Ray's fic request, 'Take them, they're yours', actually birthed two additional stories, 'the way she's pulling you in' and this one. Both on completely different ends of the spectrum.

Grief, grief and more grief. I cried writing this. You've been warned.

Enjoy?

The anniversary of a death, a birthday… Mother's Day, they were all reasonable days to be upset, to be reminded of that person, be bogged down by the past and what could have been, maybe even cry.

But it hadn't any of those days. It'd been a very normal day and all it had taken was one miniscule thing and a fleeting thought for it to all go downhill.

It'd been stupid, really. One moment he was on his way to Nami's orange tree late at night, perfectly fine, to pick some oranges for tomorrow morning and he'd caught whiff of Robin's flowers. It had been quick, a fleeting moment, and he'd smelled them a thousand times before, but his brain had made the connection this time around.

They smelled like his mother.

She'd have them on her bedside table when he went to visit and although he hadn't focused on it back then, he just used to remember thinking how nice it smelled there compared to the stale air of the castle.

That one smell threw him straight back to being a little boy, eagerly running to the hospital to see the one person that loved everything about him.

His Mum.

The moment he'd lost her, he'd lost everything.

Any scrap of happiness or freedom he'd had was gone. Gone was the person fighting in his corner for his father to leave him alone or to tell his siblings off when they were being particularly mean. But mainly, he'd lost his safe place.

Lost a place where he could go and be accepted for who he was with unconditional love and support.

Lost a person so dear to him, that his world had been shattered.

One day he'd been told she was gone and that had been it. There had been no further explanation, or condolences or someone to share his grief with. His siblings had looked at him like he'd lost his mind when he couldn't control the tears streaming down his face, sobs racking his body, and his father had sneered down at him, not an ounce of compassion in his words or face as he was told to control himself, pull himself together.

It'd been his mother's handmaid in the end that had explained the following day, when he'd gone to her hospital room to check if it was just some cruel joke. She'd explained in the best way she could to a child that'd just starting to learn the harsh realities of the world. She'd said it had just been her time, that she'd gone peacefully, with a smile on her face and had told her so many times about how proud his mother had been to have had him.

She'd rubbed his shoulders, trying to comfort him as best as she could as he wailed at the empty bed, but she had to be respectful because of his title, which meant there was a foot between them, and he couldn't bury his face in her shoulder like he'd wanted to. He'd appreciated the gesture, it was the most he'd received back then, yet all he'd thought about was how it lacked the warmth his mother's touches held and how desperately he wanted to feel that again.

He never saw the handmaid after that day, and it had taken years after to figure out why.

After that, he hadn't felt warmth for a long time.

As soon as he was deemed a lost cause, between his failure to keep up with his siblings and sporadic emotional outbursts that he couldn't control, he'd been sentenced to the darkness. It had been cold and dark, although he'd been free to cry as much as he wanted without judgement.

And cry, he did.

Cried for all he'd lost, for where he was, for how he couldn't save his mother or see her one last time. Couldn't savour the last hug he'd had with her or memorise the way she'd smiled at him because he hadn't known what was coming.

He didn't even have a photo of her.

All of that had been taken away after her death, apparently, they didn't need the distraction and it had been carried out with such ease, like she'd meant nothing. All he'd had back then was a drawing of her he'd made with charcoal he'd found in his cell and no matter how many times he'd tried; he could never capture the love in her eyes or the softness in her smile.

He wondered if his father had ever mourned for his wife. If he had, he'd never seen it.

He was lost in his grief, the tears pouring hot and fast, and he'd long given up on wiping his face, the sleeves of his shirt and collar already saturated. His childhood played in a loop in his head, and he was so out of touch that he missed the shuffle of feet drawing in closer behind him.

"Sanji-kun?" Shit. "Are you okay?"

And that was the was one woman in particular on board that would understand. Who had lost their own mother in the blink of an eye, in an instant had also lost their safe place after years of comfort and love and thrown into darkness against her will.

His back stiffened despite the soft words, all too aware of how back then this sort of behaviour would have earned him a backhand, and he only had a moment to pull himself together because he had to say something quickly.

"Of course, Nami-san." His voice wobbled halfway through, and it sounded weak. "Is there anything I can get you?" He asked, in hopes of fooling her with his normal question.

"No, thank you."

"Okay, well I'm going to bed soon, so I'll see you in the morning." The words were bitter in his mouth, from holding back his tears and for trying to dismiss her. It was for her own good though and that at least soothed him, she didn't need to deal with his crocodile tears.

There was a pregnant pause and he wondered briefly if he'd somehow managed to convince her with his poor acting until he heard the shuffle of slippers closing in.

Of course he couldn't fool her.

She sat down next to him and oh god. She was in her pyjamas. He was ruining her quiet evening; she'd only gone to the kitchen for some water.

He couldn't look at her, he was pathetic sitting there crying like a child and maybe he hoped that if he was silent for long enough, she'd leave him. So she didn't have to endure this.

Instead, she cupped his face, guiding him to face her and even though he complied, his eyes were still looking at the floor. She didn't pay any mind to that though, her thumbs brushed along his face, chasing away the tears and drying his face. She pulled a tissue from the pocket of her shorts to wipe away at his nose and he burned with shame until he looked at her. There was no disgust on her face, no sneer for his sorry state, only kindness and understanding.

That look was enough for his eyes to well up again and her expression didn't change, she didn't look annoyed that he still wasn't done or that cleaning his face had been fruitless effort when he was just going to cry again. Instead, she smiled, and her own eyes even looked a bit misty.

Her hands pulled away from his face and he almost wanted to chase after the affection until her arms opened to make a space for him in between them.

"It's a one-time offer, surely you can't pass that up?" She joked teasingly, wiggling her fingers for him invitingly.

He spluttered a laugh through his red rimmed eyes and errant tears at the normality of their relationship, how she wasn't tiptoeing around him.

Hurriedly he scooted over and into her waiting arms, although he hadn't needed to as her arms wrapped around him, drawing him in quickly as he curled into her embrace and tucked himself in the nook of her neck. It'd been so long since he'd had this and it was so familiar to the hugs from his youth, when he cried into his mother's hugs as he told her about the cruel things his father or siblings had done on that particular day or laughed as she wrapped her arms around him as he sat in her lap, explaining his latest creation from his scrap book of cooking ideas.

For the first time in a long time, he could picture his mother's face behind his closed eyes. He sobbed, shoulders heaving as he gasped for breath between his crying because it was all too much and exactly what he wanted at the same time.

He'd never been able to properly mourn her.

Belatedly, he realised Nami had started crying too, her frame shaking along with his and his hair dampening from her tears as they clung to one another fiercely. She didn't ask or push for an answer or explanation for his state, she just let him cry into the nook of her neck, clinging to her desperately.

"I miss her," he said eventually, voice quiet and raw.

"Who?"

He couldn't get the words out, couldn't get them past his throat where he felt like he was choking.

He didn't need to though; she saw straight through him, she understood. "Your Mum?"

He nodded, feebly, pathetically, into her neck and a fresh wave of tears came over him.

"You've never told me about her." She said softly, observationally. There was no pressure to elaborate, nothing in her tone forcing him but the option was there.

And he took it. "She was kind and warm. She'd listen to me talk about cooking endlessly and taste test and put in requests-"

'And she loved who I was back then. Even when no one else did.'

He'd been holding himself together so far until his throat had seized up, the memories flooding in thick and fast. He sniffed, clearing his throat, trying to contain himself but it was in vain as new tears welled up and his head rested heavily on her shoulder in defeat as he lost the battle.

"Sorry," he choked out, ashamed once again.

"Don't be," she soothed, no sign of irritation in her voice at having to reassure him for the umpteenth. "Tell me more about her, she sounds lovely."

With her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, he realised that this was what he'd wanted back then. Not someone just rubbing his shoulders from a distance or trying to soothe him to stop the tears, but an actual hug as they let him cry without telling him to be brave or to be a big boy. It made the tears burn hotter and sadness surged out for his younger self.

Belatedly he realised, that as he talked and she listened, with her arms wrapped around him in comfort-

She was warm.

I love Sanji's backstory so much in case that wasn't already obvious. I will find every angle imaginable to write about it.

I can't remember who told me about this or where I saw it, but I heard a wonderful analogy for grief that even to this day I still think about, so I feel it's fitting that I share it here. Grief's like being in a room with a ball and a light switch, the ball is the person/event, and the switch is grief/sadness/pain. When it happens, that ball is huge, so huge that it's constantly hitting the light switch. However, over time, that ball gets smaller and smaller, but it's still bouncing around the room, so it means that it's still going to hit the switch occasionally. Sometimes, by chance, it hits the switch constantly, even though it's tiny and other times, it misses it for a long time, however, it's always going to hit the switch at some point, no matter how small. It's very simplified, but a few years ago I experienced grief in a big way, and it helped me make sense of it, so hopefully it'll help someone else too.

As always, please forgive any errors.

Thanks for reading.