CHAPTER THREE

Trois Bleu

A few days later

The next three nights in a row, the swordsman Isshin returned to the Trois Bleu.

The first night, Sanji was stunned to see him. Once again, he personally attended to almost all of the needs of the man clad in black—although he did let the waitress Kitty refill his sake glass a few times, as he greeted some of his customers at other tables.

The second night, Sanji did not see him come in. The chef had been in the back, dealing with a faulty piece of equipment in the kitchen that was causing delays. When he was finally through, he nearly started in surprise when he saw Isshin seated at one of the tables, unobtrusively sipping sake, menu still in front of him.

Sanji reached out toward Kitty, who was rushing by with a tray of dirty dishes, brushing her lightly on the shoulder. "How long as he been here, Kitty-san?" he asked quietly.

"About twenty minutes," the waitress called behind her, as she set down the heavy tray. "I keep checking on him, but he hadn't wanted to order yet."

"Hmm, is that so. I'll take care of him, then," he murmured, nodding.

"I figured you would, boss," she smiled.

First stopping to fill a sake flask, Sanji approached Isshin and set the flask in front of him. "I heard you've been here for awhile, so I thought you'd be ready for more," Sanji smiled, a phony, friendly proprietor's smile, as his tired eyes studied the man in black, searching for the faintest hint of a reaction through the mask and feathers.

"Ah, you were right," Isshin replied.

"Did you get a chance to hear about our special today?"

He nodded again, the tacky plumage of the headdress bobbing slightly. Sanji's jaw tightened; that thing looked so ridiculous. This man must have had terrible taste, to choose to wear such an awful accessory.

"And what do you think?" Sanji asked.

"Hnn, what do you say about it?"

"Ah, I would say to get it while you can. It's an East Blue fish that isn't too abundant here, so we only have it on the menu when a fisherman has a lucky haul," Sanji explained. "It's one of my favorites, though—I used to eat it all the time when I was younger. If you liked what you had last night, I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

With an abrupt nod, Isshin handed the menu back to Sanji. "Fine. That, then."

As he put in the order, Sanji frowned, the deep lines around his mouth becoming more pronounced. His brusque attitude, despite how he was obviously waiting for Sanji's recommendation before he ordered, grated on him. Really, most of his interactions with him had been fairly similar; each and every word that came out of the swordsman Isshin's mouth irritated him beyond words.

But even if the man in black was a little curt, he wasn't the worst customer he had ever had. In fact, most customers who acted similar to him barely fazed Sanji. Yet this man could inexplicably push him over the edge with the slightest remark. Even as the chef considered how he would have regarded Isshin if he had been a little less terse, he still felt certain that the other man would have annoyed him. He couldn't fathom the other reason, other than it perhaps being because he had taken his dream...

Sanji bit down on his lip. This train of thought was unwelcome, and it left him overcome with frustration over his foolishness. He didn't even want to consider that being the case, but if it somehow was, his ill-will wasn't really toward the swordsman Isshin at all. Rather, it was toward the shitty marimo himself, for dying in such a terrible way. For never getting the chance to become the world's strongest swordsman himself.

Still, he couldn't help but feel animosity toward the man in black.

And even more, he felt like there was something else that troubled him, but whenever he felt like he may have been able to put it to words, the reason eluded him again.

On the third night—all animosity and other intangible feelings aside—Sanji found himself expectantly watching the door, as though he was waiting for Isshin to come.

However, by the time the mysterious man inevitably arrived, Sanji was preoccupied with a large party celebrating some kind of event. He popped over to Isshin's table for a moment, but other than that, all of his attention was devoted to the sizable group.

He was familiar with a few people at the table, as they were semi-regular customers, and he knew they were the kind of customers who demanded much of his time. In particular, there was a middle-aged woman and her daughter, who was in her late teens, both of whom always seemed quite enthralled by his suave nature.

This happened with many of his regular customers, actually. He supposed it was a product of his youth, spent relentlessly flirting and doting on pretty women. Although time—among other things—had stripped away his obsession, he was still an expert at treating women like they were queens, and as such, he had a lot of women who would seek him out, whenever they felt they wanted to be doted on.

How he would have longed for women demanding his attention this way when he was younger; but now that he no longer coveted their affections, he found himself with an endless supply.

As the swordsman Isshin stood up to leave, Sanji was conversing with another one of the females at the table, someone he had not met before, but who nevertheless seemed quite eager to speak to him. His his eyes followed Isshin all the way to the door as he continued his vapid conversation with her. Strangely enough, as the man in black let the door close behind him, Sanji could have sworn he turned around to glance back.

The rest of the night passed by uneventfully. As Sanji stepped outside and locked up the restaurant, he took in a deep breath of salty air, surprised by how nice the weather was. The usually humid and chilled night air was surprising crisp and energizing.

With a pang, he wished he had not made plans for the evening. He would have preferred to enjoy a glass of wine on his patio, alone and uninterrupted, basking in the pleasant evening.

But it was a promise he had made several weeks ago, so he had to go through with it. An acquaintance on the island, who had temporarily closed his bar for remodeling, had insisted Sanji come by as soon as it reopened. Tonight was the night, and there was really no good explanation to get out of it, so the cook resolved he would pop in for one quick drink—nothing more—and head home afterward. He would have an easy excuse to not stay long; after all, the next day, Trois Bleu would be open for both lunch and dinner, so it would be convincing when he insisted he needed his rest to prepare for his early start the next day.

As he leisurely strolled along the road, Sanji shoved his hands in his pockets and closed his eyes, taking in another lengthy breath. It was a bit strange; being an artificial island, Fisherman 9 had no beach, but for some reason, strolling along the roadside near the edge of the salty sea, Sanji almost felt like he could have been walking on a sandy shoreline. He opened his eyes, staring up at the starry night sky, losing to the traces of nostalgia lapping at his brain and the warm, mesmerizing sea breeze.

A godawful island somewhere in the New World

Over twenty years ago

When Sanji finally came to, he felt disoriented. He realized after a moment that he was being carried, and with each stride, the back of his head throbbed painfully. For a moment, he could barely open his eyes, seeing stars from the shooting pain. The smell of blood, saltwater and steel filled his nose. And if the third scent couldn't help him identify who was carrying him, the broadness of the back was enough... and the slight familiarity of the body he had his legs wrapped around. This was a body he had certainly wrapped his legs around a couple of times before, albeit with considerably less clothes on.

He opened his eyes, and even in the darkness of the night, he saw that the nest of hair that kept brushing his face was green. Sanji was being carried on the swordsman's back, with his arms flung around the green-haired man's shoulders. Zoro tightly held onto his legs, which were wrapped around his torso, leaning forward slightly so the blonde man wouldn't topple backward.

Sanji started to open his mouth to say something, but all he could manage was a groan. The swordsman stopped, tilting his head back to look at him. "You okay?"

"Not the word I'd use," Sanji muttered. "Put me down, I can walk."

"You don't have to," Zoro replied, not making a move to release him.

The swordsman's tone was a bit peculiar, but Sanji had heard it a few times before. It was likely he was a little worried; Sanji couldn't remember exactly what had happened, but it didn't take a master detective to figure out someone had clobbered the hell out of the back of his head and he had fallen unconscious. But even if Zoro had a shred of concern, that was probably all the shitty swordsman could muster to say, now that the danger had passed. Hell, he might have felt a little bit guilty for not preventing the injury; it was hard to tell with Zoro, especially since the idiot never actually voiced those kinds of thoughts. Or more likely, he wasn't capable of voicing those kinds of thoughts.

"I'll feel better with my feet on the ground," Sanji said finally. Without another word, Zoro released his grip and let the cook slide off of his back.

But as soon as he was standing, a wave of wooziness hit him. Reflexively, Zoro reached out and slipped an arm under his shoulders, supporting him in case he lost his footing.

"Want to sit?"

Sanji nodded, a bit stupidly, as the movement sent a fresh burst of pain crashing through his skull. He grunted as the swordsman helped ease him to the ground.

Once seated in the sand, he started to pull away, but Zoro instead kept his arm tightly wrapped around him so he couldn't move. "Just stay, idiot," he said forcefully. After a moment, he added, a bit more hesitantly, "You can lean against me."

A moment later, the strong arm slid away, but Sanji didn't pull back. This, too, was a manifestation of whatever impediment plagued the shitty swordsman; this was all Zoro could do, and reacting the wrong way wouldn't be beneficial for either of them. Sighing heavily, Sanji let his head droop on the other man's shoulder. It felt so damn heavy to hold it up on his own, after all.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Sanji asked finally.

"Back to the Sunny."

"Hnn, is it anywhere around here?" The cook scanned the horizon, not seeing anything along the coastline that even remotely resembled the port where the ship was docked.

He shrugged. "I figured I'd get to it if I stayed by the water."

Sanji's brow twitched, but he was too exhausted to even yell at the swordsman. "So you got lost and decided to take me with you, huh, shitty marimo."

"Tch, now that I think about it, I probably should have left you there, cook," he replied sourly.

Sanji furrowed his brow, but once again, he assessed that he didn't have the energy to argue with him.

When Zoro unexpectedly turned his head and pressed his lips on Sanji's, he also felt like he didn't have the energy to fight back.

The soft kiss invoked thoughts of care and tenderness; but that didn't seem to make sense. Sanji quickly concluded that it was probably just his head injury not allowing him to see straight. Although, it was not like it was fair for that normally feral mouth to kiss him so gently. Of course it was going to give him an incorrect impression.

They slowly rolled their tongues together, lips airily brushing together. It lacked the aching, predatory desire that they usually seemed to share when they came together—that fire igniting in his core that could only be snuffed in one way. But still, it was pleasant, and it make Sanji feel like he could ignore the throbbing in his head, if only slightly.

If the startlingly soft lips and the wanting tongue had not felt so familiar against his mouth, Sanji may have doubted it was actually Zoro at all. But it was him—and Sanji realized that even a stubborn swordsman's mouth could be unbearably affectionate and warm.

The roadways of Fisherman 9

Present time

Sanji stopped abruptly, a bit startled at the memory. He had barely remembered it before now—likely due to the concussion he had had at the time—so he was surprised that it had inexplicably come to mind.

As he contemplated it, he realized it might have been the only time something like that happened when he and Zoro weren't getting ready to go at it. Probably, since it was shocking enough that he could remember it had happened even one time.

He started walking forward again, trying first to recall, and then fighting with himself over how pointless it was to recollect such a memory, when he just barely stopped himself from walking into someone.

"Ah, sorry about that, I didn't see you," he said apologetically, raising a hand in apology. He really had not seen whoever it was—the bystander was clad entirely in black, after all, and this stretch of road was pitch-dark, so it was easy to miss him.

And then he realized that this man wearing all black was quite familiar.

"Ah, what a surprise to see you here, Isshin...-san," he said carefully.

Another one of those long stares from Isshin followed; they made him endlessly uncomfortable, likely because he couldn't see even a glimpse of the expression on his face.

"Don't call me a -san... Sanji," the other man replied finally. The way he pronounced the cook's name, in his low voice, sounded almost a little bit jeering.

The hair on the back of Sanji's neck raised, and he found himself biting down on his lip to keep a sharp retort from tumbling out of his mouth. There was no reason for him to show this much animosity, after all, even if the other man rubbed him the wrong way a bit.

"Ah, so you knew my name," Sanji replied carefully, smiling politely, his jaw slightly clenched.

Isshin shrugged. "Did you just close?"

"A short while ago, yeah," Sanji replied. "Ah, I think I owe you an apology for earlier. I was a little busy with that one table."

"I could tell," Isshin replied with a nod. "I'm sure all those women were much a lot more ideal to wait on than anybody else there, anyway, hah?" Unexpectedly, the man grinned, his teeth startlingly white in the moonlight.

Sanji was thrown off-guard; his breath hitched in his throat as he studied the smile, frantically searching his mind for the reason why it affected him so much. But then, he forced himself to brush it aside. It was probably because it was the first time he'd seen the other man smile, that was all. It was a lousy explanation, but it was all he could come up with.

Even if, oddly enough, he suddenly found himself returning the grin. And although his smile was a little reserved, it was also a bit more honest than it usually was these days; not the false smile he usually forced himself to put on. "Tch, a customer like you is probably best," Sanji confessed. He was a bit startled by his own honesty, but then, it was a harmless comment, so it wasn't like it mattered anyway.

"There's no need to be a liar about it," Isshin rumbled, one corner of his mouth upturning a bit wryly.

"It's not a lie," Sanji replied a bit defensively; why was that, anyway? It wasn't like he had any reason to defend himself. Yet here he found himself, trying to explain. "It's flattering, when a beautiful woman is being so demanding on your time. But you know, a customer who only asks for food and drink, and nothing more, is a little easier to deal with."

"Ah, but it they're like me, they need their drink refilled a lot."

Sanji raised an eyebrow; his brain hadn't quite caught up with his eyes and ears, so he couldn't properly take in what was happening right now. All he could tell for certain was that the seemingly stoic, broody man had another side, and for some baffling reason, he was showing it to him right now.

And for some even more mystifying reason, Sanji impulsively wanted to know more.

"Yeah, that table seemed a lot less interested in the food than they were in you," Isshin commented smugly. "Seems like a lot of trouble."

"Yeah, it can be, I suppose," Sanji admitted, shrugging. If his younger self had heard him make such a comment about flirting with women, he would have lost it. But things had changed so much... He looked downward, his eyes momentarily lost in shadow.

"I'll let you be on your way," Isshin said, interrupting his thoughts. "I was heading this way to get a drink somewhere, anyway."

Sanji spun around. He meant to only tell the man in black that he was going in the opposite direction of the town if he kept heading that way. But instead, a careless invitation tumbled out of his mouth.

"If it's a drink you're looking for, I was just heading to a bar myself. Somebody I know just reopened his place, and I told him I'd swing by," he said, nodding in the direction of the shopping district. "It's a good place for high-quality spirits, but there will be sake, too."

Isshin regarded him for a drawn-out moment.

It lasted long enough for Sanji to realize just how strange it was, for him to suddenly blurt out something like that. He inwardly scolded himself; what the hell was he thinking? "Ah, not to put you on the spot or anything," the chef said quickly. "If you want, feel free to come. But if not, there are a lot of places to go around here..."

"It'll do," Isshin replied finally. "It's not like I had anywhere in particular in mind."

"Alright. Well, this way then," Sanji said, urging the other man to follow him, wondering why he suddenly felt so uneasy.

As they continued their small talk and headed to the bar, Sanji continued mentally berating himself. But, even though he didn't particularly want to get to know the other man better, he couldn't shake the shitty feeling of curiosity he had toward him. That stupid intrigue, that had compelled him to keep waiting on him at his restaurant, and watching the door for the moment he would arrive.

Maybe he would stay for more than one drink, after all... Because he inexplicably wanted to know more.

Maybe he would need more to drink... Because even in the meaningless, borderline-contentious conversation they were having, the similarities began to rack themselves up, one after another. If only the similarities could have ended with the whole "strongest swordsman" thing.

Porthau Bar

A short while later

"Oh ho, Sanji! You came!" a husky older man bellowed the second Sanji stepped foot into the bar. Quickly slamming a glass down in front of a patron sitting at the bar, he briskly walked over to Sanji, clapping him on the shoulder in a hearty greeting. Sanji smiled faintly, nodding in response.

"Well? What do you think?" the grinning bartender asked, sweeping an arm through the air. He was a burly man with a thick, short beard and small eyes with a mirthful glimmer.

"It looks good in here, Porthau," Sanji replied, sweeping his gaze back and forth, eying the new renovations. What had once been a shabby, old bar had been given a second life, with new fixtures and flooring, and a fresh coat of paint. There were only a few patrons, however.

"I know, looks pretty empty, right?" the man broke in, laughing heartily. "But don't worry, it's just because almost no one knows we reopened yet. I gotta whip my guys back into shape, now that they've had a whole three weeks off."

"Oi, you probably need it more than them," Sanji replied.

"Hmm, did you bring someone with you?" the bartender suddenly burst out, his small eyes widening as he took in Isshin. "Don't just stand in the doorway, come in!"

Isshin wordlessly took a step forward, stepping in next to Sanji.

Sanji turned toward Isshin. "This is Porthau. He's the owner, if you couldn't guess. And Porthau, this is—"

"Oh, I know who he is!" Porthau exclaimed. "Well, it seems you've brought a celebrity with you today."

"A celebrity? I don't think I've heard that one before," Isshin replied. Sanji glanced over at him, and noticed he was smiling wryly.

"Really? Well, you should get used to is—Isshin-sama, is it?"

"Oi, I don't need all that," Isshin replied.

"Well, Isshin-san, then. Come have a seat and tell me what you're drinking," the bartender replied cheerfully. "I've got some of the finest wines and spirits, if you're interested. And if it's not your thing, I've got your usual bar-swill too."

Sanji raised an eyebrow. "You know, you shouldn't say such a thing about your own bar."

"I'll stop saying it when people stop ordering it after I do," the bartender replied with enthusiasm.

Porthau Bar

Three hours later

Sanji hadn't had this much to drink in a long while. Well, at least not outside of the comfort of his own home. As Porthau kept on pouring, he realized that he was surely getting past the point of being able to walk steadily.

"Alright, old man, that's enough," Sanji said firmly, putting a hand over his glass as Porthau tried to refill it for the umpteenth time. "Tell me what I owe you, and I need to be getting out of here."

"Psh, rubbish, like I'm going to charge the man taking such good care of my son," the bartender laughed.

Isshin, who had been downing the contents of his own drink, set down the glass with a loud clack and turned his head toward the grizzly man. "Your son?"

"Ah, didn't he tell you? My boy Mouston is one of his cooks."

Sanji nodded. "You probably haven't seen him, though. He's usually back in the kitchen, after all."

"That so," Isshin rumbled.

Brushing a few strands of blonde and white hair out of his face, Sanji turned back to the bartender, his expression hardening. "But never mind that, tell me what I owe you so I can get out of here."

Porthau grinned, turning toward Isshin. "See, I think my boy is drawn to him because they're both stubborn as hell and don't listen to a word anybody else tells 'em."

"That must've been hard for you," the man in black commented, grinning slightly.

"You have no idea," Porthau nodded, leaning forward to refill his glass. Unlike Sanji, he didn't refuse it.

"It was a pretty big shock when he told me he wanted to be a cook instead of a barkeep like his old man, though." The large man turned back toward Sanji. "You should be ashamed of yourself, stealing away a man's oldest son like that. Who's going to take over all this when I'm old and feeble, eh?" He asked, gesturing toward the bar.

"You have two more sons and a daughter, I'm sure between the three of them, you'll figure it out," Sanji replied, glaring at him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a couple of bills and stuck them on the table. Then he rose to his feet—and immediately had to reach out to grasp the counter top to steady himself.

"Damn, you made me drink too much," he muttered under his breath. When he glanced up, he noticed that Isshin seemed to be staring at him.

"Hey now, get that off of my bar, your money's no good here," Porthau said insistently.

"Then take it for his drinks," Sanji replied, gesturing toward Isshin.

"Oi, there's no need to that," Isshin said, reaching into his pocket for money of his own. He tossed it in with what Sanji had left, and also rose to his feet, finishing his full glass in a single gulp. "Thanks for the drinks. I'll come back sometime," he said with a nod.

Porthau tried to argue with them to take back some of their money, and Sanji was pretty sure he retorted, but his head was a little too fuzzy for him to really pay attention at this point. All he knew was that he was far more drunk than he should have allowed himself to get. He was also vaguely aware of Isshin walking beside him, although he didn't think they were having much of a conversation.

He actually didn't quite remember how he made it back to his house. But for some reason, he kept thinking about a familiar, strong arm from long ago that had braced him upright on similar nights such as this.

A bar somewhere in the New World

Over twenty years ago

"Why the hell did you want to get a drink right now, anyway?" Sanji asked with annoyance, taking an irritated drag from his cigarette. He sat next to Zoro at the bar of a relatively empty bar just a short walk from the hotel they had just left. Since the hotel had offered a dubious hourly rate, they had opted to only stay a few hours and then head back to the Sunny for the night.

But for some reason, the marimo had pulled him into the bar almost immediately after they left, and although Sanji had objected quite noisily, he ultimately gave into the swordsman's whim.

"I thought it'd make more sense if we came back late after drinking," Zoro replied nonchalantly.

"Oi, since when are you worried about things like that?" Sanji replied crossly.

"What do you mean?"

"Tch, you just don't usually think anything through that much," the cook commented. "I bet you just wanted a drink."

"Ah, that too."

"Shitty marimo." He took another peevish drag, to emphasize his annoyance.

"Oi, it isn't just me. You're drinking too," Zoro pointed out, gesturing toward him with his glass.

"What else am I supposed to do? This is a bar. I'm not just going to sit here and stare at you while you drink."

"Then let's drink," Zoro said, raising his glass cheerfully, despite the stoic expression on his face.

A bit taken aback, Sanji hesitantly clinked his glass against the swordsman's.

The same bar somewhere in the New World

A couple of hours later

Sanji should have been more annoyed that Zoro had somehow convinced him to keep drinking, until he lost count of just how much he had consumed.

He was a little bit drunk, but what was more, he was also incredibly tired. The fatigue from his earlier activities with the swordsman—which were more than grueling—co-mingled with the alcohol in his bloodstream was making him start to nod off. Before he knew it, his head had started to droop forward, until he was resting his head on one hand, elbow on the table, with a burning cigarette still clutched between two fingers of his free hand.

In fact, that was what jarred him awake when he was about to pass out—the feeling of the cigarette being very carefully plucked from his hand. A moment later, he felt a strong, heavy hand rest on top of his head.

"It's last call, ero-cook," a surprisingly comforting voice whispered in his ear. "Ready to head back to the Sunny?"

Reluctantly, he raised his head, groggily looking up at the swordsman, and nodding affirmatively. "Ah, can't believe I'm dozing off here."

"Probably because you're drunk," Zoro smirked.

Glowering at him, Sanji rose to his feet, preparing to make a retort—but then he realized the swordsman was exactly right. He knew he was feeling it pretty badly, but as soon as he was on his feet, the room felt like it was spinning. "Shit," he muttered darkly, bracing himself against the table-top.

He didn't really remember the details, like how they managed to return to the ship with Zoro leading the way, but he was vaguely aware of a strong arm firmly bracing him for most of the walk back.