I am fail. Not begun the 18th chapter, because everything broke. Not really, I just started writing a new story, because I have a newer obsession, but I haven't given up on this. I swear I will finish this story, but probably not anytime soon. *Sigh*. Just bear with me. We'll get there, eventually....
But thanks for all of you who've stuck with me through all this garbage. Love you all and your wonderful comments! Love you all!
One week.
One entire week.
Seven full, utterly unbelievable, infuriating, high-blood-pressure inducing days.
That was how long all this bullshit had been going on.
And, really, Zoro had been inclined put an end to this nonsense days ago. As in seven days ago. As in this would never have even been a problem.
But he was going easy. He was letting things run their course. Which usually wasn't too big of a problem for him, but right now it was an absolute insult.
Despite everyone's concern, despite Chopper's attentive care, and despite Zoro's reluctant acquiescence to it all, Sanji showed no sign of improvement. Like he wasn't even trying anymore. Like he actually wanted to stay depressed. He'd just been sitting there on the couch, staring at nothing, for a whole seven days.
If the shit-head hadn't been fucking unconscious the first day, Zoro would have just beaten this funk right out of him then and called it quits. Job done, no complaints, everyone could just move on with their lives.
But no. Chopper had absolutely forbade him, under pain of death, to even approach Sanji too aggressively, much less actually lay a hand on him. And for such a small, innocent, unassuming sort of guy, Chopper radiated this aura of "do not fuck with me" when it came to treating his patients, and Zoro, for all his pride and machismo, was not about the cross the small boy any time soon. So he stood on the periphery, giving the cook a fairly wide birth whenever he moved about the apartment, as though Zoro feared if he came too close to him his control would snap, and he'd end up tackling the blonde to the floor and beating some goddamn sense into him once and for all, which in turn would bring Chopper's unholy wrath down upon him, and he really didn't feel like dealing with that. Not to mention the damn witch would have his balls for breakfast, because, just to make everything else that much worse, what had started as a mild, food-related problem was quickly escalating in a two-part cluster-fuck.
The first part, arguably the biggest part, was that Nami had been coming over every. Single. Day. To make breakfast for the kids. Since Zoro knew fuck all about cooking, and he figured if he even tried to use the blonde's utensils he'd be flayed alive and haunted to the ends of time by the scrawny prick's vengeful spirit, the wisest thing to do seemed to be to call upon the aid of someone a bit more knowledgeable in the culinary field than himself. Preferably someone with breasts, so Sanji couldn't bitch about the "fucking idiot marimo" messing around in his kitchen. So, it was easy to deduce that the solution to Zoro's problem was a woman. The only down side to this plan was that, as it turned out, Nami was a woman. And not just any woman, but the fucking apple of shit-cook's one visible eye. Meaning of course that Sanji would be absolutely incensed if he ever found out she'd been made to do anything more strenuous than breathing.
If the cook was lucid enough to find out, that is.
As it stood, Nami had been in the apartment for the last seven days, and Sanji hadn't even tilted his head in her direction. It was by the second straight day of this that Zoro told Chopper of his suspicions that Curlicue had in fact died, but the small Med student had continuously assured him there was actually a pulse. The swordsman wasn't all that comforted.
When Luffy finally started catching on that things were amiss around day five, Zoro was about ready to throw in the towel. The dark-haired boy didn't convey his concern as loud and demonstratively as he normally would, which Zoro took as an indicator of the severity of the situation. Luffy would just move around the apartment like he always did, a vaguely thoughtful look on his face, his incessant babbling greatly diminished as he opted for speculative silence instead. It was unsettling as all hell, and just added to the swordsman's feelings of frustrated restlessness as he watched them all tip-toe around Sanji like he was a goddamn time bomb.
It was some sad, sad shit.
And Zoro didn't know how long he could take it.
The fucking dart-brow never left the couch. He didn't move. He didn't ever stop staring out the windows into the iron grey gloom brought on by November's approach. Chopper had to feed him, for fuck's sake! What the hell was that about!?
"He's upset, Zoro," Nami scolded him one day as she wiped the stove down after breakfast. Chopper had already sprinted from the apartment, running late to his morning class, and Luffy had strolled out after him, no doubt off to hunt down a new adventure before lunch came around.
"He's got a lot to deal with right now."
"Yeah, only he's not dealing with shit. He's not doing anything!" Zoro grumbled low, scowling at his glass of water because looking at Sanji made him want to break things.
"His father died, Zoro!" Nami hissed, glaring at him, and seeming honestly surprised that he could be so callous. "And it's not like they had the healthiest relationship in the world. There were a lot of unresolved issues between them. There were probably a lot of things Sanji had wanted to talk to him about!"
Zoro's scowl deepened. "I'm not saying he shouldn't be upset. Hell knows it's a lot to get your head around. But the fucker's acting like a damn invalid. He buried his father, he didn't have a stroke!"
"I cannot believe you're a mammal!" the orange-haired girl threw her hands up in agitation. "How is it you can claim to be a warm-blooded creature and still have the sympathetic capacity of a brick wall?"
"Because I'm not trying to sympathize with him!" Zoro exclaimed. "I'm not interested in holding the idiot's hand, I'm interested in him getting the fuck over all this."
Nami sighed, studying the swordsman for a minute before chucking the wash rag back in the sink and fixing him with a frank, no-nonsense stare. "That's all well and good, Zoro. But it isn't as easy as that. Broken bones and cuts will heal over time, but wounds of the heart are more difficult to mend. You can't force his heart back together again."
Zoro scoffed, downing the rest of his water and reaching over the kitchen counter/buffet table to place it in the sink with the rag. "Sounds like bullshit to me."
"That's because you have no soul," Nami muttered, glaring at the swordsman as she came around the table to gather up her purse. "How's your money supply for lunch and dinner? I already told you I'm not making every damn meal for you idiots."
That, as fate would have it, was the second part of the cluster-fuck. Zoro, with what limited funds he'd managed to procure in the down time before his real job started, had been supplying take-out for the other two meals a day that Nami refused to provide. She'd suggested getting Robin, or maybe Kaya to help prepare the other meals, and apparently Franky made some excellent grilled kabobs, but Zoro thought better of that idea instantly. Getting the others involved in the food-providing gig meant they'd have to be informed, to some level, of why Sanji was incapable of cooking. And Zoro just had this sneaking suspicion that Sanji wouldn't really appreciate everyone and their fucking mother knowing about his complete come-apart. So, reluctantly as all hell, Zoro was now footing the bill for stuff.
Or, he had been footing the bill. His funds had already run out.
"Yesterday saw the last of it," he admitted, grudgingly at best, because as much as he fucking hated what he was getting himself into with the miserly wench, the kids and Moping Beauty over there still needed food, goddammit.
Nami heaved a long-suffering sigh, the look she gave him tired, and maybe a touch annoyed, but not as overtly angry as she'd been earlier. "You really are hopeless, you know?"
"Work starts in a week," Zoro groused defensively. "If he's still a useless lump by next Friday, I can take care of things." Although rent's gonna be an interesting situation.
"What about rent? Isn't that due soon?"
Shit!
"Yeah," he grunted. "But I'll figure it out."
The orange-haired girl eyed him oddly for a second, as though he were some sort of rare art that she was trying to decide was worth anything or not.
Then she rolled her eyes, sighing again and seeming slightly defeated.
"You're hopeless and useless. Why the hell do these morons keep you around?"
And with that, she reached into her purse, pulling out her wallet, and extracting a small stack of fifty dollar bills from it. Where the hell she got that kind of money, in cash, was not something Zoro felt tempted to find out.
"Here. This should cover food for the next two weeks. Save at least three hundred for rent. After that, you can take care of things with your own money."
Zoro just sort of gaped as Nami grabbed his hand, stuffing the money in his stunned grip.
"That's a loan, all right? I'm charging you interest on it!"
"Uh-huh," the swordsman lulled, not listening and far too amazed at the fact that this was the most cash he'd ever held in his hand at one time. It was sort of a head-trip for him, especially since it was so easily given. By The Hag, no less!
Nami rolled her eyes again, gaze shifting from Zoro's astonished face to the top of Sanji's head just visible over the back of the couch, her features falling significantly.
"I hope he's feeling better soon," she murmured, voice low. "I hate seeing him like this."
The swordsman would have made some biting remark about how all she missed was the constant servitude and praise, but the truly sad and worried look in her brown eyes made him hold his tongue. She seemed to genuinely care about the cook, beyond all the perks she got for supposedly being one of "the fairer species," despite how debatable that point may be. So Zoro let it drop. For now.
"Well, I need to get going," Nami said, breaking Zoro from his thoughts. She swept her purse strap over her shoulder and headed for the door. "Vivi's probably worried herself into a decent-sized fit by now, anyway. I swear to God, that girl will put herself in an early grave, all that damage she does to her nerves."
"Tell her 'hey' from us," Zoro added, seeing her to the door, not out of courtesy so much as the pleasure he got from shutting her out of the apartment.
"'Kay," she replied, opening the door and stepping out into the hall.
Zoro was just about to throw the sliding metal closed, finally ridding himself of the infuriating woman for another day, when a well-manicured hand flew up, catching the side of the door and stopping it in its tracks, delaying Zoro's peace of mind for just that moment longer.
"Oh, and Zoro?" she asked, her eyes suddenly a deceptive calm, her voice falsely sweet. "Remember, now: after your first pay-check, I expect payment on the loan every day, with interest!"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," the man grunted, placing a large hand squarely on her face and pushing her out of the way of the door slamming home. Sure, her screams of rage were loud enough to rattle his teeth, but he'd thrown the dead-bolt already, so it officially wasn't his problem anymore.
Finally with the witch gone he could breath easier again, at least until breakfast time tomorrow. Zoro heaved a sigh, waves of relief washing over him, calming and soothing frustrated blood cells that had been steadily boiling since she walked into the apartment that morning; his head no longer a tangled web of aggravation and barely contained fury –
-- Wait, what?
A loan? Had she said it was a loan!? With interest!?
Oh. Fuck.
The bitch's taunting smile reared up like a viper in his mind's eye just then, remembering the way she'd practically smirked at him, mocking him silently. Looking darkly amused, in the way only a predator toying with its prey before the final strike could.
A nasty sense of foreboding descended in the swordsman's gut as he stood in the open space near the kitchen, cold and weighty like an anvil.
Somehow, Zoro got the idea that paying Nami back would be way more painful than simply handing her part of his hard-earned cash. It'd be something akin to cutting out parts of his soul, he imagined, if he actually even had one.
Well, he thought, marveling at how his blood-pressure could go from high to moderate to through-the-fucking-roof in a matter of moments, at least she doesn't know about the swords.
He must have murdered someone in a past life. He must have murdered multiple someones. That was the only explanation for why the universe was fucking him over every single goddamn time he turned around. Zoro didn't think he deserved this, was aware of the fact that he wasn't really the nicest guy in the world, but knew he couldn't be the worst. And yet here he was, trapped in a vicious cycle of frustration and bad luck, with a bunch of clueless fucking people that he was dumb enough to give a shit about, only to have the very few selfless deeds he'd ever done in life thrown back in his face by more shit-karma and more tragedy and assholes like Sanji. Zoro was never one to bitch and moan about his trials in life, but really: this just didn't seem fucking fair.
And the worst part of it all, the part that really set the swordsman's teeth on edge and vexation rolling through his veins: it was his own fault he felt so frustrated and angry about all this. If he'd just strolled through this roommate thing like he always did, he wouldn't be so irritated that one of them was ruining his life. He wouldn't be irritated because he wouldn't care. But Zoro did care, hence his irritation. And it's not like these idiots had forced him to give a damn about them. He just had one day. But despite being a mature person, an adult who should be able to deal with his anger in a healthy sort of way, Zoro had never dealt with anger particularly well. Regardless of knowing that it was his own fault for getting himself all worked up and involved in these people's lives, he was still inclined to get pissed at them when they managed to fuck shit up.
Like Sanji.
A walking contradiction who made Zoro want to choke the ever-loving-hell out of him. He was about as confusing as his fucking curlicue eyebrow. Zoro honestly couldn't stand the fucker, and the fact that he cared about him just infuriated him further. The knowledge that Sanji, however, couldn't give a flying fuck about anything only served to make the swordsman vaguely homicidal.
Zoro grunted harshly, trying to pull himself from his hateful thoughts that weren't really helping his blood-pressure, and scrubbed his hands over his face roughly, trying to vent as best he could since he never got the opportunity to train anymore, since he couldn't break anything 'cuz he'd have to repair it, and since the true source of all this fucking bullshit, the goddamn reason for all Zoro's headaches and irritation and bad karma and disgust, was totally and in all ways off limits.
He couldn't lay a hand on Sanji. Chopper would kill him. But it looked like Zoro was gonna stroke to death anyway, so he figured he might as well go out doing what needed to be done. What should have been done a long-ass time ago.
This was not at all what Sanji needed. And no one else seemed to get that. Holding his fucking hand wasn't gonna teach him how to deal with his own problems. Patting him on the head and saying, "Oh, it'll work itself out" wasn't really going to cut it, didn't actually do anything to address the real issue, and Zoro was, apparently, the only one to realize this. He would admit, though, that Sanji was too far gone in his depression to really pull himself out. He did need someone, but not in the way everyone else had been treating him. He needed to be shaken up, snapped out of it, by force if necessary, and no one was willing to do the job. No one wanted to be anything that wasn't kind or understanding, even though they didn't really understand, and they all apparently thought so little of Sanji that they assumed he'd break if anyone pushed him. Sanji was strong. He just needed someone to give him the opportunity to prove it. He needed a bad guy.
And Zoro was nothing if not a bad guy. Everyone – including the fucking cosmos – already thought he was a cold, heartless bastard, so he might as well seal the deal. And there was a good chance they'd never forgive him. Sanji may never forgive him. Zoro may very well get kicked out of the apartment, and despite his surprise at finding out how much he didn't like that idea, this was more important than any of that. This was more important than a roof over his head.
A life outweighed a home. Zoro'd deal with the backlash when it came.
For the moment, he'd just be the bad guy.
Because he fucking cared.
He marched purposefully into the living room, rounding the couch until he stood directly over the blanket-encased cook where he sat staring numbly ahead of him. Despite the shadow Zoro cast over the smaller, curled-up frame, and the fact that his torso was very clearly blocking the idiot's view out the window, said idiot didn't seem to notice. Hell, he didn't even blink. Just stared ahead, unthinking, unmoving, utterly frozen in time. The ridiculous-looking soul patch he used to trim fastidiously was growing out, the stubble across his sallow cheeks getting longer. Blonde hair hung in increasingly greasy hanks, dark circles under blue eyes highlighted against the pale skin.
"Fucking pathetic," Zoro muttered. This really had gone on for way too long. He was determined to put an end to it.
"Oi, Sanji," he called, loud and unmistakable.
Hazed eyes continued staring through him.
"Sanji, are you listening to me?"
Nothing. He wasn't surprised. Zoro had known from the very beginning what it would take to get through to him, and it probably wasn't going to be pretty. If Chopper thought the swordsman had been cruel in his tactics when waking the blonde up the morning they found him drunk off his ass, it wouldn't hold a goddamn candle to what he was about to do now.
Zoro leaned closer to the cook, reaching a hand out, twisting it in the worn fabric of Sanji's lounge shirt, and without a second wasted or anymore to-do, he wound back and cold-cocked the skinny blonde in the face.
He didn't weigh much, and Zoro hadn't held back, so the smaller man flew a few feet, crashing pretty hard into the arm of the couch. Now, it was just a matter of time to see whether shit-cook got the message or not.
Sanji was still for a moment, eyes significantly wider than they'd been about a second ago, his limbs limp and utterly motionless. But then, slowly and by degrees, his right hand began to twitch, fingers flexing unsurely, as though they were surprised to be moving so suddenly. And then haltingly, his arm raised, picking up speed as the pain from the blow no doubt began to radiate, pulsing into a deep-tissue bruise, and Zoro knew, he aimed the punch for that very result. Soon, Sanji's thin hand cradled his sore jaw, shock flickering across his face, followed by confusion, and finally, the reaction Zoro'd been looking for: anger. Because anger had to be focused on something, meaning Sanji had to have some sort of awareness, not that shitty blank nothingness he'd been stuck in the last seven days.
Those blue eyes flashed suddenly, surveying the living room in quick, practiced sweeps, like the fighter Zoro knew he was. Then those eyes swiveled around, nailing Zoro to the floor, or at least trying to, and for the first time in a week, Sanji was actually looking at something. Another wave of relief washed over the swordsman, but this one was somehow more concrete and real than the one he felt when Nami had left the apartment. Because while she'd inevitably be coming back at some point, this could very well be a permanent change. Maybe, if he played this right, Sanji wouldn't ever go back to that shitty, depressed place he'd been at.
Anger flared fast and ruthlessly in the blonde, as realizations sunk into a mind that obviously hadn't been too active in a while.
"THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, YOU SHITTY FUCKING BASTARD!" Sanji roared, voice hoarse, since in addition to moving and thinking, he also hadn't been doing much talking lately.
He was absolutely furious.
Zoro couldn't help the smirk that lifted his lips.
This, unsurprisingly, only served to further piss the cook off.
"WHAT, ASSHOLE!?"
"Nothing," Zoro said evenly. "You were just too pathetic for me to handle anymore, so I figured I'd kick your ass."
"YOU FIGURED YOU WHAT!?" the cook scream. "WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?"
"Who do you think you are, shit-cook?" the swordsman replied. "You've been hole
d up here on the couch like a scared little pussy. Shit, no wonder the Old Man wrote you out of the will, I'd be ashamed to be associated with you too --"
Before the last word even left his mouth, the blonde was up and swinging his legs out like a scythe, face twisted in the worst sort of painful rage, but it was worth it. Hatred was better than lifelessness, and if the cook never wanted to speak to him again after this, then…
…Well, he'd just have to deal with that.
Zoro blocked the blow, and it hurt like a mother-fucker, but he took it, let the next hit land, and the one after that, blocked the third, countered on the fourth. Soon he'd started a pretty predictable pattern of hit-hit-block-counter-hit-hit-block-counter, but Sanji was too blinded by his ire to notice that this fight was totally set-up.
He was screaming something unintelligible, throwing himself at Zoro with every ounce of strength he possessed, speed fed by his uncontained wrath. The swordsman was on the defensive, getting thrown against walls, nearly getting himself kicked out the window, taking a few choice blows to the head and side before he decided the blonde had gotten a good enough head start. This was the only leeway Zoro was gonna give the curly-eyebrow idiot. He certainly didn't plan on just standing there and letting the blonde beat his ass. When that deadly leg swung up towards his jaw again, a strong arm was there to meet it, curling around the knee and jerking Sanji's body forward, right into the harsh left hook waiting for him. The cook spluttered, falling to the ground once Zoro released his captive appendage, snarling like some vicious animal, a wild hate in his eyes as he leapt right back up, flying at the swordsman with renewed vigor.
And Zoro was right there to meet him, head on. He wasn't sure how this was going to end, and he didn't delude himself into thinking it'd be good by any stretch of the imagination, but if earning Sanji's eternal detestation meant the damn shit-cook could return to being a normal person, then so-fucking-be it.
It's worth it, he kept telling himself, taking a sharp kick to the sternum, fist digging into a firm stomach, and a bit surprised at how little convincing he had to do to believe his own excuses.
It's worth it.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
He was banged up beyond all belief. Maybe. It felt like it, in a way. He was sort of hovering somewhere between utter numbness and complete soreness. So much pain, he didn't really feel it anymore. He'd finally caught his breath, and the sweat on his skin had long since dried, leaving it tight and a bit itchy, but there didn't seem to be any serious damage. He was pretty sure he'd just barely avoided a shattered jaw, but he sort of got the impression the blow had glanced slightly to the right on purpose. All in all, despite the many deep, dark bruises he'd no doubt have by tomorrow, he felt pretty okay.
Really okay, actually; the sudden rush of adrenaline, the spike of righteous fury and pain of punches as strong as battering rams served as a bizarrely perfect cocktail to get his blood moving and his brain functioning once more.
And it seemed like it'd been a while since Sanji could boast any of that. Whatever grey, shit kind of purgatory he'd been stuck in the last week or so was lifted in the wake of primal violence. And Sanji was gonna go out on a limb and guess that not many doctors would prescribe brutal beat-downs as a panacea for mind-numbing depression, but the cook operated very differently from most people, and luckily he just happened to have someone around who was similar enough to notice this particular difference. Someone just as hot-blooded as the cook himself; someone who enjoyed a good fight more than watching some pansy-assed football game and making crude tit-jokes. Someone who was as much of an average guy as Sanji was.
Someone like Zoro.
Sanji tilted his head slightly, battered skull protesting loudly as it rolled across the hard floor of the living room where he lay splayed on his back. The swordsman sat cross-legged just a few feet away, back hunched slightly over his lap as he wiped the blood from his chin; Sanji, through his haze of blind fury, vaguely recalled mule-kicking the marimo in the jaw, hard enough that it should have brutally snapped at the joint, but all the swordsman had to show for it was a deep bruise and a busted lip. Fucker was tough, Sanji had to give him that. And strong as hell, if the sharp throbbing in his sides was anything to go by. It'd been a fucking long time since they'd had an honest-to-God fight, what with all the shit that had been happening of late, and it'd felt unbelievably good to work off all that pent-up aggression; to find some sort of focus for the multitude of distracting, depressing thoughts that had been swirling around his head for the past couple of weeks. In a way, it served to put everything into perspective.
And yeah, Sanji was thankful for that. He may have resented it at the start, but now, with his heart a steady lub-dub in his ears and his blood thrumming softly, aching and exhausted, but oddly peaceful, he could admit that things were better. And he was man enough to admit the cause of this "better" was not, in fact, his own amazing manly charisma.
The cause – as horrifying as it was to own up to – was the shit-swordsman.
And he figured he ought to say something about that. Because, well…the fucker just deserved it. Or something.
So with a grunt, and several brand new sparks of pain in his back, Sanji managed to heave himself into a sitting position mirroring that of Zoro's, who had simply given up on his hands and proceeded to dab at his split lip with his T-shirt that, at one point, had probably been white. It'd clearly seen better days. So had its wearer, Sanji concluded with some amount of guilt-laced amusement. The swordsman had definitely come out the worse for wear, and Sanji may be proud, but he certainly wasn't about to take credit where it wasn't due: it was no real coincidence that Zoro had taken the brunt of the beating, without returning even half the damage on Sanji. Asshole had gone easy on him, and in most cases the cook would consider that akin to pitying him, which he did not tolerate under any circumstances, but…maybe just this once, he could make an exception. Because instead of feeling childish and inferior, all he really felt was grateful. Which he figured must mean something pretty important. What exactly, he wasn't all that clear on, but it didn't matter at that very moment, at least not as much as swallowing his ego and telling the green-haired moron that he did, in fact, appreciate Zoro's…what, dedication? Willingness to help? Friendship?
Well, it was something or other. He'd figure it out as he went.
"Hey," Sanji spoke up just then, voice slightly croaked, and he was annoyed by his sudden impulse to hop to his feet and run away over the mere prospect of having to thank this asshole.
Zoro tensed almost imperceivably at the sound of his voice, the ministrations on his mouth halting a second, before he resumed a little stiffly, trying for nonchalance and only succeeding in looking a bit trapped.
"What?"
The sound was tight, a forced calm, with the barest hint of trepidation in his tone.
Sanji blinked, almost positive that this was a mirage, because he honestly had never witnessed the swordsman act like anything that wasn't total arrogance. So this edgy, nearly meek Zoro must certainly be a figment of his imagination; some crazy side-effect of massive booze consumption, seven days with hardly any blinking, and several very harsh blows to the head. This Zoro could not possibly be real. It was almost like…like the man was nervous. Worried, even, though for the love of his limbs, Sanji would never voice this opinion out loud.
What the hell could he possibly be worried about? The fight? He can't be worried that he hurt me, I doubt the fucker cares that much. Is he worried I'm mad at him for the fight? Does he think I hate him for—
Some choice brain cells fried in that very second, as the realization finally came crashing down like an iron weight on his head.
That was it, wasn't it? Zoro thought Sanji hated him for the fight. Thought he'd be pissed that Zoro was evil enough to hit a man when he was down, and that he must be the worst human in the world for saying all that heinous shit to him about his father, who had just died; purposefully hitting tender spots because he knew that would get a reaction. And if Sanji was any other person on the face of the earth, he probably would be pissed. He'd probably detest the swordsman and his very existence, spit heated, hate-filled curses at him and kick him the fuck out of the apartment that very moment. In fact, if this situation had presented itself about a month earlier that's exactly what Sanji would have done. Chucked all the fucker's shit right off the fire escape with the marimo not a second behind, and goddamn the kid's complaints straight to hell. He wouldn't even care, because it's what the asshole deserved.
But now, sitting in their trashed living room, the coffee table flung over near the windows, the rug all bunched up and ripped at the corner, the couch toppled over on its back, Zoro still sitting there with his shirt to his lip, looking like a man awaiting the gallows, and the fierce aching in every one of the cook's muscles, Sanji couldn't even bring himself to be pissed. Which sort of convinced him that either he or Zoro had to be terminally ill, and his bets were going on himself, because that'd be just his shitty luck to finally crawl outta this depression to find out he has testicular cancer. A tiny fraction of his brain that wasn't liquefied and utterly ruined was fairly certain he should be at least vaguely annoyed by everything, if not over the sharp pain in his bones, than for the awful things Zoro had said to him. But there again, the cook couldn't even fake being mad. Because, as much as he hated it sometimes, he knew the marimo, to an extent. He knew it wasn't Zoro's style to be petty, and that regardless of what he'd said, he hadn't meant any of it. Sanji understood why the swordsman had touched upon such hurtful stuff, and it was to get the blonde to snap out of his funk. Sanji knew that, could appreciate the effort, and he did.
Honestly.
Even if that old tried-and-true sense of impending doom was settling around him again, like it did whenever Sanji was about to admit, even if to himself, that he didn't hate Zoro as much as he acted like he did.
But more than anger, more than irritation, more than gratitude, even, Sanji was mostly just shocked that Zoro even gave a damn about what the blonde thought. The fact that the normally calm, collected, stoic swordsman was all anxious and worried over whether or not Sanji hated him was …well, honestly, it was one of the cutest fucking things Sanji'd ever seen. And he felt a bit like pummeling his head into the nearest solid surface for even contemplating such an awful thing as Zoro being cute, or nice, or compassionate, or anything that wasn't utterly annoying and pig-headed.
But there it was. He'd thought it. No real taking it back. At least Zoro wasn't aware of it.
I must be going fucking crazy, the cook thought miserably, eventually realizing that he'd never actually responded to the swordsman's question.
He cleared his throat loudly, trying to collect his thoughts from the rubble of his last brain-breakage.
"Um, I just…" he paused, swallowing, convincing himself that despite his objecting pride and severely confused mind, it was only right that Sanji do this. He'd put the marimo through a lot of shit for about two weeks now, ever since the funeral, and he owed this to the moron, however bad of a taste it left in his mouth.
Which, admittedly, wasn't as bitter as he'd sort of hoped it would be.
"I just...I wanted to say…thanks. I guess."
He couldn't look at Zoro. Because he was an idiot. And he wasn't blushing.
There was a lengthy pause on the swordsman's end, though, long enough to pique the cook's curiosity – he damn sure wasn't concerned, because that would mean he gave a damn, which he did not, even though he did, and he was gonna stop thinking now – and he, against his better judgment, shifted his gaze to peer at the green-haired man from under the cover of his bangs.
The look he found in the other man's eyes brought his aching, over-worked mind to a screeching halt. They were intense, serious, and a touch disbelieving as they studied Sanji, looking at him, looking into him, trying to suck out his soul through his own blue eyes and examine every facet of it; to determine whether the cook was being sincere, or just lying to cover up his anger, of which there was none, because Sanji hadn't been lying. He was grateful. Really. And Zoro saw that eventually, eyes softening about a fraction when he found what he'd been looking for, all the tenseness draining out of his body in an instant.
Then the bastard the fucking gall to offer Sanji the most open, genuine little half-smile that the cook had ever seen from the usually-smirking asshole, sending the blonde's brain reeling once more because, honestly, what the fuck was that about? But before Sanji had too much time to wonder at what was no doubt a sign of the apocalypse approaching, the marimo stood up – a bit slower than normal, for which Sanji allowed himself an evil smirk – and wandered around the couch, stretching as he said, "No problem, shit-cook. You were due up for an ass-kicking, anyway."
And Sanji was about to fire off a really clever retort to that. Really, he was. He had the biting rejoinder all planned out and keyed up in his mind, he was ready to lash out with it that very next second … and that's when Sanji actually realized what the idiot was doing, and his brain, his nervous system, and all sense of rational judgment utterly and irrevocably shattered.
As the swordsman stretched, arms above his head, back arching cat-like, his tattered white shirt rode up slightly revealing a few inches of toned, tanned stomach that Sanji hadn't even realized he'd never seen until that exact instant, and he felt a startling heat sweep up his neck and across his face just then and he had no idea what any of this was, or what exactly was happening and what the hell is that? Is that a scar? Does he have a scar on his stomach? Is that why he never goes without a shirt? Not that I want him to. Because that would be weird of me. Yeah. Very weird.
Jesus Fucking Hell, what was Sanji's problem all of a sudden? He must have taken a pretty hard blow to the head, because brain damage was really the only excuse for this.
He was not blushing, he was not feeling a bit too warm all of a sudden, and he damn sure wasn't turning away like a giggling little fan-girl! Not that he was giggling! He wasn't! He was too fucking horrified to giggle, or really make any sound other than choking and a noise that somehow signified despair! That was all! Really!
After listening to the popping joints and faint grunting coming from the man Sanji was tying desperately hard not to look at right now, the marimo finally started moving again, heading into the kitchen.
"Want something to drink, Curlicue?"
"Mrphglbah!"
"What?"
Sanji tried again and managed to say words this time.
"Water!"
"…'Kay."
Zoro sounded confused. Sanji didn't blame him. He was pretty confused, himself. Mostly about why he, despite wanting so badly to burst into flames, had yet to combust. He glared at the floor, pouting. Fucking laws of physics. What the hell had they done for him lately?
The swordsman padded back into the living room a moment later, a glass of ice water in each hand, and yes, his shirt was back in place, but did that stop Sanji from thinking about that foreign stretch of skin that may or may not have a significant scar on the lower right side?
Fucking no. He couldn't even look at the asshole without imagining how far up the scar must trail or wondering how he got it, or musing on how he managed an even tan when the cook never saw him take his shirt off. Ever. Again, not that he wanted to. It was just a weird quirk. Only natural for Sanji to be curious, right? Only normal that he'd develop an interest in the possibly-scarred stomach of his roommate, because he never saw the man without a shirt. Totally understandable that Sanji would become obsessed with his male friend's naked abdomen because he never saw it on a regular basis.
Of course. It all made perfect sense ….
… He was so fucked. And he was wondering if Zeff had raised him to be so tough that a fall from a five story fire escape wouldn't kill him. He was very tempted to find out.
Sanji averted his eyes as Zoro walked up to him, offering a glass of water to the cook. He took it, mumbled something that might have been another thank you, and proceeded to sip his drink while making sure to look at anything at all that wasn't the shit-swordsman.
There was a longish pause then, Zoro still standing next to him, far too close for the blonde to be entirely comfortable, and he could feel those intense eyes staring at him once more, but this time he would not make the mistake of meeting that gaze. Zoro had already proven himself to have some crazy, esoteric mind-reading ability, and Sanji damn sure didn't want him seeing anything of the cook's current train of thought in his blue eyes. He could keep it all a secret from the marimo, if only he avoided ever meeting the fucker's eyes again. At least until his insanity let up a little. He had been cooped up in the apartment for a week. Surely all he needed was some fresh air, and all this freaky shit would simply billow away with the wind.
He heard the swordsman take a breath.
"Oi, Sanji…"
A wave of something crashed into his chest, and damned if another shitty blush didn't assault his face, and the cook was about five seconds from breaking his glass on the wooden floor and slashing his throat with the jagged edges. This was getting so far beyond fucked up, he couldn't stand it.
All he did was say my name! Sanji raved internally, sounding crazy even in his mind. He's said my name a bunch of times, it doesn't mean shit that he does it now, and why am I acting like some fucking prepubescent little girl!?
"Sanji, I --"
The door to the apartment slammed open just then, and the cook had never been so glad to see that straw-hat-wearing idiot before in his entire life. Because if Zoro said whatever it was he'd been about to say, Sanji was pretty sure he'd have to kill himself before something … hell, he didn't even know what, he just knew it'd ruin fucking everything, and right now, with as shaky as his life had become, he really didn't need another support beam knocked out from under him.
He needed Zoro to just keep things as they were. He needed him to quit changing shit whenever Sanji was in no position to do anything about it. He couldn't handle it. Not now, and not ever.
Right now, he just needed everything to go back to the way it used to be.
"ZORO!" the unmistakable sound of Luffy's exuberant yelling hit home, and it felt like Sanji hadn't heard that obnoxious voice in months, which really just showed how fucking out of it he must have been, to be able to tune Luffy out.
"ZORO, I WENT TO THE ARCADE, AND I PLAYED THIS GAME ABOUT PIRATES, AND ONE OF THEM HAD A SWORD JUST LIKE YOURS, ONLY HIS HAIR WAS BLACK, AND IT WAS BRAIDED AND HE LOOKED SORTA FUNNY, AND THEN THIS GIRL WON A PURPLE ELEPHANT AND DIDN'T WANT IT AND SHE LET ME HAVE IT! ISN'T THAT AWESOME!"
A brief pause.
"Yes, Luffy. That's awesome."
"Mind-numbingly so," Sanji added, realizing at that very second that he didn't know where his cigarettes were, and that he'd quite like a nicotine hit. Like, right-the-fuck now.
The dark-haired boy blinked a second, tilting his head so his straw hat nearly fell off, as he regarded the two nakama and the destroyed living room with a blank look on his face. And then:
"SANJI! YOU'RE OKAY! YOU'RE TALKING AND STUFF! AND YOU KICKED ZORO'S ASS! You must be feeling better!"
"Oi!" Zoro growled.
Sanji merely laughed, shocked at how stiff the muscles of his face felt when they attempted a smile, and he knew it had nothing to do with getting punched by the fucking Neanderthal. But he didn't have long to speculate on that, because that revved-up ball of energy finally exploded across the room, slamming into Sanji and sending him toppling backwards, cracking his already-sore head on the hard floor, but the cook didn't mind all that much.
"I knew you'd get better soon! Everyone was real worried, but I knew you'd be okay! But why'd you take so loooooooong!?"
"Sorry, Luffy," Sanji just grinned. "Won't happen again. Honest."
The boy leaned above the sprawled man and beamed wide from ear-to-ear. "Hee hee!"
Sanji heard a faint grunt from somewhere near him, and heard the marimo muttering something about stupid kids and useless cooks, but only half-heartedly at best, and Sanji felt the cogs of his world finally settling back into their proper place. Felt like he was no longer coming unglued, and shit would start making sense again. There were just two more pieces he needed for everything to feel right again.
Over Luffy's loud rejoicing and Zoro's grumbled annoyance, he heard the rapid patter of feet barreling up the stairs and noticed, a bit belatedly, that the door to the apartment was still open. And then in a whirlwind of flapping jackets and papers flying from an open back-pack, Chopper burst through the doorway, looking winded and incredibly panicked.
"WHAT IS IT!? I HEARD SCREAMING, AND I CAME AS FAST AS I COULD! NO ONE'S HURT, RIGHT!!!???"
"Look, Chopper! Sanji's back!" Luffy shouted, waving at the shaggy-haired boy from where he was perched on the cook's stomach.
The look of sheer glee and delight that lit up the young boy's face made Sanji simultaneously feel like the happiest guy alive, and a complete dick, for making such a nice kid worry about him so much. Chopper made a mad dash for him, throwing his back-pack aside as he went, and was kind enough not to body-slam the blonde, choosing instead to kneel beside him and hug the slender man around the neck. He heard the little guy sniffle into his shoulder.
"Hey, Chopper. You okay?" Sanji asked, hand coming up to pat the curly brown mess.
"I'm just…I'm just so happy you're all right!!!!!" the kid warbled, squeezing him tighter, while Luffy decided to wrap his arms around the both of them for an impromptu group hug.
"Zoro!" the boy cried. "Come hug with us!"
The swordsman snorted slightly, tipping his glass back for another drink of water.
"I think I'll pass, Luffy."
"Aw, Zoro's no fun! He never wants to hug!"
Thank Christ for that! Sanji thought, wishing the idiot would shut his mouth before the marimo got it in his crazy head to actually get down there and hug them all just to prove to Luffy that he could, because Zoro would do something dumb like that. And Sanji didn't really need the asshole getting that close to him.
"But what on earth happened here?" Chopper asked suddenly, looking over the top of Sanji's head at the rampant destruction in the living room. "Everything's all messed up and the couch is flipped! And," he paused looking at Sanji, really examining him this time, and there was no hiding the multitude of bumps and bruises he was currently sporting. "Sanji, you look awful! How did this happen! It looks like you were in a fi --"
Chopper halted. A deathly silence fell around the apartment as those chocolate brown eyes slowly swiveled over to regard the swordsman, who looked like a field mouse that'd been cornered by an owl. It only took the boy a few seconds to realize that Zoro looked much the same as Sanji, markedly worse, in fact, but that didn't garner enough of the boy's pity, apparently.
"Zoro…" Chopper muttered, dark and threatening.
The larger man swallowed, his eyes widening to frightened orbs.
"What did I tell you about picking a fight with Sanji?"
It was eerie, hearing that sort of tone from the small boy, like the calm before a storm. Sanji felt for the larger man. He really did.
"Um…" Zoro lulled, hand tightening reflexively on the glass in his hand.
"I specifically told you NOT TO START A FIGHT WITH MY PATIENT WHEN HE WAS ILL!!!"
And with that, the small Med student shot off the ground, making a mad lunge at the swordsman, who side-stepped him and bolted away into the kitchen, his glass of water abandoned on the living room rug.
"ZORO, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!" Chopper bellowed in a voice Sanji didn't think such a compact body could create, as he scrambled back to his feet and tore off after the escaping man.
Shouts of horror and rage filled the apartment, along with the symphony of things falling of the walls and shit breaking, and everything was starting to feel like home again for Sanji. He smirked, idly patting himself down in the hope that Chopper had left his pack of cigarettes in his pajama pockets.
"I'm glad you're back, Sanji," Luffy said then, still sounding happy, but with a rare edge of seriousness to it.
The blonde looked up, regarding his younger nakama as the other two did another mad lap around the apartment. He smiled at the boy, who was always so genuine, so honest to a fault that it was really quite inspirational, if the moron didn't so often spoil the moment with his unbridled dumbness.
But, this was Luffy. And Luffy wouldn't be Luffy if he didn't ruin every moment that might possibly have some true meaning.
"'Cuz I was getting tired of Nami's cooking all the time!"
Sanji blinked, certain that he had heard wrong.
"What do you mean, 'Nami's cooking'? Why was that goddess preparing food for you bastards?"
"None of us can cook," the boy said, shrugging. "So Zoro called Nami over to make breakfast for us, since you weren't moving and stuff. Her food was okay, but I like Sanji's best."
And with that, Luffy smiled proudly at the cook.
Said cook, however, was not taking this news quite so well.
"You mean to tell me," he started, trying to contain the fury boiling inside of him, his limbs practically shaking with the force of it, "that that gorgeous creature, that angel among sinners, was summoned here every. Single. Day. To make breakfast for you ungrateful, uncultured swine!?"
Luffy shoved a pinky in his nose. "Yep. Pretty much."
And Sanji realized then that he didn't need a nicotine hit. He didn't need to bask in the presence of his queens to feel complete again. All he really needed for everything to go back to normal was this: uncontrolled, righteous, murderous wrath.
Aimed at none other than the shitty, moss-brained, marimo-headed, asshole of a swordsman.
"FUCKING DICKHEAD! YOU HAD THE PRECIOUS MISS NAMI COOK YOUR MEALS FOR YOU, YOU UNCOUTH SHIT-MONGREL!!!"
And with that, Sanji joined in on Chopper's Zoro-hunt the next time they made a circuit around the living room, throwing soup ladles and acidic curses at the green-haired man, promising him a proper ass-whooping when he finally got his feet on him. And with Chopper threatening an early autopsy beside him, Sanji felt that, really, things had turned out pretty all right.
Things were much, much better.
And yeah, even now, it was still because of the marimo.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Many hours later, once Zoro's beatings were finally over and everyone had wandered off to do something else, the swordsman cursed as he cautiously lowered himself into the steaming bath that Chopper ordered he take once the smaller boy caught sight of the many bruises and lacerations all up and down Zoro's back when the green-haired man had attempted to change shirts in their shared room.
The proud warrior winced slightly as the hot water touched a particularly angry cut, every inch of muscle tight and sore and begging for the warmth that still stung like hell.
It's worth it, the swordsman chanted, finally sinking his body into the welcoming heat of the bath tub, drawing in a sharp hiss through his teeth at the fierce scream every wound on his body let up at once after being submerged.
It's worth it, it's worth it, it's worth it!
The fresh bottle of Sakura, Fine Aged Sake waiting for him beside his dinner plate that night was proof enough that Zoro had been right all along.
Poor Zoro.....he suffers so for the sake of Sanji's sanity and sake......*glances at previous sentence* There are way too many s's in that sentence. I'm crazy.