Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Rating: K

Warning: Language

Timeline: Movie 5 scene, though changed a bit for story purposes

~*Incision*~

As he lay there on the dusty earth, the firm weight of the carrot-haired navigator's petite hand on his shoulder, he couldn't even feel the pain – but an unsettling numbness that penetrated to the very depths of his soul. Though the crimson rivulets slithered down his chest and back from the deep gash in his shoulder, he could do nothing but unblinkingly stare at the moss-haired man in front of him, those deadly katana glinting almost painfully in the harsh sunlight.

He couldn't hear the screams of the women and his crew around him, rushing to his side as he clutched at the new wound in his shoulder. He couldn't concentrate on anything but the man before him, slick with sweat and glaring menacingly in an unspoken warning at him, daring him to question his motives…and that was okay – because he couldn't even begin to find his voice.

All Sanji could do was stare…unable to hold back the shocked and betrayed expression that took up residence on his usually benign features. As Nami screamed in his ear, panicking at the amount of blood pouring from his wound, it didn't even register to the cook, as he was too preoccupied staring into that emotionless face, searching it for any sign that might explain his highly uncharacteristic attack upon his own nakama…only to find nothing but hard, cold green eyes and a tensely set jaw.

"Stay out of my way," was the only thing he heard, the deep voice reaching his ears as a growl from around the white katana clutched harshly between his bite.

Those words hurt more than the bleeding gash that was finally beginning to sting…

Sanji unconsciously furrowed his brows; his eyes pricking with unshed tears…tears that would never fall in the presence of any of the people around him. Biting his lower lip harshly, hiding behind the façade of pain and discomfort, he blinked at the hulking man in front of him, his head bowing slightly as if to say, 'Fine. Have it your way…'

Pulling himself into a kneeling position, Nami squawking in his ear to stay down, he still didn't hear her, pushing himself off of the ground and dusting the dirt and mud from his slacks and jacket before raising his eyes to stare intensely into the resolute eyes of his raging crewmate, bearing into those emerald orbs with an emotion he never thought he would feel for the swordsman: contempt.

Sure they had fought like hell in the past, drawn blood even…but they had never struck to kill. That was unthinkable, because they were, ultimately, still nakama. Sanji didn't know what had possessed the swordsman, what force had infected his mind with some alien bloodlust, but if there was one thing that he knew about the marimo, it was that he never did anything without a very legitimate reason.

So, instead of lashing out at him, calling him nasty names, or demanding that his crew take care of it, the cook took a cigarette from his breast pocket, placing it between his chapped lips, and lighting it with his new lighter. Taking an exceptionally long drag on it, he watched the swordsman disappear into the forest, followed by those hideous co-conspirators. And all he did was stand there for a moment, exhale the delicious smoke, allowing the nicotine to thoroughly coat his lungs, slithering through his veins, calming his frazzled nerves, and turn swiftly over his shoulder, making his way to Chopper for a quick patch-up.

This time, he heard the yells of disbelief from the attractive navigator, the firm grip of her small hand at the crook of his elbow, "Sanji! What the hell are you doing?! Aren't you going to go after him?"

Sanji didn't even blink, but came to a dead halt, turning his sweat-slicked face to meet her with a soft expression. Removing the nicotine stick from his lips, flicking the ashes to the ground below, he exhaled once more, the throb in his shoulder now unmistakable, "No, Nami…I'm not."

Her eyes widened considerably, her grip tightening on his arm as she gaped, "What?! Why not?"

He allowed his eyes to slide closed at her protest, taking another drag on his cigarette as he bowed his head slightly, "I have dinner to prepare."

And that was all he gave her before pulling from her now limp grasp and making his way back to the village, with heavy shoulders and an even heavier heart. All other senses faded into the background, the sounds, smells, images…nothing else was apparent to the cook as he sat before the reindeer, the burn of alcohol against the gaping wound barely a twinge against the pain he felt in his very soul. Closing his eyes to the lack of sensation, he took a final drag of his cigarette, savoring the tingle it left on the tips of his nerves.

Zoro, you asshole…you better know what the fuck you are doing.