Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zoro scowls, toying with the sleeve of his fancy outfit. The fabric catches on the rough pads of his fingertips, already threatening to tear. He wants nothing more than to burn it and the rest of this damn castle down to the ground.

He can’t believe he agreed to marry some prince.

It didn’t take much for Mihawk to convince him. All he had to say was that this would be a good opportunity to practice his Observation Haki, and, admittedly, Zoro had agreed easily. The dull ache of pain he still had from losing his eye was enough of a reminder: he needs to train harder, and he’ll take any chance he can get.

He just doesn’t see how this is training.

Is this punishment? It has to be punishment. He can’t keep up with Mihawk’s training, and now he’s being married off. Even if it’s not permanent, it’s cruel and unusual behavior. Zoro should have expected it. Mihawk’s always been strict and extremely peculiar, so his punishment should be the same.

“Stop scowling, you’re going to scare off your fiance like that,” Perona chides, pulling Zoro out of his sulking. “I put so much effort into making you look good for this, too. It’s going to waste.”

Perona’s efforts were all concentrated on forcing Zoro to wear the most constricting outfit possible. There’s too many buttons and clasps and ruffles to move properly. He tries to unbutton at least the top two clasps around his neck for breathing room.

“Does it matter? Isn’t the plan to waste their–” Zoro yelps as Perona digs her bright red boot into his toe. “H-hey! What the hell was that for?!”

“Have some discretion,” she hisses, then hovers off next to Mihawk. “This isn’t going to work if you give us away by sulking.”

“I’m not sulking!”

“Oh, poor little Zoro, forced to marry a prince,” Perona holds a hand to her forehead and pretends to faint. “He’s never suffered so greatly in his entire life.”

He’s only marrying the prince because someone was scared silly of the so-called emotionless princes of Germa. Oh no, my ghost powers don’t work on them! I’ll be completely defenseless! It’s not like she needed to fight this stupid prince.

“Maybe one of us should suffer more–”

“Stop it, both of you,” Mihawk interrupts. Of the three of them, he looks the least out of place in this miserable castle. “We’ll be at the throne room soon, so be on your best behavior.”

Perona rights herself, rolls her eyes at Zoro one final time, and turns her back to him.

Pity. Zoro didn’t mind the distraction.

Now, though, all he can do is glare at the castle walls like they’ve wronged him personally. The deeper Zoro heads into Germa castle, the less impressed he is. It’s not like he started on a good foot– he would’ve hated the place even if it was made of swords and sake- but everyone in this castle makes his hairs stick on end.

The tall, external walls should shield the castle from the cold, but somehow inside feels as chilly as the cold winds of the North Blue. What’s the point of a castle if it’s still cold on the inside?

It doesn’t bother anyone else. The Germa guards are eerie and don’t mind the cold at all. They all look the damn same, with the same mannerisms and the same ridiculous outfit, and it sends a chill up Zoro’s spine.

They finally reach a large, intimidating door, and the guards open it with grand theatrics. The large doors creak open, revealing the throne room, ornamented in such an obnoxious fashion Zoro has to stop himself from scoffing. Banners hang from the ceiling of the throne room, all lining up and guiding the eye to the main event, a giant, over the top throne.

Vinsmoke Judge towers over them in his gaudy chair, forcing all attention on him. Judge is just how Mihawk described him; purposefully intimidating with so much bravado he has to be compensating for something. He peers down from his obnoxious throne at his guests as if they’re nothing more than ants.

Zoro doesn’t feel much like an ant. Well, he doesn’t feel like an ant compared to some worthless king.

The Germa throne room is purposefully designed to intimidate, though the effect is lost on Zoro. He knows more about Judge than Judge knows about him at this point, and he’s not going to waste that advantage.

One of the Germa soldiers pulls out a chair for him, motioning for him to sit down. He doesn’t want to sit, but at Mihawk’s subtle click of disapproval, he sinks into the chair. It brings him even closer to the ground, and he has to crane his neck to look up at Judge.

Neither Mihawk nor Perona seem to mind Judge looking down on them, both of them sitting without any complaint, but it makes Zoro fume. He has to keep it together, though, because he’s here to play Mihawk’s stupid game. He’ll have plenty of time to act on his annoyance later when they have Judge cornered.

For now, he scans the rest of the throne room. Most of the guards are the same way-too-similar looking men in odd uniforms as before, but there’s two additional people up by the throne– one woman and one man, both with obnoxiously bright hair and weird, curled eyebrows. He bets these must be some of Judge’s children, maybe even the one he’s going to marry.

While the red-haired man doesn’t appear to be bothered by their arrival in the slightest, the pink-haired woman is critical and obvious about it. She meets his eyes, assessing him, before scanning the rest of the table. Her lips purse staring at Perona, sizing her up more than the rest of them.

Before Zoro can figure out what that means, Judge finally speaks.

“Warlord of the Sea, Dracule Mihawk,” he says, his voice echoing in the room. Was the room specifically designed to make his voice louder? “Welcome to the Kingdom of Germa.”

It doesn’t feel much like a kingdom. It feels like several prison cells built onto snails, of all things.

“This is Crown Prince Ichiji and Princess Reiju,” Judge introduces. The red-haired man and pink-haired woman sitting next to the throne nod.

That confirms it: those are his children. So he’ll have to marry one of them? Neither of them seem all too interested in him. Ichiji’s eyes are shadowed by glasses, and Reiju doesn’t look impressed with him at all.

The anticipation must be too apparent on his face. Judge’s lip curls in apparent dissatisfaction. “Unfortunately, not all my children could attend. Sanji– the son who’ll be marrying into your family– was unfit to meet this afternoon.”

The prince he’s supposed to marry isn’t even here? It doesn’t appear to bother Judge, or Ichiji, but Reiju’s face is set in a grim frown.

Mihawk catches his attention with a slight scoff. His sharp gaze falters for one moment, eyes darting to Zoro before back to Judge. He’s expecting something from him, and bitterly, Zoro doesn’t think he’ll meet his expectations.

He already has to act as a groom-to-be, and now he has to deal with this? What the hell is he expecting? That he’d be able to use Observation Haki to pick up on Vinsmoke Judge’s lies? He doesn’t need Haki to see a threat in front of him. Judge is an imposing man, taller than anyone in the room even when he’s not sitting on an audacious throne.

Besides, the scar across his eye should be enough proof Zoro’s not a damn Haki expert. Yet.

“How unfortunate he couldn’t be here,” Mihawk says, though by his frown that’s clearly an understatement. Hah, he’s pissed, but none of the Vinsmokes pick up on the minute difference in expression. “But no matter. This is Perona, my daughter, and Zoro, my son.”

Zoro nods like he’s been told to, but he doesn’t bow his head further. He’s already forced to peer up at the throne; he’s not going to grovel for Judge, too. Judge still waits for him to do something else, but Zoro only raises his eyebrows at the pause.

“It’s a pleasure,” Judge says through gritted teeth. He leans forward in his throne, motioning to the table in front of them. There’s a thick stack of papers in the middle. “Now, I’m sure you’re eager to talk through the details of this partnership. Princess Reiju has so kindly written out the terms of our agreement, I trust you to review her work.”

Mihawk flicks through the papers. “Of course,” he says, and starts reading through the damn tome of a document, page by page at an agonizingly slow pace.

All the details are unimportant after that. Zoro leans back in his chair with his arms across his chest, trying to ignore how the fabric of his too-fancy dress shirt tickles his neck. None of this will matter in a month; why does Mihawk have to pretend otherwise?

The room is silent as Mihawk pages through the documents, occasionally asking Judge some inane questions about their deal. Judge answers, but with each question he grows noticeably more nervous. When Mihawk is finally done, he sets the papers down in the middle of the table and waits.

Mihawk doesn’t move. He folds his two hands in front of him, staring up at Judge without another comment. Judge thrums his fingers on his chair armrest, the nervous tap-tap-tap echoing in the room.

“...well?” Judge folds, too weak willed to handle a stare down. “Are the terms agreeable to you, Dracule Mihawk?”

If the full name is supposed to intimidate Mihawk, it doesn’t work. Mihawk sighs, put off like Perona gave him the wrong wine, and not like a king tried to press him to agree with him.

“I was expecting more from you, Vinsmoke Judge,” he says. He waits just long enough for the words to get under Judge’s skin before continuing, “Unfortunately, we’ll need to make some changes before we can move forward.”

“I– I assure you, this marriage proposal is ideal for both of us. It’s the perfect arrangement.” When Mihawk doesn’t budge, Judge continues, “But what do you find lacking?”

“You’ve skimmed over most of the important details, and your timeline is less than ideal. There’s not enough time for a proper courtship, after all.”

The comment hangs in the air, none of the Vinsmokes knowing what to do with it.

“Courtship?” Judge parrots. “You want a proper courtship?”

Zoro is careful to watch the reactions of each Vinsmokes at the comment. The red-haired one sneers, derision clear on his face. By contrast, the pink-haired woman’s one visible, curly eyebrow raises, but her face is otherwise unreadable.

“Yes, courtship. If this is going to be an agreeable partnership, I anticipated a longer adjustment period for both parties involved,” Mihawk explains like it’s the simplest conclusion in the world. “Doing otherwise would destabilize the potential marriage, and make this unideal for a long-term commitment.”

“Nonsense,” Judge scoffs. “There’s no need for something as frivolous as a courtship. We don’t have time for that.”

Mihawk dismisses him with a wave of the hand, and Judge’s jaw tightens. “Frivolous? Courtship is anything but frivolous. I’m not looking for short-term exchange. You aren’t, either, given the marriage was your idea. Your timelines are simply too aggressive. We need at least a month to ensure the pair is a good match.”

And once the month is over, the details won’t matter anymore. That’s their bid. That’s all Mihawk wants from this engagement– Germa’s time. Judge’s jaw clenches, and Zoro thinks he can see the sweat on his brow even from his lowly seat beneath Judge’s throne.

He’s going to crack. It’s not even going to take that long.

“The son you’re offering up for marriage isn’t even here,” Mihawk continues relentlessly. “I’d expect him to at least be present for negotiations.”

“Prince Sanji will be more than agreeable to this partnership,” Judge sputters. “He’s been very, very eager about the prospect of marriage. I can assure you personally he won’t have any concerns.”

That comment finally irks a strong reaction out of the princess. Her previous deadpan expression pinches into something akin to concern, and even though she quickly schools it, Zoro still saw it. She’s not happy with her father.

Zoro will have to put a pin in that for later.

“And yet he’s not here,” Mihawk sighs. “A pity. We could’ve started with the courtship planning earlier if he was present. We’ll just have to begin proper negotiations tomorrow.”

Oh, he has the whole Vinsmoke family incessant now. Ichiji sneers, finally unable to keep himself from commenting. “We’re going to postpone this? All because that failure–”

“--we didn’t believe Prince Sanji was needed for initial negotiations, but I understand your concern about his absence,” Reiju interrupts. The unpleasant distaste is back on her face, as is the concern. She steps back slightly, just enough so her father and brother can’t see her expression fully. “We can schedule a… a date for the pair tomorrow morning. We can accommodate that much, right?”

At least one person has brains here. “Fine,” Judge concedes. He stares down at the table, at Perona, and Zoro wants nothing more than to cut him where he stands. “We’ll set up a time for Prince Sanji and your daughter–”

“My daughter?” Mihawk questions. “Perona is not marrying into your family.”

Judge gapes at him, but doesn’t produce any words. He scans the table, looking past Zoro like he’s not even a consideration.

“That’s what you said in your initial letters,” Reiju asks, voice clipped. “Is that not the plan?”

It was the plan until Perona got cold feet. But to his credit, Mihawk doesn’t even appear surprised at the question. He brushes it off like the Vinsmokes were the ones to make a mistake.

“No, Vinsmoke Sanji will be marrying my son, Roronoa Zoro.”

The entire table snaps their attention towards him, and Zoro feels the heavy weight of a threat in the air. Finally, something to look forward to; he has a target on his back. He can feel the hairs on his arms raise as he senses their attention and ire. Oh, they’re only in marriage negotiations, but Zoro can sense the potential struggle of a fight.

Maybe this will be a good opportunity to practice his Observation Haki after all.

“Your son? Why do you want to marry him off? Isn’t he your protege?” Judge questions, his tone sharp. His eyes never leave Zoro, even as he addresses Mihawk.

“Isn’t the point of this agreement to put our best foot forward as a united front?”

“O-of course, but…”

And they all look at Zoro.

With all attention on him, Zoro leans back into his chair and slams his feet on the table in front of him. Sludge from the bottom of his boot dirties the shiny table surface, and Zoro makes an effort to kick more off. The table rattles, and Perona isn’t able to stop herself from an annoyed huff.

“You’re such an animal,” she hisses under her breath.

That’s the point, isn’t it? He’s supposed to be as unappealing as possible. He’s supposed to make them take a long time in negotiations.

He’s supposed to stall long enough to lead Germa into a trap.

“...as you can tell, there will need to be an adjustment period to make sure the pair is compatible,” Mihawk continues. “Please let us know what time tomorrow works.”

He stands up, pushing his own chair under the conference table. The loud grind of the chairlegs echoes in the throne room. Zoro shoves himself up and out of his own chair, but he doesn’t bother pushing it under the table. Perona rolls her eyes at him, but her irritation is nothing compared to the livid glares of each and every Vinsmoke.

“And make sure Prince Sanji is there next time. I’m sure you don’t want to drag this out any more than you already have.”

Zoro grins up at Judge, feeling the shift in tension in his favor. He still doesn’t want to do this, but, well. At least irritating them all will be fun.

With the Vinsmokes caught off guard and scrambling, the guards quickly usher the three of them out into the hallway and back to their rooms.

Zoro’s job is done for the day; he made a bad impression on Judge and his children. If this is all he has to do to stall for time, he’ll have no problem with this stupid plan.

The King of Germa, Vinsmoke Judge, wants to recruit Mihawk to defeat the unconquerable Saumure Islands in the North Blue. Vinsmoke Judge has never conquered it, apparently due to the Rosesalt sea surrounding the island impeding his ships. He expects that because of Germa’s promise to share their futuristic technology, Mihawk will do the hard work for him.

And for some stupid reason, Mihawk agreed.

Hard work for other people isn’t Mihawk’s typical move; he puts just enough effort into his Warlord gig so the Marines don’t fire him. But he’s not planning on actually working for Judge. He’s using this as a chance to ditch the Warlords and work with someone else instead. All he has to do is lure Vinsmoke Judge into a trap.

And this sham of a marriage is the bait for the trap. All Zoro has to do is keep being as disagreeable as possible and stall Germa for time. But it’d help if the damn prince he’s supposed to marry was there.

Judge never explained why Sanji wasn’t there. He couldn’t be any worse than the rest of them; he’ll find a way to get under his skin. As long as Zoro finds a way to drag out this marriage courtship he shouldn’t have any problems dealing with some stuck-up prince.

Stuck up princesses, on the other hand…

“I can’t believe you,” Perona says under her breath. She hovers next to him, keeping her voice to a whisper. “You’re supposed to at least pretend to be serious about this!”

“What? I am serious about this. Had to sell the fact that it could be a bad match.”

Perona pouts, which means Zoro won. “You could at least try a little. If you keep acting like this, the king will definitely try something stupid to get rid of you.” She tries to hook one arm under Zoro’s to drag him off to who-knows-where, but Zoro shoves her off. “Hey! I’m taking you back to the guest room, and I’ll find out some more information myself.”

“What? I don’t need your help, and I don’t want to go back to the guest room–”

“If I don’t take you now, you’ll just get lost!” He won’t, but Perona won’t listen to him on that topic. She adds quietly enough that Zoro almost doesn’t hear her, “I need to find out some more intel. The palace staff should always have something to gossip about, so I’ll be able to know how– hey, where are you going?!”

Zoro storms past Perona, not really caring about his current direction as long as it’s not back to the damn guest quarters. “I’m going to explore the place. We’ll talk when I’m done.”

“Hey, don’t leave me– you won’t be able to find your own room! Ugh, you’re so annoying, I can’t believe you!” Perona’s voice gets quieter and quieter as Zoro continues walking away. “Don’t expect me to find you if you get lost!”

“I’m not going to get lost!” Zoro yells back, not caring that his voice echoes through the castle.

The Germa castle does not impress on the second walkthrough, nor the third, nor the fourth. Zoro’s beginning to suspect that the damn king designed the place to trap guests in a maze. He’s not lost, but he knows when this damn maze finally releases him Perona will think it’s all his fault.

He doesn’t even find anything interesting. The castle is cold and unwelcoming, the only signs of life being the weird, emotionless guards. Sometimes he passes by paintings where Vinsmoke Judge stares down at him, haughty even from a damn painting, and he resists the urge to cut the canvas down.

Instead, he stalks down hallway after hallway in an attempt to find anything interesting. What had Perona said? That the palace staff should gossip? He should’ve just gone back to the guest rooms with Perona, but he wasn’t going to admit defeat yet.

Finally after wandering the castle for ages, there’s some sign of actual life. The familiar smell of warm baked bread wafts through the hall, and while bread’s not his favorite meal, it sure as hell smells appetizing right now. The kitchen is as good a place as any to find staff to gossip with.

Zoro doesn’t even bother knocking before entering. The door creaks open, warm air hitting Zoro in the face. The kitchen is huge but somehow holds its warmth better than the rest of the castle, and the contrast in temperature makes him shudder.

Despite himself, the warm feeling of the kitchen relaxes him after being stuck in the cold for so long. Maybe he can convince Mihawk that he should stay in the kitchen instead of the surely miserable guest quarters.

Relaxing is his first mistake.

Something moves in the corner of his eyes, fast enough when Zoro jerks his head to the side he misses the view entirely. Before he can even react, something slams into the back of his head, hard.

What the hell?

Zoro falls toward the ground, only barely twisting in time for his shoulder to take the brunt of it. Twisting further still, Zoro tries to right himself for another attack. Protecting his face with his forearm, he only manages to prevent another hit to the head. Something still digs into the brunt of his arm, forcing him back onto the ground.

“Who the hell are you?!” yells a voice Zoro doesn’t recognize.

Forcing himself to focus, Zoro assesses the fight before answering. He’s pinned down to the ground, and the thing digging into his arm is a shoe. Straining his arm, Zoro tries to shove the leg away, but it doesn’t work; his attacker keeps him pinned down by one foot.

Even at this angle, Zoro can barely see the man’s face. Just like the damn Vinsmokes, half his face is covered by his hair. The other half of his face is covered with bloodied bandages across his forehead. There’s enough bandages that Zoro can barely see his eyes.

Once they do lock eyes, though, he looks furious. A single lit cigarette dangles out of his mouth, and Zoro’s surprised he doesn’t bite right through the filter with how hard his jaw is clenched. The fury is absolutely unmatched, and Zoro freezes in place.

“Answer, mosshead, before I kick you out of this damn castle.”

“Mosshead?!”

“That’s what you have a problem with?! Not being kicked into the damn North Blue?!”

Zoro snorts. “I’d like to see you try.”

The man presses down on his arm again, hard enough that Zoro knows he can break it just like that. This is the type of fight he thought he was getting into before being forced to marry some prince; he’d actually like to see the bastard try to fight him properly.

The cook isn’t even really trying. He keeps his cigarette dangling lazily between his fingertips, tapping the ash on Zoro’s forehead. “I can and I will,” he threatens. “You’re not from Germa. Are you one of Hawkeyes’ guards?”

He’s so accusatory. What, like Zoro’s not allowed to wander around the Germa castle unannounced?

“It’s a kitchen. I’m hungry. Why the hell else would I be here?”

Finally, the man relents, lifting his foot up. Zoro can move his arm again, and as soon as he’s able to he shuffles onto his back. Before he can pick himself up off the ground, he’s caught off guard by the man’s conflicted expression.

“You’re… you’re hungry?”

That’s what’s bothering him? “Yeah, your castle is a damn maze, I’ve been looking for the kitchen all night.”

The man huffs, seemingly disquieted by Zoro entirely. At the least, it gives Zoro the chance to assess him properly.

He’s still furious, staring down at Zoro just like all the damn Vinsmokes had in their stupid throne room. Unlike them, though, the man is not nearly as perfectly put together. His outfit is some fancy suit, sure, but he’s wearing a flour-coated apron over top of it. He’s injured past just the bandaged face, too; the man is bruised up and down his arms like he’d just gotten out of a proper fight.

“This is the kitchen, right?” Zoro asks. It smells like the kitchen, and now that he can finally look around the place properly, it looks like the kitchen.

The man says nothing, lost in his own thoughts.

“...and you must be their cook.”

“I’m their what?” the man repeats, looking frantic. For a man clearly in the middle of baking, he’s shocked to find himself in the kitchen. “Uh, sure. I’m Germa’s cook.”

Suspicious. “You sound awfully confident about that.”

“You’re the one who said I was the cook, why are you questioning me?!”

Well, the food the man’s cooking smells too good for him not to be Germa’s head chef, but like hell if Zoro tells him that.

He is still hungry, though… “Well, why don’t you prove it, huh?”

“Prove it? Prove what?”

“Prove you’re the cook by making me food,” Zoro says. His stomach growls loudly, as if to make the point for him. “Come on, cook. Can’t you do that?”

The man peers down at him, expression softening slightly. He wipes his hands down on his apron, more flour staining the surface. The smell of warm bread fills the kitchen, and Zoro’s stomach growls yet again.

“Fine,” the cook says. “But I’m not doing this to prove anything to you.”

Why the hell else would he be doing it? Zoro decides he doesn’t actually care; the smell of the kitchen is enticing enough. Without the threat of another attack, Zoro stands up, pulls up a stool, and plants himself at the kitchen counter. He sets his chin down on his arms as he watches the cook work.

At least his guess was right. By the way the man works the kitchen like it’s second nature to him, he has to be Germa’s head chef. He continues muttering to himself about meal options, looking back to Zoro, then tossing ingredients on the counter.

“I’m not picky, if that’s what you’re wondering, cook. I’ll eat whatever you’re already working on.”

The cook tosses an entire fish on the counter with the rest of the ingredients, looking between it and Zoro. “No, that won’t be done any time soon. The biscuits just went in the oven, and I haven’t even finished kneading the bread yet.”

And yet he’s going to cook up a fish?

His disbelief must show on his face. “Shut it,” says the cook pre-emptively. He spins a sharp carving knife in his hand and cuts off the fish’s head in one fell swoop. “This won’t take that long.”

He’s right: it doesn’t take long. Zoro almost can’t believe his eyes. Before the aforementioned biscuits are even out of the oven, the cook has carved the fish and seared it until the smell fills the room. He’s finished before he even burns through his cigarette, and he serves it on top of rice with little fanfare, shoving the dish in front of Zoro.

“That proof enough, mosshead?”

Zoro pokes at the fish with his fork, watching as it flakes apart at the touch. His mouth waters, but he can’t give the cook his satisfaction yet.

“Dunno, haven’t tried it yet,” Zoro says, enjoying how it makes the cook roll his eyes.

The fish is good, way too good for something the cook threw together in less than ten minutes. Zoro shoves as much as he can into his mouth. He doesn’t even need to chew, the fish melts in his mouth. As soon as he has enough in his mouth to satiate his initial hunger, he peers up at the cook.

He’s nervous again, visible eye wide as he watches Zoro eat.

“... Why are you watching? I thought you said you weren’t doing this to prove anything to me.”

The cook flushes, waving Zoro off. “I’m not watching, I just…” he shakes his head. “Whatever. I still have bread to knead. Try not to bother me.”

Zoro is not going to listen to that command whatsoever. Needling the cook has been the most he’s enjoyed his time in this shit kingdom, and now he has dinner and a show.

It’s easy to watch the cook work. While Zoro already knows how strong he can kick, his arm strength is nothing to sniff at either. Despite the bruises up his forearms, he kneads the bread dough in front of him with harsh, heavy hits, punching the air out of it.

Despite being content with the meal and the view, Zoro can’t waste all his time. Perona had said something about the best gossip being the palace staff, and he’s intent on showing her up.

“Hey, cook,” Zoro says between bites of fish, “You must hear about everything down here, right? You heard about the engagement?”

The cook glares at him. “Of course I heard about the engagement, I’m not living in the damn dungeon.”

“Quit being so testy, I’m just asking.”

“And I’m just saying you shouldn’t ask obvious questions, you moss haired bastard. You’re awfully bold for a hired hand,” the cook grumbles, but nevertheless continues, “I wasn’t there to meet any of them. After all, well…” He motions to the bandages across his face, “The King thought I’d make a bad impression.”

The bandages do look bad, especially compared with how put together the rest of Germa looked. But it’s not like Judge could make a worse impression. The cruelty to his own staff isn’t exactly a surprise.

He’s not here to question the man’s cruelty, though; he’s here to find out information.

“Sounds to me like you don’t know shit about the engagement, then,” Zoro taunts.

And the cook falls for the bait so easily. His face reddens, anger lighting him brilliantly up again.

“Hah, don’t put words into my mouth! Of course I know the details. Reiju– I mean, the Princess Reiju– wasn’t impressed with any of them. Apparently your stupid boss decided that the prince wasn’t going to marry his daughter like he promised. He offered up his son instead.”

The cook sneers, kneading the bread in front of him with unearned aggression. “And I know that she wasn’t happy about it. She always tries to cover up how she feels, but it was pretty obvious she wasn’t impressed with the bastard.”

Zoro grins. Perfect. “So I guess he left an impression,” he says. “Sounds exactly like him.”

“Don’t sound so proud of your boss’s son! He’s a stupid bastard who doesn’t know what he’s getting into.” He swallows, staring down at his hands. He runs his finger down one of the bright gold bracelets around his wrist. “And that makes two of us. I have no idea what to do about it.”

He shouldn’t have to do anything about it; he’s the cook.

The cook continues talking regardless, stalking away from the counter to one of the small windows in the kitchen. “I… I never liked this place, but it sure was better when Judge didn’t try anything new.” He opens the window, the outside air cooling the room. “Marrying his son off to some warlord’s kid? Give me a fucking break.”

“It shouldn’t matter much to you, anyway. You’re going to go back with Hawkeye after this all is over with, aren’t you?”

The cook doesn’t wait for a response. He turns around to face the single window in the room, tapping the ash on his cigarette. Some of it hits his wrist, and he brushes it off without another thought.

Zoro freezes in place, an odd sensation of dread overcoming him.

That’s… odd. The hairs on the back of his neck stick up, and while Zoro knows there’s a threat, he can’t exactly pinpoint where it’s from. The cook looks relaxed enough, smoking a cigarette and looking out the tiny window, but the sense of Observation Haki activating is unmistakable.

The cook’s a threat. That’s all he knows, that’s all he can make out. The cook’s a threat, and Zoro just doesn’t know why.

As if sensing his suspicion, the cook meets Zoro’s gaze, looking oddly nervous. He snubs out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe, distracting Zoro from his face. When he looks back, that flicker of nervousness is gone.

“So, what? You get gossip from me and I don’t get gossip from you? That’s not polite.”

Zoro scoffs. “Polite? You tried to kick my head the moment I stepped in the door, shit cook.”

The cook dismisses him, putting out his cigarette on the bottom of his own shoe. “Yeah, because you shouldn’t be down here at all!”

“I can be where I want, I’m–” Zoro pauses. He’s the prince’s betrothed, but he doesn’t want to admit that. “--I’m a guest.”

“Why are you such an arrogant bastard? How the hell has Hawkeyes not fired you yet?”

“Shut up, he’ll never fire me,” Zoro grumbles, sitting back down at the counter. He’ll throw the bastard a bone, just to get him off his case. “But, fine, whatever. What gossip do you want to know?”

“What kind of gossip do I want?” He pauses, for much longer than Zoro expects. It’s just gossip. He’s just the cook. Shouldn’t be that hard of a question.

“Cook?”

“Right, right, gossip,” the cook says. He pauses, that same look of nervousness back. “How do you like working for Hawkeyes?”

That’s not gossip. Did he pick up on the fact that Zoro’s lying about being a hired hand? The cook’s the one who made that assumption himself.

“It’s…” Zoro pauses, trying to figure out what to say. If he badmouths Mihawk to Germa’s cook, would it matter? The cook could be a spy. “He’s tough as nails, but fair. Doesn’t let anyone get away with shit, but isn’t going to pull some bullshit just because of his own ego.”

The comment doesn’t seem to calm the cook. Instead, he sighs, looking back out the window.

“Tough but fair, eh?” he says, almost wistfully. Zoro doesn’t think he made Mihawk sound that appealing but, well, he doesn’t have Judge as a boss, does he?

“And Roronoa Zoro? Do you know anything about him?”

Zoro tries not to laugh. He knows plenty about Roronoa Zoro, but he also knows he needs to keep his act together. “He’s a real mean bastard.”

The cook laughs, curling forward into himself. “Of course he is,” he mutters. He digs his hand in his hair, stressed for no good reason. “That’s just perfect. So, what? He’s mean? Are you even high enough rank to know what he’s actually like?”

Arrogant bastard. “Of course I know what Roronoa Zoro’s like,” Zoro barks. “I know everything about him.”

This is stupid. He shouldn’t be saying shit to this annoying cook.

“Oh, sure, sounds like you do,” the cook mocks. “Fine, then. If you do, tell me…” he scratches at his own hair again, thin blonde strands caught between his fingers, “Tell me what he’s into. You know, like what he likes.”

“You want to know what he likes?”

The cook groans loudly. “Are you going to answer or interrogate my questions? Come on, mosshead, what does Roronoa like?”

“He likes…” Zoro pauses. “Dunno, really. Booze, a good fight.” He pauses, looking back to his emptied plate on the kitchen counter. “Good food.”

The cook groans loudly, way too over-dramatic. “A good fight? Not an option. And good food? The one thing I could use to get out of this, of course it’s that.”

Before Zoro has the chance to disentangle that, there’s a loud, echoing stomp down the hallway. Zoro doesn’t make much of it, but he recognizes how the cook freezes on the spot.

“Shit,” the cook curses and motions toward the door. “You better get going, mosshead. If they find you sneaking around it’s not going to be pretty.”

Zoro stares at his face, and how many bandages he has. The ones up his forehead are caked in blood, and his arms are still well-bruised. Despite not knowing the man for more than half an hour at best, Zoro can’t help but feel unexpectedly angered by the idea of leaving him to fend for himself.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not looking at you,” Zoro denies, but he keeps staring at the cook’s arms. That undeniable feeling of a threat is back, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The cook yanks him by the back of his too-scratchy shirt and shoves him out the door. “I said out,” he says, then slams the door behind him.

“Hey! What the hell did you mean, they, you stupid–” Zoro argues back, but when he tries to open the door, the stupid cook already locked it shut.

He shakes the handle a couple times just to make sure, but it’s locked tight.

The stomping continues in the opposite direction of the kitchen; whatever threat the cook was so worried about isn’t even coming toward here. He wants to knock down the door and convince him that the threat is gone, but he also really should find the guest quarters before Perona has his head.

He doesn’t want to think about what she’s going to say. I told you you’d get lost, you should’ve followed me back, blah blah blah. Groaning, Zoro turns away and stalks down the hallways. They feel colder now, and even the meal doesn’t stop the cold from sinking into his skin.

Perona dresses him in an absolutely button-ridden outfit again.

“Isn’t the point of this that I’m a bad match?” Zoro complains, staying still as Perona shuts the millionth clasp on his shirt. Why the hell does a shirt need so many clasps? “I don’t have to look presentable.”

His protests are unjustly ignored. “You have to look like you’re trying,” Perona tuts. She examines him one last time before stepping backward. “Otherwise they’ll see right through us.”

Zoro undos the top button on the shirt, much to Perona’s chagrin. He at least wants to breathe. “Fine, whatever, I’ll wear your stupid outfit,” he grumbles. It’ll constrict his movement if they actually get into a fight. “Did you at least find anything else about Prince Sanji?”

“Don’t say his name like that. You’re going to need to at least pretend to like him. Judge is supposed to think this plan is going his way eventually,” Perona says. Instead of actually answering him, though, she frowns, fiddling with the ruffles on the front of her dress. “And, well, about the intel…”

She trails off, crossing her arms in front of her. “None of the servants would tell me anything! It’s so weird, servants normally gossip about everything but they were all so…” She worries her bottom lip before continuing, “Freaked out. So it’s not my fault, but you’re going to need to play it safe. I don’t know anything about Prince Sanji because no one’s saying. It’s like they’re barely aware he even exists!”

That’s weird. Zoro didn’t have any problems teasing information out of the cook, but then again, he didn’t actually ask for details about Prince Sanji himself. He was much more interested in finding out the details of his own performance.

“He shouldn’t be that hard to deal with,” Zoro says slowly. “Rest of them seemed pretty easy to annoy.”

“You don’t know that! You didn’t meet the other two, they’re…”

She doesn’t finish her thought, instead simply pouting, her eyes watering with big, goopy tears. By the way she keeps dodging his eyes, she’s actually nervous, and guilty. She shouldn’t be so guilty, but he supposes her backing out is why he’s in this mess, so she must feel some kind of responsibility about it.

Feeling foolish, Zoro scowls, and redoes the top bottom on his shirt. It makes Perona perk up just a bit, and she continues fussing over the outfit.

“Well, you’ll just have to be on your best behavior today. You’re supposed to prolong the engagement, not postpone it entirely,” she says. She picks up a silky-smooth piece of fabric, and before Zoro can feel too comfortable with the softness of it, she ties it around his neck as if to strangle him.

“Why do I need that–”

“It’s a tie! You need to look nice!” Perona knots the tie around his neck tighter, making Zoro choke.

“If we have to fight I’m cutting this thing off first!”

“You’re not going to fight,” Perona chides, then says in a hush, “We need to get to the Saumure Islands first, then you can fight.”

They’re still weeks away; Zoro doesn’t know if he’ll make it. He needs to find an outlet if he’s going to spend the next few weeks forced into romantic courtship.

Perona looks at him with big watery eyes and Zoro groans.

“Fine, I won’t fight the guy today,” he says.

“You’re not going to fight your betrothed at all!”

Zoro rolls his eyes but, luckily, Perona quits her nagging. She spins on her heels, dragging him along by the wrist.

“Hey, I don’t need you to lead me!”

“I’m not letting you get lost before your date, not after your performance yesterday,” she says. Despite his protests, Zoro allows her to drag him through the castle hallways. “We’re going to meet Prince Sanji on time.”

He’s not looking forward to it. Though he has to admit, the cook’s confirmation that he made an impression on the princess has him feeling awfully confident in his strategy. At least he found out some information through the cook yesterday. More than Perona did, that’s for sure.

“Let’s get this over with.”

The selected location for their date is just as unappealing as the rest of the kingdom, though at least there’s some greenery. The courtyard is the only apparent grassland on the snail ships, with dense trees crowding the scenery in. While the courtyard should be peaceful, there’s marks up and down the trees like it’s a battlefield. If Zoro ignores that, and tries hard enough, he can almost pretend like he isn’t adrift in the damn North Blue.

Unfortunately, the trees aren’t doing much to prevent the bitter cold. Wind blows through the poor coverage, carrying with it the familiar overpowering smell of sea salt. It’s like the weather is determined to make the place as unpleasant as possible. The chill sends goosebumps up and down his arms, but Zoro refuses to shiver.

Mihawk frowns to himself, assessing the view. Must not meet his critical expectations for courtship. Zoro can only wonder how many ways he could prolong this engagement just by his own weird, archaic standards.

They don’t have to freeze in the cold for too much longer. Zoro can hear the stomping of Judge’s entourage before he sees them. When they’re finally visible, Zoro recognizes Ichiji and Reiju from their first meeting, but three more figures follow along after him. All of them have just as obnoxiously bright hair, but somehow only one of them has the same shade as their father.

That’s just where the eerie similarities begin. All the siblings are wearing the same bright white frilly shirts and long red capes, following Judge around obediently on his heels. One of them has got to be his husband-to-be, the stupid bastard he’ll be wooing for the next three weeks, and Zoro can’t tell which is his worst option.

Green, blue, or yellow? Would it even matter? He can’t make it out at a distance, but he bets there’s one more thing in common with all of them.

“Do you think he’ll have the same stupid eyebrows as the rest of them?” Zoro whispers to Perona. When she doesn’t take the bait, he continues, “Which one do you think it is? Blue, green, or yellow?”

“I swear, if you call them blue, green, and yellow to their face, Zoro,” Perona hisses. She doesn’t have time to continue her threat, only glaring at him with unintimidated puffed-out cheeks.

Zoro smiles, glad to finally get under her skin.

When they get closer, Zoro’s suspicion is confirmed. Of course they all have the same stupid eyebrows; he almost laughs, but he manages to keep it together.

The blue-haired one looks critical and somehow meaner than the rest, his mouth pulled into a smirk, while the green-haired one laughs loudly next to him. He’s the only one with his eyebrows showing, and Zoro’s shocked to find the curl in the same direction. They both look much like how he expected: mean and annoying.

And the blonde one–

Zoro squints. That doesn’t make sense at all. It can’t be who he thinks it is.

The blonde one is wearing the same frilly outfit as the last, looking considerably more miserable than the rest. He hasn’t even bothered looking at Zoro, instead scowling at his brothers with a pointed glare. Even if the uncertain posture is unfamiliar, that look of derision is absolutely unmistakable.

It’s the cook.

Zoro blinks, trying to make sure he’s not seeing anything wrong. The bandages from before are completely gone, revealing the one curled eyebrow underneath. Any sign of injury is gone, too, which is more shocking than the eyebrow itself. When he finally spots Zoro, he looks just as shocked as Zoro feels, his mouth hanging open stupidly.

The cook is a prince?

“Dracule Mihawk,” Judge greets, nodding curtly at Mihawk. He feels less imposing in the trees, without the bravado of his throne. “I’d like you to meet the rest of my family. Prince Niji, Prince Yonji.”

The blue-haired and green-haired brothers nod respectfully, leaving only one brother left.

No way.

“And this is Prince Sanji, my third son.” Judge introduces Sanji with a slight sneer, his lip curling up. “He’s very eager to marry into your family.”

Prince Sanji is the cook?

All Zoro can do is gape. Prince Sanji looks no better; he looks between the three of them like he’s expecting Mihawk’s actual son to jump out from the bushes.

By Perona’s huff next to him, he’s expected to say something. All he does is stare down Prince Sanji, waiting for him to make a move.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Mihawk says curtly. “It’s a shame you were occupied yesterday.”

Both the Niji and Yonji behind Sanji snicker at the comment, and Sanji jumps at the sound. If it weren’t for the way Sanji looked yesterday, Zoro would write the interaction off as some brotherly tomfoolery. Now, though…

“He won’t disappoint you again,” Judge assures, though the comment isn’t entirely directed toward Mihawk. Prince Sanji stiffens, his body entirely rigid.

“This is Roronoa Zoro, my son,” Mihawk introduces. At Perona’s shove to the shoulder, Zoro nods curtly. He’s not even trying to be rude, he’s just in shock. “I’m sure you’ve been very eager to meet him, Vinsmoke Sanji.”

Sanji shocks at the comment, freezing up when he sees Mihawk’s gaze. It’s like he’s not expecting to be addressed at all. Zoro watches the line of his throat as he swallows, nervous energy practically radiating off of him.

“It’s a pleasure,” Prince Sanji says weekly. It takes him a moment to collect himself, his voice shaky. He eyes Zoro with an incredible degree of suspicion, then bows. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roronoa Zoro.”

He preferred it when the cook called him a mosshaired bastard. The image of Sanji bowing is a stark contrast to the angry man who attacked him on sight. It’s frustrating. It itches under Zoro’s skin in a way he can’t fathom.

“You, too, Prince Sanji,” Zoro says, trying to get under his skin the way Sanji so easily got under his. Sanji can’t even look at him, holding his bow longer as if to avoid looking directly at Zoro.

He’s not bothered at all. He’s putting up the front of a perfect prince, and Zoro can’t have that. He breathes in and out through his nose, trying to figure out a way to egg Sanji on, to actually show he’s the angry cook he’d met just a day earlier.

“...I mean, it’s good to see you again, cook.”

Zoro can feel the tension in the air at the comment. The rest of the Vinsmokes freeze, a snarl on the king’s face and equally unpleasant looks on the rest of them. That’s not who Zoro was trying to piss off, though.

Sanji finally meets his eyes, his one blue eye staring bullets into his skull. His fringe hides his face from the rest of his entourage, but Zoro can see past the control expression to see the temper underneath.

And there he is.

He’s mouthing something furiously at Zoro, talking so fast that Zoro can’t even make out what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter. Something settles inside Zoro’s chest as he recognizes one phrase, mosshaired bastard, and he’s beginning to think he’ll enjoy participating in Mihawk’s plan.

“Now that introductions are out of the way, why don’t we leave them alone?” Mihawk offers. “I’m sure parental figures hovering won’t help with the courtship bounding, no?”

Judge makes a noise as if he’d just been stabbed. “Of course, you’re right,” he agrees after collecting himself. “Let’s leave the lovely couple alone. I’m sure they won't need much time at all to become acquainted… In fact, I’m sure we’ll exceed your predictions… right, Prince Sanji?”

Sanji grits his teeth together. “That’s right,” he says, sounding just as put off. “I’m sure Zoro and I will get along just fine.”

Zoro grins down at Sanji, who looks like he’s about to skin Zoro alive on the spot. The same thrum of threat chills Zoro to his core. He still can’t pinpoint where exactly it’s from, but he knows it’s from Sanji.

“We’ll see about that,” Zoro says, delighting in the string of curses it eeks out of the cook.

Zoro’s beginning to think he’ll like his damn role in Mihawk’s plot after all.

Chapter Text

Tension remains heavy in the air even after Mihawk and the Germa procession leave. Sanji smiles at him with a toothy grin that tries and ultimately fails to portray friendliness. At first glance, sure, he looks pleasant, but up close Zoro can see how his jaw clenches in barely concealed rage.

He maintains the smile until everyone is out of earshot, then his face immediately falls into more recognizable annoyance. Recognizable outside the eyebrow– that’s still fucking weird, but Zoro can’t stop staring at it.

“So, Roronoa Zoro. You’re not one of Hawkeyes’ guards,” Sanji accuses in a hush.

Zoro stretches leisurely, one of the buttons popping on his sleeve. “I’m not,” he confirms.

That sets the prince off further. He glowers at Zoro, marching forward until their foreheads practically touch. Zoro doesn’t expect it, caught off guard by the surge of anger.

“You’re– you’re– you. All you are is a stupid liar! You gossiped about yourself?! And all you could come up with is that you’re a mean bastard, and that you liked booze, fights, and food?”

That’s all still true, technically. “I never said I was one of his guards, you just assumed. And it’s not like I lied. I do like booze, fights, and foods,” Zoro says, then grins. “Thanks for remembering.”

Sanji’s face heats perfectly, red flush showing obviously on his pale skin. “Well, thanks for the intel!”

Zoro’s grin quickly sours; shit, Sanji knows considerably more about him than he knows about Sanji. That’s his own damn fault. He figured he’d have plenty of time to interrogate the cook about his fiance later if Sanji proved to be a problem.

Sanji is proving to be a damn problem.

“And besides, I only remembered what you liked because I have to marry you! Ideally before we get to the Saumure Islands! And now you’re– you’re– ugh!”

Zoro really, really doubts he’ll be able to interrogate the cook about anything now. All he knows about Sanji is that he’s a prince, he’s a cook, and he’s some indiscernible threat that sets off his Observation Haki. That’s a hectic mix of facts he can’t puzzle out at all.

A loud, pained groan interrupts his thoughts. Sanji shakes Zoro’s shoulders again, and that unsettling feeling of activated Observation Haki makes his skin crawl. Freezing in place, he tries to find an obvious attack; it’s difficult, because the man radiates with anger.

Just what does Prince Sanji have up his sleeve?

“Look, we can just– we can just get this over with quickly,” Sanji suggests. “You can marry me this week, and do whatever the hell you want with your time. I don’t care. I don’t want to spend three weeks wooing you.”

“I dunno, that sounds pretty fun. And you are my betrothed,” Zoro mocks, and Sanji’s hands dig further into his shoulders like he could strangle the life out of him without even touching his neck.

“I can’t believe I have to marry you. I’m doomed.”

His dramatics are starting to tick Zoro off. What, it’s just a marriage. He knows getting on Sanji’s nerves is the fucking point, but the cook doesn’t have to be a dick about it.

“What, don’t like being called my betrothed? What else do you want to be called then? Curlybrow? Blondie? Lovecook?”

Sanji’s heel digs into his shin. “I’m not a cook,” he corrects. “Don’t call me that, especially in front of Judge.”

He’s ready to taunt Sanji about that endlessly, but when he looks down, he can see that Sanji’s bright white sleeve has bunched up his arm, revealing the same, unhealed bruises from yesterday. The sight of the injuries gives Zoro pause, not knowing what exactly he’s stepping into.

There’s not many people who could lay a finger on a prince. Zoro could count them all on one hand. Maybe he won’t use the nickname around the Vinsmokes, like Sanji requested, until he knows why, but he can still use it to annoy the prince now.

“What do you mean you’re not a cook? You looked like a cook to me.”

“It doesn’t matter what you saw, you stupid–”

“Besides, you did cook,” he cuts Sanji off. He considers his next words, not wanting to compliment the prince too much. “And the food tasted decent enough for you to be Germa’s head chef,” Zoro settles on.

The meal they’d had in the morning hadn’t stacked up at all to the ten-minute fish Sanji had served up so easily. Zoro had almost wondered if the marriage situation had pissed off the cook enough to torment him with a worse meal.

Sanji flushes, looking away. “Well, you’re an idiot for thinking that. It… It’d be too lowly of me to be a common cook.”

At least the arrogance is more familiar. So the Vinsmokes are really all the same, looking down on even their own cooks from their imposing thrones.

Sanji doesn’t give him the chance to think through anything else. “I’m a prince, so you better not mention the cook thing again,” he threatens. “You hear that, mosshead?”

He’s had enough of that nickname. “Oh, so it’ll make you look bad, huh? Maybe I should use it more often, cook-”

Despite all his observation training, he does not anticipate the incoming barrage of kicks.

Unlike the last, singular kick in the kitchen, Sanji aims a flurry of hits up and down Zoro’s torso. None are enough to send him to the ground, but each and every kick hits him hard enough to prevent him from reacting to the next one. Sanji forces him backwards, and Zoro can’t find the proper footing to counter-attack.

Well, he’s just going to have to improvise.

He lets Sanji land one solid hit to his side. Wincing, Zoro clasps the hilt of his sword, unsheathing it enough to block the next incoming kick. Sanji’s toe meets the metal of the blade, the loud twang reverberating in the trees. Zoro moves, expecting another kick to his side, but he’s met with little resistance at all.

Sanji remains frozen mid kick, eyes darting around the trees again. His already pale face grows paler, scanning the trees for a threat but missing the threat right in front of him. His lack of focus makes it too easy for Zoro to unsheathe his sword completely. Grinning, he holds the tip of the blade lazily under Sanji’s neck.

“What, are you too chicken for an actual fight, cook?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sanji snaps, planting both his feet on the ground. “Quit attacking me. I’m supposed to be playing nice, not killing you.”

“What if I ask you nicely to kill me?”

Sanji looks at him like he’s sprouted two heads. “Are you really going to do this?” He pauses, rubbing at his wrists. “...well, you did say you liked a fight. So, what? If I beat you in a fight, would you end this stupid courtship early?”

No. He’s not going to end this stupid courtship early no matter what.

“Maybe,” Zoro lies.

Prince Sanji runs a hand through his hair, groans, then unclips the bright red cape from his shoulders. He folds it and sets it aside, taking his sweet time. The anticipation is killing Zoro, and he thinks Sanji fucking knows it. Arrogant bastard.

“Well, maybe is better than nothing,” Sanji says, then finally balances on the balls of his feet for a proper kick.

The resulting fight is everything Zoro could have asked for. Now that he has a read on Sanji’s fighting style, he can anticipate half of his kicks before they land and prevent the other half from any lasting damage. Once the prince realizes Zoro’s dodging his hits, he starts to move faster, and it takes all of Zoro’s concentration to land anything.

The push and pull of the fight is addicting, but no hard Sanji kicks, Zoro’s Observation Haki isn’t triggered. It’s odd; they’re fighting, it should be, but all he feels is a normal threat, not the all-encompassing dread from earlier. It doesn’t make any damn sense.

Before he can figure it out, something rustles in the trees, and Zoro’s focus momentarily falters. It should give Sanji the advantage in the fight, but instead, the man flinches. He’s entirely unprepared for Zoro’s anticipatory counter-attack. Zoro slams him in the side with the hilt of his sword, and it knocks Sanji straight to the ground.

Dirt and dust scatter, and Sanji glowers up at him.

“Stupid bastard,” he hisses from the ground, trying in vain to kick Zoro’s shins and break his stance. He looks frantically around the trees again, picking himself up. “We’re supposed to be on a date. What if someone sees this?!”

Zoro huffs. “Fighting could be a date,” he says.

“Not for normal people! Do you know how bad this looks?!”

Still, though, Zoro’s not going to slice the man while he’s down. He sheaths his swords, watching as Sanji picks himself up off the ground and dusts himself off. When he turns around, Zoro can see a trail of dirt up his bright white shirt he missed, but Zoro makes no effort to point it out.

After fussing with his own clothing, Sanji pauses, eyes widening as he scrutinizes Zoro. He reaches forward, only pausing when Zoro steps back. “Don’t try to cut me for this,” he says, without explaining what he’s after.

“I just sheathed my sword, idiot,” Zoro comments, motioning to his sword. “Not going to cut you– hey, what are you doing?!”

Swatting Zoro’s hand away, Sanji finds his target; Zoro’s sleeve. He fiddles with the buttons and clasps that must’ve come undone in the fight. His touch is light but warm over the thin fabric; this outfit was way too easy to break. To his credit, though, Sanji manages to button him right up again.

“I’m helping,” Sanji mutters. “Can’t look like I throttled you.”

His fingers linger over Zoro’s sleeve, inspecting the delicate fabric. Zoro can feel every touch through his stupid, fancy sleeves.

Zoro swallows, looking away. “You didn’t throttle me. I throttled you.”

“This is too nice of an outfit for you,” Sanji grumbles, ignoring the comment. Zoro ignores him in return as he works on the next sleeve. “I should’ve known something was up when I saw you yesterday. No shitty guard would wear something like this.”

“Yeah, and no shitty prince should’ve been in the kitchen.”

Sanji pauses, his fingers trembling over Zoro’s wrist. It takes him several tries to clasp the sleeve closed. “Guess you’re right,” he concedes.

That doesn’t answer anything. Zoro thought maybe he could bait Sanji into talking like before, but now that he’s Prince Sanji, his betrothed, he’s more tight lipped than when he thought Zoro was a hungry stranger.

He opens his mouth to comment again, to annoy something out of Sanji, but another rustle in the trees catches both their attention. This time, someone’s actually there, sitting in the top branches of the trees and looking down at them.

It’s the Germa princess, wearing some new outfit with ridiculous, puffy shoes. They whir loudly as she jumps down, hovering just inches before her feet touch the ground. The way she moves reminds Zoro too much of Perona, and he almost wishes she were intruding instead.

“Princess Reiju,” Sanji greets. He relaxes slightly, but still self-consciously brushes off his shirt. “I thought me and my betrothed were supposed to be on a private date. How else is this supposed to work?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” says the princess, not looking sorry at all. She smiles tightly, and it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Father asked me to check in on you, Sanji, and let you know you’re expected back before dinner.”

“What, so he actually wants me to join you at the table? I thought after the last time–”

“--after the lesson from last time, you should know how to be on your best behavior,” she corrects.

Sanji grumbles something under his breath, turning around to grab his cape. It’s then that Zoro realizes his mistake in not telling Sanji about the dirt on his shirt. Sanji had so desperately wanted to avoid signs of a fight, but it’s written across his back.

Reiju narrows her eyes at the sight, her lips pursed together. Well, shit.

She turns to Zoro, sizing him up yet again. She hadn’t been impressed yesterday, and he’s sure she’s not impressed now. He doesn’t know if he cares. As long as Judge is still desperate for this arrangement, it really doesn’t matter how good of an impression Zoro makes.

“I hope you’re not planning on causing my little brother any problems, Roronoa Zoro,” she says. “I assure you, you’ll regret it.”

Before Zoro can respond, Sanji shoves him away. “I can do this on my own, Reiju,” he hisses, then clips his cape back on and stalks forward. He continues muttering under his breath, but Reiju pays him no mind, only staring daggers at Zoro.

“I hope to see you at dinner,” Reiju says, then turns on her weird boots and follows Sanji back to the castle.

What the hell was that about? Sanji doesn’t make sense at all. He didn’t make sense when Zoro thought he was just Germa’s head chef, and it makes even less sense now that he knows he’s a prince.

Well, Zoro has nothing better to do with his three weeks other than to find out.

Perona eventually finds him in the castle, and immediately grabs him by the arm and drags him away.

“I’ve been looking for you forever,” she whines. She practically cuts off his blood flow with how hard she’s holding his arm. “We were supposed to catch up before dinner, but now it’ll have to wait.”

What’s there to even catch up on? He met with Sanji, got under his skin, and successfully dragged out this engagement for longer. That’s all he has to do.

“We don’t have to catch up,” Zoro complains. All the corridors in this stupid, cold castle look the same, so he lets Perona drag him along. “I’m doing my job. What the hell have you been doing?”

Perona flinches, and her eyes water just a bit. It’s not like he’s wrong. She huffs and drags him further, muttering darkly, but the conversation is effectively killed.

She ends up dragging him back to the familiar throne room which is now set for dinner. Of fucking course Germa holds dinners in the throne room. They even set the table up by the throne for Judge and Judge alone, always sure to give himself the upper hand.

Everyone other than Perona and him are already sitting down, only two open spots remaining. In a fit of petulance, Perona chooses the spot next to Mihawk Zoro initially aims for. Annoyingly, that forces him to sit in the last open seat between Prince Sanji and the green-haired Vinsmoke.

Sanji looks just as pleased as Zoro feels, expression souring as Zoro drags his chair away from the table. It screeches, echoing in the empty room and drawing all attention his way. He sits down, crosses his arms, and waits for the inevitable complaint.

It never comes. Sanji simply forces a smile, and the green-haired Vinsmoke snickers at them both.

“... it’s good to see you again,” Sanji forces out. “Roronoa Zoro.”

Zoro scooches his chair forward, dragging the legs across the floor as he does. “You’re calling me by my full name now? What, no mosshead?”

Sanji does his best to kill Zoro with his eyes. “Why would I call you anything else,” he grits out. “We’re engaged. I’m smitten with you, my betrothed.”

“Could at least try something more interesting than my name, co…” Zoro starts, pausing when he remembers Sanji’s own condition on the cook comments. “...curly.”

It catches Sanji off guard, just for a moment. “I’m going to kill you,” he mouths, and that’s more like it.

They continue jabbing at each other until the grand doors of the throne room open with a slow creak. Light filters into the room, silhouetting a single figure in the doorware pushing a large cart.

“Ah, that would be our meal,” Judge announces. He motions the woman forward, and the closer she gets the more skittish she looks. “Head Chef Colleen, hurry up and serve our guests. They’ve been waiting far too long on you.”

“It’s Cosette,” Sanji mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Zoro to hear him.

Cosette scrambles regardless, shaking like a leaf as she serves the Vinsmokes. She startles at Mihawk, too, squeaking under his gaze and quickly moving on to the next guest. The only person she doesn’t seem afraid of is Sanji, though she does dodge his eye contact as she moves along.

The food looks decent, but Zoro’s left with the echo of Sanji’s easy, ten-minute fish. He pokes at the steak in front of him, and while it is cooked well enough, it doesn’t make his mouth water in the same way. He was right to think Sanji was the head chef if this is the Germa standard.

He eats regardless, not wanting to go to bed hungry again. Not everyone at the table has the same sentiment, though. Most of the Vinsmoke don’t look hungry at all, poking at their meals with little interest in their meal.

“Colleen made this for our guests? How embarrassing. The last head chef could at least cook,” Yonji complains, chasing around the peas on his plate with his fork. He tosses one over the rim of the plate, flicking it across the table. “Hey, Prince Sanji, isn’t it too bad that the old geezer isn’t here anymore?”

Sanji snarls, the first angry expression of the night. “Don’t you dare talk about him, you stupid–”

Yonji flings another pea across the table, landing in Princess Reiju’s drink. She shares a look with Sanji, but doesn’t make a move to reprimand Yonji at all.

“Come on, don’t yell, Prince Sanji. You don’t want this to turn out like last time, do you?”

He aims one last pea towards Sanji’s face, and Zoro decides he’s had enough. As soon as the thing is airborne, he slashes up with his fork to catch it mid-air before it hits Sanji in the face. As soon as Yonji figures out what the hell just happened, Zoro shoves his fork in his mouth.

“Wow, this is great, thanks,” Zoro mocks, then eyes Yonji’s plate. “You gonna give me some more?”

The comment properly stymies Yonji, who returns to poking at his meal in search of a new target. Sanji doesn’t say anything, but he does kick Zoro half-heartedly under the table.

The tension doesn’t leave the room. Sanji is coiled defensively, startling if Zoro as much as tilts his fork in the wrong direction. At first, Zoro thinks it’s because of his apparent grudge, but he sends more glares to his brothers than he does to him.

Head Chef Cosette darts around the table, filling up everyone’s glasses with water and wine the moment the glasses have as much as a drink out of them. She’s still incredibly nervous by their presence, the bottle of wine shaking as she fills up Zoro’s glass. Wine fills to the rim of his glass, threatening to splash over.

It’s only a matter of time before she messes up.

Zoro is only about two sips into his second glass of wine when Cosette drops her water pitcher on the table. Water splashes all across the blue-haired Vinsmoke’s lap, and the pitcher clunks loudly against the table. Cosette jumps away from the table, backing up until she hits the wall behind them.

“I’m– I’m sorry, Sir Niji! Let me get you a towel, and a new change of clothes, and– and…”

Niji stands up, his entire lap wet. It’s an embarrassing look, but he doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. His brows furrow together and he snarls, the picture of pure anger.

“You stupid girl! Can’t you do anything right?!” Cosette flinches, trying and failing to put more distance between herself and Prince Niji. “First you can’t even cook a decent meal, and now you ruin even that?!”

He holds his plate in the air; it hadn’t been splashed as much as his lap. When he tilts the plate to the side, it’s mostly potatoes that drip down, not water.

“Absolutely disgusting,” Niji sneers, then brings the plate back behind his ear like a javelin. “You should know better by now, wench.”

Judge makes absolutely no move to stop him, instead setting his chin in his hand and watching.

“I’m sorry, Sir Niji, I’m truly–”

Before Niji can throw the plate, Sanji snaps, the earlier contained annoyance now completely free. He slams his hands on the table, bracelets rattling around his wrists.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with Miss Cosette’s food?!”

Niji freezes, his attention fully directed at his brother. His earlier rage is forgotten in an instant, instead a self-satisfied smirk lighting up his face.

“Food? This isn’t food,” Niji mocks. “This hardly is fit for our soldiers, much less our guests.”

It’s not Sanji’s cooking, but it’s not bad.

“She worked hard on that meal! What, are you just going to throw her work to waste?! You arrogant piece of garbage, you should–”

“Prince Sanji,” Vinsmoke Judge interrupts. Sanji flinches, his mouth snapping shut. “Know your pace. You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your new fiance, would you? You know what’s at stake.”

Sanji isn’t the one embarrassing himself here. But Sanji still eyes Zoro with muted horror, his eyes as wide as Zoro’s seen them. He swallows noticeably, tense as hell and unmistakably afraid.

“I… I understand, but…”

Something moves in the corner of Zoro’s vision. He’s been so distracted by Sanji that he hadn’t noticed Niji moving, and his plate is suddenly out of his hand and flying toward Sanji’s face. Zoro reaches out and snatches whatever it is before it meets its target.

Catching the plate doesn’t stop the food from sliding off, splattering up his arm and the front of Sanji’s shirt. The room is silent except for the slow dripping of potatoes onto the table.

“Disgusting,” Niji sneers. “Potatoes shouldn’t drip like that. Father, why haven’t we found a new head chef?”

“Because there’s nothing wrong with the current one,” Sanji snaps.

Judge glares again, making Sanji flinch. Before he can say anything, Zoro snatches the steak off of Niji’s plate, setting it down between his and Sanji’s place settings.

“Thanks for the steak,” Zoro interrupts. He takes a bite out of it without even cutting it, letting the blood drip down his chin. “Could’ve done without catching your plate, though.”

“Zoro! Quit it!” Perona hisses from across the table, but Zoro continues eating regardless. “At least cut it!”

Sanji gapes at Zoro, looking terribly foolish with food dripping off his shirt. Zoro shrugs, taking another bite and chewing loudly.

“Unbelievable,” Perona says. She mouths something to Mihawk, who simply ignores her.

Before anyone else can comment, Mihawk does finally pipe up. “I’m surprised with the consistency of your food,” he says, like there hadn’t just been a damn food fight. “Who are your suppliers?”

No one says anything, and Zoro takes another bite of steak. Typical Mihawk.

Judge’s attention shifts from Sanji to Mihawk, his mouth hanging open. “Excuse me?”

“Your food suppliers,” Mihawk continues. “Do you supply most of the ingredients through Germa’s own territory? Or are they imports? Imports seem impractical with the mobile nature of your fleet.”

Nothing. Judge says absolutely nothing, but the distraction saves both Zoro and Sanji from any more scrutiny.

“Do you not know?”

“Of course I know,” Judge barks. Sweat pools on his forehead. “...Colleen, where’s our meal from?”

“Um! Right, sir. The meal… it’s…” Colette is still backed against the wall, only slightly more collected. “Y-yes, well, we mostly supplied ingredients from the labs. We don’t have traditional fields, but the researchers invented other methods of agriculture…”

“Fascinating,” Mihawk says, and starts throwing an assault of questions the poor chef’s way.

The distraction is more than welcome. Sanji settles back into his seat, cleaning off the food from his shirt. He’s meticulous about it, making sure everything that can be salvaged is on his own plate.

“Are you going to finish that yourself?”

Sanji looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Of course I am,” he growls, shoving the food into his mouth. “You have a problem with that, mosshead?”

Not what he was asking. Zoro snatches half the food regardless, dumping it onto his own plate. Sanji blinks dumbly at him, thoroughly taken aback.

“Thanks, cook,” he says, hopefully quiet enough to go unnoticed by the rest of the table.

After all the drama with dinner, Zoro can’t settle down. He spent most of the dinner caught between Sanji and his brothers’ bickering, but they never even had a proper brawl.

He’s unsettled with no outlet for that energy, eager to find something, anything to distract himself so he can go to sleep properly.

There’s not much to do in Germa Castle, especially with how bitterly cold the place is. But Zoro does know of one place that is at least marginally warm. It takes no small amount of effort to find his way back to the kitchens through the maze of the castle, but he does make it.

By the time he smells what must be the kitchen, it’s late, probably into the early hours of the morning. He’s hungry, and annoyed, and more than willing to make that someone else’s problem.

Sure enough, he finds the same kitchen door as the night before. The smell is just as enticing, but considerably more dangerous. He stands in front of the door, his hand hovering over the handle.

He isn’t betting on Sanji being behind the door, but he doesn’t think he’d mind. He scowls at the thought of getting soft on Sanji; maybe he should just go back without food. But Zoro will always satiate his curiosity over playing it safe, so he grips the handle in his hand and pulls it open. The door creaks loudly, announcing his presence to the room.

Sure enough, there’s only one, lone occupant of the kitchen late at night. Prince Sanji.

Sanji mutters to himself as he chops vegetables with a vengeance, slicing off the tops of carrots like he’s slicing off the heads of his enemies. He carefully trims the leaves off the root, tosses the leaves aside, and continues working like Zoro isn’t even there.

Zoro steps into the room and locks the door behind him.

“Hey, cook,” he greets, grinning as Sanji jumps in shock. “Didn’t think I’d see Prince Sanji back in the kitchens again.”

In an extremely violent motion, Sanji slams his knife into his cutting board. The twang of metal reverberates loudly in the room. He stares at Zoro like he’s looking at death itself.

“You,” he starts.

Zoro shrugs. “Hello, cook.”

“Don’t call me that! And besides, what the hell do you think you were pulling?! You can’t just cause a scene like that in front of Judge!”

“What, you were about to do the same damn thing, idiot!”

Sanji looks like he wants to throttle him right then and there. “I always cause scenes! That doesn’t matter! You don’t know what you’re getting into if you upset him.”

Zoro might not know the details, but by the bruises up Sanji’s arms and the way he flinched during dinner, he has enough of a picture of how Judge handles insubordination.

“I can handle it,” he says, pulling up a chair to the kitchen counter. Sanji glares, but doesn’t make any effort to shoo him away. “Not like I care, I’m not engaged to him.”

Pulling a face like he’s eaten a lemon, Sanji rolls his eyes and continues with his chopping. “Well, you’re engaged to me, and that hasn’t stopped you from being an ass. …you should just make sure not to upset him too much. You don’t exactly know what you’re dealing with.”

“And you’re not exactly telling me, either.”

At that comment, Sanji sighs. He runs his fingers down his cutting board, examining the knife dent he himself had made.

“It should be obvious. You have to be an idiot to upset a king of the North Blue. You may be strong, but you’re still mortal. You shouldn’t get on his bad side for something so trivial.”

Sanji hadn’t acted like it was trivial at dinner. He doesn’t think Sanji thinks it’s trivial now.

“Your brothers were being assholes, and you were right. It’s as simple as that.”

“It’s not as simple as that! What do you think, you’ll just get away scott-free if you piss him off? You complete…” Just as he’s about to finish his sentence, Zoro’s stomach growls loudly and obviously. Sanji loses his train of thought. “...you complete idiot,” he finishes, earlier fire lost.

So that’s his weakness. Zoro scoots his chair close to the food, eyeing the carrots Sanji’s cutting.

Sanji sighs, setting his knife down. “...I thought you would’ve had enough at dinner. You ate half of Niji’s plate.”

“I came here because it smelled good, cook,” he admits, noticing how Sanji flushes and looks away. “Come on, it only took you ten minutes to cook a fish for me. You can feed me something.”

“You’re an arrogant bastard. But I’m not going to leave you hungry.” He looks Zoro over, tapping his fingers on the counter. “...but, well… Do you have any requests?”

He shouldn’t be so nervous about it, especially with all his blustering bravado. Zoro’s beginning to think he’ll never figure Sanji out. He’d honestly be fine with whatever the cook makes for him, but there’s one thing he’s been craving for a while now.

“Onigiri,” Zoro says. He’s been wanting it since they left for this stupid mission, and he didn’t think he’d find it in the North Blue. “If you even know how to make it.”

“Hah. Rice balls? Should be easy enough.” Sanji considers something, looking Zoro over critically. “You’re from the East Blue, right?”

How much does Sanji already know about him? Zoro still feels like he’s at a disadvantage. He doesn’t answer Sanji, but by the way the cook laughs at his face, he doesn’t think he’s successfully dodged the question.

“I don’t know, cook, what do you think?”

Sanji scoffs. “You’re so obvious.”

Zoro’s denial doesn’t matter. Sanji mumbles something under his breath, then opens a series of drawers on a mission. He pulls out container after container, setting them all on the counter until he finds one old looking jar in the back. In a rush, he shoves all the containers back into the cupboard.

“You’ll have to tell me how this tastes,” he comments, then continues working on the rice.

What was the deal with that jar? Zoro leans over the counter, trying to sneak a peek at whatever the hell is in the mysterious container. Even when Sanji opens it, all he can see is what looks like completely ordinary salt. It certainly doesn’t look like anything special.

“Just hurry up, cook. I skipped dinner.”

“You didn’t skip dinner, you caused a scene,” Sanji complains, but doesn’t deny the request.

It doesn’t take him much longer to finish the onigiri. Sanji molds two perfect rice balls, salting them with two separate containers. Zoro peers suspiciously at them, not sure what the hell the cook is testing him on.

“There, onigiri,” Sanji announces, shoving the plate unceremoniously in front of Zoro. The plate rattles as he does, spinning on the counter. “Eat up.”

Zoro’s stomach growls. He doesn’t want to obey the cook so easily, but, well, his stomach has other ideas. He takes one of the rice balls in hand and shoves half of it into his mouth, setting it back down on the plate.

Predictably, it’s delicious. He wishes he could lie easily because he doesn’t want to give the prince the satisfaction. Instead, he takes a bite out of the other onigiri, chewing it slowly.

Infuriatingly, the second onigiri is even better than the first. He’s a patient man with trained impulse control, but Zoro can’t help but scarf the rest of the onigiri down much too quickly. Somehow, it tastes much closer to the onigiri back home– different, sure, but nostalgic. He hasn’t tasted something like this since leaving the East Blue.

He licks the tips of his fingers when he finishes the second onigiri, then looks up to an infuriatingly smug look from Sanji.

“I was just hungry,” Zoro defends, eating the first onigiri at a more reasonable pace. It’s good, but it doesn’t compare to the second one. “It tasted fine. Tasted like onigiri, nothing special.”

Sanji has the gall to laugh at him, then molds another riceball. “Uh-huh, sure,” he sing-songs, pinching some salt from the container he dug out. “You liked the second one better, huh?”

He doesn’t deserve an answer. Zoro’s stomach growls in protest.

“It makes sense,” Sanji says, setting one perfectly formed rice ball on a plate. Zoro resists the urge to snatch it away immediately. “All the ingredients are the same in both, but the salt’s different.”

As Sanji molds rice ball after rice ball, Zoro sits impatiently waiting for him to get the hell on with it. “Most salt from the North Blue tastes the same, it’s all from the Saumure Islands. No matter where you are in the North Blue, because of how much salt the island produces, everything will taste like the Rosesalt Sea.”

He pinches a bit of salt from the old container. “This salt, however, is from a place on the Grand Line,” Sanji explains. “Apparently, there’s an annual storm on an island there that completely covers the whole place in salt from all across the four seas. The salt ends up tasting a bit like all four seas because of it.”

Sanji pushes the plate of onigiri in front of Zoro, leaning his head on his chin. “So, of course you’d like those onigiri better. It tastes more familiar, and isn’t overpowered by the Rosesalt sea salt like every other dish from the North Blue is.”

As soon as the onigiri are in front of him, Zoro grabs one and shoves it into his mouth. It’s good, and now that Sanji’s explained himself, he finally understands why. The flavor is so subtly reminiscent of what he’d eat back in the East Blue, but with enough additional flavor to keep it interesting. It’s definitely better than the North Blue salt, that’s for sure.

He doesn’t mean to eat the entire plate down as quickly as he does, and he knows the cook will be a smug bastard about it. He’s expecting it, really, so he’s shocked when Sanji’s wearing the same, slightly embarrassed look that he wore the day before.

It’s like he doesn’t expect Zoro to enjoy this as much as he does, despite his arrogant attitude. Nothing about Sanji makes sense.

Still, though, the meal was good. He licks his fingertips clean. It doesn’t make sense that salt of all things could change the flavor so much, but he can’t deny the results. “So where the hell did you get that salt?”

Sanji’s face falls a bit, and he scratches the back of his neck.

“It’s something the old head chef used. He…” Sanji weighs the salt container in his hand, then shoves it back into the cupboard. “He doesn’t work here anymore.”

From that comment, and the comments at dinner, there’s definitely a story with that. Sanji stares down the cupboard like he just locked his very soul away in it, the previous eagerness gone from his face. The mulishness isn’t what Zoro wanted from Sanji. He doesn’t exactly know what he wanted from Sanji.

“That’s too bad,” Zoro says, tapping his fingers on the counter. He catches Sanji’s attention, and his annoyance. “I’m still hungry, though.”

“What? You just ate an entire plate!”

Zoro pouts. “I have an appetite. So what? You're not going to feed me?”

“I didn’t say that,” Sanji corrects, digging out the salt again. “...how many do you think you can eat?”

“How many do you think you can make?”

It’s not much, but it’s one idiosyncrasy figured out; the prince has a soft spot for anyone hungry. Zoro files that away for later, and tries not to look too eager when Sanji’s finished with his plate.

“You didn’t have to do what you did at dinner,” Sanji comments just when Zoro has a face full of onigiri. “And you shouldn’t do that shit again. But I…”

He scratches the back of his neck, turning so Zoro can only see the side of his face covered with his hair. “I appreciate it, mosshead. Just try not to pull that shit again.”

Zoro swallows, considering agreeing, just to keep Sanji off of his case. Instead, he shoves another rice ball into his mouth, grinning as Sanji scoffs at him.

Sanji warms up to him after that.

Warms up to him might be a slight exaggeration; he doesn’t stop insulting him, or kicking him when no one else is around, or making frankly rude comments about his hair. He does, however, start lowering his guard slightly, no longer as snippy with him about absolutely everything.

The rest of the Vinsmokes stop paying attention after the first few days, leaving Zoro to his own devices. There’s still the inherent expectation for him to court Sanji, or whatever the hell Mihawk wants, but none of the Vinsmokes seem to know what courtship is.

Perona complains about it, going on and on about how Zoro should take Sanji somewhere other than the courtyards, how he should make some big grand date of it, but he doesn’t care. He meets Sanji in the kitchens at night, too, always convincing the man to make him something after dinner.

“I only fed you the first time because you were hungry, you know,” Sanji complains, even as he cooks Zoro what he wants. “You’re like a damn dog begging for scraps.”

“I’m not begging,” Zoro snaps. He is drooling, though. “Who else are you gonna cook for?”

Sanji frowns, flipping what smells like the best fish Zoro will ever eat onto a plate. “You got me there.”

He still watches Zoro as he eats, but he’s more subtle about it than the first time. Sure, he’ll make a show of eating his own portion, then slinking off to light his own cigarette, but he’ll still watch Zoro finish out of the corner of his eye.

Just another quirk of his, one of many.

He’s also always jumpy during the spars, looking over his shoulder at any loud noises. It makes Zoro seethe; all he wants is an even playing field for a decent fight, but Sanji won’t give him one. He only really calms down when he’s in the kitchen, but Zoro’s not going to fight him there.

Instead, Zoro tries to categorize the noises that set Sanji off. Tree branches cracking are fine, but metal sword hitting steel-toed shoes isn’t. Kicking the wind out of Zoro is fine, but the moment his sword even brushes against the metal of the clasps on his cape or his bracelets he panics.

Somehow, it sets off Zoro’s Observation Haki, too, but as soon as he starts to sense something wrong, the feeling disappears. Sanji recovers, then kicks his ass, but he’s always distracted afterwards.

He hasn’t figured out what Sanji’s trying to do to him. Zoro knows it’s something, he can sense the incoming threat, but he isn’t adept enough to know exactly where that threat is coming from. Fighting Sanji turns out to be the exact practice he needs for his Observation Haki, but he still can’t figure it out.

So Zoro tries to keep pressing his one known button and find out more, and it keeps giving him a distinct advantage in their fights. But as much as Zoro tries, he can’t help but try to push Sanji into doing something more, to fully concentrate on him.

Not that Sanji has any problem beating Zoro.

The ground of the courtyard is feeling way too familiar by this point. His shoulder blades dig into the ground under him, pain jolting down his spine. He loses his grip on his swords, and he can’t retaliate before Sanji has him pressed down to the ground under his shoe.

Zoro grins, lopsided and mean, hoping to catch Sanji off guard. It doesn’t work; he’s thoroughly beat.

“Hah, would Judge be mad if he found out you were beating up your fiance?”

With a scoff, Sanji digs his heel into the soft flesh just under Zoro’s ribs. It takes all Zoro’s effort not to wince. “What would Hawkeyes do if he found out you can’t win? I’m not even using a weapon. It’s pathetic.”

Zoro’s getting slightly better at recognizing Sanji’s deflections and his bait. He’s not falling for it this time. “Probably say I deserved to get my ass kicked,” he says. “Answer the damn question, cook.”

He’s expecting Sanji to kick him again– he’s looking forward to it, honestly– but instead he backs off, scuffing his shoe in the dirt. “...well, he wouldn’t believe it,” Sanji admits. “He gave up on my fighting abilities a long time ago.”

Zoro has also very quickly decided his initial poor impression of Vinsmoke Judge was accurate. Judge hasn’t shown his face much in the last week, but Zoro can sense the shadow of his presence in every damn interaction he has with the cook. It doesn’t take an idiot to piece together his jumpiness and the threat of his father.

He knows he’s just here for the month-long fake marriage, but it frustrates Zoro to no end. He shouldn’t, but every tidbit of information makes him more protective of the stupid cook.

“What an idiot,” Zoro says. “Is that why you’re the one he’s sending off to marry?”

It was a rhetorical question– Zoro already figured that was the case– but Sanji pauses, taking way too long to answer. “I guess so,” he says. “Too bad he didn’t realize he was marrying me off to some masochistic bastard. Come on, try harder next time. Do you want me to kick your ass three times in a row?”

It’s another deflection.

Sanji steps on the hilt of Zoro’s blade, kicking it just out of reach. “Or are you finally admitting defeat? What good’s a swordsman without his sword?”

It’s another deflection, but this time Zoro falls for it.

“You’re on, cook,” Zoro spits back, and darts toward his sword.

The days pass faster than Zoro anticipates, probably because Sanji is so insistent on either fighting him or feeding him. And despite himself, Zoro doesn’t hate the time he spends with the stupid prince. He doesn’t know what threat he’s planning, but he doesn’t exactly care. He’s enjoying himself too much.

Zoro’s never really had a proper sparring partner. Sure, he has Mihawk, but Mihawk holds back on him. Outside his occasional skittishness, Sanji doesn’t hold back on him at all. He keeps seeking him out, again and again.

There’s only one thing Zoro misses now, and, well, he’s not exactly going to beg the cook for it, or anything.

He needs a damn drink.

Zoro hasn’t had decent alcohol since he boarded this damn ship. For all he mocks Mihawk for his vast collection of wine, he has to admit he does have some taste. He has variety, at the very least. Judge’s alcohol selection is almost purposefully bad; he doesn’t have a taste for it at all.

So when Sanji offers him some of his own liquor recommendations, it’s hard to say no.

“I thought you said you liked booze? Booze, fighting, and food?” Sanji asks, smirking like he already knows how Zoro will answer. “Come on. You can’t be happy with the amount of wine you get at dinner.”

He isn’t happy with it. “Depends on what you have,” Zoro grumbles. It really doesn’t depend on what Sanji has, Zoro will take it regardless. “Maybe you have shit taste.”

“Just admit you want it.” Sanji sets a bottle of something on the counter. The label is peeling off at the corner, dust on the neck of the bottle. “Or do you want Judge’s wine selection instead?”

Something ugly must show on his face because Sanji laughs at him.

He relents; the alcohol is predictably good, an old aged rum that Sanji’s apparently been holding off on for some time. Just like the salt Sanji had made him try, the rum’s not from the North Blue, and he listens to the cook go on and on about where it’s from. He talks about the place like he’s been there himself, but when Zoro asks he’s quick to clarify it’s just something he’s read.

Two drinks in, and Sanji’s face is already flush red. The booze he brought out is high enough proof to kick anyone on their ass, but Sanji is particularly insistent on his own high tolerance.

“You can’t be on a third glass already,” Sanji says, but nevertheless pours him another good two fingers of rum. “You’re insatiable.”

“Hah, yet you’re still giving me more,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were actually trying to woo me with this.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sanji scoffs. “But…” He runs his finger along his own glass, the noise loud in the quiet of the night. “But, really. I can’t believe you’re dragging out this courtship for so long.”

Zoro frowns. Sanji brings up marrying him early an awful lot, but that’s one thing he’s obligated to keep the same. They need to wait until Germa’s in the Rosesalt Sea before even pretending to side with Germa. Otherwise, Judge would just send them off to the Saumure Islands before even entering the sea.

“I still don’t like you or anything, but…” Sanji pauses. “Are you really that opposed to marrying me, mosshead?”

“No, but…” He can’t bring himself to lie. If this was an actual courtship, he may have a different answer. “The date’s set in stone. I’m sure you could deal with flattering me another week.”

Selfishly, Zoro wants that additional time to spend with Sanji. The first two weeks started off rough, but Zoro fell into the whole courtship act way too easily. It would be a lie to even call his friendliness with the cook acting.

“That’s too bad,” Sanji says, his earlier mood gone. “Thought I’d finally have you after that.”

“It’s only one more week,” Zoro argues uselessly.

One more week isn’t a long time. Despite his confidence going into this plan, he’s left with the uneasy uncertainty of what, exactly, will happen to him specifically when they finally lure Germa into the Revolutionary’s trap. He’s sure he could reason with Mihawk, but he’s not sure he could reason with Sanji.

Sanji hasn’t noticed the silence, caught in his own thoughts. He stares down his own glass, expression pinched.

“Cook?”

“...you know, I hadn’t had the chance to cook for anyone in a long time. The stuff I cook goes to the staff, but I’m not really allowed to eat with them,” Sanji says, almost quiet enough that Zoro doesn’t hear him. “I’m glad I got the chance.”

Zoro swallows. He never could figure out why Sanji looked so interested in watching him eat; he thought it was to test his reaction for the next meal, but…

Evidently embarrassed. he tacks on a bit too quickly, “Not like it matters much what you think, anyway. You’d eat anything I put in front of you.”

“Not like you mind,” Zoro counters.

Sanji shrugs, pouring Zoro another glass. He hasn’t finished his own, but he still looks fairly flushed. The low lighting of the kitchen keeps catching in his hair. It completely covers his face, making it hard to tell what Sanji’s thinking.

“Fair enough,” he says. He swirls the bottle around in his hand, pouring the last drop of liquid into his own glass.

The pensive sits heavy in the room. As quickly as Zoro had finished the last few drinks, he takes his time with this one, using the pause in conversation to indulge in looking at Sanji a little too obviously.

From what Zoro can see, his face is flushed red from alcohol or embarrassment, or both. He keeps carding his hand through his hair, the light of the room bouncing off his gold bracelets as he does. Zoro normally only has the chance to concentrate on Sanji when they’re fighting.

Zoro swallows thickly, staring back down at his drink. He doesn’t want to leave Sanji here. The realization hits him hard and fast, and suddenly he’s very aware of the limited time he has left in this farce of an engagement.

“You’re pretty eager to tie the knot,” Zoro comments. Sanji finally looks at him; he’s messed up his own hair enough that Zoro can finally see both his eyes. “You looking forward to getting out of Germa?”

Sanji blinks. “What? I didn’t say anything about that.”

“Just guessing.” Zoro thinks he’s right, though. And just like anything with the cook, he’s going to bully the truth out of him.

All he gets is an annoyed scoff in reply. “I don’t need you guessing about me. Maybe I just want to marry your dumbass, did you think about that?”

Now he’s thinking about that. The snide comment makes his heart race unexpectedly, and not wanting to dwell on that, Zoro downs the rest of his drink in one go.

He hasn’t thought as far forward as he should. He doesn’t mind Sanji’s presence– he’s started to look forward to it, honestly– but it doesn’t change the fact that Mihawk’s going to upend the cook’s entire country in a matter of days. Though, with how Judge treats him, he’s not sure Sanji should mind.

“Hey, cook…” he starts, not sure where exactly he’s going until the words are out. “When we’re out of Germa, do you think–”

“Don’t,” Sanji cuts him off, one hand hitting the counter. The harsh tone startles them both, and Sanji looks almost surprised at his own words.

“Don’t what?”

“Just stop talking. I don’t…” Sanji pauses, considering something. “I don’t want to think about being out of Germa until it’s happened,” he says.

He smiles, though there’s something off that Zoro just can’t pinpoint. It’s definitely forced, but he doesn’t know why.

“And it’s time for you to scram, you’re out of the whole bottle,” Sanji says, despite being the one to finish it off. “You’ll get caught if you stay here any longer.”

That’s not true. He just wants to avoid a conversation.

“Cook–”

“Personally, I don’t want to run into my brothers down here,” he continues. “And I’m sure you don’t either.”

He doesn’t want to run into them, sure, but more importantly, he doesn’t want Sanji running into them. The lingering threat is enough to force Zoro to drop it, just like he always does.

“Thanks for the booze, cook,” he says, downing Sanji’s glass.

Sanji doesn’t even complain about it. Instead, he simply rolls his eyes, and once Zoro’s done, leads him back to the guest quarters.

They only have a couple days left in Germa, and somehow the weather keeps getting worse.

The air is just cold as the day they came to this shit kingdom, but now even the previously clear air feels heavy in his lungs. Sanji had explained something about the air closer to the Rosesalt Sea carrying more salt, making everything drier. It’s unpleasant, and all it does is remind Zoro that they’re closer to the Saumure Islands than ever.

Then, Perona and Mihawk call an emergency meeting, the both of them acting like they’re about to all die.

Mihawk doesn’t even say what the meeting is for. He simply calls them all to the guest chambers, and forces them to sit around a two-person-max table as he pages through documents. And even though Zoro can normally pry the problem out of Perona, she’s being… irritating.

“Did you have a fun date, Zoro? Are you having fun leading on a prince?”

“Don’t mock me, I’m doing what I’m supposed to,” Zoro grumbles. He kicks at Perona from under the table, but she dodges easily.

“You never do what you’re supposed to! Are you actually having fun with Prince Sanji?”

He does what he’s supposed to sometimes. “I don’t need to hear it from you. All I’m doing is…” he pauses, not sure how to explain himself. All he does is spar with Sanji and eat Sanji’s cooking. Sometimes he has a drink or two for variety. “...what the shitty prince wants.”

“Wow, so you really are leading him on,” Perona says.

“I’m not leading him on!” Zoro can’t stop his face from flushing. He snarls, dragging a hand over his face in an effort to conceal the worst of his blush. “I’m just playing my role.”

Perona huffs. “And your role is leading him on! You keep going on dates! Everyone thinks you’ll actually get hitched before your month is over.”

“He’s my fiance,” Zoro spits. Shit, the word fiance sounds weird on his tongue, and somehow it makes his face heat even more than it already is. “What am I supposed to do? You said I had to put on a good act. Am I supposed to act like I hate him the whole time?”

“I thought you did hate him.”

Is there no way to win this conversation? “I do,” Zoro growls, and then the lie feels even heavier than the word fiance. He doesn’t hate Sanji exactly, but he doesn’t need to clarify shit.

Perona makes a face, expression pinching in one of her more annoying expressions. She thinks she has something on Zoro, and she’s smug about it. “You don’t hate him,” she sing-songs, and Zoro tries to push her out of her chair.

“Hey!” Perona hovers just above her fallen chair, crossing her legs. “Don’t push me!”

“You’re a ghost, it doesn’t matter!”

“It’s the principle of it! Oh, you stupid…”

Zoro kicks her chair further across the room.

“I didn’t bring you two here to watch you bicker,” Mihawk interrupts. “Zoro’s performance is not the issue at hand. He’s doing an impeccable job acting as Prince Sanji’s smitten betrothed.”

Smitten? He’s not smitten. He’s just– he’s not. Perona laughs next to him, too comfortable with mocking him.

“Vinsmoke Judge has been too calm about his plan failing,” he continues, ignoring Perona’s snickering. “By this point, he should be trying to enact a back up plan. His end goal is to marry off his son as fast as possible, but he hasn’t tried to speed up the process at all.”

“What? Yes he has. The cook… Prince Sanji tries to get me to marry him daily.”

“Oh, and I bet you’re sooo sad about that, you smitten betrothed.”

“Again, not the point,” Mihawk sighs. “Prince Sanji may be trying to speed up your marriage, but Judge hasn’t made any moves at all. He hasn’t even tried to talk with Zoro since the first dinner party.”

Zoro frowns. That’s… not untrue, but he thought he’d simply made a bad enough impression to be avoided.

“It would be completely foolish for him not to have a backup plan. He desperately needs to gain our favor before we’re in the Rosesalt Sea, otherwise he’s at risk of being ambushed by two separate enemies, but he doesn’t seem to even be bothered by the risk.”

Judge seems easily bothered, but he hasn’t seen the bastard since the first week. He really can’t say anything. He doesn’t want Mihawk to be right about anything, but he has to admit that it’s odd that Judge hasn’t even bothered to threaten him.

“So? He’s arrogant, probably thinks his plan is flawless.”

Mihawk tuts. “His plan relies on his least favored son. If he had any confidence in him, I would consider this a test of his abilities. But the stakes are too high for him to wager victory on someone he clearly despises.”

…Just what had Judge said at all the dinners Zoro skipped? A too familiar surge of protective anger almost takes over him, and Zoro grits his teeth together. He knows Judge doesn’t like Sanji, and he knows Sanji doesn’t like Judge. But of all of his stupid children, Sanji is his best of them.

What a stupid thought. He flushes, looking away. “...So what if he has a backup plan? If it’s as bad as his regular plan, it won’t be that hard to figure out.”

Mihawk tilts his head. “But we don’t know anything. And since Perona has proved ineffective at spying–”

“--h-hey! I’m not ineffective, I’m just…” Perona trails off, not finding the words to deny it. “Princess Reiju is just impossible to talk to! And she’s very perceptive. I don’t want her to figure out our plan. And, and it’s not like you’re making progress with Judge, Mihawk–”

“--you need to collect as much information as you can from Prince Sanji. Perona and I will keep Judge and his siblings occupied in the meantime, but you’ll need to uncover the details of his backup plan.”

“He doesn’t have a backup plan,” Zoro insists. But he’s beginning to think Mihawk might be right.

Mihawk knows him too well; he only rolls his eyes, then shoos Zoro away. “Let me know when you figure it out,” he says. “We only have a few days before we rendezvous with the Revolutionaries, so do your best not to fail.”

“The courtyard? Again?” Zoro complains, dragging his feet as he follows after Sanji. “I’m sick of kicking your ass there. Find somewhere new.”

“You’re only sick of it because you keep losing, mosshead.” Before Zoro can refute him properly, Sanji waves him off. “Besides, we’re not going to fight this time. You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

Zoro huffs. There’s not much else to do in the courtyard, but he has to play nice with Sanji today. If Mihawk thinks they’re missing something, his best bet to find an answer is to interrogate Sanji. No one else has made progress in their spying, not even Perona, so it’s now his job to figure out what, exactly, is Judge’s backup plan.

“If we’re not going to fight, what are we going to do? Twiddle our thumbs? Pick flowers?”

“There’s no flowers in Germa, idiot.”

“That doesn’t answer the damn question, shithead.”

Sanji pauses before responding, looking oddly nervous. The expression is quickly masked with an annoyed huff, and Sanji strives forward, dragging Zoro with him.

“It doesn’t matter. Just trust me, it’ll be nice,” he says. “...at least by Germa standards.”

Zoro doesn’t know what he’s expecting from Sanji’s mysterious plan, but it’s not for the man to lead him to a tree. He peers at it, trying to find anything interesting about it, but other than the scuffs and dents in the bark, there’s nothing to see.

“It’s… a tree,” Zoro notes. He peers at it again, wondering what the hell he’s missing.

Sanji laughs, then kicks into one of the dents in the tree. It fits the tip of his shoe perfectly, and he uses the foot handle to climb further up the tree. He stares down at Zoro, and the height advantage annoys him like nothing else.

“Hurry up, I’m not going to wait for you,” Sanji taunts, then continues climbing up the tree.

“Hey! Stupid cook,” Zoro yells back, trying and failing to match his pace up the tree. He’s no match for Sanji’s familiar pace, but he doesn’t want to fall behind.

The path up the tree is well-worn, bark peeling on each foothold and branch that Sanji uses. He doesn’t know why Sanji wants him to climb a tree, of all things, but like an idiot he follows regardless. The branches of the tree grow thicker the more they climb, poking into his side. Leaves catch in his hair, and he’s never felt more clumsy.

Sanji finally stops at a large branch where the tree trunk splits in two, sitting down on the edge of it. He scoots over then motions next to him, and it’s hard to ignore how damn smug he looks.

“Surprised to see you made it up here,” he says. Then, if that’s not annoying enough, he motions to Zoro’s head and adds, “Maybe instead of moss you should have leaves for hair. It looks good on you.”

“Shut up!” Shaking the leaves out of his head, Zoro pulls himself up next to Sanji. “I can push you off so easily, cook. Why the hell did you make me climb up this thing?”

Sanji shrugs, the uncharacteristic nervousness back. “It’s… look,” he points out in front of him, toward the sea.

It’s just the sea. The ocean looks as cold as it did the day before.

“It’s almost like we’re not in Germa out here,” Sanji adds.

That causes Zoro to pause, reconsidering the view again. The cold sea breeze rustles the leaves around them, the distinct salty smell almost ignorable among the smell of bark. All Zoro can see is the harsh North Blue ocean on the horizon, and the courtyard trees around them.

Zoro leans back against the trunk of the tree, shoulders bumping into Sanji’s. Sanji doesn’t try to move, and Zoro doesn’t know if it’s because he’s comfortable, or if there's not enough space. Either way, his arm is warm against Zoro’s side, especially as he leans over to pluck a dying leaf off one of the top tree branches.

“It’s not much, but…” Sanji starts, twiddling the leaf between his fingers. “This is the only place away from the castle that looks normal. Not even Reiju knows to find me here, so you better not go blabbing about it to anyone else.”

Zoro doesn’t say anything. Sanji drops the leaf and watches it fall to the ground, the wind tossing it around. It’s too small to see when it lands on the ground.

As Sanji goes for another leaf, he stretches almost too far off the branch, and Zoro grabs his arm before he falls down. That startles Sanji more than the potential fall itself, but he adjusts without even thanking, or chiding, Zoro for the save. He simply continues plucking dead leaves from the top branches.

When he’s finally satisfied, he starts dropping the leaves, one by one. Zoro can’t make out his expression, not from this angle. He can only see part of his face as the wind rustles his bangs. He tries not to look at Sanji for too long, or too obviously.

“So, what the hell did you want to talk about? We weren’t even supposed to go out today.”

…Right, Zoro’s about to break whatever peace Sanji has with his nosing around. He waits a moment or two longer before he says anything. The wind moves Sanji’s bangs away from his face just enough for him to see his eyes for a single, lingering moment.

“We’re getting married in a week,” Zoro starts, “And I’m still not sure why.”

Sanji huffs, dropping three more leaves back to the ground. “What, you’re not madly in love with me?”

Zoro doesn’t want to answer that.

“I want to know what Judge is actually after,” Zoro says instead. “I know what Mihawk’s agreed to do for him, but no offense, the guy doesn’t seem like someone who wants allies.”

At least that startles a laugh out of Sanji. He leans back into the tree, close enough that Zoro can feel as his arm trembles.

“You’re right, he’s not really the ally type. He’s conquered every other kingdom in the North Blue all by himself. This one, though…” he laughs, almost delighted at the thought, “This one he tried to conquer first, and he failed. He’s tried to conquer it a couple of times, actually.”

Zoro knows this much. Vinsmoke Judge has tried, and failed, to conquer all the kingdoms of the North Blue, making him just desperate enough for that failure to be used against him.

“Everywhere else he’s managed to brute force a victory, but the Rosesalt Sea is unconquerable. It’s too salty for the snail ships. As soon as they get close enough to the sea, they start slowing down, and wither, and we get raided or attacked before Judge can even send out my brothers to destroy everything.”

Stretching his leg out, Sanji relaxes against Zoro’s shoulder. “It’s pretty taboo in the North Blue to ask outsiders for help. Asking for help is weak on its own, but asking for help from someone from another sea is unheard of. Even Judge’s closest allies would side against him if he asked for outside help.”

“But he still needs it,” Zoro pipes up.

“But he still needs it. So he had to make sure Hawkeyes technically wasn’t an outsider, so he married off his most unnecessary child.”

He motions lazily to himself, almost falling off the branch again as he does. Zoro grabs his arm again and pulls him back, though it’s with enough force that Sanji’s practically leaning in his lap now.

“Watch it, cook.”

“What, you think I haven’t jumped out of a tree before? I’ll be fine,” Sanji retorts, but he doesn’t move off of Zoro.

He can finally see Sanji’s side profile clearly, his face set in a small frown as he turns back to the ocean. “So as long as we’re married, Hawkeyes is technically my father-in-law, and Judge can ask for his help and save face. The Saumure Islands are well-defended by their seas, but Judge is betting on their defenses crumbling if we can get close enough.”

Zoro knows about this plan; he’s heard it from Mihawk. The details from Sanji are different, but the broad story is the same: Judge can’t conquer the North Blue himself, and needs someone else to do it for him. He hadn’t known the marriage was because of some North Blue politics, but he can’t say he’s surprised.

Other than that, though, there’s nothing new.

“And that’s it? He doesn’t even have a backup plan?”

He’s expecting some casual response, like the rest of the conversation has been, but instead, Sanji freezes. He twists even further away from Zoro, bringing his hands closer to his chest. Suddenly, Zoro is aware of how cold the air is without Sanji sitting flush next to him.

“No, he has a backup plan,” Sanji says slowly. He rubs at his wrists, frowning to himself. “It’s just not…”

Zoro waits, knowing if he waits long enough the cook will cave. Eventually, Sanji does cave– partially. He leans back against Zoro, still facing off toward the sea.

“Just watch your back. It’d be easy enough for Judge to make the Samurians think you’re outsiders again, and they’ll side with Judge in a heartbeat,” he says. “It doesn’t matter how much they hate him, they won’t even question it.”

He slumps against Zoro, dropping his remaining leaves to the ground. They all fall in the wind, some blowing all the way out to sea.

“You’re strong, but I don’t think you can handle the two-on-one,” Sanji continues. “So no matter what happens, keep that in mind.”

So Judge does have a backup plan, after all; use Mihawk as a scapegoat. That’s not much information, but that’s more than he had before.

The leaves rustle again, and he’s caught by the idea that this is one of the few places Sanji likes in this damn place. It is oddly calming compared to the rest of the castle, even with the blistering wind. If he stays out here long enough, he can pretend this is just a chilly day back in the East Blue.

What had Sanji said? That Zoro was the first one he’s brought here? And all he did with Sanji in his tree is try to pry information out of him.

“Hey, cook,” Zoro says. He swallows, not sure what to say. “It’s nice.”

“What?”

“Your tree is nice,” he clarifies.

Sanji finally turns toward him completely, light catching in his eyes. The wind catches in his hair again, and for a moment Zoro can see both of his eyes in the light. His heart stutters traitorously in his chest, but he refuses to look away.

“Told you it’d be nice,” Sanji says. He leans back into Zoro, elbowing him in the ribs as he does. “The courtyard, again? Though maybe you’re just bad at climbing trees– I wonder how many branches you’ll get in your hair on the way down–”

Sanji plucks another handful of leaves from the tree, placing them on Zoro’s head. “I think your hair looks better this way,” he says.

Flushing, Zoro shakes his head as hard as he can to dislodge the leaves. One persistent leaf sticks in his hair, and he plucks it out and tosses it in Sanji’s face. “I’m going to push you out of this tree, cook! I’ll test if you really can land on the ground!”

All Sanji does is laugh brightly, then shove more leaves in Zoro’s hair.

Chapter Text

As they approach the Saumure Island waters, a singular patrol ship is there to meet them.

The ship barely has enough room on it for half a crew, the minimal set of five people almost seeming like too many people to navigate the thing. The crew bumbles about on the ship, rocking it back and forth. It tips in the water, looking awfully tiny compared to the Germa flagships.

“I thought Germa and this Saumure Kingdom didn’t get along,” Perona mutters next to him. “Why are they sending over a ship to meet us? It doesn’t even look like they have a single cannon on board!”

Germa and the Saumure Kingdom don’t get along. The only reason that he can think of for the Saumurian being here at all is the vague backup plan Mihawk believes in, and Sanji corroborated.

“Can’t be anything good,” Zoro answers.

The actual welcoming entourage is not much of a threat. Most of the crew looks like just that– an ordinary ship crew, set to man one, tiny ship. They’re even a bit more waspish than a normal ship crew, one of them running around with what looks like a pile of transponder snails.

The main exception is a small man, equally unthreatening as the crew but definitely unused to sea travel. He’s barely to Zoro’s shoulders, and it looks like a stiff breeze would knock him over. The tips of his clothing, hair, and even his nose are covered in a bright pink dusting of salt. It flicks off him like dandruff, but no matter how much falls off, the salt never seems to end.

“Hello! We got your letter– congrats on the wedding!” the man says, shaking Zoro’s hands enthusiastically. When they separate, Zoro’s palm is covered in pink salt. “I was surprised to hear that the Germa Kingdom, of all people, requested our notary service, but I suppose we’re the best in the North Blue!”

He’s a notary? Germa requested a notary, of all things? Probably something to do with how official they needed to make this marriage for North Blue politics.

“I’m sure with our validation, your partnership will be known far and wide,” he continues on. “We’ll send out the announcement as soon as the ceremony is finalized. And don’t worry, we won’t interrupt the ceremony— it’ll be like we aren’t even there!”

Taking Zoro’s baffled silence as some kind of agreement, the man moves on next to Sanji.

“And you must be Germa’s groom! It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Prince Sanji,” he continues. He eyes Sanij up and down, his eyes catching on wrists. “Oh, and those bracelets…!”

Sanji freezes stiff. “Yes, they’re…”

“They’re your engagement present, yes?” asks the notary, holding Sanji’s hands and examining his bright gold bracelets. He nods approvingly at Zoro, for some reason. “You have good taste! This kind of metal is hard to come by in the North Blue.”

Zoro frowns; he didn’t do shit. Why is he being blamed for these damn bracelets? The notary looks expectedly at him for an answer, and Sanji looks horribly uncomfortable. “Is it rare?” he asks. “Huh. Didn’t know.”

“It was a lovely gift,” Sanji says through gritted teeth. He pulls his hands away, shoving them in his pockets. “I’m sure you have a lot to discuss with King Judge, don’t you?”

The notary startles, then nods enthusiastically. “Right! Right, I shouldn’t be making small talk, we have a lot of negotiations to talk through, and more important details of your ceremony. It should be soon, yes?”

Sanji glances at Zoro and sighs miserably. His shoulders sag forward, as if pressed down by a weight Zoro can’t see. “It’ll be in a couple days,” he answers. “The snailships delay our progress in the salty waters, so we may be more delayed than what you’re used to.”

They should be in Saumure Islands waters soon. Then Zoro can be done with this entire farce, and he can… he can improvise what the hell to do about Sanji when the Revolutionaries try to take Germa down.

He hadn’t expected to worry about Sanji through the final act of this damn plan. He thought he’d be excited for the end of Mihawk’s scheme, but instead he feels an unfamiliar apprehension. They hadn’t planned around saving anyone from Germa; the Revolutionaries were pretty set on destroying the place entirely.

“Not a problem at all! It means I don’t have to rush our set up– we have some complicated snail set ups you see, especially if we want to officially notarize this with the Saumure Islands, we’ll need to make sure we send video confirmation to the island–”

He continues yammering on, Sanji nodding as he does but not fully listening. He’s the most unattentive Zoro’s ever seen him, rubbing at his wrists and muttering one-word answers when prompted. Zoro catches his eyes only once, and he immediately looks away.

The feeling of dread is back. They still don’t know what Judge’s backup plan is, exactly, but Zoro knows it has something to do with that damn notary.

“Hey, you,” Zoro interrupts. “Your crew’s almost finished unloading, someone…” he looks around for a distraction. “…my lovely sister Perona can help you find your rooms.”

The notary chatters excitedly with Perona, all too eager to have someone to blab to. Perona sends him her regards— a furious death glare— but she does walk away with him.

By the time they’re all gone, though, so is Sanji. He’s nowhere to be seen, leaving only Zoro in the chilly North Blue air.

Despite the ominous arrival of the Saumure Islands notary, dinner is practically a party.

If Zoro didn’t know any better, he’d say the notary and Judge were acting like old friends, rather than bitter enemies. He keeps laughing loudly at whatever the notary says, pouring him more and more wine. The Vinsmoke brothers act as cruel and jovial as always.

The only people who seem tense are Sanji and, oddly enough, his sister, Reiju. She smiles politely when the Saumurian staff make conversation with her, but her focus is fixated elsewhere– on either Sanji, or him. If he as much as drops his silverware she has him pinned with a glare.

Sanji keeps a similar front of normalcy up, answering any and every question about his courtship with lie after lie. Zoro tries paying attention to him at first, but nothing is as egregious as the lie about the bracelet.

Every now and then, he’ll kick Sanji under the table, causing him to jump. He doesn’t even kick back, instead ignoring him.

After the third kick, Mihawk stares at him, one eyebrow raised. Zoro snarls back. He’s picked up on the nervous mood too; he’s going to have to talk with Sanji about the backup plan again.

Zoro finds Sanji in the kitchens after dinner, but unlike every other time he’s found him there, he isn’t cooking. Instead, he’s smoking up a storm near the one open window in the place, cold air settling into the room. It makes the kitchen feel just as cold as the rest of the castle.

He doesn’t even notice Zoro entering at first. He keeps scowling out the window, his jaw set in a tense line that only relaxes when he takes a hit from his cigarette.

“Hey, cook.”

Sanji nearly jumps out of his own skin, trying and failing to hide his shock. He opens his mouth, closes it, then motions for Zoro to sit down at the kitchen counter. The counter is an awful long way from where Sanji is now, so Zoro drags one stool toward Sanji instead.

“Sorry, I don’t have anything for you.” The air is thick with smoke, obscuring Sanji’s face. “There should be some half-decent sake in the cupboard if you want that, but–”

“I don’t,” Zoro interrupts.

Sanji blinks, shocked, then covers it up with a sneer. “What, you want the good stuff? …You’re lucky I’m feeling generous, it’s on the top shelf behind the cupboard.”

“I mean I’m not here for booze, or food, or whatever! I’m here because you’re acting weird.”

Ash falls from the tip of Sanji’s cigarette onto his shoe, but he makes no attempt at cleaning it off. Instead, he gapes at Zoro, somehow shocked at the concern.

“I’m not acting weird,” Sanji claims. “This is– this is normal.”

It doesn’t look normal. Zoro’s only been here for around a month and he has a feel for when the cook is relaxed. He hasn’t been relaxed since the notary arrived, and especially since the notary commented on the damn bracelets.

Something must show on his face. “I’m not acting weird!” Sanji repeats, motioning dramatically with his hands, dropping his cigarette entirely. The lit end hits his wrist, just under the bracelet, and he doesn’t even wince at the burn.

The hairs on Zoro’s arms stick on end, but Sanji keeps talking.

“You’ve only been here for a damn month, you don’t know what I’m actually like at all, so you don’t get to say if I’m acting weird!”

His Observation Haki is triggering again? Now? Sanji’s angry, but it’s not like he’s going to kill Zoro or anything. There’s no mistaking it, though. He can sense an incoming threat.

“If you were listening to what I said the other day, you’d know that Judge doesn’t make deals very often. It’s not like I’m used to interacting with anyone from the North Blue that he hasn’t already conquered.”

Sanji’s hands clench at his sides, but he can’t contain his own dramatic hand movements. The next one has his bracelets clattering loudly on his wrists, each chime demanding Zoro’s attention.

That’s the source of what’s been bothering him this whole time.

“Maybe you can go around saying whatever the hell you feel like without your life on the line, but I can’t! If I do, I’ll…”

If Zoro closes his eye, he can pinpoint the exact movement of the threat. Every time Sanji moves his arms, every time the bracelets chime, the threat moves.

Sanji’s tirade is just a distant background noise. Is that it? Is that the threat he’s been sensing this whole time?

“You know what? It doesn’t matter. You don’t have any right to come down here and accuse me of acting weird.”

The bracelets would make sense, wouldn’t they? The notary even thought they were from Zoro himself. That struck Zoro as an extremely purposeful lie, but he hadn’t understood the implications at all. But if there’s something dangerous about the bracelets, and Judge is lying and claiming they were from Zoro…

Sanji isn’t the threat triggering his Observation Haki. The threat is specifically toward Sanji, in the form of two shiny bracelets.

“Look, just take your sake and go back to your room, and quit fucking with me for one damn day. Wedding’s in a couple days, I’m not going to convince you to change the date, so just…”

Zoro darts forward, holding Sanji’s wrist in his hand. Sanji tries to pull away immediately, but Zoro doesn’t let him. He runs his thumb against the metal, trying to find a clasp, but there’s nothing. The things are practically welded over Sanji’s wrists.

“Are you even listening to me?! What the– let go of my arm, you–”

“What the hell are these bracelets?” Zoro asks. Sanji’s hand goes limp in his grip. “You said I gave them to you.”

For a moment, Zoro thinks Sanji is finally going to be honest. His eyes water, looking like an animal caught in a snare. Then, he stiffens, and tries to yank his hand away.

“They’re just bracelets, mosshead. The Saumurians wouldn’t believe that you’d marry into the family if you hadn’t brought some kind of wedding gift. Since you were too rude to even do that, Judge gave me something beforehand.”

It would be a convincing lie if Zoro didn’t know there’s another threat with these damn things. If Saumure is convinced that Zoro gave Sanji the bracelets, and something happened to Sanji with them on, then all the blame is pinned on Zoro.

If it’s true that Saumure would side with Germa if they perceived an external threat, then Judge’s backup plan starts to click into place.

“They’re not just bracelets. They’re some kind of threat.” At Sanji’s flinch, Zoro knows he’s right. “And whatever they do to you, Judge is going to pin the blame of whatever they do on me.”

Sanji remains silent. He’s doing his best to hide his face from Zoro, hair covering his expression, but there’s no mistaking that response. Zoro’s right. He’s been right about the threat, and now he’s right about how that threat plays into Judge’s backup plan.

Before he has the chance to feel any kind of satisfaction at his dedication, Sanji starts shaking in his grip. A pit forms in Zoro’s stomach; he hasn’t had the time to rationalize the fact that even though the plan is aimed at screwing him over, Sanji’s the collateral.

But now Sanji’s shaking, and scared, and trying to pry Zoro’s hand away with a skittish desperation. He never touches the bracelets themselves, making sure to keep his distance.

“Zoro, let me go,” Sanji begs. “If you accidentally set them off, I…”

Zoro swallows. “I’ll let you go, but if you try to run off, I’ll just grab you again,” he says.

As soon as Sanji nods, Zoro lets him go. Sanji rubs at the red handprints on his wrist, still keeping sure not to actually touch the bracelets themselves.

He lets the cook catch his breath. He’s not trying to run, but he does look defeated. The earlier denial is gone, replaced with complete resignation.

“I’m right, aren’t I, cook?” He needs to hear it from Sanji. “The bracelets are the backup plan.”

More accurately, hurting Sanji is the backup plan.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sanji mutters. “It’s not like I didn’t try to warn you. You can put the details together enough to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.”

Sanji was worried about warning him? Zoro’s not the one who’s actually being threatened. He was always expecting a shit storm of a fight at the end of this. But he wasn’t expecting that shitstorm to reach Sanji.

“I said you couldn’t handle the two on one,” Sanij clarifies, like that’s what Zoro was confused about. “I was the one to tell you Judge had a backup plan to begin with.”

“You didn’t tell me the details!”

“And I didn’t need to!”

Zoro groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. This is impossible– if Sanji already knew he was in danger, why wouldn’t he just say something? Did he really think his only way out of this was marrying Zoro before they reached the Saumure Islands?

Was he content with being the scapegoat?

Sanji laughs, low and bitter, then straightens his posture. It’s supposed to make him look intimidating, but instead he looks like a taut branch about to snap.

“The details were never going to make a difference– if I wasn’t able to convince you to move a wedding up a week, I wasn’t going to convince you to save me. What the hell did it matter?”

“You’re an idiot,” Zoro starts. “You think if I knew I’d just let you die?”

“Yes! Yes I do think you’ll just let me die!” Scrubbing at his eyes, Sanji takes in one loud, shaky breath. “Because I know you’re not actually here to marry me! You’re leading Germa into a trap.”

Zoro freezes, one eye widening. He hadn’t thought Sanji realized anything about that part of the plan.

“Hah, shocked? You’re not the only one who can figure shit out. Don’t lecture me on withholding details when you haven’t exactly been honest either,” Sanji spits. “You’re not here to court me. You’re here to waste my damn time.”

“Cook,” Zoro tries, but Sanji swats him away.

“Don’t cook me,” he hisses. His eyes are wet, and he quickly hides the expression from Zoro. “Look, it’s…” His voice lowers, sounding awfully choked out. “I don’t care how much you’ve been acting, it’s been… you’ve been a decent enough distraction. But there was never any way Judge was going to lose.”

“If it just takes moving the damn wedding up–”

“It’s useless at this point,” Sanji says. “Now that the backup plan is set, Judge can either conquer the Saumure Islands without screwing me over and risk the snail ships getting stuck in the Rosesalt Sea, or conquer the Saumure Islands and screw me over. What do you think he’s going to prefer?”

Sanji rubs at his wrists, right under the bracelets. The imprints of Zoro’s fingers are still red on Sanji's arm. The nervous tick is familiar, but the context is new. Sanji’s way too careful about even brushing up against the metal.

Zoro’s probably touched the outside of the bracelets more than Sanji. Hell, he’s hit them before during their spars. It did always catch Sanji off guard, like he was expecting a much more grievous attack.

“...what do they do to you?”

“What?”

Zoro tries to ignore how choked-out Sanji sounds. He has to know, he needs to know. “The bracelets. What are they going to do to you?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sanji sneers at Zoro in a pitiful attempt to save face. “Does it matter?”

“If it didn’t matter to you, you’d just answer the question,” Zoro counters.

Sanji stares over Zoro’s shoulder at the door. The fight drains out of him, his shoulders sagging forward. He’s never seen Sanji look this defeated.

“Whatever. They’ll blow up,” he says. “They’ll blow off my hands at the wrist. Who the hell knows how much other damage they’ll do.”

Sanji’s hands are hidden entirely in his pockets, the outline just barely visible.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just... look, it’ll be enough to convince Saumure you’ve betrayed the North Blue, and it’ll get rid of me in the process.”

“Then I’ll cut them off,” Zoro insists. “Easy.”

All he gets is a sneer in response.

No matter. Zoro grabs at Sanji’s wrist, frowning as the cook winces. Now that he knows what the threat is, he should be able to pinpoint it exactly. He runs one finger over the gold, trying to pinpoint the exact threat. But he can’t– it’s all noise. He knows the bracelet is set to explode, but there’s no clear way of cutting through it without setting it off.

“It’s easy,” Zoro repeats, though he lets go of Sanji’s wrist. “I can do it now.”

“Not without exploding yourself, too, idiot. I… appreciate it, but…” Sanji rubs his wrist. “Just give up.”

Just give up on me.

Something echoes down the hallway, same as the night Zoro first found Sanji in the kitchens. Sanji flinches at the sound, and if Zoro concentrates hard enough he can hear the all-too-familiar laughter of Sanji’s brothers.

“You’ve got to go,” Sanji insists. He grabs Zoro by the back of the shirt and practically drags him to the door. “And be quiet.”

This again? He’s not worried about getting caught by Sanji’s brothers. He doesn’t care.

“Hey, you moron, I’m not going to be quiet. I’ll take those damn bracelets off you and–”

“No,” Sanji insists. The harsh, certain tone cuts through his earlier apprehension. “You won’t. You don’t understand what Judge has over me, and you don’t need to. Just fuck off.”

And with that, Sanji shoves him out the door and slams it shut. A metal latch clunks loudly, trapping Zoro outside the kitchens.

Sanji avoids Zoro for almost the entire next day.

There’s only two days left until the wedding, if that. All the palace staff frantically run around the place trying to make a warmongering empire look like a wedding venue, while Mihawk and Perona busy themselves with last-minute preparations for the Revolutionary ambush. The place is a hectic mess, so he’s not surprised Sanji can hide in the shuffle.

After stalking around the castle for half the morning, Zoro decides on staking out the kitchen instead of wandering around. He’s had enough of running into flustered staff, or worse, emotionless guards. The place is cold and awfully quiet.

When the door creaks open, Zoro nearly jumps out of his chair.

“Oi, cook, you–” he starts, then stops in his tracks.

It’s not the cook.

“I didn’t expect to see you down here,” says Princess Reiju. She looks as put together as ever, only a slight frown on her face. “You can call the palace staff if you’re hungry.”

Zoro doesn’t move. He crosses his arms, leans back, and stares down the hallway over Reiju’s shoulder.

“Not hungry. Quit bothering me, don’t you have a wedding to prepare for?”

Reiju doesn’t leave. She stands on guard in front of the open door behind her.

“I do have a wedding to prepare for, and part of that includes keeping track of the grooms. You’re quite far from the guest quarters,” she comments. Despite being taller than her, Zoro feels cornered. “Your sister said you were bad with directions, but it really shouldn’t be possible to be that lost.”

His sister? Perona is gossiping with the enemy? He’s been spending so much time with Sanji that he hasn’t paid attention to what anyone else is doing. He hadn’t expected her to give up on harassing the staff for secrets and move on to Reiju.

“I assume if you’re down here, you’re also looking for my brother.”

Choking on his own spit, Zoro looks away. That caught him off guard; first she’s conspiring with his sister, and now this?

“That’s what I thought.”

“I’m not looking for him,” he says. “Doesn’t matter where the hell he ran off to. Maybe he got cold feet.”

There’s an audible click as Reiju locks the door behind her. It sends a shiver up Zoro’s spine, and makes all the hairs on his arm stand on end.

Reiju waves him off, then latches the door behind her. “I know my brother quite well. He wouldn’t get cold feet about this wedding. He’s very eager about this partnership, after all.”

He wouldn’t get cold feet about this because otherwise he’d get his hands blown off, but sure. He’s eager.

“I understand Dracule Mihawk’s plan for this wedding. Don’t look at me like that, you’re not the only one with spies,” Reiju says. “I didn’t think he’d try something so soon. I don’t know what your plan is, but if you’re threatening my brother, I’ll make you regret it.”

That’s enough. Zoro can sit and listen to Reiju blab on about what she knows, about how she knows all their plans, but that doesn’t change reality.

“I’m not the threat here,” Zoro snaps. “I know about Judge’s backup plan.”

That catches Reiju off guard, finally. “Oh?” she asks, her voice wavering ever-so-slightly. “And what exactly do you think you know?”

“I know he intends to turn Saumure against Mihawk. And he’s going to do that by killing Sanji.” Reiju doesn’t respond, simply rubbing at her own wrist. “So quit pretending like I’m the one threatening him.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions,” she says, her voice cold and measured. “I think you’re just guessing.”

“It’s the bracelets,” he says. “Don’t even try to lie to me about it.”

Reiju pauses. She finally looks away from Zoro, eyeing the kitchen, distracted. “...I never expected him to confide that to you, of all people. He seemed convinced you didn’t even like him.”

That shouldn’t get as much of a reaction out of Zoro as it does. He does like Sanji– obviously so, even if he never moved the wedding date up.

“Maybe if he’d told me earlier, we wouldn’t be in this damn mess,” Zoro says. “And don’t act like you care. Were you just expecting him to call off this marriage on his own? Throw him to the wolves?”

“I was expecting something else entirely,” she snaps, expression pinching in slight anger. She collects herself, the outburst seeming to surprise even herself. “...it doesn’t matter now, though, so let me show you something.”

He doesn’t want to see shit from her. But, if this could help Sanji, beggars can’t be choosers.

She finally steps away from the door, turning her back to him and digging through some of the kitchen cupboards. There’s an odd corner cabinet Zoro has never seen the cook use, and it takes Reiju a couple of tries to pry it open. She pulls out a simple looking wooden box and sets it on the table.

“What the hell do you have in there?”

“Be patient, Roronoa Zoro,” she chides, unclasping the box. She sighs as she looks inside the box, turning it around to show Zoro its contents.

Inside are two bright gold bracelets, identical to Sanji’s. They rattle as Reiju moves them in the box, but they don’t trigger his Observation Haki. No matter how much he concentrates, he can’t find the same threat.

“These are what Sanji should be wearing. They’re fake,” she explains. “There’s no explosives. They should have allowed Sanji to escape, even if it came to Judge’s backup plan. But by the time I had them completed, Judge had already given Sanji the other bracelets.”

She shuts the lid of the box, sound echoing loudly in the room. “It’s a pity. He can’t take off the real ones without exploding. After all that effort, he’s still as doomed as the rest of us.”

“So, what? You’re just going to let him die?! Shouldn’t be that damn difficult to deactivate the things.”

“...I couldn’t convince Sanji to leave if I tried,” she says. “He’s set on seeing this through.”

“Well, he’s an idiot.”

She doesn’t even respond. Instead, she turns on her heel, back to the cupboard. Her footsteps echo loudly in the quiet of the kitchen as she returns the wooden box to its original hiding place.

“I’ve already failed him,” she admits. She stays low, kneeling to the ground. “...at least the rest of Germa will go along with him.”

As unflappable as she normally seems, she looks sad now. She trails her finger along the thin line between the cupboard door, double-checking to make sure it’s closed.

Zoro had written her off as being more similar to her brothers than Sanji, but now he’s not so sure. As soon as the moment of vulnerability is there, though, it’s gone. She collects herself, brushing off her knees as she stands.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I still have to find Sanji,” she says. “There’s some… I think you’ll understand why I need to talk to him.”

Zoro frowns; he wants to talk to Sanji first. “So you can’t find him either?”

She frowns. “No. It is odd, though,” she admits. “Prince Sanji is normally here. He doesn’t have many hiding places I don’t know about.”

Not even Reiju knows about this.

There’s one place that Zoro hasn’t checked yet, and he has a feeling he knows exactly where the cook is hiding.

The courtyard only partially shields him from the cold, salty winds of the Rosesalt Sea. The air is salty enough to chap his lips, and when he gets a good view of the ocean, it has an unreal light pink hue. The snail ships have already slowed to an agonizing pace, and bits and pieces of the castle fall into the water as they start to shrivel.

Zoro doesn’t have the damn time for Sanji to avoid him. By the amount of salt in the sea, they’re almost at the Saumure Islands. Judge is going to force a wedding any day now, and Zoro’s not going to stand around and wait for that to happen.

Just in case, he did a perimeter check of the courtyard for Sanji. He wasn’t about to be caught off guard again; he already got it off easy with Reiju. As soon as he’s sure no one is in the courtyard, he starts checking tree by tree for something familiar.

He’s about ready to try the kitchens again when he finally finds a familiar tree with grooves worn into the trunk. Zoro peers up, but can’t make anything through the mess of branches. Grumbling to himself, he starts climbing up the trunk, ignoring how the bark splinters under his fingers.

Before he finds the spot Sanji lead him too, though, there’s a loud rustle of leaves. The hard sole of a shoe hits him in the head, almost forcing him to lose his grip.

The kick is way too familiar.

“Hey, you stupid cook, what do you think you’re doing?!”

Sanji kicks him again, this time on the shoulder. “Ridding this tree of pests.”

Zoro grabs Sanji’s ankle during his next kick. Sanji helps, trying to kick with his other foot, but Zoro’s faster. He pulls himself up to the branch, forcing Sanji over as he sits down.

“Dunno, cook, I only see one pest here,” he says. When Sanji tries to throw himself out of the tree, he yanks him back. “Quit avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you–”

“You’re hiding alone in a tree.”

“It’s a nice view!”

“You’ve been here for hours!”

Sanji groans, but he finally gives in. “I just…” he tries, then buries his head in his hands. “I don’t want your damn pity.”

“You’re not going to get my pity. Quit acting like you’re doomed, cook,” Zoro says. The comment feels heavy on his tongue. “Only Germa’s doomed. I’m sure with enough distance, the bracelets will deactivate.”

“I’m not leaving,” Sanji spits. “I can’t. What part of exploding bracelet don’t you understand? You wouldn’t be able to take them off without getting yourself killed, moron! Besides, that’s…”

“I’m not asking you to take them off, I’m saying you just run away!”

He’s not expecting Sanji to agree, not with how dejected Reiju had been about the prospect, but he isn’t expecting the surge of anger in response.

“No way in hell! Do you think my life is the only thing that Judge has against me?!”

Zoro pauses. “What else can you lose?”

“You’re so stupid.” Sanji runs a finger over his wrist. “I’m only telling you this because you might be able to do something after…”

After he dies? Zoro snarls, but has the sense to let Sanji keep talking.

“You… well, you know that Cosette wasn’t originally our Head Chef,” Sanji says. “We had one before her.”

Zoro doesn’t like where Sanji’s going with this. “Yeah, your brothers made a big hissy fit about her food not being as good.”

Laughing, Sanji scrubs under his eyes, then turns away so Zoro can’t see his face. “The old head chef– Zeff– well, I owe him a lot. The specific details don’t matter, but…” he trails off. “I was locked in the dungeon for a while.”

That’s not what he’s expecting. He forgets all about not cutting Sanji off. “What the hell do you mean the dungeon–”

“Don’t interrupt me. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the only person who showed me an ounce of pity was the old Head Chef,” he explains. “He’d bring me food when he could, and listen to whatever I had to say. I was eight, I probably talked his ear off. Don’t know what he saw in me.”

He was locked in the dungeon when he was eight? The branch Zoro was using for balance snaps in his grip, but Sanji doesn’t seem to notice.

“I was let out eventually, and the old geezer let me use the kitchens when I wanted to. He taught me everything I know about cooking. Judge didn’t care for it at all. He’s banned me from it, actually.”

“...the old head chef doesn’t even work here anymore,” he points out.

“That’s the point, mosshead,” Sanji says. “And if I want it to stay that way, I have to obey Judge’s orders.”

Zoro doesn’t know much about the Head Chef, only tidbits of information and sketches between the lines. The Head Chef is better at cooking than Cosette, even according to Sanji’s annoying brothers. He brought the salt from the Grand Line, and left it for Sanji to use. He’s likely the person who gave Sanji access to the one place in the castle that’s warm and doesn’t feel like a cold prison.

“Part of the deal was if I agreed to this marriage contract, he’d let the old geezer go,” he says. “And he’d even leave him alone for good if I followed through, and Germa managed to overthrow the Saumure Islands. It was stupid to believe it wouldn’t come at a cost.”

It was stupid. Just like it was stupid to think that he didn’t have any way out of it.

“...surprised the chef agreed to such a stupid plan.”

Sanji laughs, sagging forward. “He…. he didn’t know. Judge just said he was being banished for disobeying him, and made a whole show of it too. Everyone watched as he was sent out to sea. …so I heard, at least.”

His hands clench at his sides, finally looking a little more determined than before. “So I’m not going to back out of this deal. I can’t. Judge has to think he’s won, or else he’s going to go hunt down the person I owe my life to.”

So there goes the run away plan. Zoro didn’t like it much anyway, he’d much rather stay and fight, but he doesn’t see a way out of this.

Sanji takes his silence as agreement, and he quits talking. He finally relaxes, lulled in the false sense of security that he’s won the conversation.

So Sanji can’t take the bracelets off or else they’ll explode, and he can’t run with them on or else Judge will hunt down the old head chef. They have to go through with this wedding as if Sanji’s still the designated scapegoat.

Something has to give.

Zoro closes his eyes, and if he concentrates hard enough he can sense the mechanisms inside the cuffs, kind of, but it’s not enough for him to actually identify how to cut them off without blowing them up. He scowls; he’s so close to some way out of this.

“...so if we get those bracelets off you, and replace them with new ones, Judge won’t know until it’s too late, right?”

Sanji huffs, somehow making the sound dramatic. “Quit daydreaming. How the hell am I going to find replacements for these things? And how do you expect to get them off me?”

Well, Zoro has an answer to the first question. He just has one problem to solve.

“Who said you had to do anything? Someone else can figure out the details,” Zoro says.

Sanji stares at him, shocked, like the idea of asking for help has never occurred to him before in his entire life.

“And you’re going to do it?”

Zoro closes his eye again. If he was further into his training, he could cut them off. But no matter how much he concentrates now, he can’t figure it out.

But, infuriatingly, he knows someone who can.

“...yes, I’ll solve your problem, cook,” he says. “But you’ll have to trust me on this one.”

Sanji stiffens, then pulls his hands closer to his chest. “You better not fuck it up,” he says.

“Your kitchen setup is quite efficient,” Mihawk comments. “Much better air conditions for proofing than the laboratory Head Chef Cossette toured for us.”

Sanji nods fervently. He’s unusually nervous and jumpy around Mihawk, acting like one wrong move will be the end of him. Sweat drips off his forehead, and he keeps sending unsubtle glares Zoro’s way when Mihawk isn’t looking.

“Y-yeah, well, Germa’s labs are designed to be…” he pauses, “Efficient. They’re very efficient. But not always the best for taste or quality.”

Mihawk nods. Sanji nods back. Mihawk continues patrolling the kitchen, and Sanji tries to kill Zoro with his eyes.

“Why is he here?” Sanji mouths across the room.

He wishes he didn’t need to ask Mihawk for this, but…

Zoro shrugs. “Just keep him occupied,” he whispers.

Mihawk continues poking around the kitchen and providing his commentary, forcing Sanji into conversation. With both of them distracted, Zoro finds his first target of this meeting.

Shouldering past Mihawk, Zoro finds the corner cabinet he’d seen Reiju open. It takes a bit of shimming to get the door open, but when he does, the wooden box falls out onto the floor. It clatters loudly, but manages not to break open.

Sanji peers from around Mihawk’s shoulder. “What the hell is that?! Did you hide that in here?!”

“I didn’t hide anything! It was your stupid pink sister.” He slams the box on the counter, fiddling with the clasp. As soon as the lid is off, he turns the box around to show Sanji.

The bracelets inside chime together, and Sanji’s mouth gapes open. He holds the bracelets on his wrist, making sure they’re still there, then reaches forward for the two in the box.

He holds one up to the light. “These are… these are exact replicas,” he says. “What the hell?”

“Your sister had them made, but didn’t get them to you before you got the real ones,” Zoro answers. “Never brought it up because she didn’t think you’d agree to having the other ones taken off.”

Suddenly, the shock is gone, replaced with more familiar anxiety. Sanji stiffens noticeably, holding his wrist to his chest. “I still haven’t, mosshead!”

“Are you that content to just die, you stupid–”

Before Zoro can argue further, Mihawk interrupts both of them.

“You still haven’t explained your plan, Zoro,” Mihawk says. “You’re replacing his engagement bracelets? These look as garish as the first ones. I would have expected you to have better taste.”

“You know I didn’t get these for him!” Zoro barks, dumping the replica bracelets on the counter. “We’re replacing those because they’re explosives.”

Mihawk says nothing.

“It’s Judge’s backup plan,” Zoro continues.

Mihawk pauses, then grabs Sanji’s wrist. Sanji yelps, desperately looking at Zoro for some explanation. Zoro just shrugs, watching as Mihawk pulls Sanji’s wrist closer to his face.

He frowns just slightly more than normal.

“Very astute,” he says. “These are explosives. That does not, however, explain why you’ve brought me here.”

It doesn’t, and Zoro has a bad feeling Mihawk will force him to ask out loud.

“You can cut them off, right?”

Mihawk stares him down. “So could you,” he says.

He could. But he can’t figure it out yet, and there’s some things he won’t risk for his own pride. He runs a hand down his face feeling the long scarline over his eye. He’s already aware of his own weaknesses; he doesn’t want to ask Mihawk for help. But…

But as much as he tries, he can’t manage to pinpoint the exact way to cut off the bracelets without cutting off Sanji's hands, too. Zoro grits his teeth together, then bows his head.

“No, I can’t,” he admits. “...not yet, and we only have a day left.”

Mihawk doesn’t say anything at first. He simply turns Sanij’s wrist over in his hand, poking his finger under the rim of the bracelet.

“...very well,” Mihawk says. “You’ll need to keep his hands still.”

“W-wait, I still haven’t agreed to this!”

“Cook, it’s Mihawk, quit over-reacting,” Zoro says to console him. Sanji glares at him; consoling failed. “...you’ll be fine.”

Sanji doesn’t look convinced; he looks about to bolt, actually, eyeing the kitchen door.

“These things could blow up this whole damn kitchen,” Sanji argues. He’s still not worried about himself, is he? “You know that these are Germa engineered bombs, right? You can’t just cut through them!”

Surging forward, Zoro grabs both of Sanji's hands. He hasn’t actually held Sanji’s hands properly yet, and they feel small and clammy. Sanji tries to pull away, but Zoro locks their fingers together. He squeezes once, feeling Sanji’s shaking still.

“Stupid cook, you’ll be fine,” he says.

Sanji flushes bright red, suddenly unable to look Zoro in the eye.

“Good idea. Keep his hands still,” Mihawk demands. “You’re right, it’s quite simple to see the solution with Observation Haki. This will only take a moment.”

Oh, it’s quite simple? Zoro grips Sanji’s hands harder. “You better not mess this up,” he growls.

Sanji braces himself, his fingernails digging into Zoro’s hands hard enough to draw blood. His shaking eventually stills, though he keeps an iron-clad grip in Zoro’s hand.

Closing his eye, Zoro focuses on the bracelets, and on Mihawk’s movement. He knows the general area of the bomb mechanism in the bracelet, but not enough to pinpoint the exact source. He’s glad, though still endlessly frustrated, that he went to Mihawk for this. He can’t sense shit.

He can sense the exact arc of Yoru, the blade’s edge hitting in two precise locations on both bracelets. Sanji’s breath hitches as the blade clangs, two thin lines bisecting the metal in two.

The bracelets clatter on the counter. For something so dangerous, it’s remarkably anticlimactic. Zoro lets Sanji’s hands go reluctantly, and Sanji doesn’t even move.

Sanji remains frozen solid, eyes wide as saucers as he stares at the bracelet halves on the counter. Mihawk plucks them up easily, examines them both, and tosses them aside. Smoke billows from the bracelets, but otherwise the threat is gone.

“They should be disengaged now,” he says. “I assume this negates Judge’s backup plan?”

And back to Mihawk. Zoro swallows, though he can’t calm himself entirely. “Right. Wedding should go off without a hitch now.”

“Marvelous.” Mihawk sheaths his sword across his back, looking over Zoro and Sanji one last time. “Please inform me if this changes our overall plans.”

Then, with a stiff nod to Sanji, Mihawk leaves.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Sanji slumps forward, his forehead hitting the counter in a loud thud. Slowly, he picks his head off the table and stares at his bare wrists. He flexes his fingers, one by one, before sinking into the table again.

“They’re… they’re gone?” Sanji’s voice wavers, barely holding himself together.

Zoro runs one thumb down the inside of Sanji’s wrist. The skin under the bracelets is slightly paler than the rest of his arm, but otherwise entirely unremarkable. Sanji shudders at the touch.

“Yup,” Zoro confirms. “Just need to put on the fake ones now.”

He collects the two fake bracelets from Reiju’s wooden box, examining them carefully. These two have no threat attached; they’re just regular bracelets. The gold shimmers in the light, just like the old ones had.

Sanji is remarkably compliant as Zoro turns over his hands. He runs his thumb across the inside of Sanji’s wrist one final time, feeling the cook’s rapid heartbeat under his thumb. The new bracelets fit around his wrists perfectly. They clasp tight against his wrist, looking the exact same as the old ones.

“Thanks,” Sanji mutters. He sniffs, then rubs under his eyes with his palm in an effort to collect himself. “Now you can say you actually got me an engagement present, mosshead.”

What? No, Zoro wouldn’t choose these things as an engagement gift. “They’re still ugly. You’re not going to wear them after we deal with Judge, are you?”

“If they annoy you so much, maybe I will,” Sanji snaps back. He pauses, looking back to his wrists again. “...say, after the wedding, what’s your plan?”

“The Revolutionaries will attack Germa when they can’t escape, we’ll fight, and then, I don’t know. Work with them for a while.”

He hasn’t paid much attention to Mihawk’s own long-term goals; Zoro has his own. But he feels remarkably out of his depth trying to explain any grand plan to Sanji.

“Besides, I thought you didn’t want to think about being out of Germa until it happened.”

“That’s when I thought I was going to…” Sanji trails off, then shakes his head. “...it doesn’t matter. Are you going to get out of the North Blue?”

“I dunno, probably,” Zoro scratches his neck. “Don’t really know the details.”

Sanji stares at his own hands again. He seems to be probing for something Zoro can’t answer, not without him saying what he wants directly. The cook flexes all his fingers again, then tightens his hand in a fist.

“...if you’re leaving the North Blue, you could drop me off somewhere on the Grand Line. As long as I’m leaving Germa, I don’t care, you can leave me anywhere, as long as you take me with you.”

The idea of dropping Sanji off at the next island fills Zoro with an overwhelming possessiveness. No way in hell; he’s not leaving Sanji behind after this.

“Dropping you off? We’re getting married, or whatever. I want to enjoy my honeymoon before getting divorced.”

Sanji’s face flushes completely red. “Honeymoon!? I’m not your actual fiance, mosshead!”

“Dunno, I just gave you an engagement present, cook. Looks like after this wedding you’re going to be stuck with me.”

Zoro’s expecting some kind of typical insult in response, but instead, Sanji breaks out into a choked laugh. He covers his eyes with his hand, using the other to wave Zoro off.

“You’re so stupid,” he finally says. “I don’t have an engagement present for you, idiot.”

He doesn’t need one. “You’ll figure something out.”

To the Germa staff’s credit, they pulled together a wedding venue in spite of Germa’s foreboding atmosphere.

Zoro wrote off Germa castle as having very few suitable locations for a wedding, but they’ve selected one of the taller landings on the castle. The landing is almost high enough to reach over all the castle towers, and most of the view is a wide-open picture of the pink-salt tinted ocean.

The view makes it easy to forget they’re still in Germa; the wind does not. Without any coverage, the cold North Blue winds still chill him to the bone. Zoro refuses to shiver, even in his too-thin coat, but he does feel his teeth clattering in protest.

Bright pink and white flowers dot the venue itself, the place a bizarre cacophony of traditional wedding bullshit and high-tech furniture. Harsh metal lab chairs are decked in frilly ribbons and the repurposed metal altar looks bizarre and out of place. They’ve tried to hide Germa’s militaristic aesthetic under flowers and ribbons but it doesn’t really work.

The audience set up is laughable; Sanji’s side of the crowd has his brothers, father, the Saumurian convoy, and the Germa staff, while Zoro only has Perona sitting all by herself. She kicks her feet, uncomfortable, alone, and looking as out of place as the flowers.

Zoro shifts from foot to foot. This is it; if he looks past the wedding venue, and onto the horizon, he can see distant ships dot the horizon. That’s got to be the Revolutionaries. They’re mostly hidden by the setting sun, the orange glow of the sky and pink waters hiding them from view.

“Keep your eyes off the horizon, Zoro,” chides Mihawk, and Zoro resists slashing him. “You have your wedding to handle first. You can’t make a scene before then.”

He really wishes he asked Perona to walk him down the aisle instead.

“It’s already handled! And you’re supposed to be walking me down the aisle, not nagging me.”

With only a slight eye roll, Mihawk tucks his arm under Zoro’s, and walks him forward.

The wedding is terribly formal, and practically silent as Zoro walks down the aisle. Each step crunches flowers under his boot, and despite knowing everything is in place for this plan to succeed, the anticipation builds in Zoro’s gut.

Mihawk leaves him at the altar, nodding once before sitting down in his chair next to Perona.

Well, one groom down. Zoro scratches under his collar, wanting nothing more than to unclip it immediately. The crowd stares up at him, but before Zoro can glare back, their attention is drawn to the back of the room.

It’s Sanji’s turn down the aisle.

He and his sister are still in the back of the venue, Sanji talking to her with his hand over his mouth. Zoro can’t make out what he’s saying, but by the way Reiju’s eyes widen in shock, he has a good guess. Her eyes dart from Zoro, to Sanji’s bracelets, to Zoro again.

Then, for the first time since meeting the woman, she smiles genuinely at him, before quickly bowing her head toward the ground.

He’s so distracted by figuring out what was up with Reiju that he fails to look at Sanji until he’s up close. That’s a mistake; up close, he can see the way Sanji’s bright white suit tapers toward his waist, and the way the sun reflects in his hair. For a moment, he’s completely caught off guard, forgetting where he is and what he’s meant to be doing.

Then the wind chills him again, shocking him back to reality. Sanji is in front of him, looking too good but too nervous.

Swallowing thickly, Zoro refuses to look away.

“Didn’t need to dress up for me, cook,” he comments.

He’s sure he’s being quiet enough, but Sanji still looks offended at the nickname. “You look like you got into a fight in a lace factory.”

Zoro scowls, about to comment back, but the Saumurian notary cuts him off.

“Greetings, friends and families of the grooms!” he starts cheerily. “We’re gathered here today to join two lovely families together in matrimony.”

The notary continues blabbering about the importance of marriage, his speech quickly becoming white noise. Zoro looks over Sanji’s shoulder to the horizon, seeing the dots of Revolutionary ships on the horizon.

“--and it was to my great surprise that the King of Germa himself asked me to come document the event! I was so surprised, and so uh, honored–”

Zoro tunes him out. He’s not saying anything of importance, so instead he finds the one person in the audience he’s sure is as impatient as him.

Vinsmoke Judge fiddles with some device in his hands. He’s not even subtle about it, nor is the device. There’s a bright red button on the front of it, and Judge itches to press it immediately. The thing looks far too comical for the threat it carries.

Maybe Zoro could cut him to pieces after this whole ordeal is done.

“-and we’ll make sure to broadcast this to the Saumure Islands, too! We’re all quite interested in the going-ons of other royal families, and–”

“We don’t have all day!” Judge barks from the crowd. He’s practically vibrating with impatience, way too damn eager to enact his backup plan. “We’re very… grateful… you’re here, but please. The ceremony.”

The notary shocks, then nods enthusiastically. “Of course! Of course, you should be very excited to see your son married, I’ll hurry up.”

What a moron.

Zoro is restless even now. The notary addresses Sanji first, going through a long, frivolous vow. Sanji repeats him though, word for word, looking every part of a well-behaved groom. He shouldn’t look well behaved. Zoro makes a low, tutting noise, forcing Sanji to glare at him. Much more like it.

“Excellent. And do you, Vinsmoke Sanji, take Roronoa Zoro as your husband?”

“I do,” Sanji says easily.

Zoro tries not to look embarrassed, but he’s fairly sure his face is completely red. He swallows thickly, trying to keep still. He can’t even look at Sanji without flushing completely, so instead he looks back to the crowd.

The notary goes on with the same marriage speech again, and in spite of Zoro’s embarrassment about the speech, he does enjoy how it makes Judge squirm. He’s not going to like the ending of this. The speech winds down, and Zoro finally starts paying attention again.

“...and do you take Sanji as your husband?” asks the overly-eager notary.

There’s a loud clicking noise from the audience.

Judge presses the button in his hand, frowns, and presses it again. He keeps pressing, his brow furrowing further and further each time he tries. Nothing happens; nothing will happen.

Grinning, Zoro says, “I do.”

“Marvelous, then I now pronounce you married!”

He’s so caught up with watching Judge lose it that he isn’t paying attention to the actual threat at hand.

Sanji’s hand is warm on the side of his face, shielding him completely from the cold wind and the audience. Zoro’s attention finally snaps to him, his heart racing in his chest as he’s forced to see Sanji, and only Sanji. His thumb runs up the side of his face, just grazing under his scar.

“Sorry, mosshead,” Sanji mutters. “This is part of the bit. Till death do us part, and all.”

He doesn’t know what Sanji’s referring to, but it’s not like he paid attention to the speech. He suddenly feels too hot under the collar because even without paying attention, he does know how weddings end.

Sanji’s hand conceals everything from the audience, allowing him to lean forward and just barely brush his lips against Zoro’s own. Zoro holds his breath the whole time, suddenly unsure what to do. Warm air hits his face for just a moment before it’s gone, and Sanji’s pulling away.

It’s not enough.

It’s not nearly enough; if Sanji’s going to kiss him, he should kiss him properly, not this damn farce. Zoro surges forward, grasping onto Sanji’s shoulders roughly before pulling him in. He chases after that peck of a kiss, surprising a gasp out of Sanji.

And, for a moment, despite everything, they’re the only two people in the room. Sanji’s hand remains hot on his face, warm puffs of air caught between them. Zoro’s heart beats loudly in his chest, almost feeling like he’d just finished a fight.

When Zoro pulls away, Sanji looks properly flustered. His eyes are blown out wide and cheeks flushed pink. “Zoro, I…” he tries, but he’s caught off guard by the half-hearted sound of the audience clapping.

No one was expecting the ceremony to get this far.

“...wasn’t there supposed to be an explosion? I waited through all that for no explosion?” Yonji complains loudly.

“Be quiet Yonji,” Ichiji hisses. “They’re not supposed to know about that.”

Zoro wanted to bask in the moment a bit longer, but there’s still the peanut gallery to deal with.

Just over Sanji’s shoulder, Judge’s easy smile from earlier has transformed into a panicked look of desperation. He jams at his explosive button repeatedly, but nothing happens. Stupid bastard.

Zoro grins and flips him off.

“...okay, the wedding’s done,” Sanji whispers next to him. “Isn’t there supposed to be another part of the plan?”

“Have some patience, cook.”

There is another part of the plan, but Zoro’s content to watch Vinsmoke Judge panic. Sanji’s brothers only seem bored, his sister relieved, but his father is slowly realizing he’s been completely had.

Mihawk, on the other side of the aisle, looks completely calm. He claps slowly, the only sign of him being bothered as all is a single raised eyebrow towards Zoro. Zoro shrugs, pulling Sanji closer.

Then, he stands up, brushing his hands off on his knees, and Zoro knows exactly what’s next.

“Just sit back and relax.”

A loud explosion reverberates in the distance, shocking the audience. One of the Germa towers leans on its side, and then another explosion crumbles the towers to the ground. The entire wedding audience gasps, all except for Mihawk.

“What the hell was that?!”

“That’s not the right explosion!”

That must be the revolutionaries. Zoro doesn’t even look to the horizon to confirm; there’s explosion after explosion barraging the Germa castle, and the snailships shake under them.

“That’s our wedding gift,” Mihawk announces. “Apologies for the delay. It took some time to coordinate.”

Judge stands up, using his full height to tower over Mihawk. He keeps trying to come across as intimidating, but the effect is lost when he keeps flinching at every explosion that follows.

“Dracule Mihawk, what the hell are you doing?! Neither Germa nor Saumure will stand for this!” Judge bellows. The Saumurian notary nods fervently, even as he shakes like a leaf. “You’ve made an enemy of us both!”

“I know,” Mihawk confirms, “It simply doesn’t matter. We’ll seize your weapons before you have the chance to retaliate.”

The Vinsmoke brothers all stand from their seats, now, only brought up by the prospect of a fight.

“You’re out-numbered, Hawkeyes,” taunts Yonji, punching his own open palm. “No way in hell we’re going to let you seize Germa’s tech. You’ll have to fight all of Germa first.”

By Judge’s twitching, terrified expression, he doesn’t agree with his own son. His posturing for strength has started to crumble, each explosion making him sweat more and more.

Mihawk draws Yoru in one long movement, letting the sword hang in the air for one long moment.

“Well then. I hope you don’t disappoint,” he says, then slices forward.

All three Vinsmoke brothers try to attack at once, but they’re all easily parried. One by one they go down and try again, buzzing around Mihawk like a group of flies. Reiju makes a show of fighting Perona, though there’s no noticeable effort behind her attacks. Perona catches on, making a show of fending her off.

Judge is lost in the shuffle, not having a single enemy to fight himself. Mihawk is clearing all three of his sons at once, his daughter is faking barely holding her own, and his castle is crumbling around him. Tears prick in his eyes, and he finds the one scapegoat he has left.

“Sanji, what the hell are you doing?!” Judge yells. “We’re being invaded! Are you– are you with them?! You know what’s at stake if you disobey.”

Sanji freezes stiff, and Zoro steps forward between him and Judge. Zoro’s had enough of him. He unsheaths Wado, prepared to slice him in two, but Sanji grabs Zoro’s forearm and pushes him back. His jaw is set, the earlier flinch replaced with a steely determination.

“I haven’t disobeyed you. I followed your stupid orders! I did everything you asked me to. Your button malfunctioning is your damn problem.”

The landing they’re on shakes, explosions finally reaching the main castle point. Flower petals fall everywhere, and when the wind picks up they’re strewn across the landing in a flurry of pink.

“You– you did something! You conspired! You weren’t supposed to succeed. You were never even supposed to make it out of this alive!!”

Mihawk’s already cut one Vinsmoke brother down. Niji goes down first, thrown off the landing and to the ground level below. Both of the other brothers keep attacking, but it’s clear that the fight is pretty much lost.

“The courtship period was just an inconvenience. You had to be in on this from the start. There’s no way you actually convinced that swordsman you’re anything other than worthless.”

Sanji freezes stiff again, his mouth snapping shut. He snarls, but it doesn’t fully hide the tears in his eyes. Zoro should let Sanji handle this, he really should. But he had enough of seeing the bruises Judge left behind, and he’s not about to watch it happen up close.

With one fluid motion, he brings out Wado and points the tip of the blade under Judge’s neck.

“Shut up,” Zoro says. “Only cowards grovel before they die.”

Now it’s Judge’s turn to freeze.

“Hah, shocked? We never planned on killing you, but…” Zoro narrows his glare. “I don’t really see any need to keep you alive anymore.”

“You… you can’t do this,” Judge growls, but he’s held at the throat.

Sanji finally recovers, shooting Zoro a quick glance he can’t parse before turning to Judge.

“What, do you want to escape with your life? I could let you die right here,” Sanji says. “I should let you die right here. It’d do the whole North Blue a lot of good.”

Judge looks very small against Sanji’s wrath.

“I don’t know what Hawkeyes is planning on doing with you, and I don’t care. Honestly, I think you’d be lucky to make it out of the North Blue.”

Mihawk takes down another one of the brothers; the red one is sent all the way into one of the collapsing towers.

“...but if you do make it out of this damn sea, you’re going to leave me alone,” Sanji continues on. “Or else you’re just going to make a fool of yourself again.”

Judge eyes the blade to his throat, swallowing visibly. The fear on his face is satisfying, but not enough.

“If you don’t leave him alone, I can always kill you right here,” Zoro comments. “Don’t think Mihawk’d mind.”

“Y-you’ll regret it,” Judge stammers, and Zoro saves the terrified look in his mind. “I’ll make you regret those words, Roronoa Zoro!”

Instead of slicing him, Zoro slams the blunt of his blade against Judge’s head. His eyes go wide, then he’s out cold on the ground. It’s an absolute kindness.

“Good luck with that,” Sanji says.

Zoro missed out on most of the fight. By the time Judge is taken out, none of the brothers are left standing. He’d like to have taken one of them out himself, or at least had some fun toying with them, but Mihawk’s left him nothing. All that’s left is a horde of mindless guards still intent on defending Germa’s castle from its inevitable siege.

“...say, cook. I think I can take out more than you can.”

It gets Sanji out of his stupor. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Zoro motions to the chaos in front of them with his chin. The guards are trying brainlessly to fight Mihawk, but it’s going nowhere fast. “Your– Germa’s– stupid guards. I think I can take out more than you.”

“That’s arrogant, you haven’t even fought them before!” Sanji grabs at the collar of Zoro’s shirt, not even noticing as he tears the lace off. “I fight them all the time!”

“I’ve beaten you plenty of times during our spars.”

“When I was going easy on you!”

“Well, prove it!”

As much as he enjoyed the ceremony itself, the way out of the wedding venue is much better than the way in.

Sanji is insistent that he won in the end.

“You just miscounted, moss-for-brains. I got more of them than you.”

He didn’t. Zoro watched every damn guard Sanji took out with apt attention, and while all of his hits were impressive to watch, he did not get more than Zoro.

“Keep telling yourself that, cook.”

Sanji doesn’t argue the point too much. He leans over the railing of the Revolutionary ship, wrists dangling over the edge. The sun has long since set under the horizon, making the waves below a dark, opaque blue.

It’s hard to see anything on the horizon. Long gone are the imposing Germa castles and the pink-tinted waters of the Rosesalt Sea, and in its place is a dark, turbulent water that blends into the night sky. The night is still cold, and only the thick, warm jacket around his shoulders keeps Zoro from shivering. There’s still the dry, salty air he’d gotten so used to, and the salt that sticks in his hair and doesn’t come out.

But it’s peaceful now. Sanji seems to enjoy it too, until he doesn’t, fidgeting around from foot to foot. Zoro’s curious, but patient enough to let the cook take his damn time saying whatever the hell he needs to say.

Finally, Sanji looks at his wrists. He’s still wearing the fake gold bracelets, and he seems mesmerized by the sight of them. He takes the right one off, holding it in his hand.

“Look, Zoro…” Sanji sighs, turning so Zoro can’t see his face. “I never did find you an actual engagement present, huh?”

It’s not like he had the time. Zoro’s engagement present wasn’t worth shit, either.

Still, Sanji nervously passes the bracelet from hand to hand. The gold shimmers in the starlight, reflecting any and all of the minimal light of both the ship and sky.

“I never got you an engagement present, so you can have one of these. We’d match, right?”

That’s not what he expected. Zoro stares at the bracelet in Sanji’s hand; he doesn’t care to see it on Sanji’s wrist anymore than he has to. He can’t imagine Sanji wants to see a reminder of what tormented for weeks on his wrist, either.

Still, Sanji shoves it into Zoro’s hand. The outside feels cold to the touch.

“No way. You can find something better than that.”

Sanji balks at him. “What? You’re saying this isn’t good enough?”

“No, I’m saying you can find something better, idiot. Something that’s not from Germa.”

That, at the very least, shuts Sanji up. His mouth snaps closed.

“Have you ever been outside that place before?”

Sanji sniffs. “I’ve seen plenty of the North Blue,” he answers slightly defensively.

“Don’t avoid the question, cook.”

“...outside of whatever places Judge conquered, I’ve only heard stories,” Sanji admits. He runs a finger over the bracelet still on his wrist. “I don’t see how that has to do with anything.”

“Then I’m saying you’ll find something better outside the North Blue.”

You’ll find something better outside of Germa.

“I’ll find something better than your sister’s re-gift, too,” Zoro adds. “Can even make a second wedding out of it. Prove that you lost the tally at the first one.”

That finally needles Sanji into responding. “I told you, you arrogant bastard, I won.”

“You’re gonna need to prove it.”

Sanji huffs. “You know what? Fine,” he says. He takes off the second bracelet with much less fanfare, holding both in one hand. “I’ll hold you to that. You’ll need to find something better out there for me, too.”

He fully intends to.

With Zoro’s silent agreement, Sanji throws the bracelets into the dark ocean water. They watch as the two bracelets shimmer under the surface, floating down into the currents until they’re gone from sight completely.