"You'll be kept in the care of Brother Katakuri while Mama recovers. Don't think you've been forgiven! We're just waiting for Mama's judgment, and when she wakes, you'll wish we had killed you now!"

Well, shit. Trapped in enemy territory, without his captain, and missing the relative protection that had been given to him as the future groom. He was stuck here, personally guarded by the strongest member of the Charlotte family besides Big Mom, presumably until she got better enough to kill him herself.

Now you've done it, Sanji.

Sanji pushed at the cuffs that had been locked around his wrists and ankles, testing their strength. They held firm, and he slid up one of his sleeves so he could feel the material against his skin, wincing as the familiar cool pressure of seastone greeted him.

Not surprising. It wasn't dragging him down any, since he wasn't a fruit user, but the stuff was still ridiculously tough. It wasn't like he was in any condition to break out of even normal cuffs, but of course a Yonko's family of all people would have enough of the stuff around to slap it on normal people.

He lifted his head to face his captor. "All this fanfare, for little old me? I'm flattered."

Despite being muffled by what had to be the fluffiest scarf Sanji had ever seen, Katakuri's voice came across quite clearly. "Seeing what your captain was able to do, it would be beyond foolish to underestimate you."

"No danger of that," he muttered under his breath. Half the damn Charlotte family had to be here, standing in the streets along the route he was being escorted through. Katakuri himself was right beside him, trident in one hand and the other clasped tight around the chain that connected to Sanji's cuffs. Oven and Daifuku weren't far behind.

He didn't have the slightest chance of escaping, but he'd expected that. From the very moment he'd woken up in an unfamiliar place to see one of the Sweet Commanders towering over him, Sanji had already resigned himself to his fate.

That didn't make the walk from the hospital to wherever he was being taken any easier, though. His legs hurt like crazy, one set in a thick cast that forced him to hobble along, and the other the sorest it had ever been. His back was one massive bruise that screamed at him whenever he stepped unevenly, which was every fucking step because of the damn cast on his leg.

His head was foggy from the pain, his shoulders ached from the angle his hands were trapped at, and even though he'd only been awake for a few hours, he felt exhausted. He barely remembered anything about his attempt to take on Big Mom, but it was pretty clear he'd gotten his ass kicked.

Not dead, though. That was a definite bonus. Hell, he'd take small mercies where he could get them.

The honorary parade ended at Katakuri's residence.

It was obvious that it was his because of the sheer size of everything, chairs and table easily three times the height of normal furniture. In typical Charlotte style, the entire house was built out of food; in this case, the materials all seemed to be flour-based. Sanji could recognize all of the different types of bread that had been used to construct the walls, and the ceiling smelt strongly of mochi.

Katakuri left him in the middle of the room, looping and locking his 'lead' around a table leg. Sanji was casually informed that a dozen of the Charlotte family's best snipers were waiting around the perimeter of the house, ready to shoot if he so much as peeked out. Then the man left, presumably to take care of whatever he did when he wasn't threatening people who were already beat to shit and tied down.

There wasn't much to do with a total radius of only three feet, so when Sanji got tired of walking in circles he looked around. For all the extravagance he'd seen while he'd been a guest at the Whole Cake palace, this place seemed pretty plain. The chairs and table dominated most of the room, and there were a few large dressers against the walls, but the room was missing any kind of extra decoration. He could see a couple of rooms branching off from the main one, but the huge doors to them were closed. Even if he could move around, the knobs to open them were far too high to reach.

There were no windows, of course. That'd be too easy.

Other than that, there wasn't much to look at. Sanji considered laying down on the floor to catch a little more rest, but the bruises on his back protested when he moved to lie flat. He swore, trying instead to find a comfortable way to sit, and finally settled leaning sideways against the table's support post with his legs spread out.

He must have fallen asleep like that, because the next thing he knew, it was morning.

The first few days were much like that one, with a few minor changes. Katakuri left him mostly to his own devices during the day, always with a warning about the snipers around the house if he attempted to escape. He wasn't chained down again, but the cuffs remained in place.

There wasn't much else to do but roam the house, so that's what he did.

Many of the doors had been opened after the first night, including the one leading to what was apparently 'his' room. The doorframe and walls were built to the same proportion as everything else, but the normal-sized furniture gave it away. There was a bed, a table and chair, and a modest bathroom.

It was a lot nicer than a prison cell, but Sanji still had a little trouble sleeping when he accidentally poked a hole in his mattress and woke up covered in marshmallow.

For someone Sanji thought was supposed to be guarding him, Katakuri was missing a lot during that time. He was always back before Sanji went to sleep and always there when he woke up, but he seemed to rarely be in the house any other time. He chalked it down as the guy being too busy helping to run an empire to look after a half-dead cook.

Meals came to him through the front door, in the hands of a different chef every day but always guarded by the same two long-necked twins. The food was always a dessert of some kind, from cakes and pies to ice cream and sweet buns. The constant intake of sugar had him aching for a decent meal, but attempting to reason with the chef when he'd been served crème brûlée for breakfast led to two sets of arrows shoved in his face.

With his wrists and ankles bound tight enough to keep him from everything but walking and eating, he'd been forced to back off.

Other than the thrice-daily meal brigade, he was left alone. He wasn't beaten. He wasn't tortured. He wasn't even questioned. It was an odd sort of situation that left him feeling more like a little kid than a prisoner. You can go anywhere in the house, but don't go outside. Eat your food. I'll be gone all day, but I'll be home before dark.

The thing was, he hated feeling like a little kid a lot more than he hated feeling like a prisoner.

Sanji wasn't stupid; he saw the mirrors on the walls and knew he was being watched, but it still felt odd. Shouldn't he be in something less…nice? He'd seen the massive book-jails the Charlottes had used to hold their prisoners. Why the hell didn't they just put him there? Why was he given so much freedom? Why were they taking care of him?

Why the hell hadn't he been killed yet?

"You're recovering quite well," the doctor noted, poking at the yellow splotches on his thighs. It hurt, but not nearly as bad as it had the day he'd woken up. "These are almost completely healed. I'll admit, I've never seen someone came back from such injuries as fast as you have. It's nearly unbelievable."

"Good." Sanji flexed his left foot, testing the flexibility of the joint. It was stiff and sore, but he had almost his entire range of movement back. He couldn't wait to walk properly again.

"Unbelievable? I'd dare say this is unnatural," the doctor on his other side mused, examining the leg that had been wrapped in a cast. "This was a clean break, and a minor one, but even minor fractures should have taken far longer than this. Move the toes again."

Sanji obliged.

"Truly remarkable," the doctor whispered. His gaze was fixed on Sanji's leg with almost an obsessive glint in his eyes.

"Whatever." Chopper had long gotten used to the speed at which they recovered, to the point where his estimates of actual bedrest time for each of them were incredibly accurate. The little reindeer had even learned how to account for anything they might get up to while they were injured.

I miss him.

Sanji shooed the thought away, as he had with all other thoughts of his crew that had popped up in his head over the past few days. They'd gotten away safely; he was sure of that. If they hadn't, he was certain he'd have been told. He doubted any of the Charlotte siblings would pass up the opportunity to rub it in his face.

Luffy had told him to go. Luffy would come back for him.

Don't think about it.

"Do you have any further observations, doctors?" Katakuri had been watching the entire time, a silent but constant presence in the doorway of the room. He'd left as usual that morning, but this time he'd come back before lunch with a team of medical personnel in tow.

After being poked and prodded and told to wiggle this or that for almost an hour, Sanji decided he preferred it when the man had been gone all day.

"No, Lord Katakuri. He seems to be well on his way to a full recovery."

"I concur with my colleague's assessment, Lord Katakuri. I recommend a follow-up in another week, but it doesn't seem like he requires anything more than rest and time to heal."

Katakuri accepted this with a nod, stepping aside to allow the team to trail out of Sanji's room and into the main hallway. He opened the front door to allow them to pass, then held it for the long-necked twins and the chef who came in right after them. Today, they weren't alone; another, larger chef followed behind them with another, larger plate.

It looked like Katakuri was going to be eating with him.

"I'm going to die of diabetes if you keep feeding me this stuff. You need me alive, don't you?"

Katakuri glared down at him. The man hadn't even touched his bowl of soufflé, instead choosing to sit at the massive table and watch Sanji as he'd eaten his. He felt a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but he was hungry as fuck, so he ignored it.

"The food you're being given is sustenance enough. Mama's chefs are of the highest class. They are quite capable of providing all necessary nutrients in dessert dishes, and I will not pull them from their duties in order to fulfill the flighty request of a temporary guest."

"Then just give me my own kitchen and I'll cook my own food. I'm tired of all this sweet shit."

"No."

He'd expected as much. There was no way the fighters of the Charlotte family had managed to keep themselves in the shape they were in if all they ate were sweets. Sugar didn't do anything to fuel the kind of smooth, well-honed bulk on Katakuri's frame, after all. He'd noticed the added protein in his food, masterfully masked behind fruity flavors and caramel shells, and come to the same conclusion himself…but he wanted to cook, goddamnit.

"Don't got nothing to do around here, anyway," he muttered. He felt irritable from both the doctors' visit and the cold rejection of his demand, though he honestly hadn't expected to get anywhere with the latter. He was already being given far more than he could've possibly asked for, but he couldn't help himself; there were only so many times he could identify all of the flavors of sweet crepes used in the flooring before he went crazy.

Sanji finished his soufflé slowly, savoring each bite. He might be getting sick of all the sweets, but he was starving, and it would be a crime to not enjoy something so finely made.

Speaking of which…

"Are you gonna eat that?" He waved his spoon in the direction of the much-larger portion on Katakuri's plate. The man still hadn't touched it, even though the delicate top of the dessert had collapsed in on itself several minutes ago.

"Of course."

"Any time today, I mean."

The snark went unanswered and unpunished, just as it had any other time he'd made a snide comment. There was no way a man like Katakuri would miss the meaning of such things; he just didn't seem to be bothered by them. He seemed to be a master of letting things slide, something Zoro had never been able to do.

Zoro.

The crew.

Stop thinking.

"I'm told you identified the ingredients by smell alone."

"Huh?" It was the first time Katakuri had spoken to him without being prompted, and for a moment Sanji didn't realize what he meant. "Oh, the wedding cake. Yeah."

"That cake was planned out over a month in advance. How did you manage to recreate it in a matter of hours?"

Okay, first of all- "I didn't recreate your cake, I made my cake based off what yours had been, and it was a shit-ton better, thank you very much. And second, I'm a chef. It's my job, and I'm damn good at it."

That wasn't bragging, it was a statement. He was damn good at his job, and he'd fought tooth and nail to gain an ounce of skill for every ounce of talent he already had. That cake had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to make, but without a doubt, it had been one of the best.

"So I've heard. Could you replicate the feat?"

"Finding ingredients by scent? Sure, I could." It wasn't too difficult; he had a sense for that sort of thing.

"Would you?"

"No." He felt no guilt; his crew was safe. Big Mom's rampant hunger had been sated. Pudding had escaped, and so had Chiffon. He owed the Charlotte family nothing.

Katakuri remained seated by his now-wilting soufflé, but the intensity of his gaze was burning. Sanji didn't back down, returning the glare. He didn't come this far, didn't work this hard for his craft just to be bullied into using it by someone as petty as a mere Yonko Commander.

When Katakuri spoke, his voice was smooth, without even a hint of tension. "I'm willing to trade."

The easy offer took him completely off-guard. Sanji had very seriously expected to be threatened. Now, it made sense that they'd let him off easy before; it'd make him easier to work with when they demanded his help later. But if he refused that, then they'd have no reason to play nice.

There had to be a trick somewhere in here. People who took prisoners didn't offer to bargain with them as equals; that ruined the whole point of taking prisoners in the first place. "Free me."

"You're not going anywhere."

Fair enough. "My friends are safe. What the hell do you think you have that I want?"

"How much do you want that personal kitchen?"