Mindshattered
Part four of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma
Surprise! It turns out I won't be here all day tomorrow, so I'll give you this one a little early. :)
Note: So may I just say, I am absolutely stunned at the level of response to this fic? Barely three chapters in and it already has 36 reviews, over 20 faves, nearly 30 watches, and over 1,000 views! You know what this means? It means you're all as maliciously evil for reading this as I am for writing it. Bahaha!
Disclaimer: I do not own, or pretend to own, One Piece or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Eiichiro Oda. The only thing that belongs to me here is the concept for the story.
"Recovery is a process, not an event."
~Anne Wilson Schaef
The next few days were rough, but Sanji considered them a success anyway. Now that Zoro had a little food in his system, his body seemed to react appropriately. He still spent a lot of time sleeping, far more than was normal even for Zoro, but it was sleep more often than unconsciousness. He was waking up more and more often too, though never for long, and that allowed Sanji to get more small but nutritious meals into him on a semi-regular basis. Other times, Sanji was able to wake their swordsman up when he felt the man needed another dose of nutrients, though he tried to let Zoro rest as much as possible. It would go a long way towards his recovery.
Of course, there were downsides. Three more days had passed, but Zoro still hadn't recovered some semblance of lucidity. It meant that his waking moments were awkward at best. Nami and Usopp, who usually sat with Zoro to keep watch on him, often reported their swordsman dazedly staring at things in confusion where there was nothing but wall or air, and more than once he had apparently started talking to people who weren't present either. Sanji had witnessed that himself, and it had been terribly disturbing to see Zoro holding a conversation with a few motes of dust in a shaft of sunlight, dazed and slurred though his speech was. He'd needed a smoke break after that.
Even worse was that Zoro still hadn't managed to recognize any of his crew mates, either. All of them had come to visit at some point, even Luffy (who they tried to keep away when they could; he was too rambunctious and couldn't seem to comprehend just how fragile Zoro was) and Brook (who had been relegated to Luffy-watching duty, to keep him entertained and out of the way). Zoro hadn't once acted with any semblance of recognition, and more often than not his eyes and his focus would drift away in the middle of one of the Strawhats' attempted conversations.
Most disturbing was that sometimes Zoro mistook them for other people entirely, as a part of his delusions. This happened to both Sanji and Nami-san the most, as they were the ones most often attending him. Nami-san had reported being addressed as Robin, Perona, some person named 'Kuina' (whoever that was), and Vivi on four separate occasions. Sanji himself had been addressed by Zoro as Johnny, Yosaku, Mihawk, and 'Sensei,' presumably his sword master as far as the cook could figure.
The worst had been when he'd gone to deliver another serving of the broth to Zoro, only to have the man stare at him in horror and recoil. When Sanji had gotten closer Zoro had tried to fight him, pathetically weak though his attempts were, and had broken several of his scarred wounds open again in the process. Sanji could only guess the swordsman was seeing his captor instead of the cook, not that it made him feel any better about the whole mess. Zoro hadn't stopped fighting until Sanji retreated from the room, with Zoro's enraged and panicked yelling filling his ears, sending chills down his spine. It had taken the combined efforts of Usopp and Nami-san to hold the wounded swordsman down and calm him until he fell into an exhausted sleep. He hadn't eaten during that session, and Sanji had a deep-seated fear that Zoro had burned up too much of the energy the cook had worked so hard to get back into him, that he might not wake up again. But Zoro proved tenacious even now, and eight hours later he was awake again, apparently without memory of the incident.
Two more days passed, making it over a week since they had first found their wounded nakama in that dark cell. They still had no idea how he'd gotten there. And though both Sanji and Luffy especially wanted to find out and punish the man responsible, Sanji, at least, understood the necessity of getting as far as possible from that miserable rock as they could. If somebody had imprisoned Zoro like that so easily, there had to have been a purpose involved. If that was the case, they might come back after him, and Zoro was too weak to even attempt to defend himself. Even the slightest miscalculation in battle, the tiniest hit as the enemy fought to reclaim him, could kill their swordsman in his present state. They couldn't afford to risk it. Running felt cowardly, but letting their nakama die due to furious misplaced pride would be worse.
Sanji was trying to convince himself of this once again as he approached the infirmary with another bowl of broth, at roughly one in the afternoon. Zoro's waking hours followed no real schedule, which was hectic at best for the cook (he'd been woken in the middle of the night even, just to get much-needed nutrients into their swordsman when he could). But despite his normal dislike for the marimo, he couldn't bring himself to blame the man, not in this state. It was obnoxious, he decided, to have to worry so much over the swordsman. All the more reason to get Zoro better as quickly as possible, so they could go back to the nice, familiar routine of beating the crap out of each other.
There was no one in the infirmary other than its one patient. They had agreed that Zoro needed constant watching, especially in his delirious state, since they had no idea how he would react and if he would accidentally hurt himself again. As it was rather uneventful watching him sleep most of the time, however, they usually just left the infirmary door open and stayed close by, listening for movement or deranged muttering. Usopp was presently 'on watch,' stationed not too far away with his small chemistry set out perfecting a new form of ammunition, and Sanji nodded to him briefly before stepping into the sickroom.
Zoro looked much better than he had when they first found him, Sanji decided as his eyes automatically went to their swordsman, but that still wasn't saying much. He was still pretty heavily bandaged, though that wasn't a terribly uncommon sight for him. Some of the smaller gashes had started healing well, though after his panicked incident the larger ones needed more time. His fever had finally broken and left him yesterday, much to the relief of everyone on the crew; without Chopper there to deal with that particular illness, it had been a serious threat to his life. Best of all, Zoro had gained a little weight since returning to the ship. It was only a few miniscule pounds, and most of it fat, nothing at all compared to his previous thick muscle. But it was a start, and meant his body was reacting to being fed, at least. He still looked terrible, but Sanji was reasonably sure that he was out of deep water, as long as they continued handling the situation with the same care that they had been.
That was when Sanji realized that Zoro was awake, and staring right at him with a sharp, highly attentive gaze.
For one heart-stopping moment, Sanji thought that maybe Zoro was mistaking him for whoever had attacked him back on that island again, and he was getting ready to call for Usopp's help, and maybe Nami-san's as well. Then he realized that Zoro's expression wasn't one of grim determination or wild desperation. He looked exhausted, even with all the sleeping that he'd been doing, but there was a sort of tired recognition in those eyes as well. Sanji thought then that maybe Zoro was just recognizing him as the hand that fed him, so to speak. Despite Usopp's and even Nami-san's offers to help with Zoro's meals, Sanji had insisted on taking care of the delicate feeding situation himself. Zoro had never recognized him as Sanji in his delirium, but his confused mind could probably still equate a face to meal times.
Still, Sanji wasn't entirely sure how to approach. Zoro had been unpredictable at best for the past week, and it was aggravating but necessary to have to walk on eggshells around him lest he be set off and something happened that they'd all regret.
Zoro made the decision for him. After meeting each other eye-to-eye for a good twenty seconds, the swordsman finally opened his mouth and said with a dry, throaty voice, "What the hell are you staring for, love-cook?"
Sanji was stunned, and the expression must have shown on his face, to judge by Zoro's confused one. Shaking his head, he stared at Zoro again and asked with surprise, "You know who I am?"
"Who else would you be?" Zoro coughed, and talking obviously hurt with his dry throat, but he managed to still rasp out, "Nobody else has a curly-brow like that."
Sanji scowled on reflex, and his foot twitched, but it wasn't terribly hard to restrain his anger. Zoro's still-skeletal appearance was enough to see to that. Instead he crossed the room in a few quick strides, set the broth down carefully on the desk beside the bed, and poured a glass of water from the jug he'd left there for just such a purpose. Then he frowned. Zoro probably still wasn't strong enough to sit himself up, let alone take a drink under his own power, but the man would be furious if he didn't at least get a chance to test his own ability out. And an angry Zoro was an impossible to deal with Zoro.
So, sighing, he held out the glass and with resigned, forced casualness, "Here. Better have a drink. It'll be good for your throat."
Zoro looked relieved at the thought of water, and shifted on the bed in what was obviously an attempt to sit up. Unfortunately, while he had been able to fling himself up in the depths of delirium and even fight against the crew with a good adrenaline burst, right now he was nothing but exhausted and weak. His limbs trembled visibly from the strain of trying to hold even his lacking body weight up, and after a few moments he fell back to the bed with a loud groan.
"Damn," he managed to rasp, voice still painfully dry sounding. "That hurt...what the hell..." His voice cut off as he started dry coughing, but he managed to give Sanji a weak but still warning glare that clearly said go ahead and just try to laugh.
But Sanji wasn't laughing. Zoro might expect him to start mocking him for his weakness, but there was nothing amusing about this situation in the least. Instead he shook his head quietly and said, "Your muscles have atrophied. You're not used to using them is all. It'll get better with time." And without waiting for further invitation, he sat down on the side of the bed, slipped one arm behind Zoro's shoulders, and carefully supported him before shoving the glass of water unceremoniously to the swordsman's lips.
Zoro looked surprised, and more than a little embarrassed at the treatment. He'd had a few similar injuries in the past, but it had always been Chopper to help him with things like drinking or sitting up, not his rival. Sanji could understand. If the situation wasn't so dire, requiring his specific expertise, he probably would have insisted someone else deal with the situation instead. It was just as awkward for him as it was for Zoro, after all.
But despite that, Sanji knew Zoro wouldn't be able to resist the need for water, or his own obvious thirst, even to save his pride. And sure enough, as soon as the water hit his lips Zoro seemed to have forgotten the awkwardness of the situation in favor of gulping it down as fast as he could to sate his thirst and wet his dry throat. Sanji made sure he went slow, so he didn't choke or make himself sick, but otherwise said nothing. Nothing he could say would make the situation better.
When he'd finished the water, Sanji quietly set the glass down next to the still lightly steaming bowl of broth and carefully let Zoro back down onto the bed. Now that he was lucid they could probably find some pillows or something to prop him up, but for now he'd just have to deal with laying down. Zoro was still frowning at the treatment, and carefully avoiding Sanji's eyes, but after a moment he spoke up.
"What the hell's going on," he said softly. His voice sounded noticeably better, less dry, but his voice was still low from lack of use.
Sanji frowned down at him. "You don't remember anything?" he asked slowly. "Nothing at all?"
"Not really," Zoro said. He stared up at the infirmary ceiling, brow furrowed in concentration. "Kuma...he sent me somewhere, a castle...met that ghost girl from Thriller Bark...tried exploring the island to find a way off...agh—!"
Sanji had been refilling the water glass, but at the strangled, unfamiliar noise Zoro made he hastily glanced over. He expected the man to be choking or something with that sound, and was totally unprepared to find that Zoro's face had gone an interesting shade of white, so pale Nami-san's map paper probably had more color to it. His eyes were wide, staring but not really seeing, except if it was something in his own head, and Sanji could clearly see that same edge of desperation bordering on terror that he'd seen that day he'd tried to feed Zoro for the first time.
Sanji could have kicked himself. Zoro had only just regained lucidity; this was the first time he'd really been awake in what was probably weeks. Of course he wasn't ready to handle whatever had happened to him there. He could barely stay awake as it was! If his captor had been able to catch, imprison, starve, and possibly even torture Zoro for God only knew how long, then it would be someone their swordsman would not only remember, but might even fear. And that couldn't be healthy for him, not now.
The cook looked for something to distract Zoro. But the man reached up unexpectedly and managed to grasp hold of Sanji's wrist again, much like he had a few days ago. This time his eyes weren't full of pleading; they looked afraid, worried, much to Sanji's shock. Then, very slowly, very carefully, and with obvious concentration to keep his voice even, Zoro said, "You didn't see him, did you?"
Sanji had no idea who 'he' was, but even if he did, and had, he wouldn't tell Zoro anyway. He didn't need to work their swordsman's heart up, not now, or give his body any more strain than it had already been under. Zoro needed to take it easy. So Sanji looked him firmly in the eye, and said with as much confidence as he could muster, "No. I didn't."
"We left the castle?" Zoro asked next, still with the same concentrating tone. Sanji could feel his hand trembling, and his grip was shockingly weak, though whether it was from emotion or just the physical weakness of the body Sanji wasn't sure.
"Ages ago. It's been over a week."
"He's not following?"
"Haven't seen anybody in days," Sanji answered.
Zoro nodded, and suddenly looked more exhausted than ever. His sudden panic attack probably hadn't helped his health any. "Good. Keep running," he nearly whispered, and wouldn't meet Sanji's eyes anymore as he dropped the cook's wrist.
Sanji knew an opportunity when he saw one, and decided to distract the swordsman before he could work himself up more. "I brought you lunch," he said, indicating the bowl of broth. "Hungry?" Not that he needed to ask. He still knew the answer, even if Zoro would probably try harder to act like he didn't care.
Sure enough, Zoro's eyes flicked to his own, and then the bowl of food, with a lot more speed than usual. That hungry look was back, and wary too, the same thing Sanji had seen in him for the past three days. Well, at least Zoro knew who he was now, and wouldn't need constant reminding that his food wasn't poisoned. Sanji had been forced to prove it every time he brought a meal to Zoro, simply because the man forgot Sanji's insistence that he'd never put anything in the food every time a new mealtime came. But a lucid marimo, while considerably more annoying, would also know Sanji never messed with peoples' food, even if he disliked them.
"Sure," Zoro said slowly, after another moment or two of concentration. "I could do with a little lunch, I guess." He attempted to sound nonchalant, and Sanji tried to pretend he couldn't see that desperate gleam of hunger reflected in Zoro's eyes, for the swordsman's pride more than anything else. He didn't need to look to know it was there, anyway.
"I'll need to help you with it," Sanji said instead, stating the obvious. Zoro obviously still wasn't doing anything under his own power. Zoro grumbled in annoyance—feigned, Sanji thought; he knew the man would do anything for a scrap of food by this point, knew it because he'd have been willing to pay any price for a tiny meal at this juncture all those years ago. The grumbling turned into genuine pained groans as Sanji shifted him into a sit again, held him up with one hand, but there wasn't anything the cook could do about that.
"Drink it slow, or you'll make yourself sick," Sanji warned sternly, as he brought the bowl of broth around. He knew the warning would be ignored, but he felt obligated to say it anyway.
To his credit, Zoro actually managed to obey the warning for all of five seconds, obviously trying to restrain himself from gobbling the meal and making himself look a fool in front of the cook. That was far longer than Sanji had thought he'd last, with the smell of the broth in his nose and the taste of the liquid on his tongue, and the cook could see it was taking every scrap of the swordsman's considerable willpower and discipline to do so. But then reason and pride abandoned him, and suddenly he was attacking the bowl ravenously, even weakly raising his arms to try and tip it further so he could get at its contents faster. Sanji balanced Zoro against his shoulder and slapped the man's arms away carefully with his free hand, but resisted the urge to start shouting at the man even though a part of him dearly wanted to. Hunger always went beyond reason, and yelling wouldn't help anyway. He doubted Zoro would even hear him in his frenzied rush for food.
When he was done Sanji took the bowl away, and Zoro's pride and reason seemed to return to him full force. He looked ashamed; there was no other way to explain that unusual expression, though Sanji had never seen it on the man's face before. Probably because Zoro never regretted anything he did before. He refused to meet the cook's eyes as Sanji lowered him onto the bed again, and was probably expecting some sort of mocking comment about his inability to control himself, or some such thing. But Sanji once again remained quiet, pretended he hadn't seen the ravenous, desperate response to food, and didn't see the swordsman's obvious discomfort now.
It took a moment or two for Zoro to recover himself. Then he spoke, voice weak, still not quite allowing himself to meet Sanji's eyes. "Ugh, cook...that tasted like crap. What happened, you lose your skills when I was gone?"
"Tch...it's better than what I got," Sanji answered. He forced a sullen, annoyed tone into his voice, and maybe he would have been able to genuinely mean it if he couldn't see the obvious tension and desperation in Zoro's trembling body. Grimacing, he tossed one of the blankets over starving man, dragging it up to his shoulders while pretending he wasn't caring. He'd always felt desperately cold in the earlier days of his own recovery, and if that shivering was any indication then Zoro did, too, even if he'd never say it to save what was left of his own damn pride.
Zoro was giving him a funny look now, confused, and maybe a little contemplative. That's when Sanji realized exactly what he had said, and clicked his teeth shut rather sharply. Too late to play dumb, and Zoro was annoyingly perceptive now that he was actually fully conscious. If he was lucky, though, maybe the man'd mistake it for something else...
Thankfully, Zoro had never been one to pry to begin with, and the swordsman made no comment on the fact that Sanji had sounded a little too familiar with his own situation. Sanji was glad for that, even if he didn't like that brief flicker of annoyingly coherent observation in Zoro's eyes as the man likely tucked that comment away in the back of his mind.
He wondered, briefly, why he even cared if Zoro had noticed. It wasn't that Sanji wanted to hide his own past. He'd never exactly tried to make it a secret, and he was sure Luffy, at least, had picked up on it enough from his comments back on the Baratie to have some idea of his time on that god-forsaken rock. But it was a weakness in his past that he didn't like to think about, a situation out of his control that still terrified him, woke him up late some nights when he found himself back on that rock in his dreams. It was one thing for your captain to know your weakness, your fear. It was another thing entirely to arm your rival with that information.
Still, Zoro deserved to know at this point. He'd earned that right, Sanji thought grimly, as he thought back to that bony, filthy body they'd found in that dungeon cell over a week ago; earned the right for a little reassurance, to know somebody else had been to his personal hell and come back kicking. Sanji knew Zoro would probably find out eventually during his recovery, and he knew with absolute certainty Zoro would never resort to such cheap shots anyway to win his fights, even if he hadn't been in this situation. Hell, Sanji might even volunteer to tell him first, before the swordsman even had to try piecing it together. He just wasn't ready to reveal that now. It was a little too personal, too intense, at this point.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Sanji reached over to grab the empty bowl before turning to leave. "Usopp's right outside, if you need him. In case you get thirsty again, or anything. I'll be back right before dinner with your serving—"
"Wait," Zoro said, voice confused, surprised, and—that couldn't really be a twinge of pleading in there, could it? He hoped not. He could accept it in a delirious Zoro's voice, but it didn't belong in their swordsman's tone when he was sane again. "Where're you going? That's it?"
Sanji froze, back still to Zoro. He actually found himself afraid to turn around, because he didn't want to see the expression that could be on their swordsman's face, not if his voice was any indication of his current state of mind. "Yeah," he said instead. "That was lunch."
"Oh, come on, love-cook," Zoro said, and while his voice was harsh, the low growl that he always used when he was annoyed, there was an ever-so-slight undertone of something else, almost wheedling, with the tiniest trace of desperation. "You never had problems with seconds before. Hell, Luffy takes eighths. What, we running low on supplies or something?"
Sanji winced, and felt a burst of anger that had him fisting his free hand tightly. That was a low blow, and nobody ever dared to insult his cooking or his food rationing on this ship (except for Luffy, but Luffy was an exception to that particular rule). Not to mention that Zoro was basically implying he was intentionally holding food back. Even worse was the fact that it was sort-of true; he was keeping food from Zoro, even if it was for his own safety.
He's starving, Sanji reminded himself grimly. It's understandable that food is all he'd be able to think about. It's not his fault. He remembered it himself, back on that rock, and even months later when he was recovering; his thoughts, his daydreams, even his nightmares had revolved around food for hours at a time, days even.
So he grit his teeth to curb his temper, turned around, looked Zoro square in the eye, and said firmly, "Our supplies are fine. We have plenty of food. But you can't handle it right now, Zoro. Too much at a time right now could put you into shock, and you'll die." There. It was almost painfully frank and to the point, but with Zoro he had to be blunt or the situation could get even worse.
Zoro met his eyes, glared across at him, and Sanji could still see that hungry gleam behind the anger and frustration. Surprise flooded into that gaze when he could see that Sanji was dead serious, and the cook could practically see the battle in his mind as Zoro tried to equate this new information with Sanji's pledge to keep everyone full and healthy.
And then, suddenly, Zoro broke the staring contest and began weakly scrabbling against the blanket Sanji had thrown over him. Sanji frowned, wondering if maybe the revelation about his meals had thrown their swordsman into some sort of mental relapse, but after a moment Zoro dragged one of his hands free and weakly held it up before his face. His arms and fingers trembled with the exertion of the task, but though it obviously pained him to move Zoro grit his teeth and refused to groan or cry out, instead stared at his appendage with grim resolve.
Then he said, very softly, almost in a whisper, "What the fuck happened to me?"
It was a question, but one Sanji refused to answer. He didn't think Zoro wanted a direct answer right now, and anyway, he was a little afraid to dredge up memories Zoro obviously wasn't ready to handle in his sickly state. So he stood there with an empty bowl in his hand, watched, and waited to see what his reaction would be.
He didn't have to wait terribly long. Zoro stared at his skeletal limb, saw how the thick muscles he'd worked for years to build up and maintain were simply gone, and suddenly seemed to snap. Determination and desperation fueled his movements, and though it had to be excruciating he managed to throw the blanket off and start sitting up, attempting to swing his legs out of bed.
"What are you doing?" Sanji asked with a frown. "You shouldn't get up yet—"
"Mirror," Zoro rasped curtly though a sharp groan. "Gotta see what happened to me. How bad."
Sanji's one visible eye widened. He tossed the bowl onto the examination table carelessly, a first for him. In one quick bound he had crossed the infirmary floor, grabbed Zoro's shoulders, and forced him back down onto the bed as painlessly as he could while still being firm. Zoro shouted in anger and tried to push Sanji away, a feat that would have been easy months ago with his level of strength. His expression melted from anger to surprise when he found that his push was not only ineffectual, but hurt, and that Sanji was able to overpower him easily with his own arm strength in a matter of seconds.
"What the hell, cook!" Zoro snarled, and struggled weakly to disengage. But fighting obviously hurt him, and Sanji had gotten enough practice holding the delirious Zoro down over the past few days that his grip was firm and unrelenting. He quieted down after a moment or two and glared hatefully up at the cook instead.
"You don't," Sanji said. He didn't raise his voice, didn't shout or argue, and yet somehow there was a powerful intensity to what he said.
"Don't what," Zoro said with a sharp cough. Sanji let go of him, grabbed the glass of water he'd poured earlier, and helped the swordsman drink it before setting him back down on the bed once more.
"You don't want to see yourself right now," Sanji answered when they were finished. There was a darkness to his voice that even he could hear, and he knew his expression probably reflected it despite every attempt to school his emotions and try to hide it.
Zoro was still obviously frustrated, but he seemed to pick up on that darkness as well. "How would you know?" he shot back, but the comment held little bite, just pent up anger that wasn't really directed at Sanji at all.
"I know," was Sanji's only answer, and unbidden he could see that skeletal face staring back at him hungrily in the reflection, in his dreams, in his darker nightmares. He shuddered, managed to turn away before Zoro could really see it. He thought. Hoped.
When he had himself under control again, he turned back to throw the blanket over Zoro's once again shivering body, and found the swordsman staring at him again with that same observing, not-quite-knowing but certainly suspicious expression. He could practically see the wheels turning in the swordsman's head, and all of a sudden he didn't want to be there anymore.
"Get some rest," Sanji ordered sharply. "Usopp's outside if you need him." He turned on his heel in a flourish, snatched up the discarded bowl—thankfully he hadn't cracked it, he would have been furious with himself if he broke his own dishes—and turned to leave.
"Cook."
Grimacing, Sanji paused. "Yeah?"
"How long."
It was a question, and vague though it was Sanji knew exactly what the swordsman was referring to anyway. He'd been dreading this part, too. "A while," he said, slowly, and tried not to let too much of his own experience into his voice. "Months at the very least. Might be closer to a year. You've done a lot of muscle training, though, so you might recover faster than a kid would." Damn it. He hadn't meant to say that last part. It was just too fucking hard to distance his memory from the current situation, not when they were so similar, and so violent.
He didn't turn around, didn't want to see Zoro's reaction. Zoro would be stoic in the worst of times, but this was something that directly interfered with his dream, and he wasn't sure how the swordsman would take it. He couldn't be a swordsman if he couldn't lift a sword. If Sanji was in the equivalent situation, he'd be crushed. He didn't know how Zoro would react, but he knew he didn't want to see a crushed Zoro.
But there was no answer from behind him, and after a moment Sanji stepped out of the infirmary, closed the door quietly behind him. Usopp looked up and gave him an inquisitive look.
"Zoro's awake," Sanji said curtly in answer to the unspoken question.
Usopp only frowned in response. "Then you should leave the door open," he said. "If he freaks out again like yesterday we need to see—"
"I mean he's awake," Sanji said, stressing the word. He set the bowl down on one of the railings long enough to pull out a cigarette and light up, taking a deep drag from it. He could feel the nicotine set to work at once, calming his rattled nerves after that encounter, but it would probably take a few more butts before he'd really feel like his old self again.
Usopp looked excited, however. "Really? You mean he's Zoro again? That's great, I'll go—"
"Give him a few hours," Sanji ordered sharply, as Usopp made to get up and move for the door. The sniper froze, and Sanji realized he'd probably been a little harsher than he should have, but he couldn't help it. After that encounter he was lucky he hadn't gone and broken something on the ship yet with a furious kick or two.
"Um...okay...if you say so, Sanji," Usopp said, looking a little hurt and confused. Sanji sighed, apologized quickly, snatched up the bowl, and made a beeline for his galley. He needed to think, and he'd do it better alone.
Food obsession and food hoarding is a huge and statistically proven response to starvation. I'm actually kinda surprised Sanji doesn't display any classic post-starvation survivor symptoms (unusual eating rituals, hoarding personal stores of food 'just in case,' or an insatiable appetite without ever actually feeling full are just a few of the possibilities).
Obsessing over food, constantly reading about food, and always noticing food is pretty common too and DOES fit him, but Sanji is a cook (and training for one before his starvation incident ever occurred) so it's hard to say if it'd be a direct result of severe malnutrition or just...him doing his job. (Oral fixations are pretty common response too; the participants in the Minnesota Starvation Experiment blew through 40 packs of gum a day. Sanji's cigarettes could be partly related to this, I suppose). The only reasonable explanation I can think of is that maybe he did it when he was a kid, and broke the habits/got over it before he joined the Strawhats...
You guys should know the drill by now! If you leave a review, please make it a thoughtful one! I enjoy both compliments and constructive criticism, as long as the responses are well thought out. :)
~VelkynKarma
