"Zoro--Zoro, answer me right the hell now! Zoro!!"

It wasn't just that the damn cook wouldn't shut up; it was the particular rising pitch of his voice which made it impossible to sleep. Especially when it was his name, and now the cook was just repeating it--"Zoro, shit, Zoro! Zoro!"--even worse than an insult, the way he was saying it, like it was a damn command, like he was being called to heel.

Zoro dragged up his head, as far as it would go, brought up enough saliva to force a voice from his bone-dry throat. He still felt half-asleep, muzzy, his vision blurring when he tried to focus on his crewmate across the room. He needed rest, damn it. "Shut'p, y'stupid cook."

"Zoro!" Sanji said a final time, like the last interrupted knock on an opening door. "You're--awake?"

"Yeah." Damn it all. He was cold, too, which was just from the bloodloss, he knew from experience, but it wouldn't make returning to sleep any easier. "Whad'ya want?"

He couldn't see Sanji clearly in the lamplight, but he could hear him breathing, panting hard. What those bastards had done to him must be taking its toll. "I thought--you weren't--I couldn't--dammit, Zoro, don't you ever do that to me again!"

"Huh?" Was that supposed to make sense? Maybe it would if he could think straight. But he didn't remember doing anything to Sanji. Unless he'd been talking in his sleep or something, and really, the cook was too goddamn sensitive. "The hell can I do t'you, over there? I'm over here."

Definitely bloodloss. A touch of delirium that made the catch in the cook's gasps sound like a crazy giggle. "Of course. My mistake."

He was quiet for long enough that Zoro shut his eyes and dropped his head back down on the stone floor, but before he could get anywhere near sleep Sanji asked, "You don't hear anything, do you, Zoro?"

"I hear you. Too damn noisy." It wasn't that Sanji was loud; he was speaking quieter than usual, even. But that softness of tone was--annoying. Almost as annoying as the expression he could imagine on the cook's face, that same white, stark look he had cast at Zoro, right before he had started babbling about secret codes.

It had worked, though. He'd give Sanji that. And they had left the cook with both hands, too, which was good, because Zoro hadn't quite figured out how he was going to stop the bastards when he couldn't move. He definitely needed a nap if his body was going to be of any use. If his crewmate would just be quiet enough for him to...

"I don't hear anyone outside. No footsteps or voices." Sanji turned his head to the door, the barred window in the heavy oak. No shadows were passing by. "Every man he has," he quoted, and laughed again, a taut, breathless sound.

Zoro didn't like that laugh. It was too close to one he remembered far too well, though there had been no humor at all quivering in Sanji's throat then. He pried up his head again to squint at his crewmate. "You better not be losing it on me, cook."

"Me, losing it?" Sanji snapped. "Which is the one of us who got himself shot?"

He had a point. As it wasn't a very good point, however, Zoro ignored it. Grunting a non-answer, he put his head down again. With his eyes shut he could ignore how light-headed just looking up had made him.

"So," Sanji remarked, "how long do you think it'll be? I'm guessing about five minutes for Luffy to take out the bozos, but Usopp might have to find him first. And then they'll have to figure out where we are..."

"Nami'll get that out of them, easy." The woman could be scary when she wanted answers.

"Of course Nami-san could--if Luffy leaves anyone conscious." Which was an unlikely possibility, if Usopp managed to properly explain the situation to their captain. But Chopper could wake someone up enough to ask.

Chopper was going to be plenty pissed with him, Zoro knew. The reindeer wasn't nearly as frightening as their navigator, but there was something terribly humiliating about being scolded by a large teddy bear with antlers. Besides, it wasn't like he had been trying to get in the way of those bullets. He was just too damn used to defending with a sword. It was a weakness he really should work on, swordsmaster or not.

"Zoro?" Sanji was asking, again, and wasn't the man getting tired of saying his name by now? Especially in that particular way. Zoro mumbled something so he wouldn't have to hear it again, but the cook still wouldn't shut up. "You can't get out of those manacles, can you? They look pretty solid from here, but..."

Zoro gritted his teeth and forced his uncooperative body to curl enough that he could reach the cuffs around his ankles. Grabbing the chain in both fists, he pushed his feet against the wall, and, bracing himself, pulled until the chain broke.

At least that was the plan. In practice the last step required greater motion than his wounds would allow. As he blinked back the pulsating black spots before his eyes he heard the cook swearing at him, almost as colorfully as he had addressed the fat man before. Zoro struggled for the breath to respond, though just the act of inhaling was agony, and dammit, who knew getting shot could be so painful? He was now more appreciative of the various times Luffy had interceded between him and guns. This would be simpler if the bullets had bounced off him. "Being rubber...wouldn't be so bad."

"What are you talking about? Zoro, stay with me!"

"'m'not goin' anywhere." The manacles were seeing to that, obviously. Stupid cook.

"--if you can't, you can just tell me, you don't have to prove it," Sanji was saying. Zoro had the impression he had missed something, but as it was just the cook talking it likely wasn't important.

Now that he thought about it, being rubber would be very convenient. He could just stretch out his arm and release Sanji right now. Or muzzle him. "Maybe I should be looking for a devil fruit..."

"A devil fruit? What--oh. You mean, if Luffy were here, or if you were a rubber man...no. Bad idea. I fish him out enough, I'm not hauling your heavy ass out of the water, too. No matter how useful it'd be now. Are you bleeding more?"

"Huh?"

Sanji flicked a finger at him, growled, "Those bloodstains. You didn't open the wounds again, straining yourself like a damn fool?"

Now that he considered it, the bandages did feel damper. "Maybe."

"Zoro, you--you idiot! Don't go--just--forget it." The cook's voice dropped from the agitated shriek to a resigned mutter. "Guess there's not much choice."

"Much choice?" Zoro looked up again at the decisive note in Sanji's tone. "About what? What're you doing, cook?"

Sanji returned a brief glare. "I'm not just going to stand here and watch you--watch you sleep." He turned his head to regard his right hand, the bonds slightly loosened from their threat before. Then, very deliberately, he extended his arm as far from the wall as he could manage with the chains, and slammed it back, jamming his hand against the stone. There was a faint, unmistakable click, and Sanji's face went an interesting shade of green.

"Cook, what the--"

Sanji wrenched his arm down, forcing his hand through the cuff. Reaching across himself, he opened the other manacle, then bent to release his feet. Then he leaned against the wall, cradling his injured hand in the other and swearing through clenched teeth.

Zoro attempted to force himself sitting, mostly failed. "What the hell are you doing, idiot? That's your hand!"

"Yeah." Sanji closed his eyes, put his right hand against the wall and braced himself with the left over it, forcing the dislocation back in place with another dull click. Exhaling shakily, he stretched out his fingers, waggling the thumb experimentally as he winced. "No problem, good as new."

Crossing the cell to kneel beside Zoro, he examined the shackles. "Dammit, they're locked. And I can't kick through iron. We're going to need the key for these, Zoro."

"You stupid?" Zoro asked, hypothetically. "Get out--go make sure Luffy's taken care of 'em."

Sanji didn't seem to be listening; he was frowning at the bloodstained bandages. "I'll look for your swords while I'm at it."

"Go, you can come back with everyone. Show 'em where I am."

"You'll have to wait, Zoro, try to get some rest."

"I have been trying--"

"The key's gotta be somewhere, I'll find it quick."

"You idiot--"

Sanji stood, wiped the sweat off his forehead, tucked the torn shirt into his pants and straightened his jacket with a tug. Going to the door, he studied the thick wood for a few seconds before smashing it open with a single kick.

"Be right back," he said, "just hang on," and he stepped into the hall, leaving Zoro, at last, in silence.

* * *

The halls were empty. Either the fat man had been telling the truth, and all of his employer's people were presently getting beaten to a pulp by Sanji's crewmates; or said employer was not nearly as powerful as he had implied. Though the size and affluence of this mansion would deny that. Oil lamps cast flickering light on paintings in gold frames and richly carpeted floors. Pushing aside heavy drapes, Sanji found himself looking out over moonlit rolling grounds, and the dark twinkle of the sea beyond. Not in the town, then, and the island was large enough that he couldn't guess how far they might be from the port and the Merry.

Nami would, of course, get the truth out of them, though his toes curled at the thought of her having to interact with such base men. And it might be a while before their crewmates arrived. He was quite sick of this place by now; it was high time they were out of here. All he needed was the key to the manacles--and Zoro's swords, because the idiot was likely to be stubborn about leaving without them.

Not having any idea where to look, he opened doors at random as he ran down the halls. His right hand throbbed with each footfall, and he flexed his fingers, feeling the ache of the stretched tendons. Hopefully they wouldn't take too long to heal. At least there didn't seem to be any real damage.

At least he still had two hands. He supposed he owed Zoro for that. Though the asshole should have found a better way to manage it, preferably one not involving bullets. It was maddening all the same, because the truth was, Sanji already owed Zoro. Even if the swordsman never gave any sign he recalled the debt at all, much less wanted it paid back, it wasn't something Sanji himself had forgotten. Or ever would, most likely.

And yes, it was mostly Zoro's fault that they were stuck here at all, but it was difficult to keep that in mind, now. There had been altogether too much blood, and the stupid swordsman had been too damn slow to respond, and that gray cast to his skin... Zoro could be a pain in the ass, but in a pinch you could count on him. Sanji didn't mind protecting any of his crewmates--it was his duty and his pleasure to make sure no one hurt a hair on Nami's or Robin's head, but if any of the others got themselves into a corner of course he helped. Zoro never needed it, however. He might get himself sliced to ribbons, but that was the way he fought, because he was an idiot; he was used to it. In battle Sanji didn't pay attention to Zoro at all, any more than Zoro paid attention to him.

Except that Zoro had followed him to the tavern, while there were other bars he probably could have found more easily. Sanji hadn't caught Zoro watching him, not for a while now; hadn't noticed any of those quick, scrutinizing glances since the week after...not that he would have said anything even if he had, because that would have been acknowledging that he had noticed. But he hadn't. Had almost convinced himself that Zoro actually might have forgotten...

But Zoro had still come to the tavern, and gotten himself captured, and then beaten up, and now, if Chopper didn't see to him soon--it was high time they were out of this damn place.

Sanji didn't bother opening the next door, just splintered it with a kick, surprising the man on the other side. He had found the kitchen, and one of the thugs was sneaking a flask of cooking wine, which he dropped. The pewter clanked dully on the floor, the dark purple spreading over the slate a perfect match to the bruise on the man's forehead.

He stared stupidly at Sanji. Sanji blinked, then whirled a roundhouse kick at his face. The man's nose made a satisfying crunch as he went down with choked groan, and stayed down.

Sanji stepped over the puddled wine, prodded him with one toe. The man made no effort to fight back; he appeared to be unconscious. He didn't appear to have any keys on him, but in the adjacent room, Sanji made the happy discovery of the three taken katanas. The fat man might boast about his meals, but apparently he had been relegated to the servants' quarters.

If there were any other servants, they must have fled at the noise of his entrance. Scooping up the swords, he returned to the kitchen and descended the narrow stairs alongside the pantry, stealing a couple pieces of fruit and rolls along the way. He was hoping the dungeon keys might be kept in the basement, but all he found was the wine cellar. A quick browse of the first row proved the hypothetical employer had better taste than he'd expected, and the fat man worse. He selected one bottle of fortified Miranfy--the swordsman wouldn't appreciate how good a year it was, but it would help get him back on his feet. Sanji wasn't going to carry him all the way back to the ship if he could help it.

At the bottom of the steps, he thought he heard a door slam. Sanji leapt up to the kitchen three stairs at a time, too late. The kitchen was empty, no sign of the apparently not so unconscious man but a few drops of blood and a boot print sketched in wine.

Cursing, Sanji dashed back down the halls, his soles skidding on the polished wooden floors. The man was likely more familiar with the layout of the mansion--he'd get there first; there would be only one place he would go, if he wasn't going to take on Sanji, and Sanji swore at himself. He called the swordsman stupid? He should have kicked the thug a couple more times, made sure he wouldn't get up anytime soon, or at all. The katanas under his arm dug into his side, wooden sheaths clacking against each other as he ran.

Finally he reached the stairs to the dungeon, stampeded down them with a grand lack of stealth and saw, waiting for him before the broken door, one of their other new friends. And if both thugs were here he would lay even odds their boss was as well.

Sanji didn't stop in his mad dash; he threw himself at the man, blocked his kick--pathetically slow, it was so damn embarrassing to be caught by these morons at all--and slammed his foot into the thug's stomach, sending him crashing back into the wall. The thump of his head against the stone guaranteed the man would stay down for a minute at least, and Sanji otherwise ignored him to shove inside the cell.

And stopped. There was the other thug, baring a grin that would have made a jack-o-lantern think twice, but Sanji couldn't take the opportunity to pound that smirk into the floor, because the fat man was here, too. He had hauled Zoro up by the collar, so blood was soaking through the bandages again in a spreading scarlet stain, and he had a pistol shoved under the swordsman's chin, his thick finger on the trigger.

to be continued...

Will be posting more Tiger Hunt soon; meanwhile, happy folks like the last bit, and thought Zoro to be in char - he really is not stupid, but he's so straightforward it can be hard to tell (and being certifiable doesn't help his case. Agreeing to join Luffy's crew is enough to get one committed, I believe...)

To everyone who's been, like me, sick or having bad days, hope you're feeling better, your days are better, and...at least you're not having as bad a time of it as these boys! I've long suspected that one of the reasons I like h/c is because it can put near anything into perspective...