Sanji lay back on the hospital bed, watching the spectre of lady lying in the bed beside him. After a while, she'd get up then float aimlessly out of the doorway. A few minutes pass, and she'd return just to get back on the empty bed and lay there. She'd been doing this over and over again since Sanji was admitted to this room. He was the only patient. Normally, he hated being left alone with spectres, but he didn't mind her. She was a lot better company that the other he battled with earlier that night.

She got up again. Sanji watched her leave, eyes falling on the open doorway she disappeared around. Outside, he could hear the low hum of Zeff's voice and Chopper's squeaky whisper.

"He's fine," said Chopper. "The tests came back and his wound's not infected."

"Are you sure? You told me he was ill at the hospital the other night as well."

"Has he had fits like this before?"

Zeff sighed. "They're not really fits, or anything like that… He's had terrible nightmares before. Ones that give him the shakes. His mother was always good at calming him down…"

Chopper hummed. "Perhaps it's stress with work? I know he helps around at your restaurant often."

Zeff gave a short laugh. "Yeah, well he ain't doing that anytime soon."

There was a pause and rustling of paper.

"I'm afraid, given the current circumstances, I'd strongly advise that Sanji stay here until his stitches can be removed. Would that be okay with you?"

"Absolutely. The little brat ain't gonna like it, but right now, he doesn't have a say in this."

"You're welcome to visit anytime, of course. And if you wanted to come after visiting hours, just ask for my name at the desk. I can let you up."

"Thank you."

"Also… This might not be my place to say, but, um… If these nightmares have been a burden to him in the past, then… Perhaps it might be best to speak to a counsellor about it?"

The old man didn't reply. Sanji balled his fists on the sheets.

"It's all up to you of course. But, if it's becoming detrimental to his health, then… I can recommend him to a friend of mine. He's an expert in neuropsychology and works as a guidance councelor in an institute up north."

"Thank you, doctor. I'll talk it over with him first."

Footsteps faded down the corridor, and a short time after, Zeff appeared at the doorway. He hobbled over to sit at the armchair beside Sanji's bed. Sanji noticed the pamphlet sticking out of Zeff's back pocket.

"How are you feeling, little eggplant?"

"I need a fag," grumbled Sanji, his voice coming out rough and strained. "And I can think of a million other places I could be in right now that would be better than here."

Zeff laughed. "Well, you better get used to it, because you're staying put until that little doctor says you're free to go."

With a heavy sigh Sanji slumped back on the bed and let the silence draw out between them.

"Sanji," Zeff's voice was low.

Sanji could tell what was coming next and he didn't like it.

"Will you tell me what happened now?"

"It's exactly what you think it is," said Sanji. "I had a bad dream and that's it."

"Bad dream? I wake up because you're screaming bloody murder, then I manage to get up in time to see you flying from the bathroom and scrambling all over your goddamn floor! What kind of idiot has bad dreams that affect him like that?"

Sanji doesn't answer. How else does he explain something like this in a way his father would understand? He'd learnt a long time ago that Zeff didn't react kindly to conversation about his 'gift'. Especially after a long and painful argument he'd had with the old man as a child, when his mother supposedly died and he insisted she was still there in the rooms.

No, Sanji promised himself he'd never to talk his father or anyone else about his abilities again. It was something people simply didn't understand. It was something he barely even understood. This bloodied man that seemed so vivid. So real. The stench of blood so pervasive in the air. The cold, wet grip on his hand and his shoulder… Sanji shuddered. He could still feel those fingers digging into his flesh. How could it have been a dream?

"This isn't the first time either," Zeff spoke again.

Sanji looked up and met the old man's worried eyes.

"You've had bad nightmares like this before. You think I didn't notice? Your mother used to deal with them, but after she'd gone…"

Sanji focused all his attention on a spot in the ceiling. This was a conversation he didn't want to have. Ever.

Zeff sighed, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair. "Is it because of her?"

No answer.

"You need to let her go, little eggplant," Zeff continued. "It hurts, but I've moved on from that now. You can too."

Sanji closed his eyes. "This has nothing to do with her."

"Then what is it?"

Sanji could sense desperation and frustration straining at the old man's voice. He couldn't look at him right now. The chair creaked as Zeff pushed himself up.

"If you don't feel comfortable enough to tell your own flesh and blood, then maybe you'll talk to a complete stranger."

Sanji heard the flick of a paper and turned to see the pamphlet on the table by his bed. It was a simple, black and white print out, crinkled a little from being in the old man's pocket. It had a picture of a brick building on the front, above the words: Dressrosa Institue.

Sanji scoffed. He knew exactly what kind of place Dressrosa was.

"There's nothing wrong with me," he said, glancing up at the old man.

Zeff only met him with a wounded expression. He didn't believe him. His own father genuinely thought he'd gone insane. A sharp pain pierced through Sanji's chest at the thought of it.

"I can't help you, Sanji," said Zeff. "I took so long to get my bloody leg on, I couldn't get to you in time. What if that happens again? What if you throw another tantrum and seriously injure yourself this time? I can't…"

His voice trailed off, and Sanji could sense the deep-seated remorse for his disability that he always hid so well. Guilt pressed down on Sanji's shoulders like a weighted bag. Inside, he decided he didn't want to involve the old man in this anymore that he had done tonight.

Zeff cleared his throat, breaking through the heavy cloud that settled around the room.

"I need to get back to the Baratie," he said. "I'll be back around lunch time."

He grabbed his coat and nodded to the pamphlet on the table.

"Think about it, at least. Please."

Without another word, Zeff left through the open doorway. Sanji glared at the pamphlet like it was something unholy and disgusting. He reached over and scrunched it up, throwing it at the bin across the room. He missed.

With a frustrated sigh, he slumped back on the bed. The lady returned, floating slowly towards the bed and laying still as stone. She didn't get up again. Sanji liked to think it was because she felt some form of pity towards him, and chose to keep him company.

Sanji couldn't sleep. He didn't want to. Not when the bloodied man lurked around in his sub-conscience, like a shark in dark waters. When tiredness did lure him into sleep, it was fitful. Only a half hour or so would pass before he startled awake, gasping and frantically assessing his surroundings to see if he was truly in the waking world or not.

The spectre of the lady was still there, hovering on the empty bed beside him. Sanji checked the clock on the wall. It was eight twenty-five. The morning sun streamed in through the windows, and the bustle around the hospital started to pick up.

With a heavy sigh, Sanji pushed himself out of bed, rubbing stinging eyes and stretching aching muscles. He wasn't going to sleep now. Peering out of the doorway to his room, Sanji narrowed his eyes and searched for any sign on Chopper. With the corridors clear, Sanji left his room and wandered down towards the lifts.

It didn't take long for him to find Zoro's room again. He stared through the glass at the sleeping boy, wired to machines, barely moving. Koshiro was there too, dozing on the chair beside bed.

Sanji hovered a fist at the door, before deciding against knocking and crept into the room. Who knew how much sleep Koshiro actually got these days? Still, not wanting to be rude, Sanji stood by the chair and cleared his throat.

Koshiro grumbled, but only slumped further in his seat and continued to sleep soundly. Poor man. Sanji moved to stand by the end of Zoro's bed, mimicking the position of the bloodied man in his nightmares. He watched Zoro's chest rise and fall in a slow rhythm. Bandages peeked out of the neckline of the hospital gown he currently wore. Sanji's mind wandered to the scars on the bloodied man, all spewing blood and entrails. He shuddered.

"Ah, Sanji-kun," Koshiro's voice startled Sanji. The elder man stretched in his chair, righting his glasses with the base of his palm.

Sanji laughed nervously. "Sorry, I let myself in. I didn't want to wake you."

"That's alright," Koshiro paused and turned to the green-haired teen. "Zoro, Sanji-kun is here to visit, again."

He then beamed at Sanji, as though expecting some form of introduction.

"Um… Hi," said Sanji, quietly.

Koshiro's face creased into a light frown as he looked over Sanji's hospital gown.

"Are you alright?"

Sanji forced a laugh and shook his head. "It's nothing. Just, er, had a little accident at home. I'm fine."

The elder man looked uncertain, but the expression disappeared from his face and he stood up, clapping his hands together.

"Take a seat. Let me make you some tea," he said, striding to cross the room to the counters on the other side.

"Oh, no you don't have to," Sanji began, but Koshiro had already put the kettle on. He wasn't getting out of this.

Fidgeting with the edge of his shirt, Sanji took a seat in another chair beside the bed. He was closer to Zoro's life support machine. The constant beeping, now louder on his ear, seemed to chant 'still alive still alive still alive'.

"I was just telling Zoro about my recent trip back home," Koshiro spoke as he poured dried tealeaves into two cups. "So much paper work to deal with. It's tiresome."

Sanji simply hummed in response, partly listening to the elder man's ramblings, and partly looking over Zoro. His arms were covered in bandages too, as though they were keeping everything held together. A steaming mug of light green liquid appeared before his eyes, breaking Sanji's train of thought.

"Thanks," said Sanji, taking the mug. The warmth seeped through his palms, and the slight scent of mint relaxed him.

Koshiro had a sympathetic look on his face. "Were you close with Zoro?"

"Um…" Sanji sipped his tea and stalled for time, thinking up a reasonable answer. "We didn't really talk much. I was just surprised when I found out he was in a coma."

Koshiro nodded. "We all were."

A heavy silence fell in the room. Sanji had to clasp his mug tightly to stop himself from fidgeting or aimlessly fiddling with his clothes.

"If…" Sanji began, a little uneasily. "If you don't mind me asking… How did this happen?"

Koshiro's eyes darkened. The elder man stared at Zoro, his brows knotted and the edges of his lips pulled downwards in a slight frown.

"It's not something easy to talk about…"

Sanji nodded, shutting up staring at the tea in his hands as thought it were something infinitely interesting. He shouldn't have asked about it at all. The longer the silence drew out from Koshiro, Sanji was certain he was definitely not getting an answer. But the man spoke again.

"Zoro didn't go into a coma by accident," Koshiro continued. His voice was low, and distant. "Someone attempted to take his life."

Sanji's eyes widened. All the heat drained from his body, and he could swear the ringing started in his ears again.

"They found his body in the woods just outside the city. The police said that two hikers found him. They thought he was dead."

Koshiro paused and gently removed his glasses. His eyes looked a lot smaller without them on. Pulling out a black cloth from his pocket, Koshiro polished the lenses of his glasses as he spoke.

"He'd been missing for two days before then. I was so worried… and when the police appeared at my doorstep, I feared the worst. But he was alive. Just."

Koshiro replaced the glasses on his face. When he looked up, his eyes were watery and a thin smile spread across his face.

"The doctors said he may have gone under due trauma. We've been trying everything to bring him back but… Well… It was going alright. But he hasn't shown any improvements for the past few months."

Koshiro's voice sounded far away, as Sanji's brain pieced his story together. Attempted murder, barely alive… Zoro should've died that time, but he clung on to life. He held on, all this time. For what?

"Did they find out who did it?" asked Sanji.

Koshiro's face broke again and he shook his head.

"The police were investigating for weeks, but they found nothing. We don't know who did it, we don't know what happened. They tell me they're still investigating, but… I'm beginning to doubt it."

Aha. Sanji felt like he was waking up for the first time. A weight lifted from his shoulders, and a fire began to burn in his chest. They don't know who did it. A whole year, and Zoro's death hasn't been avenged or justified. That's why he was still here.

"The doctors are beginning to talk about, perhaps changing Zoro's treatment. Putting him on DNS…"

The ringing sharpened in Sanji's ear and pain pierced through his mind. Sanji rubbed his temple and screwed his eyes shut.

"They don't think he'll wake from this…"

He opened his eyes again. The bloodied man appeared behind Koshiro, void like eyes staring at him from across the room. Sanji gasped, startling in his seat. The mug slipped from his hand and shattered on the tiles.

"Sanji-kun?" Koshiro got up and rushed to the blonde's side, placing a gentle hand on his shoulders.

Again, the spectre disappeared. Sanji was panting, an ache throbbed in his skull, and all the hairs on his arms stood on end.

"Are you alright?" asked Koshiro.

Sanji tried to get up, the ceramic mug crunching under his foot.

"Shit, sorry," he muttered, crouching down and trying to clean up his mess.

"Don't worry," said Koshiro, moving to grab some paper towels on the counters. "I shouldn't have said that. Please don't mind me. I've just… I've been carrying these thoughts around for so long."

Sanji shook his head, picking up the last pieces of the broken mug and throwing it in the bin. He watched Koshiro, bent over the puddle of spilt tea as he moped it up with paper towels.

The feeling of pity only served as fuel for the fire that started burning in Sanji's chest. He had to help this guy out.

"Don't worry about Zoro," Sanji said, crouching down to help clean up the mess. "If it's as bad as you said it was, then he should've died that time. But he didn't. He's alive, which means he's strong. So he'll pull through."

It was all bullshit, of course. But he had to say something to ease the man's worries somewhat. Koshiro looked at him with a blank expression, and Sanji wondered if he'd overstepped a line. But then a soft smile spread across his face, and Sanji sighed internally with relief.

"Thank you, Sanji-kun. That means a lot."

Sanji shook his head, feeling embarrassed about it all. He quickly finished cleaning and binned the rest of the paper towels.

"Don't mention it. Listen, I'm not actually supposed to be out of my room, so I better head back. I'm sort of feeling a bit tired anyway."

Koshiro bowed. "You're welcome any time."

Sanji nodded awkwardly and headed for the door.

"Thanks for the tea," he said, turning back to give the man and Zoro one last glance, before shutting the door behind him and sneaking back to his room.