Author's Note: And here we are, the final chapter! It was a much longer voyage than I'd originally intended, but I hope you've enjoyed this dark little interlude in the lives of the Straw Hats (and especially the boys), and who knows what may come next? Let me know what you think if you'd like, and as always, much appreciation for coming along with me on the ride!

Additional notes on the last chapter titles:

Jetsam - "unwanted material or goods that have been thrown overboard"

Flotsam - "debris in the water that was not deliberately thrown overboard"

Lagan - "anything sunk in the sea, but attached to a buoy or the like so that it may be recovered"

...

The breeze from the north was cool and had a touch of bite to it. Sanji let it wash over him as he exited the galley, fortifying himself.

He adjusted the pack at his side, then checked the contents again obsessively. The food was fine, just as it had been before. It made the pack no less awkward, though. The sharp corner of the large bento box dug into the tender rows of stitches in his side, and the makeshift strap Usopp had rigged up for him was serviceable but aggravating. Or maybe he was just tired.

He took another deep breath and made his way to the main mast. Night was falling, and Zoro had skipped dinner as well, only coming down briefly before retreating right back up again like some kind of brooding, green-furred mountain monkey. Sanji had been worried and relieved in equal parts at first, then pissed. If Zoro thought for a second he could avoid him of all people after what had happened, he was wrong.

Sanji checked the food again before starting up the rungs. He was breathing hard by the time he reached the lookout perch. The swordsman was sure to give him shit about being winded, but it was his damn fault in the first place.

He clambered in as gracefully as he could manage, but he needn't have worried about bumping into the other man. Zoro must have heard him coming because he was backed as far as he could get away from the opening. He didn't greet or even turn around when Sanji appeared. He only stared out to sea while Sanji stared at him.

His back looked as broad as ever. The tanned muscle was rigid under the habitual white cotton shirt that was still dotted with blood—Sanji's blood—here and there. The wind plucked at mussed green hair that was sticking up at angles as if he'd been running a hand through it over and over again. Anger and unease hung in the air like physical things.

Sanji set down the bento box and patted his pockets for a smoke. A moment later he remembered that Chopper still had his tobacco as part of his smoking ban. Annoyed, he settled for crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently.

After a minute, once it became obvious that Sanji wasn't just going to leave, Zoro ground out, "You shouldn't be here."

You of all people, it sounded to Sanji's ears.

"You neither," he shot back.

"Get back in bed. I could hear you puffing the whole way up."

"Make me."

Zoro sighed. "…How can you even stand to be near me?"

"Like you could ever get to me."

"Lair."

Sanji sniffed.

Silence spread out between them like a yawning gulf. The cold wind he'd enjoyed earlier now made him feel unpleasantly chilly. Sanji pushed back the feelings that were starting to creep around the edges of his mind and bent to open the box with the food.

"I'm leaving the ship."

Sanji froze. His veins felt both coldly leaden and molten hot at the same time. The sensation was so acute it was almost physically painful.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and continued to set out the food. Soy glazed saba on rice, pickled radishes and cucumbers, potatoes simmered in broth until they flaked apart—small plates, simple food. He arranged them by the swordsman's feet.

Zoro was silent through the process. When the sake cups tinkled under the dusk sky, something seemed to snap in him.

"I said I'm leaving, you stupid cook!" he snarled, spinning to face Sanji.

Sanji met his ferocious, wounded gaze. "Sit down," he said, voice low and raw. He touched his throat. "I can't talk much, so don't make me shout."

Zoro stared at him. The tension in his muscles was so great that he almost seemed to vibrate.

"Zoro."

The swordsman closed his eyes, and the hands that had balled into fists at his sides slowly unclenched. Sanji tactfully looked away and busied himself with pouring the sake. He heard rather than saw Zoro turn and sit cross-legged with his back to him. The hands folded in the lap, but they opened and closed, opened and closed.

Sanji slid one of the small sake cups over and then took his own. He dropped into a sitting position by him. A wave of fatigue that had nothing to do with stitches or broken bones swept over him. He took a sip of the clear, rich liquid, set it down carefully before his trembling hands spilled it, and pressed gamely on.

"You're not."

"I am."

"No, you're not."

He heard the distinct sound of grinding teeth. Zoro turned suddenly and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He pushed and slammed Sanji down against the floor of the crow's nest, rattling the plates and cups. Agony flashed hot and white in a bright, razing light behind his eyes as stitches strained and broken bones ground together. He might have gasped. The swordsman half lay on him, heavy bulk pinning him hard against the worn grain of the wood. The heat of the tanned chest and warmth of his breath were too close, too familiar. The smell of old blood was overwhelming.

"Is this what you want?! More of this?!"

Through the haze of pain, animal-like panic clawed at his throat. Zoro was holding him down, but he felt paralyzed from the inside while ghostly hands caressed the shuttered parts of his mind. He couldn't breathe and the terror must have shown in his eyes because Zoro froze as well. Hot shame washed over the other man's face, and Sanji knew then with crystal fine clarity what he was trying to do. He'd been right. Zoro was full of stupid ideas.

Sanji threw an arm over his face, not trusting his own expression right then. The panic slowly died and was replaced with a kind of shapeless sadness.

"That's really low of you, Zoro," he whispered.

The other man flinched.

"After all that…after it made you do stuff, now you're trying to make me do stuff too. Make me mad enough to hit you or hate you. But I won't give you the excuse you want. I won't push you off the ship. I know you think you deserve it, and fuck me I'm pissed right now, but I won't let you do it."

"…"

"I'm not going to hit you. I'm not going to fight with you. I don't hate you."

"…"

"Zoro…"

The green head drooped, forehead just brushing his shoulder. "Sorry."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry…"

Sanji smiled tiredly at the last one. Zoro's forehead pressed against him now, in supplication or maybe prayer. He murmured something unintelligible into the blue poplin weave of the shirt, and Sanji lifted his hand to let a finger trail through the gold earrings that were back in their usual place. He was careful to be gentle, mindful of the torn section. The links chimed as they fell.

"Can I talk now?" he asked.

Zoro eased off of him, but he turned away, hiding his face, and resumed sitting with his back to him. Sanji sat up slowly with a groan, ribs protesting with every inch. Chopper was not going to be happy. He gingerly turned as well, arranging himself opposite the swordsman, back to back, almost touching.

Sanji reached down and picked up his cup. Amazingly, nothing had spilled. He took a sip and let the alcohol add to the fire in his throat. This pain felt good, though. Clarifying.

"As I was saying… You're not leaving."

"I—!"

"I said I can't talk much, so shut up already. Just drink." Sanji cleared his throat. "Saying you're leaving… It's like what you tried to pull back in the storage room. It's just another out."

Zoro held his tongue, but there was a distinct growling noise coming from the other man now. Sanji leaned over and refilled his cup.

"I know. I get it, believe me. But for something you didn't even do? No, don't even try," he said as the growl began to rise in volume. "It wasn't you. You didn't do shit except wander off. That thing could have taken any of us. Would have done far worse if it had been us…"

It was true. The certainty of it rang in his head like a bell. The thought was sobering. And ugly. Would he have fared better than Zoro? His pride would have said yes before all this. Now he knew for certain that he wouldn't have. Oh, he would have fought tooth and nail. Like Zoro, he'd rather die than hurt his friends, but those moments of control, those moments of clawing past the hold of that thing… Would they have even been possible for him? Roronoa Zoro spent his life in finely tuned control, of his body, of his mind. He couldn't do what he did otherwise. Sanji suddenly felt stripped and very naked in the face of that truth. He finished his cup with a gulp and poured himself another.

Zoro set down his own. It was empty again. Sanji refilled it and waited. After a few minutes, Zoro finally spoke. "And what if it was me…or, some of me, anyway…"

"What do you mean?"

Zoro hesitated. "What if…I felt some of those things too… What if what I felt made it do those things?"

"You mean the beating the shit out of me part or the…other stuff?"

Zoro was silent.

Sanji swirled the clear liquid around. "Let me ask you a question first. When it said, 'It was me in the kitchen', was it?"

"I…was sort of there until I started drying the dishes."

"And…?"

"And what?" Zoro said bitterly. "You want me to say I didn't think about doing it? About you?"

Sanji flushed bright red. He was grateful their backs were to each other and the swordsman couldn't see. "…I don't care about that." A small lie. "A man's thoughts are his own. I think about shit all the time." He gave Zoro a sidelong glance. "I want to know why it left."

"It…didn't…exactly."

"So it was you at the end, then, right? You made it let go and left. I thought so."

"What's your point, cook?"

"My point is, you stopped it. You didn't do shit to me. You didn't do anything to Robin, to Nami, to Usopp, to Chopper, to Luffy. You tried to protect us. That's what you do. Nothing's changed. It wasn't you."

Zoro held onto his cup very tightly but didn't drink.

"There were times when I wanted to do those things. I wanted to yell at Chopper for trying to baby me. I wanted to mess with Nami. I wanted to…hit you. It just kept coming out. It wasn't me, but it also wasn't it exactly. That morning before Usopp fried me, I was going to gut Nami."

The admission hung in the air. Again, Sanji felt cold fingers touching his neck.

"She wouldn't stop harping on about something or other. I had my hands on Kitetsu, but I got Wado out instead and went through the forms and…it stopped. I was able to stop. But I wanted to so badly. Was that it or was it me? If I had hurt her, would we be having this conversation?"

Sanji didn't know how to answer him. He probably would have killed Zoro. Or tried, anyway. And Zoro might have been happy for him to do it. What had Usopp thought Zoro had said back then? "Stop" and "killed me"? The sniper had misheard. Zoro had been saying "Kill me." The realization made his stomach sink like it had back in the storage room.

"Honestly," Sanji said, raking a hand through his hair, "I don't know. But what I do know, is that that thing was insidious. You never would have done that or any of those things without it there pushing and twisting your thoughts. Don't even try to suggest otherwise. Whatever you felt at that time isn't what you'd actually do. It was just trying to take control. That's all."

"…Even if that's true, it was my hands doing those things. My body. My thoughts directing it. How can you guys ever trust me again? How can you? I put my hands on you. I wanted… I did it, but…" He put his face in his hands. "I didn't mean to do those things to you," he said quietly.

Sanji stared down at the studded leather of his belt. The silver buckle was clean now. Scuffed but clean, and it still reflected the light of the waning sun.

"I know."

"If… If I could take…"

"It's okay."

Sanji felt rather than saw the swordsman's face twist.

"You're too forgiving, cook." Zoro looked down at the little plates of food. "I can still see my teeth marks on you, my hand around your neck. You should be kicking my head in right now. You keep saying it wasn't me, but it wouldn't have done those things to you if it hadn't been me. It's because of me. I'm the reason, and I took something from you. Why aren't you—"

Frustrated, Sanji slammed his drink down and twisted, seizing the collar of Zoro's shirt with both hands. He pulled, forcing the other man to turn and look at him. The sleeves of his own shirt slid back and the bandages on his wrists were on full display. Sanji let go and turned his hands palms up so Zoro could see his prized possessions, his everything. He looked the other man in the eye.

"It didn't take anything from me that mattered thanks to you. You tried to stop it. You kept it from knowing. If it had realized sooner…" He shuddered, remembering the threat once it had put the pieces together. "So get it through your thick skull: you didn't do this. You still feel bad? Want to say sorry? Fine. Then stay. Say it. Make it better. Don't do this martyr shit."

Zoro hung his head.

He still… Sanji ground his teeth. How could he get through to him? Through the godawful mess that was blood, and ties, and teeth, and being exposed like... He turned away and pressed a hand to his mouth. His teeth worried into the soft meat of a thumb almost hard enough to break the skin as he wrestled with something. He'd held onto it since the night in the kitchen, turned it over and over and tried to understand it while he'd made waffle after waffle the morning after. He didn't know what to do with it yet, but maybe it was only fair. A secret for secrets spilled.

"Fine, then," he said quietly. "You want to know how I really feel? I lied before. About the other stuff."

Zoro's head came up. There was a terrible stillness in him as though he was bracing for a blow.

Sanji looked at his hand, at the impression of his own teeth in the skin. "I lied when I said I didn't care about what you thought about me—were thinking about me—in the kitchen."

The stillness became a bleeding thing. It dripped down and gathered into the planks, sliding between the cracks and falling to the deck below.

Sanji swallowed and continued through the band constricting his chest. "I…was surprised. I never imagined you were… I couldn't stop thinking about it. And even after all this, part of me…" He bit his lip. "I lied. I do care. If it had been you…maybe I wouldn't have minded."

Zoro dropped his cup.

Sanji drew his knees up and pressed his forehead into them. "So don't fucking leave because that doesn't fix shit, and I don't know what to do with this, all right?!" His voice cracked with the vehemence and embarrassment he felt. He was hot and cold and so very tired. Weariness stole over him like a heavy blanket. As it settled about him, he unconsciously leaned against the broad, warm back for support, just as they all did, just as he always had when he needed to.

"I'm tired of talking now. Just eat your damn food and help Usopp fix…the Merry…tomorrow, okay…"

Zoro stiffened at the contact, then eventually relaxed as soft sounds of sleeping rose over the creaks of the ship. He sat like that for some time, eyes looking out over the horizon, mind looking in under the lid at the thing he'd just been given.

As the dusk approached its zenith, he carefully reached down and picked up the bowl of rice. The chopsticks followed, and he held them loosely in his hand for a moment, then took a piece of the fish and put it in his mouth.

The setting sun was all molten gold and dying embers, the angry red orb giving way to velvety shades of blue. Stars began to peek past the cobalt veil, and the Merry pressed on through the dark waters.

...

The End, but also a Beginning of Sorts