can have lunch a little later,” Sanji replies, wandering over to the picnic basket with a smug smile.  Zoro is more than happy to follow.

The cook has packed lemonade and fresh fruit, another batch of nutty granola bars and waxed-paper twists of crispy plantain chips, and that’s all in the first couple of containers.  Much more of this and Zoro will be too spoiled to eat anyone else’s cooking ever again.

“What’s in this?” he asks, mildly surprised by the complexity of the flavor when he tries the lemonade.

“Lavender and mint,” Sanji explains, lowering his own glass to watch Zoro drink.  “Do you like it?”

Damn idiot still asks that as if Zoro will say he hates it, when everything he makes is a culinary miracle.  “It’s great, cook.”

Hiding a smile, Sanji takes another sip.  “I made it for my mother, once, but I forgot the sugar.  She drank it all anyway.”

“You cooked for her a lot?”  Zoro asks, careful not to sound pushy.  

Sanji nods, smile turning sad.  “I was no good, then.  Father was always mad at me for it.”

“Don’t call that man your father,” Zoro growls, thinking of the way Reiju never does, if only Zoro is listening.  Vinsmoke Judge doesn’t deserve the implication of love and respect.  Just the mention of the man gets Zoro’s blood going like he’s fixing for a real fight.

“What?”  The confused look on Sanji’s face only makes it worse.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Zoro impatiently explains.  “Only interested in whether you can fight, when there’s so much more to you.  And you can fight,” he adds, gesturing at the field around them.  “We’re proving that right now.  So he’s a fool, on top of being the worst example of a parent I’ve ever heard of.”

Not that Zoro knows many good parents, but he remembers the way Nami talks about Belle-mere, how Chopper cried when they left that crazy old Doctorine behind, Vivi’s overwhelmed tears when they found her father alive.  He doesn’t need any better examples to know that Vinsmoke Judge is simply the most despicable father figure across all five seas.  Even Usopp and Luffy’s absentee fathers are doing a better job, at least letting their sons live their own lives.

Sanji’s conflicted expression is breaking Zoro’s heart, all watery eyes and desperation as he bites his lip.  This whole afternoon is getting ridiculous; they’re just out to work on the cook’s balance, damn it, not weather all these emotional storms.  Finishing his snack, Zoro climbs to his feet.

“Not gonna get any better sitting around,” he challenges, jerking his chin at the cook.  “Get up, let’s get back to work.”

This time they go through a more balanced exercise than simply racing up and down the hill, and Zoro is relieved by Sanji’s gritted teeth and determined body language.  After they do a more purposeful set of stretches, Zoro coaches Sanji through a few katas - adjusted as best he can figure out for a guy who only fights with his legs - and finally coaxes him into a light spar.

It’s going well.  The cook’s balance has really improved, his confidence is rising, he’s plenty strong enough to pull off a frankly absurd variety of handstands and spins.  Despite his doubts in the beginning, Zoro is starting to believe that Sanji can hold his own with this impractical style.  It’s only a shame Zoro can’t give him more specific training advice.

So he’s surprised, and disappointed, when Sanji stumbles, collapsing in the middle of a flip that should have put his polished shoes dangerously close to Zoro’s face.  Surely the cook isn’t too exhausted already?

“What happened there?”  Zoro demands, taking a step toward the haphazard tangle of Sanji’s long limbs across the grass.

Sanji springs to his feet, staring in the direction of the castle and backing up toward the trees, putting himself behind Zoro.  Straining to figure out what the cook is freaking out about, all Zoro can see is a few insects flitting between patches of wildflowers.

Something else moves, a head of green hair appearing over the rise.  Zoro’s stomach drops, recognizing Yonji as he jogs closer.

“Yo, Roronoa!”  Yonji calls, slowing as he comes down the hill.  “So this is where you’ve been hiding.  What are you doing out here with the failure?”

Chapter Text

“What are you doing out here with the failure?”

Zoro isn’t good at deescalation.  His first reaction, seeing Yonji lope over the hill, is to draw his swords.  The cook’s fear only reinforces that instinct, but as Sanji hides behind him, a voice in his head that sounds an awful lot like Nami starts yelling.  If he attacks Yonji now, he’ll lose.  There’s no way he can fight one of the Vinsmokes seriously, not while protecting Sanji at the same time.

So Zoro squares his stance in front of the cook, crosses his arms over his chest, and scowls up at the fourth Vinsmoke.  “Training.  What’s it to you?”

“Training with Sanji?”  Yonji jeers.  He walks up, loose-limbed and unconcerned, and kicks at a clump of grass near Zoro’s feet.  “Waste of time.”

“It’s not,” Zoro stubbornly says, holding his ground.  “He’s getting good.”

Yonji makes a disbelieving face and circles around, trying to get a look at Sanji.  The cook shifts, keeping Zoro between them, and Zoro can feel him shaking.  “Doubt it.  Good-for-nothing could never keep up with the rest of us.”

As the three of them spin in a slow circle, Zoro watches the dissatisfaction sharpen in Yonji’s eyes.  His movements speed up, and Zoro knows they only have seconds before this situation gets out of hand.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?”  Zoro demands.

Yonji’s answering grin is predatory, his gaze fixed on Sanji over Zoro’s shoulder.  “Bored.  Wanted to spar, but you weren’t around.  Ichi an' Niji are busy.  This is pretty interesting though.  Haven’t seen the failure outside in ages.” 

Sanji makes a terrified noise, and Zoro flings out an arm, whacking Yonji in the chest and reaching back to hold the cook’s wrist.  The circling stops.  “I’m busy,” he says firmly, meeting Yonji’s startled eyes.  “We’re busy.  If you’re gonna be a pain, you can fuck off.”

Blinking, Yonji’s expression whirls through surprise and indignation, and he levels a cold glare at Zoro.  Then bursts into laughter.

“You’re gonna blow me off for Sanji?”  he snickers.  “Fine.  Prove he’s worth it.”

Daring to take his eyes off Yonji, Zoro spares a glance behind him.  Sanji is wide-eyed and trembling, but he steadies under Zoro’s gaze, lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Let’s try that handspring spin thing again,” Zoro coaxes, pushing back against Yonji when he tries to come around toward the cook again.  “You almost had me, the last time.”

Yonji scoffs, leaning into Zoro’s hand for nothing more than the threat of it.  He’s only leveraging a fraction of his strength, but Zoro still gives an extra shove back.  “Gonna have to do more than a little handstand to impress me.” 

Sliding his hand up the cook’s arm to grip his shoulder, Zoro tries to determine whether Sanji can do this, or if they should try to escape.  He can probably hold Yonji’s attention long enough for Sanji to get inside, if it comes to that.  It’s the first few seconds that will decide things, whether Yonji will engage him when he pulls his swords, or shoot off to chase Sanji right away…

Sanji nods, frowning, eyebrows drawing down from that frightened expression and settling into a resolute scowl.  The stubborn determination makes Zoro want to grin.

There are a lot of things in Sanji that are learned.  The hesitancy, the fear.  Even the importance he places on food, and his cooking.  But this tenacity is innate, as natural on him as that rare, cheerful smile.  Suddenly, Zoro believes that they’ll make something positive out of this encounter.

“Okay.  From the top then, cook.”  Zoro gives Sanji a little push, directing him back to the center of the field, and turns to jab a finger into Yonji’s chest.  “You stay where you are.”

Yonji isn’t troubled by the order, smirking at Zoro with both hands raised.  “Ooh, bossy.  Let’s see it then, Roronoa.”

Striding out into the grass, Zoro finds a spot where he can keep an eye on Yonji, and still get between him and the cook if Yonji decides to participate.  He draws two swords and watches Sanji’s gaze flick warily to his brother, before the cook takes his own stance.

Yonji yawns and sneers, so Zoro doesn’t wait around.  He tries to challenge the cook in ways that will force Sanji to showcase his dexterity, the acrobatic flexibility that makes up his main strength.  The cook is still nervous to strike out, and doesn’t put much force into his counterattacks, but he’s fast and unpredictable enough to give Zoro an interesting spar regardless.

At first, nothing changes in Yonji’s expression.  Zoro doesn’t spare him much attention, but whenever he looks over, the fourth Vinsmoke is lounging in the grass, picking at the flowers.  Not threatening, but Zoro doesn’t like the idea of letting Yonji get too bored.

“Come on, cook,” Zoro goads.  “You gonna let him think you still can’t keep up?”

Another nervous glance at Yonji, and the cook snarls, kicking things up a notch.  Literally - Sanji kicks off the ground hard enough to flip well over Zoro’s head, and Zoro has to put real strength into his block when the cook comes back down.

The next time Zoro catches a glimpse of Yonji, he’s sitting up straight and watching avidly, expression calculating.  Zoro feels a bit smug on Sanji’s behalf, as the cook bends backward to avoid a slash and completes the motion with a vicious handspring that nearly puts one of his shoes through Zoro’s jaw.

“Tag me in, Roronoa,” Yonji demands, standing abruptly.  Sanji freezes, and Zoro has to swing wide to avoid slashing his arm off.  

Sanji’s eyes are wild, but he doesn’t back off when Yonji strides up to Zoro.  Looking between them, Zoro can’t see any real malice in Yonji’s expression, so… maybe this is a good thing.

“Fine,” Zoro growls.  He takes a few steps away, hoping Sanji trusts him enough to keep Yonji from getting violent.  The cook shivers.  “Show him what you’re made of, cook.”

Yonji grins, a dangerously feral stretch of his lips, and shoots forward.  Dodging by a hair, Sanji yelps, flipping out of the way and regaining his footing quickly enough to meet Yonji’s next swipe more readily.

Zoro can’t see his face.  Either of their faces, with the speed Yonji is moving but he wishes he could check Sanji’s expression, to see if he should end this sooner rather than later.  It’s a surprise when Sanji pulls out of a handstand, facing Zoro for just long enough that he can make out the savage snarl baring his teeth.

It surprises a laugh out of Yonji, too.  “So there is a man in there somewhere,” he jeers.  “Never seen you fight like this.”

Sanji shudders, fists clenched.  “Shut up.”

“Why should I,” Yonji retorts, and swings a punch at the cook’s head.  

No matter how fast Sanji is, he isn’t a match for Yonji.  Zoro barely is, when the two of them spar.  It’s almost miraculous how well Sanji is responding to Yonji’s attacks, but Yonji isn’t holding back at all, so it’s only a matter of time until he gets his hands on the cook, throwing him down into the grass.  

Yonji pins the cook to the ground, and Zoro can feel his heart in his throat.  Lunging forward, he’s sure he won’t get there in time to keep Yonji from really hurting Sanji, but Yonji lifts his head with a flounce, grinding the cook into the dirt before releasing him.

“Boring,” Yonji complains, dusting off his hands.  “Sure, the failure’s little flips are fancy, but I came out here to get a fight out of you, Roronoa.”

“Sure,” Zoro agrees, almost dizzy with relief.  “Cook, how about you set up that picnic, while I kick your brother’s ass.”

Yonji’s answering laugh is delighted and darkly eager in equal measure, and Sanji gets out of the way in a hurry.  Zoro is pleased to see that he isn’t limping or visibly injured, but he doesn’t have time to spare thinking about that before Yonji comes at him.

Reckless is the first word Zoro would use to describe Yonji’s fighting style.  Powerful.  Vinsmoke Yonji doesn’t pull punches or guard his back.  Zoro wouldn’t compare him to the cook, but somehow… maybe it’s the fact that they had the same base training, or that Reiju has taught Sanji in the style she learned, the style they all learned.  Sparring with both of them within such a short time, and fresh off of watching them fight each other, Zoro can see some similarities.  It’s enough to make him think.

It’s enough to distract him into losing faster than usual, too.  Yonji gets him on the ground in much the same way he did Sanji, grinding the heel of his boot into the small of Zoro’s back.

“Man, no one is any fun today,” he complains, shifting his weight back enough that Zoro can roll out from under his foot.

“I’ll get you next time,” Zoro grumbles, shoulder-checking him as he heads over to Sanji.  “Told you I was busy today.”

“You’re busy all the time,” Yonji whines, following at his heels.

“What did you even do for fun before I got here?”

“Missions,” Yonji shrugs.  “Tried sparring with the soldiers.  Drinking with Ichi an’ Niji.  Messing with the failure.”

And here Zoro almost felt bad for him, before that last example.  “Well, if you mess with him any more today, I’m gonna be real busy for a long time,” he threatens, feeling like he’s negotiating with a child.

Sanji sits up warily as they approach, smoothing the edge of the picnic blanket he’s spread out.  It’s covered with food, so much that Zoro has a hard time believing the cook fit it all in that one basket, and there are two glasses of wine set beside conspicuously empty plates at opposite corners.

The cook is anxiously twirling a third empty glass, another plate resting in his shadow.

Stopping a few strides away, Zoro gives Yonji a hard look.  This hasn’t been a disaster so far, but Zoro is well acquainted with the Vinsmokes’ mercurial moods by now.

“Are you hungry?”  Sanji asks in a rush, fingers clenched in the blanket.  His visible eye is so wide, it’s like staring into the ocean.  The sunlight in his hair is blinding.

Instead of answering, Yonji throws himself down onto the blanket and tosses back one of the glasses of wine.  Zoro takes a deep breath, and sits down at the other place setting.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, past really caring if Yonji hears.  Sanji nods, taking the third plate and settling himself right beside Zoro.

“Done feeding the rats?”  Yonji asks, idly flipping his empty glass.  “Cooking for people now, lil’ Sanji?”

By now, Zoro understands how much Sanji wants people to enjoy his food.  Yonji better watch his mouth.  “What did you make, cook?”

Brightening, Sanji begins serving the meal, stealing glances at Zoro with every dish.  Flakey croissant sandwiches with thinly sliced ham, salad full of hearty seeds and dried fruit, an entire quiche that’s still warm when the cook removes the insulating cover.  Even with Yonji here, talking about the food puts a smile on his face.  As usual, most of the information goes over Zoro’s head, but he knows the cook’s food will be perfect.

“- more traditional to use gruyere, but I think this will taste just as good!”  Sanji declares, sliding a slice of quiche onto Yonji’s plate.  He looks up with a grin, seeming to have forgotten who he’s talking to until he makes eye contact with his brother.

Zoro stiffens, ready to pull Sanji back if Yonji makes some kind of swipe at him, but Yonji looks just as surprised as the cook.  It’s like some kind of bubble is about to burst.

“Neither of us know anything about cheese, cook,” he grumbles, glaring over Sanji’s shoulder to dare Yonji to say anything different.  “I bet it’s great.”

“You haven’t even tasted it,” Sanji complains, but he’s hiding a smile as he settles back into his place beside Zoro.

That feels right.  Bracing an arm behind the cook, Zoro leans back in affected relaxation and takes a bite, maintaining eye contact with Yonji all the while.  “It’s good.”

“That’s what’s good?”  Yonji smirks, eyeing Zoro’s hand behind Sanji’s hip and the way their shoulders are nearly brushing.  “Could have fooled me.”

“Eat your damn lunch,” Zoro growls.

Sanji gives him a sideways look, all the more doubtful from so close up, but he seems more confident now that the meal is served.  Shrugging, Yonji pops half a sandwich into his mouth.

He chews a few times, with the same disaffected mien as ever, and then the taste apparently registers.  Zoro actually sees Yonji’s eyes widen, his whole expression freezing for a second as he reassesses.  Finishing the sandwich with much more enthusiasm, Yonji immediately reaches for another.

“You like it?”  Sanji softly asks, fingers laced tightly in his lap, and Zoro realizes that they’re both staring at Yonji as he eats.  If it was anyone else, Zoro might feel weird about it.

“Maybe all those failures weren’t such a waste of time,” Yonji mutters, licking aioli off his fingers as he finishes his second sandwich just as quickly.  “Your food’s not bad.”

Sanji is practically glowing, so Zoro resists the urge to shake Yonji until he comes up with a stronger compliment.  The sandwiches are delicious, damn it.

Yonji helps himself to more wine, and keeps eating with pleasure that even his stunted emotional range can’t disguise.  Peering at him from under his hair, Sanji doesn’t even try to hide his smile.  How the cook can be so happy to see one of his contemptible brothers enjoying his food, Zoro doesn’t know, but he’ll take any scenario that makes Sanji smile like that.

It’s uneasy, but it’s peaceful.  The scene is so unbelievable that Zoro doesn’t want to give any of them too much time to reflect on it.

“Heard of a place called Little Garden?”  Zoro asks.  The cook always likes stories, and this one has enough fighting that he thinks Yonji will enjoy it, too.  Both Vinsmokes shake their heads, so Zoro dives into the adventure with the giants.

As usual, Sanji listens with rapt attention, interjecting to ask about the girls’ safety and what kinds of fruit they found on the island.  Yonji is equally enthusiastic in his own way, arguing about how difficult it would be to hunt lizards that size, and scoffing at the idea of fighting the same opponent for decades.

Around the point where he would have to bring up Baroque Works, which sounds kind of like a pain to explain, something buzzes past Zoro’s ear.  He doesn’t pay much attention at first; they’re outside, of course there are bugs.  But Sanji flinches into him and yelps, watching the insect circle over the remaining food in horror.

“It's just a bee,” Zoro tries to assure him, but Sanji only closes his eyes and presses up against him, a distressed noise clawing up his throat when the bee drifts closer.

“Don’t be such a useless wimp,” Yonji snorts, drinking the rest of the wine straight from the bottle.  He waves a hand at it, and the bee buzzes more loudly.

The cook is practically on the verge of tears, one eye cracked open and his hands white-knuckled on Zoro’s sleeve.  “Get rid of it!”

“It’ll go away on its own,” Zoro grumbles, looping an arm around the cook and brushing the bee away from his plate with his other hand.

Sanji cringes, and Zoro rolls his eyes.  At least it’s a stupid insect stressing him out, and not something serious like Yonji running to tell the other Vinsmokes what they’ve been up to.  Still, maybe he should do something - 

Yonji sighs, and snatches the bee out of the air.  “There, crybaby, it’s gone, now can you -”

“Thanks,”  Sanji mutters, sitting up a little and wiping his eyes.  Zoro stares at Yonji, who stares back, looking easily as startled as he has at any point this afternoon.

“I - I didn’t do it for you,” Yonji snaps.  “You were so annoying, crying like a stupid kid, that’s all.”

There’s no recovering from that.  Yonji won’t look at Sanji’s watery-eyed expression, and Zoro doesn’t know how to soothe his pride after accidentally doing something nice for the brother he thinks is useless.  Or whether he would, if he knew how.  Shoving a last sandwich into his mouth, Yonji glares at them both, and stomps away without a backwards glance.

In a daze, Zoro helps the cook pack up the picnic basket, and walks him back to the cell.  Somehow, neither of them is sporting anything worse than grass stains, and even the stupid wicker picnic basket isn’t damaged at all.

“You’re okay?” he asks.  Now that they’re back in the dim, silent dungeons, it feels like a long day.

“Fine,” Sanji says, looking as blankly overwhelmed as Zoro feels.  Not like he’s lying, though, or hiding anything, so Zoro takes him at his word.  There’s one more thing he wants to get done today.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Zoro promises.  He’s already hurting for the sight of Sanji’s hair gleaming in the sunlight. 

The cook ducks in to hug him before Zoro can pick up the helmet.  Pushing down the dangerously intense emotions that inspires, Zoro wraps his arms around Sanji’s shoulders and tries not to think too hard about the dichotomy between how well the cook fits against him and the strength in his body as they sparred.    

~o~O~o~

Before he can think better of it, Zoro hunts Yonji down.  He’s up on a high balcony, flicking pebbles at seabirds, and doesn’t bother to turn around when Zoro comes out.

“Come out with us again tomorrow,” Zoro says, point-blank.  No reason to beat around the bush.

“What if I’m busy,” Yonji mutters.

“Right,” Zoro drawls.  “That’s why you came all the way out there looking for me.”  

“Yeah, and you weren’t even a good fight,” Yonji retorts.  “And don’t try to tell me the failure was.”

“He could be,” Zoro presses.  “Come practice with us.  He’ll be good enough to challenge you in no time.”

Yonji drops a final seagull, and spins to look at Zoro.  “Is that what you’re doing?  Trying to train that good-for-nothing up to our level?”

Shrugging, Zoro slouches against the wall.  “Could be.”

“Why bother?”

“Don’t you want to know if he can?”  Zoro counters.  He’s got Yonji’s measure by now.  The youngest Vinsmoke pays lip service to all the bullshit about pride and superiority, but Zoro is confident he’ll be able to hook him with curiosity.

“He can’t, or Father wouldn’t have thrown him away,” Yonji replies.  His voice is sullen, but his eyes are sharp.

“He moves like you,” Zoro points out.  “You must have seen it.  I can’t teach him that, but you could.”

Or Reiju could.  Zoro is pretty sure Reiju will start showing up, once he gets the cook out a few more times.  But it could only be better for Sanji to get more of his siblings on his side, and Zoro hasn’t seen Reiju fight.  He doesn’t know what her style is like, but enough of Yonji's is basic enough to adapt to Sanji’s more fluid movements.  At the very least, he can teach the cook more weaponless combat than Zoro can.  There’s only so much a swordsman can teach someone who fights with their legs.

“Spar with me before he tires you out next time, and I’ll think about it,” Yonji grumbles.  “How are you gonna be the greatest swordsman if playing around with the failure wears you out?”

“Same time, same place,” Zoro grins, making it as sharp and unkind as he can.

Chapter Text

Zoro doesn’t push his luck for a few days.  He drags Sanji out into the field the next afternoon, and when Yonji doesn’t show, lets the cook insist on spending the next few days indoors.  They go out to the first little courtyard once, but Zoro is almost as relieved as Sanji to avoid the other Vinsmokes for a while.

After that he gets uneasy.  Seeing none of them for this long makes his skin crawl, and Zoro decides that he’s the type of person who believes in keeping your enemies close after all.  At least this time.  Not knowing what they’re up to is worse than having to listen to their posturing.

He catches them all sitting down for lunch, Niji complaining about how easy his last mission was while he pushes the serving girls around.  Even Reiju is there, swirling a glass of wine as she lounges in her chair, but as usual, the highest seat is empty.

“It’s been a while, Roronoa,” Ichiji idly observes.

Yonji scoffs, drawing his brothers’ eyes - or so Zoro assumes, given the pause, but it’s impossible to tell with Ichiji and Niji’s expressionless sunglasses.  No explanation is forthcoming, though, so either Yonji doesn’t care enough about finding Zoro out with Sanji the other day to elaborate, or he’s already told his siblings about it.

Zoro is inclined to think not, if only because Reiju hasn’t come around to threaten him recently.  If she heard that he threw her baby brother in front of Yonji, Zoro is pretty sure he’d know about it.  And it seems like something Niji would make fun of him for immediately.

“Been busy,” he shrugs, taking a spot at the table.  Short answers and acting like he belongs there, that’s the right way to deal with these psychopaths.  Robin would be proud of him for knowing that word.  She would probably find the Vinsmokes fascinating, actually.  All that history with power-hungry megalomaniacs.

“Father drilled some of the soldiers himself yesterday,” Niji says, with widely bared teeth Zoro can’t bring himself to call a smile.

“He was impressed by their progress,” Ichiji continues, drawing a huff from Niji.  “Father wants you to work with our scientists, to see if we can improve the clone soldiers’ integral instinct for swordplay.”

Zoro doesn’t know much of anything about the cloning process, and he really, really doesn’t want to.  “Dunno if I’d be any help with that.  Not much of a scientist.”

Snickers all around, even Reiju, who rolls her eyes and leans forward.  “Involving Roronoa would set us back by decades.  Leave him in the training yard where he belongs.”

“Or in the back fields?”  Yonji grins.

“Nice to get some fresh air,” Zoro mutters.  Well, now Reiju knows that Yonji knows.  Her eyes are sharp across the table, even though neither Ichiji nor Niji seem to have the least interest in where Zoro spends his time.

“Maybe I’ll join you again sometime,” Yonji says, guaranteeing that Zoro should sleep with one eye open for a while.  Eating with these people is always a fucking disaster, even if it does give Zoro a good idea of what’s coming, now that his little reprieve is over.

~o~O~o~

Because the day hasn’t gone poorly enough, Yonji ambushes him again when Zoro is on his way down to see Sanji that evening.  He’d made it out of lunch with Ichiji and Niji none the wiser and no traumatic appointments with scientists or Judge in his future, but apparently Yonji is done with leaving him be.

“Thought you were avoiding me,” Zoro grumbles, when he comes around a corner and all but slams into Yonji.  Fucker doesn’t even blink, standing there like Zoro hadn’t bounced bodily off his chest.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Yonji sulks, tossing his head.  “Had to get some work done on my arms.  Jammed some of my mechanics on my last mission.”

As if to demonstrate, Yonji launches one of his hands through the glass of the closest window, grappling onto the far parapets.  A fierce tug, and part of the wall comes crumbling off in his grip, the sound of falling stone almost inaudible at this distance.

Another thing Zoro doesn’t really want to know more about.  Yonji’s modifications are as intense as Franky’s, and somehow, Zoro doesn’t think Yonji got hit by a train.

“How long have you had those?”

Yonji shrugs.  “Long time.”

“You never fight me with them,” Zoro complains, instead of pursuing that line of questioning.  The guy probably doesn’t even care why he doesn’t have human arms any more, but Zoro doesn’t need to pile more wrongs onto the mountain of injustices Judge has to answer for.  Even if Judge did it for fun while his son was a child, Yonji won’t be receptive to Zoro’s pity.

“Why should I?”  Yonji scoffs.  “I kick your ass plenty without, Roronoa.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Zoro sighs.  Yonji only laughs, apparently pleased by the title.  “What are you doing lurking around, anyway?”

“Figured you were going to see the failure.  Gonna go play outside today?”

“You want to join after all?”

Yonji frowns, brows drawing together like he doesn’t know how to answer that.  “Got nothing better to do, like you said.”

“How about tomorrow, then?”  Zoro carefully asks.  He should really give Sanji some warning this time, but he doesn’t want to lose the chance, either.  Training with Yonji will really help the cook.

“Fine,” Yonji scowls.  “But we’re gonna spar first, so bring your best game.  I don’t care how Sanji is doing.”

“Fine,” Zoro mimics, meeting Yonji’s scowl eye-to-eye as he brushes past.  The fourth Vinsmoke grins, all teeth, but leaves in the opposite direction.  Neither of them bother to avoid the broken glass, the crunching echoing down the hallway.

It takes a while to get down to the cell, but not long enough for Zoro to figure out how he’s going to tell the cook that they’re meeting Yonji again tomorrow.  Sanji is all smiles when he arrives, mockingly asking if Zoro got lost while he comes over to have his helmet removed, and it’s hard to damage his good mood.

“Ran into Yonji,” Zoro sighs, smoothing the cook’s hair down for him.  Might as well say it straight.

Sanji narrows his eyes, lips pressed in a tight line, but at least he doesn’t jerk away from Zoro’s touch.  This is one of the few he’s been allowing himself.  “And?”

“Told him we’d meet him out in the field tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Sanji flatly says, drawing away enough to stare Zoro in the eyes.

“Me neither,” he mutters.

“But I understand why we should,” the cook continues.  “You can’t teach me the way I want to fight, and if I only ever train against you, I’ll only learn how to beat idiots who fight with three swords.”

“You’re a long way from beating me, curly,” Zoro retorts, when he’s done gaping like a fish.

“Not for long,” Sanji promises, kicking Zoro lightly in the shin.  “Come eat before it gets cold.”

It’s a familiar routine, and one that Zoro savors more than he really should.  Watching the cook whirl around serving the meal, sitting beside him on the bed with that rickety little table over their knees, getting to eat Sanji’s delicious food every day.  Every bit of it feels important.

Zoro knows he’s taking advantage.  He enjoys these moments too much, and catches himself daydreaming about doing nothing more than sitting close and talking with the cook when he’s supposed to be meditating.  At all costs, he squashes those daydreams before he can imagine anything more.

Trying to guess what advice his crew might give him doesn’t help.  None of them know anything about love, or restraint.  He’s certain Luffy would only ask why Zoro isn’t doing what he wants, and Usopp would definitely come up with some big fairy-tale lie, all true love and happy endings.  Robin would turn the question back on him, ask him what it is he truly wants, and isn’t that what he’s trying to figure out already?  The witch… Zoro isn’t sure what Nami would say.  If she understood how serious he is, maybe she would spare him some of her rare, good advice, but Zoro can’t begin to imagine what that might be.

So this is all he can do - sit brushing shoulders with Sanji, and keep his hands to himself.  For all the cook’s claims, Zoro won’t risk tainting what’s left of his innocence.  It’s not a quality he usually cares about, but Sanji deserves to get out of here with some of his integrity intact, something to learn in a setting where the experience won’t be spoiled.

Stupid, useless line of thought.  Shoving a forkful of dinner into his mouth with more than his usual aggression, Zoro tries to look like he’s enjoying the food, instead of beating off bad thoughts with a stick.

Whether Zoro is successful or not, Sanji is content to eat this meal mostly in silence, with a look of mild concern on his face.  Zoro supposes that’s fair, after he came down here with the news he did.

“Hey, marimo,” the cook abruptly asks.  “Why aren’t you like them?”

It’s a good thing he’s spent so much time with Sanji.  The blond only sighs and keeps talking when he sees Zoro’s blank stare.

“Why aren’t you like my brothers, why don’t you want to hurt me, or run around destroying things.  You’re strong enough.”

“Your brothers are pretty fucked up, cook,” Zoro says.

“Obviously.  But our father made them that way, and he did it on purpose, because he decided it was best.  Whatever he did to us - them, mostly, I guess - he did it to make them strong, because strength lets you do all the terrible things he wants.  So they’re strong, and it makes them terrible.”

“Is that what you think strength is for?  Hurting people?”  Zoro is having a hard time understanding Sanji’s disjointed explanation, but he thinks more than clear communication is the issue here.  

“Yeah,” the cook shrugs, pulling at his hair as he steals a glance at Zoro.  “If you’re strong, you can do whatever you want, and no one can stop you.  So why aren’t you like that, marimo?”

“That’s not what my strength is for,” Zoro says slowly.  He doesn’t know how to put it into words, but he needs Sanji to understand that what Judge sees as strength is weakness, petty and vicious and biting, the pathetic grasping of an unremarkable man.

It’s the cook’s turn to stare, blue eyes wide and uncomprehending beneath his bangs.

“I need to be strong to keep my promise,” Zoro tells him, “and to protect my nakama.  It’s completely different.”

“Why,” the cook mutters, dropping his head so his hair falls over his face.  “It wasn’t always like this, you know.”

“Judge is really fucked up,” Zoro helplessly repeats.  “This isn't - no one should be treated like this, cook.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  Strength is supposed to be for chasing your dreams, that’s what my captain would say.  He would punch your whole family in the face.”

That gets him a quick smile, and Zoro pretends not to see how watery it is.  “You said your crew doesn’t have a cook?”

Zoro shakes his head, and runs with the distraction.  “We get by.  Can’t say I miss Usopp’s Seafood Surprise, but it’s better than Chopper’s dessert salads, or listening to the witch calculate how much we owe her for meals.”

It’s the first time Zoro has really seen desire in the cook’s expression.  A lot of wistful longing, sure, but this is targeted and specific, even more so than when Sanji dreams of All Blue.  “It sounds nice.”

“You haven’t had to eat the stuff Franky makes.  Always tastes like machine oil.”

“I’d like -” the cook begins, clamming up.  Zoro gets it, he really does - Sanji hasn’t been allowed to hope for anything.  All Blue is a dream, and the cook genuinely believes in it, but this is a tangible goal.  It must hurt like pulling teeth to say out loud, but Zoro needs to hear him ask for it.

“Yeah?”

“I’d like to be your cook,” Sanji says in a rush, looking surprised by his own audacity even as the words start coming faster.  “I’d be great at it, marimo, you can’t tell me I wouldn’t be the best chef your captain ever dreamed of.”

Zoro flops backward on the bed with a groan.  Now it’s hurting him, like getting torn open by Mihawk all over again, hearing the cook put the words out there.  Sanji’s right.  He’s the perfect missing piece, exactly the cook they’ve been searching for all along.

“I would be!”  Sanji insists, leaning over him.

“I know,” Zoro says into his hands.  He can’t look at the fire in the cook’s blue eyes right now.

“You’re going back to them,” the cook says, still talking fast, like he can’t stop the words.  “You’re not staying here forever.  Will - will you…”

“Fuck, cook,” Zoro says, before stopping himself.  “Damn.  Sanji, even if you couldn’t cook worth shit, even if you were still a useless little kid, even if you didn’t want to leave, there’s no chance in hell I’d leave you here.”

Even if he couldn’t see the fear in Reiju’s eyes every time the other Vinsmokes mention Sanji, even if Judge hadn’t locked his failed experiment in the dungeons, even if his brothers weren’t more machine than human, Zoro can’t imagine leaving Germa without Sanji.  He couldn’t look his crew in the face and let them welcome him back if he did.

Even if he didn’t have all these dangerous, unnamed feelings for the cook, even if the texture of his hair and the intensity of his eyes didn’t draw him in like a log pose.  Abandoning Sanji is just impossible.

The cook makes a choking noise, and when Zoro looks Sanji is wiping his eyes and glaring at him.  “Don’t just say things like that.”

“It’s still going to be a long time,” Zoro warns him.  “I told you about my captain’s message.  He’s going to need us to be strong, cook, so you can’t start crying now.”

“Who’s crying,” Sanji snaps.

Zoro might, honestly.  Luffy definitely will, once they’ve reunited and Zoro comes back with his captain’s most-coveted crew member.  “Nobody, curly-cook.”

“Good,” Sanji sniffs, knocking his forehead against Zoro’s with not-quite-enough force to call a headbutt before getting up.  Zoro helps him clear the dishes over to the sink, and accepts the towel Sanji thrusts into his hands.  They wash up in thoughtful silence, but this time the quiet is thrumming with barely-contained hope.  It makes Zoro want to fight something, or maybe just run, as fast and far from here as he can, and bring Luffy crashing down on this place.

The cook bitches at him for drying too slowly, Zoro gripes about his exacting standards, and more than a few drops of water end up splashed across their shirts, the floor, and the countertops.  When Zoro looks up from mussing the cook’s hair and dodging a particularly sharp retaliatory kick, Reiju is standing in the doorway.

With a full-body flinch, Zoro whacks his head on the edge of the counter and crashes to the floor.  At first the cook laughs, but he jumps just as badly when he spots her.

“Reiju!”  Sanji exclaims, recovering much more quickly than Zoro.

“Why didn’t you say she was here, shitty cook?”

“Didn’t notice,” Sanji admits, sparing him an apologetic glance as he goes to hug his sister.

Reiju smiles, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.  “Even the best command of haki is useless if you aren’t paying attention,” she chides.

Zoro has mixed feelings about that - obviously, the cook shouldn’t be letting his guard down, but doesn’t that mean he feels safe with Zoro?  They’re only messing around in the kitchen, but the idea that Sanji was so absorbed in something so simple tightens that complicated knot in Zoro’s gut.

Pouting at her, Sanji takes Reiju’s hand and pulls her farther into the cell.  “We just finished eating, Reiju, why don’t you ever come for dinner?  Can I make you something else?”

“No, I only came to bring you this,” Reiju says, offering the box in her other hand.

Unappeased, the cook takes the box, immediately puts it aside, and makes her tea anyway.  Zoro gets a cup too, and holds it warily, trying not to tense up.  Reiju wouldn’t kill him in front of Sanji, would she?  Reaming him out isn’t out of the question, though.

“I want to cook for you,” Sanji complains, procuring a tray of cookies out of nowhere.

“These are delicious,” Reiju murmurs, not bothering to conceal her fondness.

Sanji’s smile is blinding, the world narrowed down to him and Reiju.  As much as Zoro knows that taking him away from here is the right thing, tearing them apart won’t be pleasant for the cook.

Reiju gives Zoro a few critical looks, but doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get on his case over the whole Yonji thing, so Zoro decides to act like nothing is weird.  Maybe, for once, she doesn’t think he’s threatening Sanji.

Eventually, Sanji opens the box, which contains a pair of stylish shoes and a few recipe books.  Holding the shoes, he gives Reiju a curious look.

“You don’t have any outdoor shoes,” Reiju says, tapping an elegant finger on the toes.  “And these are reinforced with the best technology Germa 66 has to offer.  I think they’ll help you with your training.”

“They have knives in there or something?”  Zoro blurts out.  “Missiles?  Franky would add missiles.”

Both Vinsmokes give him a deadpan stare, before Reiju’s gaze fades into the middle distance.  “Yonji would like missiles,” she says under her breath.

“That bastard does not need shoe missiles,” Zoro firmly says.

“These don’t actually have anything like that, do they?”  Sanji asks, turning the shoes in his hands with some trepidation.

“Smoke bombs?  That’s what Usopp would do.”  Or stink bombs, or flash grenades, or - 

“No,” Reiju reassures him.  “But they will protect your feet better, and give your kicks more force.  Nothing flashy.”

Sanji examines the shoes with determined focus, and Zoro dares another glance at Reiju.  She doesn’t change her relaxed posture, but the look in her eyes isn’t what Zoro would call welcoming.

“These are amazing,” the cook finally says, leaning over the table to give Reiju another hug.  “Thank you.”

“Sounds like you’ll need them,” she says, and there’s the threat Zoro’s been looking for, as she meets his eyes over Sanji’s shoulder.  “I hope Zoro is doing his job well, helping you train.”

Sanji nods into her hair, and Zoro wonders if he’ll tell her what Zoro promised, or if Zoro should tell her himself.  They’ve nearly said it before, but now it’s real.

“I’m gonna do what’s best for him,” he says instead.  It includes Yonji, unfortunately, but the Thousand Sunny is at the end of this path.  Zoro can almost feel the grass under his feet; can almost see the cook getting comfortable in a kitchen with real windows.  Even if they have nothing else in common, Zoro knows that Reiju will be able to see that this is the best way to help Sanji get stronger.

Chapter Text

Zoro is not surprised when Reiju shows up in the field the next day, settling herself on the edge of the hill to watch them.  Sanji is surprised, tripping out of the stretch they’re doing, and Zoro sighs.

“If you’re just gonna be a distraction, get out of here,” he grumbles.

“You’re putting an uneven amount of weight on your back foot,” she snipes.  Checking his stance, Zoro has to admit she’s right.  

Correcting himself, Zoro directs the cook through their warm-up, and does his best to ignore Reiju’s critical eyes.  After the initial distraction, Sanji does a better job of it than Zoro does, completing each exercise more perfectly than the last.  Probably wants to impress his sister, and Zoro won’t split hairs over why the cook is extra motivated.  

“Keep up, marimo,” Sanji quips, flowing out of the latest stretch into a standing split that Zoro definitely didn’t build into the routine, and definitely can’t match, either.  He has to cough a bit of dryness out of his throat, looking away from the cook’s liquid ease of motion before Reiju can catch Zoro ogling her little brother.

Anyone would stare, Zoro tells himself.  It’s not even sexual; Sanji’s flexibility is plain impressive by any standard.  Fixing that thought in his head lets Zoro keep his expression blank, the next time he meets Reiju’s eyes on a turn.  

Why the cook would be irritated by that, Zoro doesn’t know, but his impassive reaction obviously irks Sanji somehow, because he only moves faster, pushing through the rest of their warm-up with even more intensity.  

They’re just about finished when Yonji arrives, and this time no one is startled.  Zoro is almost relieved - there’s no way he can compete with the damn cook right now; where are Sanji’s bones - but he’s not fool enough to view Yonji as harmless yet.  Even Zoro can feel the frustration rolling off the fourth Vinsmoke brother long before he crests the top of the hill.

Reiju gets to her feet, casually taking the high ground as Yonji jogs down the hill, but he barely spares her a glance.  All his attention is focused on Zoro, after a dismissive sweep to confirm that Sanji and Reiju are there.

“Let’s go, Roronoa,” Yonji demands.  

None of these damn Vinsmokes can resist a challenge, that’s one thing Zoro knows they all have in common.  Always have to be in charge of a situation.

Well, Zoro’s got no problem with that.  Keeps things interesting, even if he’s getting tired of staying on his toes with Reiju all the time.  Yonji’s brand of competition is much more Zoro’s speed, compared to her mind games and the cook’s effortless contortions.

“Bring it,” he grins, backing off to get some clear space.  Yonji clearly isn’t here to hold back.

Savage, not as fast as his brothers and a hell of a lot less refined.  Still faster than Zoro, though, and he doesn’t have much time to center himself before Yonji is right up in his face, grabbing for one of Zoro’s swords. 

“Slow on the uptake there, huh?”  Yonji taunts, as Zoro whips the blade out of Yonji’s reach with more haste than technique.

“Pushy bastard,” Zoro grunts, retaliating with a heavy slash, and Yonji just grins, all teeth with a wild kind of energy gleaming in his eyes.

After the initial shock of contact, it’s fun.  Zoro has always craved challenge too, and Yonji may be far from harmless but by now Zoro is reasonably confident that the guy won’t kill him on a whim, so he feels comfortable taking risks he might hold back on, otherwise.  It’s one thing to fight recklessly, to win at any cost; Zoro does that every time he draws his swords, but it’s another level of irrationality to take needless risks in the face of real danger.  Here, like this, Zoro can take a few extra ones, and test out moves that are more passing inspiration than trained habit.

They don’t always work.  Gravity goes against him more fervently than usual on one experimental lunge, and Zoro ends up face-down in the grass with Yonji’s knee in his back, the smug bastard snickering above him.

“Come on,” Yonji complains, tone still light with laughter.  “You say you’re out here to train, but I could beat you and lil’ Sanji without breathing hard.”

“You think so?”  Sanji abruptly says.  Zoro throws Yonji off enough to turn and look at him; he’d nearly forgotten that the cook is here.  The expression on Sanji’s face is calculating, a far cry from Reiju’s bored nonchalance.

“Duh.”  Yonji shoves off of Zoro, unconcernedly grinding his face back into the dirt.  “You’re still a failure.”

There’s no real vitriol in the statement, but it darkens Sanji’s eyes just the same, his lips pulling into a tight frown.  “Let’s find out.”

That gets Reiju’s attention and she steps forward, beginning to speak, but Zoro responds before she can get the words out.  “Sounds fun.”

Fighting alongside the cook, instead of sparring against him… it sounds good, satisfying and right in much the same way Zoro feels when he’s back-to-back with Luffy.  A shiver goes down his spine as Yonji glances between them, the determination on Sanji’s face and Zoro’s growing smirk.

“Make it worth my time,” Yonji jeers, but the excitement is clear in his body as he squares up, a grin breaking through his scowl.

Reiju doesn’t protest, so Zoro puts her out of his mind, and just as well, because Sanji goes from standing stiffly beside his picnic basket to flying at Yonji in the blink of an eye, and there’s no time to worry about what their sister is thinking.

“What’s got you bent all out of shape, anyway?”  Zoro demands.  Not that Yonji is acting too aggressive now, but he sure ran out here in a huff.

“Fuckin’ Niji.”  Yonji dodges the cook’s opening gambit, quickly enough that Zoro’s follow-up slash goes wide.  “Always has to know everything.”

“Cheers to that,” Zoro says.  So nothing new, or important.  He can concentrate on the fight.

Backing up the cook’s quicksilver kicks, taking advantage of the openings Sanji creates, absorbing the power of Yonji’s attacks… to say it’s relaxing is the wrong word, but Zoro’s having fun.  He can picture doing this for the rest of the two years before he takes the cook away from here.  Even when Yonji clips him hard enough to break the skin over Zoro’s eyebrow, even while Sanji flits around unable to land a kick, Zoro can only enjoy what they’re building.

Sanji flips over Zoro’s head, using his shoulders as a springboard, and actually knocks Yonji to his knees.  Zoro bares his teeth, the taste of success heady, and wonders what it will be like to have another strong person on the crew.  Because Sanji will be strong, Zoro is sure of it, the same instinct that tells him where to cut screaming that this is only the beginning of what the two of them can do.  Catching a flash of the cook’s grin as he soars overhead, Zoro can’t suppress a surge of possessive pride.

Like she said, those shoes Reiju gave him aren’t anything flashy, but they obviously distribute the force of Sanji’s kicks as efficiently as possible.  The cook doesn’t so much as wince from the recoil when he connects with Yonji’s body, and Zoro knows from experience that hitting the guy is like trying to smash a metal wall.  Sparing a glance to the side, Zoro catches a glimpse of satisfaction on Reiju’s face before he has to return his full attention to the match.

Yonji blocks a slash with his arm, taking a thin cut even through his augmented skin, and then another kick to the chest.  Gasping in a deep breath, Yonji catches Sanji by the ankle and throws him aside, and Zoro can see the moment that he starts really taking the two of them seriously.

“Actually felt that one,” Yonji snarks, raising a fist out in front of himself.  Zoro waves Sanji back, recognizing the stance Yonji most often takes before extending his arms, and braces for the flying punch.  There’ll be one perfect moment to dodge, and if he misses it - 

It’s a glint of light that warns him, the flash of sun off of Niji’s glasses a much more noticeable tell than Zoro realized.  He supposes it doesn’t often matter.  The Vinsmokes don’t need the element of surprise to win a fight.

Regardless, that flash gives Zoro the half-second he needs to throw himself to the side, before Niji’s sword can pin him to grass, where he would be helpless to avoid Yonji’s blow.  The fourth Vinsmoke’s fist shoot past his head, and Zoro rolls back to his feet to find Yonji’s momentum stalled, winding in his hand as he frowns at Niji.

“It was just getting good,” Yonji complains, kicking at a clump of grass.  “Quit ruining my fun, Niji.”

Niji whips his sword out of the ground, stuck deep right where Zoro’s feet had been, and Reiju materializes half a step in front of Sanji.  Weighing the merits of putting himself between them as well, Zoro decides not to draw any more attention to the cook.

“Fun?  Rolling around in the dirt with a couple of weaklings is fun?”  Niji challenges.  “What is this, a picnic for little kids?”

“We’re sparring,” Yonji mutters, watching Niji with a sullen glare.

With a sharp bark of laughter, Niji flashes across the grass and kicks Sanji’s picnic basket over.  Zoro hears something shatter.  “Right.”

“Stop it!”  Sanji yells, trying to lunge past Reiju.  She holds him back, but Zoro can tell it takes effort, her heels digging into the grass.

“Why are you out here?”  Reiju hisses.  Her face may be expressionless, but there’s no mistaking that tone.

Niji ignores her.  “Why are you wasting time playing around with them?” he asks, giving the basket another kick.  “I can see why Roronoa might want to spend a little time with the failure,” he adds, sunglasses flashing as he turns to smirk at Zoro, “but what’s the point in taking him out here for that?”

Zoro gets to him right before Niji turns on Sanji, and gives the second Vinsmoke brother a solid shove.  It doesn’t so much as shake him, but it does stop Niji from taking that step.  “Shut up.”

Blood drips down Zoro’s face as he stares into those infuriating opaque lenses, unable to tell where Niji is looking.  Doesn’t matter, as long as he isn’t moving.

“What, bored of playing with him indoors?”  Niji drawls.  “I thought you knew the place for useless toys.”

Snarling, Zoro loses all sense of deescalating this confrontation.  Reiju and Yonji both make a sound, but Zoro doesn’t hesitate to interpret what, and throws a punch at Niji.  Of course he dodges, moving just enough that Zoro’s fist whiffs past his face, and then Niji returns the blow tenfold.

Breathless in the grass, Zoro can hear Reiju hiss.  Sanji makes a noise somewhere between outrage and concern.  Even Yonji grunts in surprise, his brows raised over wide eyes when Zoro gets back up.

“Even without our raid suits, you’re no match for us,” Niji sneers.

“Like your stupid suits mean anything,” Zoro snaps, wiping blood off his chin and watching it run down Yonji’s arm, the cut he landed there earlier still bleeding sluggishly.  They had a much closer match than Niji is admitting.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  Niji demands.

Zoro knows he shouldn’t say it, but Yonji is sullenly quiet in the grass, Sanji is trembling with rage by his overturned picnic basket, and Reiju looks ready to stab Zoro as a distraction to get the blond out of here.  Then there’s Niji, so pleased with his petty disruption, smirking at them like he’s stepping on ants.

“You’d be nothing special without all your fancy tech,” Zoro spits.  “Anyone would be halfway decent with one of those suits.”

Everyone blinks.  Yonji grips his wrist with the opposite hand, a deep furrow appearing between his curled eyebrows.  Reiju’s eyes widen for a split second before they narrow, in a combination of annoyance and consideration that Zoro doesn’t like.  Leaning his weight back on his heels, Niji gapes at Zoro for a few seconds before laughing.

“So what?  Our raid suits are uniquely aligned with each of our bodies, and our bodies are augmented with the best science Germa 66 has to offer!  Without us, it’s all meaningless!”

It’s not as though Zoro objects to fighting with tools.  That’s what his swords are, at the most basic - trusted partners, but at the end of the day, they’re objects, and Zoro relies on his tirelessly honed instincts and the hard-earned strength in his body to guide his blades.  He’s not really sure why the Vinsmokes’ technology rubs him the wrong way, but it feels dirty to build people into perfect soldiers from the ground up, as if Judge’s children are no more than inanimate weapons to him, tools worth far less respect than Zoro gives his treasured swords.  All the science and fancy equipment is a crutch, instead of real hard work and training.

“The cook’s gonna be better than you,” Zoro growls.  “Give it a few years, and we’ll both be better than you, and without any shitty technology.”

“As if,” Yonji mutters, giving him a dirty look.

He can hear his nakama in the back of his head, the way they all trust dreams and determination and heart over any polished tricks.  Even Franky, who’s even less outwardly human than the Vinsmokes, places his stupid manly spirit or whatever the fuck it is he goes on about over his robotic creations.  Besides, Franky’s genius is personal; he builds all of that shit with his own two hands. 

“The failure is going to surpass us?”  Niji hisses, and Zoro realizes that saying that is going to get him killed, probably by Reiju, who is staring over Niji’s shoulder with death in her glare.  Sanji, on the other hand, is white with surprise but has a sharp, pleased grin spreading over his face.  

Zoro gets half a second to enjoy that smile before Niji lunges at him.  Fighting a guy with a sword is more instinctive for him than any other kind of battle, so Zoro is able to block the blow and retaliate almost before his brain catches on to the fact that Niji is attacking him, but damn if the second Vinsmoke isn’t the fastest of them all.

This is getting out of control.  Zoro doesn’t know what’s holding Yonji back, but it’s waning, his eyes tracking the clash between Zoro and Niji like an animal scenting blood, and Zoro has no idea what Yonji will do if he decides to get in on this fight.  No time to worry about it, with Niji chasing him around the prairie, leaving thin slashes across Zoro’s skin every time he’s a split-second too slow to get out of the way.

“How do you expect to train the failure to best us, if this is all you can do?”  Niji challenges, lightning crackling along his blade as he spits the words into Zoro’s face.

As he bats the sword away, some of the charge travels along Zoro’s own blades, and he grits his teeth at the sting.  Of the electricity, but the words, too.  Two years is a long time, they’ll be able to make a lot of progress, but Niji has a point.

“Don’t underestimate me,” Zoro snarls.  It’s one thing to let Yonji knock him into the dirt during their spars, but Zoro isn’t going to take that from Niji if he can help it.

He doesn’t end up on the ground, but Niji does grab Zoro by the collar and hoist him into the air, the lightning along his sword reflecting in his sunglasses as he holds it to Zoro’s throat.

“I think I’ve assessed your skills above their value,” Niji sneers, “and I’m getting bored of this game, Roronoa.”

Zoro glares and thrashes, but he’s not stupid enough to try stabbing Niji in this moment.  That would trip Niji from malicious to murderous in an instant, but Zoro can’t see a more diplomatic way out of this, either.

“Ni -” Yonji starts, taking a step forward in Zoro’s peripheral vision.  Over Niji’s other shoulder, the smile is long gone from Sanji’s face.

“Stop!”  Reiju shouts, and to Zoro’s surprise, Niji listens.  He drops Zoro’s feet back to the ground, dragging him around by the front of his shirt as he turns to glare at Reiju.

“Why should I?”

“Just get out of here,” Reiju snaps.  Zoro doesn’t really understand the hierarchy among the Vinsmokes, but she sounds pretty sure that she’ll be obeyed.  “This is none of your business.”

For a second, Zoro is sure the afternoon is going to become an all-out brawl, but Niji shoves him away with a resentful scoff and turns his back on all of them.  “You make it sound like I care what you do.”

With a final crackle of lightning as he sheaths his sword, Niji stalks away over the hill.  Zoro gapes after him, slowly processing that it was that easy, and for a long moment no one else moves.

Then Sanji drops to his knees beside his picnic basket, frantically righting it and setting the undamaged containers out on the grass.  Some of them are dripping with wine, and it turns out that the breaking sound was only a wine bottle, and some of the plates.  The food is all shaken up, but it’s still edible, and Zoro finds himself letting out the same sigh of relief as the cook.

“Lunch?”  Sanji asks, a bit tentative behind a blank expression.

“Not in the mood,” Yonji grumbles, snatching a wrapped package of sandwiches out of Sanji’s hands.  “Later, losers.”

“I need to see to a few things,” Reiju says, watching Yonji stomp over the hilltop as well.

Zoro doesn’t question what, and Sanji also lets her go without more protest than a frown.  “I think we should take it inside, cook.”

The atmosphere out here is shit after all that.  Sticking close to Sanji’s side as they head back to his cell, Zoro can’t relax until they’ve made it all the way down to the dungeons without seeing anyone else.

“That bastard,” Sanji mutters, spreading his ruined picnic out on the counters.  He’s obviously upset about the state of the food, although Zoro doesn’t really understand why.  It’ll still taste the same, even if the presentation isn’t as fussy as the cook likes.

“Niji’s the worst.”  Popping half a sandwich into his mouth, Zoro comes around the counter to thump Sanji on the shoulder.  “Still tastes good, though.”

As much as Zoro hated seeing the petty bullying Sanji has lived through, he doesn’t want to let the cook dwell on it.  At least it wasn’t worse, today.

“You’re so uncivilized,” Sanji sniffs, giving Zoro a halfhearted glare.  “I’ll have you know, this salad was beautiful, and now look at it.”

“Looks like salad.”

Raising a heel to Zoro’s chest, Sanji pushes him away.  “Go sit down while I re-plate all this.”

Zoro pushes back for a few seconds before acquiescing, and goes to flop over on the cook’s bed, where he can still watch Sanji work in his kitchen with all his usual grace.  It’s so easy to picture him doing the same in the Sunny’s kitchen, with sunlight streaming through the windows.

After they eat, Sanji comes back to sit beside him after clearing the dishes, instead of washing up right away as he usually would.  Zoro isn’t sure what to make of the cook’s expression, as he tugs at his hair for a few moments before meeting Zoro’s eyes.

“You really believe I’ll be as strong as them?”

“Yeah,” Zoro shrugs.  “Uh.  Not that you have to be, or anything.  I know you don’t really care about fighting, but just because you weren’t superhuman as a kid doesn’t mean you can’t learn.  You just gotta work hard.”

Nothing beats heart, and the cook has that in spades.  It’s right there in his determined smile, as he gently punches Zoro’s shoulder and says, “Then I will.  Just wait, marimo, I’ll be stronger than you in no time.”

“Yeah right,” Zoro grins back.

Sanji glances at his lips as Zoro smirks, and that determination flickers, for an instant so fleeting that Zoro would have missed it if they weren’t almost nose to nose.  The cook meets his eyes again right away, searching for something, but Zoro still doesn’t know what.

He has a few guesses.  As Sanji opens his mouth, Zoro can abruptly feel his heart racing the way it does in all dangerous situations.  

“I still don’t understand why you’re so determined to help me,” Sanji breathes, glancing down at Zoro’s lips again.  Not as bad as Zoro was afraid of, but he can’t let the cook go in this direction.  “No one has ever believed in me like this.”

“Nobody’s gotten the chance,” Zoro says, shifting back a little.  “You’ll see, cook, once we’re out of here half the world will be falling at your feet.”

So don’t fall for me, Zoro doesn’t say; he won’t say it unless he has to, because he knows it will ring hollow the second the words pass his lips.  Hard to ask that of Sanji, when Zoro is already so far gone himself.

“I don’t need half the world,” Sanji says, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear and placing that hand back down much closer to Zoro’s thigh.

Does he even know what he’s doing?  The cook reads a lot, but he’s definitely never kissed anyone before, never had anyone around he could kiss.  Zoro is the first and only person to ever treat him well who isn’t his sister.  

“You’ll have to beat them back with a stick,” Zoro babbles, frozen to the spot.  “Especially Luffy, once he gets a taste of your food.  You’re going to have to train up just to hold your ground with him.”

Sanji snickers, tilting his chin to look up at Zoro through his eyelashes.  Has the damn cook practiced that look?  If it’s natural to him Zoro is completely screwed.  “You won’t throw me to the wolves like that, will you, marimo?  After working so hard to help me in the first place?”

If Sanji looked at him like that, Zoro would throw his own captain overboard for him in an instant.  He’d have dive in and pull Luffy out right after, but it would be worth it.  Zoro’s always had strong protective instincts, and this idiot blond sends them into overdrive.

Distracted by the cook’s blue eyes, Zoro almost doesn’t notice him move to put a hand on his knee, but the touch feels like a brand.  He manages to get his own hand between them just as Sanji leans in, placing his fingers over the blond’s lips.

“Don’t,” Zoro gasps, grabbing the cook’s wrist as Sanji frowns, curly eyebrows drawing together.

“I know I don’t have any experience, but -”

“I don’t have a problem with that!”  Zoro interrupts.  Far from it; the idea of being the cook’s first kiss is far too tempting.

“Then you just don’t want me?”  Sanji asks, pulling away like Zoro’s fingers are burning him.

“That’s not - no - yes, I -”  Zoro takes a deep breath, now grabbing Sanji’s wrist as he snatches his hands away and starts to get up.  He can’t lie to the cook about this.  “I do.”

“I mean, it would make sense,” Sanji bitterly says, “if you didn’t.  No one does.”

“I do,” Zoro repeats, tilting Sanji’s chin up when the cook tries to look away.  He shouldn’t, shouldn’t let himself touch Sanji when what Zoro is trying to do is stop this for both of their sakes, but he can’t let the cook think that Zoro doesn’t care.  “Of course I do, but there’s no way you can know -”

“I know!”  Sanji snaps, glaring harder when Zoro shakes his head.

“I could have been anyone, after everything you’ve been through, anyone who was halfway decent to you -”

“You’re not anyone!”  Sanji jerks free of Zoro’s hands, jabbing a finger into his chest.  “I know you, and I know what I want!”

“I won’t take advantage of you,” Zoro stubbornly insists.

“Then don’t act like you get to make decisions for me!  I’ve said it before - I’m not a child.  I didn’t think you thought of me as one.”

The cook is too damn eloquent for his own good.  Zoro feels like he’ll tie his tongue in knots, trying to argue with the man.  And Sanji is a man, not a child.  It’s just like he says - Zoro doesn’t think of him that way.  Innocent, too innocent for this, but Sanji is right to say that Zoro should let him make his own decisions.  

And Zoro does want to kiss him.  Swallowing hard, he studies Sanji’s expression, making sure there isn’t the slightest hint of doubt in his fiercely determined eyes.  “Okay.”

“Good,” the cook retorts, before his eyes widen and a blush races across his cheeks.  “Wait, okay to what?”

Zoro’s face reddens in response, heat rushing from the center of his chest to his fingertips as he smooths down Sanji’s hair.  “You wanted a kiss, right, love-cook?”

Sanji nods, hands falling into his lap.  Before he can lose his nerve or think better of it, Zoro puts a hand on the cook’s jaw and tilts his face up, giving Sanji one more chance to stop.

When all Sanji does is draw in a quick breath, Zoro closes the whisper of distance remaining between them.  He slides his lips against the cook’s, fingers ticking at the corner of Sanji’s jaw, and feels Sanji shiver.  The cook reaches for him, arms sliding around Zoro’s neck, and Zoro spends a few long moments trying to believe that this is actually happening.

Moving his hand to ruffle through the hair at the back of Sanji’s head, Zoro draws back enough to get a good look at the dreamy look on the cook’s face.  Another quick peck to his lips, and Zoro knows he should stop before this goes any further.

“Okay,” Zoro says softly, caressing down Sanji’s first few vertebrae.  

Leaning into the touch, Sanji looks almost dazed.  “Wow.”

If the cook is so impressed by that, then… but not now.  Zoro is serious about saving at least a few new experiences to stay untainted by this place.  “I should go,” he eventually says, loathe as he is to let Sanji out of his arms.

“Tomorrow?”  the cook confirms.

Zoro nods.  “More of the same.”  Training, and lunch, and now this.  Zoro isn’t sure how he managed to end up here.  He can’t imagine a much better way to spend the two years away from his crew.

Chapter Text

Zoro is a bit nervous as he heads down to the dungeon the next day.  What if Sanji decided it was all a mistake, just something he needed for comfort after the confrontation with Niji?  Emotions running high can cause all kinds of miscommunications, and no matter how certain the cook sounded at the time, Zoro wouldn’t be surprised to hear him say that the kiss shouldn’t happen again.

Remembering it sends a warm thrill down his spine, and… other places.  Zoro tried to avoid thinking about the kiss itself too much, once he was back alone in his impersonal little room.  It won’t do him any good to get wound up, not when he knows he has to stick to his resolutions now, and stop before taking things with Sanji any further.  Still, every time he finds his mind drifting, it’s to the way Sanji felt in his arms, and how eager he was to be there.  How right it felt to have him there...

Again!  Shaking the thoughts away, Zoro trots down the stairs, and as soon as he reaches the bottom all those worries wash away.  By now it only takes a matter of seconds to get the door open, the helmet tossed aside, and then Zoro gets an armful of happy blond, already chattering away about the food he’s packed for lunch.

Zoro does let himself embrace Sanji for a little longer than usual this morning, holding him a little closer and nosing into the warm skin beneath his ear.  Just for a moment, until the cook makes a small contented sigh and Zoro draws away, enough to see the quiet smile on his face.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” Sanji snickers.  “I’ve been working for hours already, lazy marimo.”

“So have I,” Zoro grumbles.  He does still have to train soldiers, after all.  At least none of them complain about how early their swordsmanship drills are these days.

Sanji leans in to brush his lips against Zoro’s cheek and comes away blushing.  “Ready for me to kick your ass today, then?  It’s going to be a great session, I can already tell,” he proclaims, hurrying back to his kitchen.  

“Maybe in a year or two,” Zoro jibes, dodging a low kick as Sanji comes around with his picnic basket.

They bicker all the way out to the field, and the walk seems to take infinitely less time this morning.  Zoro supposes that’s how it’s supposed to be when you’re with someone you love - time passes in the blink of an eye, but every pleasant moment sticks like honey, golden as Sanji’s hair in the sunlight.

Zoro won’t say it yet, won’t say it here, but he understands what he feels.  He’s confident in the knowledge; he can wait.  That feeling has been building all this time, too strong and steady to ignore.  He will only be more certain, once they’re gone from Germa 66.

I love him, Zoro thinks, watching Sanji swing his picnic basket through the tall meadow grass.  The cook throws another teasing comment over his shoulder, sauntering down the hill to where Yonji and Reiju are already waiting, and Zoro wonders if they can see it on his face.  He’s sure his crew will know immediately, the moment he brings Sanji back to them.

“We’ll beat you today,” Sanji says, striding right up to Yonji and driving a finger into his chest.  At first, he looks started, but then Yonji throws his head back to laugh with the most genuine smile Zoro has seen out of him yet.

“Don’t get uppity, little Sanji,” Yonji grins.  “Hurry up and warm up, and I’ll put both of you back in your place.”

“I cannot wait to rub your face in the dirt,” Zoro throws in.

Even Reiju seems relaxed, watching the three of them trash-talk and stretch.  It’s a perfect moment, crystal-clear, almost as comfortable as a lazy afternoon on the Sunny, so of course it can’t last.  Niji’s presence streaks over the hill toward them, and this time he isn’t alone.

By the time Niji and Judge come into view, Reiju is on her feet, Sanji’s hands are anxiously buried in his hair, and Yonji’s expression has dropped back into a sullen scowl.  Zoro struggles with the urge to draw his swords immediately, but they’ve managed to talk their way out of everything thus far, so he keeps them sheathed and shrugs on a confident attitude.

He’s a useful mercenary.  He’s served Germa 66 and the Vinsmoke family well.  Ichiji gave him the keys to Sanji’s cell himself, and sure, he also said never to let Judge see Sanji outside, but there’s no reason to panic -

“Sanji,” Judge growls, crashing to a stop.  He spits out the name like it’s the worst kind of poison, like a curse upon his empire.  With a much lighter landing, Niji alights beside his father, and smirks at them.  “What is the meaning of this?”

Yonji glances at Zoro, then at Reiju.  Sanji hasn’t backed down from Zoro’s side, but he’s pale as a corpse and shaking, and even Reiju hasn’t opened her mouth with a clever excuse yet.  Mind working a mile a minute to come up with something, anything, Zoro stares at Niji’s sickeningly smug expression and can only come up with vitriol.

“It’s like I said, Father,” Niji offers.  “They’re all out here playing with the failure, as if we children of Germa have time for such asinine games.”

More than ever, Zoro wishes he’d gotten one good punch in on Niji.  Just one, to break those fucking glasses and maybe his nose, too.  The sunlight gleams off his perfect white teeth, making Zoro feel nearly blind with fury.

Gauging by the vein pulsing in Judge’s forehead, he’s not far from an explosion either.  Reiju jumps into motion, shoving Sanji back and stepping in front of him.  “Father -”

“Silence!”  Judge demands, and all the Vinsmokes flinch.  Zoro loosens his swords in their sheathes.  “Who is responsible for this outrage?”

“Me,” Zoro declares, edging Reiju aside.  She retreats, pulling Sanji with her, and that’s all Zoro can pay attention to.

He can take responsibility.  He’s done it before, stepped up to an opponent who can tear him apart, and this tyrant cannot compare to the likes of Dracule Mihawk.

“I let you into my kingdom, and this is how you repay me?”  Judge roars.  “Betrayal, conspiring against me, colluding to bring this waste of space to light, the only failure of Germa’s mighty technological breakthroughs?!”

The sheer force of Judge’s rage washes across the field, and Zoro draws himself up.  He hasn’t faced a foe like this since… well, it seems like every enemy Luffy throws them up against is fiercer than the next, every day a new level of challenge, but it’s not every day that Zoro feels this outmatched.  Vinsmoke Judge may not be a Warlord of the Sea like Mihawk or Bartholomew Kuma, but there’s not much practical difference in the pressure Zoro’s feeling now.

Backing down isn’t an option any more than it was for Zoro’s fights against the Shichibukai.  No matter the consequences for himself, he has to stand up for Sanji.  For his promises to Reiju, to the cook himself, for Sanji’s right to chase his dream amongst people who will value all the wonderful things about him.

“You’re wrong, about all of it,” Zoro snarls, more to give himself time to tie his bandanna around his head than because he thinks Judge will listen to anything he has to say.  Slipping Wado between his teeth, he glares down the Vinsmoke patriarch with all the unyielding tenacity he can muster.

“Zoro,” Sanji hisses, the sound muffled.  Zoro can’t spare a glance, but it sounds as if Reiju has her hand over her little brother’s mouth.

The world narrows down to Judge’s thunderous expression as the man looms over Zoro, hefting a glaive that’s long enough to shut out Zoro’s swords many times over.  Having reach won’t matter if Zoro can best him in speed, but after fighting with the Vinsmoke children Zoro can’t afford to underestimate him.  Who knows what Judge has done to himself, or at least his equipment.

“I knew I couldn’t trust outsiders,” Judge says, taking a step forward.  “I will show you what happens to those who oppose Germa, Roronoa Zoro.”

“Won’t be the first time someone tries to teach me that kind of lesson,” Zoro grimly responds, jumping under Judge’s strike as the man swings at him.

He can’t spare the energy to remember more than still moments of the fight.  Launching himself off the blade of Judge’s weapon, high enough to see the unbridled rage in his eyes.  Dodging a downward blow that would have taken his arm off, feeling the wind rush past as bits of dirt spray across his field of vision.  Striking against Judge’s armored shoulder, hard enough to make Kitetsu sing with bloodlust and shake in his hand, but barely leaving a scrape on the metal.  Blocking another heavy slash and seeing Niji’s intolerable smirk through the cross of blades.

It lasts for hours, or does it?  The angle of the sunlight doesn’t change, so the fight must not match its length to its intensity, no matter how each moment draws out with ringing clarity.  Zoro draws blood on Judge’s thigh, takes a slice more pressured air than anything that splits his own flesh just below his sleeve, channels everything he’s learned about the composition of metal and the strength of his blades, and manages to cut one of the horned decorations off the side of Judge’s helmet.

Sanji’s eyes are wide with horror.  Zoro catches a glimpse of him, no longer struggling against Reiju’s hold.  Her face is blank, eyes racing as she follows the fight, giving her brothers as much attention as the combatants.  Nearby, Yonji is almost as expressionless, doubt shadowing his usually uncomplicated scowl.

“That mistake belongs in the dark!”  Judge roars, aiming another earth-shattering strike at Zoro’s head.  “This time I’ll bury him in the dirt instead of my dungeon!”

A shudder goes through the scene, Zoro and the watching Vinsmokes together.  Zoro knew that Judge was the one to put Sanji in that cell, but the reminder sets his blood aflame.  The terror on Sanji’s face, the pure ice on Reiju’s, the uncertain frown that skitters across Yonji’s expression, they all fade as Zoro’s vision goes red.

He lunges, getting under Judge’s guard this time, tearing down the front of his military uniform, too shallow to do any real damage, but the sight of blood soothes something deep in Zoro’s soul.  Judge gets him on the backswing, pushing Zoro away and grasping his glaive in one hand to pull the blade in close.

Zoro knows this feeling, when he’s given his all to win and given up on defense.  He knows what comes next, but the pain is still stunning, even as the gleam of metal closes in on his face.  Next thing he knows, he’s flat on his back, watching that blade whirl around for the finishing blow.

It doesn’t come.  A grating screech, and Zoro looks up through a veil of blood to see Yonji on one knee above him, holding off his father’s weapon with one raised arm, sleeve and artificial flesh alike shredded down to metal scraping against metal where the blade digs into him.  Yonji looks as shocked as Zoro is to see him there, in the brief moment their eyes meet before Yonji looks up at Judge.

“What is this,” Judge booms, muscles straining as he pushes down against Yonji’s block.  Yonji doesn’t move, staying the blow like it’s nothing.  He doesn’t respond, beginning to shake as the fury rebuilds on Judge’s face, and then a cloud of smoke fills the air.

Someone snatches him up - Reiju, throwing Zoro over her shoulder and dragging Sanji by the arm, barely visible through the pink smoke.  Yonji wheezes and Zoro can hear Niji shout, Judge growling in thwarted rage, but he can hardly see a thing and now the pain is clawing through the shock, radiating immeasurable heat from the left side of his face.

Reiju runs in silence, broken only by Sanji’s sharp breathing and the patter of blood falling to the stone floor as she dashes through the castle.  Slung over her shoulder like so much dead weight, Zoro can barely focus on their surroundings, and doesn’t have a chance of recognizing where she’s taking them.  Much like the fight, all he can catch is fragments - Wado’s white hilt in Sanji’s equally white-knuckled grip, a splash of Zoro’s own blood across the cook’s face, the scent of weird chemical smoke wafting off of Reiju’s raid suit.

When they stop it’s in a dark hallway, underground if the damp smell and lack of windows mean anything.  Zoro can hear water, the sound of waves that are either very calm or still very far away.

“You have to leave,” Reiju begins without preamble.  Sanji opens his mouth to protest, but she talks right over him.  Zoro slumps against the wall where she drops him, resisting the urge to touch the wound bleeding freely down his face.

“It’s sooner than I would have liked,” she continues, fixing Sanji in place with a stern frown.  “But there’s no choice.  We’re near an island where there are people who will help you.  You’ll be out of Judge’s reach there.”

“But what about -” Sanji says, hands gripping Zoro’s shoulder.  “What about you?  And - and Yonji, I can’t leave you -”

“You have to,” Reiju interrupts, tearing a strip off of her cape and dabbing it none too gently across Zoro’s face.  “I’ll be fine.  We’ll be fine.  Yonji is still Judge’s perfect little soldier, and I have been living this way for a long time.  It will be easier with you gone.”

Taking the cloth from her hand, Zoro takes over stemming the flow of blood from the area around his eye.  Even if he could see through that, he can’t quite feel the muscles in his face, to tell if that eye is open or not.  It’s a scary thought, a bad sign, but escaping is more important right now.

“How?”  He grunts, scowling at the flicker of confusion on the siblings’ faces.  “Leaving.  How’re we gonna get out of here?”

“By ship,” Reiju dryly says, pulling him back to his feet and gesturing down the corridor.  “Come on.”

Sanji keeps a tight grip on Zoro’s arm, worriedly eyeing his face.  “You gonna die on me, stupid marimo?”

“No way.  Said I’d take you back to my crew, didn’t I?”

“Should be cosmetic damage,” Reiju comments.  “I doubt anyone will notice the difference, with a face like yours.”

If the damn woman can make jokes at his expense, the wound must be superficial.  Neither of their assurances seem to do much for Sanji, who keeps stealing anxious glances from beneath his hair.

They turn a corner, the sound of water louder now, and Reiju holds up a hand.  Zoro can make out a wider opening not much farther along, with an odd light spilling into the hall.

“There’s no other way,” she mutters, casting them a frustrated look.  “Stay behind me.”

“What -” Sanji asks, but she shushes him again, striding to the opening.

It’s the entrance to a - a snail ship nursery, or something; an underground space with a wide harbor, snail ships from as small as Zoro’s boots to nearly the size of the Going Merry crawling all around.  More important than that, though, is that Ichiji is waiting just inside, wide ready stance and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Let us through,” Reiju demands.

Ichiji takes a few steps toward them, all but ignoring Reiju to examine Sanji’s stressed expression and the blood smeared all over Zoro’s face.  “Treason against Germa?”  He idly asks, gaze flicking back to his sister.

“Are you going to stop me?”  

Looking at Reiju now, Zoro definitely wouldn’t want to try.  Ichiji doesn’t look as impressed.

“No,” he finally answers, after a staredown so tense Zoro catches himself holding his breath.  

“Ichiji…” Sanji says, now clinging to Zoro’s arm as much as holding him up.

“Germa doesn’t need you,” Ichiji proclaims, not so much as glancing at Sanji.  “Our dynasty will be better off without the reminder of past failure.  Seeing you gone will remove the flaw as easily as seeing you dead.”

Zoro scowls at the words, but it’s the answer they want.  “Get out of the way, then.”

Ichiji turns his gaze on him, inscrutable.  “You could have been an asset, Roronoa.  A pity you’re infected by the weakness of emotion.”

As much as Zoro wants to tell him that emotion isn’t a weakness, the words feel heavy on his tongue.  Zoro has to admit, he’s thought that way before; thought that feeling anything for people, showing the softer side of himself to the world, would only slow him down.  He can’t tell Ichiji he’s wrong, not when he’s only seeing the truth of that himself.  What he feels for Sanji has only made him stronger, while they’ve been stuck here.

“Move,” he growls instead, as intimidating as he can manage in his current state.  Reiju sighs and begins to lead them around Ichiji, keeping a wary eye on him all the while.

Ichiji follows them, all the way to a juvenile snail ship barely larger than the dinghy Zoro originally set out on with Luffy.  Its shell bears a structure just big enough for two people, and Zoro eyes it dubiously as Reiju sets about doing whatever it is that needs to be done to set their course.

“Reiju,” Sanji asks, eyes darting between the snail and his siblings, “How far…”

“A few days,” she says, glancing back at him with a pitying frown.

Sanji swallows hard, fingers digging painfully into Zoro’s arm, and Ichiji huffs, walking back toward the entrance.  

“Days,” Zoro repeats.  “I don’t suppose these things have…”

He can’t quite say it, watching the cook’s expression spiral into anxiety.  It’s obvious that all these baby snails don’t carry supplies.

“We can fish,” Sanji forces out.  “I’ll figure something out.  A few days will be fine.”

Zoro can’t find the words to reassure him in the face of that fragile smile.  Reiju keeps her head down, focused on the snail, and the room lapses into silence.  Throbbing in time with the waves lapping at the stone, Zoro’s wounded eye demands nearly all of his attention.

Something thumps behind them, and Zoro nearly jumps out of his skin.  When he whirls around, it’s to find Ichiji there again, a twisted frown on his face and Sanji’s picnic basket at his feet.

“Father didn’t kill you back then, when we were children,” he bluntly states, when all the rest of them can do is stare.  “It seems wrong to let you die in such an ignoble way.”

Creeping close enough to snatch up the basket, Sanji peers into Ichiji’s face.  Apparently the scrutiny gets to him, because Ichiji spins on his heel and takes a few steps toward the water, glaring off into the darkness.

“Don’t bring any more shame to the Vinsmoke name,” he says, standing there for a few long seconds.  “Letting you leave will remove the conflict in our family.  Don’t come back.”  

No one says anything, and Ichiji turns to give them all one more discontent frown before striding abruptly from the room.  

Sanji lets out a stuttering breath.  “Almost sounded like well-wishes,” he mutters, smiling weakly at Reiju.

“Closest we’re likely to get,” Zoro says, trying to keep his own relieved sigh less obvious.  Even Reiju closes her eyes for a moment.

“I wish you nothing but joy,” she says, apparently finished with the snail.  

“Come with us,” Sanji pleads, tears beginning to flow down his cheeks.

Reiju takes Sanji’s face in both hands, meeting his teary eyes with an equally damp gaze.  “I love you,” she tells him.  “I love you, Sanji.  You’re the best thing about this whole terrible country, and I love you so much.  No matter what.  But you have to go, and I have to stay here.  It’s the only way I can keep you safe.”

It doesn’t make much sense to Zoro, but he doesn’t much like the idea of taking her with them, either.  “Come on, cook.”

“Keep him safe,” Reiju threatens, no less intimidating for the tears in her eyes.

“He’ll keep himself safe,” Zoro dismisses, “but I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

“As if,” Sanji retorts, wiping his eyes.

“Where are we going, anyway?”  Zoro asks. 

“You’ll see when you get there,” Reiju quips, with a secretive smile.  “As I said, the people there will help you.”

With that she’s shooing them into the snail’s little hut, closing the door and waving them off as the creature trundles into the water.  Zoro tries to scoff at the secrecy and the emotional sniffling from the cook, but he has to admit a certain pang at leaving.  He knew taking Sanji away from everything he’s ever known would be hard, but he didn’t expect it to be so sudden.

“This is just the start,” Zoro promises, leaning over to press a soft kiss against Sanji’s hair.  The movement makes him a bit dizzy, so he sits down, and all the adrenaline of the afternoon leaves him in a rush.  Maybe it’s for the best that they’ll have a few - hopefully quiet - days at sea.  "Just wait, cook.  Everything will only get better from here."

Chapter Text

Once their tiny snail ship is out onto the open ocean and Sanji digs into the picnic basket Ichiji retrieved, there’s a first-aid kit inside.  Suspiciously well-stocked, much better equipped to deal with the kind of injury Zoro just took than the one Sanji keeps - kept - under his sink and usually brought out to the field, even if the casing looks the same.  For a moment when Sanji opens it, Zoro can smell the rich perfume Reiju wears, but that could just as easily be a lingering touch from another day, or his imagination entirely.

He doesn’t ask what Sanji thinks, uneasy at the thought of bringing the blond’s sister up so soon, and Sanji helps Zoro take care of his wounds in silence.  Sanji’s hands shake as he wraps a clean bandage over Zoro’s ruined eye, and Zoro doesn’t know how to even begin to say it was worth it, that he’s not sorry, that he is sorry for taking Sanji away so abruptly, that he would do the exact same thing again without a second thought.  Honestly, Zoro thinks the cook already understands.  Hopes he does.

The day or two they spend at sea has the horrible quality of feeling like instants and eons simultaneously, as Zoro’s eye aches and Sanji shivers, as they eat the packed sandwiches and barely speak.  Zoro doesn’t have the energy to do much else.  Too much to say, and nothing at all; no use speculating until they can see where Reiju has sent them.

A change in the motion of the snail ship has Zoro fumbling for the exit, trying to get a glimpse at whatever they’re approaching.  At first he’s sure something has gone more wrong with his vision than merely losing an eye, because everything he can see is pink.  When Sanji pokes his head out and they nearly send the snail ship listing into the shallow waves, however, the cook confirms the same sight.

“Is it...heart-shaped?”  Sanji asks.

Zoro nods, immediately realizes that was a mistake due to the pain in his skull, and scowls at the island.  “Weird-looking place.”

“I’m sure it’s not so bad,” Sanji says, sounding just as bemused as Zoro, if more optimistic.  “Probably nice people, on a heart-shaped island.”

As much as Zoro would like to share that optimism, he’s learned that there’s trouble on every island, and the more unique they look, the worse it is.  “Sure.”

They don’t have to wonder for long.  Barely moments after they stumble out of the snail ship, a loud, colorful crowd bustles down from the hills, emerging from a forest that is improbably dense with flowers.  In the lead is a figure with wild purple hair, exaggerated makeup, and an outfit Zoro doesn’t want to look at too closely. 

A familiar figure.  It may only have been one grainy newspaper photograph, but Zoro will never forget reading that story, and the faces of the people involved with helping Luffy are burned into his mind.

“Welcome to Kambakka Kingdom, candies!”  Emporio Ivankov shouts, backed up by excited clamouring from the crowd behind him.

~o~

The explanation takes a while.  Luckily, Ivankov seems to recognize Zoro as easily as Zoro recognized him, and Zoro has to give Reiju credit; she definitely sent them somewhere he and Sanji can get willing help.

If anything, these people are too friendly.  Zoro is reminded of nothing so much as circling wolves, the way Ivankov’s followers stare at them while he expounds upon the ideology of this place.  Zoro stares back, hoping the bandage around his head makes him look more threatening, rather than less.  He’s not in the mood to play nice, no matter how enthusiastic these people are.

At least Sanji doesn’t seem put off.  The cook just looks curious, and a little excited, especially when Ivankov mentions their special okama kenpo and secret recipes.  Zoro is starting to think this will work out, until Ivankov starts talking about their dress code and a couple of his people rush forward with their arms full of pastel ruffles.

That’s too much.  After all the shit they just went through, after all the shit Sanji has endured for his entire life, Zoro is not going to stand around and let these weirdos strip them right here on this grotesquely pink beach.

“I won’t let you force him,” Zoro growls, pulling a sword and getting between Sanji and this… weird, giant-headed crossdresser.  It’s just a dress, not a big deal, or it shouldn’t be, but Zoro can’t stand the idea of anyone else forcing Sanji into things he doesn’t want to do.

The others boo and complain, but Ivankov eyes Zoro and Sanji with a stern gaze, peering between their bloodied clothes and the juvenile snail ship bearing Germa’s angular emblem.  Zoro knows better than to believe everything he reads in the newspaper, but if even a small percentage of it is true, this guy is someone to take seriously.

“HEE-HAW!  Why, you shouldn’t stare so fiercely, candy-boy, or I’ll swoon,” the weirdo brays, collapsing dramatically on the sand.  He leaps up a moment later, and the rest of the Kambakka Kindgdom’s citizens cheer.  “Or not!  We’re not in the business of telling people who to be, Roronoa Zoro.  But you may be surprised, hah!”

“It’s about being yourself, this place?”  Sanji interrupts.  “I’m not sure if this is me, but… I haven’t thought to wonder before.  I’ll try it out.”

“It’s just clothes,” Zoro mutters, now that it’s obvious he can’t back out.  What he’s wearing is ruined anyway, and if Sanji doesn’t mind then Zoro is fine with it.

~o~

Despite all that, it only takes a day or two for Ivankov to drag Zoro off and reveal that they do, in fact, have a stash of more masculine clothes hidden away in storage.  Apparently, Zoro slashing up his frilly skirts every time he so much as draws his swords is getting on Iva’s nerves.

“If you had an ounce of grace, candy-boy,” Ivankov mutters, casting a dirty look over his shoulder as he flings dusty shirts out of the closet.

“Look, I’m going to become the world’s best swordsman, I don’t have to be the pinnacle of fashion while I fight -”

“Even Mihawk has a sense of style,” Ivankov retorts.  “It’s about panache, boy!  Gives all the little upstarts something to chase, doesn’t it?  Wouldn’t you be disappointed to meet the best and he’s just a grubby nobody from nowhere?  My heart wouldn’t be able to handle the disappointment!”

With this, Iva collapses across a pile of discarded clothes, a silk scarf of much finer make than the rest fluttering down to drape across his face with suspiciously perfect flair.  Sanji, who has been taking far too much glee from watching all this, picks his way across the small space, smoothing out a few crumpled shirts as he does.

“He’s got a point, marimo,” the blond points out, lifting a simple black suit jacket off the floor.  “Even something like this, if you can’t get the hang of these.”

Plucking at his own skirts, Sanji gives him a saccharine smile.  The pink dress slides off one shoulder, and Zoro tears his eye away.  “Too restrictive,” he mutters, dismissing the offer.  “I’d just tear the shoulders out.”

“OR NOT!”  Ivankov shouts, getting up with a petulant flounce once it’s clear that no one is paying attention to him.  Seeing the jacket in Sanji’s hands, he gives the cook a speculative once-over.  “You know, candy-boy, with your legs, you would cut a stunning figure in a proper suit.”

“You think?”  Sanji muses, eyes far away.

“Not so sweet a picture as now,” Ivankov pouts, trying to pinch Sanji’s cheek as the blond sways out of reach, “but it’s worth investigating.”

“I just want a pair of pants,” Zoro mutters.

~o~

In the end, Zoro is permitted to wear a plain shirt and pants while he trains, and isn’t around to offend anyone else’s sensibilities.  Sanji just snickers at him and makes a point of doing a particularly impressive flip in a full dress whenever Zoro complains, but the cook gets a few additions to his island wardrobe as well.  Zoro has to admit that slim black suit pants are at least as tantalizing on the blond as a flash of collarbone beneath ruffled chiffon.

Besides the clothes, Ivankov lends them a house.  Cottage, really; Zoro can’t call it anything else, with its thatched roof and flower garden, and lace curtains behind pink shutters with hearts cut into them.  He feels almost as uncomfortable in this house as he does in the massive skirts - there are doilies on all the tables, for fuck’s sake - but the cook loves it.

Of course he does.  There’s a kitchen.  Not as professional as the one back in Sanji’s cell, but it has a little window set over the sink, sunlight streaming through in lacy patterns, and Zoro catches the cook standing stock-still and just staring out of it more than once.  Sanji plants herbs in the window-boxes and places the first recipe scroll he wins on the shelf beside the window, making the place his own.

After a week or two of this, a delivery bird drops a package for Sanji on their front step.  It contains three books - the well-worn volume about All Blue that Sanji showed Zoro back in his cell, Chef Zeff’s logbook, and a brand-new compilation of recipes from all across the North Blue.  The spine of that one cracks when Sanji opens it, and a slip of paper flutters out.

It simply reads be safe, no signature, but the sender is obvious.  The cook’s hands shake as he looks at it, and Zoro takes it upon himself to gather up the books and usher Sanji inside.

“Do you want to stay here?”  Be safe.  This isn’t a bad place, and Sanji seems to like it.  He fits, sitting on this stupid tufted sofa in a pretty sundress, ribbons in his hair, herbs sprouting in the window boxes.  New suits hanging in their closet, kicks getting stronger every day.

Sanji startles, taking the books from Zoro and running his hands over the familiar covers.  “No.  Why are you asking me that?”

“I mean, you seem happy,” Zoro shrugs.

“I want to come with you.  See the world, find All Blue, cook every kind of cuisine I can,” Sanji reminds him, narrowing his eyes.

Zoro is surprised by how much of a relief that is to hear.  They haven’t had much time alone, no chance to talk about how Sanji is feeling, away from Germa at last.

“I’m not going to settle down on the first island I see,” Sanji continues, “and I know you aren’t gonna put down roots here, no matter how much you look like a plant.”

“Of course not,” Zoro says, unable to keep the grin off his face.  That’s all the reassurance he needs.  As if either of them would want to live in one place forever.

“Now that I’m out of there I’m going to see it all.”  Sanji throws his arms across the back of the couch, scowling at Zoro.  “You better not try to leave me behind, shitty swordsman.”

“No way,” Zoro promises.  He won’t even joke about it.  Both of them are gonna rejoin Luffy in Sabaody, and nothing will stop Zoro from making that happen.

The cook darts in for a quick kiss, jumping up as Zoro gapes at him.  “That’s what  I thought.  Now get off your ass, and help me decide what to make for dinner,” he says, waving the new North Blue cookbook in front of Zoro’s dumbfounded face.

~o~

If they’ve barely had time to talk, they definitely haven’t had time to kiss, let alone anything else.  Between Ivankov’s utter disregard for personal boundaries and all the rest of them, there’s always someone around, shoving Sanji or Zoro into ever more elaborate dresses or challenging them to increasingly difficult fights.  Sure, Zoro would pass on the dress nonsense, but the fights are great, even if none of these people are swordsmen.

This morning it’s Zoro’s turn, and Sanji is sitting on a wicker swing bench in their garden, painting his fingernails while a woman named Annabelle tried to tear Zoro’s head clean off.  She has the biceps to do it, too, Zoro reflects, testing a few new moves.  He wins, eventually, fending off the kiss Annabelle tries to give him as a reward.  Sanji is the only person Zoro is interested in kissing, and none of these people will leave them alone!

“Careful, bastard, my nails are still drying,” Sanji complains, when Zoro collapses onto the bench, sending it swinging wildly.

Zoro ruined his own nail polish within minutes after one of the okama made him try it, but the paint suits Sanji’s long fingers and carefully tended nails.  Swooping in, Zoro kisses the cook on the cheek.  Sanji makes a face, holding his hands out carefully in front of him, and boots Zoro off the swing.

The moments they do get to spend together are great.  Without the stress and fear of Germa 66 hanging over them, Zoro is seeing Sanji come into himself faster and faster every day, and he falls a little more in love with every show of confidence.

Kissing the cook’s ankle instead, Zoro has to marvel at the strength Sanji can put into a kick, even wearing silly, thin-soled sandals like these.  The shoes Reiju gave him are stored in their closet; apparently, they don’t match any of Sanji’s current clothes.  Zoro doesn’t see why that matters, but he’s kind of glad the cook isn’t wearing them right now.

“I think I know where another recipe is,” Sanji says, letting Zoro run his hand up and down his calf.  “Gonna head out that way after lunch.”

Zoro gives a hum of acknowledgment.  Sounds like he’ll spend the afternoon trying to find an undisturbed place to do katas, again.

~o~

Sanji is improving by literal leaps and bounds.  The first time Zoro sees the cook step into the air like he’s doing nothing more interesting than climbing the stairs, he can’t suppress a bitter pang of envy.  Sure, Zoro has gotten stronger too since the disaster at Sabaody, but for a moment it feels trivial in the face of Sanji’s success.

He has it under control by the time Sanji touches down, grinning from ear to ear.  It’s easy to be enthusiastic - Sky Walk is an amazing skill, and Zoro wants Sanji to keep that look of pride on his face forever.  Still, he starts getting up earlier and sleeping less, trying to cram a few more hours of training into every day.

What he’s done is important, and Zoro doesn’t regret it.  Regret is a waste of time, and Zoro would choose to save Sanji from that shithole family of his a thousand times over.  Even so, the truth remains that Luffy will need Zoro to be unbeatable, and he’s got a long way to go, with not much time left.

He must not have disguised his emotions quite well enough, because Ivankov gets him alone a few days later, with an unusually serious look on his enormous face.

“You need a better place to sharpen your claws, candy-boy,” he comments, tapping his long nails pensively against his arm.  “A wildcat like you needs more space to roam.”

Zoro sets down the heart-shaped boulders he’s been using as improvised weights, and frowns.  “What’s your point?”

“I’ve met your captain,” Ivankov points out, “and Mugi-boy deserves a swordsman who can take care of everything else while he focuses on the things he needs to do.  It’s all well and good to say you’ll be the best someday, but words are easy.  You need training that can match your ambition, and you won’t find it here, HEE-HAW!”

“I know,” Zoro grits out.

“Well, if you don’t do anything about it, you’ll be no use to Mugi-boy at all!”  Ivankov makes that braying laugh again, and Zoro resists the urge to strangle him.  “Or not!  Lucky for you, candy, I know someone who could help you reach your full potential.”

A wink that chills Zoro’s spine, and Ivankov smirks at him, clearly waiting for Zoro to ask.

“Who,” he demands, as flatly as possible.

“HEE-HAW!  I won’t spoil the surprise!”  Ivankov cackles.  “I’ll take you there, but we’re leaving tomorrow.  Understand, Roronoa Zoro?”

Gripping his swords, Zoro nods.  There isn’t a choice, but he’s not looking forward to breaking the news to the cook.

~o~

“Ivankov knows somewhere I can really train,” Zoro says, later that evening while Sanji putters about in the kitchen.  “A great swordsman.”

The cook pauses, idly stirring something as he turns to Zoro.  “Not here, I take it.”

Shaking his head, Zoro figures there’s no point beating around the bush.  “A different island.”

“And you have to go alone, I bet,” the cook says, turning off the stove.

“Yeah.”  Swallowing hard, Zoro tries to justify it to himself.  He promised he wouldn’t abandon Sanji ever again, but this is - this is a safe place.  Sanji is safe from the Vinsmokes, and he’ll continue to learn and grow stronger here with Ivankov’s people.

Sanji watches him for a long moment, expression indecipherable.  Or maybe it’s just that Zoro can’t figure it out past the buzzing in his head.

“I understand,” the cook finally says, biting his lip as his brows furrow with determination.  “You can’t achieve your dream here.  It makes sense.  This is a great place for me; I’m learning exactly what I need, but you need something else.”

“Ivankov wants to leave in the morning,” Zoro responds, unable to find the words to express how grateful he is that Sanji gets it.  The cook is strong enough to stand on his own.  It’s only a year until the date Luffy set, and this way they’ll both be the best they can be.

Sanji nods, beginning to tug at his hair, and Zoro reaches for him before he can think, pulling the cook into a hug.  It’s familiar now, to hold Sanji like this, but Zoro knows he’ll never get enough of it.

“You better work hard,” Sanji mutters, muffled against Zoro’s neck.  “I’ll be way stronger than you by then if you take even a moment off, shitty swordsman.  I’ll kick your ass.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you try,” Zoro says, brushing his lips against Sanji’s ear.

Sanji makes a soft sound into his shoulder, body going loose in Zoro’s arms.  He’s not sure how long they stand there, but the sun sets into the sea, swallowing their little kitchen in gloom before the cook draws himself back up.

Zoro is sorry to let go, but he can’t argue with the pressure of Sanji’s hands as he pushes away, plastering a smile over his face.  “Wish I’d had a little warning, marimo.  Could’ve made something really amazing, but you’ll have to settle for what I already have prepared for your going-away dinner.”

“As if that would ever be settling,” Zoro says, getting a genuine smile in return as he settles against the counter.  He’s certainly not going to spend a second out of Sanji’s presence, not with the limited time they have left.

The cook seems to have the same idea, not complaining at all about Zoro getting in the way as he serves the meal, or as they clean up afterwards.  Curling up together in bed that night, Zoro almost feels like sleep is a waste, but at least he gets to hold the cook for a few more hours.

~o~

“You’ll be fine,” Zoro says, holding Sanji by the shoulders in the early morning sunlight.  The cook nods, clearly as aware as Zoro that he’s not asking for Sanji’s benefit.  It’s not that Zoro doubts him at this point, but after everything he’s been through, leaving Sanji behind feels like tearing off a limb.  Or like losing his eye again.

“Get going, marimo,” Sanji says, forced cheer steadying the quaver in his voice.  “Sooner you leave, sooner we’ll see each other again.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Zoro croaks, and coughs to clear his throat.

Sanji shrugs.  There’s a bruise on his jaw from his latest bout against one of the okama, but he smiles wide anyway, nudging Zoro’s shin with his foot.  “Don’t draw this out.  I’m not gonna cry in front of all these people.”

It’s a crowd, what seems like the entire population of Momoiro Island standing on the shore waving handkerchiefs while Ivankov postures on the deck of the ship they’ll be taking away from here.  His grating voice is getting more and more piercing, impatience growing to levels Zoro can’t ignore.

Zoro brushes his fingers through Sanji’s gleaming hair, and leans in to kiss him.  The crowd on the shore shrieks, but Zoro tunes them out, memorizing Sanji’s soft lips and perfect warmth as if there was any chance he could forget them in the first place.

When he steps back Sanji is blushing furiously, and the cook throws an embarrassed look at the crowd, but then he grabs Zoro by the collar and yanks him back in for another kiss, arms thrown around his neck.

“Love you,” Sanji whispers in his ear as he pulls away, flicking a finger along Zoro’s earring to make them chime.  “Don’t ever doubt it, shitty swordsman.”

Zoro can only nod, touching his own lips as Sanji darts down the dock and through the crowd.  Finally, he cedes to Ivankov’s pestering and boards the ship, refusing to look back as the pink island disappears behind them.

~o~

The island they end up at is as different as it could possibly be.  Dark and gloomy, wreathed in fog that conceals the shore until the ship nearly runs aground, with damp stone ruins rising from the mist where the thick forest allows even a shred of visibility.

Zoro would disembark anywhere to get away from Ivankov’s relentless teasing, by this point.  He doesn’t even ask if this is the right place, jumping overboard as soon as he can see the shore.

Stumbling over a heavily eroded hole in the shoreline that looks like a giant paw print, of all things, Zoro turns to peer back at the ship.  It’s difficult to make out from here, but he can still see Ivankov’s purple hair like a beacon in the gloom.

“How am I supposed to find this guy?”  Zoro calls.  “You told them I’m coming, right?”

“Of course not, candy-boy” Ivankov cackles, voice echoing over the quiescent sea.  “I’m not on speaking terms with Government dogs like the Seven Warlords of the Sea.  Good luck!”

Zoro waits for an “or not!” gag, but Ivankov’s ship vanishes into the gloom, leaving the silence broken only by the sound of a branch snapping in the dark forest.  Seems like he’s on his own.

That suits Zoro just fine.  With a grin, he ties his bandanna around his head, draws a sword, and goes to find out just who lives on this depressing island.

Chapter Text

“What if he can’t find us?”

Perona glances at Zoro, and continues sewing a new ruffle onto her freaky bear.  “Worry about yourself.”

Scowling, Zoro goes back to cleaning his swords.  So what if he’s gotten lost in the woods here more than a few times?  And the castle is confusing, what with all the empty rooms and undecorated hallways.

“If this Ivankov you told us about could find Mihawk, he’ll be able to drop your boy off somewhere as well known as Sabaody,” Perona continues, rolling her eyes.

“He’s not my anything,” Zoro mutters, more to head off her teasing than anything else.  He certainly hopes Sanji will still have feelings for him when they meet again, as tenuous as that possibility seems.  Who knows what the cook will want, now that he’s gotten a chance to live as himself, away from his unforgivable family and the endless trauma.

“So not cute,” Perona grumbles, stabbing at her bear.  

It groans in pain.  Damn, but Zoro will be glad to be shut of this creepy fucking place.  Time’s almost up, and the only way to settle all these spinning doubts is to see Sanji again.

~o~

Bobbing up on the fragments of decking - getting on the wrong ship, how did he manage that one, the witch will never let him live this down if she learns about it - Zoro jumps onto dry land, and hears a laugh.

It’s not quite familiar - too confident, too loud - but the sound stops Zoro in his tracks regardless.  It’s like the first touch of direct sunlight after his year in the gloom of Mihawk’s island, and Zoro has never felt so delighted to hear someone making fun of him.  The sound is even better than he could have imagined, back on Germa 66, daydreaming about what the cook would be like once Zoro got him free of that place.

Because it is the cook, of course, standing idly on the shore with a smirk on his face.  At first all Zoro can think is that this man in front of him is free entirely under his own power, and woe betide anyone who underestimates the strength in that casual stance.  Sanji shifts, making a snide comment that Zoro can barely hear over the thudding of his heart, and Zoro really looks at him.

The cook is wearing a slim, well-fitted black suit that perfectly highlights how his shoulders have broadened, how his legs are impossibly longer.  It’s simple and elegant, with a splash of color at the exposed cuffs and collar of his shirt that draws attention to Sanji’s pale throat and graceful hands.  He looks so well put-together, no one would guess he’s ever been less smugly superior than he seems in this moment.

Zoro doesn’t care about the suit.  He’s too eager to meet Sanji’s eyes, one still concealed by golden hair above that beaming smile, the opposite curly eyebrow exposed.  Stumbling up, Zoro grabs the cook’s upper arm and stares into his visible eye, seeing the same breathtaking blue and the same warm affection he remembers.

“Did you forget how to speak, marimo?”  Sanji chides, brushing his hair off his shoulder.  He’s grown it out, Zoro realizes, eye tracking the movement.  Sanji’s hair spills down his back in a loose tail, shiny and soft like the most expensive silk Nami would never let him touch, and it’s all Zoro can do not to bury his hands in it.

Grumbling at the jibe, Zoro tries to get his thoughts in order.  It’s a hopeless cause, with how Sanji’s smile stretches at the corners while he holds Zoro’s gaze, how he can’t seem to stop himself from tugging Zoro’s wet coat straight, pale skin warm where his hands brush Zoro’s damp chest.

Sanji snickers at his overwhelmed expression, and pulls Zoro around, back toward the town.  “Come help me shop.  I bet there’s no food on your ship.  Will I need any new equipment?  You said it’s nice, but I don’t know if I can trust your judgement, moss-for-brains -”

There’s hardly a trace of the insecurity that defined Sanji back in that cell, as the blond rambles about ingredients and all the meals he wants to cook.  Zoro trails along, the two of them not quite holding hands as Sanji passes him one bubble of purchases after another, still all but certain he’s dreaming.  He had plenty of dreams like this during his time in Mihawk’s gloomy castle, after all.

“You’re really here,” Zoro eventually blurts, catching Sanji’s eye as he turns to show Zoro some weird fruit.

Sanji’s eye widens, and he guides Zoro a few steps away from the market stall, taking his hand for real this time.  “I am,” he breathes.  “That’s… good, right?”

“Amazing,” Zoro chokes, disregarding all the bubble strings as he throws his arms around the cook.  Sanji gasps, hands pressing back against Zoro’s shoulders for a half-second before he melts into the hug.

“Will your captain really take me on?”  Sanji asks, voice breathless in Zoro’s ear.  There’s the anxiety Zoro remembers, and he hates it.  

“Of course he will,” is all Zoro can say, clutching Sanji tighter.  They’ll just have to get back to the ship and wait for Luffy.  Then Sanji will see, and Zoro can watch him leave the dregs of these insecurities behind forever.  “Don’t be stupid, cook.”

“Stupid?”  Sanji indignantly retorts.  “After more than a year, who knows what might have changed -”

“Nothing,” Zoro interrupts.  “What could possibly - you’re an idiot if you think I could -”

The world doesn’t give Zoro the chance to untangle his words and address Sanji’s frankly ridiculous doubts.  They’re standing at the edge of a busy market square, after all, and he’s a wanted man.  A zing of instinct, of the Haki he’s trained over the months, makes him duck his head, and a Pacifista’s blast smashes the wall behind them.

~o~

By the time they catch their breath, Zoro is even more certain that Sanji is perfect for their crew.  Watching the damn cook fight was enough to stop Zoro in his tracks, and Sanji flowed with the chaos as if he’d never done anything else.  The idea of Luffy somehow rejecting him is ludicrous.  Even if he wasn’t the best cook Zoro has ever met, the way he fights is enough to make Zoro want him aboard.  He can hardly control the desire to challenge Sanji to a spar right here and now, to see how much they’ve both grown, but there’s no time.

It’s not until they’re back on the grass of the Sunny’s deck that Zoro realizes he hasn’t planned for this moment.  It always felt so far away, and still so obvious; he hasn’t spent a single moment thinking about what to say, how to introduce the cook to the rest of the crew.  All of Zoro’s imaginings start in the moments after - Sanji laughing with the others, Sanji in the kitchen, Sanji prying Luffy off of himself the way the rest of them always have to.  Sanji meeting Zoro alone up in the crow’s nest, or out on the deck at night, or just inside the galley door while the rest of their friends play, and - well, Zoro has thought plenty about what will happen after.  But the moment that’s important is now.

“And who is this?”  Nami asks, as the metaphorical dust settles, the bubble coating expanding to take them down to Fishman Island.  Everyone turns to Sanji, the bright gold of his hair just as eye-catching as Franky’s upgrades or Brook’s flamboyant stage clothes.

“Found us a cook,” Zoro grunts, feeling his face turn red.

Sanji shoots him a betrayed look over the lackluster introduction, and barely opens his mouth to speak before Luffy is all over him.

“You’re a cook?!”  Luffy demands, coiling around the blond to peer into his face from point-blank range.  “Join my crew!”

“I’m a chef,” Sanji hisses, before catching on to the rest of Luffy’s words.  “Wait - don’t you want me to prove it, or -”

Luffy shrugs, nearly rubbing his nose against Sanji’s as he shakes his head.  “Nah!  If Zoro says so, I like you already!  Make me meat!”

Blinking heavily, Sanji can’t seem to process how easy that was.  Zoro surreptitiously lets out a relieved breath, and avoids Nami’s unimpressed look.

“Perhaps we should let Swordsman-san’s new friend introduce himself,” Robin suggests, laying a hand on Luffy’s shoulder in a flurry of petals.  Zoro makes a face.  That’s no less freaky after two years.

“I’m Sanji,” the blond says, casting Zoro an uneasy glance.  Hoping it looks reassuring, Zoro shrugs.  He doesn’t care if the cook wants to talk about his past or not.  After a long, expectant moment, Sanji repeats himself.  “Just Sanji.”

“Certainly,” Robin murmurs.  As usual, Zoro is left wondering how much she knows.

“You can explain how this lug strong-armed you into coming aboard later,” Nami sighs, over Luffy’s increasingly frantic requests for meat.  “Want to see the kitchen?”

“It’s SUPER!”  Franky exclaims, “but if you need anything, Cook-bro, just say the word!  Sunny’s the best ship on all five Blues, and I won’t stand for anything less!”

“Please,” Sanji says, hefting an arm under Luffy to keep him balanced as Nami leads the way inside.  Zoro follows with alacrity, nearly shoving Usopp overboard to do so.  He’s not about to leave Sanji alone with the witch.  Not that there’s any risk of anyone being alone, as the entire crew crowds into the galley to gawk.

Sanji stops a few steps inside, letting Luffy hang off his shoulders as he seems to catch his breath.  Elbowing past Franky, Zoro gets close enough to see the cook’s expression, and feels his own pulse stutter.

He’s seen a lot of emotions on Sanji, but Zoro will never get used to seeing him happy .  This wide-eyed, shining look, as if the damn blond has never been hurt in his life, is breathtaking, and it makes Zoro’s bones ache to remember all the terrible shit Sanji has lived through.  He can’t help thinking that the rest of the Vinsmokes got off too lightly; if there’s any fairness in the world, Zoro will get a second chance to make those bastards pay.

“It’s beautiful,” Sanji whispers, trembling faintly as he stares into the kitchen.

So are you, Zoro almost replies, the response so immediate on his tongue, but thankfully the rest of the crew’s cheers and excited babble interrupt.

“Is Sanji gonna cook?!”  Luffy asks, swinging around to pull the blond into the kitchen.  “Can I help?  I want -”

“I, Captain Usopp, am the greatest taste-tester ever,” Usopp offers.  “Why, one time, I judged the world’s greatest chefs in a curry competition, and they all wanted me to come work for them -”

Franky flexes, preening as he points out all the fancy upgrades and appliances, and even though Sanji looks baffled, he’s taking everything in stride much more easily than Zoro thinks he would have himself, if someone dropped him into the middle of all these ridiculous people.

“Ohoho, perhaps we should let Sanji-san work in peace!”  Brook laughs.  He looks… taller, somehow, even though Zoro is pretty sure that’s impossible.  “Luffy-san, may I play you a new song?”

Torn, Luffy’s gaze swings between his musician and his new cook, a pout taking over his face.  “But -”

“If we leave, Cook-san will be finished sooner,” Robin soothes, a bouquet of arms prying their captain away.  “We should all give him some space.”

“But you were just in a fight,” Chopper wails.  “Let me do tests!”

“Later,” Nami sternly says, as firm as any of them ever get with Chopper, and the little doctor lets her push him out the door after the others, leaving Sanji and Zoro alone in the galley.

Now Sanji can’t stand still, flitting from one cupboard to another, exclaiming over the ovens, the pantry - much more well-stocked than they’d expected, thanks to Shakky and Raleigh - the enormous fridge, the dumbwaiter and water filtration and spacious dining table.  Zoro hovers, half-convinced that the cook is about to pass out from excitement.

Finally, Sanji whirls on him, already wearing the pink designer apron Nami stole at one of their island stops, years ago, and left hanging in the pantry.  Zoro still isn’t sure what’s so special about the weird-looking panda.  “You’re an idiot, marimo,” Sanji declares.

“What?!”

“You said this ship had a nice kitchen, but this is amazing,” Sanji accuses, with a teasing glint in his eye.  “You’re sure you guys are pirates?”

Come to think of it, Zoro imagined there was more treasure involved with piracy before he joined, but… “Pretty sure,” he deadpans.  “Otherwise how is Luffy gonna become the Pirate King?”

Snickering, Sanji comes around the counter, stopping well within Zoro’s personal space.  “I never imagined being a pirate, but with a kitchen like this, I can definitely call myself a chef.”

“As if you need it,” Zoro scoffs.  “You’d still be a great cook even if we did all our cooking over a campfire on the deck.”

Sanji bites his lip, the excited flush from exploring his new kitchen deepening, and Zoro’s self-restraint snaps.  Burying a hand in the cook’s hair like he’s been desperate to since that first moment they reunited, Zoro hauls him in with an arm around Sanji’s narrow waist and kisses him hard.

Making a helpless sound against Zoro’s lips, Sanji crowds into him, and Zoro holds him desperately tight for a few long moments, carding his fingers through the cook’s long hair.  It feels even better than he imagined.

Zoro can’t think of what to say, anything that would match the painful rush of emotions swelling in his chest.  Instead, he slides his lips along Sanji’s jaw, burying his face against the side of the cook’s neck.  He smells like unfamiliar cologne, a scent that Zoro knows he’ll come to love in no time flat.

“Yeah,” Sanji breathes, softly petting Zoro’s hair in turn.  His pulse is racing against Zoro’s skin.  “I get it, marimo.”

“I missed you,” Zoro admits, and now that he’s found the words, he hardly knows how to stop spilling his emotions all over Sanji’s feet.  “Thought about you all the time.  Whether you were happy there after I left, if you were getting stronger, if you’d met someone else.  Whether you’d still show up here today.”

“I should kick your ass for doubting me,” Sanji mumbles into Zoro’s shoulder.  “Of course I got stronger, asshole.”

It’s not the reassurance Zoro wanted, but he’s feeling foolish enough for showing that weakness at all, and so he gives Sanji’s hip a halfhearted whack.  “Bet I improved more. Shoulda seen the shit I had to deal with -”

“But more than that,” Sanji firmly interrupts, pushing Zoro away so they can meet each other’s eyes.  Despite the warmth in Sanji’s bright blue, the clear affection, Zoro shivers.  “I can’t believe you would doubt us , moss for brains.  Of course I came.”

Scruffing a hand through his hair, Zoro sighs, the relief rushing through him even as he makes one last protest.  “It was - I wish we hadn’t met that way, cook.  You needed someone; didn’t have to be me, but I still asked all this of you.  Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want any of it, now that you’re out on your own.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about things,” Sanji says, tracing a finger down Zoro’s scarred eye.  “You saved me, Zoro.  Maybe it didn’t have to be you, but it was.  I’ll never forget that, but I didn’t come here because I think I owe you, or anything like that.  I could have gone anywhere, or stayed with Ivankov’s people, but I chose to join you here.”

Zoro isn’t going to cry , damn it all.  The pressure behind his eyes is just from their descent to the sea floor.  “I’ll prove you made the right choice,” he declares. 

“I already know I did,” Sanji assures him.

“I’ll make sure you know it every day,” Zoro stubbornly insists.  “Just watch me, curly.”

Sanji rolls his eyes, and places one finger beneath Zoro’s chin before brushing a light kiss against his lips.  “Go see your friends, idiot marimo.  I don’t want you in my way while I cook.  I’ll need to concentrate if I’m gonna blow their minds.”

It’s almost startling to remember that his crew is just beyond that door.  Luffy is out there.  Coughing to clear the tight feeling in his throat, Zoro gives the cook a short nod.  He doesn’t want to leave Sanji in here by himself, but the blond is right.  Sanji isn’t the only person Zoro is overjoyed to see again.

“Don’t take too long, cook,” Zoro quips, dodging a half-assed kick as he exits the galley.  It isn't like Zoro to doubt in the first place; he's more than happy to take Sanji at his word and let the matter rest.

~o~

By the time Sanji comes out onto the deck, the Thousand Sunny has sunk into dark, gloomy ocean depths, and the rest of the crew has had to stop Luffy from invading the kitchen more times than Zoro can count.

In the excitement of the crew’s reunion, Zoro doesn’t face too much scrutiny over Sanji.  It’s the main thing they ask him about - that and Zoro, your eye!, which he can’t say much about without the cook’s go-ahead - but there’s plenty of other stuff to talk about.  Brook’s rise to fame, Franky’s enormous upgrades, everyone’s two years’ worth of adventure; once it becomes obvious that Zoro won’t tell them much about Sanji, the rest of the crew doesn’t have to reach far for other conversations.

That doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten.  The moment the galley door cracks open, everyone’s eyes are drawn to it like magnets, and Zoro has to grab Luffy’s wrist to keep him from springing on Sanji as he comes outside.

“SANJI!”  Luffy yells instead, squirming in Zoro’s grip.  “Is that MEAT -”

“Yow, Cook-bro, need a hand?  That looks SUPER -”

Robin beats Franky to the punch, whisking a few trays away from the overburdened cook.  He’s still barely visible behind the piles of food, platters balanced on each arm and even his head.

“Oh, my flower, you don’t need to -” Sanji starts, but Robin merely tsks at him, keeping the food just out of Luffy’s grabby reach.

“This all looks delicious, Cook-san,” Robin says.  “You certainly seem to know what you’re doing.”

The entire crew is drooling, even Nami leaning in close to admire the spread.  Laying the food out on the grass, Sanji hesitates at the edge of their circle, twisting his hands.  Zoro points Luffy at the simplest platter of steaks, lets go, and reaches for the cook instead.

“Sit down for a minute,” he grumbles, pulling Sanji down onto the lawn beside himself.  Sanji opens his mouth, but everyone’s excitement drowns out whatever protest he was going to make.

“This calls for a celebration!”  Brook declares, whipping his guitar out of seemingly nowhere. “Ohoho, I know just the song!”

“Dessert?!”  Chopper exclaims.  Clapping his little hooves together, he reaches for a plate of confections with stars in his eyes.  “Sanji!  Can you make cotton candy?”

The cook nods, once again talked over when Nami scolds Chopper into eating something more hearty first.  Not that she can say anything, the witch; she already has several fancy orange-garnished tarts securely guarded on her plate.

“This is SO GOOD!”  Luffy says, barely intelligible with his cheeks stuffed with meat.  There’s a chicken leg sticking out the corner of his mouth.  “Join my crew!”

“You already asked him, didn’t you?”  Nami mutters, an indulgent smile on her face as she eats.

“Sanji is my cook!  I’ve decided!”

The rest of the crew hastens to agree, Usopp launching into a long-winded story about meeting some mythical chef while Franky starts sobbing outright.  Zoro tunes them out, focusing on Sanji’s expression.  He’s obviously trying to keep it together, but the edges of his smile keep twitching, like he isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

“Told you,” Zoro says quietly, bumping their shoulders together.  “They love you already, dumbass cook.”

Sanji makes a flustered noise, hair hanging over his face as his smile wobbles.  “My food, at least.”

They’ve still got stuff to work on.  Sanji isn’t going to get over his past in barely more than a year, but Zoro is going to make damn sure that the blond doesn’t doubt his place with the crew.  He’s sure the rest of them already feel the same.

“We’ve eaten good food before,” Zoro tells him, looking around the circle at all his enthusiastic friends.  “Met a lot of people, on a lot of islands.  Luffy never thought anyone was a good fit as his cook.  Until you.”

It’s impossible to doubt now.  Zoro recognizes the feeling by this point, the moment when someone becomes a fundamental member of their peculiar family.  Looking at the cook, Zoro wants to think Sanji feels it too, how right this is.

It’s hesitant, but Zoro can see acceptance in Sanji’s expression.  Struck again by how amazing it is to see him here, Zoro barely stops himself from kissing him right in front of everyone.  No matter how captivated they are by Sanji’s food, they’d notice that.

“Love you, curly,” Zoro says instead, watching the same thought process flit across Sanji’s face as he begins to lean in before straightening back up, cheeks red.

“Me too,” Sanji whispers.  “I -”

Grinning wide enough to split his face in two, Luffy plants himself right between them, making himself at home half in Zoro’s lap as he pulls Sanji closer.  “Shishishi!  Zoro did great!  Sanji is the best cook ever!  When I’m the Pirate King, I’m gonna eat Sanji’s food every day!”

"You're gonna eat his food every day now, aren't you?"  Zoro corrects him.  He isn’t frustrated by the interruption.  They have all the time in the New World and beyond, now.  He’ll get to say those words again, and hear Sanji say it back.  There’s no reason to rush.  Besides, Luffy’s exuberance is why Zoro joined this crew in the first place, that inescapably certain charisma.

Sanji looks up at Luffy and grins back, their matching smiles so radiant that Zoro can’t look away.  Even though they’re deep in the darkness beneath the sea, seeing these two so delighted is like bright sunlight flooding the deck.  No matter what they face going forward, Zoro knows they’ll be stronger with Sanji here to experience it with them.