The light cloud cover blocked out the moonlight, and the deck was almost in complete darkness. Zoro leaned on the railing of the Thousand Sunny and watched the ocean, his breathing slowly returning to normal. Sweat from his workout trickled down the back of his neck and he irritably scratched at the damp, constricting bandages that covered it. As usual, he had come out the worse for wear after their last fight. They were mostly cuts though, which was why it itched like the devil and also why he had to lift weights in the dark of night. Chopper had gotten tired of re-doing the popped stitches and threatened to confine Zoro to the medical bay if he caught the swordsman doing any strenuous activity.
Zoro kept his workout light enough to keep his stitches intact, but he'd be damned if he stopped completely because of a few cuts. The only one that really bothered him was the one on his neck. It was healing the fastest since it was the shallowest, and it felt like tiny insects were dancing around his throat it itched so terribly. He drummed his heavy fingers against the rail, resisting the urge to tear off the bandage and rip off the scabs.
A flicker of light caught his attention, and he turned to glare at the ship's cook. He had heard the familiar click of the man's lighter, but he hadn't realized that Sanji was as close to him as he was. Zoro had a particularly nasty hole in his side because the cook had been too concerned about those idiots Usopp and Nami to watch his own back. Not that Sanji had gotten away unharmed. The cook's movements were jerky and stiff from the tight swath of bandages around his body that kept all his broken ribs in place.
Sanji took up a position on the rail that mimicked Zoro's apart from the one hand he used to simultaneously prop his chin on and hold his cigarette. For a few moments there was complete silence, which was something that happened between them very rarely.
"What's the matter?" Zoro finally asked, "Still angry that I got one up on you by saving your ass during that fight?"
"Don't be stupid." Sanji's eyebrow twitched and he took a deep drag of his cigarette before blowing out a thin stream of smoke into the cool night air. Zoro watched with mild interest as Sanji repeated the process a couple times, since the only time Sanji smoked with any sort of deliberation was when he was serious. Otherwise the cook seemed to pursue his nicotine habit with a careless disinterest, letting the bent cigarette dangle from his lips unlit half of the time.
But as the silence again stretched uncomfortably, Zoro lost patience and snapped at the other man. "Well?! Are you going to talk to me or not, you bastard?"
"Shut the hell up, moss-head. I'm thinking, which I know may be hard for you to understand."
Sanji stubbed out his nearly-spent cigarette dangerously close to Zoro's forearm, the butt sizzling out without leaving a mark on the rail.
"What the fu-!"
"I don't like you getting hurt."
Cut off mid-curse, Zoro stared at the cook with confusion and annoyance. Confusion was winning out though, as Zoro tried to decide if the comment had been made with actual concern. No matter what they got themselves in to or out of, they never made more than casual and often scathing comments on the others condition. Sanji, perhaps assuming what Zoro might be thinking, snorted.
"Don't be so goddamn surprised," he drawled "I don't like any of my crewmates getting hurt."
"Then get to the point already, asshole." Zoro turned his back on the cook, closing his eyes and settling into his usual napping position on the deck. "I don't have time for this shit."
He fully expected a swift kick for his attitude, which would have been fine with him if it would make the other man go away and stop acting so damn weird. They could fight, finish, and everything could go back to normal. The conversation was on a fine line between their usual banter and something almost honest, and Zoro didn't want the balance to tip the wrong way.
Instead of the blunt impact of one of Sanji's stupidly impractical dress shoes though, Zoro heard an odd clink, like a cup or dish against wood. He opened one eye and looked up, barely able to make out the cook's face now that it was without the glow of a cigarette. There was a long pause and Zoro almost snapped again, but Sanji pushed himself up from the rail with a sigh.
"Just…stop making me worry, bastard."
Without a backward glance Sanji walked crookedly away in the direction of the galley, leaving the swordsman by himself. Which was almost enough like the cook's usual attitude to reassure Zoro.
Except sitting next to Zoro's boot, its soft white dimly visible in the night, was a small bottle of sake that Sanji could have and must have had stashed in his coat. Zoro had long since given up on getting any booze until the next time they made port, as he had literally been kicked from the kitchen the last time he had looked for any. More than half-expecting a trap, Zoro popped it open and sniffed at experimentally before shrugging and downing it in a single long gulp.
It wasn't a trick, and he briefly enjoyed the clean burn of the strong alcohol. It was nowhere near enough to get him even buzzed, but the familiar heat in his gut was comforting. Unfortunately it felt a little too much like an apology, and after a minute he wished he hadn't drank it all. Lacking a sufficient amount to get drunk, he was left with a persistent feeling that turned his thoughts continuously back to the cook and the last comment the man had made.
"Shit."
Author's note: My first foray into One Piece fan-fiction, I've only made it through about half of the manga and watched a couple of the movies, so I'm sorry if things aren't totally right. I might continue it for another chapter if a) I feel I could do so without it being crap, and b) if there is interest in it. Thanks for reading *hearts*