[One Piece] 180 (Zoro/Sanji, PG-13)
Title: 180
Author:
takewing
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4674
Summary: A lot can happen in the time it takes to bake lasagna.
Notes: Written for
jump_exchange and originally posted here. Contains spoilers through the end of the Thriller Bark arc. Yes, it took me forever to post this.
There are 180 minutes left for the three-cheese lasagna with spicy sea king sausage (a creation he had made himself just last week and was rather proud of).
Usually during times like these, when there's little to do but wait for the meal to make itself, Sanji will first stick a well-deserved cigarette into his mouth, light it promptly, and clean up after himself. He does that today, because habits are difficult and sometimes unnecessary to break, and also because there's an annoying asshole sitting at the table, watching him and just waiting for his chance to say or do something insufferably annoying, and Sanji needs the comfort of nicotine and routine to calm his nerves as Zoro silently watches him.
Sanji digs out a smoke and lights it in one fluid motion that betrays none of his uneasiness at Zoro's presence. He hides his eyes behind his hair and glances in Zoro's direction, but he hasn't fallen asleep or left or anything – he's still sitting there, looking for all intents and purposes bored out of his mind and holding his head in one burly hand. There's an inquisitive look in his eyes, though, as he watches Sanji, and it's times like these that Sanji has to admit that the moron probably uses his brain more than he'd like to imagine.
He looks away and ignores him, instead turning around and gathering dirtied dishes, bowls, and utensils and taking them to the sink for a wash – a very thorough wash, to help distract him from Zoro's stupid presence. If he's only sitting there to get a rise out of him, Sanji refuses to raise to the bait. He's cool, he's calm, and he's going to ignore the bastard until he goes away.
Sanji turns on the faucet and grabs the bottle of dish soap, pouring some into the rapidly filling sink and allows the dishes to soak for a moment. He looks at the clock – 177 minutes on the lasagna.
Dammit, he thinks. But soon he's wetting the sponge and scrubbing and rinsing. He puts the dishes on a drying rack, one after another, and because he doesn't hear Zoro's approach over the sound of running water, he's surprised when a hand intercepts his on its way to placing a bowl onto the drying rack.
Sanji meets Zoro's eyes for a second. The bastard is still thinking about something, as far as he can tell, though apparently there's still enough room in his head to allow for helping Sanji dry the dishes, of all things. To say he's surprised is an understatement, but Sanji's not going to question it.
There are more important things, after all. The marimo being helpful is an improvement, at any rate, and he wonders if he should say “thank you” or even anything at all as he hands Zoro a clean spatula.
Their hands brush – Sanji's warm and wet and slightly soapy, Zoro's warm and hard with a hint of damp. Sanji can almost imagine that Zoro had frozen slightly at the contact but that makes no sense so he dismisses the idea as soon as it comes.
Fifteen minutes pass – 162 minutes until the lasagna is finished – in silence and it's beginning to drive Sanji insane. He should be saying, “Zoooo-ro” and “Zo-roooo” and “Zoro!”, long and short, high and low – teasing versions of Zoro's name – every time he passes him a dish or plate. He doesn't, though, because the other's mood is strange and kind of has been since Thriller Bark, and maybe Sanji knows why but he doesn't like thinking about that – it makes him feel cold and maybe a little worried, not that he'd admit that out loud.
He can feel the chill pass through him as he hands Zoro the last utensil – a stainless steel spoon – and turns off the faucet. It's like a thousand spiders are migrating along his spine and across his limbs, and he's sure Zoro notices, but he covers it up by not looking him in the eye and placing his hands in his pants pockets. There he finds his pack of cigarettes, and lights another one.
Zoro puts down the towel he'd been using to dry the dishes. He's looking at Sanji again, kind of like he had been minutes before, when he was sitting at the table, but this time he's looking with the intent to speak – looking into Sanji's eyes, and it's a searching look that Sanji's not very familiar with. It's a slight smile that Sanji's even less familiar with.
He's been smiling more since Thriller Bark, Sanji realizes suddenly. The reason for this is beyond him.
“Hey,” he says finally, setting down his sponge and taking in a deep lungful of calming smoke. “Thanks.”
Zoro shrugs. “Sure. I'd say 'any time', but I probably won't feel like it next time.”
This amuses Sanji more than pissing him off, so the only blow that he gives Zoro for that bit of cheek is the kicking equivalent of a playful shove. Zoro, being Zoro, has to prove himself even in situations like these and blocks the kick with the scabbard of one of his swords before it can land gently on the back of his calf.
Sanji shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and looks at the clock. 150 minutes – it's been only a half hour, but somehow Sanji feels less annoyed than he had thirty minutes ago. He looks around the kitchen, noticing how filthy it is, sighs and grabs a washcloth. As he wets it with warm water, he says, “You can go back to watching me and not moving like a slow-growing green mold or you can grab a cloth and start scrubbing.”
Zoro's already sitting back down, though, this time resting his head on the opposite hand, and already he's staring deep into the space immediately around and maybe inside of Sanji. “Nah...” His voice is not all there, and he yawns, then, but doesn't go to sleep as far as Sanji can tell. It wouldn't surprise him if Zoro had learned to sleep with his eyes open, but the way his eyes follow Sanji as he moves pretty much discounts that theory.
Sanji makes sure to give him a pissed off look whenever he can from then on, each time he has to re-wet the washcloth and each time he goes back to cleaning the countertops. Zoro responds to Sanji with slightly narrowed eyes and that grin he has when he knows he's pissing Sanji off, which surprises him but shouldn't. Nothing's changed, after what happened.
Sanji finishes and there are 140 minutes left for the lasagna. That's more than enough time to mix drinks for the ladies (and maybe to leave a large pitcher of something for the guys, too, but only if he feels like it)
Sanji grabs a small bottle of fresh-squeezed mikan juice from the fridge and two bottles from the alcohol cabinet – rum and advocaat. There are a couple bananas sitting in a bowl of fresh fruit on the kitchen table, but when Sanji turns around, he sees that Zoro's eating one like the ape that Sanji knows he is.
He's there in a flash grabbing the fruit on its way to Zoro's mouth for what seems like the second or third bite, and he kicks Zoro's chair backwards in the same movement, enjoying the look of shock that motion provides him with.
“Did I say you could eat that, idiot?”
“What the hell was that for?!”
They speak at the same time and their scowls are identical. When Zoro stands up, he reaches for the hilts of his swords and growls, “Are you looking for a fight, cook?”
“No, I'm looking to use this banana to make a Beach Blonde.” He sets the banana on a cutting board effortlessly chops off the end that Zoro had bitten off of. A chunk of banana about an inch thick rests on the flat side of the knife, and Sanji reaches out to Zoro with it. “Here. You can have this much and an apple, or something, but that's it.”
Zoro scoffs, apparently pissed that Sanji isn't in the mood for a fight. “You have that. That's barely even worth eating.”
Sanji narrows his eyes at the asshole in front of him, wondering not for the first time why and how there were times he didn't want to kill him. He removes the cigarette from between his lips and flips the chunk of banana into his mouth and chews. “Whatever, then. Why don't you just leave, asshole?”
Through his quickly brewing anger, Sanji somehow finds time to notice the look on Zoro's face as he asks that – his eyes narrow but look away to the side, and his lips curl. His face is tinted pink, but that's probably just from the yelling he'd done just moments before – right?
There's something about today that's different, and Sanji can feel it. There are too many loose ends that will need to be tied up before the day ends, the sun sets, and the crew sits down to eat three cheese lasagna, and it pisses Sanji off that all of the loose ends have something to do with Zoro. He wonders if a good fight won't solve whatever this is, or if they'll actually have to talk about it. That idea – talking about it – doesn't sit well with him at all. Men don't talk to other men. Men do things, react to things. They don't talk about them. They just do them.
Zoro, especially, is like that. So what's with that stupid look of his?
“What's with that retarded look?” Sanji asks, scowling.
“Shut up!” It's when Zoro gets pinker that Sanji suddenly realizes and it all clicks – he's sick.
“You're sick,” he states, not concerned in the least but actually quite relieved. Zoro being sick he can deal with – Zoro wanting to talk to him about something... not so much.
Sanji produces a thermometer from a drawer and walks over to Zoro, pointing it in the vague direction of his mouth and wagging it around in a way he's sure will annoy Zoro.
“Quit that!” Zoro bats away the thermometer. “I'm not sick, dart-brow.”
“If you'd rather Chopper took care of this, I can always call him,” Sanji says, his message helpful but his tone anything but as he smirks and continues wagging the thermometer in front of Zoro's face.
“At least Chopper would know that I'm not sick,” Zoro replies half-heartedly.
Sanji stops the wagging momentarily, sighs, and asks the question that he really didn't want to ask – the one that would indicate that he... wanted to talk about it. Whatever the hell “it” even was.
“So what's wrong then, idiot?”
Zoro scoffs at the question. “Nothing.”
“Yeah right. But whatever, it's not like I care anyway,” Sanji extinguishes the butt of his cigarette in the ash tray near the sink and returns to preparing two glasses of Beach Blonde for Nami-san and Robin-chan.
One shot of rum, four of advocaat, four of mikan juice, one banana – blended together with enough ice for two lovely, gorgeous women on a warm, breezy evening on the Grand Line. Before pouring the drinks, Sanji lights a fresh cigarette and subconsciously begins blowing smoke hearts as he adds the finishing touches – colorful straws and floral garnish. He sets the drinks on a serving tray and practically twirls out of the galley, leaving smoke hearts and a disgusted Zoro behind.
There are still 116 minutes until the lasagna will be done, but it doesn't matter because he's leaving the marimo idiot behind for a few minutes to visit his lovely ladies and bestow his gift of love upon them!
“Thank you, Sanji-kun,” says Nami-san with a smile as she looks up from her maps to grab her drink. “What is it?”
“Delicious,” Sanji grins widely. “And hopefully worthy of Nami-san's time.”
“No, no, I meant what is it called?” Nami-san takes a sip and smiles. “It isn't bad, though, I'll give you that.”
Sanji nearly swoons. “It's called a Beach Blonde, and if Nami-san wants another at any time, I will be more than happy to provide. Enjoy~!”
He leaves hearts, smoky and bubbly and happy, in his wake as he leaves to find Robin-chan in the ship's library. As he hands her the drink, she asks him something which serves to make his mood plummet.
“How is Swordsman-san doing today, Cook-san?”
Why does she want to talk about that idiot? Sanji's smile falters for only a second before it's back again and he's comforting Robin, who must be very worried about Zoro and his condition post-Thriller Bark. Or something.
“Oh, fiiiine, Robin-chan! He woke up first thing in the morning and started lifting weights and he's just as annoying as usual today, that's for sure! Nothing at all to worry about,” he says cheerfully.
“So has he told you?” Robin interjects, taking a dainty sip of her drink.
“Told me what?”
“Why it is that he's been tailing you today, among other things.”
By this point Sanji is thoroughly perplexed. “Robin-chan...” He fiddles with the drink tray propped under his arm and stares into lovely dark eyes, hoping for a clue or a proclamation of love.
“I'm sure he will soon – Swordsman-san is hardly the type to ponder upon things for too long,” she says, closing the subject quite effectively. “Thank you for the drink, it's delicious.”
“Ah... you're welcome, Robin-chan,” says Sanji, blinking and leaving the room sans the smile he'd entered it with.
101 minutes remain until dinner will be served, and Sanji returns to the galley in a contemplative mood, only to find Zoro still sitting at the table, turning his head and watching Sanji enter. He continues watching as Sanji sets down the drink tray.
“I stole some of that rum,” Zoro admits, and Sanji just watches with growing annoyance as the idiot turns the rum bottle upside down, proving that it is, in fact, empty.
“Shitty drunk-ass marimo,” he mutters, taking the bottle from Zoro's hand throwing it in a bin. “Can't even leave anything out without you stealing it.”
Zoro just shrugs.
Sanji puts the rest of his things away and tidies up again before pouring himself a single glass of wine and sits down at the table across from Zoro. Robin's words echo in his mind as he takes a sip, allowing the flavors to roll across his tongue before swallowing. The wine isn't the best, but neither is the company.
There's silence for several minutes, another uncomfortable silence, until Zoro says, “Smells good.”
“Hm?” But then Sanji realizes he's probably talking about the lasagna, and now that he's mentioned it Sanji has to agree. “Obviously.”
Zoro lets out a frustrated breath – a long, loud exhalation that seems to relieve him of some tension. “Idiot cook. Your ego's too big.”
Sanji laughs humorlessly. “Like you've got a right to say that.”
There's a breath of silence before Zoro says quietly, “It was my duty.”
It takes Sanji a while to figure out that he's not talking about telling him he's got a big head. “What?”
“With Kuma and Luffy. There are some things you've just gotta do.”
Zoro's explanation hits Sanji somewhere in the chest. He doesn't want to talk about this. He doesn't want to think about it either. He's angry, yeah, at Zoro for going through with it and for surviving when maybe (maybe) Sanji couldn't have, but he's angry at himself for maybe (maybe) not having been able to do what Zoro did.
It's better not to think about it. It's not like they'll ever know for sure either way what might have happened because what's in the past is in the past. So why is Zoro being an ass and mentioning it?
“I fucking know that,” Sanji all but growls. He clutches his wine glass so tightly that he fears it might break, and abruptly lets go of it in favor of a fresh smoke, hoping he won't somehow break that instead.
What he really wants to do right now is to break Zoro's head, but that can wait until after he's said all he feels like he needs to say. That idiot – who did he think he was talking to here? Sanji understood – that didn't mean he had to like it or even wanted to talk about it, but he got it. Doing what needed to be done – wasn't Sanji ready to do the exact same thing? Hadn't Zoro stopped him? Wasn't he ready to do it again in a heartbeat? He should know, then, that Sanji knew. Sanji knew damn well.
Better than anyone else knew, because no one else did know.
That bastard.
His hand isn't shaking and he'll kill anyone who says otherwise. Zoro doesn't say otherwise. He does say, “Yeah, well... there are some other things. Things you have to do to protect people – your captain, and your friend.”
Sanji looks at him, his expression blank and his voice controlled. “Things like what?”
Zoro must have thought that Sanji would understand whatever he was trying to say by now, and seems at a loss for a few seconds before replying with an honesty that hits Sanji where it hurts the most. “Like knocking you out to save your stupid ass.”
Sanji blinks, leans back in his chair, and stares. He'd expected this, but hadn't expected it to ever be said. He'd thought whatever they had between them (and there was something, there always had been), it didn't need words. Now that it has words, Sanji doesn't know what to do or say back.
Your captain, and your friend.
He'd thought they were one and the same – that Zoro was talking about Luffy. But he was the...
This was too much. It was over the top and Zoro was acting almost like a different person since it had happened. Sanji wanted back the Zoro who hadn't tasted an amount of pain that would have been enough to kill any other man, even him.
“You're such an idiot!” Sanji growls. “Don't say shit like that!”
Zoro narrows his eyes and frowns. “Why not?”
“Because you wouldn't have said it before so don't say it now just because you happened to do what you did! Besides, I know, how many times do I have to say it?” Sanji stands up and looks at the clock in exasperated impatience. There's still 75 minutes to go, and he wants nothing more than the presence of his other nakama around the dinner table and some semblance of normalcy.
Instead he has Zoro. “Get out,” Sanji says, deadpan.
“What?”
“Out. Get out. I've had enough of you for today and if you stay in here any longer...” He lets the threat hang. He himself doesn't know what he'll do, but he does know that it won't be good.
“You'll what? Bust up your precious new kitchen? I doubt it.” Zoro's just sitting there, seemingly relaxed while Sanji's caught up in a wave of anger and confusion.
There's still over an hour before dinner, and he needs out of there. He needs away, he needs to be alone, he needs the quiet and the familiar and he needs another fucking cigarette, god dammit.
“Shitty cook, calm down,” Zoro says. His hand has caught Sanji's wrist and Sanji instinctively jerks away.
“Dammit, I swear, if you don't let go I'll kick you through the wall,” Sanji warns, voice burning with anger.
“Try it,” says Zoro. He's standing up, now, and moving into Sanji's personal space with a shit-eating grin. Sanji is faced with conflicting urges of wanting to kick him away like he'd said and wanting to draw him closer. Why closer? “I've always wondered just how strong this Adam wood is.”
“You'll stop wondering the moment you're flying through it because you won't be conscious,” Sanji threatens, but he doesn't do anything to back that threat up. Zoro's inching closer, and Sanji is inching backward. Eventually he'll hit the wall himself, and he wonders what will happen at that point. He wonders if it's wrong that he's excited to find out.
He doesn't care. This is more like the Zoro he knows and... tolerates. He'll take this over the bullshit from a few minutes ago any day.
Sanji's eyes leave Zoro's to check on the timing for the lasagna, but Zoro moves his body so that he can't see the clock. Sanji scowls. “You make a better door than a window.”
“You've been looking at that stupid clock every time you want an escape route. Not this time,” Zoro leans over, leaning against the wall that they're now practically backed up against on one hand. The hand rests over Sanji's right shoulder.
Sanji tries to breathe.
“I just want to know how much time we've got on the lasagna, jackass.”
Zoro lets out a puff of air that might be a laugh. His head leans in closer – close enough that Sanji can feel moist breath on his cheek, on his ear.
Breathing is really, inexplicably difficult.
Zoro says, “Plenty of time,” and it's like there's been a mutual decision, an unspoken agreement, because they both turn their heads at the same time, find each others' lips, pull back, and push back in against each other again. Again. Again.
They press up against each other and Sanji finds the leverage he needs to flip their positions while their mouths are still locked and his tongue presses inside Zoro's mouth simultaneously and it's like... it's like it feels good, but it makes him angry, and judging by the sound Zoro's making he's feeling similarly.
“What the hell is this?” Sanji pant-growls. He can feel Zoro's rough lips against his as he speaks, even though they've technically parted. He hates it, loves it, and presses his lips closed to get rid of it or memorize it or-
“You started it,” Zoro says, looking for all the world like an embarrassed little boy with that reddening face of his and the way he's avoiding Sanji's eyes.
“I did not! That was all you! I don't even like you!”
Zoro's eyes are back on him in an instant. “You liked me enough just a minute ago, cook.”
“That didn't mean anything...” Sanji lies.
There's silence.
Sanji looks at the clock. Fifty minutes. Great. Finally he has less than an hour and he can be saved by the rest of the crew barging into the galley hungry and loud as ever. Hopefully when they do that Zoro won't be pressed between the wall and Sanji like he is right now, but the way things have gone today, Sanji isn't willing to make any bets on the matter.
Zoro breaks the silence with the most idiotic and stupid question Sanji's ever heard.
“Wanna do it some more?”
Sanji, incredulous, just stares at him. His brain must not be wired to his mouth properly, though, because he replies, roughly, “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Zoro repeats, smiling slightly and glancing quickly between Sanji's mouth and eyes. Every motion is teasing, made to make Sanji feel small and maybe stupid for saying anything other than “hell yes”, but Sanji isn't falling for it.
“No!”
“Yes.” Again with the shit-eating grin.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“N–”
There's no way that Zoro could say he hadn't started it this time, because Sanji is stuck yelling the rest of “no” into his mouth, but it's actions that speak loudest and Sanji's mouth, his tongue, and his teeth are initiating a lot of action.
It's a game; a kind of fighting. Sanji had never thought of kissing and combat as synonymous before, but it follows that with Zoro they would be. He'd never even dream of kissing a girl like this. He'd never thought of kissing guys like this either, though he had thought of kissing guys only to shrug it off as a waste of time. He'd never really thought of kissing Zoro, but now he's doing it and it's all he can think about.
There's a slight break to catch their breath, and Sanji asks angrily, “Were you stalking me all day just because you wanted to do this?” He has his fists clenched against the sides of Zoro's shirt, squeezing the fabric in both hands, and he pulls.
Zoro averts his eyes, but not for long. “No. That was mostly to make sure you were all right.”
Sanji scowls. “Why wouldn't I be? It's not your fucking job to monitor that, anyway, and what do you mean, 'mostly'?”
Zoro smirks. “I mean that maybe I kind of wanted this to happen too.”
Sanji has Zoro pinned against the wall with one foot pressed against his chest in an instant. He pushes hard. “How long?”
“I dunno... how long ago since you made that lasagna?”
“No, moron! How long... this thing...” He can't even say it. Zoro somehow understands.
He shrugs. “Dunno.” Sanji knows that Zoro's letting him do this; letting him pin him like a bad guy up for interrogation. If it wasn't obvious before, it is when Zoro uses his propped leg for an awkward sort of armrest.
“Bastard.” Sanji lets him go, pulls away, and sits down.
“Curly-queen.”
That's a new one, Sanji thinks dryly. He takes a cigarette from his pack and sticks it between his lips. Though he doesn't light it, it's still comforting and maybe it'll prevent Zoro from putting the moves on him again.
He takes it out again. Maybe he wants the moves put on him.
He puts it back in after a second. No he doesn't.
It goes back out again, and Sanji's expression appears pained. Yes. Yes, he does.
The cigarette stays out. Sanji looks over at Zoro and his lips turn up when he realizes that Zoro's actually trying his best not to show his own amusement.
The clock gives Sanji another forty minutes.
“Hey,” he says, staring down at his lap and his hands and the cigarette that he's toying around with in between fingers and fingertips. He sets it down on the table finally, and looks at Zoro with one half-closed eye. His voice is purposefully low, and he leans in to say, “Come on. Since when do we stop and sit down at the table to brood in the middle of a fucking fight?”
He can't keep a straight face, because that's got to be the worst and most tasteless come on he's ever had the misfortune of uttering, but it somehow appeals to Zoro's ape-like sensibilities, because forty minutes fly by when one is exerting oneself physically, Sanji finds. They fly by so quickly that one is likely to forget that one has imposed a time limit on oneself, and... well...
“Wow... Brook, can you do that?”
“If I am forced to admit it...” Whispered, conspiratorial. “Yes. I can.”
“Woooow!”
“That's disgusting.”
“It's not what you guys think!” Sanji says during a mad rush to cover up something rather incriminating on his person.
“He's lying. It is,” Zoro says, then yawns, having been thoroughly satisfied just moments before, the bastard.
Luffy makes a fist and slams it down on his open palm. “Yosh! Sanji offered to do Zoro's laundry!”
“No!!”
Zoro laughs. He's been laughing too much since Thriller Bark, but Sanji realizes in between buttoning up his pants and getting up to take the lasagna from the oven that maybe that makes sense. Zoro has saved the people most important to him, and Sanji has to admit that maybe, if he'd been able to manage that, he'd smile more too.
He's smiling just realizing that.
“Sanjiiiii, fooooood!”
And then it's gone. He wishes he had another one-hundred eighty minutes to reflect on the last one-hundred eighty and maybe repeat some of it, too, but his nakama (and their captain in particular) need their food, and Zoro isn't going anywhere, sleeping propped up against the wall the way he is.
At least not until he goes about five feet when Sanji kicks him awake.
Author:
takewingFandom: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4674
Summary: A lot can happen in the time it takes to bake lasagna.
Notes: Written for
jump_exchange and originally posted here. Contains spoilers through the end of the Thriller Bark arc. Yes, it took me forever to post this.There are 180 minutes left for the three-cheese lasagna with spicy sea king sausage (a creation he had made himself just last week and was rather proud of).
Usually during times like these, when there's little to do but wait for the meal to make itself, Sanji will first stick a well-deserved cigarette into his mouth, light it promptly, and clean up after himself. He does that today, because habits are difficult and sometimes unnecessary to break, and also because there's an annoying asshole sitting at the table, watching him and just waiting for his chance to say or do something insufferably annoying, and Sanji needs the comfort of nicotine and routine to calm his nerves as Zoro silently watches him.
Sanji digs out a smoke and lights it in one fluid motion that betrays none of his uneasiness at Zoro's presence. He hides his eyes behind his hair and glances in Zoro's direction, but he hasn't fallen asleep or left or anything – he's still sitting there, looking for all intents and purposes bored out of his mind and holding his head in one burly hand. There's an inquisitive look in his eyes, though, as he watches Sanji, and it's times like these that Sanji has to admit that the moron probably uses his brain more than he'd like to imagine.
He looks away and ignores him, instead turning around and gathering dirtied dishes, bowls, and utensils and taking them to the sink for a wash – a very thorough wash, to help distract him from Zoro's stupid presence. If he's only sitting there to get a rise out of him, Sanji refuses to raise to the bait. He's cool, he's calm, and he's going to ignore the bastard until he goes away.
Sanji turns on the faucet and grabs the bottle of dish soap, pouring some into the rapidly filling sink and allows the dishes to soak for a moment. He looks at the clock – 177 minutes on the lasagna.
Dammit, he thinks. But soon he's wetting the sponge and scrubbing and rinsing. He puts the dishes on a drying rack, one after another, and because he doesn't hear Zoro's approach over the sound of running water, he's surprised when a hand intercepts his on its way to placing a bowl onto the drying rack.
Sanji meets Zoro's eyes for a second. The bastard is still thinking about something, as far as he can tell, though apparently there's still enough room in his head to allow for helping Sanji dry the dishes, of all things. To say he's surprised is an understatement, but Sanji's not going to question it.
There are more important things, after all. The marimo being helpful is an improvement, at any rate, and he wonders if he should say “thank you” or even anything at all as he hands Zoro a clean spatula.
Their hands brush – Sanji's warm and wet and slightly soapy, Zoro's warm and hard with a hint of damp. Sanji can almost imagine that Zoro had frozen slightly at the contact but that makes no sense so he dismisses the idea as soon as it comes.
Fifteen minutes pass – 162 minutes until the lasagna is finished – in silence and it's beginning to drive Sanji insane. He should be saying, “Zoooo-ro” and “Zo-roooo” and “Zoro!”, long and short, high and low – teasing versions of Zoro's name – every time he passes him a dish or plate. He doesn't, though, because the other's mood is strange and kind of has been since Thriller Bark, and maybe Sanji knows why but he doesn't like thinking about that – it makes him feel cold and maybe a little worried, not that he'd admit that out loud.
He can feel the chill pass through him as he hands Zoro the last utensil – a stainless steel spoon – and turns off the faucet. It's like a thousand spiders are migrating along his spine and across his limbs, and he's sure Zoro notices, but he covers it up by not looking him in the eye and placing his hands in his pants pockets. There he finds his pack of cigarettes, and lights another one.
Zoro puts down the towel he'd been using to dry the dishes. He's looking at Sanji again, kind of like he had been minutes before, when he was sitting at the table, but this time he's looking with the intent to speak – looking into Sanji's eyes, and it's a searching look that Sanji's not very familiar with. It's a slight smile that Sanji's even less familiar with.
He's been smiling more since Thriller Bark, Sanji realizes suddenly. The reason for this is beyond him.
“Hey,” he says finally, setting down his sponge and taking in a deep lungful of calming smoke. “Thanks.”
Zoro shrugs. “Sure. I'd say 'any time', but I probably won't feel like it next time.”
This amuses Sanji more than pissing him off, so the only blow that he gives Zoro for that bit of cheek is the kicking equivalent of a playful shove. Zoro, being Zoro, has to prove himself even in situations like these and blocks the kick with the scabbard of one of his swords before it can land gently on the back of his calf.
Sanji shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and looks at the clock. 150 minutes – it's been only a half hour, but somehow Sanji feels less annoyed than he had thirty minutes ago. He looks around the kitchen, noticing how filthy it is, sighs and grabs a washcloth. As he wets it with warm water, he says, “You can go back to watching me and not moving like a slow-growing green mold or you can grab a cloth and start scrubbing.”
Zoro's already sitting back down, though, this time resting his head on the opposite hand, and already he's staring deep into the space immediately around and maybe inside of Sanji. “Nah...” His voice is not all there, and he yawns, then, but doesn't go to sleep as far as Sanji can tell. It wouldn't surprise him if Zoro had learned to sleep with his eyes open, but the way his eyes follow Sanji as he moves pretty much discounts that theory.
Sanji makes sure to give him a pissed off look whenever he can from then on, each time he has to re-wet the washcloth and each time he goes back to cleaning the countertops. Zoro responds to Sanji with slightly narrowed eyes and that grin he has when he knows he's pissing Sanji off, which surprises him but shouldn't. Nothing's changed, after what happened.
Sanji finishes and there are 140 minutes left for the lasagna. That's more than enough time to mix drinks for the ladies (and maybe to leave a large pitcher of something for the guys, too, but only if he feels like it)
Sanji grabs a small bottle of fresh-squeezed mikan juice from the fridge and two bottles from the alcohol cabinet – rum and advocaat. There are a couple bananas sitting in a bowl of fresh fruit on the kitchen table, but when Sanji turns around, he sees that Zoro's eating one like the ape that Sanji knows he is.
He's there in a flash grabbing the fruit on its way to Zoro's mouth for what seems like the second or third bite, and he kicks Zoro's chair backwards in the same movement, enjoying the look of shock that motion provides him with.
“Did I say you could eat that, idiot?”
“What the hell was that for?!”
They speak at the same time and their scowls are identical. When Zoro stands up, he reaches for the hilts of his swords and growls, “Are you looking for a fight, cook?”
“No, I'm looking to use this banana to make a Beach Blonde.” He sets the banana on a cutting board effortlessly chops off the end that Zoro had bitten off of. A chunk of banana about an inch thick rests on the flat side of the knife, and Sanji reaches out to Zoro with it. “Here. You can have this much and an apple, or something, but that's it.”
Zoro scoffs, apparently pissed that Sanji isn't in the mood for a fight. “You have that. That's barely even worth eating.”
Sanji narrows his eyes at the asshole in front of him, wondering not for the first time why and how there were times he didn't want to kill him. He removes the cigarette from between his lips and flips the chunk of banana into his mouth and chews. “Whatever, then. Why don't you just leave, asshole?”
Through his quickly brewing anger, Sanji somehow finds time to notice the look on Zoro's face as he asks that – his eyes narrow but look away to the side, and his lips curl. His face is tinted pink, but that's probably just from the yelling he'd done just moments before – right?
There's something about today that's different, and Sanji can feel it. There are too many loose ends that will need to be tied up before the day ends, the sun sets, and the crew sits down to eat three cheese lasagna, and it pisses Sanji off that all of the loose ends have something to do with Zoro. He wonders if a good fight won't solve whatever this is, or if they'll actually have to talk about it. That idea – talking about it – doesn't sit well with him at all. Men don't talk to other men. Men do things, react to things. They don't talk about them. They just do them.
Zoro, especially, is like that. So what's with that stupid look of his?
“What's with that retarded look?” Sanji asks, scowling.
“Shut up!” It's when Zoro gets pinker that Sanji suddenly realizes and it all clicks – he's sick.
“You're sick,” he states, not concerned in the least but actually quite relieved. Zoro being sick he can deal with – Zoro wanting to talk to him about something... not so much.
Sanji produces a thermometer from a drawer and walks over to Zoro, pointing it in the vague direction of his mouth and wagging it around in a way he's sure will annoy Zoro.
“Quit that!” Zoro bats away the thermometer. “I'm not sick, dart-brow.”
“If you'd rather Chopper took care of this, I can always call him,” Sanji says, his message helpful but his tone anything but as he smirks and continues wagging the thermometer in front of Zoro's face.
“At least Chopper would know that I'm not sick,” Zoro replies half-heartedly.
Sanji stops the wagging momentarily, sighs, and asks the question that he really didn't want to ask – the one that would indicate that he... wanted to talk about it. Whatever the hell “it” even was.
“So what's wrong then, idiot?”
Zoro scoffs at the question. “Nothing.”
“Yeah right. But whatever, it's not like I care anyway,” Sanji extinguishes the butt of his cigarette in the ash tray near the sink and returns to preparing two glasses of Beach Blonde for Nami-san and Robin-chan.
One shot of rum, four of advocaat, four of mikan juice, one banana – blended together with enough ice for two lovely, gorgeous women on a warm, breezy evening on the Grand Line. Before pouring the drinks, Sanji lights a fresh cigarette and subconsciously begins blowing smoke hearts as he adds the finishing touches – colorful straws and floral garnish. He sets the drinks on a serving tray and practically twirls out of the galley, leaving smoke hearts and a disgusted Zoro behind.
There are still 116 minutes until the lasagna will be done, but it doesn't matter because he's leaving the marimo idiot behind for a few minutes to visit his lovely ladies and bestow his gift of love upon them!
“Thank you, Sanji-kun,” says Nami-san with a smile as she looks up from her maps to grab her drink. “What is it?”
“Delicious,” Sanji grins widely. “And hopefully worthy of Nami-san's time.”
“No, no, I meant what is it called?” Nami-san takes a sip and smiles. “It isn't bad, though, I'll give you that.”
Sanji nearly swoons. “It's called a Beach Blonde, and if Nami-san wants another at any time, I will be more than happy to provide. Enjoy~!”
He leaves hearts, smoky and bubbly and happy, in his wake as he leaves to find Robin-chan in the ship's library. As he hands her the drink, she asks him something which serves to make his mood plummet.
“How is Swordsman-san doing today, Cook-san?”
Why does she want to talk about that idiot? Sanji's smile falters for only a second before it's back again and he's comforting Robin, who must be very worried about Zoro and his condition post-Thriller Bark. Or something.
“Oh, fiiiine, Robin-chan! He woke up first thing in the morning and started lifting weights and he's just as annoying as usual today, that's for sure! Nothing at all to worry about,” he says cheerfully.
“So has he told you?” Robin interjects, taking a dainty sip of her drink.
“Told me what?”
“Why it is that he's been tailing you today, among other things.”
By this point Sanji is thoroughly perplexed. “Robin-chan...” He fiddles with the drink tray propped under his arm and stares into lovely dark eyes, hoping for a clue or a proclamation of love.
“I'm sure he will soon – Swordsman-san is hardly the type to ponder upon things for too long,” she says, closing the subject quite effectively. “Thank you for the drink, it's delicious.”
“Ah... you're welcome, Robin-chan,” says Sanji, blinking and leaving the room sans the smile he'd entered it with.
101 minutes remain until dinner will be served, and Sanji returns to the galley in a contemplative mood, only to find Zoro still sitting at the table, turning his head and watching Sanji enter. He continues watching as Sanji sets down the drink tray.
“I stole some of that rum,” Zoro admits, and Sanji just watches with growing annoyance as the idiot turns the rum bottle upside down, proving that it is, in fact, empty.
“Shitty drunk-ass marimo,” he mutters, taking the bottle from Zoro's hand throwing it in a bin. “Can't even leave anything out without you stealing it.”
Zoro just shrugs.
Sanji puts the rest of his things away and tidies up again before pouring himself a single glass of wine and sits down at the table across from Zoro. Robin's words echo in his mind as he takes a sip, allowing the flavors to roll across his tongue before swallowing. The wine isn't the best, but neither is the company.
There's silence for several minutes, another uncomfortable silence, until Zoro says, “Smells good.”
“Hm?” But then Sanji realizes he's probably talking about the lasagna, and now that he's mentioned it Sanji has to agree. “Obviously.”
Zoro lets out a frustrated breath – a long, loud exhalation that seems to relieve him of some tension. “Idiot cook. Your ego's too big.”
Sanji laughs humorlessly. “Like you've got a right to say that.”
There's a breath of silence before Zoro says quietly, “It was my duty.”
It takes Sanji a while to figure out that he's not talking about telling him he's got a big head. “What?”
“With Kuma and Luffy. There are some things you've just gotta do.”
Zoro's explanation hits Sanji somewhere in the chest. He doesn't want to talk about this. He doesn't want to think about it either. He's angry, yeah, at Zoro for going through with it and for surviving when maybe (maybe) Sanji couldn't have, but he's angry at himself for maybe (maybe) not having been able to do what Zoro did.
It's better not to think about it. It's not like they'll ever know for sure either way what might have happened because what's in the past is in the past. So why is Zoro being an ass and mentioning it?
“I fucking know that,” Sanji all but growls. He clutches his wine glass so tightly that he fears it might break, and abruptly lets go of it in favor of a fresh smoke, hoping he won't somehow break that instead.
What he really wants to do right now is to break Zoro's head, but that can wait until after he's said all he feels like he needs to say. That idiot – who did he think he was talking to here? Sanji understood – that didn't mean he had to like it or even wanted to talk about it, but he got it. Doing what needed to be done – wasn't Sanji ready to do the exact same thing? Hadn't Zoro stopped him? Wasn't he ready to do it again in a heartbeat? He should know, then, that Sanji knew. Sanji knew damn well.
Better than anyone else knew, because no one else did know.
That bastard.
His hand isn't shaking and he'll kill anyone who says otherwise. Zoro doesn't say otherwise. He does say, “Yeah, well... there are some other things. Things you have to do to protect people – your captain, and your friend.”
Sanji looks at him, his expression blank and his voice controlled. “Things like what?”
Zoro must have thought that Sanji would understand whatever he was trying to say by now, and seems at a loss for a few seconds before replying with an honesty that hits Sanji where it hurts the most. “Like knocking you out to save your stupid ass.”
Sanji blinks, leans back in his chair, and stares. He'd expected this, but hadn't expected it to ever be said. He'd thought whatever they had between them (and there was something, there always had been), it didn't need words. Now that it has words, Sanji doesn't know what to do or say back.
Your captain, and your friend.
He'd thought they were one and the same – that Zoro was talking about Luffy. But he was the...
This was too much. It was over the top and Zoro was acting almost like a different person since it had happened. Sanji wanted back the Zoro who hadn't tasted an amount of pain that would have been enough to kill any other man, even him.
“You're such an idiot!” Sanji growls. “Don't say shit like that!”
Zoro narrows his eyes and frowns. “Why not?”
“Because you wouldn't have said it before so don't say it now just because you happened to do what you did! Besides, I know, how many times do I have to say it?” Sanji stands up and looks at the clock in exasperated impatience. There's still 75 minutes to go, and he wants nothing more than the presence of his other nakama around the dinner table and some semblance of normalcy.
Instead he has Zoro. “Get out,” Sanji says, deadpan.
“What?”
“Out. Get out. I've had enough of you for today and if you stay in here any longer...” He lets the threat hang. He himself doesn't know what he'll do, but he does know that it won't be good.
“You'll what? Bust up your precious new kitchen? I doubt it.” Zoro's just sitting there, seemingly relaxed while Sanji's caught up in a wave of anger and confusion.
There's still over an hour before dinner, and he needs out of there. He needs away, he needs to be alone, he needs the quiet and the familiar and he needs another fucking cigarette, god dammit.
“Shitty cook, calm down,” Zoro says. His hand has caught Sanji's wrist and Sanji instinctively jerks away.
“Dammit, I swear, if you don't let go I'll kick you through the wall,” Sanji warns, voice burning with anger.
“Try it,” says Zoro. He's standing up, now, and moving into Sanji's personal space with a shit-eating grin. Sanji is faced with conflicting urges of wanting to kick him away like he'd said and wanting to draw him closer. Why closer? “I've always wondered just how strong this Adam wood is.”
“You'll stop wondering the moment you're flying through it because you won't be conscious,” Sanji threatens, but he doesn't do anything to back that threat up. Zoro's inching closer, and Sanji is inching backward. Eventually he'll hit the wall himself, and he wonders what will happen at that point. He wonders if it's wrong that he's excited to find out.
He doesn't care. This is more like the Zoro he knows and... tolerates. He'll take this over the bullshit from a few minutes ago any day.
Sanji's eyes leave Zoro's to check on the timing for the lasagna, but Zoro moves his body so that he can't see the clock. Sanji scowls. “You make a better door than a window.”
“You've been looking at that stupid clock every time you want an escape route. Not this time,” Zoro leans over, leaning against the wall that they're now practically backed up against on one hand. The hand rests over Sanji's right shoulder.
Sanji tries to breathe.
“I just want to know how much time we've got on the lasagna, jackass.”
Zoro lets out a puff of air that might be a laugh. His head leans in closer – close enough that Sanji can feel moist breath on his cheek, on his ear.
Breathing is really, inexplicably difficult.
Zoro says, “Plenty of time,” and it's like there's been a mutual decision, an unspoken agreement, because they both turn their heads at the same time, find each others' lips, pull back, and push back in against each other again. Again. Again.
They press up against each other and Sanji finds the leverage he needs to flip their positions while their mouths are still locked and his tongue presses inside Zoro's mouth simultaneously and it's like... it's like it feels good, but it makes him angry, and judging by the sound Zoro's making he's feeling similarly.
“What the hell is this?” Sanji pant-growls. He can feel Zoro's rough lips against his as he speaks, even though they've technically parted. He hates it, loves it, and presses his lips closed to get rid of it or memorize it or-
“You started it,” Zoro says, looking for all the world like an embarrassed little boy with that reddening face of his and the way he's avoiding Sanji's eyes.
“I did not! That was all you! I don't even like you!”
Zoro's eyes are back on him in an instant. “You liked me enough just a minute ago, cook.”
“That didn't mean anything...” Sanji lies.
There's silence.
Sanji looks at the clock. Fifty minutes. Great. Finally he has less than an hour and he can be saved by the rest of the crew barging into the galley hungry and loud as ever. Hopefully when they do that Zoro won't be pressed between the wall and Sanji like he is right now, but the way things have gone today, Sanji isn't willing to make any bets on the matter.
Zoro breaks the silence with the most idiotic and stupid question Sanji's ever heard.
“Wanna do it some more?”
Sanji, incredulous, just stares at him. His brain must not be wired to his mouth properly, though, because he replies, roughly, “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Zoro repeats, smiling slightly and glancing quickly between Sanji's mouth and eyes. Every motion is teasing, made to make Sanji feel small and maybe stupid for saying anything other than “hell yes”, but Sanji isn't falling for it.
“No!”
“Yes.” Again with the shit-eating grin.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“N–”
There's no way that Zoro could say he hadn't started it this time, because Sanji is stuck yelling the rest of “no” into his mouth, but it's actions that speak loudest and Sanji's mouth, his tongue, and his teeth are initiating a lot of action.
It's a game; a kind of fighting. Sanji had never thought of kissing and combat as synonymous before, but it follows that with Zoro they would be. He'd never even dream of kissing a girl like this. He'd never thought of kissing guys like this either, though he had thought of kissing guys only to shrug it off as a waste of time. He'd never really thought of kissing Zoro, but now he's doing it and it's all he can think about.
There's a slight break to catch their breath, and Sanji asks angrily, “Were you stalking me all day just because you wanted to do this?” He has his fists clenched against the sides of Zoro's shirt, squeezing the fabric in both hands, and he pulls.
Zoro averts his eyes, but not for long. “No. That was mostly to make sure you were all right.”
Sanji scowls. “Why wouldn't I be? It's not your fucking job to monitor that, anyway, and what do you mean, 'mostly'?”
Zoro smirks. “I mean that maybe I kind of wanted this to happen too.”
Sanji has Zoro pinned against the wall with one foot pressed against his chest in an instant. He pushes hard. “How long?”
“I dunno... how long ago since you made that lasagna?”
“No, moron! How long... this thing...” He can't even say it. Zoro somehow understands.
He shrugs. “Dunno.” Sanji knows that Zoro's letting him do this; letting him pin him like a bad guy up for interrogation. If it wasn't obvious before, it is when Zoro uses his propped leg for an awkward sort of armrest.
“Bastard.” Sanji lets him go, pulls away, and sits down.
“Curly-queen.”
That's a new one, Sanji thinks dryly. He takes a cigarette from his pack and sticks it between his lips. Though he doesn't light it, it's still comforting and maybe it'll prevent Zoro from putting the moves on him again.
He takes it out again. Maybe he wants the moves put on him.
He puts it back in after a second. No he doesn't.
It goes back out again, and Sanji's expression appears pained. Yes. Yes, he does.
The cigarette stays out. Sanji looks over at Zoro and his lips turn up when he realizes that Zoro's actually trying his best not to show his own amusement.
The clock gives Sanji another forty minutes.
“Hey,” he says, staring down at his lap and his hands and the cigarette that he's toying around with in between fingers and fingertips. He sets it down on the table finally, and looks at Zoro with one half-closed eye. His voice is purposefully low, and he leans in to say, “Come on. Since when do we stop and sit down at the table to brood in the middle of a fucking fight?”
He can't keep a straight face, because that's got to be the worst and most tasteless come on he's ever had the misfortune of uttering, but it somehow appeals to Zoro's ape-like sensibilities, because forty minutes fly by when one is exerting oneself physically, Sanji finds. They fly by so quickly that one is likely to forget that one has imposed a time limit on oneself, and... well...
“Wow... Brook, can you do that?”
“If I am forced to admit it...” Whispered, conspiratorial. “Yes. I can.”
“Woooow!”
“That's disgusting.”
“It's not what you guys think!” Sanji says during a mad rush to cover up something rather incriminating on his person.
“He's lying. It is,” Zoro says, then yawns, having been thoroughly satisfied just moments before, the bastard.
Luffy makes a fist and slams it down on his open palm. “Yosh! Sanji offered to do Zoro's laundry!”
“No!!”
Zoro laughs. He's been laughing too much since Thriller Bark, but Sanji realizes in between buttoning up his pants and getting up to take the lasagna from the oven that maybe that makes sense. Zoro has saved the people most important to him, and Sanji has to admit that maybe, if he'd been able to manage that, he'd smile more too.
He's smiling just realizing that.
“Sanjiiiii, fooooood!”
And then it's gone. He wishes he had another one-hundred eighty minutes to reflect on the last one-hundred eighty and maybe repeat some of it, too, but his nakama (and their captain in particular) need their food, and Zoro isn't going anywhere, sleeping propped up against the wall the way he is.
At least not until he goes about five feet when Sanji kicks him awake.
