Chapter 2

"Hey, failure, are you dead yet?"

There was another thrust to his ribs again, knocking out what little air was left inside his ribs. Someone cackled; probably Yonji. Sanji whimpered and clutched his hands tighter to the cold metal surrounding his head. His body was on fire. It was long since he tried to curl up on himself again, as Niji would force him back into an outspread position. His abdomen would probably be colored in purples and blacks, a couple of ribs were surely broken at this point and Sanji was quite sure one of his shoulders had dislocated, judging by the nauseating throbs it gave. The boy couldn't care less at this point. All he could do was hold on to the deadweight of the iron helmet, trying to somehow diminish the all-encompassing drone it gave whenever one of his brothers kicked it, leaving Sanji disoriented with ringing ears and pulsing temples.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sanji willed the scrunching of his face to diminish and went on to tenderly rub at his temples. There was a sour taste in his mouth and the cook registered a faint ringing in his ears. Longing for some water, air and nicotine, Sanji very slowly moved himself out of his hammock, one hand always attached to the throbbing mess that was his head. Great, he thought to himself, migraines it is for today.

Today was probably a little bit far stretched, regarding it being the middle of the night. Somehow, Sanji managed to stumble onto the grassy deck of the Sunny, before collapsing to his knees. Hell, he was a greater mess than he would have guessed. A dull thud boomed across the deck and while Sanji's rational self knew it had to be the swordsman being on watch duty who had noticed him and came to check, the lingering grasp of his nightmare was still tight on him, leaving the blond with a coppery taste to his mouth. Sanji registered the familiar pressure on his rib-cage, the cold, clammy droplets of sweat running down his neck and the urge to bury his shaking hands deep in his blond locks.

"You look miserable, curly" Zoro stated, keeping a calm stance at a slight distance from Sanji's hunched up form.

The cook struggled to swallow down the sickening lump in his throat. He knew the signs of an incoming panic attack all too well and didn't want to expose himself like that to the swordsman. But rivals or not, he also knew the quiet, boorish man that was their first mate would never let his nakama down, even with the strange strain on their relationship lately.

"Make your mossy ass useful and fetch me a drink, would you", Sanji managed to growl, thigh without any bite to it.

"Shitty cook", the green-haired man mumbled more to himself while heading for the galley.

Taking this short break of the swordsman's steely gaze, Sanji gave his best to collect himself. Startled, he registered the other man must have returned, as a blanket was placed around his stiff shoulders and a glass of water appeared right in front of him, attached to a tanned hand.

"Need to let go of that ridiculous hair of yours, dartboard", Zoro muttered calmly. Irritated, Sanji blinked. Shit, was he that far gone? With a surprising tenderness, calloused fingers loosened Sanji's death-grip on his head and arranged both of his clammy hands around the offered glass. After a couple sips of cool water, he already began to feel more like himself again.

"Sorry, mosshead, I'm quite a mess", Sanji apologized.

"'s alright", Zoro replied while sitting down on the lush grass of the deck across from Sanji.

Being a lot calmer than before, the cook fumbled for his cancer sticks, giving an irritated sound as his still shaking hands just couldn't manage to work the lighter.

"Good-for-nothing cook", the swordsman chided soflty as he took matters to his own hands, snatching the lighter from Sanji and leaning forwards to light his cigarette.

"What is it these past few days, marimo?", the cook ventured, feeling bold with the nicotine finally flooding his system.

Judging by Zoro's defensive pose, the man was quite reluctant to offer him any answer. He remained quiet for so long, Sanji was sure he wouldn't get an answer. Surprisingly enough, the swordsman suddenly looked as if he was readying himself for battle, before blurting: "Just don't do that self-sacrificing shit anymore! You got nakama – so let us help your sorry ass!".

At that, Sanji had to refrain himself from chuckling.

"You moss-for-brains probably don't even know what a huge hypocrite you are, do you?"

"'m not, shit-cook"

Being way too tired after that damn nightmare and the almost panic attack, the blond just gave the other man a cocky don't give me that bullshit look, then went on dragging his exhausted ass back to the boys' dorm to get at least a few hours of sleep.

Subduing the foreseen migraines with the pills Chopper had made for him a while ago, Sanji was preparing lunch in the galley the next day. Other than the headache he was doing surprisingly well after such a night. He had to admit the marimo had done a rather good job keeping him from having a full-forced panic attack with his calm, unwavering demeanor. Jumping over his shadow, Sanji decided to go out of his way to bring a plate up to the crow's nest.

Dexterous hand chopped up some seaking an other fish, marinading them before tossing them into a pan, while he waited for the rice to be ready. Garnishing the dish with some nori – would this be considered cannibalism? - he grabbed a bottle of juice made from Nami's tangerine trees. Damn mosshead would probably want some liquor, but Sanji wasn't feeling that grateful to allow daytime drinking.

Gracefully balancing the simple dish he knew the swordsman preferred, he made his way up to the gym that was their crow's nest. Of course the other man was pushing his ridiculously toned body through just another workout, pumping iron like a mad man. Nothing new to that. But Zoro seemingly not noticing Sanji's presence, now that was something new indeed. The swordsman's one good eye appeared to be staring somewhere far behind the crow's nest's roof; the other man being completely zoned out. The cook even managed to place the plate down on the bench encircling the gym and silently took a few steps closer to the bench press the green-haired currently lay on.

Smirking to himself, Sanji barely lifted his right foot, the situation being too tempting to not mock his rival with a well-placed kick, when the steel-eyed gazed immediately zeroed in on him. Suddenly, Sanji felt like game cornered by a predator, an aura weighing down on him that he couldn't name anything but otherworldly – and oh, the look Zoro gave him; there was something vicious, malign about it...

A blink later and Sanji would have sworn everything had been just in his head, if not for the strange vacuum the absence of that aura left behind, together with an almost sulfuric aftertaste on his tongue.

"What you want, shit-cook?", an utterly unaffected swordsman asked.

"That last brain-cell of yours seemingly forgot about lunch", the blond quickly gathered himself and gestured in the rough direction of the plate he prepared.

Glancing over to the clock displaying the time in the crow's nest, it was obvious by Zoro's expression that the other man saw right through Sanji – Zoro didn't miss lunch, but Sanji plainly thanking him after that almost panic attack of his just didn't sit right with them being the ever bickering rivals they were.

"No need to do that, curly", Zoro uttered his version of you're welcome, when something thudded against the hatch leading to the gym, before a certain rubber man entered with a turmoil.