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It was bound to happen eventually. Somehow that’s the first thing Sanji thinks, even as he kicks the soldier away. A member of the rebels, or are they fighting the local government of this tiny island now? Sanji can’t remember. It’s not important.
The soldier leaves his sword behind. Sanji looks at it detachedly. Nothing special, just a straight, broad blade with nicks and flecks of rust visible through the blood. Nowhere near as sharp as Zoro’s, but it’s sharp enough.
Sanji tries to take a breath and chokes, crumpling to his knees instead. That jars the sword jammed through his chest, and if he’d been able to get any air in he would have screamed. As it is, he can barely hear his own whining gasp over the sounds of fighting.
Looking at the sword again, he tries to remember the length of it in the soldier’s hand. Judging from how much of the blade he can see sticking out of him, it’s probably all the way through. Sanji refuses to catalog the pain, to really think about what hurts and gauge that way.
If he’s careful he can take a small breath. In, out, in; a flash of pain like he’s being stabbed again each time, and in a way Sanji supposes he is. The blade is still there, after all, and every time his lungs expand they press parts of himself into the invasive metal. But he has to keep breathing, so he does, tiny fast breaths he can feel slicing him farther open each time.
Behind him there’s a familiar roar. Sanji holds as still as he can and looks up in time to see several unlucky soldiers fly over the battlefield. Across the way Zoro ducks, turning to yell something at Luffy, who is certainly the cause of that mayhem.
Sanji’s gaze meets Zoro’s, and the marimo’s eye widens for a brief moment before the changing tides of battle sweep him out of sight. It’s okay. He can hear Luffy clearly now, screaming his name. The noise is getting closer, but Sanji can’t possibly turn to look.
It’s all he can do to keep drawing each painful little breath. His legs are trembling, barely keeping him even as upright as he is, and the thought of falling floods Sanji with panic. He can feel his balance faltering and that will kill him, there’s no doubt. The sword will slice through more of his chest and he’ll die, even faster than he already is.
He already is, Sanji realizes. Dying. There’s a steady stream of blood running down the blade, pooling on the cobblestones beneath him and flowing away. More gushes from his thigh, where the sword sliced through on the way to his chest. If that’s an arterial bleed he’ll be dead even before he has to worry more about his lungs.
“SANJI!” Luffy screams, skidding to a halt beside him in a spray of blood. Sanji is too numb to flinch at his captain’s voice in his ear. Isn’t this island in its warm season? Why is it so cold?
Raising his head to look at Luffy, Sanji isn’t sure if he’s ever seen his captain so terrified. The contrast between his speed and the very, very gentle way Luffy reaches for Sanji’s shoulders is frightening.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he stares into Luffy’s horror-wide eyes and breathes. That’s the most important thing. He has to keep breathing.
“Sanji needs Chopper,” Luffy says. “I’ll get him, Sanji can you -” Luffy stops, shaking his head, like he knows there’s nothing Sanji can do right now. If Luffy leaves him alone to find Chopper, Sanji won’t be able to last.
“Zoro,” Sanji says. Speaking is even harder than breathing, but seeing the marimo made Sanji realize something. He has something to tell the swordsman, and he can’t die with it left unsaid. “Get him… for me? Close,” he gasps, aborting an attempt to point out where the swordsman had been. Even thinking about moving hurts.
Luffy holds Sanji’s shoulder, so gently, his other hand fluttering around the sword, Sanji’s chest and side, his trembling thighs and the gash there. Breath coming almost as fast and shallow as Sanji’s, Luffy tears his gaze away to look for the marimo.
The shaking is getting worse, making the sword waver and sprinkle blood in a wider circle. Sanji watches it, vaguely aware that Luffy is shouting again.
“Hurts,” he whispers, once Luffy has stopped. Stupid, obvious thing to say, but it’s almost the only thought in his head. Even that one word makes it worse, and Sanji whimpers over the sound of Luffy’s sob.
Familiar boots clatter across the cobblestones. “Luffy? Cook?” Zoro’s voice is full of the same horror Sanji saw in Luffy’s eyes. He looks up, unnerved by Zoro’s pale, shocked expression as the swordsman drops to his knees beside them.
“I’m… fine, marimo,” Sanji asserts, instinctively arguing against the desperation on Zoro’s face. Even though he wants the man here because his time is running out, Sanji can’t help bickering with him.
“Shut up, cook,” Zoro pleads, his hands replacing Luffy’s to hold Sanji steady.
“I have to find Chopper,” Luffy says in a rush, springing to his feet.
“I’ll go,” Zoro responds. “You should - you stay with the cook, I’ll -”
Sanji whines, trying to reach for Zoro. He can’t, the movement using muscles in his shoulders that shift the muscles in his chest, jarring everything against the blade impaling him there again. If Zoro goes he will never find Chopper in time, not that Sanji thinks Chopper will be able to save him at this point. Besides, he has to talk to the marimo, before it’s too late.
“I’m going,” Luffy repeats, while Zoro reacts to Sanji’s pained noise in flustered panic. Their captain removes his hat, placing it on Sanji’s head instead and staring at them for a long moment before flinging himself away.
Zoro makes a sound that Sanji can’t even interpret, discontent and scared and angry all at once. He settles with his side pressed up against Sanji’s, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other hand clasped over the gash in his thigh. Sanji can relax a little, the strain of holding himself upright eased as he rests against the swordsman.
“Marimo -”
“Shut up,” Zoro says again. “What were you thinking, love-cook? This should have been nothing, these guys are all weaklings, you’re better than this.”
It’s obvious that Zoro barely knows what he’s saying, but it’s still true. Sanji doesn’t have a good excuse, no reason that can explain the sword in his chest that’s killing him here in Zoro’s arms. At least it’s not Luffy. Sanji can’t bear the thought of becoming another precious person to die in their captain’s embrace. Zoro will take care of him. Once Sanji dies the marimo can take the sword out, so the rest of their nakama don’t have to see him this way. Sanji should tell the marimo to do that.
“It was bound to happen eventually,” he says instead. Really, it feels terribly inevitable. He and Zoro take absurd amounts of damage all the time; they fight recklessly on the front line of every battle Luffy drags them into. The odds had to add up someday.
“Don’t say stupid shit,” Zoro growls, but the sound is more like a sob.
Sanji concentrates on breathing again. Something feels different, heavier. Tighter somehow. What is Chopper always going on about when they get chest wounds, collapsed lungs? Is that what’s happening? He can’t have that, not yet, there are still things Sanji has to tell the swordsman. He just needs another minute.
“You’ll take this out?” Sanji asks, feeling the words choke him. He needs to cough, throat catching with the dry feeling. “I don’t -” he forces it down, nearly gagging. Coughing will hurt, it will shift all the injured things inside of him, he’s not sure if he can recover from that. “I don’t want them to see.”
“Chopper will take it out,” Zoro says, trying to steady Sanji as he fights to breathe. “Luffy will find him, you know how fast he can move, they’ll be back any second.”
Sanji lets out the tiniest cough he can, hoping it will relieve the terrible seizing pressure. It only jars his chest, making all his muscles tense as he tries not to move and fails. Pain floods through him and his mouth tastes like blood.
“Marimo -”
“Stop talking,” Zoro insists. “Stupid cook, just rest! Stop forcing yourself, you’re only making it worse!”
How much worse can it get? Sanji can barely hold his head up, gaze falling to Zoro’s swords. The marimo carries the white one as a memorial, at least in part; Sanji wonders if he’s important enough that Zoro would want to keep something like that for him. Sanji can’t think of anything - what could he give the swordsman? He doesn’t own anything with that much meaning, and even the contents of his kitchen won’t be his after he dies. The crew will have to replace him, and their new cook will use all of the tools that were Sanji’s. There’s nothing else he can give Zoro, so Sanji has to say this last thing.
Struggling, Sanji manages to turn a little and touch Zoro’s hand with his own. It’s only a few inches to move, but the resulting pain is so intense that his vision whites out, and he misses most of the desperate protest Zoro makes. When it subsides Sanji lifts his head, needing to see the marimo’s face.
“Love you,” he gasps out. Zoro pales even further, his shoulders tensing. “I had to- I can’t die without saying it -”
“Cook -” Zoro interrupts, looking like he’s the one who was stabbed, “Sanji, please -”
“I love you,” Sanji says again, more strongly. It takes all the breath he can get. As far as last words go, that’s not bad. It suits him, really. Saying it feels good, a little bit of relief.
The urge to cough is coming back, deeper this time. Sanji stares into Zoro’s eye for as long as he can, until he can’t hold it back any more. This time he jerks forward, spitting blood all over Zoro’s shirt, and the pain knocks him out.
~o~
Sanji wakes to the familiar feeling of the Sunny rocking in the waves, and thinks he must have fallen asleep in the galley. But he can’t feel the lumpy back of the galley sofa squashed against him, and his neck isn’t cricked against its arm. Shifting his legs clues him in to much heavier blankets than the throw he keeps in the kitchen. He takes stock of the pillow under his head and the sterile smell, and can only conclude that he’s in Chopper’s infirmary.
He can’t really move. Pushing himself up is out of the question; when he tries his whole chest burns with stabbing pain, and oh yeah, that’s why he’s here. He was stabbed.
Collapsing back onto the pillows takes the tension off the muscles in his chest, and the pain subsides. Now that he’s noticed it, it’s not going away, though. Maybe just saying he was stabbed is too much of an understatement. Impaled has a more fitting severity.
He must have made a sound, because a clatter of little hooves rushes for the infirmary door and Chopper is there within seconds.
“SANJI!” Chopper cries, and launches into his usual concerned babble. Nothing about Sanji needing a doctor, though; he must be really badly off if Chopper has skipped one of his staple theatrics. The little reindeer gets serious fast when he needs to.
“- drain the fluid in your chest,” Chopper says, and Sanji blinks, tuning back in to his lecture.
“What?”
“In your chest cavity,” Chopper says. “From the infection. If it doesn’t clear up soon I’ll have to drain it out.”
Maybe Sanji should have listened to the whole spiel. It’s usually all the same stuff - don’t strain yourself, leave the bandages on, don’t fight with Zoro -
Zoro. That memory crashes in, suddenly crystal clear. Sanji pushes it back. He has to focus on Chopper right now, he can’t start freaking out over the marimo.
“Infection?” Sanji asks. Doesn’t that sort of thing take time, he can’t just be infected all at once -
“It’s been getting worse over the last few days,” Chopper affirms grimly.
Days?
“That sword was disgusting, really,” Chopper continues. “It’s no surprise you caught something, but having it go right into your lungs is really bad, that’s a terrible place to get a bacterial infection even without getting stabbed -”
“Days?” Sanji says blankly.
Chopper starts crying. “Never do that again, you bastard!” he bawls. “You’ve been unconscious for almost a week, Sanji! It was really bad!”
“Good thing we’ve got the best doctor,” Sanji says, a rote response.
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Chopper sniffles, and it’s a weak mimicry of how he usually reacts to such praise. Still, at least he stops sobbing.
“What’s happened?” Sanji asks.
“We left right away,” Chopper tells him, plopping onto the edge of the bed and looking up at Sanji with watery eyes. “Luffy wrecked a path back to the ship and we didn’t look back. There wasn’t any medical infrastructure left there anyway and I needed some supplies, so Nami got us to the next island as fast as we could. I think Franky invented a new engine part-way there.”
Sanji smiles at that; his crewmates really are the best. He can just picture Luffy blasting through the mess on that last island, and the grimy looks of satisfaction on Franky and Usopp’s faces after improving the Sunny.
“That’s where we are,” Chopper continues. “Nami found a bay on the far side from the town, so we’re anchored off the island. We don’t want to risk hitting a storm, or fighting or anything, not while you’re in danger.”
Sanji winces at that. They’re sitting around waiting for him? He’s not that fragile, surely they can at least keep sailing. “I’m sure I’ll be -”
“You’re not fine!” Chopper wails. “Your lungs are full of bacteria! Your chest cavity is full of fluid! That sword went all the way through you! Any normal person would be dead, but you monsters go around getting stabbed and try to walk it off, it’s -”
Patting Chopper’s head, Sanji tunes him back out. This he’s all heard before, and if he moves slowly it hardly hurts to reach up to the little reindeer’s head. As long as he focuses on moving only his arm and not through his chest and shoulders, it’s no big deal.
Chopper puts him through his paces, all the typical breathing tests and pulse readings and sundry, until Sanji begins to feel like they’ve been alone for a weirdly long time. More than that, the results are discouraging, and he doesn’t want to look at Chopper’s anxious face any more.
“Where is everyone?”
Chopper gasps. “I should tell them you’re awake! I think Zoro took Luffy ashore so they could stretch their legs, but I know everyone will want to see you!”
With that he rushes out, and Sanji takes a deep breath without Chopper’s intense scrutiny to make him self-conscious. It hurts.
It hurts, but this will heal. He’s not dead after all, so Sanji is going to have to face Zoro sooner or later, maybe even within the next few minutes.
It was bound to happen eventually. Sanji has been in love with the marimo for ages and he’s no good at keeping his emotions in check - there was no way he could keep a secret like that, not when the feeling ambushes him at every turn, nearly sweeping him off his feet with the strength of it. He could wish to air it in a more sophisticated way, though.
His chances were bad enough without spitting his confession out along with a lungful of his own blood. Zoro has never shown a flicker of interest in him or the slightest inclination for romance in general, so Sanji had been… biding his time, that’s all. Waiting for a chance that would make even their straightforward marimo swoon. So much for that.
He doesn’t get much time to worry about it, interrupted by a teary-eyed Usopp full of grandiose stories about mysterious allergies, and sincere, quiet relief.
“Too bad Luffy and Zoro are gone,” Usopp says, sniffling. “They’ve been in here with you as much as Chopper has.”
“Chopper must have been slacking then,” Sanji comments. Even when one of them is injured Luffy can’t sit still for any length of time, and the marimo isn’t known for bedside vigils either. They all have jobs to do, and this is Chopper’s. He wouldn’t expect anyone else to stay in the infirmary to watch over him.
“Don’t say that!” Usopp wrings his hands, scooting a little closer in Chopper’s desk chair. “You don’t know how bad it was. We were all so worried - I mean, the Great Captain Usopp has held vigil over untold injured comrades in the past, many on the brink of death -” his voice breaks and he looks away, wiping his nose again. “I knew you’d be fine! But don’t scare us like that, Sanji.”
“It just doesn’t seem like them, sitting around like that,” Sanji says. No matter how badly off he was.
“Luffy wasn’t exactly sitting,” Usopp says, with that long-suffering patience Luffy inspires in all of them. “He was in and out, you know how he is. It was getting so that Chopper could hardly concentrate on his tests and stuff, that’s why Zoro got him off the ship. But Zoro was taking his naps in here, giving Chopper breaks, all that.”
Sanji smiles at that. It’s cute how much the swordsman loves Chopper - one of his finer traits, even. It’s all Sanji can do to keep it together when he catches the two of them playing. “Suspiciously nice of him.”
“I believe he felt responsible, after carrying you here,” Robin says from the doorway. Nami crowds in beside her, and Sanji makes himself dizzy fawning over them.
“Save your energy, Sanji-kun,” Nami admonishes. She perches on the end of the bed and only Usopp’s hand on his shoulder prevents him from rolling straight out of it in joy. Come to think of it, Usopp shouldn’t be strong enough to hold him down. He must be weaker than he realized.
“That was so scary,” Usopp sighs. “I had no clue what was happening - Luffy ran through shouting for Chopper, then they ran back together, then Luffy came back and just destroyed everything.”
“Luffy ordered everyone back to the ship,” Nami adds. “With that expression he gets - you know, when he’s really serious. Zoro carried you in a minute later with Chopper.”
“I was quite sure you were dead,” Robin says. Somehow it’s extra chilling, coming from her. “I have never seen anyone so pale. Except perhaps Swordsman-san, when he looked at you.”
Sanji winces. There’s no doubt he shook the marimo up, between confessing his love and passing out. Hopefully it won’t be too big a deal.
“Does something hurt?” Nami asks, alarmed by the movement. “Chopper went to tell Franky you’re up after he found us, but he should be back any minute.”
“No, not at all, don’t worry!” Sanji reassures her. “If I have your concern I’ll surely get better straight away, Nami-swan. It’s only… I regret frightening you all.”
That came out a bit heavy. Usopp rubs a hand over his eyes, and Nami sniffles. Robin’s gaze is practically a touch, inescapable.
“Don’t let it happen again,” Nami eventually says, without her usual bite.
Sanji nods, wishing he could promise it won't. He suspects he’ll be doing a lot of that, trying to reassure his crewmates even though they all know the score. None of them want to die; they all fight their hardest to survive. It was just bound to happen. They’re lucky Sanji made it after all.
“We should go start dinner,” Robin says, placing a gentle touch on Sanji’s shoulder as she moves toward the door. “Franky and Skeleton-san will no doubt wish to visit you, and there is hardly room for all of us.”
Sanji blanches, nearly whiting out the second half of her comment. His angels have been cooking? They’ve had to give up their precious time and energy to do his job? He’ll have to get better immediately, he can’t lay around while -
“Relax,” Nami orders, rolling her beautiful eyes. “You can make it up to us later, Sanji-kun. You’ll only be trouble if you collapse.”
Sanji whimpers, and even Usopp gives him a look of fond exasperation. “I’m helping too,” Usopp assures him. “We’ve kept everyone fed so far-”
“- and kept Luffy out of the kitchen,” Nami mutters.
“- so it’ll be fine until you can get around. Chopper will be real mad if you make yourself worse.”
“It’s enjoyable to try new things, don’t you agree, Cook-san?” Robin adds.
He may not agree, but Sanji can’t argue with her. The ladies are always right, after all. They leave, quickly replaced by Franky and Brook, and then Chopper comes in to change his bandages and do some tests. Brook stays and plays his violin for a while, but the infirmary is really too small for either the gangly skeleton or Franky’s bulbous shoulders, especially with other people in it.
Soon Sanji can smell dinner cooking, and almost simultaneously something crashes out on the deck. Luffy’s signature laugh drifts in through the galley.
“YOW! Watch out with those, Luffy-bro!”
“Shishishi! Isn’t this COOL? Me and Zoro went up that big hill, and over on the other side there’s a weird canyon, and-”
“I bet Curly-bro will love it,” Franky says, sounding a little desperate. “Just - YOW! - just don’t drop it!”
“Sanji’s awake?!”
Sanji grins, propping himself up a little higher in the infirmary bed. Luffy’s footsteps slap-slap-slap in his direction, accompanied by Zoro’s heavy, clomping tread. Nami yells at them as they pass through the galley, but for once Luffy isn’t distracted by food.
“Luffy! Slow down, what is that, you can’t bring that in there, Sanji is still really hurt!” Chopper pleads, the click of little hooves following Luffy’s approach.
Zoro murmurs something, his low tones blocked by the door, and Sanji feels a spike of apprehension. There’s no time for that, though, and it wouldn’t be like the swordsman to force a confrontation in front of the others. If there’s any kind of confrontation to be had. Maybe the marimo has already put Sanji’s ill-timed confession from his mind.
“Sanji!” Luffy yells, throwing the door open and himself through it. Zoro catches the back of his vest before their captain can crash onto the bed, which is definitely for the best, because Luffy is carrying something that looks very sharp.
It appears to be a turtle, but covered in bladed spikes. Luffy waves the thing in front of Sanji, who quickly reclines back onto his pillows to avoid having the tip of his nose sliced off.
“Look what we found! Can we eat it?”
The thing thrashes its little legs, thick-skinned with talons like a hawk, and screams. It has multiple rows of needle-sharp teeth.
“I don’t think so,” Sanji replies.
“Boo, why not?” Luffy pouts. “There are tons of them, we could eat a LOT.”
“I’m not going to dull my knives on something like that!” Sanji snaps, and Luffy grins, tossing the turtle over his shoulder without another glance. Zoro makes a startled noise and must have caught the thing, because there’s no sound of it hitting the floor. Sanji can’t confirm, because Luffy is scrambling up onto the bed and into his face, with all his usual enthusiasm but surprising control.
“Get better soon,” Luffy says, holding Sanji’s face in his hands for a moment of intense eye contact, before mashing their foreheads together. “Nami’s cooking is bad.”
“Chopper’s looking after me, you know,” Sanji reminds him, ignoring Zoro’s snicker and making a note to punish Luffy for insulting Nami-swan later. “Now get off me, idiot.”
“But you’ve been asleep for so long,” Luffy complains, letting go of Sanji’s face. He doesn’t get off the bed, apparently intending to sit on Sanji’s legs for the rest of this conversation. “We missed Sanji, right Zoro?”
“I’m gonna go get rid of this,” Zoro says, a startled expression flitting across his features as he hefts the spike-turtle in one hand. That’s all; no acknowledgement of their captain’s question, let alone Sanji in the infirmary bed.
The marimo walks out without another word, and Sanji can’t help flicking a glance at Luffy. It’s instinctive - their captain understands Zoro better than any of them, and Sanji just… wishes he knew what the shithead was thinking. Failing that, Luffy always has something to say, whether it’s insightful or the kind of dumb comment that makes everyone laugh, and Sanji needs something, here. Zoro’s total lack of interest has left a dull ache in his chest, and there’s more than enough pain there already.
“Dumb Zoro,” Luffy mutters, and for a moment Sanji thinks his captain is going to prove he can read minds “I still wanted to eat that.”
No such luck. “I’ll cook you something better,” Sanji promises.
Luffy whoops, and begins listing off all of the things he wants Sanji to cook. His chatter smooths over the sting left by Zoro’s indifference, and Sanji almost forgets why the two of them are holed up in the infirmary.
After a while Chopper comes back in, chiding Luffy for tiring Sanji out. He clearly doesn’t mean it, and even says that Sanji is looking better in the same breath as he chases Luffy off the bed.
Luffy pauses in the doorway, meeting eyes with Sanji over Chopper’s fussing head. “Zoro missed you too,” he declares with a sunny grin, before bounding away with the fading sound of laughter.
“You have to rest,” Chopper frets, oblivious, as Sanji frowns at the door. “Healing takes so much energy, and -”
Sighing, Sanji lets Chopper’s concerned monologue lull him back to sleep. He can worry about Luffy’s intuition and the marimo’s annoying self later.
~o~
The next day begins much the same way. Sanji rises from the fog of sleep to a fog of pain, and the elevated beeping of his heart monitor draws Chopper to his side immediately. It’s not far, given that Chopper slept in his desk chair and woke Sanji throughout the night to check up on him. By the time he’s assured Chopper that nothing hurts and Chopper has assumed he’s lying, given him pain medication, and scolded him for trying to be tough, Sanji feels more like himself.
Or at least, a version of himself that still can’t move without pain, pulling at the injury in his chest, or think about a certain swordsman without dropping into a gloomy fugue. Chopper is worried by the sound of his breathing, and still won’t let him out of the bed. His crewmates pass through, everyone coming to visit him so he’s never alone for more than an hour, but the marimo only stands by the door for a few minutes when Luffy comes by before lunch, and leaves without a word.
Robin brings Sanji a Chopper-approved meal shortly after, and Sanji is feeling well enough to thank her with all the enthusiasm she deserves. It brings a soft smile to her face, and Sanji considers his life blessed.
“Surely you’ll be out of here in no time, if the bacteria do not consume your lungs,” she says. “Or develop some unforeseen mutation, and spread to the rest of us.”
“Of course, Robin-chwan~! I have to get back to work feeding you and Nami-swan, I can’t lay around here! I’m so lucky to be alive to see your concern, but I can’t bear to -”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Robin says, and Sanji has to pause to figure out what, exactly, he was actually saying. It can be hard to keep track when he’s praising his angels.
Oh, that’s he’s lucky to be alive. That might have been a bit heavy, although he only meant that having Robin’s attention is all he could ask out of this life.
“I hope I haven’t upset you, my flower,” Sanji says, picking at the blankets over his lap.
“Not at all,” Robin reassures him. “I simply don’t want you to write your good fortune off as mere luck, not when you survived this incident due to the hard work of our crewmates, and not least to your own strength.”
“Chopper is worth a thousand miracles,” Sanji agrees. “I really messed up this time, Robin-chan. I doubt too many other people could have…”
He has to pause again, struck by the reality of those words. It rolled off his tongue so easily, but he really almost died.
“Doctor-san is unparalleled,” Robin says, “but think of our captain, fighting to get him to you so quickly. Nami, finding this island by the fastest course, and Franky for assuring that the Sunny would get us here. Even our swordsman, who I am told kept you from collapsing and bleeding out on the spot.”
Sanji flinches at that, reminded of the look of horror on Zoro’s face as Luffy raced away. Robin’s smile is gentle but her eyes are serious, and Sanji is sure she knows, somehow, just what he’s thinking of.
“And I can’t forget your hard work, picking up the slack while I can’t do my job,” he says, voice cracking a little.
“We all do what we can,” Robin muses, “to show how much we care. Now eat your lunch, Cook-san.”
~o~
Sanji sleeps away the rest of the day, save being blearily woken by Chopper every few hours for tests, and greets the next morning with slightly less pain. Despite that, Chopper is still not pleased with the sounds of Sanji’s breathing, pouting over his stethoscope and fussing around until Sanji is well propped up with pillows, to prevent the fluid buildup from pressing on his lungs.
“If it doesn't change, we’ll have to drain it,” their little doctor says, again. Sanji would like to disagree, to reassure Chopper that he feels fine, but the change in position brought too much relief to dismiss. Something isn’t right.
Usopp brings him a pomegranate, and describes this island’s marketplace. It’s not until the sharpshooter has left that Sanji thinks to wonder who made the shopping list, but he tries to put the question out of his mind. Certainly Nami wouldn’t have approved any truly egregious supply mistakes.
In any case the fruit is delicious, so Sanji hopes that they’ve stocked up on plenty of produce. It’s impossible to predict whether any given island will have fresh fruit and vegetables, but Sanji can only wonder if whichever of his crewmates that did the shopping would care. They all have such odd tastes, left to themselves.
It’s nice to have something to do with his hands - Chopper won’t let him have a cigarette, of course. Picking each individual seed out of the fruit takes time, keeps him occupied. Sanji eats one seed at a time, listening to Usopp and appreciating each burst of flavor on his tongue with the fervency only such an intimate brush with death can inspire.
When Usopp leaves, Sanji is left with the quiet of his thoughts and the tart, overpowering taste of juice on his tongue. He can’t believe he almost left these idiots alone - they would die of scurvy within weeks. Not a one of the men would even look at a pomegranate if sugar or meat was on the table.
Zoro comes by while he’s still eating the fruit, recognizable only by the familiar clunk of his boots on the floorboards. The rest of the man is obscured by a stack of crates, and Sanji can hear Chopper somewhere behind him fussing at the marimo to be careful.
It’s the first time Sanji has seen him for over a day, and clearly the swordsman isn’t here of his own free will any more than he was with Luffy after Sanji first woke up. The marimo had seemed concerned when Sanji was dying, but now it’s like he couldn’t care less. Everything the others have said about Zoro sitting by his bedside is hard to believe, when he’s been avoiding Sanji like he’s contagious ever since.
“Where do you want these?” Zoro grumbles, and Sanji’s heart rate picks up at the mere sound of his voice.
Chopper micro-manages the swordsman’s every move until the crates are set by the wall to his liking, and Zoro looks up to catch Sanji watching him, prompting Sanji’s heart into another pathetic lurch.
Sanji gives an ironic wave, heedless of the red juice staining his fingers, and the marimo goes white as Chopper’s sterilized sheets.
“Are you -” Jerking forward, he begins to reach for Sanji, before taking stock of the fruit in his lap and clenching his jaw shut.
“Am I what, marimo?” Sanji wonders. Zoro only turns away, fists clenched at his sides.
“Are you bleeding?!” Chopper shrieks, bowling the swordsman out of the way as he barrels across the room. “You hands -”
“Fruit!” Sanji yelps. “It’s just juice, Usopp didn’t bring me a towel!”
“Don’t scare me like that!” Chopper begins, but Sanji tunes him out, watching Zoro’s stiff gait as he stalks to the door and out, shutting it with precise deliberation behind himself. Their swordsman isn’t the type to jump to conclusions and freak out the way Chopper is, but...
~o~
The afternoon is a high point in Sanji’s day. Chopper allows him to get up, oh so slowly and carefully, and ushers Sanji around on his arm like an invalid. Which Sanji supposes is accurate, when even the slightest jolt sends stabbing pain through him. Chopper's steady presence in his bulky human form makes walking manageable, though, and Sanji is thrilled to get out of the infirmary.
He’s a little nervous to go back to his kitchen. Excited, of course, nearly crawling out of his skin with the desire to cook and take care of his crewmates, but nervous too. Of course they mean well, and obviously no one has starved while he’s been incapacitated, but Sanji is afraid for the state of his stores. Who knows what Luffy would have demanded they buy at that last island. He may have to get creative with meals for a while.
“Are you sure you’re feeling good enough?” Usopp demands. Sanji resists the urge to throttle him, but Usopp has been hovering since Chopper gave Sanji the go-ahead to get up, and it’s grating on him.
“Yes,” Sanji hisses through clenched teeth, leaning more heavily on Chopper’s arm than he likes to admit as they head into the galley.
The relief at seeing everything in order is better than painkillers. Even the pantry is immaculate, stocked just as well as Sanji would have done himself, if he’d been able to go shopping.
“You guys did a great job,” Sanji says, perusing the organized rows of dry goods, the spices refilled in their cabinet, the produce all stowed away exactly where he always keeps it. “Usopp, you went shopping?”
“Zoro helped, I think,” Chopper supplies.
“Oh yeah, I never would’ve remembered half this stuff without him,” Usopp chimes in.
“The shit-swordsman?” Sanji blankly confirms.
“Guess he remembered from helping you carry the groceries all the time,” Usopp shrugs. “By the way, Sanji, do you know why he’s being all weird? I mean, he was really upset when you were unconscious, but he won’t talk to me about it.”
I love you.
“I said something I shouldn’t have, while Luffy was looking for Chopper,” Sanji admits. “After I was hurt. Guess the mosshead didn’t take it well.”
“But he’s used to you talking shit,” Usopp worriedly says. “What happened?”
“I was out of my head,” Sanji sighs. “It doesn’t matter.”
Usopp doesn’t look appeased, but he does shut up. Sanji is grateful; he doesn’t know how to explain, even if he wanted to. He has no idea what Zoro is thinking, but it must be bad, to upset their swordsman’s routines so thoroughly.
Sanji isn’t allowed to cook yet, and he understands why when Chopper leads him back to his infirmary bed and it’s all Sanji can do to sit up, completely drained by that short walk. He can’t help imagining Zoro in the marketplace with Usopp, Zoro in Sanji’s kitchen putting everything away in exactly the right places. All the times they’ve done those things together, just the two of them settling into a routine that Sanji never realized was so comfortable.
If the bastard cares enough to spend all that time with him - and he must; Zoro never does anything he doesn’t want to do, so he must care - why can’t he stand to spend any time at all with Sanji now?
These thoughts chase Sanji into uneasy sleep, made loose and uncertain by painkillers and exhaustion. Half-lucid but unable to wake, Sanji watches dream-Zoro walk up to him, Wado in hand.
Face shadowed by his bandana, the swordsman gives Sanji a look he’s only seen directed at enemies. Even while they’re sparring, Zoro never looks at him like that, with that kind of grim intention. Still, Sanji doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to.
“You were never afraid of this before,” Zoro says, the last strides between them vanishing in a flash. Sanji feels the point of Wado pricking him though his shirt before he fully realizes that the blade is leveled at him, but he still doesn’t flinch.
“You would never let it happen before,” Sanji hears himself say. He’s not afraid of dying for his crew, it’s true, but time and time again, Zoro has made sure Sanji can’t make that final sacrifice. Even when he asks for it.
“It was bound to happen eventually,” Zoro responds, and Wado sinks into Sanji’s chest.
It hardly feels like anything, and Sanji thinks of fileting fish, the smooth glide of his knife through scales and bones. Wado twists, carving him open, and Zoro raises a hand to Sanji’s face, gently smoothing his thumb over his cheekbone. Despite the shocking strangeness, or maybe because of it, Sanji still feels perfectly at peace. If he’s going to die, he likes the idea of Zoro holding the blade.
Then the pain sets in, and Sanji wakes with a gasp, realizing that the sharp throb in his chest is from the real world, and not his dream at all. He flinches, which only makes it worse, and within moments he can hear Chopper rushing into the room, worrying over him until the little doctor injects something new directly into Sanji’s IV bag. It knocks him out instantly, and Sanji’s sleep is dreamless as death for the rest of the night.
~o~
Zoro’s absence is more biting than ever, after the strange dream. It only reminds Sanji that he’s messed things up between them. Maybe Zoro regrets trying to save him, after what Sanji dumped on him. Even though he knows that can't possibly be true, with the way his mood is spiraling, Sanji can't help wondering.
Luckily, Sanji isn’t left alone to dwell on those thoughts. Looking grim, Chopper listens to his breathing for what feels like hours, moving his stethoscope from one spot to another and back, making Sanji breathe in as deeply as he can - not very, not without putting himself in too much pain to continue - and muttering to himself.
“Give it to me straight, doc,” Sanji tries to joke, but the examination has tired him out, and he sounds flat even to his own ears.
“The fluid buildup isn’t clearing up on its own,” Chopper says, with a perfect doctorly manner that screams louder than words that Sanji is getting worse, not better. Chopper doesn’t panic when things are really serious. “But don’t worry! We’ll have to do another procedure, but I’m sure it will help!”
Chopper sticks a huge, hollow needle straight through his ribcage, and drains sickly-clear fluid threaded with blood out of his chest cavity and into a container beside Sanji’s bed. Putting the needle in hurts less than Sanji expected, but somehow the fluid coming out hurts much more, a steady, tugging throb of pain like nothing he’s felt before.
Not nearly as bad as things he’s felt before, but it’s strange. He holds still and shivers, Chopper bustling around to tape the needle and tubing to his side. This does not feel like progress, no matter how much Chopper has assured him that his healing will accelerate once the fluid is gone.
That afternoon, Luffy comes by to see him, thankfully without any new, potentially hazardous creatures in tow. Sanji wakes from a doze as his captain flops into Chopper’s chair, scooting it across the floor to put his face right up beside Sanji’s.
“Who let you in here?” Sanji grumbles.
Luffy grins, and Sanji can’t help smiling back at him. “Chopper said I could visit if I didn’t touch your intubation site,” he carefully repeats.
“Yeah, please don’t do that,” Sanji says, freezing up slightly at the thought. It feels perfectly fine as long as he doesn’t jostle it. Or the tubes. Or think about the entire setup, really. Having the tube stuck in him is much more disturbing than any ordinary injury.
“Chopper will take it out soon,” Luffy dismisses. “Then everything will be alright again.”
“Is it that simple to you?”
Luffy shrugs, leaning back in Chopper’s chair. “Sanji didn’t die, so everything else, we can fix.”
“I hate it when you talk like that,” Sanji sighs. He doesn’t know how Luffy can sound so certain. It makes it too hard to hold on to his own misgivings, when his captain is so sure everything will work out.
“Everyone knows, anyway,” Luffy breezily adds.
“Knows what?” Sanji warily asks.
“How Sanji and Zoro feel about each other.”
Sputtering, Sanji doesn't bother asking how, or when, or any of the other questions boiling up on his tongue. Shitty captain, dropping that while Sanji can’t even get out of bed to escape the conversation.
“Well, except Zoro,” Luffy thoughtfully says. “Zoro doesn’t know how he feels. Or he doesn't know what to do about it.”
“I think I know how the mossy bastard feels,” Sanji mutters.
“Sanji thinks too much,” Luffy retorts. “Zoro feels the same as you. He’s just confused. I was really scared, too, you know.”
“Sorry.” Sanji looks away from Luffy’s serious brown eyes, feeling tears prick in the backs of his own. He feels pathetic enough laid up like this; he doesn’t want to let Luffy see him cry, too.
Luffy just laughs, reaching out to ruffle Sanji’s hair. He starts telling Sanji about some new game he and Usopp have created, and before Sanji knows it he’s blinking back sleep again. How, now that he’s worried that his crewmates will blow up the Sunny with their new game, Sanji can’t say, but that’s recuperation for you.
“Zoro just doesn’t know what he wants to say,” Luffy says, as Sanji’s eyelids flutter shut. “You know he’s not good with words.”
“You’re not one to talk,” Sanji thinks he mumbles, but that’s the last thing he’s aware of until Chopper comes back to run more tests before dinner.
~o~
After a conversation like that with Luffy, Sanji shouldn’t be surprised to see Zoro skulk into the infirmary, in the quiet hours between night watches. It’s still a shock, and not only because of the time. The damn marimo would choose to have their first one-on-one conversation at some ungodly hour just to mess with him.
“You know Luffy wouldn’t let you get out of talking to me just ‘cause I’m asleep,” Sanji mutters, squinting into the light coming in from the galley.
“Shut up,” Zoro grumbles, freezing for a moment in the doorway. “Figured you’d be awake. You’ve been sleeping a lot, lazy cook, but not for longer than -” He stops, glaring at Sanji, and shakes his head. “Whatever. Awake anyway, aren’t you?”
Sanji is, and he has to admit, seeing Zoro is a blessed relief compared to stewing in his own worries, alone in the dark. Even awkward as their relationship is at the moment, the marimo’s presence lights an energized spark in Sanji’s chest, warm and familiar.
“Guess I am.”
Zoro sits in Chopper’s chair, loose-limbed and slouching, as if it’s just a coincidence that he’s chosen to be here, of all places, in the middle of the night, after avoiding Sanji for days. “Damn witch threatened to raise my debt if I didn’t come talk to you.”
“Don’t talk about Nami-swan like that,” Sanji automatically says.
“Seems like you’re back to your usual self,” Zoro snorts. “Said some dramatic shit the other day, love-cook.”
It would be easy to dismiss it, brushing his behavior that day off as delirium from the pain, or some kind of overreaction. This confrontation would end, and they could go back to the way they’ve always been. Sanji wants to do that, but he won’t. He owes himself more honesty than that; he respects Zoro too much to really lie to him.
“I meant what I said,” Sanji states, meeting Zoro’s gaze with as much calm and clarity as he can muster. He lifts his chin, settles his shoulders, and wills the sullen marimo to take him at his word.
“I know you did,” Zoro responds, looking - looking scared, that’s the only way to describe the way his remaining eye widens over his sharply downturned mouth.
Sanji isn’t brave like the rest of his crewmates. Pining for Zoro, he can do, even now that the marimo knows. Hearing him turn him down, though - Sanji isn’t sure he can handle that, and not knowing what Zoro is thinking scares him. They’re usually on the same page, even when they’re arguing. Sanji can guess what will come out of their swordsman’s mouth at any given moment with pinpoint accuracy, but right now he has no idea, and it makes him feel more fragile than he has at any point in his recovery.
“I couldn’t -” Sanji swallows hard, eating his next words. Die without telling you. “Had to say something, I guess. You don’t, though. I mean, I didn’t -” Say it to manipulate you. “I don’t want -” You pity. “It’s fine, shitty swordsman. We can just forget about it.”
“Cook, that’s not -” Zoro begins, his frown putting a deep furrow in his brow.
“Sanji! Are you awake? You’re not in pain, are you?” Chopper interrupts, scurrying into the room. “Oh! Zoro? Did Sanji -”
“I’m fine,” Sanji grits out.
“Yeah, curly’s fine,” Zoro repeats, with an unreadable glower. He pushes past Chopper as the little doctor comes over to check Sanji’s vitals, and Sanji supposes that’s the end of that.
~o~
Even with the conversation left unfinished, Sanji feels better. Zoro doesn’t exactly start hanging around in the infirmary, but he’s not so conspicuously absent, either, and soon enough, Sanji is allowed to get up and move around, dragging his IV and the drainage container for his chest tube around with him. Standing in his kitchen with his knives in hand, Sanji wonders if maybe this is enough, after all - his crewmates bustling in and out, demands for snacks and drinks and Sanji’s attention on all of their tongues, worry dissolving as acting normal becomes being normal in truth. It was bound to happen eventually.
The tube comes out with much less ceremony than it went in, and Chopper slaps an extra bandage on the side of his chest, taking the opportunity to fuss over the much more complicated wraps over his stab wound. That, at least, is healing the way Sanji is used to; the lingering pain seems much less significant than getting rid of the cumbersome equipment he’s been hauling around.
“- and don’t strain it!” Chopper insists, scowling into Sanji’s face. The lecture is so familiar, Sanji has to hide a grin.
“Of course,” he solemnly promises, like every time before. Chopper only scowls harder, and turns to aggressively straighten some implements on his desk.
Sanji’s been in love this long without having Zoro’s feelings in return; keeping it up shouldn’t be so hard. Confessing still leaves him feeling lighter, even if the marimo doesn’t love him back. Maybe this is for the best. They can go about their lives as they have been, instead of risking the crew’s dynamics with such an emotional change.
Course set, Sanji goes back into his kitchen, determined to let their lives continue as normal. The longing in his heart is as familiar as Chopper’s lectures or the sound of his crewmates playing on the deck, after all. He’d hardly know how to act without it.
~o~
Finally, Chopper lets him out onto the deck without supervision. Sanji still feels it in his chest whenever he moves too fast, but he’s not about to let that stop him from returning to his normal routine. He brings everyone a round of drinks, happy just to walk through the grass to Luffy’s spot on the figurehead and down into the depths of Franky and Usopp’s workshops without Chopper fussing around by his knees.
On his way back inside, he picks a fight, or maybe Zoro does; the details don’t matter nearly as much as the instinctive familiarity of it, even if their relationship has been strained since Sanji’s injury, not to mention their last aborted conversation. Perhaps especially because it’s been strained - this is a part of Sanji’s normalcy that’s nearly as important as his cooking, and seeing Zoro grind his teeth and reach for a sword is almost as much of a relief as breathing without pain.
Until the marimo swings that sword in Sanji’s direction, and Sanji can’t help it - he flinches. Zoro has never come at him with real intent, and certainly isn’t now, but Sanji sees the flash of the blade driving toward his chest, and freezes, just for an instant. Nearly dying isn’t so rare these days, but between those long moments of despair contemplating the sword through his chest, and the strange dream about actually dying at Zoro’s hands, he can’t help it.
He might as well scream in terror. Zoro stops dead, more than familiar enough with Sanji to see the pause, that flicker of instinctive fear, and his expression washes clean of playful rage. In fact, Sanji has never seen the swordsman look so blank.
“Marimo…” Sanji says, just slightly raising one hand toward him.
Zoro springs back into action, hauling Sanji aside and through the door into the aquarium before any of their crewmates outside have a chance to notice the odd behavior. For that matter, Sanji is sure most of them wouldn’t even have noticed his flinch, even if they had been watching their spar with more than the most casual attention.
“Get your hands off me, mosshead,” Sanji complains, ostentatiously straightening his suit.
“I can’t forget,” Zoro says.
They move into the cool blue of the aquarium, and the door swings shut, closing the noise of their crewmates out. The fish swimming around them cast flickering shadows over Zoro’s serious expression as Sanji tries to read it, backing away until he collapses onto the sofa. Zoro follows, at a distance, and Sanji’s heart flips in his chest, ever-hopeful.
The tingling in his fingertips and swooping butterflies in his stomach when Zoro is near are as familiar as the irritation and frustration and unending need to tease , to push and prod and jibe at the swordsman until Sanji has all of his attention. Sanji is used to experiencing these things together, so he doesn’t know what to do with the eagerness in his heart now that Zoro is focused on him like this without so much as a crack about his hair.
“Well, I mean, it’s only been like a week,” Sanji weakly says, once it becomes clear that Zoro’s said all he intends to. “Mossy as your brains might be, that’s still -”
“I thought you were going to die in my arms,” Zoro says, leveling Sanji with a flat stare. “I thought I was watching you bleed out. Thought Luffy would come back to find me holding your corpse.”
“We get hurt all the time,” Sanji manages to reply. “What made this any different?”
The question is both unfair and obvious, but Sanji wants to hear Zoro’s answer. Even though the words are on the tip of his tongue, his pride won’t let him repeat himself without some sign from the marimo.
“Difficult,” Zoro grumbles, throwing himself down beside Sanji. “You - what you said -”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything -”
“It means everything,” Zoro interrupts, leaning in close. “Cook, that’s - I thought if I never said anything, then we could just keep being us -”
“Hold on, if you never said anything about what?”
“That I’ve been in love with you,” Zoro impatiently says.
Sanji can only gape at him, feeling blood rush to his face so fast he feels light-headed. Or maybe that’s just the shock. Either way.
“But you’re so,” Zoro continues, waving his hand in a way that is both very vague and distinctly unflattering, “that I figured I should just keep it to myself, you know, and then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when one of us dies -”
“Getting ahead of yourself there, aren’t you?” Sanji asks.
“Not like you weren’t,” Zoro retorts. “Deathbed confession, love-cook? Really?”
“Go back to the part where you just said that you’ve been in love with me for an unspecified amount of time.”
This time Zoro blushes, frowning so hard that Sanji is sure the furrow in his brow will get stuck like that. “I said what I said.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Sanji coaxes. “Why’ve you been avoiding me?”
“It’s not safe to care that much,” Zoro says, so quietly that Sanji can barely hear him over the low susurrus of the aquarium at their backs. “Everyone dies.”
Neither of them ever talk much about their lives before Luffy. None of the crew does, even once it’s all out in the open. Sanji doesn’t think there’s another crew of such mismatched orphans and runaways anywhere on the Grand Line. They’ve all lost more than enough already. Still…
“That’s why I had to tell you,” Sanji says. “Wouldn’t it be worse if - if I died, or you did, and neither of us had ever said anything?”
He’s not sure he would have been able to say that when they started this mad adventure - sharing feelings still isn’t exactly something Sanji would call a strength, but he’s learned a lot in the past few years. Besides, neither of them is dying now, and hopefully not anytime soon, and Sanji wants this.
Just making eye contact with Zoro feels like the most intimate thing in the world. Sanji knows how brave the swordsman is, how determined, and knows that he won’t let any vaguely-defined fears from his past hold him back. Hold them back, now that they’re on the same page.
“Guess I’d always wonder how far that blush goes,” Zoro says, a smile spreading across his face. Sanji starts to gasp, but the swordsman swoops in to kiss him, closing the negligible distance between them before he can get a sound out.
It’s very, very real. Sanji has thought about this a lot, but he underestimated the rough warmth of Zoro’s hand sliding around the nape of his neck, and the way their knees jostle together on the sofa, and how his mind is racing so fast he forgets to breathe. The kiss ends before that last one can become a problem, but they stay so close that their noses are almost brushing, and Sanji can see every crinkled detail of the scar over Zoro’s eye.
“It was bound to happen eventually,” Zoro muses.
Sanji blinks, still dazed by the fact that this is really happening. “What?”
“Well, falling in love with you was inevitable,” Zoro grins. “Never could resist a challenge.”
“I’m not going to like it if you explain what the challenge is, am I,” Sanji deadpans. Zoro just smirks at him, but it’s hard to stay mad with the marimo’s hand resting heavy on his thigh.
Sanji reaches out to run his fingers through Zoro’s earrings and the haphazardly trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. The marimo’s pulse jumps beneath his touch.
“I love you.”
“You’ve said,” Zoro dryly quips. Sanji scowls, opening his mouth to retort, but the marimo lays a finger over his lips. “Me too. I love you, shit-cook, so don’t go dying on me, okay?”
“I won’t if you won’t,” Sanji promises. It’s easy to say. Knowing Zoro returns his affection makes Sanji feel even more invincible than fighting back-to-back with the marimo does; surely even death can’t come between them now.