Nami stood on the foredeck, eating a fresh picked orange and enjoying the wind as it blew through her hair. They where anchored a short ways out from a small island and most the crew had gone ashore into the town that lie perched atop the tumbling rocky cliffs. She bit into the peeled fruit, feeling juices run down her chin and savoring the taste. It was a beautiful day, so beautifulshe felt sure that no power could spoil it. They'd entered the archipelago several days ago, and she thoroughly enjoyed the feel of the spring islands, such a welcome change from the violent winter storms they had only recently left behind.
In additon to the crappy weather, the last island had boasted the skeeviest city she'd seen in years. The narrow streets and skanky slums had seemed so dank, even the billowing snow was grey. But all that was a faraway dream here. As soon as they had entered this string of small islands, every color had seemed magnified and the waves sparkled brilliant blue as they danced beneath the bow.
She leaned back against the deck rail, licking the last of the orange from her fingertips. She thought of what the others must be doing now. Luffy was, undoubtably, eating. Zoro was likely wherever Luffy was, only he'd be drinking. Usopp was shopping, she'd sent him with a list. Franky was either with Usopp or at the lumberyard, and Robin and Chopper had gone questing for a bookstore. And that left Sanji. She was sure she'd heard him say that he'd stay, though she hadn't seen him all morning, not since the others had gone ashore. She wondered, vaguely, why he hadn't been pestering her. She didn't think too deeply into this, she wasn't about to question a good thing. He was annoying, didn't really matter where he was as long as he was out of her hair.
This thought darkened her mood. She shoved all thoughts of the bastard cook from her head, determined not to let a thing interfere with her day. However, she realized, she was still hungry. It was a bit past noon, by the sun, and she couldn't help but wonder again where the flirty chef was. Usually he'd have made lunch by now. She sighed, started down the stairs to the lawn deck. She took the stairs up to the second floor aft cabins by twos and found herself facing the dining room door.
As she stood there, hand on the door, she was striken by a strange feeling, so foreign on such a beautiful day, alien to this ship and crew. She felt unbearably lonely, until she turned the knob and the feeling was gone.
The first thing she noticed was how dark it was in the room. After the brilliance of the outdoors she could hardly see a thing. She stepped in and shut the door, rubbing her eyes. All the storm shutters where closed and latched and the single lantern on the ceiling was burning low. It was so dim she almost missed the black clothed chef slumped in a chair at the large table.
As her eyes ajusted to the gloom she noticed him, walked over and called his name. He didn't respond. She stood behind him, eyeing him cautiously, curiously. He sat as though trasfixed, and she followed his gaze to the table in front of him.
She felt the world shatter in an instant.
"Sanji-kun..." she whispered.
There was no reply.
"Sanji." formality was gone, replaced with worry and an undertone of panic.
"Sanji!" she screamed it, shaking him.
Whatever trance had held him was gone now, and he jolted awake. His head whipped around, and she found herself faced for a single instant with such fathomless hurt and anger in his dark eye, so much pain, before a wall came down and she saw only coldness. She couldn't breathe. She looked from his face, to that... and back to his cold, distant face. She couldn't speak.
"Nami." his voice was coarse, rough, worn as though it had traveled a very long way to reach her.
He hated the face she made, hurt, eyes full of questions he couldn't face.
She reached for it, suddenly, for that bundle unrolled on the table in front of him. To take it away. Make it dissapear. It wasn't opened, she saw, he hadn't yet... but he reached it first, rolled it quickly and stuffed it inside his crisp black jacket. He turned away from her, he couldn't bear to see that face anymore. Who was she anyway? Why did she care? What did it matter what he did, it had nothing to do with her. He hadn't even done anything. He stood, turned to leave. So what if he was running away, which he knew, he was. He didn't care. Some things weren't worth facing.
He felt a preassure on his arm. Her fingertips, grasping his coat. He stopped, felt her hand leave.
"Why?" she whispered.
She was met with such a glare, a look that promised hell should a breath of what she'd seen leave the room. With her panic she felt a wonder that a single eye beneath a curly brow could express so much pain and anger.
His lithe figure was sillhouetted against the radiant light as he opened the door and stepped out into the early afternoon. She stood, trembling a bit, composing herself before following him out into the glorious sunlight. It didn't seem so beautiful now, she thought. What she'd seen gripped her heart like the coldest of ice, and even the radiant summer sun couldn't reach her now.