The food was in the oven on low to keep it warm until everyone else woke up

TITLE: The Way to a Man's Heart

AUTHOR: endsoftime

PAIRING: ZoroxSanji

RATING: Prolly 'M' cuz I suck. An awful lot.

NOTES: Not too much to say…it's more of Sanji being all "OMG, noe idea wot ai want, lolz!" With a fun little twist at the end. Have fun.

Chapter Three -- In Which a Certain Cook is Perpetually Denied Repose

The food was in the oven on low to keep it warm until everyone else woke up.

The dishes had been washed, dried, washed harder, dried less, slipped to the floor, some broken, the pieces swept away, and the remaining ones soaking in the sink for their own protection.

Chairs seemed to fall over of their own accord, the cabinets swung open, subjecting more dishes to the cruelty of the floor as the Going Merry pitched lazily in the rocking waves, and gaps in the wood seemed to rise out of nowhere for tripping purposes. When the table finally managed to become conspicuously upside down following a loud bang and deep scuff marks in the wood, the cook decided the galley had turned into a death trap, and escape was vital for maintaining sanity.

And his life.

It wasn't until after he'd opened a new pack of cigarettes, placed a fresh stick between his pursed lips, and then proved unable to light it with the flaming match that he realized just how badly his hands were shaking. In fact, if he was truly honest, he'd have to admit his entire body was vibrating just then.

Which made no sense.

Lack of sex didn't do this to someone. Sanji only had one addiction, and its name was Mr. Nicotine. That's all the tremors were; he just needed a cigarette. Even if it was close to his seventy-fifth in two hours. And he'd fix this problem real soon, once his goddamned hands stayed the fuck put! They shouldn't even be doing this. His hands had always done his bidding; why were they suddenly going haywire, like all the nerves had been severed?

Why was every inch of muscle jerking and spasming slightly under his skin?

Why did it feel like he couldn't breathe?

"I should go see Chopper," he muttered to the gently lolling sea. "Maybe I'm sick or something."

Yeah, that's what it was. He was sick. He'd caught some horrible virus that would have killed a lesser man within hours, and here he was standing valiantly after six days of agony, with only a mere twitch as any sign of the deadly disease's affect on his tough ass body.

"And now I've apparently turned into Usopp," the cook confided once again with the ocean, a grim little smirk pulling at his trembling lip.

He lit another match. Maybe this time he'd…but no. The flame danced wildly in between his fingers, managing to go no where near the actual cigarette. Sanji sighed and flicked the match into the blue waters below, then stuffed the death stick into his coat pocket. He would surrender, at least for now.

Instead, the nerve-shot cook took to tapping his index finger against his pursed lips, as if compensating for his lack of hazy smoke, while the rest of his body leaned rather heavily on the railing of the ship. "I haven't eaten anything yet…maybe I'm just really hungry. Probably why I'm shaking."

Despite the sheer ridiculousness of all this, Sanji had to pat himself on the back for even admitting that his body was being less than cooperative. But honestly, when wasn't it nowadays? He saw it as a step away from being what his beautiful Nami-swan called, "stupidly male."

But did that mean he was turning into a girl?

"Fuck no!" he supplied immediately, and then felt dumb for the outburst. There wasn't even anyone around to accuse him of anything. And just because the asshole marimo always forced him on the bottom did not make him any less of a lady-killing sexy beast, or a total badass. Well…all right, the bastard didn't force him, necessarily; in a weird, twisted sort of way he actually kind of liked being on the bottom, since he didn't have to do any real work, and he came every time, anyway, and that's all that really mattered, but that didn't mean —

"GAH!" Sanji shouted, grabbing fistfuls of hair. "Quit thinking that shit!"

And besides, the thought of consuming food made his stomach curl unpleasantly, so he discarded that theory and began rummaging around his head for more pathetic excuses to help explain away this sad, stupid situation. He had to find a plausible answer, and soon. If he didn't, his mind might just start fabricating something he would seriously come to regret.

Regardless of whether it was true or not.

"All right, Sanji!" he muttered to himself. "Just calm the fuck down. Just calm down and think about it." He sighed, cursing his body for its rebelliousness and for being unable to light a fucking cigarette. Christ! How big of a pussy do you have to be to not even manage holding one goddamned match to one goddamned cigarette long enough for the goddamned flame to catch? Shit!

"It's okay, Sanji," he soothed, regaining control. "It's just the nicotine talking. I'll be fine, just breath. Now. What exactly is the problem?"

There's an asshole of a swordsman on this ship who suddenly goes all blushing-bride and refuses to put out.

"And what are my options for dealing with this?"

Hmmm…waiting in a dark corner to jump him, drugging his food, slipping him a mickey, knocking him unconscious with a frying pan, chloroform, other fumes that may very well be lethal in large doses, bondage…

Sanji grimaced sharply. "When the fuck did I become such a freak? It's all that fuck-head's fault. Goddamned marimo. Self-righteous bastard."

"Sanji?"

His lungs locked up enough to make him gasp, and his twitchy body jerked hard into the ship's rail. He very nearly swallowed his tongue. Spinning around frantically, Sanji confronted his sudden visitor: a particularly concerned looking navigator.

"Nami-san!" he cried, attempting to put a sunny smile on his face. "You're up so early today!"

"Yeah, I thought I heard someone mumbling …"she said, looking him over carefully. Her scrutinizing gaze only made him more nervous; his wonderful Nami-swan was far too clever not to notice his slight trembling from head to foot. "Who were you talking to out here?"

"Err…n-no one, Nami-swan. I was just going over the menu for today." Sanji felt awful for lying to his goddess. "Are you hungry yet? I could fix you something light until breakfast is ready to serve!"

"No, I can wait, thank you Sanji-kun," she answered, not one to be distracted by anything that wasn't gold or rubies, both of which she so richly deserved!

"Then maybe something to drink? We still have some of the coffee you love so much."

"You mean the stuff from Pandina?"

Sanji's heart hiccupped in his chest, and he thought he might very well die right there on the deck. It was an innocent enough question. It didn't mean she suspected anything. And the coffee was from a small shop on one of the dustier streets of that particular town. When everything got fucked up. There was no reason for him to act like he'd been shot. But that didn't stop him from practically feeling the bullet sink into his lungs, rend his breath, tear apart his insides and force the rushing of his blood to drown out noise, vision, thought, life, sending him spiraling down through darkness and smoke and doubt and cold and—

"Sanji-kun, are you all right!"

He blinked. Nami-swan's beautiful, alarmed face came back into focus…oh fuck, did I just pass out? Great, now my lovely goddess will think me a weakling, and I can never show my shameful face in her glory ever again!

But no, he quickly realized he hadn't fainted, just blacked out for a second. He was still on his feet, thank God, but his fingers had a fierce death grip on the railing behind him. Sanji was sure there'd be grooves left over. Ussop wouldn't be happy.

"Sanji-kun!" Nami-san demanded, giving his shoulder a firm jerk.

The poor cook shook his head, trying to get all the cogs to settle in their proper places. Fuck, this was not good. He grinned the most winning smiled he was capable of, and managed to rasp out, "I-I'm fine, Nami-swan! Knowing you care is more than enough to cure any ailment! I can die a blissful man, now!"

She frowned squarely at him and released his shoulder with a huff. She didn't buy it for a second, and honestly Sanji expected no less. His wonderful Nami-swan was so very intelligent and perceptive…unlike some otherpeople on this ship that Sanji was trying his damndest not to think about. Surely her keen eyes had noticed his slight tremors; surely her acute hearing had picked up the vaguest hesitation in his voice, and noted his lack of usual enthusiasm when being graced with the privilege of speaking to her. In fact, if Sanji was feeling particularly honest, he'd have to admit that his performance was really rather shitty. He wouldn't be surprised if Luffy managed to figure out something was amiss in less than three or four hours. Which was saying something.

But he wasn't honest, and like hell would he give up so easily. Though it pained him dearly to lie to his love, he also couldn't bear it if she knew the truth.

For her part, Nami-san said nothing for a few long, excruciating moments (although the agony was dulled due to her radiant presence.) Her smooth brow was knit with concern, and while Sanji did bask joyously in the knowledge that she cared, he did silently curse himself for causing those unfortunate wrinkles on her flawless face!

Ah, Fate! Such a cruel mistress! So capricious and merciless! Did the gods above have no sympathy for this heavenly maiden, who deserves nothing short of the very life that flows through my veins? Why must the powers that be drag her unmarred innocence into this filthy affair of licentiousness? Is there no justice in the world? Is there no compassion? Is there no —

Nami-swan's features were no longer darkened by confusion. A strange light illuminated it, sort of like an epiphany dawning. Her eyes were set with perfect calm, and her full lips were edged upwards just slightly…

Sanji swallowed hard. While he was loathe to admit such a thing about his precious Nami-swan, he was forced to concede that had this particular expression fallen on any male member of the crew, Sanji would have mule-kicked their goddamned faces in. But since it was Nami-swan, all he felt was trapped.

"So, Sanji-kun, please tell me," she began, leaning in closer to him, her look of accomplishment growing more…confident by the second. Yes, that was the correct word. It certainly wasn't smug, not by a long shot. Maybe…

A thin, delicate finger hooked his tie and drew Sanji forward, until their foreheads nearly touched.

He tried to swallow again, but his throat muscles spasmed, and he only succeeded in choking.

"What's it like, fucking Zoro?"

TBC

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