A/N: Written because I just watched the tenth One Piece movie, and it inspired me to do something for these two. :D
"C'mon, Patty!" shouts Sanji, irritated. "Get those danishes in the oven already, we've got customers waitin' for them!"
Behind him, the large man grunts and pulls a face. For a moment, he debates on telling the younger chef to do it himself. After all, he's a senior chef there. Not Sanji. Just as he's about to, the blond man scowls at him and moves to snatch the pan away - and out of sheer stubborness Patty tugs it back towards him.
"I'm getting them, I'm getting them." he snaps. Then he turns on his heel and starts to squeeze his way through the small kitchen and to one of the empty ovens.
Sanji rolls his eyes at the other man. "Idiot."
It's not a new thing, Patty not doing his job. In fact, it's an every day thing here at the Baratie. None of his co-workers ever do their actual job. They much prefer standing around and chatting with the customers, as though that's what they're being paid to do instead of cook.
Sanji? He much prefers being in the back over the front.
-x-x-x-x-
"Oi, Sanji!" calls Deidara, sticking her head in through the white, swinging door that divide the kitchen from the front. "Table Three wants an order of eclairs, yeah? Make 'em quick!"
Then the blonde dissapears, letting the door close behind her. Even with it closed, he can hear her start jabbering to one of the customers. Something about clay and art class, then a loud exclamation about something getting blown up.
Sanji shakes his head at her, once more wondering about her sanity. Then he's washing his hands and all but dances across the kitchen, easily twisting out of the other chefs ways and sliding over to an empty counter. He grabs one of the large, metal bowls from the shelf and then he gets to work.
And it's just so easy, this job. Turning a handful of seperate things, flour and butter and sugar and milk, and creating something new. Something better.
In his mind, it's perfect.
Being able to cook here, at the Baratie, is his dream. He's helping people and doing what he loves at the same time. And while it may not be the most extravagant resturaunt in town, this little coffee shop feels like home to him.
-x-x-x-x-
He works there after school, every day. Night shift. In the back, among the dishes and the food and the hot, stiff air of the kitchen.
That's what Sanji loves. But it isn't what makes him money.
What makes him money is when he works up front, on the weekends. The customers love him because, unlike the rest of the men who work at the Baratie, Sanji has social skills. He can flutter from table to table and take orders, do things quick and get them done, but he can accomplish that while he's smiling and laughing and talking.
That's where he is when the door opens, a musical chime sounding through the cafe. Sanji doesn't pause in what he's doing (carting dirty dishes to the back of the resturaunt), but looks over his shoulder to offer the newest customer a smile. Then, without thinking, he shoves the stack of plates at a passing waiter, turns on his heel and all but sweeps over to where the blonde has paused.
"Kaya!" he says happily, reaching out and taking one of her pale hands in his own. They're shaking slightly, but he doesn't pay that any mine. The young woman always trembles. "I didn't think that I would see you here today. Yesterday, you said that you had something you wanted to do."
Kaya smiles, and lets the chef hold her hand for a moment longer. When she moves to take it back, it's released. "I wasn't planning on coming over, but I was on my way back from the hospital -"
She's cut off there, by a frantic Sanji suddenly looking her over with a more critical eye. "The hospital? What happened? Are you alright?"
It takes a moment for him to notice the frail looking boy standing a few feet behind her, still hovering by the front door. Sanji recognizes him from English class, and from the seat next to Kaya at lunch that is suddenly taken, every day, without fail. He thinks his name is Usopp, but he isn't sure.
What he is sure of is that the boy's left arm is in a dark blue sling, a stark white cast poking out from beneath the heavy fabric. Dark brown eyes are glancing around nervously - and is that a bruise beginning to form around his right eye? Yes, Sanji decides, it most certainly is.
"-fell down the stairs." Kaya is saying, and with a start Sanji realizes that he hadn't even noticed she was speaking. He doesn't ask her to repeat herself, however, and just gives what he hope comes off as a concerned nod.
Behind her, Usopp has averted his gaze. Looking at the floor, the cieling,the tables and chairs and booths; anywhere but at his cousin, who is so content with the explanation that it almost hurt.
Sanji doesn't see that, though. He just sees a nervous boy, not quite sure what to do or say.
-x-x-x-x-
Kaya orders a strawberry shortcake and a mug of green tea. Just like she always does, and that simple fact brings a smile to Sanji's face. It's always nice to have a regular come by. Even more so when they're sweet girls like Kaya is - and maybe he does stop every now and then to ask her about school, but isn't he allowed that?
Usopp, on the other hand, eyes the menu and then shakes his head. Asks for a cup of ice water.
When Sanji brings it, along with the light yellow mug that carries Kaya's tea, he notices that the long-nosed boy doesn't hesitate in swallowing down two small, white pills. Tylenol three, he thinks, and he feels for the boy.
Broken bones suck.
Sanji's only ever broken his leg, when he was young and stupid and in a knock-down drag-out fight with Zolo, and it was the single most miserable time of his life. Had to cut down on everything that he did, and damn if it didn't hurt too. Like fire lacing through his veins, every time he so much as twitched it.
That's why, when Perona comes out with table five's order, Sanji makes sure that there are two shortcakes there and not just one.
-x-x-x-x-
Most teenagers, when they have the day free of school, free of parents and responsibilities, go out. To parties and clubs and dances. To their friends house and the arcade and the movies. To anywhere that isn't home, because that's what the week-end is for. Fun.
Sanji spends it at work. When his shift is over, he slips into the back and then starts up the narrow stair-case that leads to the loft above the Baratie. It's a small place; living room, bedroom, and bathroom, but it works for him just fine. Light blues and yellow adorn the walls in the form of striped curtain, and a matching blanket is draped over the back of his couch. A small television is set up in corner and, with a sigh, Sanji drapes himself on the couch and snatches up the remote, flicking it on.
Something about snails is on, and for a moment he wonders why the nature station is playing. Then he decides that he doesn't care and toes off his shoes, letting them drop to the floor with a "clunk". Closes his eyes - and to the drone of an old man talking about mucus and shells and spirals, he drifts to sleep.