Sanji jolted awake, hands flying to his neck. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. Strong fingers were biting into his windpipe, squeezing until he was sure they would pierce the skin, rend flesh, and tear muscle. The pressure was unbearable. He thought he heard soft laughter.
His own frantic fingers scrabbled at his throat. They found only tender—but whole—skin. Slowly, the light coming through the porthole window of Chopper's infirmary coaxed his mind towards full wakefulness.
A sound at the door made his head whip around. He barely had time to compose himself before Robin entered the narrow room, two steaming cups of tea balanced on a dented serving tray.
She paused when she saw him. Concern warmed her cool blue eyes.
"Mr. Cook… You're awake. Are you all right?"
Sanji swallowed and willed his pulse back down to something manageable. He could still feel the heat of the hands on his neck.
"Ye…s…" he croaked.
He gave another start of surprise at his voice. It hurt to speak and was unexpectedly difficult. The sensation was unnerving. He'd never been strangled before, though, and he supposed all the yelling earlier hadn't helped. Shaking his head ruefully, he waved Robin in. She came over to the stool and seated herself with characteristic grace, the tray balanced on her knees.
"Everyone's been in to see you, but you've been asleep for some time. I thought you might wake soon, so I brought you some tea and a newspaper to read if you were bored."
Sanji wondered idly if "everyone" included certain green-haired persons, but he didn't ask. He smiled at her thoughtfulness and sketched a little bow from his seated position. Robin handed him the cup.
He took a sip. Blinked.
Chrysanthemum tea, perfectly steeped, with a squeeze of lemon and a touch of honey. Where had she gotten it? One of her own personal stores? His cheeks warmed at the thought.
"Than…ks…"
She tilted her head. "It should help with your throat."
The look in her eyes seemed to reflect his own dismay. Was it that bad?
He felt around the side table for the small mirror he knew Chopper kept for difficult to see injuries. Robin waited patiently while he located it and held it up. He almost burst out laughing at what he saw. It really was that bad.
Bruises in vivid red, purple, and blue ringed the whole of his neck. Thinner, unmistakably finger-shaped marks fanned out from the center. Zoro had really done a number on him. He was amazed his windpipe hadn't been crushed, but then again, the thing had wanted him alive. And there, just below the ear and the spot where his shoulder flowed into his neck, he could make out other, smaller crescent-shaped bruises. He set the mirror down quickly and hitched up his robe.
"There's no need to speak," Robin said soothingly. "I can just update you if you're not too tired?"
He nodded.
"Zoro is unharmed and himself again. We have him back."
She said it so matter-of-factly that it took him a second to register. He blinked at her stupidly for a moment. Something inside him uncurled.
She continued, "The thing that was controlling him is gone. Usopp gifted it an iron coffin, and Luffy tossed it out to sea."
He let go of the breath he'd been holding and took another drink of tea. Robin took a sip from her own cup.
"We found a chest on the island near the area where you retrieved Zoro."
"What…was…?"
"In it? The rest of the owner of the finger bone. I didn't get much time to look at them or the chest, but both were old and the inset pieces in the chest were very distinctive. I've had a look through my books, and the designs share similarities with Jayan culture. If you recall, Jaya was quite a lawless zone. It doesn't seem like a stretch to imagine the chest might have once belonged to pirates."
"The…bones…?"
Robin shook her head. "I'm not sure. There was a name on the chest, but I could only make out '_ED L_ W_'. Whoever they were, though, they died violently. That chest was a punishment or grave or both. We can't know for certain, but I would guess that whatever happened left an indelible mark on them. Like Zoro's cursed sword, that kind of malice tends to take on a life of its own after a while." She gazed out the porthole. "Either way, they are gone."
Sanji stared into his teacup. He wasn't sure why, but the information didn't make him feel any better. That particular knot in his stomach remained tight and twisted.
"Anyway, we have left the island, and we are en route to the next stop on the log pose."
Sanji raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Five days," she said.
He nodded, mind going to the safest place right now—his pantry to calculate their food stores—while other parts of his brain processed the information she'd given him.
"We saved some of the pig," she added.
He laughed even though it hurt enough to bring tears to his eyes. She smiled at him, but it was one of the smiles Robin used when she was actually quite upset, and it bothered him to see it. She often affected a cool exterior, but Sanji was an attentive man—and not just because he enjoyed a pretty face. He had a whole catalogue of mysterious smiles from their resident archaeologist, and that one was not real. Even as his heart soared to be worried about by such an amazing woman, it upset him to see her so affected and know that he was the cause of it. He tried to give her a smile in return so that she'd see he was well, but it faltered when she took something from the pocket of her long cardigan. It was his belt.
She set it on the side table. There was a smudge on the buckle about the size of a fingerprint. He shied away from it without meaning to.
"I found this in the corner of the storage room," she said carefully.
Sanji stared at it. Images began crowding into his already throbbing head.
"Did…something happen?"
He tore his eyes away from the studded leather and forced himself to look at her.
"Nothing…happened. I just lost it some time during the fight."
Robin's steady gaze was heavy and all too knowing for his liking. She deliberately, slowly, looked down at his neck and then at his bare chest, partially visible through the open sides of the robe. He followed her line of sight and saw more crescent-shaped marks peeking out from behind bandages. One was very clearly printed across his collar bone. He quickly closed the robe and tied it securely.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Sanji turned away, cheeks flushing scarlet. To hear it said so was…disconcerting. He hadn't really had time to think about what had happened in any great detail yet and didn't really want to. It still seemed very surreal. Did anyone else know or suspect? He had no name for the strange, ugly emotion that suddenly flooded through his chest.
Robin lowered her eyes, perhaps sensing she'd misstepped somehow. "I apologize. I didn't mean to pry." She started to rise.
"Wait," Sanji rasped.
He didn't like being laid bare, especially not in front of Robin. But, he disliked a misunderstanding even more. More than it was, at any rate. The swordsman would hate that even more than himself.
"Nothing did happen," he said, more roughly than he intended. "Chopper came in before… before…"
Robin sat back down and laid a hand, her real hand, over his. Surprise chased the ugly feeling down a little. Nico Robin was as sparing with touches as she was with honest smiles. When Sanji didn't elaborate further, she sat with him for a time just staring out the small window. She didn't push for more, didn't speak. He eventually relaxed under that calm, wordless support and they sipped their tea until it went cool.
She gave his hand a squeeze as she stood to leave.
Sanji looked up at her. "Don't say anything to the others. Please. It wasn't him, okay?"
Robin didn't hesitate or try to argue. She just nodded and walked to the door. She paused at the exit, one hand on the handle. "If you ever want another cup of tea or company, I'm always around," she said. "For anything."
She smiled at him. It was a little sad, but this time it was genuine.
...
Luffy, Nami, Usopp, Chopper, and Robin sat huddled around the small table in the galley in uneasy silence. After the fight they had spent the rest of the day cleaning and patching up the ship. The damage had been mostly confined belowdecks for a change, but the nature of it had been disconcerting to say the least. Zoro and Sanji fought regularly, and violently, but never had they seen anything like this. Chopper's infirmary had been trashed, and the bloody splotches were an unpleasant mar in an area meant to be a place of healing. As they quietly set his workspace to right while Sanji slept, the crew had patted and smoothed their hands over Chopper's velvety fur in reassurance. The little doctor put on a brave face, but he was a sensitive soul and while damage to himself didn't seem to upset him, seeing the pain of others—especially crewmates—hurt him acutely.
The hall was a bigger job. It would require a whole wall be torn down once they got into port and got enough lumber for the work. Gaping holes and cracks trailed up the narrow space on either side mapping out a struggle that looked as though people had been slammed bodily into them with vicious force—and probably had. The storage room, though, had been the worst for other reasons. Once the sun had risen on the morning after the struggle, Usopp and Robin, with unusual firmness, had taken on the task of cleaning it up. Before they got to work setting boxes and tools back to right and scrubbing off the blood, Luffy had stood in the doorway and taken it all in—the chain, the ties, the scuffs, and the dark marks staining the floor. When he returned abovedeck, he went straight to the masthead and sat on it in silence until Nami had called the meeting. His face had lost some of its boyish innocence.
It was later that afternoon as they all sat around the table, weary from the labor or thoughts, that Nami finally broached the question on everyone's mind.
"What should we do?" she asked quietly, finger tracing circles on the tabletop.
"W-Well, once we get to port I can get more supplies and the Merry will be good as new!" Usopp said with mock cheeriness.
Nami gave him a wan smile. "You know I'm not talking about repairs, Usopp."
Robin steepled her fingers. "It's not something we can fix, I think. It's up to them."
"We have to at least talk about it!"
"But Zoro won't even speak to us…" Chopper said.
Indeed, after coming to he'd sat on the deck of the Merry, staring sightlessly out to sea for some time. Luffy's insistent calling had eventually broken through, but after only a brief exchange, Zoro had gathered up his white sword and gone belowdecks to collect the other two. He had paused by the storage room, face unreadable, not even seeming to see Usopp and Robin. A tentative greeting from the sniper had sent him hurrying away. Zoro never ran from anything, but to say he fled into the crow's nest wouldn't be a stretch.
Usopp looked at his hands. They were covered in plasters from patching up the hall and plucking the remains of the glass from the shattered porthole window. "And Sanji's pretty messed up."
Chopped nodded glumly. "18 stiches on his right side, 14 stitches on his back, two broken ribs on the left, extensive contusions, a concussion… He lost a lot of blood. It was just lucky I had enough stocked up. He has a very rare type."
"So what should we do?" Nami pressed again, looking at Luffy. "This isn't like a normal fight, and we can't just ignore what happened. Zoro—"
"Nothing," a hoarse, gravelly voice cut in. "Don't do anything."
They all looked to the galley doorway. Sanji stood there in a pair of gray sweatpants with a blue robe wrapped about him, hair disheveled and visible eye shadowed. Bandages circled his wrists from where the ties had cut into the skin. The side of his face was black and blue, and though he'd pulled the collar of the robe up as high as it would go, what could be seen of his throat was covered in angry bruises that were unmistakably hand shaped. He leaned casually against the doorframe, but he wore an air of weariness like second robe.
"Sanji!"
Luffy ran to him, but Chopper tackled him to the ground in his Heavy Point form before the rubberman could crush the other man in a hug.
"Stitches! Ribs!" the reindeer cried.
Nami and Usopp also got to their feet. Usopp offered his chair, but Sanji waved him off.
"Tired of sitting," he rasped.
"Sanji..." Nami said. She frowned, brows working as she tried to lay it out. "What happened was… We need to do something. You can't sail on a small ship with something like this between the crew. You can't have this kind of fight between crewmates and still—"
Luffy's mouth twisted downward, unhappy and uncomfortable with the talk.
Sanji bent down with a wince and patted the straw hat. "There was no fight between 'crewmates'. That thing wasn't Zoro."
"But—"
"It wasn't," Sanji said firmly. He straightened and swallowed, trying to work some moisture back into his raw throat. Usopp pressed a glass of water into his hand, and he took it gratefully.
Nami mulled over his words while he drank. "You're not…bothered, then?"
Sanji patted around the pockets of the robe looking for his smokes but remembered Chopper had confiscated them until his throat healed. He sighed and looked up.
"At the idiot mosshead? Maybe for wandering off and getting lost, but this stuff…?" He shook his head. "No. Just another day, another fight."
Nami snorted, but a small smile played at her lips. "I don't get men at all."
Sanji smiled tiredly back at her, but Robin saw it slip a hair when he unconsciously touched his neck.
Luffy was studying Sanji's face as well. The dark eyes held the visible sea blue one for a long time before his own face broke out in a smile of relief.
"I told him you'd understand!"
Chopper released him, and he sat cross-legged at Sanji's feet, grinning broadly.
"Just…give him space," Sanji managed after another sip. "Nobody would hate what happened more than him…"
Chopper's lip wobbled, and Usopp looked down at his own bandaged arm.
"I think it's time you had a bit more rest, Mr. Cook," Robin interjected calmly.
Sanji realized with a start that instead of leaning against the doorframe he was beginning to slide down it. Embarrassed, he gripped the edge and straightened.
"I'll be back to do dinner," he grumbled as he turned to leave.
Chopper was dismayed and Nami exasperated, but Luffy cheered. He walked a bit straighter as he left.
...
Sanji went back belowdecks intending to doze for a bit, but the sleep wouldn't come. The infirmary suddenly felt claustrophobic, and even retreating to the men's bunk room didn't alleviate the feeling. He sat on the couch with Robin's newspaper, staring but not really seeing the pictures and words. The bandages on his wrists throbbed.
Keep squirming and I'll cut your hands off.
He set down the newspaper. The hammocks swayed lazily in the background as the ship gently rocked back and forth. A pile of dirty clothes was stacked haphazardly by the door. He'd missed laundry day while he was out, and the smell of old socks and grubby shirts permeated the small space. Another smell made him wrinkle his nose. Sanji plucked at his robe and the smell became stronger. Chopper had cleaned him up enough to stitch him, but he stank of blood.
It looks good on you...
He stood and scrubbed a hand through his grimy hair. He thought he could smell other things too. Sweat, sake, metal. They were familiar smells, comforting ones—or had been. They were all over him now, mingled with the blood. He suddenly wondered if Zoro smelled like him. His head felt very light.
Sanji went over to his chest and snapped it open. He grabbed a fresh set of clothes from the neat squares of material and folded ties and made his way to the bath area. Amazingly, it was not only free but someone had recently pumped the water mechanism and flipped the heating system on. A pair of forgotten goggles hung from the handlebars of the water bike. There were also small touches like a fresh towel waiting and new bar of soap out—tangerine scented. Sanji collected them, then undressed and filled the bath.
He breathed deeply, sucking in a lungful of steamy air and tried to push away the intrusive thoughts that kept coming.
It was what it was. He stood by what he'd said in the galley. It hadn't been Zoro. It hadn't been the swordsman who had beat the shit out of him. It hadn't been the muscle-bound moron who had tied him down and toyed with him. The moss-headed bastard hadn't been the one marking him like some kind of possession, hadn't stuck his hands down his pants.
His face grew hot.
Teeth and lips, warm breath skating across his skin as the green head worked its way down his chest. The feel of a tongue darting out to taste blood and sweat and fear. Broad hands caught up in his hair to bare his throat and devour him as it whispered and taunted in Zoro's voice.
Whose idea do you think it was first?
With a wordless snarl, Sanji hurled the soap across the room. It hit the tiled wall with a bang and fell onto the rim of the tub. He watched as it slowly slipped off and into the water.
Blood roaring in his ears, he bent over the tub to retrieve it, then stuck his whole head in and yelled. Strings of watery curses, muted anger, and muffled fury spilled out until he had no breath left to say them.
He pulled out with a great arc of steaming spray. His face felt scalded, but it was nothing compared to the directionless rage boiling under his skin.
It wasn't Zoro's fault. It was all Zoro's fault.
Sanji sat back hard against the side of the tub, heedless of the sharp twinge from his stitches, and stretched his legs out. There were marks on his thighs from where the other man had pinned him. He covered the bruises with his palms and flexed. The muscle corded and bunched at his command, as strong and capable as ever. He could rive bone and ruin tissue with just the barest brush of his heel. He could kill with them if he really wanted to. Had he made a mistake trying not to when the thing had first made itself known? Would caving the bastard's head in now make him feel any better?
He indulged in the violent fantasy for a few moments before he suddenly saw Zoro's face again as it had looked when he'd taken back control for that brief moment. He shivered, and the anger seemed to drain from him.
No. He hadn't made a mistake, whatever had happened because of it.
Sanji let himself slide sideways until his cheek was pressed against the dewed tiles of the wall. He looked up and wondered if Zoro was wrestling with his own thoughts right then. If Zoro wanted to wash the smell of him off.
He sighed and pushed the dripping hair out of his face. The idiot was probably thinking of doing something stupid again. Well, he wasn't about to let him have the satisfaction of whatever it was.
Sanji retrieved the soap and set about ridding himself of the remains of the day. He would change, and cook, and talk some sense into the swordsman. And if Zoro needed it beaten into him, he would be more than happy to oblige.
To be continued in Chapter 7: Lagan
