Glory that Never Was
Glory is bright and alluring; add butter and sugar, bake at 350 degrees and serve it in bite-sized pieces with red cranberry sauce and green-white salad by side. Nami would like it, for sure, and maybe Robin too; none of the boys (except Luffy, who would eat anything Sanji gave him) particularly liked sweet deserts, but who cared about them anyway.
"Oh, that's rich, coming from you." Zoro is scowling at him (his usual disposition) with his eyes narrowed, hands on the hilt of his three swords, fingers twitching like he might lash out any second. If he does, Sanji is ready. He slouches against the brick wall, cigarette-taste bitter and only slightly comforting in his mouth.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sanji is good at scowling too. They are both good, at growling and spitting out insults and generally being nasty at each other. He is tired, though (blood still caked in his hair, spatters of red; too visible on his white shirt, too invisible on the black suit jacket), and he worries that he might not have managed to put more – well, nastiness – in his expression. Shouldn't have worried, though. Zoro almost does pull out his swords, then.
"Back at Thriller Bark," Zoro spits out instead. Blood is in his hair too, and it stands out so disturbingly stark against his stupid green hair. "You were all, kill me instead, ready to sacrifice yourself –"
"Idiot, that's different," Sanji grits his teeth. How dare he bring this up now, now when they can barely stand, when there are more fallen bodies around them than they can count. The smell of blood is thick and salty in the air, writhing like a fish just out of water.
"How's that different?"
Sanji can't stand the smug look on Zoro's face, wants to kick it in. "That was for Luffy, not for – and anyway, you offered yourself up first! And then you knocked me out," the words are bitter in his mouth; shame, probably – resentment, regret, maybe.
"It's different," Zoro insists.
"Why? Because you're stronger than me?" Sanji wants to step forward but manages to hold himself back, because very soon they have to get back to their ship and they don't have time to fight, not now.
"That's not what I meant," Zoro backs down a little, seeing Sanji's face. It occurs to him that blood-red and gold makes a startling contrast too.
"Then what do you mean?"
"I wasn't gonna die, moron," Zoro says, exasperated and with something else that Sanji knows isn't pity, but pretty close. "And I didn't."
"You came close to it."
"But I didn't," Zoro smirks, suddenly, looking his namesake; Demon of the East Blue, with eyes hooded and that clench of teeth that resembles a smile. Sanji thinks he is just too tired. He blows out a cigarette smoke, slowly, feeling the sunset on his skin. Zoro takes his silence as his victory, and continues, "And you're wrong."
"About what?" Sanji says, with no particular inflection.
"You do care. About glory. You just pretend not to."
Sanji thinks about this, tries to keep an open mind, but decides that Zoro is wrong. Idiot. He shakes his head slowly, but Zoro doesn't see it for how he turns his head in the direction of the oncoming footsteps, distant but clear, from inside the town.
"Marines," he says. "We should go."
"Mm," Sanji throws down his half-smoked cigarette and stomps on it. The fire dies quickly but the smoke doesn't. The sea glitters golden-orange in front of them, and they run towards it.
What he doesn't tell Zoro, though – none of them – is that it is already too late. It could be payback, he supposes, for when Zoro stole his supposed glory in Thriller Bark. Only this time they wouldn't know, and all the better for that.
"You sure you'll leave them alone?" Sanji asks one more time, stalling, because he knows the answer. The witch looks amused that he would ask. She (and it had to be a she, too, so that Sanji has to watch his mouth even though she is a legitimate sea-witch) generally seems to find Sanji amusing, the three-piece suit in the middle of summer and his clumsy attempts to curse her with manner.
"Of course. Witches cannot go back on their words."
"Yeah, well," Sanji runs out of things to say. He glances back at the ship, where Luffy and the others would be dead asleep by now. It is a big shadow floating on bigger shadow-shimmer of the night sea. "Okay, then. I guess."
"I admire your courage," the witch says, and she sounds sincere enough (for a sea-witch who is about to devour his soul – a part of it, at least) that Sanji allows himself to scoff.
"It's not courage."
She doesn't ask. No more words; the magic is quick and easy, as easy as Luffy stretching his arm impossibly long across the deck. And then it's done. Sanji knows, because
Hey, do you know about All Blue?
" – because you can't!" He rolls his eyes. "God, you're annoying."
"But why?"
"Because I said I refused, didn't I?" He tries another approach, leveling his voice in the best impression of calm that he can manage.
"And I refused your refusing!"
"You –" He narrows his eyes. He wants to smoke so badly right now, but he can't find his box of cigarettes anywhere; it should've been in his pocket, but isn't. "You're impossible. He's impossible." He turns to Longnose, who'd been standing beside the bouncy ball of impossible-ness quietly, with a long-suffering patience in his limbs. He now shrugs, as if to say it is out of his control.
"C'mon, it'll be fun! We have a super cool kitchen too."
This intrigues him, a little. He manages to drop some reluctance into it when he says, "Yeah?"
"Totally! Hey, tell him, Franky."
"It's true," says the giant cyborg, who has giant guns in his arms and would have looked very threatening if not for the tropical shirt he leaves open and the disturbing lack of any other proper clothing.
"Oh, yeah, totally, bro," Franky assures him, eyes glinting through his too-small sunglasses. "It looks like a restaurant, has a bar, the counter's so huge three of you could sleep on it – professional cooking equipment, giant oven, giant fridge that has a lock –"
"Well, it does sound – okay," he admits.
"Yes! So you're coming, right? I'm Luffy. What's your name?"
"…Sanji," he relents. Somehow his own name tastes alien on his tongue, like there might be more of it – but that is stupid. Sanji listens as they all introduce themselves in quick friendliness, Luffy and Usopp (the Longnose) and Franky and this other guy who'd been silent in the back with a look that is decidedly testy; Zoro, he says his name is.
"And that's not all! We have more people back in our ship, which is totally awesome, we have Chopper, who's a reindeer and also a doctor, Brook, who's a skeleton –"
"Excuse me?"
"I know, right?" Luffy says happily.
"I don't think he was being enthusiastic," Usopp suggests, a little nervously.
"And we have Nami and Robin too! Nami's our navigator, and Robin can make hands and eyes sprout out of your shoulder –"
"Nami and Robin?" Sanji asks. "They sound – female."
"They are," Franky says. "Is that a problem?"
On the contrary, Sanji thinks. He is starting to consider this idea of joining Luffy's crew more favorably. Then he catches Zoro's dark look in the corner of his eyes.
"Hey," he says, frowning. "What's your problem?"
Zoro's eyes are deep and dark, scoping him out like some territory to be conquered. He's crossed his arms over his chest, which has a long scar across, badly stitched. Another scar over his left eye, closing it, mouth in a tight line and entire body hard, ready to spring. He carries three swords (Sanji has no idea how he'd use that third one), and he is quite threatening, but Sanji keeps looking at his unruly green hair and thinks, moss ball.
"Have we met before?" He finally asks. His voice is not as deep as Sanji would have guessed, and slightly sinister too. Sanji considers him, shakes his head.
"No. I don't think so."
"You feel familiar, though."
"I said no."
"Alright, guys," Usopp says, antsy. "Let's all take a moment and just – y'know, chill."
"No, but," Zoro steps forward. "I'm sure we've met before."
"And I'm sure we haven't," Sanji steps right up to him, meeting his scowl with a scowl. Luffy watches them with his mouth hanging open. Something occurs to Sanji then, and on an impulse he swings his leg forward, aiming for Zoro's head. He knows his kicks are good; they are quick, shattering, flash of black, but Zoro is quick too. The side of his half-drawn sword meets his shoes and the force makes his entire leg bone tremble. All this happens in less than a second. They stare at each other for a while.
"Woah," Franky says eventually. "Awesome move."
"That is so cool!" Luffy is excited beyond reason that Sanji has just tried to bash Zoro's head in. "You can cook, and you can fight, too!"
"Maybe you have a point," Sanji says to Zoro, slowly withdrawing his leg. He doesn't relax, though, and neither does Zoro. "Fighting you feels disturbingly familiar."
"Yeah," Zoro says. "Maybe we've met in passing in a battle or something. You ever live in East Blue?"
"Yeah, from when I was ten, to – until very recently." For some reason, Sanji can't give the exact date or even the year, even though it's something he'd remember. He remembers going over to East Blue from North Blue, and he should remember entering the Grand Line too, but he can't. There is a silent panic in his mind and a disconnected piece of conversation with someone forgotten, something about glory and cranberry sauce. But he shakes it off, because there is nothing he can do about that.
"Huh," Zoro considers. "Maybe we fought then."
"Why would we fight?" Sanji says. "I mean, I've been a half-pirate all – most of my life." Laws and broken noses and customer service have always been in the same gray area, one occasionally crossing over another.
"Well, that explains it," Zoro looks smug. Sanji doesn't like that face, for some reason. "I used to be a pirate hunter."
Strange, Sanji thinks. A pirate hunter turned a notorious pirate. He wonders where Zoro lost that left eye. "I wasn't a proper pirate, idiot. I didn't have a bounty or anything."
Zoro is about to reply to that, when Luffy bursts out laughing; it's a full-body, hurtling laughter that makes a few heads turn.
"Why are you laughing?" Sanji says, bemused.
"I don't know," Luffy's voice is still gleeful, over-the-top sort of happiness that is forcibly contagious. "I just am. Hey, what's for dinner tonight?"
"I haven't technically said yes –"
"You backing down, cook?" Zoro challenges then, his lips turning up in a smirk, and Sanji blinks because it is just so familiar, so infuriating.
"Who said I am, shitty swordsman?"
It is weird still, how going to the ship feels oddly familiar, the kitchen is exactly as he's imagined, and the two ladies (and the reindeer and the skeleton) welcome him into the crew without much fuss.
"The weirdest thing," Nami says to Luffy (Sanji's already fallen in love with her soft tangerine-colored hair and big chocolate brown eyes that can turn severe in a second), when he asks if they can leave, now that they have a cook. "Yesterday evening I was sure that a really nasty storm was heading this way – and I mean really nasty – but this morning it's just disappeared."
"It does that, doesn't it?" Usopp asks, not very coherently; he is trying to haul an enormous sea bass on board, that they'd bought in the market. Sanji helps him drag it across the deck, which is – interestingly – covered with grass that looks real.
"No, it doesn't," Nami scowls at Usopp. "Weather doesn't just disappear, the downdraft needs to go somewhere."
"It's like magic," Robin says (Sanji could adore her wise and mischievous black eyes forever), and Nami sighs like she doesn't much like that explanation but knows she'll have to accept it.
"I suppose we avoided it by the skin of our teeth – although I have no skin!" Says Brook, the skeleton, and laughs long and hard. Nobody laughs with him except for Luffy.
"Anyway, welcome aboard, Sanji," says Chopper, the reindeer, who only come up to Sanji's knees and talks and blinks and has a blue nose. Sanji's never seen anything like him before (and he's supposed to be a doctor too, with his teeny fragile voice), but he surprises himself by adapting fast.
"Thanks," he says.
By the end of the day, when he's cooked a large meal (Luffy eats for at least three) of sea bass with sizzled ginger, mackerel with garlic and tomatoes and beef vegetable casserole, he is already used to this new thing he has going, can hardly remember what he'd been doing on a random island in the Grand Line. And he thinks, as he lays down wearily on a hammock and listens to the beating of the ocean, that he could be something close to happy here. He could maybe make it his home, over time.
Strange thing, though: he's found a pack of cigarette behind the jar of olives, and as far as he can tell none of the others on the ship smokes.
He doesn't know what to make of it.