This is my very first fanfic ever. So here you go. Enjoy.

Standard disclaimer: One Piece is not mine.

Beautiful Grief

Chapter 1

Sanji once again found himself cleaning up in the galley later than usual. The party on the beach earlier in the evening included several townsfolk that the Straw Hats had assisted with what felt like another routine "rescue the villager de jour". As such, there was considerably more than the standard amount of dirty pots, pans, and dishes. Brook and Ussop had been by earlier to help out before heading to their bunks, but Sanji still had to finish inventorying his shelves and compiling a shopping list for tomorrow 's market before they left the island. Luckily, most of the rest of the crew were staying in town on the island and the chef wouldn't be disturbed.

He had rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt back down, and was thoughtfully attending to the care of his knives, when the mossy moron entered the galley and sullenly mumbled something about sake.

"Speak up, idiot marimo! No one can understand your caveman grunting," he irritably chastised the green haired swordsman. While waiting for a response, Sanji started carefully cleaning and checking the sharpness of the carving knife, brushing the blade back and forth across the whetstone a couple times before wiping it off with some oiled cloth.

"May I have a small bowl of the good sake?" the shit swordsman grumbled hoarsely, finding something apparently fascinating around his feet.

"What the fuck do you need my good sake for?" Sanji asked, pointing the knife in his hand at the swordsman. Sanji had noticed that Zoro had been drinking more heavily than usual that evening. Conspicuously more considering the bottomless alcohol pit that was the swordsman. "Didn't you already have enough to drink at the party, shitty alcoholic? How are you even still standing?"

"Fuck!" Zoro huffed out, suddenly deflating and looking almost defeated. "Just give me the damned sake. I don't need a lot, just a small bowl…..Please, Sanji."

Sanji's eyes widened in complete shock. Firstly, the moss head neverever called Sanji by his name, and secondly, the apocalypse would happen before he would ever say "please". What the hell was going on?

He looked Zoro up and down carefully, noticing the slumped shoulders, the downcast eye, the sense of utter withdrawal and retreat. Making a decision, the cook placed the carving knife into the block and opened the cupboard where the good sake was stored. After some consideration, he pulled out one of the bottles. Putting one of the nice sake bowls from the dying rack onto the counter, he poured some of the sake into the bowl and handed it to Zoro.

Sanji noticed that the swordsman's hands were shaking slightly as the chef handed over the bowl, and the moss for brains would not look up to allow the cook to catch his eye. The swordsman quickly looked down at the sake bowl and steadied his hands, before turning with a huff and pushing out of the galley. Sanji remarked to the back of a green haired head, "Don't spill it, asshat. That's the expensive stuff."

After the galley door was slammed shut, Sanji went back to finish up his end of day routine, wiping down counters and tables, putting away dishes and closing up cupboards, writing out his shopping list for the following day, and doing a quick prep for tomorrow's breakfast. Satisfied that there was nothing else left, he pulled off his "kiss the cook" apron, let himself feel the exhaustion of a very long day, and left the galley to head to the men's bunkroom.

As he began walking down the stairs, he stopped in his tracks, completely stunned by the sight in the middle of the grass on the main deck of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro, dressed only in his black cargo pants and combat boots, was performing a single sword form with Wado Ichimonji. It was nothing like Zoro's usual forms. Normally, the swordsman's forms were aggressive and fierce, showcasing the swordsman's overwhelming power and skill. Every thrust and turn forcefully brutal, every slash and step deadly and devastating. But this… this was…. elegant. Every step fluid and careful, like the hush and whisper of the ocean against the side of Sunny's hull in calm waters. Every arc and push of the ethereal white katana gentle and slow, like the soft tangle of the breeze in the sails on a quiet day. Sanji couldn't breathe.

The form ended, breaking Sanji from the spell. As Zoro turned toward a small crate upon which had been placed the small sake bowl and a stick of incense, Sanji caught a brief glimpse of the swordsman's face in the full moonlight, showing shiny tear tracks trailing down the stoic and serene visage. Sanji's heart shattered into pieces, and he muffled a quiet sob while trying to stay out of sight when he also noticed the bandana around the swordsman's forehead. Whatever this was, it was being done in utmost seriousness. The chef was terrified. What had broken this unbreakable man, his unparalleled rival?

Zoro bowed to the small shrine and moved back into the grass to begin the next form. Sanji was spellbound again as the movements were performed with the same fluid care as the previous. It was breathtaking beauty and honor for a loved one who had passed away, Sanji recognized that now. It was all grace and inconsolable raw grief. It was Zoro's heart, broken wide open and vulnerable, on display in the shift of the foot and the flow of the sword. Who was it that had deserved such deep reverence from the swordsman? Would Zoro dance like this for the death of any of his nakama? Would he dance like this for Sanji?

That thought startled him, pulling him from his reverie and Sanji started back up the stairs. He should not have seen this. This was something deep and private that the seemingly emotionally detached green haired swordsman would never want witnessed.

When he got to the top of the stairs, he saw a straw hatted head peek around the corner. Luffy. The hat was pulled down over Luffy's eyes, which shadowed his face in seriousness. Sanji sighed and slumped against the wall next to the galley door, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a slow drag.

"I've closed up the galley for the night, Luffy." Sanji said to his captain.

"Help him," Luffy said quietly, nodding toward the main deck.

Sanji was taken aback. Help Zoro? The idiot marimo?

"How the fuck am I supposed to help? What could I possibly do to help with that?" Sanji whispered with venom, gesturing toward the deck. "I'm the very last person he's going to want help from."

"It has to be you, Sanji." Luffy retorted and walked away toward the men's bunkroom.

Sanji growled at the back of his captain's head and stormed into the galley. What was happening tonight? It's like a bomb of crazy hit the ship. How did this turn into his responsibility? This was Zoro. Kelp for brains. He didn't need help from anyone. Ever. Fuck.

Sanji wrenched open the ice box and pulled out a bowl of left over rice. Grumbling to himself about mentally deficient captains and moron moss heads, he quickly packed the rice into a several vaguely triangle shapes, stuffing some minced sea king and pickled vegetables into the centers. He placed two of them neatly on a plate, leaving the rest on the counter.

Picking up the onigiri plate and pulling a stick of incense from one of the cupboards, Sanji took a deep breath and pushed his way out of the galley to his death. He knew how this would go. He would disrupt whatever ritual the shitty swordsman was performing for his dead friend or relative. The bastard would then take Wado and kill him, violently. Probably through the heart, or the neck. Well, Sanji had had a pretty horrible life, he supposed. Then it got ridiculous after he joined Luffy and the rest of the Straw Hats. Why not get killed in a pointless show of comfort for the grieving shithead? There are stupider ways to die. Probably not many, but Sanji is sure there are at least some.

He forced himself to calm and walked to the small shrine Zoro had set up. The swordsman was still moving through a form with that unbelievable grace and grief but managed to catch Sanji's eye with a scowl. Sanji set down the onigiri next to Zoro's sake, and lit the incense stick, stuffing it next to Zoro's in the gap between the boards of the crate. Then he stood in silence with his back to the swordsman, watching the incense slowly burn, waiting and wondering what he should do next. He could feel Zoro's killing intent rise through the haki, but couldn't hear any change in the rhythm of the form as the marimo continued to move through it.

When Sanji sensed that Zoro was closing the form, he turned to look the swordsman directly in the eye. Zoro charged toward the cook with murder on his face.

"You fucking bastard! What the f….?" Zoro began in rage, but Sanji calmly held up a hand to stop the green haired man, taking up no defensive posture.

He moved passed the infuriated swordsman to the center of the deck and stood in stillness, eyes closed. He listened to the beat of his heart and worked to capture the rhythm before he began to move. Taking a couple tentative steps, Sanji started his own dance.

Soon, he found his own heart blown open and exposed. He kicked out as he remembered his family, with all the bruises both internal and external. Twisted and stomped for his mother and how his whole being was completely crushed when he lost her. Flipped and turned for the agony of starvation on that shitty rock of an island. For Ace's loss. For his helplessness in consoling Luffy in any way. For the two year separation from his nakama. For all the betrayals on Whole Cake island. His frustrated anger demonstrated in every forceful kick. His bewilderment spun into every spin. His soul emptying sadness turned into every flip. He broke himself wide for anyone watching to see the depths of his true self, with all its guilt and grief, and felt a wetness that tasted of salt stream down his cheeks.

Sanji almost stumbled out of rhythm when his foot connected with something and opened his eyes to see Zoro standing next to him, Wado clenched tightly in the swordsman's grip. The green haired man's face holding echoes of the his own tears.

The chef knew what the swordsman wanted, he wanted it himself. Sanji continued to move over the deck, kicking out his despair while Zoro blocked, deflecting with his brokenness while Zoro struck. It was like all their battles, but with a vast difference of intent. Rather than the usual flurried burst of clash and retreat, their movements flowed with an effortless choreography and spoke of comfort taken and given, of a joint commiseration. Grief shared and spoken with steps and strikes. With shoe and sword.

It may have been minutes or hours before Sanji felt a slowing of the patterns of the combat and eased toward a stop. He looked over at Zoro, sure that his face also showed the exhaustion and momentary contentment he saw in the other's eye. Sanji felt like he had emptied himself of every little bit of his soul and there was nothing left but quiet. It was good.

"Thanks." Zoro muttered, his voice betraying more gravel than usual.

Sanji walked next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Bring those up to galley when you're done here," he said kindly, nodding toward the sake and onigiri on the small makeshift shrine, and headed up the stairs. "I'll meet you up there. Don't get lost, lawn for brains."

He heard Zoro chuckle behind him, "Way to ruin the moment, dart board."