"You should get that checked out."
Zoro doesn't even have to turn around to know it's Sanji, having already anticipated his arrival by the sharp clicks his dress shoes made against the wood and the smell of tobacco filling the upper deck.
"It could get infected, marimo head. Don't need you half dead during a time like this." Sanji snaps, and Zoro scratches the back of his head, feeling it burn from the intensity of Sanji's glare.
Zoro snorts, fixedly staring at the horizon, watching with dull fascination at how the red and oranges were blending together, making the sun look like a bright hazy blob, how the blue of the ocean turned a shade darker with every passing wave the Sunny made. Like how his haramaki is slowly turning a dull, disgusting mix of brown and red, as it drinks in all the blood freely flowing from the stab in his side. The pain has lessened to a nauseating throb, and he estimates he has about another fifteen minutes or so before the medical attention becomes life-threateningly necessary. Even then he could probably still hang on. Probably.
It was his own fault, for not noticing the hidden dagger until too late. But the other pirate crew had suffered much more grievous injuries and losses; now, that was their own fault, for choosing the Strawhats, out of every other pirate crew out there, to ambush. Well, at least they had a story to tell. To survive encountering the crew of the psychotic captain who broke into Impel Down would make a helluva tale to tell.
"…Chopper's busy." He mutters, knowing it's bullshit since the doctor is known for his knack of multitasking and quick bandaging skills. But he's not ready to leave the upper deck, to leave the very spot where he can overlook everyone and make sure they're all here, they're all safe yet close enough to rush to their aid should any random attack attempt to catch him unaware and break the Sunny apart and separate them all again, not again, never again. He couldn't stand it, wouldn't be able to, wouldn't be able to stand not knowing whether or not they were fine, whether they were running for their lives or buried six feet down or lost at sea or somewhere out there surrounded by the dangers Zoro wouldn't be able to protect them from—
"Zoro."
Sanji's harsh hiss of his name jerks Zoro out of his imaginary disaster and gory images of his nakama, dead a hundred times over in another thousand ways. Mentally berating himself for losing concentration so easily, he runs a quick anxious eye over the crew and his stiff shoulders slacken for just a moment when all is accounted for. But they stiffen again when he realizes that he's clutched the rail tight enough to make his knuckles grow taut and white, the brittle wood next to being crushed beneath his tanned talons. It's only Sanji's pale hand that's clasped tightly over his own that's stopped him from completely pulverizing the railing, he figures, giving a mute nod of thanks. Slowly releasing his death grip on the railing, not without wincing at the creak it makes, he looks down and breathes out a slow silent sigh. It isn't like him to be so rattled, so jittery at everything and anything, yet he can't help it. His heart won't stop racing, won't stop beating so loud and fast he'd swear he can hear it echo through the ship. It's almost as if his body is irreversibly stuck in that time in Shabondy, when his legs aren't long enough, swords not swift enough, screams with hidden pleads not loud enough to reach anyone. Just when he thinks he can save them, has a chance, can protect can do something anyth—
He's alone, adrenaline still pumping through his veins, yet no one there to save. Too late. Again.
Sanji remains silent, somehow uncertain what he should do. His hand is still lying on top of the swordsman's, yet now is not holding, just placed softly atop, letting the other know of his constant presence through that small touch. Using his free hand, he takes a long drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke gently. He tilts his head skywards, watching it drift above for a moment before dissipating into the evening sky.
"It'll be okay." Sanji starts softly, head still inclined towards the sky. Zoro's head turns slightly, just enough to fit the other man into his field of vision when Sanji's hand gives his own a comforting squeeze. "We'll all stick together this time round. You don't have to worry about Usopp being beaten up, or about no one being there protecting Nami-san. You don't have to worry about Franky getting himself stuck in some godforsaken situation again that constitutes of rust, or about the Marines capturing Robin-chan. You don't have to worry about no one tucking Chopper in at night, no one there to listen to Brook, hell, you don't even have to worry about Sunny getting stolen and taken apart for sale." Sanji stops to chortle at the last one for a bit, then gently continues. "But most of all, you don't have to worry about Luffy dying."
Zoro freezes up at that implication, but knows that Sanji knows that he's already thought up a million and one situations where Luffy could potentially been killed without him there, just to drown in that awful feeling of distraught and worthlessness during his darker days. Days filled with pain from overworked muscles and deep searing cuts, still incomparable to the tight twist his heart did whenever his nakama's silhouettes and boundless laughter crossed his mind. Days where his heart seemed to be permanently stuck in a wrenched position upside down, like someone had lodged a broken piece of glass in the gaping abyss where his heart ought to be, the heart his captain, his savior, his friend, had nurtured from the shriveled rot he had allowed it to become after Kuina's death. Days where the only thing keeping him going was a goal high above where piercing golden eyes scorned and mocked, where he doubted his own dreams, ambitions and worst of all, his ability to reach that goal he thirsted for.
His face nearly crumples then, as he feels his knees grow weak and vision grow hazy. It's only his pride and strictly-trained discipline that helps him keep his face and posture straight, along with fierce blinks that force the threat of collapse back.
The cook seems to sense his pain and despair, as he loosely interlaces their hands together, awkward it may be with a back of a hand facing a palm.
"Because we'll all stick together this time, and I'll, no, we'll make sure of it. We've all gotten stronger, Luffy's become even more of a monster he already was. None of us are going to let ourselves be split apart again. Anyone who tries to break us apart? They'll be in for hell." Sanji stresses the last word, mouth curving into a large grin as he tosses his head sideways to look at Zoro's stunned 's uncharacteristic, both to see Zoro react to such a blatant show affection and care, from Sanji nonetheless, with a snicker and Sanji's actually showing such love. Sanji's face colours a brilliant red when he hears Zoro's snickers, turning his head away and clicking his tongue, annoyed.
"Fine, treat my concern like a joke, like I care." Sanji mutters sourly. Zoro throws him an amused look, yet the vanished knitted brows shows Sanji that his words have soothed his friend's heart.
"Still, you really should hurry and patch up that wound, else Luffy'll worry." He adds quietly, side eyeing their noisy captain who's currently occupied with untangling himself from Chopper's bandages.
Suddenly, the guilt of not having his wound checked out as soon as possible crashes into Zoro like a tidal wave. He makes an involuntary "urk" sound that Sanji chuckles at. It's a refreshing sound, all fondness and delight, none of that smug undertone that's laced with promises of blackmail and constant teases, and Zoro decides it's a lovely sound that Sanji should definitely produce more often. More often than that pointless drivel he calls talking anyway.
Giving Zoro's hand a firm pat, the blonde spins on his heel and crushes the butt of his cigarette on the splintered railing, back facing Zoro.
"Go let Chopper check it out, you idiot swordsman." Sanji calls as he walks away, shoving both hands into his pockets.
Zoro can't see it, but he hears and senses the cook's satisfied smile in both his voice and his self-assured walk, and can't stop his own lips from curving into a relaxed, confident grin.
"Mind your own business, swirlybrow." Zoro shouts back, more of a habit than spite and malice.
Yeah, they'll be alright, Zoro thinks, as he swings himself to the lower deck, effectively breaking off the railing and causing panicked screams to erupt; from his bloody wound or Sunny's newly acquired open deck, he doesn't know. As he watches Franky rush past him, swiping the broken fixture from his hands in the process, listens to Usopp howls at him for thoughtlessly tearing a piece of Sunny off and Nami's shrill screeches about him damaging the ship again, combined with Chopper's panicked orders for him to stay still at the sight of his gaping wound, Luffy and Brook's gusty laughter and Robin's barely audible giggles through this ruckus as he dodges a flying kick from Sanji at the insult, he laughs.
Because in the midst of this mess, this daily mess he deals with that's already ingrained itself into his routine and life, this familiar mess that tells him everyone is here and alive and joyous, he knows he's home.
The hole is already beginning to fill, with past memories of the good and the bad times, which are eventually triumphed by the great times, and with the new memories being created by the minute. He drunk to forgot during those two dark lonely years, but now he drinks to remember and to celebrate, allowing the sweet, burning taste of alcohol to wash away all the residual darkness that seems determined to cling to his very soul. But he knows it'll be gone soon, erased by the familiar chaos, endless laughter and vows made to bring to the grave. Bit by bit, the hole will fill, helped along with Luffy's warm laughter and beaming smiles, Usopp's lies and stories and overwhelming bravery, Nami's yells and punches and indirect shows of care, Sanji's ridiculous name-calling and routine fights, Chopper's weird way of accepting compliments and fretting nature over his numerous wounds, Robin's hidden smiles and the knowledge she shares and pride in staying alive, Franky's outstanding ability to embarrass himself and fatherly manner of taking care of everyone and Brook's music and cold jokes.
His nakama are the warmth that fills his very being, the sparks that rekindled the fire of hope and promises of better times again and again. With them, he is home.
And with them, he knows that he'll be alright.
ever thought to yourself at 2am what an angsty zoro would be like? yeah. this is the product. im blaming the fact that it's 2am for any and all OOCness+misinfo.
this fic was also kind of a test drive on how i write sanji and zoro, so if there's any oocness, it's probably just me trying to get the hang of writing these two.