ACK!!!! It's been forever, neh? My life is all a jumbled mess, and apparently my obsession with my new fandom (House, M.D., yes, I'm one of those people) is no passing fancy. I have even written one fic for it, and I have another in the potential works, and even a horrendous crossover that is sure to scar and damage millions, if I can even endure the inannity of it long enough to finish the damn thing. In the meantime, here's this. I'll post the House fic as well, in case any of my OP followers share other interests with me. *shrugs* It'll be good times, either way.
The room was dark by ten o'clock that night. No one up. No one would be up. Chopper had class. Zoro always slept. Luffy got bored. Everyone else had gone home.
Sanji sat on the couch in the living room with the TV on mute, watching static flicker on endlessly, the light from a passing car throwing brief, sharp shadows across the walls. The swordsman's bottle of sake was nestled between his thighs, nearly half gone, and getting lower. Whatever. He'd buy the asshole another one later. Maybe.
But he sat there, blinking slowly, hazy through the booze and the darkness clutching at his mind. Too shocked and too bewildered and too lost to really think. His stomach had been clamped in a vice since he'd left the lawyer's office, and by now he'd almost gotten used to it. Almost couldn't feel the chill tenseness just below his breast bone, full of dread and disappointment. And yet oddly hollow. As though there was a hunk of lead, a heavy box, almost, with nothing in it. Kind of like all his internal organs had been pulled out and replaced with cold rocks, a North wind blowing through the empty spaces.
All he could do was sit there. Drinking. Not feeling the burn of the alcohol any more than he felt the steady tears on his face. Not feeling the fleece blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Not feeling the worn rug beneath his bare feet.
All he could do was sit there. In the dark. Staring at the transcripts in front of him; all manner of life and emotion and heartache reduced to the stark white-and-black of printed paper. Just staring. And drinking. And crying.
Wondering what, exactly, he'd done to deserve this, and getting no answers from the deep shadows around him. In a way, he didn't want any. He didn't want to know. He just wanted to stop thinking about it at all.
So he sat there. And drank. And cried. In the shadows, all night, until the dark bled into lighter grey before his eyes, and the flicker of the TV became less and less obvious, and the questions streaming through his mind blurred into nothing more than a dull droning.
He just sat there.
He had no answers.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Zoro rolled out of his cot as slowly as he possibly could, trying to prevent the metal frame from creaking so loudly that it'd wake Chopper. Picking up his sword case from the far corner near the window, he padded across the room and carefully opened the door, slipping out into the silent, outer room. What with all the craziness of the last few days, the swordsman hadn't had much of a chance to go through his kata, and so was fairly determined to kick his own ass back into gear. He had to be in top form for when he would face Hawk, and he was purposefully holding off on setting up the match until he was certain he was at his best. And he would be at his best. He would win. He was sure of this.
Holding the handle of the door so it wouldn't click when meeting the frame, he turned and made for the large, empty space between the buffet table and the far wall. Zoro gently set his sword case on the floor, out of the way, and undid the lock and clasp holding it closed. Staring at the swords within, he did a quick run-through of the last time he'd practiced his kata, deciding which sword had seemed weakest at the time. The answer was, as it tended to be, Sandai Kitetsu. Not that he wasn't strong, he was just…difficult. That was one way of saying it. The red-sheathed blade was really, when all formalities and titles of distinction had been stripped away, nothing more than a dirty son-of-a-bitch. Blood-thirsty and unruly, that sword always posed the greatest nuisance out of the lot of them. Zoro, for all the intense attention he paid to the swords, meditating on them and coercing them, eventually training them to his will, had a sense that whenever the perfect opportunity arose, Kitetsu would have no qualms turning on his wielder. He was biding his time, nothing more. He and Zoro had a pact; a temporary agreement that was reliant solely on the capricious nature of the cursed sword. But Zoro didn't worry. The fight he always put up just strengthened Zoro's swordsmanship, and besides, whatever Kitetsu tried to pull, Zoro was three steps ahead of him. His will and his luck would hold out over the deceptive blade. Even if Kitetsu wasn't totally willing to believe that.
The other two, however, were nothing if obedient. Yubashiri, for one, was always mellow; never overachieving, but never one to slack off, either. She did exactly what Zoro asked, nothing more, nothing less. Reliable, durable, if somewhat less than stellar, but not every sword could be in the spotlight; otherwise the three of them could never work in tandem (a fact Zoro often found himself arguing with Kitetsu over). But Yubashiri was never a problem. Zoro was honestly very grateful for her no-nonsense approach to things and all the dedication she put into her training. She took it very seriously, and he could tell. She was a sword he could always depend on.
And then, there was Wadou.
Wadou Ichimōnji.
Brilliant and strong and beautiful and deadly. Truly, the only woman for him. She was Kuina's sword; oftentimes it still felt like she truly didn't belong to Zoro, as though Kuina was still her true master, and she probably was. Probably always would be. But Zoro didn't mind; he hadn't accepted her under the pretense of forcing her to be his. He wanted her to still be Kuina's. Because in that way, in a bizarre way, Kuina was still there. She was there for as long as he had Wadou. But Wadou also recognized Zoro as her master. As though she somehow managed to serve both him and Kuina equally, without betraying either of their trust. She truly was an amazing sword. She was powerful, and devoted to a fault. She listened to Zoro, but also questioned him, from time to time, in the way a patient older sister might; asking him if he thought that particular move, that slice through the air, that specific parry was the best way to go. She made him stop and evaluate his kata, helped him to improve his technique like only a magnificent sword of her caliber could. She was like a part of Zoro; another limb he couldn't live without. Like a true heart that, without, would render his own heart incapable of beating. Wadou was his strength. His reminder.
His promise personified.
Shaking his head slightly, pulling it from his random burst of introspection, Zoro undid the clasp holding Sandai Kitetsu in place, gingerly lifting the weighty sword out of the case, and he could already feel the steel vibrating, singing for blood, and Zoro merely growled at him, reminding him the this was just practice, and he needed to simmer the fuck down. Zoro was in no real mood to put up with Kitetsu's bullshit this morning.
He stood, keeping the sword sheathed for the moment, and turned around to begin loosening up his muscles –
-- A strange, lumpy figure on the couch in the living room, caught his eye suddenly. Zoro blinked, arms still poised and at the ready, as he stared at the odd bundle, wondering what the hell it was. A quick glance at the clock in the kitchen told him it was about four in the morning.
Sanji.
He was the only one who ever got up this early, other than Zoro. And he was honestly a bit worried about seeing the cook. After their bizarre fight yesterday, he hadn't really encountered the skinny prick. Around three in the afternoon the swordsman had finally realized Sanji wasn't in the apartment, but when he'd asked Nami about it, she scowled at him and none-too-gently reminded him that Sanji's father was dead, and the reading of his will was that afternoon. And yes, he'd felt a bit shitty for forgetting that, but after all the shit he'd had to put up with over that drunken, moody fucker, especially after getting smacked in the face with the realization that all the mess he'd had to deal with the night before was null-and-void, since the goddamn inebriate didn't remember shit anyway, Zoro figured he was entitled to a little leeway on the matter. Really, what had been the point of trying to make him feel better, of having him talk his issues over, of the larger man sharing his own life story so the asshole could be distracted enough to fall asleep…what was the point of any of it, if Sanji was just gonna forget about it the next day? Kinda made Zoro feel a bit redundant, and not a little stupid. Felt sort of like he'd been played for a fool, even though he knew Sanji hadn't gotten wasted for the explicit purpose of making Zoro look like an idiot.
Whatever. He was inclined to blame the bastard anyway.
But even though he figured he was plenty justified in being pissed at the cook, he was still reluctant to approach him. Zoro certainly remembered their numerous conversations from the night of the funeral, and he remembered Sanji being all tied in a knot over what the old man's will would have in store for him; knew the blonde was sweating bullets over it, desperate and sort of resignedly melancholy, and Zoro was hesitant to go anywhere near Sanji, fearing the moment he was in the asshole's sights, said asshole would pounce, and regale the swordsman with all his wants and woes, and Zoro really couldn't handle that. He'd had plenty of the bastard's whining to last him a lifetime. Several lifetimes, in fact. And he would not put up with it again.
…I want to open up my own place. Have it really, really be my own, not jus' somethin' I inherited from someone else…
Zoro sighed. No, he hadn't forgotten that either. Curlicue hadn't out-right said it, but it was obvious that running his own restaurant was his dream. A dream he couldn't have if the old man's will put him in a position of ownership over the Baratie. And Zoro understood the difference between "owning" someone else's place, and having your own. If Zeff gives his restaurant to Sanji, it doesn't make it Sanji's restaurant. It makes it Zeff's restaurant under care of Sanji. And Zoro knew, the cook had told him, that if the old man wills him the Baratie, he will take it, and work there until he dies. He feels he owes the veteran chef that; seems to think that signing over his dream to the man is the only way to even begin to pay him back for all that he'd done for Sanji. So by default of loyalty and misguided guilt, Sanji will abandon his dream, based on what Zeff asked of him at the end of his life.
And that was some of the most pathetic shit that Zoro had heard in his entire life.
And it was only, only because a dream was at stake, and everyone, even the shit-cook deserved to have a fucking dream, that was the only reason Zoro was now turning back to his sword case, lying a snarling, irritated Sandai Kitetsu back in his padded bed and clasping him in tight, it was the only reason he was softly padding across the floor, wood panels cool against his bare feet, the only reason he was rounding the couch to peer down at the tragic little heap in the middle of it.
It was a pretty bad scene.
If Zoro thought Sanji had looked bad when he'd found him hiding out on the fire escape the night of the funeral, that look of dejection had nothing on the abject devastation and despair and sense of utter brow-beaten defeat that oozed from every alcohol-soaked pore in the cook's body. Because he was drunk, Zoro could tell. Could smell it like a smog hanging in the air around the living room, booze and regret, and obviously things hadn't gone too well yesterday. There were two empty bottles of wine on the table, and, crushingly enough, the last, final dregs of the swordsman's sake still sitting at the bottom of the bottle currently held in Sanji's lax grip.
He's the one who bought it, Zoro, just stay calm, he tried to reason, and despite it all, still managed to be fairly miffed about that. He took a deep breath, knelt on the floor in front of the couch, and grabbed Sanji's shoulder.
"Oi, cook? Did drink yourself to death?"
There was no response.
"Cook?" Zoro gave the narrow shoulder a slight jerk. "Oi. Say something, asshole."
His head lolled around to the left.
Zoro's stomach clenched slightly.
All right. This was getting kind of bad.
"Sanji, get the fuck up. You'll be late for work." The swordsman shook harder at him, hands now gripping both shoulders, trying to get a response. "Sanji!"
"Mmmmrphglnnnn."
Well, it was noise. He wasn't dead, anyway. The tenseness in Zoro's gut relaxed a bit.
"Sanji? Come on, open your eyes. Look at me."
The blonde head tilted up a fraction, one blue eye squinting against the onslaught of pre-dawn light, face an eerie pale from the booze and the lack of sleep and the static from the TV playing across the skin. Zoro quickly reached for the remote and switched the annoyance off before turning back to the drooping man.
"Sanji, come on. Look at me, moron."
"Who'd wanna…?" the blonde grumbled low and gravelly.
Zoro found himself sighing slightly in relief. Cook was so goddamn irritating sometimes.
"What the hell are you doing, dumbass? Are you trying to kill yourself?"
Sanji didn't answer.
Zoro felt the very tectonic plate of the universe shifting under him. This was significantly worse than he'd figured.
"Sanji, focus!" he demanded, giving him another shove. "Look at me, what the hell happened yesterday? You left after cooking some food, and no one's seen you since."
"…th' papers…" the blonde muttered, mouth hanging open slightly.
"What papers?" Zoro asked, frowning.
The blonde didn't really point, so much as he just teetered forward in his seat, and Zoro had to tighten his hold on the skinny shoulders to keep him upright. But Sanji's glazed, blue eye seemed to be staring meaningfully at something over the swordsman's shoulder, so the larger man turned, eyes flitting over the small living room, until they landed on a stack of papers sitting on the coffee table directly behind him. Throwing a quick glance at the sloshed cook to make sure he wasn't about to fall over and crack his skull open, Zoro slid one hand to the other's slender chest and kept him pinned to the couch cushion as he reached over and picked up the papers Sanji wanted.
They were legal documents. The company figure-head at the top of the first page was a dead give-away, even if he hadn't been expecting it. He thumbed through some of it, skipping over a lot of the lawyer-speak that was mostly just gussied-up bullshit, and tried to find the real gist of what had fucked Sanji up this badly. It wasn't until about the third or fourth page that he started seeing anything to do with the old man and his affects. There wasn't much there, either; most of Zeff's belongings seemed to be donated either as memorabilia to the Baratie or to some sort of Goodwill contribution. The only thing really concrete Zoro could find was almost halfway down the page, that stated:
All deeds and rites of ownership of the establishment "Baratie" and surrounding property therein shall be passed to the current sous chef, Pattie Alfons.
Zoro blinked. It hadn't been Sanji. It hadn't been passed to the Assistant Head Chef, it had bypassed him entirely. Zoro didn't even know what a sous chef was, or who the hell Pattie Alfons was, but it wasn't Sanji, and that was just sort of mind-boggling. That Zeff would honestly trust anyone other than the shitty cook with his precious restaurant just seemed bizarre, and a bit off. Sure, he knew Sanji would be chained to the Baratie if it were otherwise, but…still.
"But isn't that good?" he found himself asking. "You didn't want him to give you the deeds to the restaurant, right? So you could open your own?"
Sanji made a quiet noise, almost like groan or a whimper, his pale face twisted in a grimace.
"I…I didn' want th' resterrant…" he slurred, so wasted Zoro was honestly a bit concerned. "Bu'…fuckin' Pattie? Pattie dun' know shit!" Sanji paused, swallowing, looking like he wanted to puke, but managed to contain himself.
"Ol' man…nevurr did trust me…nevurr wan'ed me there…jus' thought I was a…a useless brat…."
Zoro frowned. "Sanji, what are you talking about?"
And then the cook lunged forward suddenly, slamming into Zoro's chest, propping his head on the larger man's shoulder as his shaky hands grabbed the papers from him, rifling through them slapdash and muttering low to himself. Finally, he seemed to discover the particular piece of paper he wanted, pulled the sheet out of the pile and shoved it back at Zoro. The swordsman straightened the crumpled page out, confused and more than a little annoyed, and was just about to start reading it, when he finally registered the disconcerting feeling of the blonde's head sliding further and further down his arm, towards the edge of the couch, and without even thinking, Zoro brought his arm up to wrap around narrow shoulders, tucking the blonde in close to his chest while he looked over the piece of paper in his hand.
It was a curious bit of the document, where the lawyer made a disclaimer that the following statements were made by the owner of the will, in the exact phrasing he had used. Zoro didn't really know why such a note would be necessary, until he read what was actually printed on the page:
And as for that shitty eggplant, curly-eyebrowed, brain-dead little brat, tell him he ain't gettin' a goddamn thing of mine. Not one thing! I didn't raise no goddamn free-loader! He can rely on his own damn self from now on.
Zoro stared at the page. Reread the statement a few times. Blinked twice.
Jesus. Old man Zeff wasn't fucking around, it seemed. He really had given Sanji absolutely nothing. And other than that one blurb, the blonde was never mentioned again in the will; not even anything about that other Baratie opening up in Phoenix next year. Nothing. But that just didn't make any damn sense! Zoro hadn't known the guy long, hell, he hadn't even seen him for more than a few hours at most, but Zeff had just seemed like the sort of guy to resort to tough love. Really tough love. Love made out of blazing-hot steel and pointy-spikes: something painful and off-putting, but warm nonetheless, in it's own, twisted sort of way.
Like Smoker was for Zoro. That's what he thought Zeff and Sanji were like. And it would seem that he had been wrong, and Sanji obviously was convinced that he was, but Zoro still wasn't sure about that. Even seeing something that cold in black-and-white, from the mouth of the elder chef himself, didn't seem legitimate to the swordsman, some how. It was just off. But he didn't know how he could change Sanji's mind; shit-cook had known the old man much longer than Zoro, had more frame of reference for the chef's behaviors, and he already had a very firm opinion of his foster father that seemed pretty unshakeable. But Zoro had the outside perspective. He saw what Sanji couldn't, what he was too close to the situation to see.
And yet, despite all that, the thing that remained firmly fixed in the green-haired man's mind, the one notion he couldn't seem to shrug off, was why he felt the need to do any of this. Sanji was a grown man. He could take care of himself, he was more than capable of kicking the average man's ass, though Zoro was loathe to admit it, and as such, really shouldn't need this sort of babying. And here Zoro was, holding up the blonde-haired inebriate, trying to formulate a plan to fix the idiot's shattering life. What the fuck was he thinking? Why was he wasting his time?
You live here now, so you're nakama!
Have you met Zoro? He's our new nakama!
Sanji's a good nakama, neh Zoro?
…you need to learn to be a better nakama…
That word. That fucking word. That shitty little phrase Luffy was always spouting, every day, no matter what was going on. That ridiculous little moron and his absurd mantra that had drilled its way into every head of every person in their group of friends, sinking into their psyche and causing them to do involuntary, stupid things, like trail after blonde, chain-smoking perverts, trying to repair their own failings. And the worst part – the fucking epitome of all things infuriating and awful – was that, despite all of Zoro's defiance, all his raging and refusal to have anything to do with this insanity, now found himself sinking into the same incorrigible tar pit that all the rest had been sucked into.
The inky-black death of nakama.
Fuck. My life, Zoro despaired. And he figured he ought to be more disgusted by all this, but right now he was just tired and hungry, and sort of wanted some toast. But first: all this business with the will.
Zoro frowned, reading over Zeff's alleged dismissal of Sanji and sighing in irritation.
"Cook, I don't get this," he muttered. "It doesn't make any sense to me. Old man loved you, it was damn obvious, and I don't know what the hell he's trying to pull with this…"
The swordsman shuffled through the other pages, scanning them for anything, any little sentence at all that might reveal some ulterior motive; some reasoning why Zeff would go so far out of his way to inform Sanji that he'd get nothing from him, instead of simply leaving him out of the will. Wouldn't that have been easier? What was the crazy chef trying to do with this?
It was only a few minutes later when Zoro realized he hadn't heard a sound from Sanji in a long time. A really long time. Which didn't bode well.
"Oi, Sanji?" he asked, jostling the worryingly limp head resting on his shoulder. "Sanji, wake up."
Nothing.
Fuck.
Tossing the papers on the coffee table, Zoro pulled the cook away to look at him, taking in his slack features that looked to have gotten even paler and sicklier than when he first found him. He was utterly still; not even his eyelids twitched.
Zoro shook him harder.
"Sanji, this isn't funny! Open your fucking eyes!"
The cook's head merely lolled back, hair fanning out and displaying the usually hidden-left eye, but it was closed in any event, and the swordsman's surprise was fleeting at best. Making sure the idiot didn't die was a bit more urgent.
"Shit!" Zoro growled, releasing the unmoving body onto the cushions, and bolting from the couch, tearing across the expanse of the apartment and wrenching open his bedroom door.
"Chopper!" he cried, slightly louder than a whisper. "Chopper get up, I need your help!" He lunged to the boy's bedside, grabbing his skinny arms and jerking him a bit more than he intended. "Chopper!"
The kid sat up so fast he probably would have toppled from the bed if Zoro wasn't holding on to him. "What! What! What's going on?! Is everything all right!" he rambled, shaken and not fully conscious yet.
"It's Sanji, Chopper. The idiot drank himself into a stupor, and I don't know if I should call a hospital or not."
He spoke low and as calmly as he could, given the circumstances, not wanting to alarm the young boy, but his efforts were apparently for naught. Chopper's eyes went wide and his face paled, a split second before he tore off his bed and began running circles around the room, occasionally tripping over a textbook, screaming incoherently and clutching at his hair. Zoro simply watched him, a bit too stunned to have much of a reaction.
Why the fuck do I live with all these damn psychopaths?
The young boy's hollers interrupted the beginnings of his despair.
"WE NEED A DOCTOR!!!!!"
Zoro shook his head, getting back into the moment.
"Chopper, you're the only one here with any sort of medical training. You have to take a look at him."
That statement threw a wrench in the kid's panic, his bare feet skidding to a halt on the wood floor, brown eyes widened further in complete shock.
"Oh no. Zoro, no, I can't, I don't even know anything, what if something happens, I wouldn't be able to do anything, I can't do anything, 'cuz I'm no good, honest, he needs a real doctor, I wouldn't even know where to start, and --"
"Chopper!" Zoro cut him off, large hands resting on narrow shoulders and giving the barest of shakes. "Chopper, we don't have time for that right now. Sanji is in bad condition, and you're the only one who can help him, so put your freak-out on hold until we know he's okay."
The small boy bit his lip nervously, looking pale and worried and close to hysterics. Zoro willed some of the tenseness out of his demeanor, despite his own concern over the matter, trying to calm Chopper's nerves. He gave the kid a tiny smile.
"Look, I doubt the cook will die, all right? He's too stubborn. I just need to know if he should go to a hospital. Just take a look at him." Chopper's mouth opened, as though he were about to protest, but Zoro barreled on over him. "You can do it, Chopper, I know you can. You're better than you think you are."
And that seemed to do the trick, because instead of hitting Zoro and yelling about how he didn't like compliments, asshole, the boy heaved a sigh, his face still pale but steeled now, in a look of determination Zoro hadn't ever seen before. The kid nodded curtly, looking worried, still, but resigned in a way that almost seemed like grim confidence.
"Okay. Show me where he is."
His tone was utterly serious, brooking no argument of any kind, and it sort of threw the swordsman for a moment. He shook his head, trying to orient this new, authoritative Chopper into his brain, but he must have taken a second too long for the boy's liking.
"Zoro! If he's in bad condition, I need to see him right now!"
"Right, sorry!" the larger man said, snapping back into focus. He moved to the door and led Chopper out into the living room, where he'd left the unconscious Sanji on the couch.
The young Med student didn't waste any time, kneeling in front of the couch, maneuvering Sanji to lay flat on his back. He examined his face carefully, pulling his eyelids open, dropping his jaw and inspecting his tongue. Then he placed his hand just above the cook's mouth and nose, and simply stared at his watch for a few minutes. Then he removed his hand, checking the cook's pulse, and finally spoke.
"Has he vomited?"
Zoro was taken by surprise again, feeling like he'd been jarred out of a trance, watching the boy work with such precision. He knew Chopper was good, he jus didn't know he was this good.
"Uh, not that I know of," he replied, edging a bit closer to better see what the kid was doing,
Chopper seemed to anticipate his curiosity, because he started an oddly calming litany of exactly what he was doing and why.
"I'm checking his heart rate and breathing. If his breathing is slower than eight breaths per minute, than there's a good chance he has alcohol poisoning. He would also most likely be vomiting quite a lot. His body temperature would be abnormally low, too, and his skin would be very pale, with a slight blue tinge. Did you talk to him at all, or did you find him unconscious?"
"He was sort of awake when I found him. I talked to him a bit."
"Did he seem confused, or incoherent?"
"No. He was really slurred, and it seemed kind of difficult for him to talk, but he knew what he was saying, and he was making sense."
"Did he get the shakes, or experience any sort of seizures while you were with him?"
"No."
Chopper unbuttoned the blonde's wrinkled dress shirt, and felt the skin of his forehead, face and neck. Then he sat back on his heels and sighed.
"What is it?" Zoro asked.
Chopper still wore a concerned frown, but the diagnosis didn't seem to worry him too much.
"Well, his breathing is slow, but not abnormally. He's pale, but not blue, and his body temperature is fairly normal. You said he hasn't vomited or had any seizures, and he was coherent when he spoke. I still don't like that he's unconscious, but he doesn't seem to have alcohol poisoning. At least for now."
"'For now'?"
"Well, he may be asleep, but the alcohol is still being released into his system. There's a possibility he could continue to get so drunk he becomes dangerously ill. We might want to call an ambulance."
Zoro's brow knit together at that, feeling a bit off about the idea of the shit-cook being hauled away on a gurney. Nah, that image didn't really seem to fit. He knew the bastard would hate being made to look weak and helpless, and he knew the guy could handle himself. So he decided he'd give the cook the opportunity to prove it. 'Cuz Zoro was just a good guy like that.
He'd get the fucker up.
The swordsman moved even closer, bending down low over the cook's sprawled form, trying not to flinch at the painfully thick haze of alcohol that idiot was still emitting, and lowered his mouth near Sanji's left ear.
"Oi, pansy-assed cook. You look like a fucking pussy all passed out like that. You really don't know how to hold your liquor, do you? Some man you are, eh? And Nami and Vivi came over for breakfast, and they were so disappointed that nothing was made, and they blamed you, and vowed that they'd never have that hot threesome they'd been contemplating. So you fucked that one up too, congrats. And guess what? I'm gonna call an ambulance and have your pathetic ass dragged out of here, with everyone around to see what a damn fairy you are. Sweet dreams, dumbass."
"Zoro!" Chopper cried, scandalized and sounding more like his usual self. "What are you doing!? Sanji's very sick, and he needs to be taken care of!"
Ah, Chopper, he thought fondly. Playing along, and he doesn't even realize it.
"It's no harm Chopper, the idiot's totally unconscious anyway. He can't hear anything."
"Who'sssfucking unconshussss?" was the mumbled reply from the pale, immobile body beneath the swordsman, the ire in the voice still audible under all the booze, and Zoro would have cackled in triumph if he wasn't on a mission already.
"You were, you stupid fuck. Totally useless, aren't you? Damn, I have not seen a more pathetic sight in my life."
"Zoro!" Chopper scolded.
"Ffffuck yuu, asshole," and now the curlicue eyebrow was twitching in irritation, although neither of his eyes had opened yet.
"Now, now, you shouldn't start making threats, Sanji. You're very sick, y'know. Don't want to over-exert yourself."
"Ffuck! You!" the cook said louder, voice now sort of a pissed groan, his whole face twisted in anger.
Zoro grinned. He was probably having too much fun with this. He turned to Chopper, who was confused and upset, and obviously hadn't caught on to what Zoro was doing. But he was undeniably honest, and that played brilliantly into Zoro's little scheme.
"Oi Chopper, he needs his rest, right? Should I carry him back to his bed like the little princess he is?"
"—Go t' hell -- "
" – Well, he does need rest," Chopper said, contemplatively, still a bit unsure of Zoro's attitude, and otherwise ignoring Sanji. "And it's probably best if he doesn't try to walk right now…"
"M' fine, goddammit!"
"You heard the doctor's orders, Princess!" Zoro sneered, trying hard not to laugh at the murderous noises coming from the blonde. "You need your beauty sleep, after all."
"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"
Ah yes. Asshole's sounding more sober by the second.
"Now, don't be so nervous. I'm sure it's intimidating for a virgin to be carried to bed by a virile young man but be rest assured: I shall not rape you."
Sanji's eyes flew open at that, blue and burning and more focused than they'd looked all morning. If looks could kill, Zoro would have probably died five times over. As it was, he simply leered at the incensed man beneath him, making his previously-pale skin flush with rage, and he was pretty sure the cook was now in danger of a stroke.
Just then, something that felt oddly like a bony knee suddenly swung through the air and slammed into Zoro's back, nearly toppling him face-first into the floor. He caught himself, whirling around to throw a murderous glare at Sanji.
"Plenny more where tha' came from, asshole!" the inebriate snarled, leg still poised in the air to doll out some punishment, and damned if the fucker didn't sound a bit smug after that.
Zoro's black eyes narrowed, low growl rumbling in the back of his throat.
"All right, Goldilocks. We'll do it your way."
And with that, he made a lunge for the idiot still lying on the couch, ready to knock some fucking sense into this impossible prick's stupid fucking head --
"Zoro!" Chopper shouted, and there was that sudden authority in his voice again, jarring Zoro into a complete stand-still. "Sanji is sick, Zoro!" the boy continued sternly. "You can't be rough with him like usual. If you two can't behave, I'm going to ask you to stay away from him until he's better!"
Zoro huffed like an irritated brat, feeling guilty despite himself for making things harder for Chopper, even though he hadn't meant to. It was just that Sanji pissed him off. A lot. But he nodded his understanding to the Med student, gruffly apologetic in the only way the swordsman could be. He didn't really feel sorry for being an ass to Sanji, he just hadn't meant to make Chopper's job more difficult. Zoro could give a damn what the shit-cook felt like.
"Sorry, kid," he muttered. "D'you still want me to take him to his room?"
Chopper eyed him suspiciously. "Are you going to behave yourself?"
"Yes," he said, rolling his eyes.
The boy studied him a second, still looking a bit uncertain, but totally willing to believe him. "Well…all right then. Just be careful with him."
Sanji had been oddly quiet throughout this exchange, and Zoro would have been mildly concerned, if a quick glance at the idiot hadn't shown he was still glaring at the swordsman, and was obviously too pissed to speak anymore. And even though he had apologized to Chopper, and meant it, he couldn't help but smirk a bit at how much of a rise he'd gotten out of the dumbass. It was just so much fun to watch him squirm.
"All right, moron," he said, grabbing his shoulders with one arm and his knees with the other, "You heard the doctor. We gotta behave."
'Behave' apparently wasn't a word Sanji possessed in his personal dictionary. The moment Zoro came into contact with the volatile blonde, said blonde's body sprung like a tightened coil, arms and legs shooting out in all directions, pummeling into the swordsman and trying to shove him away.
"Gerroff me, fucker!" he hissed like a wet cat, blows still painful, even though they were more sluggish than usual.
"Sanji, just let Zoro carry you!" Chopper pleaded over the larger man's shoulder as he struggled to hold the flailing cook still.
"OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!"
"You're about to get your wish in a second, you goddamn Question Mark, if you don't calm the fuck down!" Zoro snarled, finally managing to get his arms around the slender body and holding the shithead fast to his chest, officially locking him in place. This seemed to surprise the hell out of Sanji, whether because he'd actually been detained, or because he was now much closer to Zoro than was really comfortable for either of them. The angry flush of the cook's face seemed to burn redder just then, and he proceeded to flail even harder than before.
"Oi, Chopper, you don't have any sedatives or some shit, do you?"
"No! They don't let students have that sort of equipment!"
"Tch. Fine."
Zoro rocked back onto his heels, dragging Sanji off the couch and into his lap, fighting to keep the cook slightly contained, grunting for the effort and seriously debating just knocking the bastard out. The blonde gave another almighty jerk, the crown of his head slamming into Zoro jaw, and busting his lip clean open. Warm blood welled up instantly, dribbling over the curve of his lip, swarming his mouth and fueling his desire the beat the hell out of the ungrateful fuck currently twisting around in his arms.
"Zoro!" Chopper cried, worried now for the swordsman's sake, and Zoro didn't want to disobey the kid's orders, but hell if he was gonna put with this shit anymore.
With a roar of frustration and a great heave, he threw the thrashing body roughly over his shoulder, holding those deadly legs tight against him to prevent them from lashing out and doing any serious damage. Fucker was so set on acting like a spoiled brat, then fine!
Zoro would treat him like a spoiled brat.
And the cook could pound away at his back all he wanted, and yeah his bony knuckles were a bit painful, but his arms didn't have a quarter of the strength as his lower half, and even drunk, the idiot would never do anything to harm his beloved hands. Zoro didn't give a shit.
He was on a mission, goddamn it. He was trying to save the cook from the humiliation of being carried off to the emergency room like some stupid fucking college undergrad who knows fuck all about drinking, and he figured the asshole should be fairly appreciative. He wasn't, and Zoro wasn't all that surprised, but he was pissed in any event.
The annoying feeling of blood trailing down his chin didn't really help the matter.
And Sanji was still jerking, body seizing and un-seizing, though his arms had stopped punching, hands in fact now gripping tightly at the swordsman's shirt, and it was a weird change, all of a sudden, but he'd already started walking towards the idiot's bedroom, and he wasn't about to stop now.
"Zoro, you gotta let him down!" Chopper cried suddenly, panicked and serious.
He turned to the young boy, giving him a confused look. "What are you --"
"He's gonna throw up, let him down!"
And Zoro felt the tell-tale shudder of the slender man heaving awkwardly against his shoulder, strong fingers digging relentlessly into the skin of his back, and he didn't waste another second. Before he could even blink, he was in the bathroom, kicking up the toilet seat, and letting the cook down onto his knees in a much more gentle manner than he'd previously been using to deal with Sanji, leaning him over the porcelain edge, and pulling the sweaty, blonde bangs out of the way as the pale body shivered and jerked one last time, releasing the poison violently from his system. He was at least a bit tougher than Chopper had been when drunk; he didn't throw up quite as much, even though he undeniably had drank considerably more than the small boy. And even though Sanji wasn't hardy by any stretch of the imagination, he still processed more alcohol a lot easier than the kid had, and so didn't require quite as much assistance in the purging act. In fact, he seemed well enough to continue antagonizing Zoro.
"Fuckin' don't --" Pause to puke some more " – don't treat me like some fuckin' girl!"
Zoro growled, winding his fingers in the long strands of hair and tugging hard at them, making the smaller man choke slightly. "Well if you didn't wear your hair like a fucking girl's we wouldn't be having this problem, now would we?"
"Stupid…stupid fucker!" Sanji panted, a vague shiver in his strained muscles, body sinking towards the floor, not quite as boneless as Chopper had been, but still pretty weak. He didn't struggle when Zoro's arms wrapped around him a bit tighter, trying to keep him upright.
"Hey, Zoro," a small voice said from behind him, and then a glass of water appeared beside Zoro's head.
He sighed, throwing a tired smile over his shoulder at the delivery boy.
"You learn fast, don't you Chopper?"
The kid just shrugged. "You did it for me, and it helped. I figured Sanji could use the same treatment."
"Thank you."
He then took the water, managing with some difficulty to coerce the cook into drinking it, and feeling the waves of nostalgia washing over him. Not a situation he really wanted to be acquainted with, but here he was, going through the exact same motions he'd done for Chopper, for the second time. He was honestly getting a bit more experienced with this sort of scenario than he ever really wanted to be.
Ah well, he thought, hoisting the blonde up so he could spit the water out into the toilet. It's good for something, apparently.
Zoro tipped the glass back against the cook's lips once more, letting Sanji drink the rest of the water down slowly. Without even needing to ask, another glass materialized near his shoulder, Chopper ever-attentive and oddly quiet, even as he took the empty glass from the swordsman and left the room again. Zoro propped the blonde up against his chest, smoothing his hair off his face and away from his mouth to make drinking easier. The idiot's skin was a bit clammy, but not abnormally cold, so he figured he was doing all right.
"Dumbass," Zoro muttered, voice conspicuously lacking any normal sort of malice. "The fuck were you trying to do, drinking so fucking much? You probably hadn't even recovered from your first hang-over the other day before you started boozin' it again. Idiot."
Sanji just made some exhausted, gurgling noise kind of like a groan, a grimace curling across his pale face.
Zoro sighed, holding the glass up again for the cook to drink from. He seemed too worn out to even speak anymore, or else he'd surely be mocking the swordsman for being such a goddamn mother-hen. He'd probably laugh at the green-haired man, who would argue right back, and a healthy fight would ensue – although the term "healthy" was being used in a very loose sense here – and they'd trade insults and blows until they were too bruised and tired to remember why they'd been pissed in the first place. It was sort of like a ritual. And Zoro had sort of gotten used to it. Sort of maybe liked it. Not that he'd ever tell the spindly prick, but in his own head he could admit it from time to time. But when things were like this: all sad and depressing and fucked up, there was no space for any of that. No time when it was appropriate, because Sanji kept turning himself into a complete mess over shit he really couldn't control, and that was something Zoro never did understand.
And he didn't like seeing the asshole like this. It wasn't Sanji. And Zoro wasn't really sure why it made such a big difference to him, but he decided he didn't need to know.
He cared about the perverted moron. It didn't matter why. As long as Sanji wasn't acting like Sanji, that's how long Zoro would be trying to fix him. Because there were other people in Zoro's life who cared about Sanji, too, people who needed him and wanted him to be happy. Because it mattered to the swordsman's friends.
It mattered to his nakama.
And that, for whatever reason, mattered to Zoro.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Is he doing all right now?" Zoro asked, just as Chopper was closing the door to the cook's bedroom. Zoro had hauled his unconscious carcass in there once Sanji had been cleaned up in some approximation of normalcy, where the Med student had taken over – checking Sanji's blood pressure, listening to his heart, taking his temperature, and generally making sure he wasn't going to die anymore. Zoro absolutely had not been pacing outside the door, waiting for the results. He just happened to be walking back and forth, in an area that could, by some definition, be considered "near" the cook's bedroom.
The boy smiled at him then, looking a bit too haggard and worn for such a young person.
"Yeah. He's asleep right now, but when he wakes up he should probably eat some soup. He might be sick for a little while, so he shouldn't eat anything too heavy. By tomorrow he'll most likely be back to his old self. At least physically…"
Chopper trailed off at that, biting his lip and looking worried again.
"What is it, kid?"
He shifted weight, eyes on his socked feet as he said, "I'm worried about him, Zoro. I think he's taking all this worse than we thought. I'm afraid he…I'm afraid he might…take things too far…"
Zoro heaved a sigh, placing a large hand on the boy's narrow shoulder. "Look, don't worry about it. Shit-cook's a lot tougher than he seems. He'll get past this."
Chopper looked up, brown eyes wobbly and scared.
"Do you really think so?"
"I know so."
At that, Chopper bit his lip, fear and worry and stress that he'd been containing for near an hour now spilling out in the heavy tears that rolled down his cheeks. And he moved forward, wrapping skinny arms around Zoro's back and crying for only the second time the swordsman had ever seen. So Zoro hugged him back, pulling the small boy tighter into his embrace, one hand rubbing his back calmingly while the other rested in curly brown hair.
"You did great today, Chopper. You really came through."
"I didn't do anything!" the boy wailed, voice slightly muffled against the fabric of Zoro's shirt. "You did everything. You knew how to take care of him! I was useless!"
"Chopper, stop it!" Zoro barked, sterner than he ever got with the boy, and Chopper tensed up at the sound of it, so shocked he actually quit crying. "Don't ever say stuff like that. You weren't useless. If you hadn't told me his condition, there was no way I could have known what to do with him. And I couldn't have figured that out without you. You're only seventeen, for shit's sake! You'll get better. You'll be the best. I don't doubt that for a second."
And that started another wave of emotion, tears spilling down the young boy's face, soaking the front of Zoro's shirt, small frame shaking from the force of his barely-contained sobs, tiny hands twisting the fabric at the swordsman's back in desperate knots. And he held Chopper, doing relatively little to console, because even then, even for Chopper, he couldn't quite master the technique. For the first time in memory, he was starting to sort of regret that particular limitation of his. But he held him in any event, hoping it was somehow enough to make the kid feel like he wasn't totally alone. And he wasn't. There was any number of people in their group of friends who would drop their lives on a dime if Chopper looked even the remotest bit upset.
But Sanji was sort of a different case.
No one was quite that ready to help him out. Not because they didn't care, but because they didn't know. They couldn't. Sanji had them all good and fooled, or at least convinced that he didn't want their help, even when they did notice him having a rough time of it. But Zoro wasn't interested in doing what Sanji wanted. As far as the swordsman was concerned, everyone in life got exactly what they needed from him, nothing more, nothing less. If it wasn't what they wanted, too fucking bad. They needed it, they got it, and Zoro wasn't inclined to give anything beyond that. That's how it worked, and the cook was gonna have to get accustomed to that, because Zoro was gonna force the fucker to get through this rough patch, whether he wanted to or not. Because Zoro decided, right there and then, that he didn't really want Chopper to ever cry again. So Sanji would get over this shit, and fast.
He wasn't gonna make the kid cry any more.
Light snuffles signaled to the swordsman that Chopper had gotten a hold of himself again, and pulled away, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his oversized T-shirt that may have actually been Zoro's but it was sort of hard to tell at this point.
"You feel better?" Zoro asked, finding it unimaginable that the small boy possibly could.
Chopper sighed a little, eyes staring at the swordsman's midsection, but not really seeing it. Then he sighed again, a tiny smile curving the corner of his mouth, and he looked up, eyes locking with Zoro's once more.
"Yeah. I think I am."
The green-haired man blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah. Why? You seem kinda surprised."
Zoro just shook his head, figuring now wasn't really the time to have this sort of conversation. "Nothing. Go get cleaned up, kid. You've got class this morning."
Chopper smiled brightly, and Zoro felt himself grinning a bit in return. "Kay!"
He turned around, jogging towards their shared bedroom to grab a change of clothes and probably hop in the shower before Luffy woke up and threw everyone's schedule off, but then halted about halfway there. He paused, then turned around and looked back at the swordsman.
"Hey Zoro," he said, a confused expression on his face. "This might not be the best time, but…who's gonna make us breakfast?"
The swordsman froze, face utterly blank as he was faced, for the first time that day, with a serious problem. And given who he lived with, this could escalate into a really, really dangerous situation. Especially if Luffy woke up anytime soon.
Zoro couldn't cook. He knew the kids couldn't cook. And Sanji was incapacitated.
He blinked owlishly.
Chopper blinked back.
"…..You don't know?"
Zoro didn't answer, just marched into the kitchen, looking through the cupboards for something, anything that could appease the bottomless pit, Luffy, that didn't require Zoro to turn the stove on. And of course there was nothing, and no, he hadn't thought about this as a possibility when he was holding the shit-cook's hair back while the fuck-face vomited his life up, and so felt he was a little justified in having no fucking idea what to do at this point.
He looked at the clock. It was going on six in the morning. Chopper had an eight o'clock class that he still needed to get ready for. Sanji obviously wasn't going to work.
Zoro huffed in irritation and marched over to the key-dish on the kitchen counter where Sanji kept his cell phone. He had made up his mind.
"Are you gonna cook for us, Zoro?"
"Hell no!" he said, giving Chopper an almost horrified look. "I'm calling the Baratie."
"Do they cater?"
"I don't think they even open until lunch. I'm just telling 'em Curlicue ain't coming to work."
"Well then what are we gonna do about food?" the kid asked, now sounding a bit troubled about their circumstances and shooting a furtive look over his shoulder at the room where the damn monkey-boy was thankfully still asleep.
"When I'm done calling the restaurant," Zoro said, fighting with the urge to vomit, in anticipation of what he was about to say, "I'm gonna call Nami."
I don't know why, but when I envisioned this last scene, I always pictured Zoro delivering that line, "I'm gonna call Nami," and then there's this dramatic *DOOON!* sound effect and a sudden cut-to-black. I think I wanna write screenplays or something, one day.....