The fire was so close the heat was pressure against his skin, pushing him back. He fought against it, his lungs burning with the ash and his eyes tearing up from the brightness of those blue flames--sparks? No, fire, this was the fire, burning them, all of them, before his eyes. He was screaming his crewmates' names, but he couldn't hear himself over the roar of the blaze, and their cries, and then there was only silence, and smoke, and the stench of blood--
Sanji jerked awake with a shudder. At first he was paralyzed by the last vestiges of the nightmare, but when he tried to move, heave himself up, he found he was standing already, or upright, at least, but immobilized. His chest ached as he gasped for breath--not the ship, not the Going Merry, he couldn't go back there, there was nothing to go back to, because they all were--
"About time you woke up. Didn't you get enough sleep last night, cook?"
He turned his head and saw Zoro, studying him with severe irritation. Zoro in chains, and the distinctive metal clinking at his own hands and feet reminded him of the past day.
His arms were so numb it was agony to move them, the little he could, pulling them back as he shoved himself upright on his bound legs. Still, this pain, as well as those last unclear memories before he had lost consciousness, all was proof. This was real, and the dream was nothing more than that. A dream.
The cell was dark, and getting darker, the sky outside the window blue with twilight. He had been out for some time, though the shadows weren't yet deep enough that he couldn't see Zoro's face, set with dire impatience. 'This is your fault,' his glare reminded yet again, as good as words.
--"Your fault," Luffy had cried, "I'll never forgive you"--but that was just a dream, even if none of them were here. He had been on the Going Merry with them only yesterday. And it wasn't his fault that the two of them were here now, at least not any more than it was the damn swordsman's, and he should tell Zoro so, but he couldn't find the breath to say it, could barely breathe at all.
It had been electricity, not fire, just the sharp sting of lightning, and far less than he had endured before. Not the burning of those blue flames, which hadn't been real, had never been real, he knew, almost for certain, for all he could smell the char--
"Sanji." Zoro's calm voice cut through that phantom smoke, louder than all those nonexistent screams. "Sanji. It didn't happen."
It took effort to raise the proper sarcasm--an effort to speak at all, he felt suddenly unstrung, like an invisible chain that was the heaviest of all had been cut, but he managed it. "What, we're not really in a dungeon, we never got caught, this is just a bad dream?" Sanji mustered the pretense of a smirk. "Flat-out nightmare if you're here, I guess."
"We're the only ones here," Zoro said, almost impatiently, but there was a difference to it, a sharply insistent edge. "The rest of them, they're all okay. Probably getting pissed with us for holding them up."
It was easier to breathe, and his pounding heart was slowing, no longer deafening in his ears. He leaned back against the wall, taking what support he could to keep himself standing. Zoro was watching but for the moment he didn't really care. What good was it to pretend, when he was apparently glass-transparent anyway? "How'd you know?"
Zoro moved his shoulders in an awkwardly restrained shrug. "You were mumbling some damn thing in your sleep. You haven't done that for a while."
"Yeah, well...not every day I get lightning as a sleep aid." His back hurt, standing; he twisted against the chains, stretching as well as he was able.
Zoro watched him, not saying anything. Sanji waited, but his crewmate didn't ask. Didn't need to; they might never talk about it, but he knew Zoro hadn't forgotten any more than he had himself. No matter how much he might wish to...maybe if he had, he wouldn't be able to recognize that look in Zoro's eyes now.
It was more to drive away that barely noticeable concern than to actually start a fight that Sanji snapped, "You must be bored out of your green skull, just hanging there. Hope I was entertaining."
"Not hardly," Zoro growled back. "Put on a better show next time, cook. For the fat bastard."
"I'd rather be amusing even you than that stinking sadist."
"The more you squirm, the less he'd do."
"Obviously. But look who's talking." He nodded at the bloodstains dried down the side of Zoro's face. "It's no damn fun watching the shit get kicked out of you if I can't help do it."
"No. I guess not."
He didn't like how Zoro said that. Not fighting back; it was that flat tone that sounded preoccupied, but really meant that Zoro was contemplating killing someone messily.
There was a certain point, he had learned, beyond which he couldn't goad Zoro. The swordsman had an amusingly short temper when it came to the little things, always good for a fight about noise, or a disturbed nap, or what tasks Nami-san required. But if he was pushed past that, when his anger was well and truly roused, there was little Sanji could do that would get to him at all. One might as well try to change the course of a tidal wave with a canoe paddle.
Zoro hadn't reached that point yet, but he was getting there. Sanji could see it in the set furrow of his brow, in how slow he was to rise to the bait. It annoyed him immensely, that Zoro might take this seriously. As if he were so weak that fat bastard could actually hurt him. "Just because you let them take away your oh-so-precious swords doesn't mean--"
"Let them?"
Definitely not there yet. Sanji smirked. "What kind of swordsman lets a little drink knock him out?"
"What kind of cook can't taste a drugged drink?"
"What kind of idiot pretend pirate can't even find a tavern?"
"What kind of stupid ladies' man doesn't even get the woman's name?"
"At least I didn't report to my commanding officers while I was being watched!"
"Well--at least I outrank you!"
Sanji paused. "Oh, you noticed that?"
Zoro started to laugh. It was hard and heartfelt and it echoed against the stone walls, and after a brief moment Sanji joined him. His chest ached even more after a couple breaths, but it was easier to ignore it.
"I'm older, too," Zoro reminded, grinning.
"But I'm smarter. Awfully observant, that fat bastard. Picked up right away who the real brains of the operation is."
"Watch it," Zoro said, "I could have you keel-hauled."
"Or court-martialed, more like. Don't you know anything? You're a lousy marine."
"Damn straight. And I've got the bounty to prove it."
"Just because some shit world government's willing to pay for your dumbass head--sixty million and you can't even break a few chains."
"You said already, this is good training."
"For stupid over-muscled swordsman, maybe. I'm a cook, dammit. The only eels I train with are the ones that go in soup or sushi."
He didn't think he had said it any differently, but Zoro shifted, the chains jangling as he straightened up--hard to see his face in the growing shadows, but the gleam of his eyes was turned toward Sanji. "You," he began, and the grin was gone from his voice, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the rattle of the lock on the other side of the door.
"It better not be octopi this time," Sanji muttered, "never did like octopus much," and the door creaked open.
Both thugs accompanied the fat man, but no tank on wheels. Zoro watched them enter with some curiosity. Presumably it was his turn again, and he wondered what uninspiring method they were planning. Hot pokers, or the rack? But the fat man didn't seem to be much of a traditionalist.
He hadn't cared the last one. Electricity was unpredictable, and though after Ener the worst storm couldn't impress, the cynical science of the fat man's tank was almost worse than those vicious lightning attacks. The way Sanji had shuddered, and then gone so still...
Zoro hadn't cared for it at all.
But it should be his turn now. The cook could be one hell of an annoyance, but Zoro was pretty sure he was pissing off the fat son of a bitch just as much. Still, Sanji managed to speak first. "What took you so long? Too busy gargling cheap wine to bother with your job?"
The fat man didn't immediately reply. He seemed distracted, which was to Zoro's advantage. It shouldn't be noticeable unless they looked closely, but he had spent most of the hours Sanji was out working at the chains, bracing his back against the wall and pulling against the cuffs. He had managed to loosen the bolts a little, how much he hadn't been able to tell, but the stone had cracked slightly.
If he could get himself free, it would be simple enough to release Sanji. Then the cook could kick down the door, and it would just be a matter of finding his swords and getting hell out of here. But it was difficult to get the necessary leverage to tug on the chains. If he only had a sword...
"I would have liked to give you a little more time to consider the situation," the fat man finally sighed. "But my employer's insisting. I've been authorized--no, instructed, to use more drastic methods of persuasion. More permanent." He looked between them pleadingly. "You must understand, I deplore this. There's no artistry or skill in such crude...well, little matter. If you're still unwilling..."
Sanji made a rude noise. "I'll explain with the smallest words I know, so you have a hope of getting it. We do not know anything. We are not whoever the hell you think we are. Nothing you do to us is going to change that, you stupid chunk of lard."
"So you might as well get on with it," Zoro added.
The fat man sighed once more. "Very well." He reached into his jacket and withdrew a long knife, the heavy, curved blade shining wickedly as he turned it under the lamplight. "Please realize this isn't a bluff. If you're willing to talk now, rather than lose--"
"Get on with it," Zoro growled again. "I won't need all my fingers to kill you anyway."
"Maybe not." The fat man inclined his head, examined Zoro with his small eyes. Then he turned and waved to the goons. "Not him. The blond one. Hold his arm."
"He's the swordsman, not me," Sanji said coolly, not flinching as a huge fist wrapped around his right wrist and pressed his arm flat to the wall. He shook his hair out of his eyes, leveled a challenging glare at the fat man. "I won't need any fingers to take your head off."
"Ah, well," the fat man said, running his thumb against the blunt side of the blade. "Your hand, then."
Zoro saw Sanji go rigid, as if another bolt of current had been shot through him. Then he relaxed again, and that reaction had been so swift and slight it might have been imagined. With luck it hadn't even been noticed by the others. "Why stop there?" the cook asked, insolently calm in the thug's looming shadow. "Take the whole arm. Hell, take a leg instead, I'm still not going to be able to tell you anything."
"Forget it," Zoro said, "the only thing weaker than their brains is their spines." He nodded to the other thug, the bruise on his forehead a black splotch in the lantern's yellow glow. "Scared to even come near me, huh? Don't blame you. Your head still smarting?"
"I'll show you--" the man began.
"Ignore him," the fat man ordered, before the thug had taken more than a step toward Zoro. "Come here and help. I don't want to do too much damage, and they really start thrashing about halfway through, when they realize it's actually happening." He tilted the knife so it matched the angle of his terrible smile. "And take off your jacket. We'll want something to muffle the screams."
"Tricky for me to talk, if I'm muzzled," Sanji pointed out, casually, but the lamplight picked out the sheen of sweat on his brow.
If it had been his foot, Zoro knew, he would see no fear in his crewmate's eyes, just the same fury that was boiling in his own blood. But Sanji's feet were only his weapons; his hands were his life, a cook's most precious and important tools.
"You'll be free to talk after," the fat man said. The son of a bitch didn't even know what he was threatening, didn't understand a damn thing, but was just clever enough to see the sliver of true desperation in Sanji's anger. "When you understand that I am quite serious."
"Oh, I believe you're serious. He's convincing, isn't he, Zoro?"
"Yeah, I believe it," Zoro said. Sanji was breathing too fast; his voice was still steady, but Zoro could hear the rapid staccato rush of his exhalations. His fist was clenched, the tight ball of his fingers forced back by the goon's meaty hand. "Especially now. He's in trouble," Zoro went on. "Sooner or later his employer'll realize he's an incompetent moron. Maybe then we'll really be interrogated."
It was difficult to read the expression on the fat man's profile. "Watch it, Zoro," Sanji said, with a hint of a sardonic chuckle, "you might piss him off."
"This wad of dough? Why'd I care? I've got him cowed. Chained to a wall and he still doesn't have the balls to go after me."
The fat man didn't look to Zoro, but he smiled. "Don't worry, I'll get back to you in due time. Or if you're trying to distract me from your associate, start saying what I want to hear. Better make it quick, however." He nodded to the second thug, who put one hand to Sanji's shoulder and shoved him back hard against the wall.
"This will get you nowhere," Sanji snapped, all irate impatience, but his gaze was fixed on the knife in the fat man's hand. "I don't know anything, I've told you already, I don't know Captain whoever, I'm not a marine, nothing you can do to me is going to change that--I'm a pirate, dammit!"
The first thug shifted his grip to engulf Sanji's fist, with his other hand forced the cuff further up Sanji's arm and rolled back his sleeve. Suddenly the blond bucked wildly, throwing off their holds and arching back against the chains in an effort to rip himself free. The fat man retreated a cautious step as his goons struggled to reestablish their grips. Sanji flailed against them, wrenching so sharply against the bonds that he might have torn himself bloody.
"Listen to him!" Zoro said, yanking at his own chains. "He doesn't know a damn thing--if you want to ask someone, ask me!"
The goons braced themselves, leaning with all their considerable mass to hold Sanji still, and even with the chains they only barely could keep him in place, until the fat man came forward again. The lamplight gleamed on the blade, and Sanji stiffened, stopping the fruitless struggle. His eyes were locked on that stripe of golden light, his visage pale and drawn with a hopelessness Zoro had seen there but once before, and refused to ever see again.
"Stop it," Zoro shouted, "stop this right the hell now!"
Sanji shuddered, then tore his eyes from the knife to raise them to the fat man's, still white-faced but the despair displaced by defiance. His jaw was set as the knife was raised over his wrist, no noise escaping but the short harsh rasp of his panting.
"Stop!" Zoro roared, and threw himself forward, straining with all his strength. The chains creaked, groaning as the rock ground against the metal.
"Uh, boss--" one of the thugs began, reaching with his free hand under his jacket, and then with a crack like a lightning bolt the stone gave way, crumbling as all four bolts broke free.
The blade was coming down, and Zoro lunged for it, all his focus on that sharpened steel. The fat man whirled, stepping back with surprising speed for his bulk, dropping the unbloodied knife. No fighter, definitely. A thug got in the way and Zoro tossed him aside one-handed, whipping the chain around his wrist against the man's cheek. He stumbled with a choked whine; Zoro ignored him, going for the fallen knife--not a sword but it would do--
"Zoro!" Sanji yelled, and Zoro looked over his shoulder to see the other thug had drawn, not a dagger, as he had assumed, but a pistol. Before he could throw himself out of the way, the man had pulled the trigger, and the deafening thunder of a gunshot echoed against the stone.
With a sword, Zoro could have blocked the bullet; with even the knife he might have diverted it. Barehanded, it tore through his arm and into his chest.
A sharp enough sword will cut so fast and deep that you won't realize you've been wounded until you see the blood. A bullet is harder to miss. The second shot from the other thug's gun caught him in the shoulder like a sledgehammer, knocking him back against the wall.
The fat man was screeching something to his men, furiously loud. Zoro ignored him, ignored Sanji, who was being even louder. The knife was still on the floor, only a couple meters away. Now splattered with a little blood, but probably just his own, so no matter. He pushed himself off the wall toward it, stretched out his arm to wrap his fingers around the hilt--wet with the blood, and it was heavier than any knife could be, but he dragged it up, and himself as well. He had made it to his knees when a kick in the back sent him sprawling again, the knife spinning from his hand.
Sanji was shouting "Zoro!" or else he was cursing; the way Sanji usually said his name made it difficult to tell. The stone floor was wet and slippery and tilting under him, so Zoro couldn't get his footing to stand. Then the thug's boot slammed into his chest, and the pain flashed so keenly he wasn't quite sure if he hit the floor or the wall or both before he blacked out.
to be continued...
Bevin - your wish is my command. Or possibly your command is my wish? dragonodare - sorry, I'm quite sure this story is not yaoi *cough*butIcanmakenosuchclaimsaboutthepwpsequel*cough* Pretty much everyone else - have no fear, there's more cook tortur--er, stress relief to come. Hope you enjoy, you wicked, wicked people! *g*