It was difficult to speak with a pistol's muzzle thrust under your chin, digging into the flesh of your throat. Though looking at Sanji's expression, there wasn't a hell of a lot he could say anyway that would do any good.
Zoro still tried. "Get out of here, coo--" and then he gagged as the gun jammed harder into his esophagus. He couldn't move, between the pistol and the burning of his wounds; it was all up to his crewmate. And usually that would be enough, but right now...
"Please drop those swords," the fat man said, quite politely, calm as if he were ordering tea.
And Sanji did. Zoro winced as his katanas crashed on the hard stone floor. There was their chance, Sanji's chance, slipping away. Sanji's face was set with that pale, composed resolution, his eyes locked on Zoro, and maybe Zoro had been called suicidal before, but he had nothing on his idiot crewmate. A death wish, that's what it was, too damn eager to sacrifice himself for any stupid thing. Of all the cook's wildly annoying habits, this had to be the one Zoro hated most.
The fat man was reading Sanji like a book, you could hear it in his mostly restrained gloat, "Thank you, I'm glad to deal with a man so reasonable. Firing now would make for quite an unsightly mess, wouldn't it?"
"Don't--" Sanji made an aborted motion toward them, checked by the fat man's finger tensing on the trigger. The gun smelled of steel and the acrid powder and Sanji's eyes were dark with rage and yet he still wasn't attacking, even though he had sworn to take this fat bastard down himself.
"I won't," the man said, and smiled. "Unless of course you give me reason," and to hell with Sanji's vow, this son of a bitch was his, Zoro was going to rip that paunchy throat out with his teeth, if his swords weren't available. As soon as that gun came down--"Now," and the man nodded to his man, "why don't you see that our soccer star here doesn't get another chance to use those legs. What was it you said before, sir? Every bone in me that can be broken?"
The thug grinned, all teeth like a shark under his broken nose, swaggered to the cook and requested he sit down with a punch to the stomach. Sanji didn't so much as try to block. Nor did he fight back when the man planted one heavy boot on his leg, set the other one under his calf. He didn't even look at the thug; he was watching the fat bastard, his eyes on the trigger of the goddamn gun. If looks could kill his might have burned through the metal, but he was doing nothing, nothing whatsoever, and Zoro was absolutely going to kill them all, the damn cook included, most especially the cook, for being such a--
The thug stamped down, and there was a muffled crack that was sharp all the same. Sanji's back arched in a rigid curve, fists pressed hard to the stone. The last color fled his face, leaving it bleached and drawn as a skull, but for a dot of red on his lip, bit between his teeth.
"Make sure," the fat man ordered, and that shark's grin widened. Zoro's inarticulate growl was cut short by a thick knee ramming him hard in the belly, right in one of the damn bullet holes. He managed to hold onto consciousness, but couldn't move for a moment, hunched over his wounds. He heard another crack, and a strangled squeak that only might have been Sanji, only might have been from a man's throat at all.
When Zoro managed to force up his head, his crewmate lay on his side, curled around himself, shaking, with the fat man standing over him. Nudging Sanji's shoulder out of his way with one foot, the bastard bent and picked up a bottle from the floor--looked like a wine bottle, though why the hell the cook...
"You do have expensive tastes, don't you?" murmured the fat man, reading the label. "You know, I've never met a noncommissioned marine who knew a damn thing about fine wine. I wonder just who my honorable employer is attacking now, for real."
"Bastard," Zoro hissed, "we told you enough times before, if you'd just listened to us--"
"Oh, I did listen. My employer was quite insistent you were the right men, though. He didn't want to believe he might have lost his chance at that Beinkusu. And I had no real reason to argue--that isn't what he's paying me for, after all. Though," and he looked mildly frustrated, "I'm getting the impression I should have insisted on all my fees before he left." He sighed. "I suppose I should go see how his grand revenge is proceeding."
He looked down thoughtfully at Sanji. The cook's face was buried in one crooked arm, his legs sprawled at twisted angles. He was silent, but for the faint whine ending every short breath.
"Hmm," the fat man said. "If you did send them into a clever enough trap..." He snapped his pudgy fingers at the thug. "I'm going to go into town to check out the situation at the port. If I don't contact you within an hour--take care of them. We wouldn't want to be arrested, at least not while there's men who could testify against us. Even if they are pirates.
"But do try to make it look accidental." He smiled down at Sanji, prodded him again with the toe of his shoe. The cook only shuddered. "Like you had to stop an escape attempt, perhaps. Here." He handed the thug a ring of keys.
The larger man grinned back at him, readily obedient. "What do I do while I'm waiting, boss?"
"Whatever you like." The fat man shrugged. "Try not to kill them yet; depending on how things turn out, it's possible our employer will still want to talk with them. Though given their current condition, I'm sure he'd be understanding."
"You son of a bitch," Zoro said, pushing himself into a crouch and locking his elbows straight so his arms would support him, "forget about being arrested, you won't live to any trial--"
"Sticks and stones, my good man," said the fat bastard, and with a smiling wave he exited, casually kicking the katanas out of his way in passing. Zoro didn't give him the pleasure of responding to that insult, his hands curled into fists so tight that the pressure distracted him from the sharp pain of his wounds.
As his boss shut the door--with a good deal of difficulty, as Sanji's kick had bent the hinges badly--the thug looked over at Zoro, and grinned with such pure and pronounced malice it was amazing one face could contain it. Even a face that ugly.
Zoro ignored him. "Oi, cook. Sanji." He anxiously studied his crewmate, looking for some sign of awareness. Wasn't like Sanji to fold that fast; he might look like you could snap him in two with your bare hands, but anyone who tried was liable to find their head kicked round the wrong way on their neck. For him to have blacked out--his long legs were bent awkwardly before him; just broken bones, though, nothing Chopper couldn't fix..."You stupid idiot, how could you just let them--"
"Want me to ask 'im for you?" the thug said, smirking. "Maybe I'll use one of these." He picked up one katana and drew it, the metal blade whispering against the sheath. "Couple pokes should wake him right up."
Zoro couldn't see which sword the man had; his vision had gone solid bloody red. He lunged forward, staggered as he was caught by either the chains at his ankles or the pain in his chest, maybe both, but either way he choked out, "I'm going to kill you, all of you, you, your buddy outside, your boss--"
"I told you already, Zoro," Sanji said suddenly, short of breath but most definitely conscious, "that uncooked lump's mine."
In the instant Zoro blinked, the cook flipped up onto his hands and kicked up with both legs. There was a snap, and then a short sharp sound in Sanji's throat as his feet impacted the thug's chin, knocking his head back and sending him toppling over to crash to the floor beside Zoro. Zoro didn't bother checking if he were out; he grabbed the dropped katana and clouted him over the head with the hilt anyway. Then he looked to his crewmate by the door, ghost-white and swaying, with his gray lips pulled up in a grin.
"You can have this guy, though," Sanji added, and then he crumpled like a paper doll in a rainstorm.
to be continued...
If you're enjoying this as a ZS h/c fan, don't miss Naye's fic "Downhill" - an awesome ride all the way down!