It all started on a rock somewhere in the East Blue.
A severed leg, a cry for help, hunger so strong it felt as though his stomach was being torn to shreds.
A little brat sat by his side, reassuring him through bouts of mind-numbing pain, offering promises of rescue and declarations of dreams.
Yes, this brat would find the All Blue someday. Maybe it was the fever, but he believed this fervently.
The fire in his eyes told him so, the way he gripped his bony hands with a strength too vast for such a frail body to contain.
A strength that offered a semblance of stability, a lifeline through the torrents of starvation.
Zeff had never liked brats, but this one's company he didn't mind.
If they were to truly stay together after this ordeal, he needed a name, something to call him by. Using the brat's real name was too generous while using 'brat' was too foreign.
Studying the small figure that had collapsed at his side sometime during the night, his eyes raked over the dirt crusted to his skinny arms, to his mop of blond hair, stringy and dry from months of being blasted by sea spray to the way his eyelashes squeezed against his cheekbones too tight.
He tried to come up with something, but the fierce rays of sunlight beating down on him seemed to fry his brain, and he relented with a sigh.
"Ya can't sleep right now. You'll die–"
He paused for a moment, before adding:
"Lil' Eggplant."
Ever since he first saw him aboard the Orbit, he couldn't help but think the runt resembled a baby eggplant, running around in all white like that.
He'd gotten quite a laugh out of that before the idea of food became physically painful to consider.
The Lil' Eggplant gave a groan that was mostly muffled by the dirt and shifted slightly.
"Still kickin', huh? Not bad... for a weak brat such as yourself."
He'd never had a doubt.
"Stronger.." The Eggplant retorted, words raspy from his parched throat. "I'll get... stronger.."
Zeff quirked a grin at this, moving his gaze to the too blue sky.
Yeah, He decided. I don't mind this brat at all.
Another week passed, and they were rescued. It wasn't until he had a full stomach, and an arm hooked to IV, that he wondered if agreeing to let the Lil' Eggplant come along was a mistake.
For one: The damn brat drove him crazy
Zeff was beginning to think it was on purpose. The drooling over every woman they passed, the persistent nagging, the insistence to argue over every trifle no matter how small. Damn brat was pig-headed to a fault, and honestly, he wondered if that was a strength or a weakness. Possibly both.
Just yesterday, he'd insisted for over an hour he knew what a sous chef was, though he clearly didn't and still doesn't.
He'd always found brat's irritating, but as it turned out, this one by far was the worst of them all. Zeff hadn't had any idea what he was getting himself into on that rock, and honestly, he still wasn't sure. This damn Lil' Eggplant was already giving him a migraine, and he hadn't even fully recovered yet!
As he watched said Eggplant rush to the next woman, visible eye a heart, arms stretched high above his head as he yelled a string of compliments, Zeff resisted the urge to slam his head into the nearest wall.
Agh, these next couple of months were going to be rough, he could tell already. He wasn't suited for this sort of thing.
He'd taken a step to go after the brat when movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Across the crowded path, a vendor was trying to wave over customers, a stack of bright yellow fliers in their hands. Zeff wandered over, scrutinizing the line of unripe apples at the forefront, and the crates of grapes that were far too small sitting at either side.
"You're charging twenty berry for this crap?" He growled, causing the vendor to shrink away with a muffled 'meep!'
"W-Well, s-sir, you see–"
Tucking his arms over his chest and raising a brow was all he needed to do to make the vendor clamp their mouth shut. As if he was going to pay extra for fruit that wasn't in season! He wasn't some charity, he was a Pira–
Ah. Right.
He wasn't a Pirate anymore.
Grudgingly, he handed over the correct amount of berry, trading it for a basket of apples. At least, these should ripen within the week.
He floated from stall to stall, pausing at the pumpkin stand long enough to purchase two. They weren't exactly quality material, but they would do. He made sure to grab a few spices he could make use of as well, stuffing them with the apples. He didn't notice he was down a certain Lil' Eggplant until he'd made it to the end of the Marketplace.
Shit.
Damn brat hadn't been kidnapped, had he?
Backtracking, he shoved his way through the crowd, frustration growing each time a shoulder sent him stumbling on his unfamiliar leg. He remembered articles he'd read of slave rings, of low-life predators, of kidnappings, of lost brats ending up starving on the streets...
He grit his teeth a little too hard.
If that brat had dared gotten himself killed after everything, he was going to kick the crap out of him in the next life! The murderous intent etched into his features, at the very least, cleared him up a decent path.
When he reached the apple vendor once more, he found the Lil' Eggplant standing across the pathway in front of a Bakery, clutching a newspaper with his back turned to him. The tension in his shoulders dissipated at the sight, and he may have missed the delivery seagulls passing overhead if not for the swoof their wings produced. Several people paused and cast questioning looks at the birds, others were more intent on the newspaper itself.
Something must've happened. Whitebeard's crew starting trouble again? Or, was it Red-Haired Shank's this time? Hell, maybe it was another one of those Shichibukai bastards.
As the birds arched into the sky, leaving behind a trail of newspapers and feathers in their wake, he traded his basket for a paper.
A picture of a barren wasteland was printed onto the parchment, smoke rising in the background, blotting out the sun. A female brat stood in the center, head thrown back in a sob, fingers wrapped around the arm of a torn teddy bear.
The words: 'Kotzia annihilated by Germa army?' spread across the top, followed by a section detailing the case. Body count, pictures of the wreckage, military troops transporting the few civilians left.
He stopped reading after the conspiracy theory jumbo started. Like he cared about some mythical army.
He glanced up at the Lil' Eggplant.
The little of his face he could see had turned a ghastly shade of gray, fingers digging into the paper with such vehemence, they were practically gouging through the other side. That's right. Stuff like this happened all the time. People were slaughtered by the dozens, brats were left orphans. Who could say which fate was worse.
Maybe, the Lil' Eggplant was an orphan as well? That was the only way he could rationalize this reaction, other than his obvious love for the female kind.
Either way, he still owed the Eggplant a kick for wandering off like that.
Abandoning the newspaper at his feet where he'd found it, he grabbed his basket and drew closer. The instant he was within range, Zeff gave him a soft jab to the side with his pegleg. The Lil' Eggplant yelped and hopped away on one foot, hand shifting protectively over his side.
When his wide-eyed gaze landed on Zeff, the alarm faded into annoyance. "Shitty Geezer! What was that for!?"
"That was your fault for not paying attention." He quipped easily, holding out the basket of apples. "I figured you might as well make yourself useful and carry these."
The brat surprisingly didn't argue this time.
He took it, muttering something about 'dumb Geezers' beneath his breath as he folded the newspaper and stuffed it in his back pocket.
Zeff didn't bother him with questions, choosing to get a better grip on the pumpkins instead. Doubted he would answer anyways.
The rest of the way to their hotel room was spent in a silence wherein he refused to lose sight of the Lil' Eggplant.
Damnit, this brat drove him crazy.
In more ways than one.
For two: He had no idea how to care for brat's
How would he? Zeff hadn't spent much time around brat's, nor had he ever cared to. He'd seen parents from afar dealing with the whining and temper tantrums, listened to the complaining in bars, and remembered thinking: 'I'll never have one of those things.'
How wrong he'd been.
He knew it was only a matter of time. The Lil' Eggplant may have survived starvation, but he couldn't be much older than nine–of course it would happen. When he woke the brat early that morning, he'd prepared himself for the inevitable. Waited for it, expected it, but it never came. The brat lagged behind, head drooping, well-defined bags beneath his squinted eye, but he never made a noise.
Zeff thought there might be something wrong with this picture. It was aggravating, but brats were supposed to whine, weren't they?
Why wasn't this one?
"Quit dragging your feet," He said, hoping for a reaction. "Or, you'll get left behind."
The brat's fingers balled up into a tight-knuckled fist, but the way he bit his lip showed he was more panicked than angry. Like, he earnestly believed Zeff would abandon him here simply because he couldn't keep up. What kind of logic would that be!? Damn brat! What the hell did he take him for!?
Zeff slowed his pace a tinge, while the brat quickened his. The gap filled a bit, but there was still enough space for another person between them.
Brat hadn't had any problem keeping up before.
They'd spent the entire week wandering through the marketplace, occasionally pausing for a meal or for Zeff to work out the contracts for his restaurant. By the end of the day, he'd pass out the instant he touched the bed, but what had the brat been doing, exactly?
After being a Captain for so long, Zeff was used to wearing his heart on his sleeve, used to keeping his chin up in the face of adversity. He could cope with what had happened. With the loss of his friends. He could keep moving forward, could understand that's what they'd had wanted. The brat, however...
Zeff hadn't considered he may not be the same.
In hindsight, it was obvious. The brat insisted on tagging along because he didn't want to be alone, didn't want to think about all the lives lost. He'd watched the brat retreat to his room each night, but the bags under his eyes told a different story. Had he even been sleeping?
Zeff stopped so fast the brat may have rammed into his leg if he were any closer.
This was utterly ridiculous.
Dropping to a knee, he held his arms out behind his back.
There was a long pause, and he figured the Lil' Eggplant must be gaping at him.
"Well? What're you waiting for? We don't have all morning."
On any normal day, the brat might've argued this–called him a 'stupid Geezer,' and insist he could do it. He must've been more tired than he was letting on, however, as he clambered on with only a muffled sniffle.
Zeff was grinning as he stood, he knew it. For as tough as he acted, the Lil' Eggplant didn't weigh a thing. Making a mental note to feed him more protein rich meals, Zeff started for the docks again, pretending he couldn't feel the brat quivering against his shoulders as he fought to stifle a sob.
Again, just what did this brat take him for? Thought he'd leave a weak Lil' Eggplant like him behind, thought he'd let him struggle alone.
Sure, he'd already made a copious number of mistakes, some of which involving forgetting the brat altogether, but he was willing to learn. He'd never taken care of anyone in his life, yet, he was willing to give it a shot.
For this Lil' Eggplant, he could do that much.
When they reached the docks, the brat insisted he be put down.
As Zeff watched him race to the ocean with renewed vigor, he hoped this wasn't a mistake. For both their sakes.
For three: Zeff had never been good with feelings
The Lil' Eggplant, proud as he was, always made a great effort to hide his emotions. On some, it worked, Zeff however, was no fool, nor was he the oblivious sort. After sailing the seas as long as he had, reading people had become second nature. What kind of Captain would he be if he couldn't judge a person's character?
He noticed these things. The way the brat kept stealing looks at him when he thought Zeff couldn't see, the way he watched him cook, as though memorizing every movement no matter how small.
Zeff was no stranger to this kind of thing. Being a Captain, he'd often found himself on the receiving end of awed gazes. Especially from the newbies.
This, he could deal with.
It was the other look that was the problem.
It all started when he hung back to finish unpacking. The Lil' Eggplant had insisted he stay up and help, but Zeff had sent him off to bed regardless. Brat was exhausted, and Zeff wanted some time alone anyways. That's another thing he hadn't considered. The lack of time for himself. Having a brat around was tougher in ways he hadn't expected, yet laxer in the ways he had. He was beginning to think he'd had this whole bratcare thing pegged wrong.
He took his time stacking the plates in the cabinet, mulling over new recipes to try, over what kind of people he would soon hire. A rough bunch would be the best–the kind that didn't back down in the face of adversity.
This may end up becoming a safe haven for former pirates and criminals.
Shaking his head at the thought, he tossed the empty packaging box in the trash and moved on to the bowls.
Didn't matter to him who they were or where they came from, so long as they could cook.
When the bowls had been placed in the sink for the Lil' Eggplant to scrub, he sauntered to the center of his Kitchen and did a double take. The light glinted off the knives carefully tucked in an open drawer, the floors and counters were spotless to the point of reflecting the ceiling lamps and the mop still leaning against the metal fridge.
Puffing his chest out, he couldn't help but beam at the splendor of his Kitchen.
Everything was exactly where he wanted it to be.
A nod and he headed for the hallway, flipping the lightswitch and making sure to close the door. He swept through the Dining Hall, gaze flickering over each table, over every chair. He paused briefly by the balcony, a wave of paranoia sweeping over him at the sight of the choppy waves, but he shook it off just as swiftly and made his way to the staircase.
All was good for the night. His tables were in order, his Kitchen intact. Soon, the sea would settle around them, and the sun would rise, promising the start of a new chapter in his life. Happiness didn't fill him at the thought, nor did anger or grief. Instead, an odd feeling of contentedness washed over him.
This wasn't what he'd had in mind, but it was good enough.
His pegleg clanked against the wooden stairs with each step, while his mind wandered once more. He may have walked right by the brat's room, if not for the slightly ajar door.
Rays of moonlight filtered into the hallway, dancing across the wooden flooring in splotches of pale yellow and white.
Raising an eyebrow, he drew nearer with every intention to close it–would have too, if not for the strangled whimper.
He froze mid-push, unsure whether he'd heard right.
A heartbeat passed, two, then a choked sob followed.
Glancing across the hallway to his room, he considered moving on. Leaving the brat be. Doubted he could do much for the Lil' Eggplant, anyways. Yet, his hand seemed to move on its own, pulling the knob towards him.
As the door passed his shoulder, a rush of icy air rustled his hair, pinpricks of rain catching in his mustache. Squinting against the onslaught, he located the source across the room, where the damn Eggplant had left his balcony door wide open.
Zeff tromped over to it, searching for the brat as he went. Wasn't hard to locate him, as his room was empty besides the single bed and bare nightstands. He lay in the center of his mattress, curled in a tight ball with those stubs he called fingers digging into the sheets beneath him. If the Lil' Eggplant had noticed him, he couldn't be certain, because a tiny shoulder hid his face from view.
Frowning as the Eggplant gave a violent shudder, he snagged the blanket off the floor and closed the door. The swooshing of the wind cut off abruptly at this, and he wondered how the brat had put up with all that racket.
He'd turned to confront him when the whimpering started up again.
"S...rry.. So..r..y...orn.. sorry..."
Zeff paused, blanket draped over his arms. What was the Lil' Eggplant talking about? He edged closer, walking to the side of the bed where he found the brat's eyes were squeezed shut. His skin glowed a soft gray in the dim-lighting, beads of sweat taking on a tint of silver.
As he let out another slurred plead, Zeff got his answer. The brat had been sleeping.
"No..!" His fingers tugged on the fabric hard enough to drag the rim off the corner of his mattress. "I don' wanna die in here!"
That was the problem.
Had he been like this every night? Zeff lingered by the bedside, unsure whether to wake him or leave him be. Considering how exhausted he'd been, and how much work was left, he'd need the sleep, even if it was an uneasy one.
He should get some rest himself. Should leave.
Throwing the blanket over the Lil' Eggplant's trembling body, he sat on the end of the bed. The mattress shifted a bit under his weight, making the Lil' Eggplant curl further into himself.
Tucking his arms over his chest, Zeff refused to budge. He wouldn't ask–it was the Eggplant's business, after all–but he couldn't leave him here like this. Whatever he was dreaming about, it didn't sound related to their stint on the rock. For some reason, the thought made his chest clench.
Damnit.
Spend a couple months on land, and he was already growing soft. He'd only stick around until the brat's nightmare ebbed, then he was going to bed.
That was the plan.
But, when he was jolted awake by the Lil' Eggplant shooting upright, he realized that wasn't going to happen. Sometime throughout the night he must've nodded off. Wasn't sure when, though.
Little chest heaving, the brat's gaze swept over the room, almost frantic until it rested on Zeff and shifted to agitation.
"What do you want, you shitty Geezer!?"
Zeff didn't dignify that with a response. "You left the damn balcony door open. Are you trying to ruin my new wooden floors?"
The brat's scowl softened. A stretch of silence passed between the two of them, then he lowered his head.
"..Sor–"
Zeff didn't look at him. "Don't ever apologize."
The brat's chin snapped up.
Zeff stubbornly avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the door. "Since we're both up anyways, we might as well get some work done. There's a sink full of bowls with your name on it." He paused, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "First, we should do something with those pumpkins, though. How about a stew?"
That's when he made the mistake of turning to the brat.
Zeff was by no means naive. From furious glares to grateful grins, to grieved sobs and fear-stricken pleas–he'd been on the receiving end of it all.
Despite that, despite how many years, he'd been a pirate, despite how many years he'd sailed the seas, never had someone looked at him like this.
Like he was their entire world.
Zeff, understandably, froze.
What the hell was that brat thinking, giving someone like him a look like that!?
The Lil' Eggplant seemed to shake off whatever stupor he'd fallen into, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and hopping to the floor.
"I say, we make a stew!"
Zeff followed, albeit a bit slower.
He wondered if that's why people wanted brat's so badly. Just to be on the receiving end of that... Whatever that was.
When they entered the Kitchen, Zeff had the brat wash a couple bowls while he retrieved the spatula and ingredients. Watching him mutter beneath his breath as he struggled with the hot water, it occurred to Zeff that this may be a new chapter in the Lil' Eggplant's life as well.
Maybe keeping him around would be the greatest mistake of his life, maybe it would even cost him it. Either way, he didn't want to worry about the end result anymore. After all, only time could tell such a thing, and it's not like he minded having the Lil' Eggplant around, though he got on his every last nerve.
He didn't know what the future held, and yet he couldn't stop the feeling of contentedness that swept over him.
Yeah. This was good enough.
As rough as the previous night had been, Zeff wasn't in a hurry to retire to bed today. Too much work needed to be done. Besides, why sleep when he could calculate his debt and sort through his taxes, right?
He didn't need sleep. Not one bit.
"Hey, Geezer!"
Pinching the bridge of his nose in hopes of alleviating the oncoming migraine, he craned his neck towards the Kitchen.
The Lil' Eggplant scampered out, holding a steaming bowl in front of him with comically large oven mitts.
"What is it?" He grumbled.
Brat didn't answer at first. Pacing across the Dining Hall, he stood on his tiptoes and slid the bowl onto the table.
Zeff stared at it. "What is that?"
The brat took a step back, pulling off the mitts with something like satisfaction. "Dinner!"
"Dinner? As if a Lil' Eggplant like you could make something that could fill me up."
"What'd you just say!?"
Moving his paperwork out of the way, Zeff pulled the bowl closer. "No silverware?"
"AH!" The Lil' Eggplant's mouth fell open. "That's right!"
Zeff grinned as the Eggplant darted the way he'd came, nearly tripping over himself to reach the Kitchen.
While he waited, he examined the soup. Cream of potato, by the looks of it.
The potatoes floated in the too thick broth, some sliced, others chopped into uneven chunks. Black speckles he hoped were pepper floated on the surface, favoring the right side for some reason.
A crashing sound announced the brat's return, and he rushed over, a spoon held high.
"Here!"
Zeff took it, catching a glimpse of the bandages wrapped around the brat's fingers before he hid them in his pockets.
Frowning, he shifted his gaze back to the food, trying to ignore the eager eyes trained on him.
At least, he never had to question if the brat enjoyed cooking.
"It's decent." He announced after a spoonful. The potatoes were undercooked, broth, as he'd thought, too thick–and why did he taste apple?
"Damn right!" The Lil' Eggplant crowed, swiping a thumb across his nose.
"Don't get conceited you damn brat, don't you have dishes to scrub!?"
The Eggplant recoiled as though Zeff had said the most offensive thing he'd ever heard. "I've been scrubbing dishes all day, you shitty Geezer!"
"And?" Zeff growled. "The dishes won't scrub themselves."
On that note, the Lil' Eggplant stomped to the Kitchen once more, muttering a variety of colorful insults beneath his breath.
Know-it-all, uppity brat.
Zeff wouldn't trade him for the world.
A/N: So, this is actually an alternate version of a fic I wrote for the 32 days of Sanji prompts! After these last couple of chapters, I needed some Zeff parental feels T~T