Suffering in Silence
By Dixxy Mouri
Spices

Somehow, despite the non-stop clusterfuck the first nineteen years of his life had been, Sanji's life somehow managed to get a lot more chaotic once he joined Monkey D. Luffy. He didn't think it was possible – he was already a runaway prince, he'd survived a shipwreck that nearly starved him to death, and he'd spent most of his formative years being raised by an ex-pirate. And yet, all of that felt so simple compared to life with the Straw Hat Pirates.

What a lame name for a pirate crew, he'd thought to himself. He wondered how Luffy felt about it, or even if he had any feelings about it at all. His captain did really love that straw hat (Nami-san eventually told him the story behind it – he had no idea the hat held that much sentimental value), and, well, he'd heard worse names for a pirate crew before. They couldn't all be the Badass McAwesome Pirates, after all.

But even if he had mixed feelings on the name of the crew had ended up with, he couldn't say that being one of the five Straw Hats wasn't interesting as all hell. Maybe it was because after so many years of fighting off pirate crew after pirate crew they all felt like the same group over and over again, but being in the midst of Luffy's crew made it all the more clear where one member started and another ended.

Luffy was like a drop of hot sauce, able to make event the tamest of situations all the more exciting, and it really didn't take much to get the desired (or undesired) effect. Of course too much could be a bit much to handle. But, then again, after seeing him fight at the Baratie and against the fishmen, he knew that Zeff was right about this man, and Sanji was compelled to follow him to the ends of the Earth. He was just as essential as salt.

Zoro was like garlic – strong, resilient, and stubborn. He didn't give up easily, even after he nearly died at the hands of Hawkeye Mihawk. Garlic was fantastic in small doses, but too much could be a bit of a turn-off, which was pretty close to Sanji's feelings about the swordsman. While he definitely didn't distrust the green haired man or anything, the two had a tendency to clash. Sometimes he wondered if it was because they were so different, but he ultimately decided it was because they were so similar.

Usopp was like cinnamon. The man was more versatile than a first glance might tell you. Sanji's first impression of the liar was, well, it was a question – what the hell was this man doing on a pirate vessel? He was scared of just about everything and didn't seem to be taking anything seriously. But as he got to know him, he learned that he was a talented artist, a genius inventor, and possibly the best sharpshooter he'd ever laid eyes on (and he did it all with a slingshot?). Most people saw cinnamon and thought of cinnamon rolls or cookies, but there was no end to what it could be used for – teas, curries, sauces, cider . . . it was a surprisingly spice to say the least, much like the sniper.

Nami-san was ginger . . . and not just because of her beautiful orange hair. No, Sanji found her to hot and spicy, but her presence could also be very soothing at the same time, a pallet cleanser for the rest of their rambunctious crew. It could be sweet like candy, but still had a bite beneath its surface. She was smart, probably smarter than Usopp (hell, probably smarter than all of them), and was quite a talent herself – a thief, a navigator, a cartographer, and the voice of reason when they all needed it most.

Sanji wasn't really sure what he was. He finally decided he was a curry powder, but that wasn't any one thing. Curry powder was a blend of other spices, and no two curry powders were quite the same. True, a refined pallet could pick out the individual spices and see what it was really made of and determine just how good or bad the curry powder was, but most people would just slurp it down with the meat, vegetables, potatoes, and rice without a second thought.

Just like me.

Maybe someone from North Blue would recognize their trademark eyebrows, but it wasn't as if the trait hadn't spread around the sea with time. Sometimes it was as simple as distant relatives becoming more and more distant over time and losing power to them. Sometimes one of the men would have an "accident" with a woman outside of their station so there were probably a number of bastard children with their blood running through their veins.

All he had to do was write-off any observations made about his eyebrows as one of the above. He figured most people would by that story – it was simple enough, after all, and what were the chances? As long as they assumed he was a mix of simple ingredients that looked better than it was that was all he needed. Luffy and the others wouldn't question his curry – curry was curry to them, and that was fine. He could stay with them for a long time on that story.

As a little joke to himself, he always kept the spices he likened to the rest of the crew on the top shelf of his spice rack – a small bottle of hot sauce, a few cinnamon sticks, some cloves of garlic, ginger root, and a very good curry powder that had surprised him in one port. Still, there was room on that top shelf for more spices, and he realized that there were still a number of roles they had yet to fill. No doctor, no shipwright, no helmsman . . . and a musician that Luffy had decided he wanted pretty badly.

Sanji didn't do much with that top shelf of spices (he even had bottles of ground cinnamon, garlic, and ginger on the lower shelves that he used more often), but he did use them for special occasions. He wasn't sure if anyone picked up on, but to him? These were extra special. He only used them if they had something to celebrate, such as their successful voyage up and down Reverse Mountain (a trip that, even though he knew this was the right crew to be sailing with, had made him a little nervous because he knew they might there) or the night they escaped with their lives from Whiskey Peak with a princess in tow.

And that princess, while not quite earning a spot on his spice rack yet, had a surprising aftertaste he didn't see coming.

"Sanji-san . . . can I ask you a question?"

. . .

"It's . . . have we met somewhere before?"