CHAPTER TEN
Curious thoughts and the presence of Zoro's calmly embracing body compelled Sanji to stay abed, even when his eyes wrenched open after a scarce five or six hours of sleep. The steel-gray cast of the sky still inhibited the noonday sun from warming the tent, but the rain outside had made it muggy, steamy, difficult to breathe. Sanji whistled through his nose in the outright silence, comfortable to have Zoro's heavy arm thrown slack over his stomach, not even put off in the least to hear him begin to snore every now and again. This was comfort and absolution. This was Sanji's paradise, as long as All Blue eluded him. Sometimes his heart sank when he dwelt too much on cynicism, wondered if his legendary sea really didn't exist at all. Sometimes he wondered if he should be looking for his backup plan, his dream in reality.
He glanced over. His dream in reality wasn't Zoro, exactly; it wasn't this peaceful shared moment on its own. It was the mixture of all things, all the synchronicity and adventure that had led them here, and the prospect of what was to come. It was knowing that, in addition to Zoro, the others were always there. Luffy to inspire him, Nami to enchant him, Ussop to be as childish as he sometimes wanted to be, himself.
Still, he hoped for his ocean, his All Blue, just as Zoro took great lunging steps toward his own lofty ambition. The Going Merry had once been the means to an end, but now it was the place where he knew he belonged. The comfort he faced, though nervously considering his vocal misgivings, was that Zoro belonged there, too. That, even after the once-looming wall of their goals had been faced, they would turn back around, and find themselves there. Theirs was not a crew of miscreants that were bound to go their separate ways in the end. They all knew that, while never exactly saying as much.
Sanji drifted back to sleep, a luxury he was rarely afforded (being the one to cook breakfast every morning had that disadvantage). He stole another few hours of peaceful slumber, eyes fluttering open every hour or so, but never quite waking again, not until he stretched out to find that Zoro wasn't next to him anymore.
The blanket they had been sharing seemed heavy and unruly now, as he sat up and blinked into the muted daylight invading through the open tent flap. Zoro's bare back faced him, the swordsman half dressed and sitting cross-legged at the head of their makeshift homestead. Sanji felt a bit of dampness on his face, and noticed a few drying splash-spots on the blanket. The rain must have continued, all through the day, flying into the tent, wetting him like whispered kisses.
The first question he asked was the most obvious one. "Do you know what time it is?"
"No way of knowing." Zoro responded without turning around. He probably heard me wake up, Sanji thought with a smirk, always impressed by Zoro's coldness whenever it didn't insult him, "I'm waiting for him."
"Are you ready?" Sanji asked, clutching the blanket to his chest, a bit chilled by the gentle invasion of the rain, the cooling whoosh of the wind outside.
Zoro turned his head without moving another muscle, and glanced back over his shoulder at Sanji. Without a word he made his position on the matter very clear, a subtly raised eyebrow and a sterile, deadly serious expression doing all the talking.
"Of course you are. Sorry I asked." Sanji replied with a flippant sigh. Zoro turned away again.
He fell back onto the pillow, and stretched out in all directions, yawning and arching his back, calming the tightly wound little pockets of nerves all over his body. For the longest time he just stared at the arch of the tent above him, arms and toes sticking out from beneath the blanket, exposed to the delightfully gentle elements.
"Sanji, I…" Zoro began, and Sanji nearly sat up at once. He stopped himself, and settled for simply clutching the blanket. When the voice didn't continue, Sanji found himself only a little disappointed.
"Mm-hmm?" He tried not to sound as eager as he was, to hear Zoro say something without provocation. Something to him. Now that they were alone. Now that they were lovers.
Zoro sighed. His back articulated the sad, fluid motion of it, as he hung his head and exhaled. "I don't want you to be there."
Shock wallowed in his stomach for a while, before he could even think of a suitable answer. "You'd let Luffy be there."
If he had crossed the line with that, he was glad. It had been his intention. The muscles of Zoro's back tightened then, and he turned to bark, "Damnit, Sanji, that's not fair!"
"Okay, then pretend for a minute that I'm not fucking you. Pretend we're nothing more than what we were two months ago. Yell at me, make fun of me, get mad at me, and pretend that's all there is!" He clenched his fists and tried to keep expressing himself; calmly, with at least a little decorum, "why can't you trust me? Why can't you trust me to do what I said I'd do? ….wouldn't do, rather."
"Because I know you." Zoro picked up a twig, snapped it in two, and pitched it into the dark, damp sand outside.
"Fucker," Sanji growled, "it's not like I wouldn't miss this fight for the world or anything, I don't even know if it's going to be anything to write home about. But if you go alone and leave me here then you'd better die, because I'd just kill you when you got back."
"Oh, those are strong words. Coming from your dominant personality, I take it?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Where it had been simply muggy and hard to breathe before, the air inside the tent was now stifling, suffocating. Sanji wanted out.
"Come on," Zoro scoffed, "you can act all blustery like this as much as you want, but don't forget how many times you've broken down in front of me."
"At least it's better than not showing my emotions at all!"
Zoro didn't even bother with questioning his meaning. He just shook his head, and painted his face with that bleak, mild, slightly disappointed expression. Sanji's heart strained, ached, so near to breaking at that point. "Just forget it. You wanna come, then fine. But if you so much as take one step into my fight—"
"I get it!" Sanji shouted, his voice suddenly raging and strident. It quieted Zoro, at least, even as the shock of the moment settled, "listen, what do you want me to say?"
"I just want you to do what I asked you, for once."
"Oh, come on, you know me too well to even HOPE for that." He smirked, actually, fighting back his still-boiling adrenaline as much as he could. Zoro narrowed his eyes, obviously not amused.
Before he could think of a reply, and before Sanji could fire back a barb to stop it in its tracks, the butt of a longsword suddenly drew back the tent flap, and Armerind's face appeared, glistening with rain, at the entrance.
"Lover's spat?" he asked plainly, mockingly.
Zoro said nothing, but Sanji read every instinct of destruction and hatred in his eyes as he pushed to his feet and lurched out of the tent, grabbing his shirt and haramaki on the way.
Armerind kept his eyes on Sanji, smirking ever-so-slightly once Zoro had joined him. "Feel free to get dressed, but we won't wait up."
Even with the growl as he tugged his clothes on angrily, even with the bile at the back of his throat, he was overwhelmed by nothing but the proud, blinding, ultimately calming feeling of that thing called love.
Roronoa Zoro. Damn that intolerable bastard, he thought to himself, throwing back the tent flap as he walked out, as if convinced that, by sheer force of will, it would slam behind him.
~*~*~*~
The air smelled of jasmine where Armerind led them, a pungent scent that managed to waft between the raindrops and perfume the scene all around them. They found themselves on a clearing by the lake-top hill, only a few yards from the bluff where they had watched the first night's festivities together. A view of the jungle's rainy, wind-swept canopy stretched out below them, broken only by the not-so-distant blue of the ocean's expanse. Sanji crushed little white weed-blossoms under his heels as he walked through the long grass behind the other two men, scowling to himself.
"There are only a few herbivores in this jungle, where there are mammals at all; the goats, for some reason, continue to breed on these hilltops, and live a remarkably unhindered lifestyle. They graze on this grass, and I've found their milk an indispensable source of protein." Armerind explained, though Sanji wondered why he couldn't simply keep his anecdotes short. The more he learned about this island, the more Sanji wanted to leave, and be back on the sea where the air was never this heavy and still.
Long grass stopped swishing against his knees, and he stepped into the patchy expanse of grazing ground. He heard a few hooves and bleats retreating from their presence, but that was somewhere in the distance, under shelter from the rain.
"Is this all right?" Armerind asked politely, already drawing his sword. Sanji was suddenly less than terrified, knowing and reminding himself that the islander's blade had never yet tasted blood. Zoro's, by contrast, had swum in it. The affinity was acquired, and somehow Sanji knew both the white sword and its master had an unnatural magnetism for leaving a trail of crimson behind them.
He smirked in confidence, and kept his place at the edge of the long grass.
"This is fine." Zoro responded, and prepared himself for the duel as if the process was an excruciatingly tedious routine. Katana clenched between his teeth, he tied the cloth at the back of his head, knotting it quickly with only the slightest, most indeterminate glance in Sanji's direction. Sanji gulped and pursed his lips in on each other. He could suddenly feel the rush of memory and the taste of that thing in his mouth. Hesitantly, he stared down at the ground, searching the grass as his mind swam with inappropriate recollections. This was supposed to be a somber time, a tense moment.
But it's not wrong to admit that this side of him was always what you saw, always what you wanted, always what drew you in from the beginning… he told himself, gulping back a nervous breath as he glanced up again. He set his jaw firmly, and leveled his brow. His expression appropriately somber, he interrupted the moment with a curtness that only such uninhibited desire could defend, "Hey."
Zoro was clutching all three swords when he looked over, completely ready to fight but not so far gone to ignore him. Seeing that his presence was not forgotten, Sanji smirked smugly. "Make this quick."
Voice roughly mottled behind the gag of the handle against his tongue, Zoro growled back, "I will." The corners of his mouth were upturned, making the grin of his teeth around the sword something wholly terrifying and sadistic. His eyes were shadowed and sharp, darkly unforgiving but sparkling with something tenacious and wild. Sanji's heart thumped, and he barely took a moment to take pity on Armerind for picking such an unfortunate fight.
This side of him… Sanji thought again, as Armerind tossed the sheath of his longsword back into the grass, and bent his knees in a precarious stance. I don't want him to ever take this away….I was a fool for ever suggesting it.
It was the adrenaline driving him, the heat of the passionate prelude driving away all fears and doubts. His late-night insecurities would never have agreed to this careening, runaway confidence, but he didn't care about those right now. Zoro wasn't going to lose. That sort of thing just wasn't meant to happen.
Armerind sprang forward and Zoro followed quickly. Neither had actually agreed to begin the duel, but Sanji knew the moment had been waiting to arrive since they had first laid eyes on each other. They were rivals before they had even met, and their confrontation had simply been biding its time, choosy about the perfect moment.
In this, the perfect moment, the flash of steel through rain was suddenly marred in its silver simplicity by a flare of red. Sanji tensed and searched, too far away to discern right away just what had happened. The first exchange of blows couldn't possibly have been deadly, could it?
No… his heart suddenly sank, Armerind didn't train for all these years to be bested in less than five seconds.
The moment cleared and two figures stumbled into place. Sanji searched out the damage, finding Armerind, finding no blood on his clothes, or his wet, white scarf. It was already washing from his blade, flushed away by the rain. A tiny reflection of blood, catching the light, suddenly making sense in Sanji's head.
Armerind's sword. Zoro's blood.
Gasping, he looked over, and saw Zoro stagger. But only for a moment.
In the next instant, their steel crossed again. And again. Sanji couldn't even make casual sense of the fight, watching with all his might for the flash of a white scarf, or the glint of Zoro's sadistic smile. But the rain was falling harder, blocking him from noticing, even as his racing thoughts made comprehending more and more difficult.
This physically unspectacular, all-around demure fellow was doing this, drawing Zoro's blood and fighting all three swords at such close range? Sanji shook his head and squinted, even as rain fell over his forehead, through his eyebrows, nearly blinding him. Clinking and heaving followed throaty battle cries and the wet, plopping sound of feet against soggy ground. Sanji found himself stepping closer.
I won't interfere, he told himself, promising himself, even as he came within earshot of the combat, I can't do that. But I just have to see.
He was quick, and he was graceful. Armerind eluded every move of Zoro's with the confidence and agility of a cat. Ducking and swooping, pouncing and jumping, he kept so close that Zoro, with all his expertise, didn't seem to have the slightest clue how to handle it. Between those deft maneuvers of elusion, Sanji noticed, Armerind's sword kept cutting.
There were twin rivers of red staining the sides of Zoro's shirt, and upon further inspection the source seemed to be a pair of unnervingly precision cuts at the tendons of his shoulders.
He's not a strength fighter, not particularly, but he certainly knows what he's doing. Sanji thought, aghast, wondering what other wounds he couldn't yet see. Wondering where Armerind's blade would slice next.
It wasn't as if the white scarf wasn't stained in blood, either; Armerind had received his own fair share of blows by the time the two staggered back to regroup, to rethink their strategies, possibly to contemplate the delivery of a killing blow. But Zoro was worse for wear, and Sanji was, to say the least, surprised. Every step seemed heavy, every motion caused a wince. But Armerind, forehead dripping blood and chest deeply wounded, only smiled, and positioned himself carefully, ready to defend whatever attack Zoro was planning as he suffered in something that wasn't yet defeat.
And that's all that matters, Sanji continued to tell himself. He isn't defeated yet.
This is nothing to worry about.
So why are my knees shaking like this?
He wiped his nose of the rain, and breathed heavily, narrowing his eyes at Zoro. You'd better win, he wanted to remind him, as harshly and desperately as he could, you can keep your sunrise and your kisses and your stupid fuck-buddy state of mind, just win this goddamn thing already.
Suddenly, Zoro let out a battle cry and thundered forward, his swords slicing raindrops in half as they flailed out, arcing toward Armerind. Sanji only noticed the islander smirk with a confidence that turned his blood cold, before everything started to move in slow motion.
It was Zoro's Onigiri; Sanji recognized it by now. But not even halfway into the attack, Armerind launched at him, sword outstretched, somehow twisting his body into a perfect crouch that avoided all three of Zoro's blades. Sanji couldn't breathe, couldn't react, couldn't even think. Because it all happened in the space of a moment, yet his mind stretched the realization to eternal lengths. He saw the sword connect, somewhere between Zoro's heart and his stomach, and watched Armerind thrust with all his might, grimacing and wrenching his fist forward until the blade tore through the other side of Zoro, blood following in a tiny trickle that wasn't half as momentous as Sanji expected.
Sanji's knees hit the ground, as Zoro threw his head back, and lost control of all three swords in his carriage. As Sanji's entire body struggled to find a solid place, a peaceful place that didn't feel like shivers or sand through his veins, Zoro's hit the ground, driven in by Armerind's sword.
Armerind stood above him, just watching.
Zoro made a sound that suggested the pain might be more than anyone was imagining. Sanji, from his safe distance, watched his limbs delicately convulse, watched his eyes glaze over with unspent tears of furious exertion. He'd never heard Zoro make those sounds of weakness and fright, and largely doubted that anyone had.
At this angle, with this moment of torturous stillness, he was free to find that none of the wounds Armerind had dealt were fatal; not on their own. But each and every cut, from the thumbnail incisions below his kneecaps, to the clips against his neck on either side, was incapacitating in its own way. Sanji held a hand to his mouth. It was almost too much to witness, Armerind pinning him down, broad blade stuck between his ribs, fastening him to the dirt. Zoro didn't even dare to squirm, and Sanji wondered what organs had ruptured, what horrible injury was causing the blood to trickle from his no-longer-grinning mouth. He coughed, and blood splattered up to fleck across Armerind's chest.
But Armerind refused to move, keeping his sword firmly ground into Zoro's…..whatever. Gall bladder. Spleen. Could it even be in his stomach? Sanji felt something disgusting and instinctive pushing at the back of his throat, and he knew he probably wouldn't be able to stave off vomiting. Zoro was in worse shape than he had ever been, and with this scene before him…the incessant wondering where that sword was staying, what sort of pain his lover was in…brought sympathy pangs of nausea to his entire body.
But he gulped it back, somehow, and whispered. "Zoro…"
"You wondered, why the books in my home, if I am not a doctor?" Armerind heaved, blood dripping from his own wounds to mingle into Zoro's. Suddenly, he yanked the sword out, and Zoro rocked the foundation of Betoni Island with a blood-curdling yell. Too paralyzed with pain to move, yet involuntary shivers from his body continued to aggravate the wound. Sanji bit his bottom lip, and watched as Armerind stepped back, flicking the blood from the blade, ceremoniously onto the grass. "Every wound you gave me was superficial. On the other hand, I have pierced your liver. You will probably die of toxic epilepsy within a day without medical attention, if you don't bleed to death first. I would have disemboweled you, but that's not a fitting death for a warrior of your caliber."
He smirked cruelly, and suddenly Sanji feared something even worse was on its way. Every word was like fire to his heart, behind his eyes as he blinked, making him dizzy, weak. What else was coming? What else would he possibly be expected to handle, now that his worst dream was coming true, right in front of his eyes?
With a shuddering sigh he again faced the prospect of that night alone, and clenched his fists in denial.
"Besides," Armerind began again, "there's another weapon of yours I would like very much to see."
He glanced up, subtly through his loose-hanging, blood-matted black hair, and locked eyes with Sanji.
The blood dropped to Sanji's feet, every cell in his body suddenly tingling with the burning, ardent need to spring toward Armerind and dole out some retaliation. Something. Anything. He wanted to do it, he wanted to kill him. Or he wanted to die trying.
But he didn't.
"Fuck you." He mumbled, breathing harder, shifting his feet a little, trying not to look down at Zoro and trying to deny the tears forming behind his eyes.
"You're his nakama. Actually, you're more than his nakama, aren't you?" That smug, insufferable smirk. Sanji felt so dirty suddenly, for having even allowed Zoro to accept this duel. For having not done away with Armerind when he first had the chance. For being too weak to protect him in the first place. Every nuance of understanding and honor he shared for Zoro's ambition was suddenly gone. Suddenly, nothing belonged. He would only feel better when Zoro was holding him again, when Luffy and the others were warming him with their closeness, waiting by the bedside together as…as…
Zoro isn't going to die. He isn't. He can't. He told me that wouldn't happen.
He wanted so badly to kill this man.
"You can save him," Armerind said flatly, inverting his sword and lifting it high. He lifted a foot, too, and brought it down firmly on the spot of Zoro's abdomen that was seeping and pooling and spilling over with blood. Zoro howled, and the sound stung Sanji's ears in a way he couldn't have imagined, not even in his most bone-chilling nightmares about this sort of moment.
The point of Armerind's sword angled down at Zoro's neck. The way he held his hands, gripping the handle to its base, suggested that he was ready to drive the blade in with enough force to sever his spine.
Sanji flinched, but still managed to keep his hands, his feet, his entire body at the whims of his reluctant compromise.
"I'm waiting," Armerind gritted his teeth and growled, almost smiling, "will you try to save him, and rush to your own death? Because trust me," his eyes flashed, and Sanji saw something much deeper, much more terrifying, but for only a second, "I will not hesitate to kill you."
The hate that coursed through Sanji's veins was throbbing now, wanting to break out. The terrible fear – the wanting. Everything wanted to do something wrong, something to break his promise.
It wasn't really a promise. I only said I would try. He clenched his fist, still knowing he wouldn't use it, and felt his eyes cloud with anger. I can still save him. I can interfere and save his life – or die trying. So what if he's hate me later? At least…at least there's a chance he'd be alive.
And I can't watch him die. He told me he wouldn't.
He choked, and growled.
Then he heard Zoro's voice, however faint, however gurgled by blood and bile. "Sanji….don't…"
"I still believe he can beat you." His breath was forced, his tone was dry and raspy, but somehow his heart made him say it without hesitation, staring right into Armerind's face.
Armerind was not visibly stunned, but Sanji could sense his heart rate jumping, the sweat breaking out on his forehead. "I think he can kill you."
Every time he said it, every time he even thought it, his resolve strengthened, and his faith in Zoro became solid again, that much stronger. He could beat back the hate, it he tried. He would try to believe. He could keep trying until the very end, because, after all….Zoro wasn't going to die.
He told me he wouldn't.
"I don't need to fight you off to be his weapon," Sanji took a deep breath, whistled through his nose, and searched for the absolutely perfect tone to say it, to communicate it with all the seriousness he felt in that moment, "my love is enough." Though he risked provoking Armerind further, he felt the need to add, "and that's a power you'll never have, train as hard as you like."
The islander's eyes were wide, white on all sides, his dark brown irises dwarfed in the center. His entire face showed coldness, shock. Sanji hadn't meant to cause such an expression, but no guide book had laid out Armerind's reactions from the very beginning. There was still so much Sanji didn't want to know about him; so many demons he knew he couldn't even imagine.
A growl rose from Armerind's throat, and though he had listened to every word Sanji knew he hadn't wanted to hear it. Perhaps he had been waiting at a crossroads, and Sanji's reaction dictated his path. Whatever the case, he began to scream, a thundering, implacable sort of scream, as he lifted his sword in preparation for his final strike.
Sanji's heart stopped for a moment, but he still willed himself to be paralyzed.
Half a second passed. Please, Zoro…
Tears were coming from Armerind's eyes, but Sanji didn't even notice them until he stopped. He stopped, and weakened his arms. It took a moment for Sanji to realize what had happened, so intent his eyes had been on not even drifting toward Zoro's supine body. He hadn't even heard the clash of swords when Zoro lifted his katana to sweep away Armerind's death blow.
Armerind let his sword fall away, useless, and heaved breath.
"Zoro." Sanji didn't even know why he was whispering, why he was speaking at all. Somehow he needed to hear Zoro's name, needed to remind himself that this was still reality, that anything could still change in the blink of an eye.
With a straining groan, Zoro lifted one booted foot and thrust it up, heavily into Armerind's stomach. Armerind stumbled back, and seemed magically brought back to his senses. He coughed once, and seized his sword, holding it at the ready with both hands as Zoro began to rise.
When he was halfway to his feet, Armerind moved forward again, and tried to strike him over the back of the neck. But Zoro managed to block even this, his arm shaking and dripping with the red-stained rain that washed over his skin. Still grunting and whimpering in indignant pain, he struggled to his feet, blood simply pouring from the hole torn straight through his body. He swayed a little, but found his footing. Sanji held his breath. The rain was slowing, drizzling, and thunder rolled high overhead. Fleetingly, Sanji wondered what the weather was like on the Grand Line.
"You'll pass out." Armerind warned him.
"Can't." Zoro replied with a rasping breath, and blocked yet another drop of the now-familiar longsword that continued to fall upon him.
Armerind was just toying with him, enjoying the process of torture as he drew more and more strength from Zoro. Their swords clinked at an irregular pace, broken more by the sounds of exertion now.
You're so close, he yelled at Zoro inside of his mind, don't you dare give up now. Don't let him wear you down like this. I didn't bring you back to life for nothing, just then.
He dwelt on this musing. Did I…do that? Were my words really that powerful?
Everything he had said before, every doubt and insult and instinct of flight returned, and bombarded his memory. Perhaps he had never told Zoro how much he believed, but the time had never seemed right. In his head, as before, he had always expected Zoro to be like anyone else, fragile and weak-willed and able to die. But staring down the duel between the two men in the rain, smelling the jasmine and the blood, he knew there was nothing ordinary about it. Not about Zoro, their lives, or their love. Things that just couldn't be worried about before the moment. Other-worldly things, legendary things. Zoro wasn't going to die, because Sanji willed it. Not Armerind, or Mihawk, or anyone alive could ever hope to have that same power.
I love you, Sanji thought in his mind, remembering how it felt to say it, to hear Zoro ask for it. He wondered again, whether that meant, without so many words, some reciprocation of the feeling. But then he remembered that Zoro didn't feel things the same way. He didn't worry, he didn't ponder, he didn't even succumb to the pain of a sword between his ribs. He couldn't possibly be expected to admit to love, even if the feeling was aching in his heart for months, even when it was far too late.
Their swords were starting to scrape against each other, blows weaker and bodies heavier. Zoro had dropped his blades as the fight wore on, and all that remained was the single katana clutched in his hand, the fabric of the handle's wrap wet and tinted red. He weakly kicked aside one of Armerind's gift swords, and pressed back upon him, his motions no longer merely defensive.
He trailed blood wherever he moved. Sanji knew Armerind had been telling the truth. Even my will isn't strong enough to keep him from bleeding to death but somehow…. Somehow he knew, everything was going to be all right, as long as the fight was over. As long as Armerind learned the meaning of defeat.
Being humbled could go a long way. Zoro knew that lesson far too well, and it was only karma for him to dole it back out.
When he saw an opening, and Armerind left himself unguarded for the space of only a gasping breath, Zoro fell forward and tackled him, graceless and haphazard, closing his eyes as they fell to the ground with a tiny splashing sound. His wrist was shaking, gripping with every nerve and muscle that still responded to his willpower, and held the katana to Armerind's throat.
"I won't kill you." He said, sprawled across him, motionless, numb.
"Why not?" Armerind spat back, his tears indistinguishable from the rain.
"I just won't." Zoro replied, and Sanji wasn't sure whether he was simply too weak to speak any more, or truly considered Armerind too unimportant to know his reasons. Whichever explanation, and either would have been valid, he sliced the thinnest cut through the skin below Armerind's throat, and collapsed.
It was not the climactic ending that Sanji had envisioned or was used to, but it was an ending nonetheless. Armerind chose not to move, as well, but Sanji saw him blinking, his eyes open and staring up at the cloudy, grey kaleidoscope sky.
His feet squished in the soft ground as he moved forward, fearing the worst even though he saw Zoro's body rising and falling with forceful breath. Silent, he met Armerind's eyes. There was nothing but shame, defeat in that gaze, cross disbelief oddly mixed with conscious acceptance. He pleaded with those eyes for the encounter to remain speechless, and so Sanji only bent down, found a place to harmlessly clutch Zoro's body, and lifted him free of Armerind.
He would be living in a dream-world if, in any sense, he expected Zoro to not be deeply mortified at the thought of Sanji having to carry him back to camp. And so he resolved not to speak of it, not to mention a thing unless the subject came up, or Zoro noticed how much blood had made its way onto his clothes. With a roll of his eyes, Sanji took his mind away from his worries for a moment, and knew that no amount of laundering would ever get those stains out now.
It wasn't fair having blood-stains all over his clothes if he didn't at least have the scars to show off to girls as a trade-off.
~*~*~*~
Tea-smells filled the tent as Sanji dipped a bag of Chamomile in and out of a cup of fire-boiled water, hypnotized by his own movement. The rain had finally stopped, as had Zoro's bleeding.
He was still unconscious, still breathing erratically, and Sanji had no idea what to do except wait. He had torn apart one of their blankets and dressed the wounds as best as he could, washing them with water from the lake, stitching what he could with a needle and thread, and trying his best to keep the bleeding at bay. He was not a doctor, he wasn't even an adequate nurse. But he had felt not a shred of annoyance or chore at taking care of Zoro. Maybe it was one of those duties of love, but he knew he would never have been so gentle and careful if the others had been around. If nothing else, he would have surely complained a lot more.
He turned one hand in front of his face and stared intently. There was still blood under his fingernails. With a sigh, he pitched aside the teabag, and took a deep breath of the scented steam before drinking. He wondered how long Luffy, Nami, and Ussop would be unconscious. Armerind had said "a couple of days, maybe longer," but nothing concrete. If anyone woke up now, Sanji couldn't imagine the riot scene that would ensue. Zoro half-dead, Sanji taking it in stride, knowing an intruder had drugged them for a few days and nights. It all looked like the makings of a melodramatic scene, and that was the last thing he wanted. All he wanted to do now was finish his tea and lay his head back on Zoro's chest, letting his heartbeat comfort him into sleep. He'd worry about what to do tomorrow, because there certainly wasn't anything more he could do tonight.
He made his tea weak and smooth, tempering it only slightly with half a teaspoonful of sugar. He preferred it with milk, really, but in their current surroundings he couldn't afford to be overly finicky. The quiet inside the tent made him more mindful of the way he sipped his tea, more careful not to make that coarse, slurping sound that didn't really bother any of his shipmates, but somehow still irked his sense of propriety. Only the sound of his lips on the glass, the wind outside, the far-off, muted night-sounds of the jungle.
And then, there was the sound of a hand at the tent flap, scraping softly against the canvas in the best approximation of a knock.
Somehow, he had known Amerind would come. And, for no reason at all that he could fathom, he had not feared or despised that thought. He had read Armerind's feelings in his eyes when they parted, and he saw everything smug and arrogant fade away like blood from a wound. What he had witnessed was a suddenly disenchanted man. For some reason, even though he still hated him, Sanji wanted to entertain his company for at least a few moments. His more sensitive side didn't want to come right out and say that it was for anything other than gloating, however.
He raised up the tent flap and silently regarded Armerind's presence. He had cleaned up nicely since the last they had seen each other, and his hair was held back in little pins and ties and bands, causing little bundles of curls to stick up and out in odd, unnatural ways. But his face was clean, his wounds were bandaged, and he was wearing a patchwork robe that hid all the battle's damages. He limped slightly as he brought his arm around to produce a small apothecary case and a book tucked in the crook of his elbow, dogeared and dripping with pagemarks.
Sanji didn't know what to say at first, but that didn't matter, because Armerind spoke for him. "He's going to die if you don't do anything, so let me look at him."
"You're saying you want to save his life?" Sanji replied gruffly, not quite trusting at the same time that he knew Armerind was his only hope at watching the sunrise with Zoro tomorrow morning.
Armerind looked back at him, already inside the tent, already crouching next to Zoro. He stared, obviously offended by the subtle accusation, and Sanji felt momentarily guilty for his brusqueness. The broken softness on Armerind's face remained. The defeat had taken something away from his hardened conceit. Sanji had no reason to believe, now, that he wanted to do anything but what he could. The battle was already Zoro's, and there was no way he could get that back.
He adjusted a bandage over his own eye as he touched the ones on Zoro's chest, and lower down his abdomen. "I don't know how he's still breathing, how he's still alive. It's a miracle."
No, thought Sanji, almost smiling, it's just Zoro.
Quickly, Armerind let the book thump onto the floor, and thumbed to a marked page. He skimmed over the text quickly and kept looking back at Zoro, kept checking random vital signs and prodding various patches of uninjured flesh. Finally, he looked up at Sanji and asked, "Would you help me? Please?"
It felt sort of the way it had felt to see Zoro run through. Almost. The blood rushed to his feet, and he felt a very subdued version of the same shock and reeling. Taking a step back to steady himself, he knew it wasn't wise to believe that Armerind had changed so much in only a few hours. But he did believe it. More than that, he heard it in his voice. And that was enough to bring his to his knees, open the islander's little apothecary chest, and answer, "Just tell me what to do."
~*~*~*~
Sometime during the endless, meticulous procedures, while Armerind made herbal potions and spouted off words that Sanji couldn't possibly understand, he drifted to sleep. He knew that Armerind would wake him up if his aide was required, but by the time he opened his eyes, nudged back to consciousness, the intensive care was already dealt.
"Just let him sleep. He'll be fine in a week or so. But you'll all probably leave before that."
"What did you do?" Sanji asked, blinking, wetting his lips, trying to be alert for the information.
"Secret." Armerind smiled softly, a certain sadness chasing the sparkle in his eyes.
"Hn," Sanji didn't press the issue. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked back at Zoro, who was now much more professionally bandaged, looking particularly well-cared-for, "do you know when the others will wake up?"
Armerind sighed, obviously a little hazy on that particular question. "They're all pretty thin, so the stuff really needs to work through them. Could be as early as tomorrow morning, but I wouldn't hold my breath."
"I see. Thank you."
Armerind gave pause at Sanji's gratitude, and stood up with his book and case in hand. "You're welcome." He said softly. As he began to leave, Sanji knew he needed to say something more. Words weren't easily his to offer, though. They never were. He was always the silent type, until he was provoked. All the emotions were wanting to express themselves to Armerind, but somehow his prejudice still stood in the way. Even if he saved Zoro life, he was still the one who had done this to him in the first place.
It was such an unfair way to think, but Sanji couldn't help it. He supposed he was preparing himself for other opponents, Grand Line fighters who wouldn't be as forthcoming with help or mercy.
One of the page-markers fell from Armerind's book and fluttered in the air, twirling twice before it floated toward the floor. "Hey," Sanji called out after the swordsman-cum-doctor, as he was ducking out of the tent. He turned half around, and Sanji reached for the small slip of paper, "you dropped something."
It was a photograph, he found, old and yellowed around the edges, pinholes and whitened fold-marks on the corners. The subject of the snapshot was a young girl, teenaged but too wide-eyed and round-cheeked to be anything over sixteen. Sanji stared a little too long, not sure whether it would be appropriate to comment on how pretty she was, with her strawberry-blonde hair and wide, cheerfully sharkish smile. Her eyelashes swept out and her summer dress was half a size too large, but when he stared at that photo Sanji somehow knew that he was staring at a ghost.
Armerind snatched the photo from his hand, an air of sudden hostility taking over. "Thank you," he mumbled, opening the book and closing the photo back inside, "I would have hated to lose that."
Sanji contemplated not saying anything at all, but it was a snap decision, mostly a product of not having a cigarette to suck on poignantly at such a moment, when he asked, "Who is she?"
"Andi. She died."
Armerind paused, and Sanji knew he didn't want to leave. But, even if he had been the one to find the photograph, the one to ask about it, he wasn't going to do anything more to prompt Armerind one way or another. Whether he wanted to uncover his secrets and let Sanji in on the reason why he screamed the way he did in battle, why he looked with so much contempt at their relationship, that was his decision.
"She died trying to protect me."
Everything made sense without needing another explanation. Sanji could practically see the scene before Armerind set it. Because he had been in those shoes. And now he knew why Armerind had wanted him to interfere, had wanted to duel Zoro so exclusively. It wasn't the notoriety or the satisfaction. It was his need to take the life of someone's lover, someone's soul in place of Andi's.
Sanji half-closed his eyes and looked down. "I'm sorry."
They stewed in their shared silence, and Sanji didn't want to see if Armerind were angry or crying, or both. Neither did he know if it would be appropriate to thank him for renewing his perspective. He just looked down, sat against the side of the tent, and waited.
"I didn't leave Coadari Village, I was driven out. By her father. By my own family. They hadn't approved of my fighting in the first place, much less the fact that, at sixteen, I was already good enough to duel every pirate that dropped anchor on the island. But when Andi died…their disapproval turned to hatred. I was exiled, reviled," his voice was rising like the memories to the top of his mind, pulling goosebumps up on Sanji's skin, "and worst of all, I didn't have her. I was all alone. I had loved her, I would have died for her, and I had told her to stay out of this part of my life. But she didn't. She just….didn't."
Sanji saw him lift a hand, heard a sniffle as Armerind wiped away the tears. He stayed silent. Whatever else Armerind had to say, he wondered if it would hit his heart so accurately as those last words had. Needing something to distract his nerves, he found a leaf and turned it between his fingers, feeling out its texture, its mercurial deadness. He sighed.
"I've always felt so guilty, even to this day, for allowing her to fall in love with me in the first place. I thought it was a mistake that I let her get so close. I kept telling myself I should have kept her at arm's length, should have been as cold and hateful as I needed to be, anything that would have meant she would still be alive, today."
Waiting for the other shoe to drop, Sanji unconsciously nodded in complete understanding.
"We were foolish kids. We weren't even old enough to know what love was, but….still…." Armerind took a long, indefinite pause. Sanji glanced over, and saw him standing so still, so self-assured, that it made his distrust turn for a moment to actual admiration, "I'm so glad she loved me. If she had died any other way, and I had only hurt her, denied her, while wanting her to be there so badly…do you have any idea how that would have felt?"
He turned around, and glared down at Sanji, who was taken unexpectedly aback. Armerind's free hand swept out, and pointed with the precision of a blade at Zoro's sleeping body. "You take good care of him. Do you understand?"
Sanji nodded breathlessly, and waited without another word as Armerind shuffled quietly, heroically, out of their tent.