Happy birthday Sanji! I guess this is what happens when you play a little too much Fallout. Title from the song of the same name by plenty of artists, but more specifically I had Billie Holiday's version in mind.

Crazy He Calls Me

Sanji's stomach had stopped eating itself from the inside. It had been a feeling that seemed tolerable at times, and then he'd wake up in the middle of the night, clutching his stomach and nearly crying at the feeling. He was glad to see it go, but it wasn't a good sign. Weakness was beginning to set in. Every day that passed by, it became harder to pull himself out of bed, harder to continue to search for something, anything.

It was his own fault, though. He thought he'd rationed things out perfectly, and with Zeff being where he was now, his supply was supposed to have lasted even longer.

Needless to say, it hadn't. He wasn't sure where it had gone wrong - if he'd eaten more than he was supposed to, or if the constantly pounding migraines were causing him to forget where he'd stored it all again. Scavenging hadn't turned up anything that was edible, even to the most desperate person. There was water, there was shelter, but that was all.

So that was why he was spending his sixteenth birthday laying out sticks of dynamite on the surface of a frozen pond half a mile out from the apartment complex he'd holed up in. He didn't even care if the fish inside were ones that tasted bad; he just needed to eat something.

Four sticks - one for every four years he'd been alive, and surely enough to break the ice. He lit them with shaking hands - partially from the cold, and partially from the fact that he'd never been able to hold himself still. That was just the way it was these days; almost everyone had been born from a body that was mutated and radiated, and if you managed to meet an old-timer, they'd be sure to tell you how it was a miracle in the first place that women's bodies could still carry you to term after suffering like that.

He'd worked around it for his whole life. Debilitating migraines, insomnia, tremors. All things considered, he was pretty well off. But just because he'd made it past childhood didn't mean things were smooth sailing in the world, hence his current dilemma. One that could be ending his life any day now.

"Happy birthday to me," Sanji said to himself bitterly, scuttling backward off the ice as the strings began to burn themselves down.

He ran like hell for the edge of the road even though he shouldn't have been wasting so much energy, and continued to count the seconds to detonation in his head. When it had about fifteen to go, he raised his hands, covering his ears tightly, and shut his eyes.

The earth shook faintly as they went off in staggered succession, and he opened his eyes. The ice had busted wide open, and he scrambled back down the small incline to it. A glance inside showed that there was water and fish, but they were bloated and mutated, long since dead at any rate. He didn't know why he'd even bothered, and felt suddenly stupid.

"I hope you don't plan to eat that shit," said a voice from behind him. Sanji whirled around and whipped out the revolver he kept at his side, finger going right for the trigger.

The man was tall and his face was washed in shadow from the brim of his hat. He was wearing a long green coat and a sash around his waist holding a few swords, and a huge duffel bag over his back. When Sanji moved closer, they were practically at eye-level, and he could suddenly get a better look at the man's face.

He was tanned darkly, probably from days spent out in the glaring whiteness of the world, and looked to be about Sanji's age, which meant he was born after the end too. One of those lucky few that made it past childhood. But it was clear he hadn't been unaffected; one of his eyes was most likely completely gone under the eyepatch he wore, and the one that remained was a bright, nearly fluorescent green. His hair was about the same color, but aside from that, he was almost completely normal.

Lucky. They were all so damn lucky to get to exist in a world like this, where you still lived in darkness most months of the year, there was never enough food, and death was pretty much guaranteed before the age of thirty. It was promised that things would be getting better. At some point, probably after he was dead. Yeah. Lucky.

"It's not like it would've done me much harm," Sanji finally replied. His voice was rusty and unused, and he had to say the words several times before they appeared, like tracing over a line so that the ink showed up.

The man looked at him impassively out of his one eye. "If you're that desperate, I'll give you some of my food."

"I don't need your food, bastard," Sanji said, backing away immediately.

The man frowned. "Ungrateful, aren't you?"

"No! I didn't ask for shit from you, so leave me the fuck alone. Go away," Sanji said, and his voice cracked painfully over every sentence. The gun, still in his hand, was a heavy weight, and made his words threatening where his vocal chords couldn't. And he could hold it steady, he could shoot straight. That much had to be obvious, even if his hands shook.

The man held up his hands but didn't move an inch. "I'm not asking for trouble. At least not right now."

Sanji couldn't believe him though. Survivors were always wily, they'd take down anybody to get at their food, clothes, shelter. And though Sanji was strong (at least when he'd eaten in the past week) he couldn't trust his mind to always be there. So it was just best if the man left and didn't come back.

"Listen..." the man said at last, rubbing the back of his neck. It pushed the brim of his hat forward into his face, and he shoved it back with the other hand. "I just need directions."

Sanji frowned, but took his finger off the trigger of his gun. "I'll tell you if I know, but you have to leave as soon as you've got them."

The man nodded. "I'm not trying to hurt you though. So you can stop acting like I am."

"I don't trust anybody," Sanji said, frown becoming almost painful, because it was a lie. He'd trusted, but it had died along with Zeff. "And I damn well don't trust anybody who says he has food, 'cause that probably means he's a thief."

The man shifted from foot to foot. "Fair enough. I'll leave as soon as I have directions."

Sanji nodded, but kept his eyes sharp on the man. "Then come with me. And if I see you make a move out of line, I'll blow your fucking brains out, I won't even hesitate."

The apartment building he and Zeff had been staying in was mostly crumbling, but there were a few rooms on the second floor that were both well hidden and difficult to get to. Since Sanji was so nimble, it was easy for him. For an outsider, it was amusingly hard.

He couldn't count the number of times the man had almost fallen on the way to the room. But they were in it now, and Sanji had pulled out all of his maps, placing them on the crooked table while he continued to hold the gun on the man. His arms were starting to shake, but he wouldn't drop them for a moment. He had to be vigilant.

The man sat down on the rickety chair and looked all over the maps with his single eye. He'd been at it for nearly half an hour when he finally said, "I can't read it."

Sanji made a dismissive noise. "You don't have to be able to read it, just follow the lines."

"But I don't know which one is the one I'm going to," the man said.

Oh. Oh. He meant he couldn't read at all. Sanji felt pity for him suddenly. He had been raised in a community where traditions of the past were taught to the next generation, but that didn't mean that everyone had the same advantage. "Where are you going to?" Sanji asked, moving over to his side.

The man looked up at him, squinting his one eye. "Why the hell should I tell you? Couldn't you just be playing weak to throw me off, so that your friends can come after me later?"

Sanji laughed disparagingly. "I don't have any friends anymore. They're all dead."

"Hm. Kuraigana," the man said after a few moments.

Sanji leaned across him, tracing his eyes over the map. The name was familiar, but he didn't know where the hell it actually was. It took him a minute or so, but he finally tapped his finger on the little black dot. "This is it."

"Thanks," the man grunted. He slung his duffel bag off and searched through it for a second before pulling out an MRE, a bottle of water, and a little container of multivitamins, all of which he placed at the opposite side of the table. "Here."

"No-" Sanji started, but the man interrupted him.

"I'll sit here while you eat. If it's poisoned, you can shoot me."

"I don't know what use that would do. I'd end up dead either way," Sanji said. Still, he sat down on the other chair and ripped open the MRE. His first few bites were tentative, but within seconds he was ravenous, eating as much as he could fit in his mouth.

"I'm Zoro, by the way," the man - Zoro - said.

"Sanji," he replied between bites.

Zoro smiled, and the expression seemed to soften his face. "It's your birthday?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sanji said. He wanted to tell Zoro to shut up, so that he could eat his food in peace but honestly, it was nice to have someone talk to him for the first time in months.

Before he knew it, Zoro had leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. His lips were dry and a little chapped, and Sanji recoiled sharply. Only fancy assholes from the Capital did shit like kissing people on the cheek, but Zoro didn't look like he was from the Capital.

"What the hell was that for?!" Sanji nearly yelled.

Zoro shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in the chair, looking for all intents and purposes like that was a completely normal thing to do. "It's your birthday, and I didn't have anything else to give you."

"A kiss isn't a gift, asshole," Sanji said, but he wasn't quite sure of that.

Before he knew it, a week had passed, and still Zoro remained. Sanji wouldn't admit it, but it was almost nice to have someone else around. He'd spent long portions at a time alone in his life, but it was harder now, out in the middle of nowhere, completely exposed, where he wasn't actually safe at any point and had to sleep with a gun by his side. With someone else around, he could relax the slightest bit.

Sanji spent his days regaining his strength, watching out for looters, and cooking. Zeff had been a chef before the end, and had tried to teach Sanji anything he could with the supplies he had. It was a meager difference, but they quickly learned that whatever Sanji cooked was bound to be better than what Zoro did.

And since Sanji was unofficially in charge of the homestead, Zoro would disappear every day for hours at a time, then return with whatever he'd found that was edible - roots, herbs, animals. As far as Sanji knew, the radiation wasn't that bad out here, but that wasn't saying much.

He didn't trust Zoro, but the fact of the matter was that he was good company, he brought food, and he was quiet most of the time. And best of all, he didn't bring up the kiss.

They bickered a lot, though, especially once Sanji started to regain his strength. It wasn't ever over anything that was actually important; just small things, like who got to sleep in the bed, who had night watch, who got the best piece of meat.

But they'd started to get to know each other, too. Sanji had caved and told Zoro about Zeff, and in return Zoro had told him about his childhood of wandering, searching for anyone. That had struck a kindred between them, though small and probably one-sided.

It was almost comfortable, for lack of a better word. That wasn't to say it was good, though. Sanji still watched his back fiercely, just waiting for Zoro to stab him in it, and he still couldn't let go of Zeff despite finally talking about it, getting it off his chest. He still couldn't move on.

Before the rations had run out, when he'd been well enough to do so, he'd dug a grave for Zeff and lowered him into it, covering him up with a tarp before filling the hole back in with dirt. There were a few rocks on top in the vague shape of a cross, mostly covered by snow now, and Sanji went out to it every day, saying his prayers and his thanks.

He couldn't leave the grave behind, not at this point. He still owed Zeff too much, which was why Zoro's increasingly persistent suggestions that he leave here nearly ended in homicide one night.

Sanji had been laying down to go to sleep in the bed, Zoro sitting on the lumpy couch keeping an eye and an ear out. Of course they'd still been talking, because sometimes Sanji was just in the mood to, and Zoro would start off grunting in reply but he'd eventually open up.

He'd finally told Sanji about traveling to the Upper Yard and meeting some megalomaniac who'd been convinced he was a god. He had a sparse manner of telling stories, leaving plenty of details out, but Sanji had been entranced anyway.

"It sounds like it's nice to be that free, to go on adventures," Sanji said.

"You just stay here?" Zoro asked at length. "There isn't anything you want to do? Anywhere you want to see?"

Sanji thought for a moment. There was a place, he had been told, where the world wasn't white, but blue. Where every kind of fish imaginable lived all in one space, safe and clean to eat, a paradise for chefs. Not that Sanji was well enough to go in any case. Zeff had died trying to get them there, and now he was alone.

"No," he said. "Here is fine."

"There's gotta be something," Zoro said.

"There's nothing. I'm not done here yet, anyway," Sanji replied.

"Let's go. Come with me," Zoro said.

"No."

"You think he'd want you to sit here wasting away because he's dead?"

"Don't talk like you know anything about him, you fucking bastard!"

Zoro's eye glowed in the darkness as it turned its gaze on Sanji. "He gave a shit about you, and you're walking all over that. Don't you think he had a purpose for taking you with him?"

Sanji leapt out of bed then, revolver in his hand and at the ready. "Shut your fucking mouth."

"I think you're scared," Zoro continued as his hand went to the hilt of the white sword laying beside him.

"Shut up!"

"You're weak and you gave up on your dream because you think you owe it to him in exchange for his death," Zoro said.

"I'm not joking, you piece of shit!" Sanji warned. His fingertip shook against the trigger, but he aimed it right at Zoro's heart.

"And now that someone else has come along, you're too ashamed to admit that you had a dream. So you let yourself seem weak."

"Who the fuck is weak?" Sanji yelled. His finger tightened on the trigger, firing into the wall right over Zoro's shoulder. "Who the fuck is weak? Giving up on a dream is the hardest thing a man can do! Living without purpose, without something to keep you going in a world like this, how is that weak? If I was weak, why in the hell would I repay my debts? Why in the hell would I make sure that his grave was untainted for even a minute longer, when I could be hiding in a bunker somewhere, waiting to die? This is the least weak I've ever been, and fuck you for jumping to your own conclusions! Tell me again who's weak!"

Zoro's mouth had slowly morphed into a smile as Sanji raged at him, and his hand finally dropped from the hilt of his sword. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"The fire in you. I knew it was there."

Sanji didn't know what overcame him then. He marched across the room and kicked Zoro right in the face. Blood streamed down from his nose, but still, he was smiling.

At some point, Sanji had managed to calm down. He'd wiped up the blood that had dripped on the floor, and went downstairs to where he could avoid Zoro for a while.

Every time he glanced out the window to the mound of snow piled over Zeff's grave, a little bit of doubt grew in his heart. Did he really need to stay here for the rest of his life, tending that grave? Did he want to? Would Zeff fault him for it? The answers to every single one of those questions were suddenly becoming clear to him.

When he'd gone back upstairs, Zoro had been starting on his second dusty bottle of whiskey, but he didn't seem uncoordinated at all.

Sanji had reluctantly sat down next to him on the couch, and the fight had been forgotten for the moment.

"I want a woman," Sanji finally said, breaking the silence nearly an hour later. He'd had half a bottle of gin and, having never drank alcohol before, was apparently reaching his limit. "I want to leave here and get a woman."

"You've never even met a woman, have you?" Zoro laughed.

Sanji shoved him hard in the shoulder. They were no less plentiful than men, but because of how unsafe it was out there, especially for women, you'd rarely see one. Most of them were far more stealthy than men, and they took great care to stay hidden. That wasn't to say that they all preferred to be sneaky - some of them were just as likely to be up in your face, gun-toting warriors, but Sanji had never met one of those. "So what if I haven't? I can still want one."

"I know a few who'd kick your ass up and down the street for thinking you could have one," Zoro said.

"Why don't you travel with them?" Sanji asked curiously.

"They've got other shit to do in other places, but we all come back home to the same place at some point." Zoro picked up the bottle of whiskey and chugged some, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"You have a home?"

"Hm, it's more like a base of operations," Zoro said.

"Where is it?"

"In the ocean. It's a ship."

Sanji let out a laugh. "A ship? Why a ship?"

Zoro shrugged and put his bottle back on the floor. "That's just what Luffy wanted."

"Luffy?"

"He's like our captain, I guess," Zoro said. His hand had been steadily creeping closer to Sanji's leg throughout the night, and his fingertips finally brushed against the coarse fabric of Sanji's jeans.

Sanji swallowed hard. He was afraid and anxious and excited all at once; he'd never done this before, had never had any idea how this kind of thing worked. All he knew was that men and women were supposed to want each other, but was this all that different? Had he just missed a part where it said that it was okay to want anyone that way?

Zoro's face had moved closer, looming in his vision. It was a very handsome face, despite the fact that he was missing an eye - broad and prominently-jawed, with a straight, regal nose and a surprisingly inviting mouth. And the eye that remained was almost hypnotic; whenever Zoro's gaze met Sanji's, he felt unable to look away.

It was having that exact effect on him right now, and he could do nothing but maintain eye contact as Zoro firmly breached the bubble of his personal space, hand coming around to rest on the side of Sanji's neck. He shifted to better face Zoro, hands shaking even harder than usual.

"Can I?" Zoro asked, hushed.

Sanji didn't answer, just leaned up and pressed his mouth awkwardly to Zoro's. It was clumsy and he was embarrassed almost immediately because what if Zoro actually had experience with these things? What if it was obvious that Sanji didn't?

But Zoro didn't seem to mind, just coaxed Sanji's lips apart and touched his tongue to Sanji's. He wasn't sure if it was meant to feel pleasurable or anything besides strange, but he kept with it, allowing Zoro to lead him through the kiss.

When they parted, Sanji found that it hadn't been all that bad, and so he initiated the next one. And the one after that. And soon they were able to meet each other, each kiss making Sanji feel less awkward, less inhibited.

His lips felt bruised when they finally pulled away for good, and his head felt woozy with a combination of drunkenness and adrenaline.

"Let's go," Zoro said after a few moments, offering Sanji his hand.

And Sanji didn't even hesitate when he took it.