Ero-cook.
It's the first word that flashes through his fog-addled brain followed by the increasing sensation of pain on almost every part of his body, shockingly reminiscent of a full day's relentless training with Mihawk. Immediate confusion hits him since he knows for a fact that he's already left the island and there is just no way he could have merely dreamed the events that led to Dressrosa or Dressrosa itself.
Whatever injury, extensive or otherwise, the crew suffered within that city had been tended to personally by Chopper's caring hands. That and the last thing he remembers is taking part in an indulgent verbal squabble with the cook in one of the shops in town at the Summer Island they'd docked on, their bickering and throwing of insults at that point in their relationship more a form of foreplay than any true animosity in between.
Zoro tries to bring a hand up to his head, but the simple twitch of his fingers cause a jolt of sharp pain shooting up his arm and through his insides.
He grits his teeth, spends a good thirty seconds sifting through his memories for an explanation as to his current state only to come up empty. It's aggravating not having a clue as to why he is hurting as much as he does.
There's no reason for it. Nami had put her foot down and demanded for everyone, Luffy especially to keep a low profile or she was going to drown her shipmates herself if they managed to attract unwanted attention again. It had been a fairly peaceful few weeks. There had been no Marine attacks. No detours to help unwitting victims from assholes that dare call themselves villains. Didn't break a sweat when a ship or two of Bounty Hunters came across the Sunny-Go. Despite his ongoing ire with the way the cook continued to fawn over the enemy turned ally turned princess whenever a topic makes a turn to their oddly rewarding yet painful stint in Dressrosa, he's maintained his calm. Never once given to the urge of challenging Sanji to an all out spar. Ignored and endured every inane blubbering over Nami and Robin on a daily basis.
If Viola hadn't approached him before their departure and assured him about the Pretty-Eyebrow's feelings with her Devil Fruit power, not like he needed the fucking charity, (so much pink she said, with Zoro in the middle of it all, to which he wasn't sure if he was to feel flattered or mortified or both) Zoro had been dangerously close to strangling his sorry excuse of a lover. A goddamn saint is what he is for tolerating the shitty bastard's flirty nature.
That shitty-cook better not be dead. The swordsman inwardly curses, mixed annoyance and worry for the blonde idiot's well-being warring within him as he deduces that with his current state the cook could be sharing the same fate or worse. Kami, let him be wrong.
Another five seconds in and the absence of his swords' comforting weight close by crashes upon him like a ton of bricks. Zoro stiffens as he strains to evaluate the safety of his surroundings through his ears. It's quiet. Aside from soft snores and some kind of steady beeping there doesn't seem to be immediate danger. He manages to slowly open his good eye and is met with an image of a blurry white ceiling. So, not the Sunny Go then, he thinks disappointingly. The absence of the gentle lull of the waves and Luffy's screeching for meat testament all on its own. The unmistakable scent of antiseptic assaults his nose, strong enough to make him gag and quick to realize it's nothing like the kind Chopper creates.
Is he in one of the island's hospitals? If so, how did they manage to check into a medical ward without alerting the Marines?
Frustratingly still, Zoro can't remember shit.
"You're already awake. Quite the fast recovery period, Swordsman-san." The calm feminine voice makes him think of Robin almost instantly. He turns his head, hoping to see a nakama's face. If Robin is here and unharmed, then maybe the cook is as well.
Even before he catches sight of the familiar shade of blonde, he already knows its not Robin just by the lack of page turning alone. It'd be a cold day in hell if Robin didn't have a book in her hand while doing watch duty.
His eyesight isn't all that clear yet but there is no mistaking the blonde hair parted to one side and the ocean-blue eye looking down at him with a deadpan, unimpressed stare. So the cook was healthy enough to be sitting by his bedside. Good. Zoro feels relief like a physical thing wash over him.
Now where the hell are his swords?
Wait a minute, he backtracks. Whose voice did he hear just then? Zoro's gaze wanders over Sanji's body and promptly freezes, sweat beading along his temple in his discomfort upon seeing the shitty cook's clothing.
"Teme! Shitty cook, why are you an okama?!" Zoro practically spits out as he jolts upright. His aching muscles lock up and something snaps along his spine from the sudden movement leaving Zoro deflating like a burst bubble and slumping back against the bed, gnashing his teeth through the pain, eye screwing shut.
"Akuma?" Comes the curious answer slash inquiry coupled with the most sinister of smiles that the one-eyed swordsman completely misses. "Please, mind your volume or you'll wake the young master."
"Have you lost your goddamn mind? Take that bloody thing off before I gouge my remaining good eye out." Zoro points out in distaste as he chances a look, the words of the blonde going over his head. Its not that Sanji in drag doesn't make for an appealing sight, far from it, but the relation to Ivankov and that godforsaken island has been a sore spot for the cook since their reunion, and Zoro being the supportive lover was expected and forced to develop a fierce dislike over the general idea of men in drag just so to appease Sanji's severe mood swings.
So what the hell has gotten into that ero-curly's head wearing women's attire out of the blue?
"Ah. I think you have me confused for the other blonde, Swordsman-san." The blonde replies, not that Zoro's listening still, being that he's already distracted by something else.
As he clenches his teeth to ward off the pain his previous abrupt jolt caused, he feels something soft tickle and brush along the fine hairs on his arm. He sees it then in his pheripheral, small and green as it burrows against his side much to his surprise. A tiny hand clutches at his bandaged chest next before the soft snores that he heard from earlier resumes.
Zoro blinks as he looks down.
Eh? A baby? Moreover, it's a naked baby. Why is he in bed with a baby? And what's with that dumb hair color?
Zoro's gaze dart up towards his left, taking notice of the third occupant of the bed beside him. He gets to take a proper look at the familiar peaceful face, slim frame lying down on his side, head tilted just so with pale pink lips in it's usual inviting half-parted pucker whenever asleep. He tracks the visible closed eyelid with it's girly lashes, the trademark curlicue for an eyebrow as soft breaths leave a mouth framed by artfully trimmed facial hair, and what he could see of his chest, wrapped in bandages as well, rising and falling rhythmically with every exhale.
Sanji.
Wait, why is the shitty cook here when— he cranes his neck to the other side in an instant, causing for another hiss of pain, and is met with the same stoic stare. Same hairstyle, somewhat, same eye color, same pale skin. The person is still in a Gothic Lolita get up that could rival Perona's and is increasingly looking less and less like the shitty cook in drag but a full-blooded woman. He should have noticed the lack of a curly eyebrow.
They still look too identical for his peace of mind however.
Zoro eventually manages to sit up, stamping down the groan of pain from escaping parched lips and the urge to start yelling for goddamn answers. Sanji is sleeping and though normally that doesn't stop him from dropping his sword's hilt to the cook's gut as a wake-up call, loving reciprocity to Sanji's shoe to his head whenever it was the ero-curly's turn to wake him, Zoro's not sure if he's in much pain as he is yet and would rather let him rest for the time being until he absolutely has to have him conscious. He wouldn't want this pain on the cook if he could help it.
The baby slides down his middle and gently topples to the side facing the sleeping cook. The kid makes a small noise of discontent before curling against Sanji's chest instead and pretty much face planting along the cook's smooth pale neck. The small body relaxes instantly.
Huh. There's something you don't see everyday.
He turns from the strangely heart-warming scene and looks up at the woman. He asks, more like brusquely demands, though mindful of his voice, for her identity and the location of his swords, voice a low growl promising pain if he is to be lied to, the kind that would warrant a kick to the head from the ero-cook for disrespecting a lady.
Well, the lovely idiot is passed out, isn't he?
"Ah, yes. Your katanas. Very interesting weapons you have there Swordsman-san. I am curious as to how you came upon their possession?"
Zoro is not buying that soft non-threatening, smiling demeanor. Getting tricked into complacency by the female gender is the cook's flaw. Now that he's looking closely, there is a certain thick aura that he can feel surrounding the woman not dissimilar to that of Kitetsu. Something decidedly other.
"I don't have time for chitchat. Tell me where my katanas are and I'll be out of your hair."
The stony stare directed his way has his hackles rising. It feels like looking into the abyss and having the abyss stare right back at him. Not that that's enough to frighten the swordsman. Not a moment of hesitation, he stares right back at the abyss and dares it to make a fucking move.
A voice inside his head that sounds alarmingly like Sanji promptly chastises him for being a stupid muscle-headed seaweed. Zoro tells the voice to shut up. I know, idiot cook!
If it was just his safety on the line, he'd find the dark aura intriguing and would love to have a go at figuring out how strong a possible opponent the woman is. However, this is not the case.
Sanji is currently vulnerable to any form of attack. Plus, he has the rest of his crew to find.
Face the perfect picture of his own brand of stoicism, Zoro swiftly catalogs any available means of escape. If this stranger, this woman proves to be hostile, as much as it warred with his principle of never backing down from a fight, he's going to have to make a retreat. Without his trusted katanas and the cook unconscious, it wouldn't be wise to engage an enemy without a clue as to what they are up against.
"Please, don't try to escape. It will greatly upset the young master if you were to leave." The woman says, cutting through Zoro's mental planning, then adds in a voice cold as ice. "I'd hate for the young master to be upset."
"What are you blathering about, woman?" Zoro quips automatically, still trying to find a serviceable exit that isn't straight through the damn window. For all he knows they could be at the 200th floor of some stupid building surrounded by Marines. And just who is this young master the witch keeps referring to?
"Mind your tone, you impudent human." The Lolita thunders without warning as she rises, pointing the sharp end of her umbrella turned steel blade toward Zoro's face, directly above his lost eye, her gaze dark and menacing for all of five seconds before she lets out a heavy sigh, her thin shoulders slumping, the picture of defeat.
Zoro blinks puzzled. He hasn't even done anything yet.
"O-oi." Zoro starts, left at an impasse at the sudden change in demeanor.
Before he can get a word in, the woman sniffs and sighs dejectedly about the atrocities of the human world and starts to monologue about why oh why does the young master always latch onto strong brutes with nonexistent manners.
Zoro's left eyebrow twitches. Strange way of addressing the human world aside, the emphasis on his apparent lack of manners is beginning to sound a lot like his lover when he is lamenting Zoro's incurable muscle-addled disease.
He sees a sliver of opportunity in a split second and swiftly grabs it by the wrist. Zoro folds her arms behind her back, mouth pressing to an ear as the sharp end of her blade is pressed against her throat enough to break skin. It only takes a breath before a small trickle of blood runs down her neck.
It's obvious just by the startled gasp she emits that the woman didn't expect Zoro to be strong enough to be able to move as fast. There is not an ounce of fear in her however. Zoro has the sick feeling that the woman's deliberately making him think he has the upper hand. It has him tensing up in the worst possible way, doing hell to his bruised muscles, not to mention he feels he may have cracked a rib or two.
"Tell me what's going on or I'm ending you here, right now." Zoro hisses against her ear, could almost feel Kitetsu in his grip demanding a blood sacrifice. He's gotten so attuned to his katanas, Kitetsu moreso in a spiritual level, using Shusui in nearly all his recent battles notwithstanding, that even without its physical presence, the blade's affinity for anything ominously sinister is something that Zoro has learned to get a feel for.
A fog clears in his mind and it becomes all too clear, all too sudden to the swordsman. The dark cloying aura around the Gothic Lolita woman, her otherworldly presence, it is Kitetsu in his blood and bones that recognizes a demon, forcing Zoro to take notice and annihilate.
"You're not going to end me." The calmly smug reply has Zoro gnashing his teeth in annoyance as he digs the blade deeper into the soft skin of her throat. Human or demon, they still bleed and that's good enough for him.
"Try me." Zoro hisses, challenges out a warning.
"If you treasure your companion's life, you will withdraw so we can talk this out like proper adults." There is a crack in the armor and Zoro savors the slight tremor he can feel against him which gets quickly doused at the next words out of her mouth. "Refuse and I will end him."
Zoro can't help wonder how she's supposed to accomplish said threat with her currently locked up in his hold. She's bluffing. Zoro's nearly sure she is, but can't be one hundred percent certain. Then there's the fact that she's a demon. She could have tricks up her sleeve that could be potentially lethal and exclusive to her kind.
"Threatening that idiot mayuge is not getting you brownie points lady." Zoro throws back, voice betraying nothing of the sudden worry spiking up in his gut for the cook's safety. Nevertheless, if there is a chance he can get Sanji out of this unharmed then he's going to have to take a risk.
Slowly, very slowly he withdraws and tells her to turn around. He gestures her to the opposite bed, Zoro standing where he can get a full view of her and the door while ignoring how much he probably looks like an idiot holding a blade with a pink handle in favor for practicality.
She sits atop the cushions, hands folded in her lap, soft gaze fixed on the curled sleeping forms of the baby and Sanji. She turns to him, one fine eyebrow raised, blue eye, a shade darker than the cook's trained on his mop of green hair before it travels towards the baby and back. Zoro's glare is unflinching.
"Well?" Zoro prompts, valiantly trying to hide a wince as he nods at her. "Start talking."
TBC
Author's Totally Necessary End Note: To all non-Zosan and One Piece/Belzeebub , I am sorry in advance but I pretty much killed the Gen genre with this one. I am a ZoSan fangirl. Sue me.
To all Zosan fans that loves the idea of Baby Beel hanging off Zoro's head/shoulder/arm and making sparkly eyes at Sanji and being a badass power couple in Oga's school as well then I welcome you into my arms my lovelies. :))))) We're going to have fun times together.
To anyone that doesn't have anything good to say, don't like? Don't read. At least have the decency to keep your bigotry all to yourselves.
Oh, and there's also the fact that I haven't caught up with OP episodes yet. The last I was able to watch was Zoro's fight with Pica and am not sure if certain people really died or not because I refuse to be spoiled, so if anyone feels like this seems more of an AU of Dressrosa, then it probably is.
Is it too forward to ask for comments and feedback? Sigh.