A/N: I would like to apologize for chapter three. I think the whole chapter was atrocious. I just had so much trouble with letting things just flow, like their supposed to. Anyway, I hope this chapter makes up for it. I hope. . .
Zoro ignores him for the most part.
Well. . .not really.
Two days pass since his confession and already Sanji senses the progressive shift in his relationship with the swordsman.
There are eyes that linger on his frame, stemming from a heavy and discomforting gaze.
Sanji thinks it's Zoro's way of being discreet since he never does anything past the looking.
He spares Zoro, never returning the gaze, but hell if it doesn't bother him. It's strange for him to think, Zoro―of all people would feel the need to be discreet, especially when it came to Sanji.
There's less of a bite in his more snide remarks. Sure, when talking to Sanji he ends his words with the usual 'shitty cook' or makes frequent jabs at his eyebrows, but . . . How can he put this. . .The names seemed to ring to a different tune.
He realises they are uttered with endearment.
And it does more than freak him out. A whirl of emotions contort his expression. Embarrassment: his face flushes a bright red. Confusion: a tilt of a frown (because how on earth can you romanticize 'dart-brow'?) Guilt: wandering eyes because―fuck he can't do this anymore. Sanji may have been less sympathetic towards men and unremorseful when it came to his assholish behaviour towards Zoro, but he knew better than to lead him on.
But what's he supposed to say now? 'Sorry, Marimo, I only confessed to you because I wanted to distract you (and was hoping to avoid you) so I could focus on deterring your untimely death?'
Yeah, that would totally work.
The other Strawhats have been suspiciously quiet since Sanji's kiss with Zoro. At an earlier point in time, Sanji feared the eerie silence was, in fact, a veil of their disapproval, which put him in dismay, as he had not pegged his crew as the prejudiced type. Yet there has been a lack of frigid looks and holds of antagonistic demeanours which has him halt in the conclusion. Life simply goes on as normal aboard the Thousand Sunny. The crew is simply. . .quiet.
Sanji tries not to dwell on the mistakes made these past few days, for the time being anyway. He focuses on more important issues at hand.
He sits back in a velvet chair, his face illuminated by the aquarium's aquatic glow. A crisp sheet of white paper lays across the polished mahogany wood, scrawled with little cursive notes.
Notes on 'target M's' death
-Is outside during at time of death(does that cancel out sickness?)
-Agreeable weather(can assume he does not die due to natural disaster)
-Blood―internal (maybe relating back to sickness? Bad angle, could not see other visible wounds)
-Cry of an outsider(Unsure if shocked cry or knowing/devastated cry. Would determine if death was expected, confirming sickness or injury.)
Conclusion:? ? ?
(Lack of information)
Sanji throws his head back, fatigued. He has to start on lunch soon, and so far, he hasn't gotten anywhere with his vision analysis.
He's really starting to get frustrated. What good was he when he couldn't even get through the basics?
He crumples the paper in his palms, slipping the scrunched-up ball through his coat pocket. He's about to get up when he hears a voice from outside the door.
It's Zoro. He yells something Sanji can't really make out, his words are muffled by the door.
"Yeah, well, I don't want your help!" he snaps, slamming the door upon his entrance. He doesn't notice Sanji as he leans back against the door, exhaling a long, worn out sigh. His tan, calloused fingers comb through sweat dampened hair, brows drawn tightly together, creases formed in-between creases. The Marimo looks royally pissed, and Sanji is prudent enough to know not to cross him.
He wonders if he can somehow slip out without his knowing.
Zoro's eyes snap open and Sanji freezes as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
A tension strings between them.
Sanji's first to speak. "Got into an argument with someone?" he asks lamely.
Zoro resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Nami says we're docking an island soon, so if you want to stock up on ingredients, do it now."
Sanji tilts his head. "What kind of island?"
He shrugs. "Hell, if I know."
He makes a movement to leave.
Sanji is abrupt to call out to him. "Zoro, wait."
He turns his head, making a show to look annoyed, but there is a certain lack of peevishness in the expression, which again, unnerves Sanji. "What is it?"
His mouth hangs dumbly, words unsounded by his tongue.
'I don't love you'
Is what he was going to say.
But. . .
They end up kissing. And Sanji may have been the one to initiate it.
He vaguely recalls stepping towards him, arms blockading his sides. His thumb and forefinger tilting his face towards him. His eyes widened from their half-mast position, the indifferent mask often donned by the swordsman breaking at that moment. Sanji relished in his flushed face and in the discomfort brought on by their closeness. But as to who initiated what at that juncture is quickly forgotten as his lips capture his.
A warmth seeps through his body, a tingling sensation erupting from a single press of lips. His fingers numb from their intense urge to explore the specimen before him. But not wanting to go any farther in their shared affection, Sanji restrains, keeping one hand firmly at his side.
They fall deeper into the kiss, tongue protruding each other's mouths. A pleasuring rush of heat courses through him and Sanji drowns, practically drunk on the phenomenon. He feels Zoro's fingers rake through his hair, his grip tightening as Sanji pushes their mouths harder together.
There are little breaks in their kisses. They both gasp with each momentary parting of lips. When it gets to be too much, and black begins to sully his vision, Sanji pulls back, taking a moment to stabilize his breathing.
He's about to dive for another kiss when he catches the scent of blood.
Zoro's bleeding.
Everywhere.
A warm breeze picks up in the still aquarium. The sun rises above, the fish tanks fading into its brilliant shine. Zoro's clothes are torn and tattered, his hair matted with blood. His eyes edge with agony, glossed over in primal fear. Sanji extends his arms out towards him, alas, he fades from his reach. His form dissipates from his vision and suddenly he's faced with his own.
A cry that calls from his last vision echoes through rubble.
It's his cry.
He chokes on air, tears streaming down his face.
"Zoro. . .please. . .I'm sorry."
The marketplace bustles with life.
Vendors sell their produce, boasting on quality and shout promises of low-priced goods. The sharp scent of spices and the stink of fish mix into the heat of the day. Sanji hauls a large barren cart with Zoro trailing not far behind. The sun beats mercilessly overhead, sweat forming at his hairline. He pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket, dabbing gently at his forehead.
Sanji feels Zoro's worrying eyes at his back.
"Hey, shitty cook. . .are you okay?"
He shoots him a brief, sideways glance. "Of course. Why do you ask?"
In truth, Sanji knows why Zoro inquiries to his well-being. He's really just humouring him. . .in a cruel sort of way. He watches in delight as Zoro tenses, proceeding to blush and mutter his disinterest under his breath.
That delight is quick to fade as Sanji reflects on the earlier events of the day. Cold sweat shivers at his spine, his recollection of the vision a fervour chilling agent.
He cries over Zoro.
And Zoro. . .
He still doesn't know what happens.
So he decides to change the subject.
"We need to stock up on beef and poultry," he says. "And I need at least three kilos of salt. Those are our essentials. Everything else is just extra."
He nods. "I thought I saw butcher somewhere around here. . .Wait here a moment. I'll be right back."
"Okay," Sanji says, tucking his handkerchief back into his breast pocket. "Don't take too long―" It's then he remembers the directionally mental that is Zoro. "Shit―wait, Marimo!"
He's already gone.
"Ah, dammit."
He turns, lugging the cart behind him. He knows trying to find Zoro is like searching for a needle―a very fine one at that―in a haystack, but he tries anyway because Zoro is in no position to be alone.
His eyes scrutinize a mob of bodies, endeavouring to spot a mess of vibrant green in netting shades of yellows, blacks, and browns.
Strangely enough, he comes across a pair of icy blue eyes.
And a cryptic smile.
"Cook-san," Robin greets.
"Robin-chawn!" Sanji returns with a tad more zeal. "What are you doing at the marketplace?"
There is a pause. "I thought I'd look around, perhaps indulge in the island's culinary delicacies."
Sanji feels his lips tug downwards. Somehow he gets the sense she's not telling the whole truth. "Is that all?"
She blinks, a flash of surprise lighting her features, but she's quick to recover from her shock, the embodiment of serenity. "Why, Cook-san, I get the feeling you don't believe me." She taps a finger at the corner of her mouth. "I wonder what schemes I shall be accused of?"
"N―No! I would never not believe you, Robin-chawn. And to accuse you of devious acts is the last thing I would want to do!"
She makes a low chuckle. "I'm only kidding." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, Cook-san, If you must know, I've come here to settle my curiosity."
"Curiosity? About what?"
Arms held behind her back, Robin takes an inconspicuous look over her shoulder before she speaks. "Years ago, when I still lived life as a fugitive, I heard certain. . rumours," she says. There is a dearth of warmth in her voice. "Of a fruit that originates from this very island. It was an artificially created fruit, now no longer in production. It's sole purpose was to 'counter'―and I use the word counter lightly―the devil fruits. In reality, its goal was to eliminate the handicaps shouldered by devil fruit users."
"So. . .the inability to swim," Sanji provided.
"Exactly. But producing the fruits was highly illegal and held hefty consequences."
"I don't understand. Why was it illegal?"
"Well, the world holds very orthodox traditions. People believed these 'fake devil fruits' would throw the balance of this world. Devil fruit users are a rarity, and to have so many users that are virtually flawless, well. . .it doesn't bode well, does it?"
"I guess not." Sanji searches for a cigarette, still plenty interested in these so called fabricated fruits. "But it doesn't really sound like you're all that against it."
She quirks a brow at him. "Oh, I am. Just not for the same reasons."
"What are your reasons then?"
She's reticent. "Well, it's prejudice of me to say but. . .The artificial devil fruits granted their consumers with abilities too morbid for my tastes." Her face is taut. "I've come across a few users since my run from the government. Their powers are quite . . .odd."
His cigarette burns between his lips, unenjoyed. Their conversation seems to have taken an unexpected turn, partaking a more personal route. "What sorts of powers are out there?" he asks even though he wants to do anything but such. Zoro, still lost amongst the market crowd, for the moment, lays forgotten in the backs of his mind.
"To name a few: The sua-sua fruit. If one stands within a ten-meter radius, a user may enable his or her enemy's conscious to kill themselves. The necro-necro fruit. The user can raise bodies, but not their souls, commanding cadavers in various condition to one's will and command." Her arms tighten at her sides. "Then, if not worst of all, there is the fate-fate fruit. I've not seen it with my eyes but I've indeed heard of it."
Sanji is the one to supply this information. "The user of that fruit can change a person's fate when it comes to life or death."
"Yes! How did you know?"
Sanji offers a sympathetic look.
She clamps a hand over her mouth.