Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zoro ran away from home when he was seven.

It wasn’t just to get away from the family he barely remembers now. He’d always wanted to be the best, even then. Zoro could barely remember a time when he wasn’t motivated to be the best. It wasn’t hard to leave his old life, his old memories, behind, even as young as he was. He was meant for bigger things, or he’d at least die trying for them.

Stumbling upon the dojo in Shimotsuki had been a blind stroke of luck. He remembers barging in during that afternoon’s lesson, yelling near incoherently in his excitement to train with them. He told them his name was Zoro, and no one asked any questions about it, offering him food, shelter, and training. His hair had grown long, longer than he had ever had it, from his travels, and he remembers Koushirou helping him cut his hair short.

They were the first people who ever looked at him, and saw him.

He devoted all of his time to practicing, especially after he had embarrassed himself by losing so brutally to Kuina during their first duel. Kuina had been everything Zoro needed in a rival. She was arrogant, stern and abrasive, never one to mince words or spare feelings. She destroyed Zoro, over and over, knocking him down and leaving him winded every time they fought. Yet, whenever he became overwhelmed with frustration at his repeated losses, he’d think of that cocksure grin he’d see her throwing at him from his spot on the floor, and he’d burn, burn, with the urge to finally beat her, to be the best.

He hadn’t beaten her yet, not even once, but he was improving, their sparring matches drawing out just a bit longer with each iteration. Interpreting her position as the best being challenged, Kuina threw herself harder into her training. Zoro had thrilled at the idea that he’d been the one to challenge her arrogance, to push her to improve at the threat of him, even as she continued to beat him into the dirt with each match.

Zoro sought her out late one night for their two-thousand and first fight, demanding they battle with real swords. Kuina, eyes downcast, accepted without a word, and then beat him with the same swiftness she had in all their practice matches. Zoro, supine in the grass yet again with his face damp from tears, had bared his soul to her, and told her of his dream to be the best.

And Kuina had laughed at him.

It was a bitter, nihilistic choke of a noise, and for the first time, Zoro had wondered what she had been doing out here by herself in the first place so late at night. Her cheeks were flushed, deeper in color than they should have been from the exertion of their match, and her eyes were rimmed red.

“You’re lucky, Zoro,” she had spat, eyes turned up towards the sky, like she was trying to hold in tears. He’d never seen Kuina cry before. He’d never seen any expression on her face other than her teeth gritted in determination or her grinning in victory. “I want to be the greatest swordsman too. But girls grow up, and their bodies become weaker than men’s. I’m never going to be the greatest.”

Kuina tells him this, and Zoro can barely comprehend the words she’s saying. He thinks of the countless hours he’s spent training by the river bed, the green locks of his hair left on the floor after Koushirou helped him shear it all off, of the people he thought of as family a lifetime ago calling him by a name he despised. Zoro puts a hand to his chest, where he’d hastily wrapped bandages earlier that day, remembering how his body had begun changing and he didn’t understand why-

“You’re lucky to have been born a man, Zoro,” Kuina finishes lamely.

Zoro sees red.

“How can you say that after you’ve just beaten me!?” he screams at her, sitting up and ripping handfuls of grass from the ground. His throat burns with the effort to hold back his tears, his whole body burns.

Kuina looks back down at him, almost like she’d forgotten he was there, her eyes forlorn and tired, unlike Zoro had ever seen them before.

“It’s not fair! You’re my goal!” He can’t keep the tremor out of his voice. “How can you sit there and tell me you’ll be beaten one day, like - like it’s inevitable, when I’ve done nothing but train to beat you? Because of that?” There’s so much he wants to tell her, so much more, but he can barely find the words beyond the rage that’s making the edges of his vision blur.

He stands up now, clenching his fist in the front of Kuina’s shirt. Her eyes widen in shock at the motion.

“Promise me this,” he growls, “that one of us will become the world’s greatest swordsman. Promise me!”

She looks at him like a deer in the headlights, and a few seconds pass until she’s shaken out of her stupor. She sniffles, then, finally, grins that arrogant smile again that she always looks down at him with when he loses. “Idiot. You’re so weak.” She reaches forward and grabs his other hand, pulling it up towards her face.

“I promise.”

He never got to tell Kuina the truth. Not the full truth, anyway.

He leaves, takes her sword with him, and travels the East Blue in search of the world’s greatest swordsman. He trains, and fights, and takes bounties to get by. His body changes, accumulates scars, and he learns to adapt to it, to shape it in his own image as he struggles to be the best.

Deep down, there’s a part of him that knows it should have been Kuina. It should have always been Kuina. Instead, she’s buried in the ground by circumstances outside of anyone’s control and he’s the only one left with their dream. He has to be the best for both of them.

Zoro would have to be enough.

He meets a boy in a straw hat with a smile bright and sure, and he follows him to a floating restaurant. He meets an angry woman with flaming hair, a long-nosed fool, and a man with eyes the color of the sea with that same smirk, that same arrogant smile that reminds him of the spirit on his hip-

He meets the world’s greatest swordsman. He’s made aware of the depth of his inadequacy by Mihawk’s blade piercing diagonally between the twin scars on his chest. The man with the damnable smirk yells at him as he bleeds out, to give up on his dream, to not die for something so out of reach. In his blood-loss-induced haze he's jolted with the dissonance of it, that arrogance so similar to the one that motivated him for years, telling him that it isn't worth it.

He burns to prove him wrong.

Chapter Text

Zoro was surprised at how quickly the crew had settled together. Well… maybe settled was the wrong word. Between Luffy’s knack for trouble and the bounties on their heads, they were always adapting between one moment of chaos to another. But they had all quickly found their niches and dynamics around one another in a way Zoro had never experienced with another group of people. His nakama were all wildly talented, colorful people he learned how to lean on and give and take with by trial and error.

Luffy was simple in a way Zoro couldn’t even express his appreciation for. The mutual trust they shared in one another was potent enough to freeze hell over - Zoro would follow his captain to the ends of the earth, and Luffy trusted Zoro with the safety of his crew. He never had to think much about his relationship with Luffy - it just was.

Nami and Usopp were something like what he assumed it’d be like to have siblings, older and younger respectively. Nami terrified him, and they got on each others’ nerves to no end, but her mind worked in ways he could never comprehend, and he’d faithfully count on her for things he wasn’t capable of doing. Especially navigating. And Usopp reminded him a bit of Johnny and Yosaku, with how much larger than life and near-artificially grandiose they could be. Not to mention that Zoro deeply related to Usopp’s desire to improve as a person. Zoro felt innately drawn to protect him, even if the sniper's constant cowardice was more than mildly annoying.

If he allowed himself to be biased, Chopper might be his favorite person on the ship. The little guy was bright, resilient, and often looked to Zoro for reassurance and comfort in times of stress. Zoro had never been great with kids, but Chopper really wasn’t a kid, was he?

Not to mention how much of a fucking godsend he’d been medically. Zoro found himself gravely injured often, and it was incredible to be able to count on such a competent doctor to keep him functional all the time. Not to mention how great Chopper had been about Zoro’s… medical status. Zoro had never kept it a secret - there wasn’t a single part of himself he cared about hiding, and he was about as blunt as an arrow, anyway - but he had been passing for most of his life, and it’s not like anyone in the crew asked about that sort of thing. In all honesty, it wasn’t something Zoro thought of most of the time anymore. It didn’t affect his dream, so really, did it matter?

But of course, Chopper had recognized his top surgery scars immediately. Somehow, he had still managed to curb his youthful curiosity enough to not bombard Zoro with a million questions about his transition. It was cute, honestly - Zoro appreciated his thoughtfulness, even if he didn’t think it was needed. Chopper was phenomenally professional and never pushed him past what he deemed medically necessary. Plus, having Chopper around made his schedule for testosterone shots much easier and more consistent than what he’d been haphazardly taking whatever he could get his hands on as a bounty hunter.

The only other crew member currently was the cook. And, well - Sanji and Zoro’s relationship was probably simultaneously the most simple and most complicated one he had on the ship.

The cook pissed him off. He was prissy, cared too much about things that didn’t matter at all to Zoro, was obnoxiously idiotic around Nami, and knew just how to get under his skin.

After he had battled Mihawk at the Baratie, Zoro had burned to show the cook his dedication to his dream, to prove to him why living without it wasn’t an option, to make him understand. But since then, something seemed to have shifted - Zoro assumed it was Luffy’s influence - that made the cook want to follow whatever it was he wanted to pursue on the Grand Line. He’d sworn with his leg on the barrel with the rest of them, whatever “All Blue” was supposed to be. So while the cook’s show of dedication had done some work to quench whatever it was that had him so fixated on making Sanji follow his own dream, Zoro still had an underlying desire to challenge him. He felt like someone he could push, to drive to become stronger, and who would give back that same energy tenfold. He hadn’t had that kind of relationship with someone since-

Hell. Best to abort that line of thought. He already had her damn smirk, Zoro didn’t need to associate the cook with anything else about her.

Even though he and the cook were at each other's throats half of the time, they always had an inexplicable synergy during combat. If trusting Luffy was like having faith in a person wholeheartedly and inherently to lead you, then trusting Sanji was like trusting his arm. Which is to say, he wouldn’t even put it in terms like that. You didn’t tell your arm that you trusted it, or ask it to move. It was something that just existed, that protected his crew, that guided his sword. In the same way his muscles would give out after pushing himself too hard training, sometimes Sanji would do something unexpected in the heat of battle - but Zoro could feel that pull, in the same way he’d feel his muscles burn, and respond appropriately.

It was like being set on fire, and knowing the ocean would pull you under before you could burn.

Of course, that synergy died the instant any combat was over. But still, having a connection like that with someone… it was certainly unprecedented for him. Zoro had never liked getting stuck in his head about things like this, though, and he had always been pragmatic to a fault. His martial relationship with Sanji was convenient, to put it lightly, and that’s all there was to it. It kept the crew safe.

All of this was to say, these people were his nakama now. Being around the crew, he could almost remember what it was like to have a family. On some level, that really did scare him.

And damn, if that isn’t something he’s planning on unpacking never.

Being with the crew brought him a stability he probably hadn’t had since Shimotsuki - a peace of mind that allowed him to focus on his training. Truthfully, he hadn’t felt as confident about his path to becoming the best in years. Luffy had a way of rubbing off his infinite stamina and determination onto people, he supposed.

His state of relative contentment was thrown for a complete loop when he met Tashigi.

Zoro wasn’t a sentimental person. He never tried to settle into thoughts about “what-if,” knowing ruminating in the past wouldn’t help him towards his goal at all. As a result, he’d never given a thought to what Kuina would have looked like now if she were still alive. But Tashigi… well. Physically, Tashigi and Kuina were a perfect match - they had the same heart shaped face, with big dark eyes and midnight hair that shone with traces of blue in the right light. They were identical, in every way except what really mattered. This woman wore glasses and an insecure visage, and even when she spoke of her dreams with determination in her eyes she didn’t look like Kuina, her smile was wrong, the arrogance and all-consuming hunger in her eyes had vanished-

It was like looking at a walking corpse. It wasn’t fair to Tashigi, he knew that, but it wasn’t like he could help making unfair comparisons.

She had been there when he had tested his luck against Kitetsu’s blood lust. Tashigi had looked at him like he was an insane person, which to most people would’ve probably been a normal conclusion. But Kuina wouldn’t have looked at him that way. Hell, she could’ve taken Kitetsu for her own, would’ve sent the violence and disobedience he still feels radiating from the blade running away completely with its tail between its legs. But maybe not - she never did use nitoryu much.

Seeing Kuina’s face on someone else had shaken him. He had a hard time explaining it, though, beyond what was obvious in seeing a random person who looked like someone already dead. The best way he could put it was that that woman, who looked like his greatest enemy, his first friend, without the countenance of her unshakeable determination, her aggravating arrogance she held in life - it felt like a lie.

Zoro was drinking in the storeroom.

He didn’t plan on being here. His preferred drinking spots were in the crow’s nest, or out on the deck in some corner where he could sleep in peace without being bothered by the cook’s incessant fawning over the girls while still being within earshot of Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper getting into trouble. But he’d run out of booze, and of course he’d try to sneak in and raid some from the storeroom, cook be damned. And then he had heard someone - probably the cook himself, the sixth-sensed bastard, walk into the kitchen, and he decided to wait it out and just start drinking where he was at. He’d gotten lucky so far, and the presumed-intruder-possibly-cook hadn’t come into the storeroom and caught him, but honestly, he’d been itching for a fight with him anyway, so whatever happened would happen, he figured.

Usopp ends up barging in and barreling into his otherwise comfortable spot between some sacks of flour.

“Hide me!” he whisper-yells, cowering behind him like he was being pursued by Whitebeard himself.

“Oi, longnose! You made me spill my-”

“SHHHHHH!”

Usopp held a finger up to his lips, glancing at the door, and Zoro raised an eyebrow - normally Usopp wasn’t so bold with him. He had always gotten the impression the other man was a bit scared of him. Good for Usopp, maybe he was finally growing a spine. Apparently, at the expense of that same newly formed spine Zoro was about to rip out through his ass.

“I’m not your damn bodyg-”

Noise from the kitchen interrupts him, and Zoro’s curiosity gets the better of him. He stops from where he was going to grab Usopp to listen instead.

“USOOOOOOOOP!” he hears Luffy bellow, Chopper’s laughter hot on his heels. “WHERE ARE YOUUUUUUU?!”

“Look, it’s okay, Usopp, he’s sweet!” yells Chopper more quietly through his giggling. “He’s not gonna hurt you, just come say hi!”

Usopp visibly shudders. Zoro hears the kitchen door swing open.

“OUT! OUT OF MY KITCHEN, NOW!” There’s sounds of a scuffle, with Luffy’s whining intermingled, then silence.

Well, looks like Usopp was saved by the bell. Or the bastard, in this case. Bozo? He’d have to think of better insults that started with 'B' later.

Zoro grabs Usopp by the front of his shirt. “You’re gonna tell me,” he growls lowly, “why Luffy and Chopper are chasing you into the storeroom, where I was drinking in peace, which led to the cook coming in here and probably busting us any second now and ruining my quiet evening.”

Usopp gulps. “I- there- that is to say,” he stutters out before regaining his nerve. “Those two, they’ve caught something terrible, so diabolical, why, even the great captain Usopp-”

He unsheaths Wado, just an inch.

Usopp seems to lose his bravado at the interruption. “...it’s a spider.”

They stare at each other for a few moments.

“A spider.”

“Yeah, but like, a big one. It’s like the size of one of Nami’s tangerines! Bigger even! The size of the whole tree! And furry, with these big fat legs-”

Zoro smacks his hand over his face. “I’m going to fucking kill you when we get out of here,” he grumbles. Speaking of, at that moment Zoro hears a sigh on the other side of the door.

“I’ll check inventory tomorrow. He wasn’t in for long,” the cook says to no one in particular. Then, the sound of a lock clicking into place.

The lock. The lock that’s on the other side of the door, that (in all likelihood, Luffy permitting) won’t be opened until breakfast tomorrow.

Zoro sighs. He could absolutely cut the door down, but he already owes Nami money from knocking over her inkwell the other day, and he also really doesn’t want to find out what Sanji will do to him when he sees the damage.

Well, maybe part of him does.

Focus, damnit!

“Give me one reason,” Zoro spits, and he feels Kitetsu sing out for blood at his hip, “why I shouldn’t string you up like the pork roasts in the back and throw an apple in your mouth so the cook can bake you tomorrow.”

Usopp looks at him, then looks away, his lip wobbling, like he truly does feel guilty for dragging Zoro into his mess. “I- w-well, it’s- I-” he stutters out, looking more pathetic with each passing second.

Damn. Zoro feels kind of guilty all of a sudden. He really must be going soft.

“You know what, I don’t care.” He passes the bottle in his grip to Usopp, who looks up at him in shock. “I don’t want to smell your guts all night while I’m stuck here, and I’d like to at least get back to enjoying myself. You might as well join me while you’re here.”

Usopp looks at him like he has three heads. Then, looks at the bottle now in his hands like it has four.

“It’s sake, longnose. Like, to drink?” Zoro makes a sipping motion with his hand, tilting his head back.

Usopp sniffs the lip of the bottle, takes a tentative sip. He spits it out two seconds later and doubles over into a hacking fit.

“Christ, don’t waste it, at least,” mutters Zoro, yanking the bottle back as Usopp struggles to get air back in his lungs.

Zoro is… unexpectedly buzzed from all the booze in the storeroom they (he) stole from the cook tonight. Usopp’s been using his slingshot to lazily shoot the empty bottles with sunflower seeds they found earlier in a cupboard somewhere. The sniper’s been idly chatting with him about everything and nothing while Zoro nods along, mostly content to listen until a thought breaks through his alcohol-induced haze.

“Usopp,” he starts slowly, like he’s testing the words out on his tongue. “Why do you lie so much?”

Usopp looks back, like he’s surprised Zoro’s actually talking. “Huh?”

“Like… you know,” he twirls his hand in a circle, trying to find the words. “All that stuff about being a brave captain with eighty thousand men or whatever.”

“It’s not a lie! Why, once, back when I sailed-”

“Usopp.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Usopp starts picking at his cuticles.

“It… you remember what I swore, when we entered the Grand Line?” The sharpshooter asks, uncharacteristically quiet. “It… saying these things, about myself, helps them feel more… real. More attainable. They almost don’t even feel like lies at all, now.” He looks away.

“Huh. That’s interesting,” Zoro says as his train of thought takes off, and his filter doesn’t seem to be stopping the thoughts from coming out of his mouth. “If you look at it that way, it’s not even really a lie at all then, is it? If it’s going to happen in the future, without a doubt, that is.”

Usopp brightens, looking torn between pride that Zoro indirectly acknowledged that Usopp would become a great adventurer someday, and uncertainty about what to do now that Zoro’s talking so much.

“I could say I’ve beaten Mihawk and become the world’s greatest swordsman right now, and it wouldn’t be a lie, by that logic. I could’ve said that-”

I could’ve said that Kuina would grow up to use a different name and wouldn’t remember me, with all of the fire she carried like one of Usopp’s gunpowder stars burnt out, and it wouldn’t even be a lie, would it?

Zoro takes a harsh breath in, cuts himself off, and Usopp nearly does a double take. Zoro is not a man who minces words. He knows this. Usopp knows this. Zoro’s played a bit too much of his hand. He takes a deep swig of what’s left of his sake.

He used to think it was a lie, that he called himself a man. He doesn’t know how to say that to Usopp, though.

Neither of them speak for a while, the silence growing tense. The sniper keeps looking at him like he expects Zoro to continue, but the swordsman keeps his mouth resolutely shut.

“Zoro, I’ll be honest,” Usopp suddenly interrupts. “This is the most you’ve talked to me, or honestly, probably anyone on this ship other than Luffy about anything deeper than where to find sake or asking for directions. And, at the risk of getting my head cut off, this is fucking fascinating and I’ll be extremely disappointed if you stop.”

Zoro blinks. Huh.

“I used to think it was a lie, that I called myself a man.”

A pause.

“Zoro,” the sniper is nervously laughing now, “what the fuck, dude.”

“You said you’d be disappointed if I stopped.”

“I will be,” Usopp drawls, dragging out the words in disbelief. “Keep going.”

“I saw a dead woman the other day,” he says, and his voice is as steady as it always is but he feels like he’s babbling. “She’s a lie and yet apparently she’s not, all at the same time. Kind of like me, I guess?”

“Zoro.” Usopp looks near hysterics at this point. “What the fuck, dude.”

Zoro wants to elaborate, tell him how there’s a part of him that’s scared that the crew, now that they’re nakama, now that they’re family, will find out about him and reject him like his old family did a lifetime ago. But he’s honestly too tired, and he’s never been much good with words anyway.

“I’m going to bed.” He states bluntly, before immediately passing out on the floor. He doesn't stay lucid long enough to see how Usopp reacts.

The next morning, Sanji finds Zoro asleep between some sacks of flour, with Usopp cuddled up next to him like a clingy cat. He looks around, sees the empty bottles of booze and sunflower seeds scattered around the storeroom, grabs the half empty bottle next to his feet, and dumps it directly on Zoro’s head.

“I wonder if sake makes moss grow,” Sanji idly wonders aloud while Zoro wakes up, spitting around in confusion. Usopp jolts awake next to him, reaching around in a similar fashion to Zoro like he’s trying to find his slingshot.

“Oh, do I have your attention now?” Sanji asks when they finally start to come to their senses. Zoro’s looking up at him with something akin to mild annoyance, while Usopp looks like he could combust on the spot. Sanji lights a cigarette.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. First, you’re going to get the fuck out of my sight until breakfast so I don’t destroy this entire ship. Then, you’re gonna stay here afterwards and clean all this shit up. And then, after I’ve calmed down enough to not threaten where we literally live, I’m going to beat the shit out of both of you. Sound good?”

“Oh, I get it. You’re just too chicken shit to fight me about it right now, is that it, shit cook?”

Breakfast ends up being late that day.

Chapter Text

Vivi’s arrival as a crewmate was unexpected, but she took to them like a duck to water (hah). She was gentle and kind, someone that violence and battle didn't come to naturally. Despite that, she would still overcome her nature to protect the things she loved. Vivi was determined, and strong in a way Zoro had only seen from Luffy up until now. Her unwavering presence of authority even among such large crowds, her natural leadership ability that her people come to rely on… Zoro had taken a liking to her.

It was obvious, in hindsight, that she'd leave them. Her people, her dream, were in Alabasta. But no one in their crew really thought so many steps ahead during their adventures, and her loss still felt like a sudden impact to all of them.

Zoro was probably taking her departure the best out of anyone in the crew. He missed her, of course, she was his nakama, but he'd watched many people come and go in his life over the years, and his experience with loss had softened the blow. Not to mention that he knew they'd see her again. There was no way Luffy would accept being separated from any of his nakama forever.

He could tell the rest of the crew was struggling, though, and it hurt him in a way he hadn't expected. Zoro wasn't one to linger on emotions - his typical method of dealing with things involved liquor and brutalizing his muscles by training until he couldn’t move. He knew that his bluntness wouldn't help his crewmates, not now, and he found himself feeling useless in a way he hadn't since his fight with Mihawk.

As a result, Zoro had been planning on giving everyone their space to grieve. He didn't expect to stumble onto Nami crying over her desk at the helm of the ship.

Christ. He had just come in to pay off the interest of some more debt he'd managed to accumulate from her. He was absolutely, fundamentally not equipped for this.

He should go get Luffy. Usopp, Chopper, Sanji, literally anyone else but him.

Something keeps his feet rooted in place at her back, though. He was being a coward, plain and simple, he knew that. He was, in all capacities besides title, the first mate of this ship, and Luffy counted on him to help keep things running smoothly. To help protect the crew. Didn't his role, and Luffy's faith, by extension, mean anything to him?

But at the same time, as much as he hated admitting his ineptitude, one of the others would absolutely be better equipped to handle this situation. He doesn't want to do wrong by Nami with his own inability to comfort others.

His decision is ultimately made for him though as Nami coughs, and her quiet sobs die down enough for her to whisper, “I know you're there, Zoro.”

Shit.

He walks up to her, pulls up an extra chair to her left and sits down next to her in front of the desk, clasping his hands together over the wood. He has no idea what to say.

“Um,” he starts, and great fucking job, Zoro, just superb. “Is… something wrong?”

Nami starts bitterly laughing, still face down on the desk. It comes out more like a snort after her sniffling from before. “Gee, Zoro, I don’t know. Why don't you take a fucking guess?”

Zoro stiffens. “I should go get one of the others,” he says, putting his hand on the back of his chair to stand.

Nami’s hand on his shoulder stops him. With a force he didn’t expect, she pushes him back down. “No. You really shouldn't.”

They sit for a while longer in uncomfortable silence.

“Is this…” Zoro starts, throat working uncomfortably over the words, as he takes his best guess, “...about Vivi?”

Nami shivers, but finally lifts her head up off the desk, gaze resolutely stuck on the wall in front of them. Her fingers clench in the parchment under her hand.

“Have you ever loved someone, Zoro?”

Zoro startles at the unexpected question. Has he? In the way that he assumes Nami means, anyway. He loved Kuina. He had loved Koushirou, and reluctantly, he'll admit he loved Johnny and Yosaku. He loves his nakama, and at this point he loves all his swords as if they were his own terrible children (they had their own personalities, it counts). And all of this doesn't include the occasional casual sex partner he'd had as a bounty hunter, who he definitely didn’t love.

But has he ever really loved someone?

“I don't know,” he answers honestly.

She chuckles dryly in response. “Well, don't. It sucks.”

Oh. Oh. It clicks into place, and he thinks he understands now.

“You love her.”

She chokes a bit, bites back a sob. “How could I not? She's brilliant, and beautiful, and she's more dedicated and courageous than anyone I've ever met. She could command entire armies with just a word, but she's so, so gentle. How could I not love her?”

Zoro takes a risk and puts a hand over her shoulders. She startles, then sinks into the touch. “And you miss her,” he says.

“Yeah,” Nami replies shakily. “I knew she had to leave. I knew, but… just didn't let myself think about it. Not when there was so much on the line. But now…”

Now, she's in Alabasta, and they're on the Grand Line, and who knows how long it'll be before they accomplish their dreams and can see Vivi again.

“I miss her more than fucking anything. I thought it was bad, when I left Cocoyashi, when I left Nojiko, but… I feel like I’m going to die, Zoro.”

“And I-” she hiccups a bit. “The worst part is, I shouldn't love her. I should have never-” she stops, puts her hand up to her mouth to prevent another sob and Zoro feels his chest burn at seeing one his nakama like this. “It’s selfish.”

Zoro squints. “It’s selfish to love someone?”

“It’s selfish to love a damn princess, Zoro!” she grits back, her voice picking up in volume. “She’s the princess, soon to be queen, of a whole nation, and I’m a pirate, a cat burglar at that, with a bounty on my head. What is she supposed to do? Marry someone who can’t give her an heir, who could put her directly into the crosshairs of the World Government!?” Her anger seems to snap her out of her crying, and thank god, because Zoro can deal with anger.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You-”

“No, be quiet, Nami,” Zoro interrupts, and Nami looks like she could kill him. Holy shit, has Zoro ever even called her by her name, or anything other than witch before? He’s a horrible first mate. “Who the hell are you to tell Vivi who she should or shouldn’t love?”

Nami startles at that, and Zoro finally feels like he’s making ground here.

“You said it yourself - Vivi is brilliant, and assuming you know what’s best for her disrespects her choice. No,” he cuts Nami off, who looks like she’s about to argue back, “you know I’m right. Does she look like the kind of woman who wants to spend her life with whatever dainty prince her family would have her marry?”

Nami snorts. “I… no. She doesn’t,” she mumbles through her leftover laughter and tears.

Zoro pulls his hand off of her and crosses his arms over his chest. “You don’t get to make that choice for her. If she loves you, then she loves you. That’s just the way it is.”

Nami looks at him like she’s seeing him for the first time.

"Not to mention things don't always work out how we think they will. If Vivi hadn't gotten involved with a gang of nasty pirates like us, her country would belong to Crocodile right now. You can't predict shit so simply like that."

“But I-,” she starts, and wraps her arms around herself, her voice barely a whisper now. “What if I mess up? What if - I’ve never loved anyone like I love her. What if I hurt her?”

“You won’t.”

Her eyebrows draw down, like she’s frustrated. “How do you know?”

“Because she’s your nakama,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, because it is. “Maybe you’ll mess up sometimes, sure, but you’ll fix it. Do you really think you’d hurt Luffy, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, in any way that really matters?”

‘Do you really think you’d hurt me?’ goes left unsaid.

Nami’s quiet for a moment, thinking over his words. Her finger slowly traces the tattoo on her bicep - a nervous habit, Zoro guesses.

“I can’t be there for her. Not now, when I’m still chasing my dream.”

“Then write to her. Tell her about everything that happens to you, to us. And when all this is over, she’ll still be there waiting for you.”

She goes quiet again, for just a bit longer than the last lull of silence.

“I... thank you, Zoro. I needed to hear that, I think,” she finally says, and gives him a small smile, looking up at him under her wet eyelashes. They look closer in color to the deep brown of her eyes than the red of her hair from the wetness. Those same brown eyes harden suddenly. “Don’t ever tell me to be quiet again, though, or I’m tripling your debt.”

Zoro can’t help it, he snorts, bumping her with his elbow. “Sure.”

Nami looks back at her desk, now covered in ruined parchment, with a pensive look on her face. “It… really doesn’t bother you?”

“What? That you love one of our nakama, or that you’re crying at the helm in broad daylight?”

She smacks him on the arm. “No, you fucking-” she yells, but cuts herself off with a deep breath. “That I’m....”

Oh.

“That you’re a lesbian.”

“I… yeah. That I’m a lesbian.”

Silence. Zoro looks down, puts his hand on Wado’s handle. Runs his thumb along her wrapping. Mulls over an idea. And finally, he makes a choice.

“You and I, maybe we’re not so different after all.”

Nami turns to him suddenly, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Wh… I- you-,”

“I wasn’t born a man,” he barrels through her confusion, having too much momentum to stop now. He keeps his gaze firmly down at Wado. “I… transitioned, when I was young. So, I may not know what it’s like to love someone like that, and to be apart from them, but… I know what it’s like to worry about... what people will think of you. About what-” he stumbles, struggling for words, “your family, your nakama, might think of you.”

Zoro’s words hang in the air for a bit. He’s too embarrassed to look up at her and see her reaction. He feels raw, like one of Nami’s tangerines that’s just been peeled, about to be devoured.

Nami grabs his other hand. She laces their fingers together, and Zoro feels like he’s meeting her for the first time.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, without any waver in her voice. “I… it’s nice. To know it’s not just me.”

Zoro grunts in affirmation. He feels a bone-deep tiredness, like he couldn’t respond even if he wanted to.

“It’s… rationally, I know they won’t care. I’m pretty sure they won’t, anyway. Sanji and Usopp could be wildcards. But I’m not the kind of person that makes wagers I’m not completely sure about.” She pauses, and her next words come out hard. “I don’t like losing, and I don’t gamble with unsure odds. I can’t.”

Zoro feels like he understands Nami a little bit better now.

Zoro needs a haircut.

He’s not a vain man by any means - he could really give a fuck less what his hair looks like. But when it’s grown enough to reach that awkward length where it stands up weirdly and sticks to his forehead when he sweats, enough is enough. It’s driving him crazy.

The only problem is, they’re at least a week and a half out from the next island, and not only that, but Zoro is flat broke. He spent the last of his Beri paying back Nami.

So here he is, one leg hanging out of his hammock in the men’s barracks, trying to figure out who would be the best person on the ship to ask to cut his hair. He knows he can’t do it himself, or he would - it’s impossible to cut the back on his own.

He immediately rules out Luffy, for obvious reasons. Nami would be a logical choice, except he’s seen her cut Usopp’s hair before. He’s seen Usopp cut his own hair, for that matter. Neither of them should be allowed to touch a pair of scissors ever again.

Chopper would be a good choice, he’s a damn surgeon, for God’s sake, but the kid’s been sick with a nasty cold he must have picked up on the last island. Zoro really doesn’t want to bug him with something this relatively insignificant, or catch whatever it is the kid has, for that matter. At this point, though, Zoro’s hair is bothering him enough to make him unwilling to wait for however long it takes for Chopper to feel better.

He’s obviously not going to ask Robin. The woman just showed up on their ship, and though he trusts Luffy’s judgement, that doesn’t mean he trusts her.

That leaves… the cook.

Damn it all.

Zoro knows the cook would do a good job - he’s got steady hands and a good eye for detail. Not to mention handling scissors should be child’s play to him. He’s seen the man use knives in the kitchen, he’d have to be blind not to notice his competency with blades.

He’s a swordsman at heart, alright? Sue him.

Speaking of. Maybe his swords will have an answer for him. He reaches down to his hip and unsheaths each of them an inch.

Kitetsu is the loudest, he always is, and he’s currently yelling at Zoro to go kill someone, which isn’t new. What is new is that he’s calling out for someone’s blood in particular. By name. Sanji’s blood.

Zoro immediately sheaths Kitetsu. It doesn’t quiet the cursed blade completely, but it muffles it enough to get a vibe on the other two.

Wado doesn’t ever speak to him, not like Kitetsu does, but he does get general feelings from her. Right now, she’s sending out a wave of something akin to soothing, as if saying ‘everything will be okay.’ Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

Yubashiri’s always been mostly silent. He offers no insight.

Great. Well, that was a waste of time.

Zoro’s hair falls back onto his forehead from where he had been pulling it back with his hand. What would be worse? Dealing with this minor discomfort for the next week or so, or letting the ever-temperamental cook near his eyes and temples with a pair of dull scissors?

Sweat starts beading on his brow from the heat of the day, running down the strands stuck to his forehead and dripping into his eyes. He begrudgingly gets up, and makes his way toward the kitchen.

Zoro does end up finding the cook there, and he’s lucky with his timing - they had already had lunch, and Sanji was just finishing up some cleaning.

“Cook.”

Sanji turns to him, his face a picturesque example of unamused. “I’m not giving you any more booze, mosshead. Shoo.” He motions him away with his hand.

“I don’t need your shitty booze, dumbass,” Zoro snaps back, already feeling like maybe Kitetsu was right. “I need a haircut.”

Sanji keeps staring at him, tilting his head. “Okay? Then go to a barber like the rest of us normal people?”

“I can’t. First off, I’m broke. Secondly, if I have to have my hair in my face any longer in this damn heat I’m gonna go insane.”

“Imagine that! The overgrown cabbage patch is broke,” the cook quips, turning to throw a towel onto the counter with all the ease and grace he always moves with. He turns back to Zoro, hands on his hips. “What’d you spend all your money on this time? Booze? Hookers? Get lost in an alley and mugged by some teenage gang members?”

God, why did Zoro decide this was a good idea?

“No, shit-cook, I was paying back Nami. You should be happy to hear that at least, moron.”

Sanji leans down with his hands still on his hips, looking up at Zoro like he thinks this is the funniest shit in the world. “How does a troglodyte like you earn enough money to pay back Nami-swan on his own, anyway? I’m genuinely curious. Indulge me, and maybe I’ll help you out.”

Zoro turns his head, sliding a thumb into his haramaki. “Poker.”

Sanji obviously wasn’t expecting that answer, and is visibly thrown off his rhythm of stringing together insults about Zoro for just a second. Good.

“... Poker.”

“Yeah.”

“You expect me to believe you play poker, with your moss for brains, and win?”

“I don’t give a shit if you believe me, idiot, it’s the truth,” Zoro grumbles. “Poker’s easy, it’s just like fighting. You just have to read your opponent, learn their tells and know your own weaknesses.”

Sanji looks at him like he’s some kind of rare species of fish. Zoro’s starting to find it hilarious.

“... Sit down.”

Zoro’s an idiot. He absolutely did not think this through.

The cook’s hands are right near his face. His hands, which are so precious to him, are currently running through Zoro’s hair, cutting off piece after piece of him. Sanji puts his fingers to Zoro’s cheekbone to turn his head, and Zoro hopes he can’t feel the heat that washes up into his cheeks.

Kitetsu and Wado have gone mostly silent now. Zoro’s never been good at reading Yubashiri, but he’s pretty sure he’s laughing at him. Great.

He’s got to fill the silence, or he’s going to go fucking insane.

“What’s your game, cook?”

“Huh?”

“You know, gambling. Everyone’s got one. I play poker, Usopp does roulette ‘cuz he’s an idiot and doesn’t know how to make money, Luffy and Chopper do slots because they’re both children, and Nami plays fucking everything but she always sweeps the craps table. What’s yours?”

Sanji’s quiet for a moment, probably in the middle of chopping off another lock of green hair. “... Blackjack.”

“Yeah?” says Zoro. “That suits you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you look like the type that’d go for the math-y games. Probably count cards and fuck over everyone else at the table, too.”

“Hah, well,” the cook laughs, “someone has to have brains on this ship full of free thinkers and idiots.”

Damn. Zoro hadn’t meant to compliment him.

It’s not like the cook was wrong, though. Sometimes the man would vanish from a fight, only to show up towards the end like nothing had happened. Then, ten steps down the line during the darkest hour of whatever misadventure they were involved in, something Sanji had done during the fight would turn the tides in their favor in some dumb stroke of either luck or genius.

Sanji… was a planner. Zoro jolts at the realization, and the cook smacks him on the back of the neck for moving so suddenly.

Sanji was a planner, in the same way he'd wake up early to preheat the oven and prep ingredients. In the same way he kept his meal plans for the crew in a little notebook, taking time every Sunday to chart out the next week’s meals.

Zoro thinks back to his conversation with Nami.

Sanji had known Vivi would leave from the start. Had actively thought about it when she joined the ship, when they were helping her in Alabasta. Had tamped the thought down to still help her to his fullest ability. While the rest of them were caught up in the moment, the cook was lucid about the reality of how their adventure would end.

How was he able to do that?

“Finished,” Sanji says, stepping back into Zoro’s line of sight. He’s looking at Zoro, bending over and-

Oh. The cook’s fingers are on his chin now, turning his head this way and that to check for symmetry. Their faces are so close together, and Zoro’s never been happier for his tan skin, hoping it hides the blood he feels burning in his cheeks.

Sanji’s hair has shifted, part of his fringe falling to the center of his face to reveal just a bit of his normally-hidden eye. Zoro’s looking directly into both of his eyes for the first time, and they’re so blue, almost like Vivi’s hair but even deeper, like there’s an entire ocean swirling inside of them.

When did he start having thoughts like this about the cook?

Zoro has to say something, now, or he’s going to explode.

“Are you okay?” is what ends up coming out, and oh God, that was the worst possible thing he could have said.

The cook drops his hand from his chin, and his face shifts into something that would probably look similar to if he had seen Zeff in lingerie. “Huh?”

“I- just mean-” and fuck, he’s stuttering now, what the hell was wrong with him. “With Vivi. You had to have known from the start. That she would stay behind, I mean.”

Sanji stares at him like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Then, he smirks, but it’s almost more like a grimace, as he pulls a cigarette out of his shirt pocket to put in his mouth. Takes his lighter out. Lights it, and takes a deep drag to get it burning. Zoro can’t take his eyes off of the red hot cherry. Sanji hasn’t taken his eyes off of him this whole time.

“Aw, cute. Since when do you care about my feelings, marimo?” He blows the smoke out through his nose, and it ends up in Zoro’s eyes, but he can’t blink, can’t look away, because what the hell is going on-

Sanji steps away, turns his back to him and goes to exit the kitchen.

“Sweep the moss up before you go. You’re welcome, by the way.”

The door swings shut, and Zoro is alone, surrounded by tufts of green hair.

Chapter Text

Usopp hasn’t mentioned their weird conversation in the storeroom they had a while back yet, and Zoro’s grateful for it.

He and the witch have been getting along swimmingly, too, after the incident at the helm. Zoro had gone with her to drop off her first letter to Vivi on the next island, and Nami had actually dragged him out to a bar afterwards. They’d gotten into a drinking contest, which Zoro had flat-out lost, and while Zoro’s sure they’d raised some eyebrows walking back to the ship arm-over-arm singing the Wellerman, no one said anything.

Luffy and Chopper are still as carefree as ever, and Zoro and Sanji piss each other off and fight at least twice daily. Zoro’s trying not to let his recent realization about the cook affect their spars.

That realization being that he apparently thinks Sanji’s hot.

Zoro could be thick-skulled sometimes, but it’s not like he was blind. The cook was lithe and graceful, all lean muscle accentuated by the sharp lines of his suit. Plus, Zoro had always had a thing for strong men, and he’d readily admit that the idiot kept him on his toes more than anyone else on the crew.

It didn’t mean anything, though. Sanji was blatantly, openly straight, and it’s not like they could even stand to be in the same room together for too long outside of combat. Zoro’s attraction would fade, and everything would go back to normal.

Apparently, that didn’t stop the newest member aboard their ship from noticing Zoro’s new problem.

Zoro had been cat-napping on the shade of the deck near the girls’ tanning chairs while the younger members of the crew were playing what Zoro could only imagine was some kind of homebrew version of volleyball. Sanji was leaning across the railing, looking out into the ocean with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wasn't wearing his suit today, instead donning one of his disgustingly ugly hawaiian shirts and a pair of casual shorts. Begrudgingly, Zoro indulges the demon inside him that’s been making his life hell as he watches the cook smoke, his cigarette burning bright at its end as he takes another drag.

Looking at Sanji made it easy to associate him with fire, and not just because of his diable jambe. He was hot-tempered, quick to anger, passionate… but truthfully, especially looking at him like this, so calm and peaceful, Zoro thought he was more like the ocean. The ocean was all of those things, but directed by so many complex systems of currents and ecology and weather patterns that it made Zoro’s head spin. It was easy to invoke its wrath, but could calm just as quickly, like the way Sanji would smoke his cigarettes and stare at the waves off the railing like he was now, like he’d do after the chaos that breakfast always was. The ocean was a complicated vortex of life and energy that left Zoro breathless.

Fire was simple. It sparked, and burned until it ran out of fuel, and then it extinguished. Uncomplicated and to the point. If anyone was like fire, it’d be-

He looks away before he’s caught staring. Apparently, though, it’s too late.

“Swordsman-san,” Robin starts, elbow on her knee with her hand primly holding up her chin, and Zoro jumps at the sound of her voice. “Our cook is looking rather handsome today, isn’t he? It’s not often he wears casual clothes.”

Zoro’s hackles rise, and he pretty much misses the last part of her sentence. “Let’s get one thing straight, woman,” he growls, “the cook isn’t your anything. You’re here hitching a ride from us because Luffy allows it. You’re not our nakama.”

Robin’s face doesn’t shift at all, as if she’s completely unbothered by Zoro’s words. “Pardon me, then,” she corrects. “Your cook is looking rather handsome today, isn’t he?”

Zoro’s never had his brain shut down before, but this is probably pretty close to what it’d be like, he imagines. Heat rises to his face as he feels himself flush red, and he hates it. “I don’t- I- he’s not my anything!”

Nami’s torso slowly rises up from her chair at Zoro’s outburst. She lifts her sunglasses up off her face.

Meanwhile, Robin smiles slowly, like a sadistic cat that just caught the canary. “He’s your nakama, isn’t he?”

“He’s everyone’s nakama,” Zoro spits. “Except yours, that is.”

“Hm,” she muses, completely unbothered in juxtaposition to Zoro’s outrage. “Maybe that’s why I don’t understand, then. It’s just,” and her faux-innocent smile widens, just slightly, “do nakama typically openly stare at each other in broad daylight, like that?”

Nami’s looking back and forth between them like they’re part of some kind of particularly interesting novel. He distantly hears Luffy whining in the background about their volleyball going overboard.

Zoro’s had enough. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and frankly, I don’t care.” He stands up, placing a hand on his swords. “There’s got to be somewhere on this ship where a man can nap in peace.”

He turns to walk away, but not before watching Nami glance at the cook and back to him. Her eyebrows drop from where they’d been set high near her hairline to low across her brow, her eyes narrowing as if in realization.

Fuck.

Something had changed between then and Skypiea. Zoro remembers the white hot rage he’d felt after Enel had shocked Robin, how quickly his body had moved to catch her when she fell so she wouldn’t hit her head on the unforgiving stone below. Somewhere along the way, she’d become their nakama.

It had been strange. Zoro had hated her at first; she had hurt Vivi, his nakama, but he eventually reconciled that with the fact that she really had only done what she did under duress from Crocodile. Then, she’d helped them, fought alongside them through Jaya, Skypiea, the Davy Back Fight-

Zoro does not think about the Davy Back Fight, how he and Sanji had worked together outside of direct combat for the first time, and even if it was only for a brief moment, it had felt so natural, so right-

It’s fine. His attraction would fade, and everything would go back to normal.

The point was, at some moment in time on their journey, he’d stopped thinking of Robin as a stowaway and started thinking of her as family. Then, they’d stopped at Water 7, and Usopp had left the crew, and CP9 had taken Robin, and the strawhats had declared war on the world government to get her back. Merry had come to their rescue, and they’d given her a proper funeral when she couldn’t go on any longer.

It had been insanity. And once they’d gotten back to Water 7, Zoro…

He needed some time to himself.

And he's found it, he thinks. Zoro’s finally alone, sitting on a rocky beach he’d found on the outskirts of Water 7. He’s staring out into the ocean, holding Yubashiri out in front of his face.

What’s left of Yubashiri.

He remembers talking with Tashigi, back when he had picked up both Kitetsu and Yubashiri, about swords. Her dream was to take as many legendary swords out of the hands of criminals as she could, if he remembers right.

Swords, powerful ones, like your Wado Ichimonji, have souls, she had told him. You might think I’m crazy, but… it’s true. They cry out for a master that will respect them, that will use them properly.

She was a dimwit and a klutz, but it seemed she was right about that, at least.

And his sword’s soul was gone. Yubashiri was dead.

He had always been a quiet katana, but Zoro hadn’t appreciated his constant presence until he felt the cold, empty silence he currently held in his right hand. More than his other two, even Wado, he kept on the straight and narrow of his master’s will. Zoro never did learn to read him completely, but he was a faithful, competent sword that had saved his ass many times over now. He’d been there when Zoro had cut through steel for the first time, when he’d used kyutoryu against Kaku. He’d helped him slash through a sea train like butter. He’d helped him grow stronger, had helped him protect his nakama.

And now he’s dead.

Zoro wants to cry, to scream with the rage that’s burning inside him. But he won’t, because he hasn’t cried since his fight with Mihawk, and he won’t cry again after that.

He settles for punching a piece of driftwood next to him.

It was all his fault. He had known there were devil fruit users among the marines they’d fought on the Bridge of Hesitation, and yet he’d still thrown Yubashiri around without caution. He’d been careless, and cocky, and now his right hand was dead as a result.

Koushirou had told him once, years ago, when he was still new to swordplay, that holding a sword should feel like an extension of your arm. And he was right. Zoro had felt it, when that marine had rusted Yubashiri away. Had felt it as strongly as when the bastard had put his hand on Zoro’s bicep to rust away the rest of him.

He had to get stronger. Next time, it could be one of his nakama he fails.

He doesn’t know why he came here. Maybe to throw away what was left of Yubashiri in the ocean, to rust away completely. He doesn’t have the heart to do that now, though, even if holding his handle is like cradling a corpse. Kitetsu has been oddly quiet, and Wado is sharing his grief, waves of her sadness hitting Zoro like fat tears on his face.

Maybe he’ll give it to Usopp before they leave, Zoro thinks bitterly. He could probably find something useful to do with the metal that’s left.

Zoro looks down at his other hand and sees blood. Hell, he hopes he hasn’t broken any of his knuckles. Chopper’s going to kill him.

As all things are wont to do when the strawhats get involved, Luffy’s impromptu post-Enies-Lobby celebratory barbecue gets completely out of hand. The Franky family shows up, followed by Franky himself, and then the entirety of the Galley-La company. By nightfall, what feels like the entire town has shown up to what’s become nothing short of a rager.

Zoro’s sitting on the ground, downing barrel after barrel of beer with some of the Galley-La guys. They make good company - they’re relatively quiet, laugh at his poor attempts at jokes, and don’t ask him stupid confusing questions about his crewmembers.

Speaking of said crewmembers, he’s been trying to keep an eye on them throughout the night, but he’s lost a couple of them in the commotion. Usopp, still in his Sogeking getup, hasn’t stopped singing since he started that afternoon. It’s impressive, honestly. He’d seen Chopper run off with Chimney and Gonbe, and he was pretty sure Luffy was currently engaged in an eating contest with Paulie and half of the Galley-La crew. He’d seen Nami drinking with Robin, who both looked three sheets to the wind, but Nami seemed to have snuck off somewhere. And Sanji…

Sanji was cooking. He really didn’t need to, pretty much everyone had already eaten and was well into drinking for the night. He was surrounded by a group of kids, though, and was impressing them with his cooking skills. It was… surprisingly cute, but Zoro made a conscious effort not to watch, especially after his conversation with Robin a while back.

Suddenly, there’s hands on his shoulders, and Zoro jumps up like a spooked cat.

“Zoro!” a familiar voice yells near his ear.

“Jesus Christ, witch!”

“Holy shit, can you hide me?” Nami asks while glancing around frantically, ignoring Zoro’s surprise. “There’s these fucking weirdos that think this is mine and Paulie’s wedding for some reason. Can you believe that shit? How on earth could anyone think I’m straight?”

Zoro groans before glancing around. He spots a quiet area away from the pool, shaded by a palm tree with an umbrella for cover nearby if they needed it. It’ll probably do. And if not, he’ll just cut whoever’s messing with Nami, anyway.

“Come on, witch, let’s go,” he barks, starting to get up and whoa, his legs are wobbly. He turns to the Galley-La guys he’d been drinking with to thank them for the company, and they reply with a thumbs up and a laugh.

They make their way past Franky’s line of dancers and Kokoro’s impromptu Sea World show to the palm tree. There’s one of those flimsy beach chairs and an overturned barrel for them to sit on, and Zoro lets the witch have the chair like the stand-up guy he is.

“‘Kay, I don’t see them anywhere. I think it’s fine for now,” Nami murmurs.

Zoro grunts in response.

Nami pauses to swirl the drink in her hand, and her face shifts into something more mischievous. “Soooo, Zoro. Were you planning on telling me about your little crush on Sanji anytime soon?”

His what?

"I don’t have a crush on the cook,” Zoro shoots back indignantly. He doesn’t! He just finds him objectively attractive - that’s not the same thing as having a crush.

“Oh my God,” Nami replies, rolling her eyes. “And I was Gold Roger’s sugar baby. What, are you trying to compete with Usopp now, all of a sudden?”

If Zoro could get away with killing her and hiding the body without invoking Luffy or Sanji’s wrath, he’d honestly consider taking it right now. Kitetsu’s vibrating with joy at his hip at the thought.

“It’s not- I have eyes, you damn witch. That’s not the same as having a crush. That’s… something different."

Nami’s looking at him like he’s the dumbest man in the world. Zoro, against his will, fidgets under her judgement. “Have you, like… seen yourself look at him, Zoro? You get, like, goo-goo eyes. It’s totally gross.”

Zoro wishes he could be struck by lightning, or hit by a cannonball, because literally anything would be better than this. “He’s straight, Nami. As an arrow.”

“Arrows bend,” she replies lightly, downing about half of the beverage in her hand afterwards. Zoro had thought it was something fruity, but he goes to take a closer look, and holy shit, is that straight Everclear? No wonder Nami was off her rocker. “Or break, if you’re into that.” She makes a motion like she’s breaking a stick over her knee, accented by a cracking sound that slips out of the corner of her mouth.

Zoro flushes.

“Look, Zoro,” she continues. “You leveled with me when I needed it, and I think I need to level with you. Can’t you just, like, talk to the guy?”

“Absolutely not.”

Nami throws her hands up in the air, spilling some of her drink as she goes. Zoro wrinkles his nose at the party foul. “God, you men are useless!” She turns back to him with a look that could kill. “Fine then! If you want to sit around and be a pining mess, that’s your prerogative.”

“I’m not pining!”

“And I’m not about to strangle you right now, you fucking-” she bites back, before perking up suddenly and looking somewhere past Zoro’s shoulder. Her face breaks out into a terrifying devious grin. “You know, I think that’s my cue to leave. Think about what I said, yeah, Zoro?” She hops up from her chair, finishing her drink before stalking off back towards the pool where Robin’s at.

Zoro turns to follow her path, down where her original line of sight had been, and-

“Sanji-kun, could you keep an eye on Zoro for me? I think maybe he’s had a lot to drink,” she coos at the apparently now-approaching cook, talking behind her hand as if Zoro can’t fucking hear her.

Zoro plants a palm into his forehead and runs it down his face as the cook makes a fool of himself with some flowery words of affirmation for Nami. He’d just been trying to drink in peace. It had been so much easier when he was a bounty hunter. Why did his life have to be so difficult now that he was a pirate?

As soon as Nami’s out of earshot, Sanji rounds on him, his face eerily placid and his voice carefully neutral. It’s much more unsettling than any kind of anger he’s seen come from the cook. “Marimo,” he starts almost sweetly, “what are your intentions with Nami-swan?”

Zoro chokes on his own spit.

“My- what?” he hacks out through a coughing fit.

“Because if you were to hurt any of my flowers with your brutish ways,” the cook murmurs as he levels Zoro with a burning blue intense glare, and oh, that should not be doing as much for Zoro as it is right now, “I’m going to make your death as slow and painful as possible.”

Zoro can’t help it, he starts laughing, the sound bubbling out from deep in his chest. Sanji’s face shifts back into a more familiar rage, but it’s a lot more fierce than what Zoro’s used to being directed at him.

“Holy shit, you think-” and he cuts himself off with another wave of laughter, “you think Nami and I-” He can’t continue as the humor of the situation fully dawns on him and he’s overtaken with the ridiculousness of it all.

Sanji looks one step away from murdering him, though, and Zoro realizes he’s going to have to do damage control, fast.

“Good God, you’re dense, love-cook,” he mutters once he gets his breath back. “Let me make it clear for you, then. There is no reality, world, or universe where I am ever romantically interested in Nami in any way. And her likewise for me. Capiche?”

The cook continues to level him with that glare, but eventually finds whatever he’s looking for on Zoro’s face. He turns away from him, facing back to watch the ongoing party as he lights a cigarette. “Good.”

As funny as it was, something is still irking Zoro about the interaction. “Besides, Nami’s a grown ass woman. She doesn’t need you fighting her battles for her like you’re her dad or something.”

Sanji snorts, like he’s offended. “I know that,” he grunts past the stick between his teeth. “I don’t watch out for her because I think she’s weak.”

Huh. Zoro has no idea what that's supposed to mean, but he decide to wisely take it for what it is and not respond.

Sanji grabs the chair Nami had been previously using, and they sit in a comfortable silence together watching the festivities while the cook smokes. Franky and Usopp were still going strong with their literal song and dance, and most of the Franky family was involved now. Apparently someone had found some glow sticks, and Luffy was currently running around giving them to everyone he could come across.

It was nice to watch everyone relax after what they’d all been through.

“They’re a handful, aren’t they?” Sanji muses, seemingly reading his mind.

Zoro grunts in response. He catches sight of Chopper, Chimney and Gonbe in the distance running around with an excessive amount of glow sticks up their noses and can’t help but smile at their antics.

He glances back over at Sanji, who’s lazily blowing out cigarette smoke. “I wish any of those idiots knew how to actually dance, though. It’s not too often I end up with the chance to properly dance with someone, unless Robin-chan indulges me.”

…Huh. That made sense, considering the cook was all about prissy shit like that. He’d seen Sanji dance with Robin before, and the other man had always seemed so happy to be able to use his natural grace for something other than violence.

Zoro had good muscle memory, and the lessons he’d had in dancing were one of the few things that had stuck with him from his early childhood. The memories of doing so at that age were mostly painful, though. It was back when he was forced to be someone he wasn’t, to play a role assigned to him, to follow while someone else led, lace skirts trailing after his ankles like herding dogs trying to bite him. The faded memories always made him grimace.

But the thought of dancing with Sanji… well, at least under the influence of the excessive amounts of alcohol he’s drunk tonight, it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

Sanji’s looking at him now, eyes softened from the buzz of alcohol. His blond hair is glowing in the fire light, bouncing reflections of red and orange off of the curtain of gold. His face is pulled up in that arrogant smirk of his, and his eyes are dark, like deep undertow currents that feel like they’re pulling Zoro in. Sanji’s shirt is completely unbuttoned, his tie has vanished to who knows where, and his body language is so loose and free. He looks at peace.

He looks beautiful.

And Zoro… well. Not only is he a glutton for punishment, but he’s also a man of action. Even if he ends up regretting those actions later.

He stands, holding his hand out to Sanji.

The cook squints at the appendage like it might bite him. “Do you… want a high five, or something?”

Zoro changes his mind. He wants to kill him.

“No, you god-damned idiot. I want you to dance with me.”

And oh, Sanji’s cheeks have turned pink, even as his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“You… want me. To dance with you."

“What, did I stutter? Or did you lose all your brains with the buster call back on Enies Lobby, shit-cook?”

If Sanji hears his taunt, he doesn’t fall for the bait. “You’re expecting me to believe you know how to dance?”

“Yes.”

They’re at a stalemate now, with Zoro’s hand still outstretched and his eyes boring directly into the other man’s. Sanji’s chewing on the end of his cigarette’s filter.

“Fine,” he mutters, throwing the butt on the ground and grinding it out with his shoe before standing. “But you’re leading, because I really want to see you make a fool of yourself.”

Admittedly, it’s weird trying to dance to Usopp singing about sniper island or whatever it is he’s on about now in the background. Zoro’ll make it work, though.

Zoro is extremely conscious of his hand that's now resting on the cook’s waist. He’s even more conscious of his other hand in the cook’s own. It feels like the Sanji’s fingers are burning him wherever they touch, leaving marks on his skin. Tamping the feeling down, he takes Sanji through a simple two step, and the cook seems to be in complete shock that Zoro hadn’t been lying earlier and knew what he was doing. Zoro doesn’t know whether he should be smug or offended about that.

He had been worried about how rusty he’d be, but Sanji seems to know where he’s going to put his feet before even Zoro does. They flow together like they do when they fight, like they don’t even have to think about it at all. He brings Sanji out of a spin back to face him, and while he has his ever-present smirk on his face, the corners of his lips are turned up, like he's so, so happy to be dancing. To be dancing with him. And Zoro wants to run, wants to hug him, wants to explode, all at the same time, because he’s the one making Sanji feel that way-

It’s scaring the fuck out of him. It’s giving him hope.

Dancing with Sanji, it’s like fighting, it’s like breathing, it’s…

The spell is cut short as Luffy comes flying out of thin air and knocks them both into the ground.

Sanji scrambles up first, hissing like a pissed-off cat and wiping dirt off his chest. “You rubber menace, what the hell is wrong with you!?”

Luffy pointedly ignores the cook’s anger, sitting up to face them. “Oi! Zoro, Sanji, come help us!”

Franky’s running up to them now. “OW! Sorry bros. We were trying to see how far all of us could stretch Strawhat out, and then it turned into tug-of-war. You wanna come join us? Our team’s short,” he says, pointing his thumb back to where Chopper in his heavy point form and some of the Franky family are standing across the pool.

“That won’t work, there’s two of them, we’ll still be odd!” Usopp yells over the din as he approaches their group from the side. Wait, when the hell had Usopp stopped singing?

Zoro’s still lying on his back on the pavement spread eagle, silently watching the exchange and cursing his existence. As much as Zoro would love to kill his nakama right now, he knows he doesn’t have the heart to.

“You help them out, cook,” he mumbles as he gets up, ignoring Sanji’s indignation at being volunteered against his will. He could care less at this point. Zoro needs to go find another drink.

Chapter Text

Zoro has decided to retreat back to the beach outside Water 7 to meditate after the disaster that resulted from his attempt to find a new sword. Meeting that weird pack of street kids and their mom… well, not only had it made Zoro decide he’s never having children, but it had also shaken up his head a bit.

Zoro’s never had siblings, or a mother who cared about him, for that matter. Even as completely insane (and loud, and gross) as that patchwork family was, seeing a mother who cared about her children so unconditionally, children she hadn't even given birth to… as much as it had made Zoro thankful for the nakama he has now, it also filled him with a strange sort of yearning, a sense of loss, he had never felt before. He didn’t like it at all. Zoro’s thoughts had started wandering to Johnny and Yosaku, who had also called him aniki, to Kuina, who was still pushing him to his limits from beyond the grave. He thought of Koushirou, who had taught him so much, how different he had been from every other adult in his life-

He knows he’s been spending too much time on the beach recently, but Zoro will indulge himself one more time. He has to get away from it all.

As Zoro wanders up to his usual spot, however, he finds he isn’t alone.

Usopp’s there.

He’s sitting down, arms folded over his knees with the mask he had worn as Sogeking gripped in his hand. The sniper sounds like he’s rehearsing and rehashing a return speech for Luffy and the crew, animatedly accentuating his words with his free hand. A speech that, Zoro notices pointedly, does not include any kind of apology.

Zoro’s eyes narrow. Was this how he was planning on coming back to his nakama? Acting as if nothing had happened?

Rage gradually fills Zoro as he continues to watch Usopp flaunt about his value to the crew, his skills as a sniper.

Zoro’s a simple man. He isn’t one to get involved in intricate social dynamics or complex emotions when he can avoid it, and he certainly isn’t petty enough to hold grudges. But, when Usopp had challenged Luffy to a duel, had disrespected their captain’s leadership in front of the entire crew, had declared he was leaving them. Usopp had made his decision. If he can’t even show regret for his actions, they wouldn’t be able to count on him as their nakama going forward. A crew that doesn’t respect their captain, and a captain that doesn’t demand that respect in turn, will die on the Grand Line. And knowing Luffy, as carefree and loving as he is, he’ll still welcome back Usopp this way, with open arms.

Zoro will need to talk to Luffy later - he has to be their leader’s voice of reason. It’s his job. He’s not going to allow anyone to disrespect his captain this way. Even his own nakama.

He wills his feet forward, even as his own heart aches with a deep, unforgiving pain, but Zoro had gotten very good at losing people over the years. This sadness is familiar.

And right now, Zoro’s sadness is being swallowed by his rage.

He steps on a piece of driftwood as he approaches to make his presence known. Usopp jumps off of the ground in fright and turns around, face blanching as he realizes who’s behind him.

“I- Zoro!" he says, voice jumping with panic as his mask goes flying from his hand.

Zoro, on impulse, approaches him, smoothly pulling what’s left of Yubashiri out of his sheath. He flips his grip to grab the ruined sword by the guard, facing the handle towards Usopp. “Take it. I don’t need it anymore.”

Usopp narrows his eyes at that, obviously having expected something else. “What- why-”

“I’m keeping the sheath, ‘cus I’m used to having the weight on me,” Zoro continues, barreling through whatever the other man was about to say. “But the sword - he’s broken, now. I can’t use him.”

It’s getting late, and the daylight has begun to fade over the horizon. The orange glow of the sunset has settled over the ocean, the bright hues framing Usopp’s face as his hair glows on the edges around him. His eyes are downcast and dark.

“Zoro,” he starts slowly, as if measuring the words out. “I can’t take this. It- I know you like to act like you’re not sentimental, but this- it meant something to you. It- he deserves to stay with you. Deserves a proper funeral, at the very least.”

Zoro feels empty, and his next words come out on autopilot, feeling hollow. “Sometimes,” he says carefully, “it’s better to let things go.”

Usopp looks stricken. Zoro wants to puke.

Instead, he laughs to himself under his breath, a bitter snort that feels more like he swallowed acid. “Tell you what. If you manage to leave Water 7 with us, you can give him back to me yourself.”

He drops Yubashiri into the sand at Usopp’s feet and turns to walk away, trying to forget the hurt he’d left on the sniper’s face with his words.

Pain is something Zoro is more than well accustomed to at this point. It comes with the territory of being a swordsman, of pursuing his dream of becoming the world’s greatest. Naturally, he's intimately familiar with the feeling.

So, when Zoro’s gut had started hurting, he mostly ignored it. He probably ate something bad, or trained his abs too hard or something.

But the pain has followed him across their time in Water 7, across Enies Lobby, even, and he had to dutifully ignore it while everything was going on. While it comes and goes, it’s been getting progressively worse, and although he’d never vocalize it, it’s starting to concern him a bit. He’s not used to his body betraying his will like this, and that’s bothering him more than the pain itself is.

What was wrong with him? The pain felt something similar to… cramps, as much as he hates the term, back when he still got them. But this is on an entirely different level. It feels like Kitetsu is stabbing him in the stomach, over and over and over again.

Huh. Now there’s an idea. Maybe Kitetsu’s curse is finally taking over him.

He ultimately ignores it, because Zoro’s admittedly stubborn and he can figure it out on his own. It’s just a little pain; he can handle it. He always has.

When he wakes up late one morning in such bad pain that he can barely move, he realizes he might have made a mistake.

Zoro’s been shot. He’s been stabbed, beaten, broken countless bones, lost amounts of blood that would make lesser men shiver with terror. He’s nearly cut off his own feet and had his arm actively turned into rust, for God’s sake.

This pain is easily on that level, if not higher.

Zoro decides to try and sleep it off, because he’s not moving if he doesn’t have to at this point. The deepest sleep he can reach is just under the surface of lucid due to the overwhelming feeling of his guts being ripped out occupying his consciousness.

He wakes up hours or minutes later, he can’t be sure, to Chopper staring right into his face.

“Zoro,” the little reindeer starts, “what’s going on with you? You’ve been in bed all day.”

Damn, has he?

“Chopper.” He can’t wiggle his way out of this conversation; the doctor is too perceptive. He’ll just have to tell him the truth. Zoro turns slightly to his side to face Chopper better from where he’s resting on his stomach, and he winces at the blinding wave of raw hurt the motion brings. He glances around, though, and is relieved to find the rest of the crew gone somewhere outside of the room they've borrowed from the Galley-La company. “Don’t freak out, but, uh,” he starts eloquently, “I’m in pain.”

Chopper, predictably, freaks out.

“ZORO! Where does it hurt? How long has this been going on? Are you nauseous? Do you have any other symptoms, like-”

“Chopper.” Zoro interrupts, quieting the reindeer. “It’s fine. It’s been going on for probably a couple weeks on and off now? Since before we got to Water 7, at least. It’s uh-,” he pauses as embarrassment takes over him. “It’s in my gut.”

Chopper’s eyes harden at that. “Zoro. Can you stand?”

Zoro grunts. Of course he can stand. He moves up, puts his feet on the floor, and shit. There’s white spots behind his eyes as he gradually puts weight on his legs.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

Chopper’s pushing him back down before he can get all the way up. “Forget it, I don’t even have an infirmary set up here. Lay back down.”

Zoro groans in response, obliging the doctor while he exits the room. He's not sure how much time passes, but it doesn’t feel terribly long before Chopper’s back in and doing… something, to the space around them and to Zoro. He really has no idea what; he’s been keeping his eyes squeezed shut and his haptic feedback seems to have mostly shut down. He doesn’t really have the presence of mind to figure out how Chopper does it so quickly, but the doctor’s apparently got him on a morphine drip now, because Zoro feels like he can finally think straight, as shameful as it is.

“Describe the pain you’re feeling to me, Zoro.”

Zoro flushes pink. He doesn’t want to talk about this, but it’s not like Chopper’s just going to leave him alone after setting up a makeshift infirmary where they’ve been staying and putting him on an IV. “It’s, well. It’s like… when I used to get cramps. But way worse.”

Chopper levels him with a stare. “Zoro. You’ve been on testosterone for about three years now, correct?”

“That sounds right.”

“Has anyone ever told you about the risks associated with T?”

Zoro looks at the little doctor with confusion. "No? Kinda? I mean, I was a bounty hunter. I just took whatever I could get my hands on. It’s not like I had a doctor like you, back then.”

Chopper looks mortified. “You- Zoro!”

He grunts in response. “It’s not like I would’ve cared. Do you really think it would have stopped me?”

“I- no, but you’re entitled to know the risks of things you’re putting in your body!” Chopper looks near tears and glances away. “This is my fault. Even if it was a previous medication you were carrying over, I should have verified you knew the risks associated with it under my care.” His little bottom lip wobbles as he looks back up resolutely at the swordsman. “I’m sorry, Zoro.”

Zoro would do literally anything to get him to stop looking at him that way. He forgets so often that Chopper is so much younger than the rest of them.

“Chopper,” he starts, voice firm. “It’s fine. Nothing you said would’ve changed my decision. You could’ve told me it’d kill me tomorrow, and I still would’ve taken T. We’re in the exact same position we would have been in,” he reassures him. “And next time, you’ll know better.”

Chopper nods, wiping his tears away.

“Now,” Zoro continues, “tell me what’s going on.”

Chopper steels himself, morphs his voice in posture back into that of ‘doctor mode,’ and God, that shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

“I-” the little doctor starts. “I’ve been doing research since you’ve come under my care, but there really isn’t much medical information out there about trans men. What little has been gathered is that T, while generally safe for long term use, can uncommonly have side effects for some men.” Chopper hasn’t taken his eyes away from Zoro, face resolute. “Cramping and pain in the uterus is one of them.”

Zoro feels sick.

“Alright. So, what do we do about it?”

Chopper finally looks away from him. “It’s… not simple. There’s medications we can try, but I can’t guarantee that they’ll work, and it may take trial and error. The only guaranteed way to alleviate the pain would be a hysterectomy.”

Ah. That’s getting rid of the whole thing, right? “Sure, let’s do that.”

Chopper looks back up at him with wide eyes. “I- Zoro!” he squeaks, shock coloring his voice. “That’s a major surgery! It would obviously render you unable to have children in the future, and the recovery time would take weeks. Not to mention the possibility of other complications. It’s something I’d want you to think over, not come to a decision about right now!”

Zoro leans back against the borrowed bed he’s in. He certainly doesn’t care about having children, immediately thinking back to the fucking disaster that had been playing babysitter a while ago. Even if he changed his mind at some point in the future, he certainly wouldn’t be doing it the biological way. Zoro shudders just thinking about it. On that same train of thought, the inherent birth control associated with the whole thing would… actually be really nice. As for possible side-effects… well, that’s literally what Chopper was for. And what are the odds it would be any worse than the pain he’s in now?

“Okay, I thought about it,” he says. “Get this shit out of me.”

Chopper looks at him like he’s about to implode.

“Zoro-”

“Chopper,” he interrupts, already predicting the doctor’s outcry. “You don’t have to worry about my… fertility, ‘cuz I could literally care less. I really don’t see that part of me as anything other than, at best, one of those useless organs you said we all apparently have.”

Chopper squints at him. “Are you… talking about your appendix?”

“Sure,” Zoro responds lightly. That sounds right, probably. ”And as far as complications go… you’re my doctor. I trust you to fix me if something comes up.”

Chopper blushes furiously at the indirect compliment. “That doesn’t make me happy, bastard!”

God, Zoro loves him.

“I’ll tell you what. When you take me off of this drip, you can give me the whole risk and side-effects spiel I know you’ve already got brewing in that brain of yours. Then, when it doesn’t change my mind and you’re assured I’m not making a decision under the influence of pain medication, we can figure out when we’re doing this. Yeah?”

The young doctor still looks hesitant, but eventually nods. “I… alright, Zoro.”

The two of them decide that sooner rather than later would be better for Zoro’s surgery. They’re in a peaceful lull of their continuous adventure, with Luffy’s grandpa apparently covering for them while the log pose resets and their new ship is being finished up. Then, they’ll leave Water 7 and be on the ocean for a while, and Zoro will have plenty of time to recover before they get to wherever the hell the Grand Line takes them next.

Zoro knows he has to tell the crew, though. He can’t just disappear into their new ship’s infirmary for however long it takes him to heal as if nothing's happened. Chopper assures him that he only has to share what is essential to the crew’s function, that he’s entitled to his privacy, but… Zoro doesn’t want to lie to them or make them worry. And it’s not like they’re not going to ask.

So when the crew is gathered for their first meal onboard Sunny after they leave the island, with Zoro’s pain mostly subsided enough for him to function for now, he decides to just just come right out and say it. Everyone’s already done their marveling at their new home’s interior, so it’s not like any important conversation is happening, anyway. Luffy is currently trying to steal a piece of meat from Nami, and the cook is acting like an idiot drooling over Robin while trying to refill her drink.

Usopp… is there. He had apologized, deeply and sincerely, as they had departed from Water 7, and tear-stricken Luffy had dragged him back on board mid cannon-fight. Zoro hasn’t had time to unpack how he feels about it yet, other than that he’s shocked, and so relieved. Said sharpshooter and their newest crewmember, Franky, currently are in a heated debate about whether copper or aluminum is the second most useful metal after steel.

Chopper’s looking at him with worried eyes across the table. Zoro takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve. He has to focus.

“Oi, Zoro,” Luffy interrupts his psyche-up, as timely as ever. “You’ll go fishing with us tomorrow, yeah? Usopp and I wanna catch a sea king to eat! But we need you to help chop it up so Sanji doesn’t yell at us again.”

Zoro thinks back to the last time Luffy had brought back a full-sized sea king carcass and expected Sanji to somehow grill it up right there on Merry’s deck. He grins, before his face settles back into something more neutral.

“I can’t,” he states bluntly. “I’m getting surgery.”

Silence.

Then, all at once, the table breaks out into a cacophony of shouting voices. Zoro continues eating, hopefully looking nonplussed. It’ll be easier to explain once they all wear themselves out a bit.

“Eh? Are-”

“ZORO! ARE YOU GOING TO DIE!? IS IT CONTAGIOUS?! I-”

“Did something happen on Enies Lobby-”

“Swordsman-san-”

“Why on earth haven’t you said anything earlier-”

“It’s tuberculosis, isn’t it?! I bet-”

“No way, Usopp-bro, it’s obviously-”

Zoro looks up from his meal to chance a glance around the table. Nami’s fingers are clenched around a spoon, eyes wide with concern and poorly-concealed anger, while Robin next to her is looking at him with something akin to morbid curiosity. Usopp is shrieking and waving his hands in the air, with Franky seeming to be inadvertently egging him on with his own animated yelling next to the sniper. The cook’s holding his chin in one of his hands with his eyebrows furrowed, as if he thinks Zoro is a particularly interesting crossword puzzle to solve.

Surprisingly, Luffy’s the quietest out of all of them. He’s staring at Zoro with that uncanny expression he wears when it feels like he’s seeing through your soul. Zoro shivers.

And Chopper-

Chopper sits up suddenly, slamming his hooves into the table. “ENOUGH!” he roars, and shit, Zoro’s never heard a tone like that come out of the young doctor before. Zoro glances up, and Chopper’s teeth are gritted together in rage. “Zoro’s life isn’t in danger, and he’s entitled to share as much about this as he wants to, up to and including nothing at all.” The reindeer glances down, as if willing himself into a calmer tone of voice, but it only serves to make his next words drip with cold anger. “Unless you have questions about his expected capacity as a crewmember on this ship for the near future, I’m not going to tolerate any more lines of inquiry about his private medical information.”

The table is stunned into silence once again. Zoro’s eyebrows are raised up to his hairline, and he finds himself brimming with pride at how confident Chopper’s become.

In the meantime, Luffy seems to have found whatever answer he was looking for in Zoro’s soul, and his face shifts into one of childlike disappointment. “Ahh, who’s gonna chop up the sea kings if Zoro isn’t there?” he whines. “Oi, Zoro, can I use your swords tomorrow?”

“Touch my swords while I’m out, and I won’t be responsible for what happens afterwards,” he replies through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Luffy’s strong, and as imposing as a whole army of sea kings when he wants to be, but he’s no swordsman, and Zoro only trusts Kitetsu about as far as he can swing him, the damn problem child.

Luffy’s comment has mostly broken the tension at the table, and Zoro sighs in relief. The crew returns to idly chatting while eating, and Luffy goes back to trying to steal food, earning a fork to the hand once again from Nami in the process. Zoro does catch most of the crew eyeing him across the table when they think he won’t notice, though.

No one asks any more questions, and Zoro is secretly grateful for it.

Eventually, dinner wraps up otherwise uneventfully, and the crew gradually makes their way out of the galley. Zoro stands to follow them out.

“Zoro,” Luffy calls out before he can go, using that serious tone that only comes out when he has to be Captain. Zoro pauses in his stride, moving back down to sit and finds Luffy already staring at him, seeing through him again. Sanji has already left toward the kitchen, making himself scarce.

Luffy’s fists are on the table, and his body is completely still, unsettling Zoro at the strangeness of it. “I don’t need to know what’s going on,” he starts evenly. “I just need to know if this is something that’s gonna affect the crew, going forward.” And God, Zoro’s waxed as poetic as someone like him can about it before, but he still can’t even begin to express his appreciation for his captain’s directness and brevity.

He looks back at his captain firmly. “No,” he says, with a complete confidence he feels deep in his bones. “It won’t.”

Luffy’s eyes burn holes into him for a bit longer, until his face breaks out into one of his signature blinding grins. His hands fall next to his sides on his chair, lifting his body up off of it slightly, like all that boundless energy he’s been suppressing for this short conversation is resurfacing. “Okay,” he states, and that’s that. “Hey, Zoro. You’ll come fishing with me once you feel better, right?”

Zoro finds himself smiling against his will. “Yeah. I will,” he responds earnestly, because he truly can’t deny his captain anything.

“Shishishishishi~,” Luffy laughs brightly, the sound filling up the room and breaking whatever tension from dinner was still left over. “Good.” He hops off the bench, moving towards the door. “I’m stuffed! I’m gonna go sit on my new spot,” he yells before making his exit.

The door slams behind him, and Zoro’s alone once again. He breathes out a sigh.

“Oi, marimo.”

Shit.

“What do you want, shit-cook?” Zoro mutters. He doesn’t have the energy to engage in whatever over-his-head dialogue Sanji inevitably wants to have, or to deal with whatever undesirable thoughts it’s going to ultimately wring out of Zoro against his will. “You of all people should know better than to worry about me, if that’s what this is about.”

The cook scoffs, like he’s offended. “Who says I was worried?” His hands are in his pockets, his entire body loose and casual, and he starts tapping the toe of one of his shoes against the hardwood of the floor. “You’re going to be out for some time, right?” Zoro meets his gaze at that, and Sanji’s already looking back at him, his one blue eye burning with intensity. “I want to get my licks in while I can.”

Zoro grins, sharp and predatory. He stands from his chair, smoothly drawing Wado from her sheath as he goes. “Let’s see you try then, swirly.”

That night, while Zoro is enjoying the peace of his last shift of watch for the foreseeable future before his surgery the next day, Usopp climbs up to the crow’s nest and wordlessly gives him back Yubashiri.

It’s lighter now - Zoro notices there’s much less of the ruined blade edge left protruding from the handle than when he had given it to Usopp, but he decides not to question it. Zoro slides the remnants of Yubashiri back into his sheath.

“Hm. You sure you don’t want to keep it? It’s only fitting you have his remains, since you’re the one who saved the rest of my swords from becoming rust, anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Zoro.”

Zoro startles, the return banter he was expecting to need dying in his throat.

Why is Usopp apologizing to him? And why is it making Zoro's throat close up? He looks down, not willing to let the other man see his sudden surge of emotion, and wills his voice into its regular steadiness.

“You already apologized to Luffy. It’s over now. Don’t worry about it anymore.”

Usopp bites his lip, glances down and back up again. “No, that’s not-” he stutters out, like he can’t find the words, before sighing. “Zoro,” he starts again as his face trails up to look Zoro in the eye, “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I made you think-” he stops, emotion overtaking his voice as his expression wobbles, “-that I made you think that I-”

That I made you think I didn’t care. That I made you think I was like everyone else you had once thought of as family.

Had Zoro actually spoken his last thoughts about family aloud when they were in the storeroom together? Or does Usopp just really know that much about him?

“I’m sorry, Zoro.”

And Zoro - he doesn’t know how to respond. All the people that have died, or disowned him, or abandoned him, over the years and - and no one’s ever apologized. No one’s ever come back.

He stays quiet, screwing his eyes shut in defiance of the emotion that threatens to pour out of him as Usopp slips out of the crow’s nest.

"I'm sorry I doubted you, Usopp," Zoro whispers into the silence.

Zoro wakes up in a daze. His mouth is dry, and he feels completely disoriented.

Is it finished already? he thinks to himself. Zoro still hadn’t gotten over the feeling anesthesia gives him, of going to sleep against his will and waking up what feels like seconds later to broken bones or entire organs missing out of him.

He glances to his right and sees Chopper passed out on one of the chairs he keeps in the infirmary. Zoro’s heart feels full seeing the little doctor slumped there, drooling slightly, and he tamps down the urge to chastise him for not getting proper sleep on Zoro’s behalf.

He glances to his left, and whoa. The little nightstand next to his infirmary bed is full of stuff, folded notes and items wrapped in ribbons and flowers of all things towards the back if he squints past his blurry vision. What the hell is all this?

Zoro unsteadily reaches out with his hand that isn’t attached to an IV and grabs the first note he sees, closest to him and separated a bit from the others. He glances over the round, curly font, willing his brain to make words again.

‘Zoro,

I might be asleep when you come out of anesthesia. If so, I left some water and pills for you to take when you wake up. Don’t even think of getting up just yet. You should expect some pain, but if it’s anything too bad, or if you have any other concerns, please wake me up!

~ Chopper’

Zoro smiles, but he feels a bit guilty. The little doctor really did push himself too hard sometimes, especially with everything that had happened recently. Between treating everyone back on Water 7, having to hastily restock the ship with medical supplies before their departure, and then prepping for surgery… he should’ve asked one of the others to keep an eye on Zoro while he got some real sleep.

He puts the note down and swallows the pills dry before chugging down the water glass in one go. Curiosity getting the better of him, and with nothing else better to do, he grabs the next note. It’s in the surprisingly rough penmanship that he’s seen Nami mark her draft maps with.

‘If you’re reading this, then I’m glad you’re alive, moron. I’m a bit miffed you didn’t think to tell me about whatever was going on, but that’s just like you to do, so I’ll let it slide.

This crew is full of inconsiderate morons, so Robin and I rounded everyone up to make the infirmary a little less dreary when you wake up. You can thank us later.

Don’t expect generosity like this from me again.

Nami <3’

As Zoro unfolds the note, a small slip of paper flutters into his lap. He picks it up after reading Nami’s letter. It’s… a receipt? No. It’s a ledger, carefulling detailing his accumulated debt and acquired interest to Nami. It’s marked at the bottom as being paid in full.

Huh.

He sets both sheets of paper back down. There’s another larger note on the nightstand towards the front before he starts getting into the bigger items, so Zoro picks it up first. He unfolds it, and it’s a crudely made drawing of the crew together on a dock with Sunny. It looks like they’re in a fight with some marines, maybe? And a sea king, or actually it might be a giant. And Zoro is definitely chopping off someone’s head, if the green hair and nearby spewing blood is anything to go off of. There’s some writing on the back, and he flips it over. It’s hardly legible, but he makes it out all the same eventually.

‘hi zoro!!! i dunno what to say that you dont already know but nami keeps yelling at me to write something so GET BETTER SOON!!!! so we can go fishing!!!

luffy :)’

Zoro’s heart clenches. His captain is such a damned idiot. He’s never telling anyone, but he’s keeping this drawing in his new locker in the men’s quarters forever.

Zoro reaches out for the next item and grabs… a bottle of sake? He has no idea how that managed to get in here past Chopper. It’s got a little blue ribbon tied around it with a small note that simply reads:

‘Glad you didn’t die, asshole.

S’

Zoro looks at the label, and oh- it has a label. This isn’t the normal bottom-shelf swill the cook normally gets him. It’s real, high quality shit. Coming from Sanji, to Zoro… this is practically a marriage proposal.

He feels bad, because he definitely doesn’t have the palette to appreciate high quality booze from the cheaper stuff the way the cook surely does, but the sentiment touches him all the same. He’ll keep the bottle when he finishes it. Maybe, if he’s lucky, the cook will want to share some of it with him…

Focus.

The next item is a bouquet of flowers, and he’s shocked that anyone bothered to get him a semi-normal get well gift, let alone flowers, of all things. It could only be from Robin, he assumes. He recognises some of the flowers in the bouquet, like the blue and purple hydrangeas and delicate white pansies, but there’s others he doesn’t know too. It’s pretty, Zoro will at least admit to himself. Wasted on someone like him, probably.

There’s a small note with Robin’s gift as well, and he moves to read it, unsurprised to find elegant cursive lining the paper.

Zoro,

I hope this note finds you in good health. It would be a shame to see you deprived of all your blood or stored in a freezer to be used for organ donations.

I never got the chance to express my gratitude to you, individually, for what you did for me on Enies Lobby. I know you wouldn’t want me to make a monument out of it, though, so I settled for this. I doubt you understand the language of flowers, after all.

Consider it my quiet thank you.

Robin’

Huh. Nami had talked, once, about the language of flowers, about how every bloom and color had a unique meaning and could tell someone your feelings without words. Zoro, obviously, had no idea what Robin would be trying to tell him with her choice of flowers, but he wonders all the same. Ultimately, it’s fine with him, though. He doesn’t need to know exactly how Robin feels, just that she’s safe and back with them now. And she’s right, he much prefers her subtlety over any big declaration of thanks.

Wait. How the hell had Robin even been able to get him flowers? They had already left Water 7 when Zoro had brought up his surgery. Where would she have...

Nevermind, Zoro thinks to himself. Stupid question. The sky is blue, water's wet, and Robin knows everything.

There’s one last item he hadn’t noticed next to Robin’s flowers. He grabs the simple little box, wrapped up with a single wide green ribbon. There’s a note slipped under the ribbon, and Zoro moves to read the chicken scratch writing first.

‘Dear Zoro,

I hope you’re feeling better by the time you get this!

Truthfully, this is something I meant to give to you last night, but I chickened ou- figured now is as good a time as ever! I melted down what was left of a bit of your sword’s metal to use for this after you gave it to me, and then Franky lended me some of his paint to use. I hope you don’t f that it’s something you can keep to remember him by, once you get a new sword. It isn’t eas I think I maybe know how you might feel, a little bit, after we lost Merry. Make sure you find a good resting place for him.

I know I haven’t mentioned it until now because I’m honestly terrified of y, but thanks for opening up to me in the storeroom the other night.

The Great Captain Usopp’

Usopp… made him something? With what was left of Yubashiri?

Zoro notices a much smaller message on the back that looks like it was written last minute in a much heavier hand.

‘OW!

Haramaki-bro, I don’t know you well enough to get you a proper get-well gift, so I just piggybacked off of whatever Usopp’s doing. But I’ll make you something cool once I get in your head a little more. Promise!

Stay Super! - Franky’

Zoro snorts. Curiosity eating him alive at this point, he peels back the ribbon without any grace and pops the lid off the box.

It’s… a keychain? Or maybe a charm would be more accurate. He picks it up by the little metal loop at the top and holds it out in front of his face to get a better look, and… oh.

It’s Yubashiri. A little miniature of his sword. It’s painted a deep glossy black and silver, with intricate gold detailing that sparkles in the light, obviously done with an incredibly steady hand. The hamon lines in the blade look flawless.

Zoro’s throat closes up, and he feels like he could cry. But he won’t, because he hasn’t cried since Mihawk, and he won’t cry again after that. He repeats that to himself in his head like a mantra.

He flips it over to see the handiwork on the other side, and… huh. The other side doesn’t match the front. It’s painted over in stripes that vary from pastel blue and pink to white.

What the hell? Was this an ornament for a gender reveal party or something?

Wait. Zoro had seen a pattern like this before. On flags, in certain bars and clubs he used to visit during his bounty hunting days. Zoro had never gotten into the culture much, and he didn’t particularly identify with pride flags in any meaningful way, but he knew enough to remember what this one meant.

Zoro’s alone, albeit with Chopper softly snoring in the chair next to him, and if anyone had asked, Zoro does not cry. He doesn’t.

But he holds the charm to his chest, stripe-side in, and waits for a minute, focusing on his breathing before he can look at the remaining items on the table.

Zoro doesn’t know how Usopp had figured it out, but he probably doesn’t give the sniper enough credit for his smarts, anyway, especially after last night. He’d have to get a chain for the mini-Yubashiri when they land on the next island. He’s never going to take it off.

Zoro puts the box back and quietly looks over the presents the crew had given him.

He didn’t need all this. If the crew got together and gave each other gifts every time one of them got hurt, they’d all be broke, and the ship would be full of useless shit. But… begrudgingly, Zoro will admit that it’s nice to see evidence of his nakama’s care in physical form, like this. Something he can touch, look back on, keep close to his chest.

Maybe they knew, on some level, that this wasn’t Zoro’s average injury. The thought embarrasses him, but with the joy he feels still lingering on his senses, he can’t bring himself to care too much right now.

Heart full and delightedly content, he glances back to Chopper, still quietly resting on the chair next to him, and shuts his eyes to follow him into sleep again.

Chapter Text

Zoro’s always hated being stuck in bed recovering. It’s particularly bad now that they have a ship with an isolated infirmary. He feels like he’s going to strangle someone, especially since Chopper’s been a hard-ass about keeping him in bed and had confiscated his swords and the cook’s booze until he heals. There is literally nothing to do, and he’s wasting time he could be using to train.

The only thing keeping him sane is that Chopper’s allowing visitation now. Nami comes in relatively often to gossip and bicker with Zoro, which keeps him mentally on his toes, at least. Luffy will stop and chat for as long as his boundless supply of energy allows him to be still, constantly asking if Zoro’s better yet like a toddler that lacks object permanence. To his surprise, Franky drops by once to pick his brain after he’d heard the story about Zoro cutting through steel back in Alabasta. Robin brings him a book about samurais from the library, and although Zoro appreciates the gesture, he would literally rather die than read anything for pleasure.

Usopp stops in, once, and they chat about the sniper’s newest projects before just sitting together in comfortable silence.

The most interesting visits, though, are when the cook comes by to drop off meals. It’s not like the cook specifically had to do it, he could just give Zoro’s meals to Chopper or something, but Zoro guesses Sanji probably gets antsy without someone around to take all his pent-up aggression out on. That, or he actually enjoys spending time with him, but Zoro would bet a hundred to one on the former.

Tonight, he’s brought nigiri, and Zoro feels his mouth water.

“Evening, marimo,” the cook starts, passing the plate to Zoro and pulling up a chair like he owns the place. “Is the moss feeling hungry tonight?”

“Drop dead, idiot,” Zoro snarks back to hide his pleasure as he takes his first bite. Sanji’s food was always incredible, but he didn’t need to know Zoro thought that. He had an inflated ego as is.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you damn gorilla,” the cook grumbles as he sits down. Guess he’s planning on staying for a while this time, Zoro figures.

“Thought you’d have better things to do than watch me eat,” Zoro says through a mouthful of food, just to piss the other man off. It gets the reaction Zoro’s looking for, and he subtly grins as the cook grimaces at his gross display.

“Maybe I’m just afraid you’ll choke. Chopper would have my ass if I let you die in his infirmary because some rice got stuck in your throat.”

“How stupid do you think I am? Don’t answer that,” he immediately interjects as the cook starts to smirk.

They sit together in silence for a bit as Zoro eats. It’s… not exactly comfortable, but not exactly uncomfortable, either. Sanji seems pensive, and Zoro knows from both observation and experience that it's better to wait for the other man to speak his mind than to probe him.

“You, uh, get to try that sake yet?”

Zoro glances back over to him. Sanji’s staring off into space, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks a bit fidgety, and- shit, the tips of his ears have turned pink. Zoro really has no right to find that as cute as he does.

“Nah. Don’t even know how you got that in here past Chopper, but he’s not letting me have it ‘till I’m out.”

“Figures,” the cook trails off. He's started tapping his foot, like he’s trying to suppress a bunch of pent up energy he has under a surface of exterior calm. He’s still looking away from Zoro, almost intentionally at this point, towards a random spot on the wall across from them. The pink hasn’t disappeared.

He looks… shy, almost.

Huh.

“Cook,” Zoro starts before his rational mind can stop him, “you should break it open with me when I get out of here.”

Sanji jolts at that as if struck by Nami's clima-tact, and Zoro expects the other man to shoot him one of his signature ‘you don’t have two brain cells to rub together, do you?’ looks. Instead, the pink in Sanji’s ears travels down into his cheeks as he bites on the filter of his unlit cigarette.

No snarky comeback at the suggestion? No quick-fire insult thrown his way?

This is weird, Zoro thinks to himself.

“Or don’t. Not like I care,” he adds to fill the silence, because he doesn’t care, thank you very much.

That finally seems to snap Sanji out of whatever reverie he was in.

“Would you be so lucky,” the cook says, completely deadpan. He slowly stands before grabbing Zoro’s dishes, which Zoro had barely even realized he’d finished before now. Sanji saunters his way towards the exit with all the grace and poise that he always uses, and it's only accentuated by him balancing dishes. Zoro tears his eyes away from the movement through sheer willpower.

“I’ll think about it,” the cook softly adds as he's standing in the doorframe.

The door closes behind him, and Zoro is alone once again.

Zoro has no idea what day it is, or how long he's been asleep for, but he wakes up to gunfire outside.

That wasn’t too odd - they ran into marine ships all the time on the sea and mostly made short work of them. These shots sounded close, though, like they could be right outside. Normally, Luffy preferred to jump onto marine ships and take them out there rather than let them come to the Sunny. If they’d managed to board… well, it’s at least probably more serious than the run-of-the-mill dogfights they normally come across.

Chopper be damned, Zoro gets up and heads to the door.

Where the hell would Chopper have hidden his swords? He wouldn’t have put them up in the crow’s nest or in the men’s barracks, he’s certain of that. Sanji probably wouldn’t want them taking up space in the galley, either. And Franky never lets anyone, except maybe Usopp, into his workshop. What rooms was Zoro otherwise least likely to use?

The girls’ barracks was an obvious choice, but Zoro doesn’t think Chopper would be so uncouth or inconsiderate as to do that to him. The aquarium would be an awful idea if Chopper wanted to keep them out of Luffy’s hands, too. That leaves either the library or the bathhouse - both equally unlikely places for Zoro to be at any given time. At least they’re near each other so he can search them both faster.

Zoro bolts out of the infirmary and into the galley, taking the ladder that leads to the port up to the observation deck. He slowly peeks his head out to try and get a view of the situation, but he immediately has to duck back down to avoid a wayward sword that nearly takes him out by the neck. There’s at least 30 marines on this deck alone, and Zoro’s completely unarmed.

Well, this isn’t going to work.

Suddenly, a body goes flying across the porthole, and then a pair of lean black legs come into view. They crouch down, revealing the cook’s smug face, and oh, he’s got Wado in his right hand and Kitetsu in his left. Zoro almost falls off the ladder rung he’s standing on at the sight. Sanji looks a bit like an angel, he thinks to himself, framed by the dying light of the last remnants of sunset behind him while the metal of the swords’ sheaths glimmer in his grip. Or maybe more like one of those valkyries Robin had once told him about, come to take him from the battlefield and grant him his earned place in heaven.

Zoro’s not religious in the slightest, but seeing Sanji holding his swords like that makes Zoro think he could possibly be convinced.

“Huh, I didn’t know we kept turtles on this ship. How very dignified, having to peek your head out to check for danger like that,” the cook chides, barely holding back laughter behind a cocky grin.

“At least I can count to three. You forgot one, dumbass.”

Sanji scoffs, irritation rolling off of him in waves. “Such gratitude! I didn’t have to grab shit for you, marimo. Could’ve left you down here all by your lonesome to fight off wandering marines with scalpels and kitchenware. Don’t want you fucking up my knives, though.”

Sanji tosses his swords down to him, and Zoro pointedly realizes that the cook had made sure to grab the two that weren’t rusted. That means he’d either checked them all in the heat of battle, which is unlikely, or he knew a sword had been rusted back on Enies Lobby, as well as which sword it was. And had remembered up until now, at that.

Wado’s purring in Zoro’s hands as he cinches the katanas back to his hip. Kitetsu’s harmonizing with her in a low, demanding growl that’s honestly a bit foreign to Zoro.

He climbs out fully to find he and Sanji have gotten surrounded in the time it took for the cook to arm him. He grins with pure excitement, back falling to Sanji’s own in a familiar defensive formation.

“Let’s see how rusty all that bedrest has made you, marimo.”

“Keep count then, shit-cook.”

After that, it’s all a flurry of gunfire and blades and kicks, and everything is suddenly simple and right again in Zoro’s world.

Zoro doesn’t know how this fight had managed to get so out of hand without him, but nitoryu ends up being sufficient for the caliber of marines they’re up against. Zoro brings up Kitetsu to knock a marine out behind himself at Sanji’s flank with the handle, and the cursed blade sings with joy as the hit vibrates up Zoro’s arm. Slash, counter, dodge. Check Sanji's six, parry, slash. Zoro's mind clears as his movements flow together across the deck.

“What are you at now, mosshead?”

“23.”

“Bullshit! That last one was mine,” Sanji yells over the din as he turns to kick a man across the deck.

“To hell it was! He’s got too much blood on him,” Zoro argues back as he slices a marine’s gun in half, only to follow up with a slash to the chest from Wado.

“Yeah, from me bashing his nose in, algae brain!”

They continue to argue about their count as they wipe out the marines on the observation deck and make their way down to the lawn. Zoro suddenly realizes, as he’s fighting off multiple sword-wielding marines and in the middle of a Toro Nagashi, that his pain is gone. He feels a little weak in the knees, sure, but the feeling he’d had like there was a tumor growing inside him isn’t there anymore. It seems a little silly, to be thinking about it now when he’s been healing in bed for ages, but… he hasn’t fought, before now. He can fight, and he doesn’t have to worry about the pain anymore. It’s incredible. Zoro feels like himself again, almost feels like he’s himself for the first time all over again.

Sanji ends up beating him out by one, in the end. Zoro will blame it on his post-surgery recovery and lack of a third sword, although he’ll begrudgingly admit he was a bit distracted towards the end. The cook tended to have that effect on him mid-battle, now.

He decides to pick a fight about the count anyway.

“It’s not my fault you have to fib to keep up with me, Curly.”

“Eh? I don’t have to fib, because you make it too easy for me, shithead!”

They continue to bicker as Sanji swings a shoe at him, only to be blocked by Wado, and finally, Zoro thinks to himself. It’s been forever since they fought, and the perfect ebb and flow feels like water on a scorching day to Zoro. He feels like he’s been in a desert for weeks and has finally found an oasis. Block, attack, parry, turn, block. It feels like when they’d danced back at Water 7.

“Sanji-kun,” Nami yells around the corner, interrupting their squabble. Her voice is sweet and charming as she approaches, and Zoro doesn’t have time to be irritated as he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise in fear at her tone. “Could I borrow you for a second? We’re trying to clean up, and there’s a ton of marines on the other side we haven’t gotten to yet. Also, I haven’t seen Chopper and I want to make sure he didn’t fall into the ocean or something.”

Sanji, predictably, drops stance to twirl like an idiot and spews some nonsense before the two start making their way over to the observation deck. The rest of the crew have apparently finished up by the helm and are making their way over to deal with the heaps of bodies Zoro and Sanji had taken out on the lawn.

“What the hell was that all about?” he asks them, eyes trailing after where Nami and the cook had left.

“Oh, Nami said you were being annoying,” Usopp says as he struggles to haul a body over the deck’s banister.

“Huh?”

“Indeed,” Robin states primly. She’s doing the most work out of all of them, carting off bodies with a river of sprouted hands. “Nami said, and I quote, that if she ‘had to hear those two’s pigtail-pulling any longer,’ she was going to ‘willingly give herself over to the marines.’”

Zoro gawks and trips over some guy’s arm, feeling his cheeks flare with heat, and Usopp snorts. Zoro notices there’s a disconcerting lack of surprise in Usopp’s response at Robin’s words.

Does everyone on this ship apparently know about his problem?

“Why would Nami do that?” Luffy interjects after chucking two marines overboard that had been stuck on the slide. He’s now got one hand on his hip and the other under his chin like he’s solving a riddle, unintentionally smearing blood on his face. “Just ‘cuz Zoro likes Sanji? That’s dumb. Who’s gonna navigate us if the marines take her?”

Jesus Christ.

“Well, it’s not like the marines could take her now even if they wanted to, anyway,” says Usopp, gesturing around to the general carnage.

“Both of you, shut up. We are never speaking about this again,” Zoro growls to everyone, narrowing his eyes and mustering as much Demon of the East Blue energy as he can into his glare. “Got it?”

“Not speaking about what?” Franky says, rounding the corner with an unconscious marine over his shoulder. “Your weird crush on Curly-bro?”

Zoro throws both Franky and the marine he’s carrying overboard into the ocean.

Zoro ends up feeling a bit bad about throwing Franky overboard. He maybe, possibly, slightly overreacted, considering Zoro was apparently as subtle as a brick wall and everyone on the damn ship had already made it a point to be as irritating as possible about his... attraction, so to speak, to the cook.

So, to alleviate the guilt that’s been gnawing at him since that afternoon (again, he’s going soft, he thinks to himself), he’s sharing his booze with Franky in the aquarium bar as the world’s most half-assed apology. The cyborg’s currently chugging back half a glass of soda to make room to dump some sake into the bottle for a mixed drink.

“Hey, Zoro-bro, we should start working out together,” Franky starts after a huge burp, and jeez, Zoro should have known the other man would try to take the social equivalent of a mile if Zoro gave him an inch. “I weigh, like, a metric fuckton. You’ve gotta be super strong to throw me so easily!”

“Do you even have muscles to work out?” Zoro asks as he feels his eyebrows furrow.

Franky purses his lips, like he has to think the question over. “I’ve got parts of my triceps left, I think? Maybe some leg muscles. Definitely parts of my back, though.”

“You think?”

“Hey, well, not all of us have the luxury of knowing exactly what we’ve got left in our bodies. I’ve done a lot of work on myself over the years!” Franky yells, waving his drink around to punctuate his point.

Suddenly, though, his face shifts into something more daring. “Ah, speaking of, no one else on this weird crew is gonna ask, but I’m nosy and have no self-preservation instinct, so,” Franky says with a half-tilted grin, “what was that surgery all about?”

God, Franky really had no politeness or social grace in him whatsoever. “Maybe other people know how to mind their own business,” Zoro bites out warningly through a drink.

Franky continues as if he was uninterrupted, gesturing up and down Zoro’s torso with his free hand. “I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure it wasn’t titty surgery, ‘cuz you already got the scars and all, and I like to think I’d notice if you didn’t have that already.”

Wait, what?

“Okay, first off, please don’t call it that,” Zoro replies indignantly. “Secondly, what the fuck?” How would Franky know any of this?

“Oh yeah, that probably wouldn’t be common knowledge, huh? Iceburg’s trans,” Franky explains, seemingly reading Zoro’s mind as he picks at something in his ear with his pinky.

“He’s- I- what?”

“Look, sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” Franky says as placatingly as he can, which isn’t terribly much. “You seemed casual about it, and I’m just curious.”

“I don't- it’s not like I hide it, or anything,” Zoro mumbles behind his bottle.

Franky pauses in response, turning his head to look over Zoro like he’s trying to analyze him. It’s a bit disconcerting, to be looked over like one of his blueprints.

“Wait. The rest of the crew doesn’t know, do they?”

Zoro’s silence speaks for him. He takes a very long drink instead.

“I mean, I know really it’s your business alone, but… are you ever gonna… I don’t know, tell them?”

“It’s not like they’re all clueless,” Zoro answers with a grumble. “I think, like, half of them know at this point. And again, it’s not like I go out of my way to hide it.”

“Yeah, but that’s kind of a denial in it’s own right, and you know it, bro,” Franky says with absolutely no tact or decorum whatsoever. “Like, when I was a kid and the whole train-running-me-over thing happened, do you think I just showed back up at Water 7 like, ‘Hey Kokoro, hey Iceburg, I almost died, what’s going on?’ and didn’t tell them I was a fucking cyborg until they saw me shoot a guy with my hand? I mean, after I came out of hiding, anyway.”

“... Yes?”

Franky blinks once, twice, before throwing his head back into a hearty guffaw.

“Man, you’re a hoot, haramaki-bro,” he says after a minute as he wipes his eyes, which have watered up slightly from laughter. “Have you ever thought about getting therapy or something?”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re my nakama now, I’m extremely close to throwing you back overboard again and not telling Luffy,” Zoro growls out as a final warning.

“Alright, alright,” Franky backs down with a palm up towards Zoro in surrender. “I give, I won’t bug you about it anymore. Just, can I give you some advice? As an older guy that’s been around the block a couple times?”

Zoro rolls his eyes before leaning back further into the bench, watching an octopus float by in the aquarium. It’s not like Franky’s likely to give him a choice either way. “Shoot.”

Franky’s eyes grow flinty all of a sudden, and Zoro’s taken aback at the sudden change in the atmosphere of the conversation. “When that train hit me, when I crawled onto that ship and rebuilt myself out of metal and grit, I saved my life. And you know, I think you saved your own life in the same way, too.” He finishes the last dregs of his soda before continuing. “Your body’s super, and it’s all your own, bro. You made it. Hell, you're still making it! You don’t have a damn thing to be ashamed of. And if anyone on this crew does end up having a problem with it, they can shove it up their ugly ass.”

… Damn. Zoro had never really thought about... any of that, that way. The realization that Franky might understand him better than anyone on this ship, at least in this area, shocks Zoro down to his core. He suddenly has an uncharacteristic urge to pick Franky's mind. What was it like, building himself up from scratch? Does it bother him, sometimes? Did anyone back on Water 7 give him hell about it? What did Kokoro think at first, or Chimney, or Iceburg?

Hell, what did a younger Franky think, when Iceburg came out to him? Did the citizens of Water 7 even know their mayor was trans?

First and foremost, though, Zoro wants to bite back that he’s not ashamed, because he’s not. But… the sentiment laced in Franky's words still hits home, strangely. He must stay quiet for too long after Franky speaks, though, because the other man hops up to toss his empty bottle in a nearby trash can.

“Thanks for the booze, bro! Seriously, let me know if you wanna work out sometime. I bet I’d look super lifting all those weights on the deck!”

Franky struts out of the aquarium, and Zoro’s left in the ambient blue light of the tank, back to watching an octopus bob back and forth.

Chapter Text

Zoro’s fucking tired. He’s got blood dripping down his face, mixing with sweat into his eyes as he walks, steadfast in his resolve, towards the collapsed tower in front of him. He’s pretty sure all his ribs are broken at this point, and he can’t feel much past his lower torso.

The strawhats had entered the Florian Triangle, boarded a zombie ship-island from hell, and defeated Gecko Moria by the skin of their teeth. Not before Oars had beaten the life out of the entire crew, though. Luffy’s down, and in the state they’re all in, Zoro’s the only one that can stand up to the second shichibukai standing between him and his nakama.

Zoro’s tired.

It doesn’t matter.

He draws Sandai Kitetsu, letting the cursed blade’s bloodlust fill him with willpower, and waits.

Nami had been right about Kuma’s powers, Zoro supposes. After a minute passes, the man warps to take out a group of Lola’s pirates behind him, and as soon as Zoro turns to witness the carnage, Kuma’s at his back once again.

Zoro draws Shusui in a backhand grip.

“Pirate Hunter Zoro,” Kuma muses, as if he didn’t just wipe out a sizable fleet of men with only a raise of his fist. “I’ll go for you first.”

Lola’s pirates voice their dissent and concern for Zoro’s wellbeing, which only ignites his rage more. The man in front of him starts talking again, but Zoro can barely hear what he has to say. Slowly, Zoro sheaths his swords, reorienting Kitetsu and Shusui’s sheaths at his sides for an iai.

He barks at Lola’s pirates to shut the hell up. “The world’s designed so that when it rains, it pours. If I start making excuses, will someone come rescue us?”

If I die, then that shows the limit of my ability.

“Rashomon!”

Zoro’s iai slices through the warlord cleanly, but Kuma’s back on top of him in a flash. Zoro spins away in a haphazard dodge as the man makes to blow him to bits with one of his paw attacks. Zoro turns back in a panic to reorient himself, and there’s a paw print shape embedded deep in the stone where his body had just been.

Kuma reflects a thirty-six pound cannon with one hand, and Kitetsu roars with indignation and sick, twisted rage at the casualness the warlord shows at the action. Zoro blinks, and Franky’s hit, now, and then Usopp falls too. It’s fine, he thinks to himself. Chopper’s there. It’s okay.

Zoro can’t afford to fail anymore, though. He finally draws Wado and places her in his mouth, but his leg’s aren’t obeying him anymore, and he can’t make himself move as Kuma's attack comes down to him-

The cook jumps in to save him, landing a kick on Kuma’s chin.

“Idiot!" Zoro yells, anger and worry flaring white hot in his veins. "Stay out of thi-”

Sanji falls. His leg is broken.

Sanji's leg is broken.

A blind, animalistic panic starts to take over Zoro. It’s one thing for Zoro to die, for him to put his life on the line and fail, but Sanji-

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Sanji’s just like Zoro. They both have protective streaks a mile wide, with none of the carefree joy their captain is blessed with. If it comes down to it, they'll sacrifice themselves for their nakama, or for each others' dreams. No one's going to stop them from doing it, either, being completely worn down or passed out across the remnants of Thriller Bark like their nakama are now.

Zoro breaks from his musings to try and figure out how to fix this nightmare of a situation. And then, Kuma blows up Thriller Bark with the force of an atom bomb.

Zoro comes to hours, minutes, seconds later, he can hardly tell anymore. The last twelve hours have blended together into some kind of fucked up stained glass window, a kaleidoscope of insane memories bursting behind Zoro's eyes. He takes a ragged breath, spitting up blood as he does. He then rolls onto his side, body screaming in pain with the effort, but after everything they'd been through today, Zoro doesn't want to die choking on his own blood. He spots Kuma moving towards him, and he grabs Kitetsu’s handle in a desperate grip, willing the blade to give him an ounce of his malice, his bloodlust, his disgust, anything that can get Zoro to drive his body forward-

And there’s Luffy, almost peaceful in his slumber, resting on the ruined stone at Kuma’s feet. It seems Kuma hasn't noticed Zoro yet.

Zoro slashes Kuma open with Kitetsu as soon as the man touches his captain.

He’s so, so tired. He feels like he could lay down and die right here.

He can’t. He can’t die here, or his nakama will, too. His body won’t move, but his mind’s racing, thinking of Nami’s tangerine trees and her letter to Vivi that still hasn’t gotten a reply. He thinks of Luffy, fishing with Chopper out on Sunny’s deck, alight with laughter as Chopper pulls out a fish from the ocean depths that’s smaller than his hoof. He thinks of Robin and Franky, peacefully content together under an umbrella on the lawn while Sanji brings them out drinks from the galley.

Zoro thinks of Kuina. Her dark, murderous eyes, her unshakeable drive, her simple tombstone in Shimotsuki’s cemetery that he’d left poison ivy on before he left to find Mihawk.

He thinks of Usopp, of the night they’d gotten stuck in the storeroom on Merry together, shooting the shit and knocking over bottles with sunflower seeds before the cook came to kick their asses the next morning.

'If you look at it that way, it’s not even really a lie at all then, is it? If it’s going to happen in the future, without a doubt, that is. I could say I’ve beaten Mihawk and become the world’s greatest swordsman right now, and it wouldn’t be a lie.' That's what he'd told Usopp, then.

He’s sorry he lied.

Because right now, Zoro isn’t enough, and it feels like he could lay down and die before he could get his body to move an inch.

He could die. He could die.

That’s it.

Zoro can’t will his body into action anymore, so he wills air to leave his lungs instead. “Are you absolutely insistent on taking Luffy’s head?”

Kuma tilts his head, analyzing him like a bear tracking the path of a salmon darting across a river. “That’s the most I can compromise,” he finally replies.

Zoro pauses before closing his eyes. He bows his head, and forces his barely-alive bodying to breathe steady for his next words.

I’m sorry, Kuina.

“All right, I’ll give you a head. But instead of taking his, take mine instead!” he roars, bowing before the warlord with more devotion than any priest, with more fidelity than any knight in shining armor the cook used to blabber about from one of his stupid stories. “My bounty isn’t worth much yet, but I was going to become the greatest swordsman in the world. This should be a fair trade.”

Kuma doesn’t move at all, his artificial cyborg body eerily still in a way that’s so different than Franky’s. His gaze slowly looks past him to where Luffy rests behind them. “Are you truly willing to die for that man, when you harbor so much ambition?”

And Zoro is, and he tells him so, because it’s the only way to save his nakama. Even after all the years, the blood, the pain he’s invested to get this far… his ambition is worthless if he can’t protect his captain.

“Wait, wait, you fucking idiot!”

No. No.

Sanji's limping towards them, body barely holding itself together as he moves. His suit is ruined, tattered to bits at the sleeves and the legs of his pants. How is he even standing? “What good will come from your death!?" the cook screams at Zoro, eyes burning like his diable jambe. "What happened to your ambition, moron!?”

It’s a stupid question, and the cook knows it. If his nakama, his captain, if Sanji could go on for even just another day, then Zoro would give his life for it, gladly. Sanji understands it, because he's exactly the same way. Zoro has an epiphany, then, that this is probably the reason why the two fight and bicker so much. They're too similar, too willing to give, and how do you give to someone who isn't willing to take? Someone who is strong enough, bullheaded enough, to throw it back to you, tenfold?

"Instead of taking that marimo swordsman’s life, take mine instead!" the cook continues, facing the shichibukai and putting his back to Zoro. He's standing directly between them now, like he could shield the swordsman from Kuma's line of sight to change the warlord's mind. He's shaking like a leaf in the wind, and it would almost be pathetic to watch if Zoro wasn't so amazed that he was standing at all.

"I’ve always been prepared to sacrifice myself for others. This is where I die gloriously!"

Zoro and Sanji are the same, and no one could stop them from tearing themselves apart for their nakama.

“Hey, Zoro. Please give my regards to the others,” Sanji says softly, in a voice that sounds like it's only for him, as he turns his face up to the sky. “Sorry, but you’ll have to search for another cook."

No one, except each other.

Zoro doesn’t consider himself a master swordsman, and he hadn’t planned to until he had beaten Mihawk. Shusui hadn’t seen him as such either when he’d taken the sword from Ryuma, and while they had followed Zoro commands, the black blade had been headstrong and uncooperative up until now. Somehow, though, Shusui’s already flying into Zoro’s hand before he can will his body to take action, and he crashes the dark sheath into Sanji’s side.

Sanji coughs blood, spinning as his body caves in on itself. His hands clench around Zoro's shoulder to keep himself upright.

Zoro looks him in the eyes, because he can at least give Sanji that. The cook's eyes are more gray than blue, bordering on flat and lifeless. "You bastard!" the cook growls out, and the look of panic, of betrayal, on his face is like a knife in Zoro's chest, but Zoro won't look away.

Sanji slowly falls into himself farther, farther, hand trailing over Zoro’s bicep, down to his forearm. His grip is so weak, fingers barely trailing over Zoro's skin.

He falls.

Zoro doesn't hesitate afterwards, throwing both Wado and Kitetsu at Kuma’s feet, before Shusui quickly follows.

Kuma agrees, hesitant to take their lives when they're already in such a sorry state. Nothing is free, however, and Zoro knows this well. Kuma explains his power, drawing out a paw-shaped amalgamation of all of Luffy's pain from his captain's broken body. "In exchange, I will show you hell," the warlord whispers like a dark promise.

Sanji didn't need to see hell. He gave, gave, gave, so much of himself away to help others. From drinks on a hot day, to near-bottomless incredible meals to satisfy their disaster of a captain. His early mornings up making breakfast and his late nights cleaning. His missed smoke breaks rescuing Luffy or Chopper from drowning at the bottom of the ocean from their own daily foolishness. His notebook where he keeps all his recipes, should he end up not be around anymore, that he thinks no one knows about.

The cook, in his own way, had given his crew a piece of heaven. Zoro thought that a piece of hell for his life was a fair trade. He only asks that they move somewhere else to do it, so his nakama won't see what remains of him when they wake up.

Sanji finds him when he comes to. Of course he does.

The cook lets out a sigh. "You scared me, marimo. Where did that warlord go?"

Zoro doesn't have the presence of mind to see how Sanji reacts after that, but the carnage he left behind must be pretty bad, so he's almost glad he doesn't have to.

"Oi, oi! Where did all this blood come from?" the cook yells in a panic. Zoro can barely make out the words past the ringing in his ears, and he certainly can't see what the other man's doing next to him.

Sanji's voice shifts into hysteria. "Hey, are you still alive!? Where is he!? What happened here!?"

And that - that's something Zoro can actually answer for the other man.

Nothing happened.

Zoro wakes up blearily to mind-numbing, all-encompassing pain and the near pitch black of night. He tries to move to get his bearings, but quickly finds his body isn’t responding to him at all. Well, if he can’t move, at least whatever he’s resting on is soft.

He manages to turn his head just slightly to the right and sees empty dishes and glasses that reek of booze left on the bed at his side. Weird.

That can’t be the only thing at his bedside, though. There’s a dip in the bed to his left and a familiar acrid smoke hanging lazily in the air, the spice of it slowly coming over Zoro’s senses.

He can barely turn his head back again, but he forces his neck to move to see what’s to his other side. Zoro squints, and a blurry figure slowly comes into view. He’s got one knee pulled up onto the mattress, his arm resting on it with a slow-burning cigarette dangling from his fingers. His golden hair hides most of his expression, but the profile of his face is lit up by the ember of the cigarette as the only light source in the room. He doesn’t turn to greet Zoro, continuing to casually blow smoke rings into the air.

The fact that he’s not wearing a suit is for some reason what sticks out in Zoro’s addled brain. That, and the fact that even though Zoro can’t see his face, he knows the man is impossibly handsome.

I died, Zoro realizes to himself as his memories start to slowly trickle back in. Hell. Robin was right, and this must be the valkyrie.

“I know you probably get this a lot,” Zoro starts, voice barely coming out above a whisper in his weakness, “but can’t you just, I don’t know, put me back? I’ve still got things to do.” It’s probably foolish to try and bargain with a divine entity, but he did just pull a deal with a shichibukai, so he’ll shoot his shot.

The face finally turns to him. “What the fuck are you talking about, marimo?”

Oh.

“Cook?” he asks in a daze as the embers light up the contours of the man’s familiar face. Zoro must be losing it. Then, the rest of Zoro’s memories hit him with the force of a sea train, and he suddenly feels very foolish.

“Who else?” Sanji replies as he takes another drag.

Zoro squints again, trying to focus enough to take the other man in. He’s in a casual blue hoodie Zoro’s never seen before, and the sleeves are rolled up to reveal his slim forearms. The cook’s bandaged all over and looks worse for wear, but he’ll definitely live.

“Everyone’s-”

“Fine,” Sanji interrupts quickly.

They’re okay. His nakama are okay. “...And my swords-”

Sanji snorts out a puff of smoke, like a dragon. “We have them.”

“Can you-” Zoro starts, before the absurdity of his request hits him with a wave of embarrassment. He soldiers on anyway. “Can you bring them to me?”

Sanji’s quiet in response for a second, blowing out another smoke ring, before he gets up and walks away. He’s gone for a minute before coming back with his swords in hand, laying them out on the mattress next to Zoro.

“Your priorities are fucked up, marimo.”

Zoro’s fingers just barely brush over one of the swords - Wado - and he’s hit with a wave of relief so thick and palpable it makes Zoro’s eyes water up.

Wado, he thinks quietly. I’m so sorry, Wado. I’ll be better next time.

She doesn’t really respond to him, just vibrating with pure, but remorseful, happiness. Zoro feels his chest lock up at the feeling.

Kitetsu’s almost dead quiet, except for a low hum of… something, that Zoro can’t quite pinpoint. Frustration, maybe? Embarrassment?

Give me back to that cook of yours, fool, Zoro feels somewhere in the back of his skull. Shusui, then. They've got an interesting voice. He’s probably got more skill with blades than you do, anyway.

Rotten bastard.

“Kuma kept the deal, then,” Zoro murmurs, mostly to himself. He glances up to catch the cook’s eye. “You didn’t tell them?”

Sanji’s already looking down at him. “Some of Lola’s guys saw, but I shut them up,” he replies simply. “No one else should know.”

It’s quiet after that. The cook smokes his cigarette down to the filter, close enough to burn his hands, Zoro worries absentmindedly, while Zoro basks in the feeling of Wado’s cool sheath on his fingertips.

“I should kill you,” Sanji says into the darkness suddenly, with an even tone like he’s talking about the weather. “Making a fool of me like that. ‘Ought to cut out your liver and make it into foie gras,” he continues before breathing out one last cloud of smoke. “It’d probably be too shrivelled up from all the booze you inhale on a daily basis, though.”

Oh, I like him, Shusui adds unhelpfully. Kitetsu, breaking his relative silence, hums in apparent agreement.

Sanji stubs his cigarette out on the heel of his shoe before dropping the butt haphazardly, and the room goes almost pitch black. “No, I don’t think that’d be good enough, though,” he continues lightly. “Maybe I cut your brains out, see just how far those moss roots go down into your skull. Could probably save your whole head in the freezer and make you into something like tête de veau when we get to a winter island.” Zoro's eyes have adjusted for the lack of light, and he barely catches it as Sanji’s eyes light up as he snaps his fingers suddenly. “Ah, you know what? I bet Franky could make me a nice potato peeler if he melted down your earrings.”

“Cook-” Zoro tries to interrupt, but-

Fast as lightning, Sanji suddenly turns, leaning down directly over Zoro. Their faces are just inches apart, and Zoro can feel the other man’s hot breath on his skin, still acrid with lingering cigarette smoke.

“‘Ought to just kill you,” Sanji murmurs, and there’s something just slightly crazed in the other man’s expression now. Zoro’s shocked, not only by that, but by the raw hurt he sees in his eyes. “Ought to just-”

And then, Sanji darts forward, his lips meeting Zoro’s, and-

Oh. Oh, God.

So Zoro was right the first time. He had died, and this was all some sick joke for all the bad things he’s done in his life, and his valkyrie or angel or whatever looked and acted exactly like Sanji, for some reason.

Zoro can’t move his arms, but he wishes so badly that he could, so he could tangle his hands in the cook’s hair. Sanji bites his bottom lip, running his tongue over the spot to soothe it afterwards, and Zoro feels like he’s on fire. It takes everything in him just to kiss Sanji back, prying the other’s mouth open with his tongue.

Sanji groans in response. Zoro tilts his head just so to get a better angle, and the glide of lips against his own is completely divine. Sanji’s got a hand spread over Zoro’s skin now, right under his collarbone, and the cook’s light touch there is the only thing gentle about the kiss as a whole. It’s harsh, and messy, and their teeth keep clashing together as they fight back and forth for control. It’s just like them, Zoro thinks, rough around the edges and full of all the things neither of them are willing to say out loud to each other.

It’s perfect. Or would be, if the rest of Zoro’s body would listen to him.

Sanji pulls back for air, breathing directly back into Zoro’s mouth, like he’s worried Zoro might disappear if Sanji doesn’t stay right on top of him. “Idiot,” he whispers. His voice is shaky, and it reminds Zoro of Sanji’s posture standing in front of him before Kuma, ready to die for their nakama's sake, for Zoro’s sake. If Zoro wasn’t half loopy on what he assumes is either pain medication or divine retribution, he would think Sanji’s eyes look wet, like there’s tears starting to form there. “Stupid, shitty, mossbrained, idiotic bastard-"

And Zoro, he tries so hard to fight the bone-deep tiredness that’s pulling him back under right now. He doesn’t want to go, to leave whatever fragile state of the afterlife he had never even believed in that he must currently be experiencing now. Is this purgatory? Is this heaven?

Zoro had always assumed he’d go to hell when he died, not that he ever really believed there was one. And when he’d taken all of Luffy’s pain from Kuma, he thought he knew what awaited him there. But maybe...

Maybe this is hell, he thinks to himself. Getting a taste of what heaven is like, only to be cast down to the depths for all eternity.

And the darkness, it’s grabbing at his senses, tainting the edges of his vision. The shadows move inward, blacking out the faint strands of gold he can still barely see above him curtained around Sanji’s face.

No, please, no. Just a second longer-

Mercilessly, darkness consumes him once again, and everything is quiet.

Chapter Text

Ever since Zoro’s woken up, Sanji hasn’t said anything about the kiss, and at this point, Zoro’s not planning on asking about it.

There’s three possibilities to explain what happened that first night in the ruined mansion on Thriller Bark, at least in Zoro’s mind. One, he had actually died, and he’d somehow managed to seduce the cook-valkyrie well enough even in his near-catatonic state to convince him to bring Zoro’s soul back to the world of the living. Two, it had all been a cruel dream induced by the most-likely ridiculous amounts of morphine that had been in his system thanks to the angel that is Chopper. Or three… it had actually happened.

Nami’s shrill voice rings out in Zoro’s skull whenever he thinks too hard about it, though, telling him that one in three odds probably isn’t a good bet to go all in on. So, Zoro decides to wait it out. Besides, he’s got other things to focus on anyway.

The first time he’s awake long enough to get up and move, he sneaks past Chopper to go find where he’d left Yubashiri out in the ruins of Thriller Bark. He finds him easily, resting atop the rubble of what was once the roof of the tower where Zoro had fought Ryuma. The black sheath casts a long, ebony shadow over the destroyed roof tiles as Zoro picks the rusted blade up, resting it over his shoulder.

Thriller Bark is the biggest ship in the world, and an island of the dead, at that. It’s a fitting resting place if Zoro’s ever seen one.

When Zoro eventually finds his way over to the graveyard (because he doesn’t get lost), he’s surprised to find he isn’t alone. The muted sound of a violin fills the air as Zoro crests over the hill, and he sees Brook there, in front of a massive and brightly-decorated grave that definitely hadn’t been there before.

That makes sense, now that Zoro thinks about it. Brook’s ship probably still had the remains of all his long-dead crew members on it, even after fifty years had passed. He’d leave the skeleton man in peace, but Zoro’s probably only got so much time left in the conscious world, especially after he did not waste so much time trying to find his way here. He lets his boots crunch on the ground underneath him to alert Brook to his presence.

Brook jumps up at the noise, spine vibrating as if someone had plucked it like a string before he turns. “Oh! You startled me.” He cocks his skull just a bit. “Are you sure you should be up?”

“Yeah,” Zoro replies as he moves to sit next to Brook. “I overslept a bit.”

The other man doesn’t reply, giving Zoro a small nod instead. “What is that?” he asks as his eye sockets shift over to Yubashiri.

Zoro swings the sheath off of his shoulder. “My dead sword, Yubashiri. Please let me lay it to rest here,” he says before burying him firmly in the ground. Afterwards, he sits, clapping his hands together to pay his respects to the sword that had once served as his right hand.

A lovely premonition for me, Shusui whispers gently to him, and Zoro chides his new sword with fierce ’not now.’

“Excuse me…” Brook starts, before apparently quickly changing his mind. “Ah, n-no, it’s nothing,” he trails off instead into a brief pause. Zoro hopes that him leaving Yubashiri here didn’t actually bother Brook, and the other man’s just too polite to say anything. “Oh, yes! I’ve joined your crew.”

That gets a smirk out of Zoro. “That right? Your luck really does bite, then.” His smile turns into a wide grin against his will as he thinks about his nakama, about how loose and lively he’d seen Luffy be in the few times Zoro’s been awake. “Our crew is a handful.”

Brook laughs sharply. “So it would seem! I’ll have to work myself to death. Ah, but I’m already dead. Yohohoho!”

Zoro lets a comfortable silence follow after that. His mind wanders, just a bit, as his hand drifts over to the new sword at his hip.

Shusui was an interesting katana. The black blade didn’t have as much of a violent streak like Kitetsu, but they were ornery and uncooperative just like the cursed sword. They remind Zoro of a headstrong war horse, one that required its master to prove themselves before they would be allowed to ride it. Zoro also doesn’t get any feelings of gender from the sword, which is a novel sensation he hasn’t felt from another well-made katana before.

And even though, volume-wise, Shusui was much quieter than Kitetsu, they were also… very chatty. Articulate, too. And they liked to backtalk, a lot.

Zoro’s interrupted from his musings as Brook starts to play his violin again, and he realises he’s taken up enough of the skeleton’s time. He stands, giving a short wave goodbye to Brook as he (without any kind of struggle) makes his way back to the mansion.

Chopper’s already there waiting for him at what’s left of the entrance.

“Zoro,” he says, arms crossed and voice stern.

“Chopper,” Zoro replies with a grunt, already moving to go lay back down. Chopper’s the only one that Zoro won’t really put up a fight against when challenged.

The little reindeer shoots daggers at him for a second longer before finally letting out a resigned sigh. “Don’t move. I have to change your bandages.”

Once Zoro’s fully up and going again, the crew decides to depart from Thriller Bark. Before they go, Nami gives Lola some of their newly-acquired treasure, of all things, and Brook gives her his old crew’s ship that Franky had repaired.

“You’ve been such a big help to us!” Lola had said to the cyborg with a wink. “I’d love to marry you.”

Franky had just grinned, pulling a comb out to smooth his stupid blue pompadour back. “You’re a great catch, but unfortunately,” and the man had paused to shoot a sly glance to Robin, of all people, “I’m just too cool. It wouldn’t work out.”

They have a few little burner islands to go past before they get to Fishman Island, Nami tells them. Plenty of time for Zoro to get some much-earned peace and quiet.

Zoro’s always been a bit of an introvert. He loves his crew, and can begrudgingly admit to himself that he loves spending time with them as well, but they get to be a lot very quickly. And, with as much time as they’d all been spending in the mansion on Thriller Bark, and with Zoro being mostly bedridden as he was, he currently feels like he’s got ants under his skin with the need to be alone.

As strange as it sounds, what’s situationally convenient for this is how messed up Zoro’s circadian rhythm is. He tends to nap for a few hours, then stay awake for another few, repeating the pattern throughout both the day and night. So, while their crew technically has a rotation for who is on watch at night, Zoro will more often than not just take over for whoever’s on duty. It’s no skin off his back, since he really only has to stay awake a couple more hours than he normally does after a nap to cover the time from when everyone goes to bed late at night to when Sanji gets up early in the morning. Plus, he gets the ship and the crow’s nest all to himself, and he finds the peace and quiet invigorating.

As a result, on their first night back out at sea, Zoro’s predictably on watch. It’s probably a bit past one in the morning, and he’s currently racking weight on the squat bar in the crow’s nest preparing for a set. Zoro lets his mind wander, as he’s wont to do when he warms up with light weight. Unfortunately, like he’s also wont to do as of recently, his thoughts fall back to the cook.

Chopper had told him that when he and Robin had fought Zoro and Sanji’s zombies, the doctor and archaeologist were almost completely outmatched. Apparently, they were able to trick the zombies into fighting with each other instead, because the only thing their zombies could remember from their previous lives was each other. How much they irritated one another.

After Sanji’s stupid dogguin had forgotten that he doesn’t kick women. After Zoro’s zombie had forgotten that scars on the back are a swordsman’s shame.

Good Lord. It’d almost be romantic, Zoro thinks to himself, if it wasn’t also completely fucking insane.

And then their zombies had apparently jumped out a window together, never to be seen again. It sounds like the stupid shit Zoro could read in one of Usopp’s terrible romance novels he thinks no one knows he keeps stashed away in the library. Zoro should tell Franky about them, honestly; the cyborg seems to like mushy garbage like that.

Zoro’s shocked out of his musings, forgetting what rep he’s currently on, when he hears someone enter through the porthole across the room.

Speak of the devil.

The angel, you mean, Shusui coos meanly while Wado discretely tries to hide her amusement.

Be quiet!

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping, cook?” Zoro says as he racks his weights, throwing a towel over his shoulder. He hadn’t really been expecting company, so he’s shirtless, and while he’s never been self-conscious about his body (because he knows he looks good, he puts in too much time working out not to), Zoro finds himself suddenly… shy, under Sanji’s gaze.

“Probably,” the other man replies, and that’s when Zoro notices he’s got a bottle of sake in his hands. Zoro’s bottle, from after he’d gotten surgery, with the little blue ribbon dangling off of the neck of it. “But I told you I’d think about sharing this with you.”

“And?”

“I thought about it,” Sanji gruffly replies, moving towards the long couch that circles the perimeter of the crow’s nest. He puts two cups on the table nearby, filling them both.

Zoro wipes the sweat off of himself, tossing the towel aside before moving to sit next to the other man. He’s glad he hadn’t gotten the chance to move past warming up, or he’d probably be a lot more sweaty and gross than he is now. And hell, since when did Zoro start caring about things like that?

Zoro grabs the glass Sanji poured for him and takes it like a shot, even as the other man scowls at him for it. Zoro doesn’t get the chance to taste it, and he’s pretty sure this is the kind of sake you’re supposed to sip on and enjoy, but whatever, it’s his booze anyway.

It’s quiet, uncomfortably so, for a minute while Zoro refills his glass, resisting the urge to just drink from the bottle like he normally does. For once, he’s not in the mood for a fight. The cook hasn’t lit a cigarette yet, which is also weird.

“So we’re not going to talk about it?” Sanji finally asks. He delays his next words for a moment, as if waiting for a response, but Zoro’s honestly stumped as to what the other man is looking for from him. “Alright, I probably should’ve just assumed we wouldn’t. Still, though.”

Zoro, still trying and failing to solve the puzzle that’s right in front of his face, squints back at him. “The hell are you talking about?”

Sanji narrows his eyes at Zoro in return, before his face suddenly pales. “Oh, Christ. You don’t remember it, do you?” Zoro’s eyes bug out of his skull as Sanji suddenly follows his lead, downing his glass all at once as well. He gives a little cough before resting his elbow on his knee, hand cradling his face. “You know what, that actually doesn’t surprise me. You were probably hopped up on all kinds of pain medication. And I was drunk as- let’s just pretend this all never happened, then.”

Pain meds? When had Zoro been on-

Oh. Sanji’s talking about-

“You’re talking about when we kissed,” Zoro says, not bothering with any fanfare, and while he can’t see the cook’s expression, the tips of the man’s ears have turned red. “I… didn’t think that actually happened.”

Another awkward silence follows as Sanji sighs through his nose, bringing his head back up out of his hand to look at Zoro directly. “Okay,” Sanji drawls, completely exasperated, but all Zoro can really focus on is how pretty his pale skin looks flushed over with crimson. “I know I don’t give you a lot of credit in the first place, but are you like, actually braindead? Completely serious.”

Zoro’s cheeks flush in return, but he’s not willing to look embarrassed in front of the other man, because that would almost be a sign of defeat. He forces his expression to stay stony as he folds his arms over his chest. “I thought I was just high on morphine and having crazy dreams or something,” he states seriously. As an afterthought, he adds, “Or dead.”

Sanji doesn’t react to that for a good few seconds.

“You thought… you were dead.”

Oh, shit, this is a dangerous path they’re walking on now, Zoro suddenly realizes.

“Yeah,” he replies, unwilling to elaborate and glancing away as he feels his face grow even hotter under Sanji’s scrutiny.

“Why on earth would you think that?”

Damnit, Zoro’s really between a rock and a hard place now. He could try and deflect, but he has a suspicion it would probably only work for so long, if the determined gleam in the cook’s eye is anything to go off of. He could ignore Sanji’s question, which would be admitting defeat to the other man on a fundamental level, and the thought of doing that makes Zoro’s skin crawl. Or, he could just be honest, and that prospect is equally as horrifying to him as well.

For some reason, Zoro thinks back to the night at Water 7, when Nami had begged him to talk to Sanji. ’Now’s your chance! Can’t you just be honest with him, dumbass?’ a facsimile of her voice echoes in his brain. Maybe she would actually want him to take the gamble, then. He probably should’ve consulted her before all of this happened.

Zoro focuses his eyes on a scuff on one of the tatami mats at the edge of the room before he mumbles the truth under his breath.

Sanji looks like he wants to boil him alive. “Speak up, you fucking caveman. I can’t hear anything you’re saying.”

Zoro has to furrow his eyebrows and shut his eyes in mortification, but he obliges. “I thought you were an angel,” he whispers again, just a touch louder.

It’s dead silent for another minute. Zoro keeps his eyes firmly closed, gripping his biceps hard enough to bruise.

The air’s knocked out of his lungs by a sudden force that’s pushing him back into the couch. Zoro’s eyes fly open, already reaching for his swords out of instinct, before he realizes that Sanji’s straddling his lap. At first, the nerves that connect Zoro’s eyes to his brain are barely fast enough to process the image before him in time. The cook’s more red than he is any other color, face contorted with a peculiar mix between something like frustration and determination. Their eyes meet, and it seems like Sanji is looking for something in Zoro's expression. Honesty, maybe? Consent?

And God, he doesn't want to say the wrong thing, to break the thread of tension between them, but he needs Sanji to know he wants this. Zoro doesn't know how anyone could ever not want this.

Zoro shyly lets his fingers rest on Sanji's waist, and it seems to be all the reassurance the cook needs to shift on top of him, his movement forward playing out in front of Zoro almost in slow motion, like they’re both stuck moving in molasses. The acute and polarizing switch in speed as the scene unfolds makes Zoro feel as though he’s on a rollercoaster. And then-

Sanji kisses him, and it’s just as much of a shock as it had been in the dark of that ruined mansion, knocking the air out of Zoro for a second time.

Zoro kisses him back, because he’s not the kind of man to look a gift horse in the mouth, and certainly not twice. He licks his way past the cook's lips to find that he tastes like the burn of sake and his cigarettes, and Zoro actually has the presence of mind to recognize it now that he’s not high as a kite from pain medication. It’s like he’s high in a completely different way, though, senses buzzing with tactile input even as he feels like his head is in the clouds. He laps at Sanji’s tongue, making the other man shiver in response. Zoro takes the cook’s distraction as a chance to nip at his lower lip, giving him payback from their first kiss. Sanji’s deep moan at the action makes Zoro practically snarl.

Sanji’s hands find his shoulders, roaming over the bare muscle there, and Zoro feels like his skin is burning wherever the cook touches. He realizes right after he does it that it may have been a bold move, but Zoro grabs both of Sanji thighs on instinct, because that’s the most stable part of the cook, and Zoro really needs stability right now. Being able to hold the firm muscle there, to run his hands over Sanji’s legs, which were so powerful, were capable of doing so much damage...

It was incredibly, intoxicatingly heady.

They pull back for air, and their closeness is distinctly reminiscent of that night on Thriller Bark. The only difference now is how everything is so much more visible under the soft light of the moon shining into the crow’s nest. Being able to make out the fuzzy outline of Sanji’s lovestruck expression, even as close together as their faces are, makes Zoro’s heart soar. “You’re an idiot,” Sanji whispers, but he doesn’t sound angry, more like he’s dumbstruck. “Stupid marimo bastard, how can you just say things like that?”

“It was real,” Zoro murmurs reverently, mostly to himself, barely even processing what Sanji’s saying to him.

Whatever it was, that must have been the right thing to say in response, because Sanji’s pulling him in again with both hands on the back of Zoro’s neck. The cook’s fingers tug at the fine hair at the base of Zoro’s head as they kiss, making him growl into Sanji’s mouth. He feels like he’s drowning in the most addictive way possible, but his senses are so heightened from the cook’s proximity, and it’s gradually making it harder to ignore-

“Wait,” Zoro huffs out after pulling away just slightly, warm breath ghosting over the other man’s lips. “Wait.”

Sanji’s eyes flutter open, and while Zoro has to practically go cross-eyed to see his face, the other man looks almost stricken. The cook pulls his face back into something more neutral, though, before starting in a whisper, “What-”

Zoro doesn’t bother explaining himself, instead moving his hands up Sanji’s thighs and over his hips to his waist, using the other man’s confusion at the situation to flip him over, reversing their positions. It almost physically hurts, to pull away from the cook, with his wide eyes and and kiss-swollen lips and blond hair splayed out across the the back of the couch, but Zoro has to do this, because currently-

At his hip, Kitetsu is screaming at him indignantly, Wado feels absolutely, sickeningly smug, and Shusui is making something akin to retching noises. And they’re all so fucking loud in Zoro’s head-

He’d drop them out of the crow’s nest if he didn’t unfortunately care about their wellbeing. Instead, he moves to one of the chests he keeps his weights in before unceremoniously dropping them all inside.

”Be quiet,” he hisses at them before slamming the lid. Though it doesn’t do much to ultimately silence them, Zoro finally feels like he can think straight again as he walks away to get space from them.

Zoro turns back, and Sanji’s looking at him from the couch like he’s gone insane. Zoro allows himself a brief moment of grief for having lost the beautiful look Sanji had on earlier, eyes lidded and cheeks tinted a deep red, before he endeavors to put it back on the other man once again.

There’s an unruly, hedonistic part of Zoro’s psyche that he typically tamps down in favor of discipline and self-control. When it occasionally wins out, though, the demon inside him has always imagined his and the cook’s theoretical coming-together as some kind of wild, lust-driven affair. Like two of Franky’s rare earth metal magnets, pulled together in a way that’s as brutal as it is inevitable.

And, well, if Zoro’s being honest, it’s a little bit like that. Sometimes, when they’re up in the crow’s nest by themselves late at night, it’s like they can’t get enough of each other. Hell, in the last week alone, they’ve spent a frankly ridiculous amount of time making out. They’re unchained with each other, rough in a way they aren’t, can’t allow themselves to be, with anyone else. It reminds Zoro of when they spar, but somehow so much more thrilling. When Zoro’s feeling particularly cheeky, he’ll let out a whistle or a sly comment, which ends up with either a nice blush or a kick in the face from Sanji depending on his mood, typically leading to them sparring anyway.

But it’s also… gentle, in a way Zoro doesn’t quite know how to handle yet. Soft. A lot of the time, they’ll just… lay together, with their bodies tangled in a mess of limbs, and talk.

Talk. Pirate Hunter Zoro and Blackleg Sanji, the twin monsters of the Strawhat Pirates, cuddled together in the crow’s nest and talking in hushed voices about every subject under the sun. Zoro absentmindedly wonders if Nami would even believe him, if he ever got around to telling her. He wonders if anyone would believe him.

In the same way that they always bicker and fight during the day, it’s just a thing the two of them do now, apparently. Make out and drink and cuddle and talk up in the crow’s nest late at night after everyone’s gone to sleep.

Zoro’s not a terribly talkative man, and certainly not the most thoughtful, so he’ll typically let Sanji lead their conversations. On one of the first nights they start doing… whatever it is that they’re doing, he’s cleaning his swords. He hadn’t even even expected the cook to come up to join him after the man had an unusually busy day on an already-growing lack of sleep. He always surprises Zoro, though.

“Tell me about your swords,” Sanji asks as he sits next to him, lighting up a cigarette and pouring them glasses of sake.

Zoro’s head jerks up slightly at that, hands pausing where he’s at with a swab over Wado’s length. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” Sanji deadpans before taking a sip.

Zoro squints, resting Wado on his thighs. “What do you want to know? Why do you want to know?” Even with their new… whatever this was, it wasn’t like them to inquire about things quite so important to one another. Hell, Zoro can count on one hand the number of times even his other nakama have asked about something like this.

“Well, what would you rather me open with, marimo? ’Oh, how’d your mystery surgery go, Zoro? Also, what the fuck was that all about?’” he sing-songs in a sarcastic falsetto. “Or maybe ‘hey, when are you gonna give me more details about what was going through your morphine-addled moss brain that night on Thriller Bark, ‘cuz I’d love to hear more about that.’”

Zoro… narrows his eyebrows. Touche.

He runs his hand along the ivory sheath at his hip before nodding to the sword in his lap. “This one’s Wado Ichimonji. I’m… not sure what you want to know about her.”

Just saying that is apparently enough to catch Sanji’s interest. “Her?”

“Yeah,” says Zoro, not knowing how to elaborate at first before a lightbulb goes off in his head as he thinks of a nerve to pick. “She’s a lady,” he jabs with a sly, toothy grin.

Sanji’s face pales, and it honestly looks like he might pass out. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Nope,” Zoro responds lightly, popping the ‘P’ at the end.

“The most sentimental thing that you own, and she’s female?”

Zoro cackles at that, filled with an unmitigated delight that his jab tripped Sanji up exactly like he had wanted it to. Zoro’s always delighted in that feeling, of accurately predicting and influencing an opponent’s moves mid-fight, or calling someone’s bluff in poker, but it’s so much better when it's Sanji he gets a leg up on. A subtle but nasty vibration shoots up his thighs at his outburst, though, and Zoro’s laughter is cut short in surprise.

He glances down at Wado. She’s… essentially, chastising him.

’Let me have this,’ he thinks to himself, even as Wado remains steadfast.

And of course, his weird pause doesn’t get past Sanji, who’s squinting at him curiously now.

“You’re taking the whole ‘personification of my swords’ thing better than I would have expected you to,” Zoro comments to fill the space.

Sanji snorts. “Maybe, but we literally had our ship come sailing to our rescue back at Enies Lobby. Usopp even talked to their spirit or whatever dumb word Franky calls it, for God’s sake. This isn’t any weirder than that.” He pauses to take a drag from his cigarette before side eyeing the katana in his lap. “Knowing that, I don’t know how she puts up with you then, honestly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, dartboard?”

Sanji doesn’t rise to the bait, tilting his head inquisitively instead. “She’s… simple, and warm. Bright, maybe. Almost gentle. Having to be thrown around by a barbaric aloe plant like you must be a pain in the ass.”

Zoro feels lightning shoot down his spine, ignoring the content purring coming from his lap. “She- you can hear her?” That… Sanji wasn’t a swordsman, and he certainly didn’t have the bond Zoro had with his swords as their master. The cook shouldn’t be able to feel their spirits, and Zoro has no idea what the implication of that would be, then.

Sanji’s face twists slightly in confusion. “Uh… no? She just felt nice, I guess. Back when I gave you your swords when those marines ambushed us,” he fills in before narrowing his eyes darkly at Zoro’s hip. “Not like your other one.”

Ah. “Yeah, that’s Sandai Kitetsu. Got him back with Yubashiri in Loguetown,” Zoro explains. “He’s cursed, and kind of a bastard.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” Sanji replies bitterly, and Kitetsu growls out to Zoro at his hip in a way that’s… strangely coy as much as it is angry.

Zoro taps the black sheath at his side. “And this is my newest one, Shusui. Got them on Thriller Bark from the zombie that had Brook’s shadow in it.”

It’s quiet for a second after that, and the cook doesn’t take the opening to ask about Yubashiri, which Zoro’s secretly grateful for. He thinks he’s in the clear entirely, before-

“Where did the first one come from, then? Wado, I mean.”

Hell. Was Zoro really going to talk about this? He’s never told anyone about this. Ever.

Apparently, he was.

“She belonged to a friend I had a long time ago,” he finally says, words coming out monotone and dry, as if he’s not talking about probably the single most impactful era of his life. “She’s dead, now.”

Sanji’s eyes widen, and Zoro catches the faintest shaking in his hands before he takes another drag from his cigarette. “Ah.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Zoro doesn’t know how to fill the empty space after that, or even if he should. He grabs the forgotten glass Sanji had poured for him before downing it in one go. Afterwards, Zoro decides to go back to cleaning Wado, because it’s not like he can just stop in the middle of it.

“Wait,” Sanji says, and his voice slowly colors with horror as he continues. “Back to the sword-spirit thing. Is- Is that why you put your swords away, when we…”

Something like terror is slowly dawning over Sanji’s features, and Zoro can’t help but laugh at his expression. “Yeah. They’re the worst. Would you really want them watching when we-”

“Oh my God,” Sanji interrupts with wide eyes. “So it’s like, the marimo equivalent of kicking the dogs out of the room beforehand.” Sanji downs the rest of his drink before he turns back to Zoro. “You realize that’s fucking asinine, right? Shit, do you think Sunny watches when we-”

Zoro can’t help it as laughter takes over his whole body before Sanji kicks him for his reaction. They end up brawling, and then making out again afterwards, and while in the back of Zoro’s mind he does feel terrible for just leaving Wado there unfinished, she doesn’t seem to mind in the least.

On another night, they’re laying on the couch in the crow’s nest, Sanji’s head on Zoro’s shoulder with an arm thrown across Zoro’s body and their legs tangled together. Zoro’s got an arm under the other man, his hand resting gently on Sanj’s hip. The limb is starting to go dead, but at this point Zoro considers it a game, or maybe more like training, to see how long he can stand the feeling just to keep Sanji near him.

Suddenly, he thinks of something he’s been meaning to ask Sanji for a while.

“I don’t understand the whole ‘I don’t kick women’ thing you have going on,” Zoro starts. He reaches out with his free hand to grab the cook’s fancy sake bottle off the table, to tip it over and check for any last remaining drops of liquor. It really had been pretty good while it lasted.

“You don’t have to get it,” Sanji replies cryptically, and Zoro can feel the other man’s defenses slowly starting to rise as he shifts against him slightly.

Zoro needs to say the right thing quickly if he wants to keep this opening alive. “I know that, cook. I’m just-” he pauses, struggling to find the words past the haze in his brain. “I’m trying to understand you.”

Sanji’s eyes slowly go wide at that.

“Is it, like, a perceived weakness thing? ‘Cuz I really don’t think Nami or Robin would appreciate that,” Zoro ventures.

The cook scowls, face curling up in disgust. “Of course not.”

Zoro grunts as his train of thought progresses. “Okay? And I’m pretty sure for as much hell as I give you, it’s not actually a perverted thing, so like-”

“Oi!”

“-what is it, then?”

Sanji pauses at that, taking a deep breath through his nose. It’s not the kind of infuriated inhale he usually does around Zoro, with his face typically glowering at him in irritation. It’s more like he’s… contemplating, maybe?

“I know it doesn’t always make sense,” the cook starts slowly, as if he’s measuring the words out like a cup of sugar in one of his recipes. “It’s just how I was raised, though. Simple as that.”

… Huh. Zoro hadn’t expected such a plain and blunt answer from the ever-thoughtful and nuanced cook. It sounds more like a response Zoro would give.

Well, at least Sanji can admit it’s kind of odd. Zoro could relate to that, at least. There were a lot of things about the way of the bushido that probably seemed illogical or downright stupid to an outsider looking in. He still doesn’t really get it, but… like Sanji said, he really doesn’t have to.

Zoro thinks of Kuina, who even to this day was still probably one of the meanest people he’s ever met. Not mean in the way their enemies have been on the Grand Line; she wasn’t evil like Crocodile, sick in the head like Enel, downright cruel like Lucci, or just plain fucked up like Gecko Moria. She was mean in the same way a mountain was: if you were dumb enough to wander up one in the middle of winter, you’d get stuck and freeze to death. It was just nature.

He thinks about how Kuina would have reacted, if she’d ever gotten to meet Sanji. She probably would have just killed him at the first heart-eyed honorific thrown her way. Kuina-chan, an approximation of Sanji’s voice coos in his brain, and the thought of that by itself is enough to give Zoro the creeps worse than an angry Nami does. Still though, Zoro will begrudgingly admit the two are similar, in a lot of ways. If the cook could ever get past her being a woman, they might have gotten along, actually. Or maybe they would have been too similar, like the same poles from two different magnets, and fought all the time, kind of like how Zoro and Sanji do now.

Suddenly, something sick twists in Zoro’s gut as a nasty thought jumps into his head.

“Cook,” he says slowly, and the words he starts forming feel more like termites coming out of his throat than sound. “What if I was a woman? Would you-” he pauses as the feeling of something vile inside him gives rise. Why on earth is he allowing himself to verbalize this? “-treat me differently, if I was?”

The silence between them grows thick and heavy, like the sickeningly saccharine syrup Chopper pours all over his pancakes every morning. The thought of the stuff makes him want to gag as much as the feeling in the air that’s remnant from his spoken words does.

Zoro has been pointedly looking away from Sanji resolutely since he brought the thought up, but he decides to chance a glance down at him. The other man’s face has shifted in confusion, as if he was looking at one of Robin’s poneglyphs. “I… don’t know,” Sanji responds honestly. “I’ve never even thought about it. It doesn’t- you’re a man. I can’t even picture you as a woman.”

Zoro grunts at that, but the feeling of insects writhing in his esophagus still remains.

“Like, if you ate a crazy devil fruit today and it turned you into a woman? I don’t know, it probably wouldn’t change all that much. But if you’d started out as a woman? If I met you as one?” Sanji pauses, as if trying and failing to process the mental image in his head. “I don’t know.”

And that was a fairly reasonable answer. The logical, collected side of Zoro could recognize that. But it doesn’t abate the locusts inside him that are now spreading, eating at Zoro’s insides. He didn’t understand; why was this bothering him so much?

’Because he doesn’t know,’ that same horrible little voice inside him suddenly whispers, shooting Zoro with an earth-shattering realization he probably should have had long before now.

Zoro jumps out from underneath Sanji to stand, immediately desperate to not be touched anymore, and the other man grunts in surprise and anger at the sudden movement causing him to tumble back onto the couch.

Would Sanji knowing change anything?

“Think I’m done for the night,” Zoro fills in at Sanji’s confusion, voice conveying an emotional steadiness Zoro doesn’t really feel. He doesn’t look back as he hops down the port of the crow’s nest, pointedly ignoring the eyes he can feel burning on the back of his head.

Chapter Text

After their last rendezvous, Zoro spends the next few days going out of his way to avoid Sanji at night. The cook's been shooting him weird glances whenever they're together for meals, and the other man seems to pick fights with him more during the day, but Sanji ultimately doesn't say anything on the matter.

It's strange, suddenly trying to sleep full nights.

Zoro's not planning to avoid taking watch forever. He’s just… overwhelmed by the speed at which things have shifted, and he needs time to process before he initiates this conversation, is all. It's not as though Zoro has gone out of his way to hide his identity from anyone, including Sanji, but an unfortunate side effect of his somewhat laissez-faire attitude and lack of explicit forethought is… well, the exact situation Zoro's in now. There's still that familiar traitorous, nasty little part of Zoro that feels genuinely gross at the idea that in his negligence, he's inadvertently lied to Sanji, tricked him into something the other man might not even want.

It makes him almost nauseous to think about, and he just needs time to work through everything. That's all. He'll talk to him, eventually, it's just that the right time hasn't come around, and Zoro hasn't found the right words because he’s not good at this sort of thing, and it's fine.

He'll talk to him. Eventually.

A few days pass, and the crew docks at a little spring island early in the evening. This one is supposed to barely take over twelve hours for the log pose to reset, Nami helpfully informs them. Enough to stay the night and let himself get completely hammered, Zoro realizes with delight.

Of course, before he’s able to locate a good location to do this for the evening, Zoro stops by a small shop to pick up a chain for Yubashiri. The weight of the metal now resting on his sternum under his shirt is entirely new to Zoro, but somehow feels incredibly familiar in a way he isn’t quite willing or able to pinpoint.

The port town is tiny and forgettable, but Zoro’s luckily able to find a little bar tucked away from the main square rather quickly. It’s dingy, dark, relatively empty for a weekend, and the booze is cheap. Perfect, in Zoro’s book.

Zoro grabs a seat at the bar and waits to order. When the barkeep gets to him, Zoro immediately asks for a fifth of vodka, and though the barkeep shoots him a weird look, he doesn’t challenge him.

Did Zoro mention this place was perfect?

He’s three-quarters of the way through his bottle when he has to unfortunately retract that statement.

“Zoro!” a familiar cheerful voice yells from the entrance, and the swordsman sighs in mourning for his peaceful evening. “I didn’t know you were here,” Luffy says as he runs up to him, grabbing a free barstool with an outstretched rubber arm. “Glad you didn’t get lost,” he adds before chuckling with his distinct laugh.

Zoro squeezes his eyes shut in anguish, and it's a testament to his state of mind how he doesn’t even bother to mention the other man’s little ‘getting lost’ comment. “Please tell me it’s just you here, Luffy.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” his captain replies. “Nami and Robin found a club to dance at, and I think Franky and Sanji went with them. Chopper’s back on the ship, and I have no idea where Usopp or Brook are at right now.”

“Why aren’t you with any of the others, then?” Zoro asks, leaving out the ‘instead of bothering me here’ he kind of wants to add at the end.

Luffy lets out an irritated huff at that. “Ahh, they’re being boring, and I wanted to explore,” he says, folding his arms behind his head. “Plus, I missed you, Zoro!”

Oh. Zoro immediately feels horrifically guilty.

Luffy doesn’t take any notice of Zoro’s shift in mood. “Oi, bartender! I want beer for me and my nakama.”

Zoro sighs before chugging what’s left of his vodka, and two pints of amber lager are set in front of them not long after. Guess he’s not getting totally sloshed tonight after all. At this point, it always takes hard alcohol to do him in, and ridiculous amounts of the stuff at that, and beer before liquor and all that shit. Zoro’s too old to be getting sick from drinking.

“What are you doing here by yourself, anyway?” Luffy asks him after taking a long sip, swinging his legs freely in the air off his barstool.

‘Lamenting,’ Zoro wants to retort, but he’s got entirely too much pride for that. He doesn’t want to try and explain the inner workings of his and the cook’s relationship, anyway.

But… wait. Zoro doesn’t really need to explain it, does he? Not to Luffy, anyway. Even if Luffy’s missing some big pieces of the puzzle, the guy’s still somehow uncannily intuitive enough to get a good idea about how his nakama will react to just about anything.

“Oi, Zoro,” Luffy says with his eyebrows slowly furrowing. Too much time must have passed without a response while Zoro was lost in thought. “You alright?”

Good grief, was Zoro really going to do this?

“Luffy,” he starts, and his captain’s head perks up in response, not unlike a prairie dog. “I… need advice.”

The rubber man’s eyes suddenly light up. “Really!? What about? I’d figure you’d rather go to someone smart like Robin for that,” he replies excitedly, obviously not used to being considered a fountain of wisdom by anyone who’s known him longer than five minutes.

Oh, and that’s an idea Zoro didn’t need in his head tonight. “I am not talking to Robin about this,” he grumbles into his mug. The thought crosses his mind that Robin probably already somehow knows, because she knows everything, and Zoro groans in distress.

Luffy pauses, his face growing a bit more serious at that. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I- nothing’s wrong, Luffy,” he slowly reassures him. “Just listen.”

Surprisingly, Luffy turns to face Zoro, silently crosses his legs on the barstool with his hands on his ankles. He looks like he wants to say something, but instead waits patiently for Zoro to continue.

“Look,” Zoro starts bluntly, taking a large gulp of his beer before he continues. “If you had someone… special to you. And everything’s great with you and them, right? But there’s something- something important that they don’t know about you.” Zoro stares into the foam of his beer, amber liquid reflecting his own stoic face back at him. “And you’re worried if they find out, it’ll change everything. Ruin everything. What would you do?”

Luffy’s been slowly tilting his head to the side as Zoro speaks. His elbow comes up to rest on the barstool, hand cradling his chin and he thinks. “Someone important… are they your nakama?”

“Yeah,” Zoro replies automatically, because it’s not like he’s going to lie to him, and anything like this wouldn’t get past Luffy, anyway.

Luffy’s fist drops from his chin before it comes back to rest on the bar again. “Then that’s a dumb question. You just tell them.”

“I mean, yes, obviously I have to tell him,” Zoro responds, slightly exasperated, and shit, his mental filter wasn’t able to catch the pronoun in time past the vodka in his system. Too late now. “But… I don’t know. What if he cares? What if it changes how he sees me? I-” Zoro’s breath catches in his throat, but he forces himself to continue even though his volume has dropped to a small whisper. “What if he hates me for it?”

It’s quiet for a long moment. Luffy bounces a bit on his seat, taking a drink before he answers. “Sanji wouldn’t hate you, Zoro.”

And maybe it’s all the booze Zoro’s drunk, or the fact that his captain accurately plucked the cook’s name out of thin air, or the incredulousness of asking Luffy for relationship advice as a whole. Either way, something in Zoro snaps as he lets out a jolt of cruel laughter, the humor of it all shaking his frame for a good half-minute.

“Of course he would,” Zoro finally breathes out. “Hell, he actively hates me now. Thinks I’m a gross, muscle-headed idiot with fucking moss for brains. Not that I care, because he’s a snob and a perverted moron with stupid eyebrows, but-” Zoro pauses here, waiting for the words to come to him. “-this actually matters. If he hates me for this, I…”

Zoro doesn’t know what he’ll do.

He chances a glance back at Luffy, who's now looking back at him with a hardened expression, the one he saves for when things look bad. “Zoro,” he says, and the swordsman feels a chill run up his spine at the intensity of it. “Sanji wouldn’t hate you.”

Hell. When it’s his captain saying it, with conviction like that… Zoro can’t help but think that, against his better judgement, maybe Luffy is right.

Luffy keeps looking at him with those darkened eyes for a moment longer before his face breaks out into a smile, like the sunrise through the clouds of a hurricane. “Just tell him whatever it is when you get a chance, yeah? He'll understand.” He turns away from Zoro, waving his now-empty mug high in the air. “Oi, barkeep, I’m empty!”

They keep drinking until someone at the bar notices them from the wanted posters and picks a very unfortunate fight. Zoro and Luffy end up in a pretty underwhelming bar brawl (for them, at least) before they’re kicked out, laughing all the way back to the ship. It distinctly reminds Zoro of the period of time around when he’d met Luffy back in East Blue, and his spirit feels light in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

Muscle building follows a simple pattern, at least in most routines. First, you go through a bulking phase, eating as much as you possibly can to build muscle and put on the maximum amount of weight. Then, you cut, eating less but still working out to burn off the excess fat you generated while bulking.

Zoro has spent his time a bit before and then after Thriller Bark on a pretty heavy bulk. It’s catching up to him now, though, and starting to affect his speed. He needs to cut, and cut hard if he wants to be ready for whatever awaits them at Fishman Island.

So, he’s started eating less. And, well… maybe it’s noticeable, if the weird looks his crewmates give him when he doesn’t go back for seconds and thirds during meals are anything to go by. It gets even worse when he starts letting Luffy take pieces of his food off of his plate during his first serving.

The cook definitely has noticed, if the way he’s started not-so-subtly putting more food on Zoro’s plate is anything to go by. It’s no skin off of Zoro’s back, though, because he can just keep turning a blind eye while Luffy sneaks the extra food out from under him. Zoro won’t leave food on his plate, because he knows Sanji hates it, but he can do this, at least.

And yeah, maybe it’s getting harder and harder to train, especially since he hasn’t fully healed from Thriller Bark, and maybe Zoro’s light-headed whenever he’s doing anything more laborious than napping out on the deck.

He has to do this, though. Zoro needs to cut to get stronger, and if he doesn’t get stronger, quickly-

Best not to think about it.

After some time of this passes by, Zoro stumbles into the galley one afternoon sometime after lunch, where the cook is finishing up doing dishes. The other man doesn’t even turn to face him.

“Do you need something, marimo?”

“Booze,” Zoro grunts, reaching his arm out to make grabby-hands at the cook. He hasn’t indulged in drinking very much since he started cutting to avoid the excess calories, but he hasn’t seen Sanji in a while since Zoro’s been sleeping more and avoiding taking watch. It’s not like he misses the man, but… this is as good of an excuse as any to pick a fight, really.

Sanji finally turns and immediately glowers at him with his arms folded, completely unamused. “You look like a toddler, you know that?”

“Booze,” he repeats again, just to be contrite.

Zoro expects Sanji to put up at least a little bit of a fight, because it’s almost like a game to the two of them at this point. He’s thrown off a bit when Sanji’s face turns up in a coy grin, instead.

“Yeah, alright.” He shoos Zoro away with his hand. “It’ll be a bit, though. Go sit down.”

That’s... weird. Zoro’s suspicious, but he decides not to say anything, moving to sit at one of the dining chairs across the table. Sanji said it’d be a while, for whatever reason, so Zoro folds his arms over the table to rest his head on and immediately sinks into a catnap.

When he wakes, it’s to Sanji dropping a plate of fish and rice in front of him. It looks really good, a traitorous part of Zoro’s mind tells himself.

Zoro feels his eyebrows drop in confusion. “What’s this?”

Sanji doesn’t say anything for a moment, just letting Zoro stew in his bewilderment while he takes a drag from his cigarette. He blows a smoke ring before he finally decides to reply. “Alright. I’ve put up with this for damn long enough.” He points at the dish on the table in front of Zoro.

“Eat.”

And Zoro, while he doesn’t really get it, knows that to Sanji, eating all of what you’re presented with is damn important. But this is important to Zoro, too.

“Can’t,” he says simply, folding his arms. “I’m cutting.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed, shit-for-brains,” Sanji growls lowly at him. “And you’re being stupid about it. You’ve never cut anywhere near this intensely before. It’s getting out of hand.”

Zoro shouldn’t be surprised that the cook has noted enough about Zoro’s eating habits to figure out that he cycles between bulking and cutting. But even though he’s been suspicious that the cook’s been onto him, a part of him is still taken aback that Sanji pays attention to Zoro that much. “Yeah, well, I’m taking it more seriously now.”

“Taking it more-” the cook starts, and he seriously looks like he might blow a blood vessel in his forehead. “How the fuck is one supposed to take not eating seriously?”

“You just wouldn’t get it, I guess,” Zoro sniffs with his eyes shut, arms still crossed.

Zoro expects the petulant dismissal to rile Sanji up, but he’s wholly unprepared for how mad the cook gets after that. He kicks an empty barrel across the room, which shatters into splinters when it comes into contact with the wall. Zoro’s eyes snap open at that.

“Why the hell are you doing this?”

Damn, the cook really isn’t going to leave Zoro alone until he gets an answer he likes, is he? Fine, then. Zoro can play hardball too. “If I cut faster, then I can get back to bulking faster. I need to get stronger.”

Sanji pauses, just briefly, before his fists clench at his sides. “And how the hell is working yourself down to total exhaustion without any proper fuel going to do that, exactly, hmm?”

“Why do you care, shit-cook?” Zoro shoots back. It’s not the cook’s business what he does with his body, and the feeling that someone wants to control something so important about his physique hits... a little too close to center for Zoro to be entirely comfortable.

“Do you want me to get Luffy involved?” Sanji suddenly retorts, and shit, he’s actually serious. The idea that he’d even threaten to get their captain involved in one of their spats is… beyond appalling, to Zoro. “Because I really don’t want to, but I will. He’ll default to my opinion when it comes to your nutrition.”

And Zoro... he feels a hot, repulsive rage burn up from within him. Who the hell is Sanji, to tell him what to do? More than anyone else on the ship, Zoro thought the cook would understand why Zoro has to do this. Why Zoro has to get stronger, faster, better, now, before-

Zoro and Sanji weren’t like anyone else on this ship. It’s true that their nakama would risk their lives for each other, for their dreams. But Zoro and Sanji, they were protectors. They’d destroy themselves, put themselves through shit worse than hell, if it gave them even a chance to get stronger. They were self-sacrificial to a fault, and they had to be, because no one else had the ability to do so. After what had happened on Thriller Bark, with Kuma, Zoro thought Sanji had understood him completely and fundamentally in a way his other nakama really never could. Even Luffy.

But now... Zoro feels a white hot insecurity bubble up within him at the thought that he’d somehow read this whole thing wrong. That Sanji didn’t understand him at all, was actually nothing like him, and it was all something Zoro made up in his mind as some kind of fucked up fantasy.

“Fine. Go cry to our captain like we’re fucking children, then,” he bites out quietly, and Zoro immediately feels downright evil for letting his irrationality get the better of him as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Even as nasty as he now feels, Zoro still expects Sanji to snap at that final jab, like he always does, and to come at Zoro ready to fight. They’ll spar, and get all the frustration out of their systems like they always do, and then it’ll fizzle out and Zoro can go back to working out until dinner, or whenever the cook calms down. Even with the recent… shift, in their relationship, there’s a pattern to their interactions that Zoro’s come to expect, to rely on.

Sanji punches the counter beside him instead, breaking the mold entirely. The stone cracks under Sanji’s fist, and Zoro stares at him with his mouth agape, completely taken aback.

Did the cook just- just punch something? And damage his fucking kitchen, at that?

“You- fucking-” the cook spits out jaggedly through gritted teeth, and Zoro feels like he’s watching a horror scene unfold in slow motion. Sanji looks up at him, wearing an expression that looks like pure rage, but it doesn't feel right at all to describe it as such. It's more hollow than that.

There’s blood on his knuckles. There’s blood on Sanji’s knuckles.

The cook’s voice suddenly hardens into ice.

“Fine. Drop dead, then, for all I care.”

He storms out of the galley, slamming the door behind him, and Zoro’s left alone in complete and utter shock as his anger from moments ago is completely snuffed out.

“What happened, Zoro?”

Zoro’s been alone for a while now, staring at the wall in a corner of the library because he knows no one’s going to come looking for him here. Besides voluntarily spending time in the library, it’s even more uncharacteristic of him to not be blowing off his frustration by working out at a time like this. Truthfully, even if he wanted to, he really doesn’t have the physical strength or mental fortitude for training right now, though.

Apparently, he’d underestimated how well the little doctor knows him.

“I don’t know, Chopper. You’re better off asking him yourself.”

“I did,” the little reindeer murmurs quietly. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

Zoro raises his eyebrows at that. “Then how’d you know it had to do with me?”

Chopper has a hard look in his gaze as he meets Zoro’s eyes. “Who else would it involve?”

Zoro clamps his mouth shut at that. He presses his lips together in a hard line, turning away from Chopper to glare at the rows and rows of book spines that litter the wall, unable to focus enough to read the titles of any of them.

“You…” Chopper starts, uncertain and breathy. “You need to talk to him, Zoro.”

“I tried,” he answers, honestly and without resistance, which only Chopper is really privy to coming from Zoro. “I just made it worse.”

“Well, you need to try again, because you can’t just avoid him-”

Zoro snaps his head back, tamping down his indignant frustration because Chopper of all people doesn’t deserve his harsh words. “I don’t understand him, Chopper! I don’t understand why he’s so pissed off, but I can’t just back down, either, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to make it right in the face of that.”

“Then ask him!” Chopper begs desperately, grabbing one of Zoro’s hands in both of his hooves. “Ask him, Zoro.”

And- hell, Zoro hadn’t really thought of that. He’s not… really used to being able to just talk to Sanji. As weird as things are now, they did have a bit of a paradigm shift in their relationship recently that makes that a valid possibility, didn’t they?

But that’s still not quite enough to convince Zoro. The swordsman’s a man of few words, but he's (almost) always direct and open when it actually matters. Sanji’s the opposite: he’s eager to comment on the things around them and speak about his fleeting thoughts, but avoids any kind of deeply emotional conversation when he could.

Like fire and water, Zoro thinks to himself with something almost akin to amusement.

Zoro turns away from Chopper’s large, shiny eyes, trying to forget the look of grief he put on the young doctor’s face. “And what if he doesn’t want to tell me? What then?”

The grip on his hand tightens. “Then at least you’ll have done everything you can.”

He skips dinner.

He also passes by some of the other crew members on his way back to the crow’s nest. None of them say anything, but he still feels a few of their eyes on the back of his neck.

That is, until he rounds the corner to pass by Franky.

Zoro thinks the other man isn’t going to say anything, like everyone else, but suddenly, Franky turns to pin him to the side of the wall by his shoulder with a large hand.

Zoro curses, reaching for Wado instinctively. “You shitty cyborg, let me-”

Franky cuts him off in an uncharacteristically harsh voice that shocks him silent. “I’ve been there, Zoro. You’re going to regret it, if you don’t make things right with him,” he says, unsettlingly cryptic and quiet. Zoro can barely see his expression past the dark shadows hiding his eyes, his face.

Franky releases him, disappearing around the corner, and Zoro’s alone once again.

Zoro pretty much expects Sanji to come talk to him in the crow’s nest that night. He didn’t even show up to dinner, after all. And to be honest, Zoro really, really doesn't want to be here. But fixing whatever happened in the galley is too important to give in to his current unrelated desire to keep pussyfooting around the other man.

So he’s not surprised to eventually hear someone climbing up the rigging that night. Honestly, as much as Zoro's gone out of his way to avoid Sanji recently, he still would’ve gone to the cook, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be welcome into the galley at this point. It'd kill him if he caused any more damage to the ship, inadvertently or otherwise.

Sanji’s hands are bandaged. Zoro feels lower than dirt at the sight, like he’s been shot through with one of that pink-haired girl’s negative hollows from Thriller Bark.

Sure, he and the cook fought all the time. But they’ve never fought like this before.

“I’m not going to apologize,” Sanji says resolutely, standing opposite him as he lights up a cigarette.

“I’m not either,” Zoro replies with equal intent.

It’s quiet for a minute after that, the only sound being Sanji’s quiet exhales of smoke. Zoro decides to just try and be honest.

“Do you remember what Moria said, back on Thriller Bark?” asks Zoro. He doesn’t let the cook respond, barreling forward before he loses his momentum. “He said at our current power level, Luffy would lose his entire crew in the New World.”

“I don’t give a damn what that freak thinks,” Sanji snaps back at him, face lit up by his cigarette burning under his chin. If he didn’t look so serious, Sanji would almost look like he does when he’s trying to scare Usopp with some stupid ghost story, with the backlight of the ember shining on his face from below.

“I do,” Zoro shoots back, and Sanji’s expression shifts into shock, obviously not expecting Zoro to say that. “We’d be fools not to heed a warning from a shichibukai when it’s right in front of our faces.”

Sanji outright snarls at him, indignant. “So what!? You think we should just turn back with our tails between our legs, then?”

“Of course not!” Zoro responds, his frustration finally getting the better of him as his voice starts to rise. And while Sanji doesn’t shrink back at it, there’s a shimmer of… something, behind the cook’s eyes that Zoro does not like one bit. “Of course not,” he instantly repeats, willing his voice into a more muted tone. “I think we need to get stronger, now. I need to get stronger.”

Zoro might be imagining it, but he thinks he sees it all click in the cook’s head as his wide eyes suddenly soften. Zoro has to be certain, though, so he keeps talking.

“I thought you understood,” Zoro murmurs, voice sinking into something approaching timid with the color of his insecurity. “You, of all people. I thought you’d know why I have to do this.”

Sanji hears that, and his face immediately falls. He looks… heartbroken, almost. “Of course I understand. God, of course I do. Do you really think I don’t?”

Zoro looks at the cook’s expression, feeling his own heart break in return at the sight. He despises seeing Sanji look so sad, hates even more that it’s all Zoro’s fault.

“Just because I understand doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit by and watch you hurt yourself.”

“You’re a damn hypocrite, then,” Zoro mutters as his mind flashes back to the memory of Sanji’s form standing between him and Kuma, to Sanji’s betrayed face right before Zoro had knocked him out.

“Yeah,” says Sanji, and there’s a coy glitter in his eye that he’s clearly using to mask the hurt still present there. “But so are you, marimo.”

And Zoro, he’s not used to gentleness, especially not between him and the cook. But God, he’s willing to try, if it’ll get the other man to stop looking at him like that.

He knows shouldn't do this, because he still needs to talk to Sanji about his… everything, but now isn't the time, and Zoro is selfish, selfish, selfish. He can't bear seeing that awful, bone-deep sorrow in the cook's expression anymore.

He walks up to Sanji, slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal. There’s the slightest shake to Zoro’s fingers, almost unnoticeable, that Zoro would be horrifically embarrassed about if he wasn’t so focused.

Slowly, gently, he cradles Sanji’s face in his hands, running the pads of his fingers over the stubble on his jaw, and now Sanji’s looking at Zoro with something like wonder. He keeps going, moving his thumbs across the cook’s cheeks, just trying to take in every detail of his face.

He continues, moving his face closer to Sanji’s, before gently, gently, bringing his lips to meet Sanji’s in a chaste kiss. Zoro’s pretty sure that Sanji drops his cigarette, but he really doesn’t care.

Sanji kisses him back, and- this is the first kiss of theirs that Zoro can think of that wasn’t hurried and intense, Zoro realizes. It’s slow, and sweet, and everything Zoro and Sanji are not, especially around each other. A minute passes, and Zoro leisurely pushes his tongue against Sanji’s mouth while the cook’s arms circle around his hips. Their tongues meet in a gentle glide, and it feels like someone’s poured raw sugar in Zoro’s mouth.

“Don’t kiss me,” Sanji suddenly growls, the moment shattering as he pushes Zoro away in spite of his earlier enthusiasm. “Are you gonna eat?”

Zoro stares at him, meeting his piercing gaze in a standoff that borders on unbearable. Almost out of nowhere, Zoro remembers Chopper’s words in the library and decides right then to just trust the doctor. “Tell me why it bothers you so much.”

Sanji doesn’t seem too surprised by his tangent, but his lip curls up into a cruel sneer anyway. “Were you even listening? I just said-”

“No,” Zoro interrupts, tone leaving no room for argument as he brings a hand down to pat his own stomach. “Tell me why this, in particular, bothers you so much.”

Sanji’s face slowly blanches as the meaning of Zoro’s words begins to dawn on him. “I’m a chef. It’s my job to feed you. I don’t know what you m-”

“Yes, you do,” Zoro cuts in as he leans forward, face inches away from Sanj’s now. He's close enough to feel the other man’s ragged breaths hot against his skin, air that had just been Zoro’s not moments before. “Tell me.”

Sanji’s blue eye looks stricken and uncertain, darting around for a second as if trying to determine an escape exit before he faces Zoro’s stare again. There’s something… vulnerable, there, as if the cook’s waiting for the hammer to drop and for Zoro to laugh at him, saying that this was all a joke, that he doesn’t care at all. It makes Zoro’s heart ache.

What feels like ages pass before the vibrant blue hardens, approaching a dark navy around the edges, as Sanji apparently steels his resolve.

“I almost starved to death,” he starts, voice barely above a whisper as he grabs his other arm by the elbow. He looks so small. “When I was a kid. It-” He stops, finally breaks his gaze from Zoro’s to take a shallow breath. “You don’t know what it’s like, Zoro. To lie there, going without, not knowing if you’re going to live to the next day or not.”

Christ. Zoro feels a deep, horrifying guilt spread through his limbs, but it’d do Sanji a disservice to turn away from him now, so he doesn’t.

Sanji looks up, as resolute and determined as Zoro’s ever seen him. “I hope you never do. I don’t want anyone to have to feel like that. I don’t- don’t want you to have to feel like that. Even a little bit.” He turns away, and his last word comes out almost more like a sob. “Ever.”

He starts shaking.

Zoro’s reaching out to him before he can even think. He wraps his arms around Sanji’s frame, pressing his face into the other man’s hair. Slowly, Sanji’s arms wrap around him in return, crossing before they rest on Zoro’s upper back.

Zoro has no idea what to say, so he fully presses his lips into the golden strands at the corner of his mouth instead, hoping it conveys whatever it is he's unable to vocalize.

Finally, the moment breaks once again, and Sanji starts to pull away. “Get your big monkey mitts off me,” he growls without any real bite before shaking Zoro off of him. “I’ve still got more to say.” He grabs Zoro’s hand, guiding them both to sit on the couch, their couch. The cook reaches into his breast pocket to pluck out another cigarette and his lighter.

“Cook-”

“No,” Sanji barks out before cupping his hand over the end of the stick to light it. He takes a deep, shaky drag, pauses, and exhales before he continues. “Shut up. If you’re gonna know about this, you’re gonna know all of it. Not just a shitty summary I give you on the brink of a panic attack.”

So Sanji tells him.

And Zoro… he starts to understand. He knows what it’s like to go hungry, sure. He thinks back to when he’d met Luffy, when he’d been tied up by Morgan with barely any nourishment to live on. That had fucking sucked, sure. It certainly isn’t something Zoro wants to go through again, if he can avoid it.

But he had known when it was going to end. He’d been able to count down the days, knowing it wouldn’t last past that month-long time frame, he wouldn’t die there-

The cook’s finished speaking, now. He’s already let Zoro guide his head to his chest sometime while he was talking, Zoro’s fingers tangling into the silken locks of golden hair. “I won’t do it again,” he whispers into the top of Sanji’s head.

Sanji jolts, moving to jerk back to try and look at Zoro, but he holds the other man firmly in his grip.

The cook doesn’t put up much of a fight, going lax against Zoro before replying, “You’ll eat?”

“Yeah,” Zoro murmurs back. “I’ll eat.”

Sanji stays there for just a minute, wrapped in Zoro’s embrace, before finally pulling up, grabbing Zoro to stand with him. The cook takes him back towards the hatch of the crow’s nest, leading him by the hand. Zoro wants to bow before Sanji at that, to kiss his knuckles and apologize to him with the intensity of every emotion that's been set alight in him today, but Zoro doesn't deserve to. The cook's given him enough, just allowing him to still hold his hand like this. So instead, he lets his thumb run softly over the bandages on Sanji's knuckles with something akin to reverence, to worship. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“Come on, then. What do you want?”

Chapter Text

Zoro and Sanji are good now, at least as far as the swordsman can tell, after he allowed the cook to make him as much food as his swirly little heart desired that night. Zoro’s still on a cut, but he obliges Sanji in letting him manage his caloric intake, because Zoro knows he can trust him with this. Truthfully, before now, Zoro had never thought to appreciate just how much protein the cook is able to pack into a span of three meals for Zoro. Not that he’s ever going to tell Sanji that - the man’s head is big enough as it is.

Zoro's still avoiding the crow's nest at night. He's going to talk to the cook, eventually. Just… not yet. It’s a bad time, after they just had such a big fight and everything. That's all.

In the meantime, Luffy apparently broke the tap in the bathhouse last week, almost as soon as they’d left the last island. Zoro’s heard a few different descriptions of how it happened, ranging from practical stories like ‘the handle broke and Luffy was scared he was gonna drown so he just punched the entire thing in a blind panic’ to flights of fancy such as ‘he had wanted to see if it was connected to the aquarium so he could bathe with the fish.’ Zoro could really care less, as his bathing schedule is typically whenever he goes overboard either fighting with Sanji or rescuing Luffy, or when one of the crewmembers (also typically Sanji, but sometimes Nami) yells at him to bathe after too much time has passed.

However, the rest of his more dignified nakama have been dying to reach their next stop so they could have a proper bath. According to Nami, it’s supposed to be the last island before they finally get to Fishman Island, too, so the crew’s antsy at the prospect of their final chance at a break. Most of them make a beeline for shore as soon as they land that evening to go find a hotel, with Luffy following along to most likely go find trouble instead. Zoro resigns himself to getting comfortable being on ship watch.

Strangely, though, Nami’s still on board, and she’s been the most vocal about the bath situation. Zoro can see her from where he’s napping on the lawn, looking out towards shore like the island might jump out and bite her if she gets too close. She glances back to the deck and immediately brightens when she sees Zoro, walking back his way.

“Zoro!” she says, saccharinely sweet like she wants something from him, but he doesn’t miss the undercurrent of worry in her voice. The dual tone freaks Zoro out a little bit, if he’s being honest.

“What do you want, witch?” he grunts. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Some bathhouse to grace with your presence?”

She bites her lip in lieu of a response as her gaze shies away from him. This is weird, Zoro thinks to himself. He’s missing something here.

“... Could you go with me?” Nami asks quietly, not meeting his eyes, and now Zoro’s certain something is wrong. Even if he has literally no idea what.

“Who’s going to watch the ship?” he replies, because he still has to be the first mate.

“It’s fine, Zoro,” she answers quickly with a wave of her hand. “There’s literally no marine presence on this island, and it’ll just be for a little bit, anyway. Now come on, I feel fucking filthy!” Nami grabs him by the ear and jerks him up to follow her, but Zoro doesn’t bother putting up much resistance anyway.

Zoro knows that it’s wildly out of character for Nami to leave the ship unguarded for even small amounts of time, mostly in fear of thieves, but he decides not to say anything. They make their way over to a nearby hotel, and when Nami pays for a suite with a private bath, Zoro has to stop himself from doing a double take. He knew the witch liked to spoil herself, but to waste money on something like this was also typically outside of her normal pattern of behavior.

Zoro ends up sitting with his back to the wall of the bathroom, arms folded and eyes closed in mock meditation as Nami runs a bath inside. He decides to broach the elephant in the room once he hears the tap stop running.

“So,” he starts slowly, “are you gonna tell me what this is all about?”

“I don’t know,” she sing-songs sarcastically. “Are you gonna tell me what your surgery was all about?”

Zoro clamps his jaw shut in irritation at that. It was none of her damn business, and the witch knew it. Reluctantly, though, Zoro will admit it’s only fair she asks for tit-for-tat, and he can tell she needs to talk about whatever’s going on. He’ll swallow his pride, just this once.

“I got a hysterectomy.”

He hears what sounds like a bar of soap plop into the water.

“You- uh- okay,” she stutters out after a moment, obviously taken aback by Zoro’s unexpected openness. “Why? If you don’t mind me asking? I mean obviously I know why but like why right now-”

“I was in pain,” he interrupts. “Chopper said it’s something that happens sometimes when you’re on T - testosterone - for a while.”

“Ah.”

Zoro lets the silence filter back through the room. Steam is slowly seeping out under the door of the bathroom, filling the air with a haziness around him that reminds him of Sanj’s cigarette smoke.

Nami clears her throat hesitantly. “I, uh.” She sounds like she’s struggling for words. “Something happened. Back on Thriller Bark.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “Do you remember that weird invisible guy that tried to marry me?”

“Vaguely,” he answers before- oh. Oh.

Zoro’s an idiot.

“He, uh. Did something to me, back at Dr. Hogback’s mansion. Grabbed me- while I was bathing. Nothing super bad!” she adds quickly in a rush, “It just- I let myself get too comfortable and it gave me a scare, is all.”

Zoro’s eyebrows raise up to his hairline, and it takes him a second to register her words before red starts to overtake his vision. Chopper had mentioned the bastard had spied on her, but not-

“You should have killed him when you had the chance,” he growls, gripping Kitetsu unconsciously, who’s harmonizing with his inner thoughts currently screaming at him to maim, kill, destroy-

Something foul springs up from inside him as he thinks about the fact that he had been there, somewhere on the other side of Thriller Bark, stuck in a casket getting his shadow ripped out of him. Something even nastier surfaces when he thinks that Usopp and Chopper had actually been with Nami at that time; what had they been doing, this should have never happened-

“Yeah, but it’s not about that,” she says placatingly. “... Thriller Bark was kind of awful all around, Zoro. And even after I was able to help, to save Franky, the whole experience still made me feel… weak. I’ve been getting stronger, we all have, but my role on the ship, my passion, isn’t fighting. Not like you, or Luffy, or Sanji-kun, and I-” She pauses, and her voice is shaking now, speeding up with her rambling. “Usopp gets it, the feeling weak part, but he doesn’t get everything else. And Robin gets the everything else, but not the feeling weak part, at least not as much. Not like I do, when she’s had a Devil Fruit power practically her whole life. I’m just- I’m just a little tired. That’s all.”

And Zoro… he doesn’t get any of it. He’s felt weak before, sure, but not like Nami probably does, and certainly not- not like that, and he doesn’t know how to help her. It makes him want to scream.

“I’m sorry, Nami,” he says instead, because it’s not about him.

“It’s fine,” she mutters, and the sound of draining water fills the room. “I feel silly complaining about it anyway, when you had ended up so much worse-”

”It’s not fine,” he interrupts, ripping his grip off of Kitetsu still screaming at him for bloodshed because it’s not about him. He rests his hand on Wado, instead, and while she still feels sharp and dangerous right now, her obedience to the calmer side of her master’s will is familiar and comforting. “You don’t have to minimize this.”

It’s quiet for a minute. “Yeah,” she finally murmurs. “I guess I’m just used to minimizing it. Makes it easier to cope.”

“Well, you don’t have to deal with this alone, either,” Zoro responds immediately. “If our crew members knew, if Luffy knew, or at least had an idea- you shouldn’t be solely carrying burdens you aren’t equipped to deal with. Not like this.”

She snorts. “Okay, Mr. King of Repression. I’ll definitely take advice from you. Because you definitely share your feelings and let yourself lean on others. Speaking of, what are the odds you’re looking all broody and gripping your emotional support sword right now?”

“My what?”

That gets a full laugh out of her, and as indignant as Zoro feels because she’s right, he’s also relieved he at least managed to make her smile again. Still eager to spite her, he begrudgingly drops his hold on Wado.

“Hey,” Nami starts after a moment. “Thanks for doing this for me. And for listening. I feel a little better now, at least, just getting it out.”

Zoro hears the door slide open. “If anything like this happens again,” he murmurs lowly, eyes still closed, “let me know. I’ll make sure they’ll wish they were dead.”

“Sure thing, big shot,” she replies lightly, and even though Zoro can practically feel her rolling her eyes, she sounds a lot more at ease than she had before.

“Oh, and Zoro,” Nami starts, and Zoro finally peeks open his eyes at that. “You’re all fools for turning down Lola’s marriage proposal. I’d accept in a heartbeat if I wasn’t already madly in love with a princess.” Nami turns back to face him, her usual bikini top back on and a towel slung low over her hips. So low, in fact, that it covers even less than her swim bottoms normally do. And Zoro, with his eye level where it’s at, can’t help but notice-

“What. The fuck. Is that.”

Nami follows his line of sight before looking at him like he’s grown a second head.

“My vagina?” she shoots back, completely bewildered. “You are gay, aren’t you?”

Zoro’s brain feels like it’s going to melt. “Not your fucking vagina, you god-damned-” he stops himself, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. Wado, in all her sageliness, is practically giggling at him, and Shusui is the only one justifying Zoro’s current indignation. “What’s above that,” he grits out through his teeth.

Nami glances down. “Oh, this?” she says, and her face breaks out into a catlike grin. “Got it back like a year ago. Pretty nice, huh?”

There’s a tattoo low in the middle of Nami’s pelvis, the same shade of navy as the one on her bicep, that reads ‘Girls Only.’ It looks like there’s an arrow pointing down hidden by the towel, but Zoro’s not certain. He doesn’t want to be certain.

“Does Vivi know about this?!”

He didn’t think Nami’s grin could get any more evil, but it somehow does. “Of course she knows. Did you really think we roomed together for that long and didn’t-”

“NOPE,” Zoro yells at his highest volume, planting his hands firmly over his ears. “I would literally rather cut my ears off than hear about this. Nope.”

He still hears Nami’s uproar of laughter at his outrage, and as much as Zoro wants to drop dead, he’s mostly just glad she’s at least feeling a bit better.

After he finishes up with Nami, who had refused to let him use her private suite bath ‘unless he went halfsies with her,’ Zoro makes his way down to the communal baths to shower. Even he’ll admit that he’s gotten a bit rank at this point after being on the ship for so long and training every day.

Zoro strips quickly in the locker room before throwing a towel around his waist. He’s never minded bathing in public, even with his unique anatomy. It’s not like anyone ever made it a point to look at your junk before you got in the water, anyway, and he’s never ran into problems before. So when he bathes with others, especially with any of his nakama (which isn’t often), he just makes sure to hop in when no one’s looking.

Not that he has anything to hide, of course. He’s just got better things to do than let grown ass men stare at his junk.

He heads in, and isn’t too surprised to find the rest of the male crew members there as well, having all apparently gravitated to the same hotel. The bath in the middle is large and hot-spring style, and it looks like it’s late enough to be just the crew that’s there, too, which is nice. Luffy has somehow managed to sneak a beach ball in and is throwing it around with Franky while Sanji yells at them to knock it off. Brook’s on the other side chatting on the edge of the bath with Usopp, and Chopper-

“Zoro!” the little reindeer squeaks, running up to him across the tile with a sponge and a bar of soap in his hooves. “Will you wash my back?”

Zoro suppresses a tender smile that threatens to break out over his lips. “Sure.”

Chopper runs to plop back in the bath with a childish squeal while Zoro sits on the stone lip, feet dangling in the water. He starts lathering up the back of Chopper’s body, ignoring the splashing that occasionally grazes them from the other side of the pool.

“Oi, you need to do a better job washing around your antlers,” Zoro chastises. The reindeer’s got too much matted fur near the protrusions to have actually washed around them properly.

Chopper groans in distaste. “Uggghhh, it feels so weird there, though!” he whines, but lets Zoro continue scrubbing anyway. “And it’s hard, ‘cuz I can’t dunk my head.”

“Maybe, but you still gotta do it. All you gotta do is ask for help.”

Zoro shifts back to give Chopper a chance to jump all the way in and rinse off, and suddenly Zoro’s hit with the feeling of someone watching him. He glances around before he notices that the cook’s looking at him and Chopper strangely from across the pool. Face reddening, either from the heat of the bath or from being caught staring, Sanji quickly turns his gaze away to continue trying to yell at Luffy to knock his nonsense off, this time with twice the intensity.

Zoro looks away, plucking a catatonic Chopper out of the bath water before he drowns.

“Chopper! You’re getting hair all in the bath,” whines Usopp.

The reindeer pouts and looks put out at that. “It’s not my fault! My fur gets all weird whenever we hit a summer island.”

“Ignore him,” Zoro murmurs lowly. “Have you seen how much hair the man sheds? He’s got no room to talk,” he adds while shooting daggers at Usopp across the bath.

“Hey! I-”

“Zoro-san, those are quite the scars on your ankles!” Brook pipes up to their right, leaning over to get a closer look. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?’

Zoro certainly doesn’t. Trading stories about scars is one of the few forms of small talk he actually enjoys. “Oh, that was from back on Little Garden, I think right before Chopper joined us. I almost chopped off my feet,” Zoro explains, face pulling up in a sideways smirk at the memory as Chopper squeals in fear. “Want to hear the story?”

The two spend a fair bit of time swapping stories after that, Zoro slipping fully into the bath while Brook’s occupied recounting the climax of one of his tales with his old crew. Soon, Franky joins in with stories from running the underground of Water 7, and Usopp starts telling his own usual grandiose lies, Chopper listening with rapt intent. Zoro catches the cook looking over at them all with something akin to tenderness in his gaze.

It’s… cozy. Nice, after everything they’ve all been through.

Zoro scrubs himself while they talk. Even as long as it’s been since he’s recovered from Thriller Bark, he still feels like he’s got dried blood stuck in the crevices of his body. It’s nice to have a deep soak every once in a while, he thinks.

Just as he’s getting close to finishing up, a beach ball smacks him on the side of the head.

“Oi, Luffy! The hell’s wrong with you?”

“Ah, sorry,” the other man says on his left as he wades through the water to retrieve his ball. He grabs it, and a sudden mischievous look breaks out over his face. “Hey, Zoro. Franky’s lame, but you’ll play with me now, won’t you?”

“Go ask Usopp or something. I’m bathing right now,” he says before dunking his head under the water to rinse his hair off.

When he pops back up, he’s met with another hit from the ball to his temple.

“You little-” he growls before chasing after Luffy, who’s already started running away with gleeful laughter. He doesn’t get too far, being weakened by the depth of the bathwater, before Zoro gets an arm around him to dunk him under the water. Zoro leaves him beneath the surface for just a second before pulling him back up so he doesn’t drown.

Luffy, giddy with laughter and surprisingly nimble for a Devil Fruit user in water, hooks his leg around Zoro’s ankle to make him lose his balance. Their positions switch, and Luffy makes to grab Zoro in return.

Apparently, though, they had gradually shifted to a shallower part of the bath during the chaos, and some of Luffy’s monstrous strength comes back all at once right as he goes to dunk Zoro. In his incoordination, Luffy ends up throwing Zoro at a weird angle and with much more force than he originally intended, sending Zoro crashing into the wall of the bathhouse.

“Shit, Zoro, you good?” Usopp calls out.

“Luffy, you idiot!” yells Sanji. “Nami-san’s gonna be pissed if we damage anything!”

It’s a little late for that, considering the deep imprint he’s left in the wall, Zoro thinks. As if on cue, a chunk of the stone above Zoro crumbles and smacks onto his forehead. He groans before sitting up and rubbing a palm across his face.

“I’m fine. Luffy, your ass is grass for that,” he grumbles before looking up, and-

Everyone’s staring at him.

“Uh. I said I’m fine,” he tries again. Their faces remain frozen looking up at him. “Can I help you all?”

It’s then that Zoro realizes, pointedly, that he’s naked, and not in the bath water anymore.

Fuck. Fuck.

This is not how he wanted this to happen.

“Shit, Zoro!” Luffy’s voice suddenly cuts through the silence, voice filled with fearful panic as he grips handfuls of his own hair. “Did I do that?! I didn’t mean to make it fall off!”

… Holy hell.

Zoro groans before putting his face in his hands in embarrassment, and for the first time since his fight with Mihawk, he accepts defeat.

“Oi, didn’t your mamas ever teach you any manners?!” Franky cuts in loudly, trying and failing to do damage control. “It ain’t polite to stare!”

“Zoro-”

“This is-”

“Oh fuck-”

“Did it fall in the water!? Maybe Chopper can-”

Between Luffy’s confused and panicked yelling, the wide-eyed shock on Sanji’s face, Usopp’s terrified grimace, Franky’s angry frown that looks like he’s using it to mask discomfort, Brook’s stone-faced silence, Chopper’s wobbling lip, and the general ridiculousness of the situation as a whole, something in Zoro snaps.

“I’m fucking transgender!” he screams, interrupting the mess of voices and throwing his arms up at their resulting stunned quietness. “It’s not rocket science. I’m transgender, and you're all being weird about it. Franky, Chopper, stop looking at me like that, you already knew. So did you, Usopp, and don’t try to play dumb.” The mentioned three share a look between each other before slowly turning back to face Zoro. “Fuck it, everyone knows now, so you all can shut up and stop looking at me like that!”

Wait. Not everyone.

Zoro, apparently stricken with temporary insanity, suddenly gets up and stomps over to the dividing wall that separates the bathhouses by gender.

“ROBIN!!” He yells at his maximum volume between his hands at the much flimsier separator wall. “Are you in there!?” A second passes before an ear and a familiar mouth materialize on the wall in front of him.

“Is something the matter, Zoro?” the mouth asks him calmly. “Are we in danger?”

“I’m transgender.”

A small silence fills the air, and it's grossly uncomfortable without getting to see Robin’s responding facial expression. “...Okay,” her cloned mouth finally replies. “Is there a reason you’re telling me this right now?”

“No. That’s it,” he says, before stalking off back to the bath. He then realizes he’s still naked, so he grabs a towel off a nearby rack and slings it over his hips before he faces the group again.

“There. Now everyone knows, and there’s no more god-damned confusion. Does anyone have anything they want to say to me?”

Zoro, though he’s ashamed to admit it, subtly braces for the oncoming blow his subconscious expects to come. Everyone’s still staring back at him in shock, except for Franky, who’s now grinning at him as if he just won a bet against Nami.

“Hell yeah, Zoro-bro! Let ‘em have it. Always knew you had it in you.”

Luffy’s wide, panicked expression slowly slides off his face at Zoro’s outburst to be replaced for one of outright confusion. “I don’t get it,” he says, tilting his head. “How are you the stuff Sanji tells me not to eat?”

“That’s trans fat, you fucking idiot,” Sanji responds, though his wide eyes still haven’t left Zoro and his facial expression hasn’t shifted at all.

“What does being food have to do with you not having a-”

Okay, now Zoro's almost feeling dysphoric, so he cuts off Luffy's unintentionally uncouth observation. “Oi, just ‘cuz it doesn’t look like yours doesn’t mean I don't have-”

Chopper, apparently sensing Zoro’s lack of ability for higher cognitive function right now, interrupts them both to helpfully fill in, albeit much more flustered and incomplete than he usually delivers medical information. “It means he wasn’t born male biologically, Luffy. He, uh, transitioned. And takes hormones. And stuff.”

Luffy pauses as if deep in thought before he perks up suddenly. “Oh! You’re like my brother.”

Everyone’s gazes finally abandon Zoro to switch over to Luffy.

“Ace is transgender!?” Usopp and Chopper yell out at the same time.

“You have a brother!?” Franky adds immediately afterwards.

Zoro’s mouth drops open. He can’t really believe the turn of events that’s taking place in front of him. “This is a shitshow,” he whispers to himself in mortification.

Luffy starts prattling on about Ace’s apparent life as a transgender man while Usopp and Chopper feed him questions to answer. With those three properly distracted, Zoro turns his gaze back to the other men.

“So we’re good?”

Franky still has a smile on his face while he does his signature pose in the background, and Sanji and Brook shoot an uncertain glance at one another. “Well, I suppose I’d say it’s quite shocking, if only I had nerves. Yohoho-” Brook starts before he’s knocked underwater by the force of Franky’s fist hitting his head.

Well, that’s probably as good as approval coming from Brook, Zoro figures. He reaches in to pull the paralyzed skeleton up out of the water, wondering if the man can even drown.

Sanji still looks like a deer in the headlights, but he gives a shallow nod anyway.

“Great,” Zoro grunts, feeling completely exhausted. “I’m going to go get drunk,” he finishes before making his way back to the locker room.

This island is bigger than the other forgettable ones they’ve encountered since leaving Thriller Bark, and Zoro’s delighted to find a pride flag in one of the windows of a random club he stumbles across.

He walks inside and is surprised at how much larger the space is than what it looks like on the outside. Loud, bassy music thrums through Zoro’s body as he moves across the room. There’s lights flashing in every color imaginable, with a full bar and even fuller dance floor. Men, women, and everything in between in varying amounts of clothing walk by Zoro, talking and flirting and dancing. He catches sight of a drag queen with a platter stacked high with drinks, balancing them with a familiar elegance that takes Zoro back to his time frequenting various bars in East Blue. The place even has a couple stages towards the back, where it looks like a sculpted twink and a curvy woman are dancing around their respective poles mounted to the ceiling.

Feels as much like home as any place outside of the Sunny can, Zoro thinks to himself.

He sits at the bar, ordering himself a Cosmopolitan, because fuck it, that had always been Yosaku’s favorite, and Zoro’s feeling incredibly nostalgic right now. It’s not like anyone important is here to make fun of him anyway.

It’s not long after that when some darked-haired guy in a wife-beater walks by to try and ruin Zoro’s fun.

“You look good, Mr. Bushido,” the man purrs, glancing down at Zoro’s swords as he checks him out. Zoro’s hackles rise, because that’s what Vivi calls him, and Vivi alone. This man is not his nakama, and he shouldn’t act like it, either. “What do you say you come spend some time with me?”

“Buzz off, guy,” Zoro grunts, rolling his eyes. “I’m spoken for,” he half-lies quietly. It works, though, because the guy gives him a dirty glare before stalking off back into the crowd.

Zoro sips his drink in peace before he feels another set of eyes on him, and Christ, he knows he looks good, but he’s also intimidating as fuck, and he’s probably got the most clothes on out of everyone here. Can’t they go bother someone else?

“Zoro-san!” a familiar voice calls out, and Zoro nearly jumps out of his skin. He catches sight of the tall skeleton, and Zoro’s brain has to work in overdrive trying to rationalize seeing one of his nakama in an environment that Zoro considers to be a very private and historic part of his life. What’s Brook doing in a gay bar, anyway?

“Brook,” he answers back, because it’s not like he’s unhappy to see him. Given the circumstances, it’s definitely better than someone like Nami, or Robin, or God-forbid, Sanji.

The other man takes an empty seat next to Zoro, looking quizzically at the glass in his hand. “I never took you for a mixed-drink kind of man, Zoro-san.”

“When in Rome,” Zoro answers back lightly, tipping his glass to the skeleton.

“Ah, I suppose I’ll join you then. Could I get a New York sour, good sir?” he leans over to ask the barkeep who, to his credit, responds with only a nod and doesn’t react to Brook being a literal fucking skeleton.

They are on the Grand Line, Zoro supposes. The guy’s probably seen weirder shit.

Brook gets his drink and takes a second to sip at it before he starts speaking again. “I’d like to apologize for my earlier rudeness, Zoro-san. I wanted to make sure you knew that I’m not at all uncomfortable with your status as a transgender man. I tend to deflect things that are unexpected with humor, though, and it doesn’t always come off as… appropriate.”

“S’fine,” Zoro replies sincerely. “I really didn’t mind. Honestly, everyone took it well. It went… a lot better than I was expecting.”

Brook looks confused at that. “You were expecting it to go poorly?”

Zoro pauses, thinking it over. “It’s… not like I really expected anyone to get upset or anything. I guess I’m just used to people reacting badly.”

Zoro still hasn’t gotten quite used to reading Brook’s expressions yet, but he thinks the skeleton’s looking at him now with something akin to… remorse, maybe. “You’ve… had bad experiences in the past, then?”

“... Yeah. I guess you could say that.”

They’re silent for a moment after that, taking time to sip from their respective drinks.

“I’m quite sure you’re not looking for my pity, Zoro-san, but I’m still sorry you’ve had to experience that,” Brook finally says quietly. “I imagine this wasn’t exactly how you would have liked to come out to everyone, either.” He… smiles (Zoro’s pretty sure? The man’s kind of always smiling) before finishing. “I’m glad that it at least went well.”

Zoro’s glad too. Realistically, it’s not like he expected anyone to take it too badly. And, worse-case scenario, what would have possibly happened? It’s not like Luffy would have kicked him out of the crew for something like this.

Still, though, Zoro feels a bone-deep sense of relief that it was at least off his chest now, and that no one seemed to be explicitly disgusted with him after the fact. His nakama… knew him, now. Accepted him. Admittedly, it’s a novel concept for Zoro, and it still doesn’t feel quite real yet.

Franky’s probably proud of you, he thinks to himself, before he immediately has to suppress the urge to gag for allowing his subconscious to seek out the cyborg’s theoretical approval.

Though… there’s something that’s still bothering Zoro, just under the surface of his relieved contentment.

“The cook could have reacted better,” he mumbles into his drink.

Brook tilts his head. “I wasn’t under the impression that you cared much for his opinion, Zoro-san.”

Zoro grimaces at what he finds himself about to say, but if he’s in for a penny, he’s in for a pound, he supposes. “Yeah, well, you thought wrong,” he admits quietly.

Brook goes silent at that. Zoro uses the pause to take another long gulp of his drink. Then, a particularly voluptuous woman walks by, and Brook immediately rubbernecks to follow her path. “Excuse me, ma’am, but you look just lovely tonight. Could I perhaps see your-”

Zoro slams Brook’s head into the bar before he’s able to finish that sentence, and the woman thankfully walks away with little more than a shrug.

Zoro grabs him by the afro to pull him back up off the counter. “Okay, one, that’s not cool to say to a stranger in the first place, Bones, but two, we are literally at a gay bar.”

Brook breaks from his bar-counter-induced daze at that, glancing around frantically. “We are!?”

Zoro squints at him. “Yeah. Could you not tell by, like, all the rainbows and half naked men and shit?”

“Oh!” Brook squeaks as a young twink in a small leather bodysuit conveniently walks past their line of sight. “I suppose much has changed in the last fifty years. Or perhaps my eyes just aren’t as good as they once were. Not that I have eyes. Yohohoho!”

Zoro presses a palm to his forehead. It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?

“Ah, but I didn’t know you were gay, Zoro-san!”

Yes. Yes it is. Zoro slams the rest of his drink before waving the bartender over.

“Yup,” he replies, popping the ‘P’ with his lips. “Mojito,” he orders in honor of Johnny this time, tapping the wood of the bar under his fingers in agitation.

The bartender gives him his drink, and just as Zoro goes to take another sip, the ridges of Brook’s brow bones fly up to his hairline. “Oh! I think I understand, now.”

“Huh?”

Brook smiles, but it somehow looks much gentler than his normal face-splitting grin. “You’re in love with Sanji-san, then, yes?”

Zoro immediately spits out his drink. “Hubuhg- I- I don’t-” he stutters out eloquently while the barkeep gives him the stink eye. “Love is a very big word for what I feel about him, Bones,” he finally settles for. He’s not even going to bother to ask how Brook put two and two together at this point.

“Ah, as large as it might be, I think it’s true all the same, Zoro-san,” the skeleton croons in delight, clasping his hands together.

Zoro gets that Brook’s just teasing him, but it gets a little too deep under his skin all the same. “Don’t act like you know me so well, skeleton,” he warns. “It’s been, what, two weeks?”

Brook doesn’t seem at all put out by Zoro’s prickliness. “I suppose that’s true, and forgive my presumptuousness, if you will. But I’ve been alive for many years now, Zoro-san. I like to think I know love when I see it,” he says gently, almost wistfully.

Zoro’s eyes shift out of focus at that. Did he love the cook?

Nami had asked him once, when she was grieving after Vivi left, if he’d ever loved anyone. He’d told her then, honestly, that he didn’t know, because he hadn’t. But if Zoro thinks about it now, he’s confident he had never loved anyone at that point in time. Because the way he currently feels about Sanji… well, it’s unlike how he’s ever felt about anyone else. Sure, the cook pissed him off, but he was brilliant, and loyal, and sometimes, whenever they were by themselves late at night or covered in blood together on the battlefield, it felt like the other man understood Zoro on a fundamental level in a way no one else in his life ever had.

Isn’t that what love is? Wado whispers to him, and Zoro nearly falls out of his barstool at the sound of her voice in his head. Zoro can count on one hand the number of times Wado’s used actual words to communicate with him over the years.

Shit. She was right, wasn’t she?

“Okay,” Zoro gives in quietly. “Fine. So I love him. What now?”

Brook looks taken aback at Zoro’s delayed but assured response. “You, ah, processed that very quickly, Zoro-san. But I’m afraid I’m… not quite sure what you mean.”

“What now?” Zoro repeats, growing irritated. “So what if I love him? You saw how he looked at me in the bathhouse, Brook.”

Brook drums his skeletal fingers against the wood of the bar. “I’m… not certain it’s a good idea to make assumptions about how the man feels about it. We were all quite shocked at the revelation, I think. You pass extraordinarily well, after all!”

“Thanks,” Zoro grunts absentmindedly. He starts twirling his free hand, willing his brain to find the right words. “You know how he is, though.”

Brook looks fully confused by that. “What? Straight?”

Zoro barks out a laugh from deep in his chest. “Ah, no. That’s not an issue.”

After he says that, Brook looks back at Zoro like he just told him that Vice-Admiral Garp was here performing on one of the stages. “You, ah- um- seem very confident about that, Zoro-san.”

Zoro just gives a predatory grin in lieu of a response.

“So if that’s not the issue…” Brook continues when he mentally recovers, before he snaps his bony fingers in realization. “You think he won’t return your true feelings, now that he knows you’re transgender.”

Zoro’s silence speaks for him as he takes another drink.

The skeleton snorts. “Forgive me, Zoro-san, but I think that’s quite silly.”

Zoro feels his temper flare at Brook’s nonchalance. “Tread lightly, Bones.”

Brook raises his hand placatingly in response. “I don’t believe your concerns are irrational, not at all. I’m just not sure they should be applied to Sanji-san.” Brook pauses, raising his hand to rest under his chin. “What do you think it is about your relationship that he values most, Zoro-san?”

… Huh. That’s a weird question. What does Sanji see in him?

My strength, he thinks to himself, but that’s obvious, and Brook’s probably looking for something with a little more depth.

But that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? Zoro’s strong. Sanji can give him anything, everything, and Zoro can take it. Not just in a literal sense, either. Zoro knows he can be hard-headed to a fault, but it also makes him blunt and honest. He’s relatively open about how he feels, at least about things that are important. Sanji could probably use that in a partner, with how stuck the man can get inside his own head.

Zoro’s touched on it before, but the metaphor that lives in his brain now comes back to the forefront of his mind. If Zoro’s like fire, and then Sanji’s like the sea. As similar as they both are, they’re also opposites, balancing each other out.

… Zoro finally gets to the core of what he assumes Brook probably wants him to realize. None of that has anything to do with him being transgender, does it?

“You don’t have to answer me,” says Brook with a soft smile. “I just wanted you to think about it, that's all.”

The two sit in silence for a bit longer, finishing off their drinks. Zoro allows himself to zone out a bit, eyes wandering across all the colorfully-clothed people that are like him in their own unique ways, sitting at the bar and scattered across the dance floor.

“This song has a good beat,” Brook comments out of the blue. “Let’s go dance, then!” the skeleton shouts, grabbing Zoro’s hand and hauling him off the barstool.

“You want to go dance!?” Zoro asks incredulously as he stumbles after the skeleton.

“Why not?” Brook replies with a cock of his head. “I’m straight, of course, but I’m secure enough in my sexuality to not mind dancing with some scantily-clad male strangers. It’s not like I’ll be having sex with them, after all.” Suddenly, Brook’s eye sockets light up with a strange gleam from somewhere within his skull. “Not that I have-”

Zoro immediately screams like an injured animal before bashing Brook over the head with his fist. “Fine, Jesus, I’ll go dance with you! Do NOT finish that sentence, or the others won’t be able to find what’s left of your shitty bones.”

They make their way out of the dance floor, and Zoro will admit in his current nostalgic mindset that it’s nice to get lost in the sea of bodies all dancing to the beat.

Chapter Text

When the crew gets back on Sunny to depart for Fishman Island the next morning, no one thankfully mentions the bathhouse incident. Franky does try to give Zoro a high five, but the swordsman just glares at the older man until he gives up. Franky tries to play off the moment by slicking back his stupid pompadour.

As soon as Zoro’s back on safe, familiar turf, he beelines for the men’s barracks and immediately passes out. He wakes up (or, well, the cook wakes him up with a shoe to the head) to eat, but outside of meals, Zoro ends up sleeping the entire day away. Then, he sleeps completely through the night as well.

Zoro is loath to bring it up to anyone, but he’s almost always in a constant state of fatigue, and he has been since he was young. It’s… probably a bit more severe than what the crew even knows about (and likes to give him shit for). If he’s not running off of the adrenaline of a fight or the endorphins of a workout, Zoro actually finds it a bit hard to stay awake most of the time. It’s probably why his sleep schedule is so strange and rapidly periodic. His overactive circadian rhythm is actually something he tends to actively fight against himself with, to varying degrees of success.

For once, though, Zoro decides to indulge his body. He’s probably more drained than usual from the stress of coming out, and he needs to be in as good of shape as possible for whatever awaits them in the near future.

If his sudden attachment to his bed for the last twenty-four hours concerns any of his nakama, they thankfully don’t say anything. Chopper gives him a bit of a side-eye when he flops back onto the familiar mattress immediately after dinner, but ultimately, the little doctor is probably just happy Zoro’s actually getting some rest. He’s been nagging Zoro to take it easy ever since Thriller Bark, after all.

The next day, bleary-eyed and half awake, Zoro finally emerges from his semi-coma under the familiar harsh afternoon sun of the Grand Line. He blinks as his eyes adjust to the light, stretching his arms up over his head, and- oh. There’s a sea beast to their starboard side. Neat.

Zoro yawns, making his way across the deck as he rubs his eyes, ignoring the various yelling and noise going on around him. He absentmindedly scratches his chest, fingers clinking against the charm under his shirt before he swings the galley door open.

“Cook-” he starts, but the other man isn’t there. Probably off fighting the sea beast or something, then.

Whatever. Zoro mostly came here for booze, but, well. If he and the cook ended up talking about whatever the fuck has been happening with them recently, Zoro wouldn’t exactly mind. The hard part’s out of his hands now, right? Sanji knows. Plus, Zoro can't allow himself to be a coward forever, even if there's a chance the cook might- might still react badly, might still-

Suddenly, Zoro's a little glad Sanji isn't here after all.

But that’s not really true, is it? Zoro sees Sanji everyday, fights with him, eats with him, shoots insults back and forth with him. And yet he misses the cook, deeply, selfishly. Zoro feels like a black hole, a swirling miasma that just wants to take and take and take, devouring the soft presence of the other man that Zoro’s really only gotten to see in private. Selfish - Sanji belongs to everyone, not just Zoro. Hell, the cook doesn’t even belong to him at all.

He wishes things weren’t so damn complicated.

The swordsman grabs a convenient bottle of sake left out for him on the counter, letting his mind continue to wander. Even as... apprehensive as Zoro is to have this confrontation, for some reason, he can't shake the intuition-adjacent feeling in the back of his mind that he's somehow running out of time. He mostly ignores it, because it's not like there's anything he can do about it immediately if Sanji’s busy. Zoro's not the kind of man that stews in his own worry, and he's not willing to let his good mood from his impromptu day-long nap drop quite yet.

He exits the galley door with a shove of his shoulder and-

For whatever reason, there's a mermaid on their deck. She’s not like Kokoro, the only merfolk the crew has met so far on their journey. This girl is gorgeous, with a dainty face and full lips and beautiful rose-pink tailfin scales that reflect light like the iridescent insides of clams. If Zoro didn’t pretty much exclusively bat for the other team, she’d probably even get him to turn his head.

She also appears to be apologizing profusely while her body's pressed against the cook’s, and said idiot looks like he's about to pass out as a result.

Well, weirder things have happened on a Monday. Zoro navigates around his excitable crewmates crowding around the spectacle to climb the rigging for a workout.

Zoro’s rather indifferent feelings about the mermaid start to change after that, and very quickly.

So, here’s the thing. Sanji has been unerringly, disgustingly excited about the prospect of getting to meet mermaids on Fishman Island. And while it annoyed Zoro, as much as everything idiotic that the love-cook did annoyed Zoro, it didn’t actually make him feel threatened in any way. Openly displaying his adoration for the opposite sex and wearing his heterosexuality (bisexuality? Zoro’s never bothered to ask, and maybe he should) on his sleeve is kind of just a part of who Sanji was. If the cook ever stopped making a fool of himself in front of every attractive woman they came across… it would honestly kind of freak Zoro out.

So, no, it really doesn’t bother him that the cook’s currently obsessed with the idea of mermaids and not with Zoro. If the two of them by some miracle ever got around to cementing… whatever it is they had been doing, into something more permanent, Zoro had always assumed this is something he’d need to, at least to a reasonable degree, accept about the cook.

But then, the shit with Duval happens, which would honestly be a healthy bit of karmatic retribution for the cook and a delightful taste of petty revenge for Zoro, if only it hadn’t again been for Camie once again. Being a mermaid, she saved Sanji from drowning after the goons had pulled him under the ocean’s surface with an iron net. And meanwhile, Zoro could do nothing but watch Sanji nearly die from the sidelines because Zoro wouldn't have been fast enough in the water, letting someone else rescue the cook while the swordsman just stood there uselessly. It makes him want to punch something just thinking about it.

To top it all off, as absolutely silly and petty as it is, none of that is even the worst part. No, the thing that actually makes Zoro feel like he’s living in a comedy reel for some divine entity’s sick amusement is that Camie has green hair. Just like Zoro’s.

The green hair is supposed to be their thing, an absolutely petulant and childlike part of Zoro roars in his brain.

So, when Sanji predictably loses his mind and starts following her around like a lost puppy on their way to Sabaody, Zoro’s not jealous. He’s got nothing to be jealous of, after all. It’s not like he and the cook are even together.

But, if he decides to blow off his rampant frustration by himself in the crow’s nest instead of eating Hatchan’s celebratory takoyaki with the crew, that’s no one’s business but his own. It’s not like that shitty fishman’s food would be as good as the cook’s, anyway.

This works, at least, until Nami climbs the rigging to seek Zoro out while he’s mid-deadlift.

“What do you want, witch? I’m busy,” he barks, dropping the barbell to his feet after another rep.

“Take a break,” she says, stepping on the barbell with a high-heeled shoe in a way that brokers no room for argument. “How much are you really getting done, stewing up here in your ridiculous manpain? I feel like Brook should be here accompanying you with his smallest violin.”

Zoro’s what? “Buzz off, I told you I’m busy,” he tries again with a warning growl against his better judgement.

In response, she smacks him on the head with her fist with enough force to leave a lump, and really, Zoro should’ve expected that. Next to becoming the world’s greatest swordsman, he wishes more than anything that he could find a way to actually make Nami intimidated by him. “Don’t take that fucking tone with me, Zoro-kun. I’ll skin your sorry ass alive and make it into parchment for my maps. Now come on.” Nami drags him out of the crow’s nest, practically kicking his head to get him down the porthole.

As his feet hit the familiar wood, Zoro’s eyes don’t scan the deck to immediately seek out the cook, and he certainly doesn’t grind his teeth together when he sees him still fawning over Camie, empty plates of takoyaki from the crew now strewn all about nearby. Zoro’s starting to feel bad about the resentment he feels growing in his gut towards the mermaid; she’s honestly a ray of sunshine, and it’s not like it’s her fault that Sanji feels the need to act like an unbearable moron around her.

Nami moves to sit at her chair on the lawn, and Zoro plops down next to her, leaning against Sunny’s foremast with his arms folded behind his head. Sanji turns to catch Zoro’s eyes, and the swordsman sharply looks away from him with a resolute huff. Nami absentmindedly stirs at a drink left on the side table, probably just to do something with her hands. “Okay, this is just getting sad,” she starts with a dramatic sigh as she follows Zoro’s line of sight. “Do you blame me for not really feeling bad for you, though? This was pretty much inevitable as long as you kept your feelings all bottled up.”

… Shit. Zoro had forgotten that Nami doesn’t know about him and Sanji.

Fuck. As much as Zoro doesn’t want to, he needs to fill her in now, before more time goes by and the resulting fallout gets even worse. It's probably better to just rip the bandaid off.

The irony of him being able to say that so easily about this, but not about the elephant in the room with him and Sanji, isn't entirely lost on Zoro.

“Witch.”

Nami looks at him, and she must hear something in his tone of voice, because her gaze narrows on him suspiciously.

Zoro suppresses a shiver. “Look, don’t be mad, ‘cuz I’ve been busy, alright?” he starts, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “The cook knows. About...” he has to pause, feeling like steam could come out of his head as he tries to clarify, “... my feelings.”

And Nami… she doesn’t react for a good ten seconds. Then, she shuts her eyes as a slow smile graces her face, but it almost looks forced. That… terrifies Zoro, because it probably means she’s actively trying to calm herself down.

Then, the boulder that is Zoro’s revelation finally drops into the pond, anger rippling across Nami in waves and spreading over her features. The dichotomy of her expressions over the last minute would almost be funny if Zoro wasn’t in genuine fear for his life.

“You- WHAT!? Just how long ago WAS this!?” Her grip tightens around her drink, and a part of Zoro absentmindedly wonders if she’s going to end up breaking the glass and try to shank him with the shards. “When? Where? How? Don’t spare a single damn detail from me, or I swear to God, Roronoa Zoro, they won’t find your fucking corpse.”

“Shh! Keep your voice down, witch!”

So he tells her. From the catalyst after Kuma on Thriller Bark, to their strange private nights together during watch over the last couple of weeks on the ocean, to his panicked realization about keeping Sanji in the dark, to the more recent excursion at the bathhouse, he tries his best to give an accurate timeline and cover everything important. Nami doesn’t interject or ask questions as he goes, thankfully allowing him to just speak his mind.

“... Holy shit,” Nami whispers when Zoro finally finishes. “This is so much worse than I thought.”

Zoro glares at her, because he already knows it’s not great, thank you very much.

“Okay, I actually do kind of feel bad for you now,” she acquiesces. “So, you seriously haven’t talked all this time? Even since he found out about…” She gives a vague gesture with her hand up and down Zoro’s body.

“Nope.”

Nami breaks eye contact with Zoro, instead shooting a mean glare at Sanji across the deck, who’s too busy smarming around Camie to notice even with his perpetual sixth-sense for Nami and Robin’s every action. “Okay. Like, you’re absolutely not blameless, Zoro, because you really should’ve brought this up to him way earlier. That’s not super cool of you. But, seriously?” she mutters, finally pulling her gaze from the cook. “Right in front of you, after you’ve been thrown into what’s basically relationship limbo? I know she’s a mermaid, but it’s getting a little excessive. It’s different when it’s just me and Robin.”

“It’s fine,” Zoro lies between his teeth. “He can do whatever the hell he wants, I don’t care. ‘S’not like I own the idiot.”

And he means it. He’d never say it to the witch, but yes, now that he's had time to physically blow off some of his pent-up aggression and indignation, Zoro can admit to himself privately that he’s jealous. Almost horrifically so. The little demonic part of him wants to take, to own, to conquer, and Kitetsu vibrates frantically at his side at just the thought of it. But Sanji isn’t his to own - isn’t anyone’s to own.

No, that’s not truly the crux of what’s bothering him. It’s just a symptom of it, and Zoro knows himself well enough to recognize it. When Zoro closes his eyes, the torturous image in his mind’s eye isn’t the cook and Camie out on Sunny’s deck - it’s Sanji pulled under the ocean by an iron net, Zoro watching the scene unfold helplessly from the shore. It’s Sanji with his leg broken, lying under the coldness of Kuma’s gaze while Zoro's broken body refused to move, watching uselessly as the warlord blow up Thriller Bark. Sanji with a broken spine under an avalanche, and Zoro wasn’t even there for that, but he can still almost see the image clear as day. It’s Sanji’s voice calling out to him as Zoro bled out under Mihawk’s blade at the Baratie, not good enough, not even close. Completely inadequate.

It’s Sanji’s expression, seeing the whole of Zoro at the bathhouse.

Once again, Sanji catches Zoro staring at him and Camie, and once again, Zoro breaks eye contact immediately. Nami’s eyebrows narrow at the exchange, the same look she gets when she’s staring up at the sky, trying to predict weather patterns. Zoro has an idea of what that expression means.

“Nami,” he says, and the use of her full name gets the navigator to perk her head back up. “Don’t say anything to him.” She looks as though she wants to argue, but Zoro cuts her off. “I’m serious. This is between us.”

Nami looks like she’s deeply considering something as she stares at the cook’s back. “Fine, alright.” She wipes condensation off the glass as she sets it back down, having apparently forgotten to even take a drink from it. “But fuck you for backing me into a corner. It’s like watching a trainwreck in real time while my feet are stuck in cement.”

“Yeah, yeah, poor you. Enough about the shit-cook,” he says, suddenly feeling very selfish as his eyes once again roam across the remnants of the takoyaki feast from earlier. “What about…” and he jerks his head in a rough motion towards where Hatchan's boat is parked at on Sunny’s port side.

Nami sighs through her nose, a fierce rush of air that gives away her discomfort. “What about it?”

Zoro pauses, trying to find the right words to express what he wants to say to her. “I don’t care if he can play nice with some seafood friends he made after he escaped the marines. Doesn’t necessarily mean he’s changed. Look at me, I’m a mean son of a bitch and I rescue your guys’ sorry asses all the time.”

Nami snorts in reply. Zoro smirks at the little victory of making her laugh, although he realizes Nami’s response might have actually been at his expense. Whatever, he doesn’t care about making sure the witch knows how intimidating he is. S’not like there’s anything he can do to get her to fear him at all.

“Even if he has changed, you’re a fool if you think I’ll allow him on this ship if you don’t want him here, helpful or otherwise,” he finishes. “I know Luffy’s a food-obsessed idiot with no forethought, but he ultimately won’t, either.”

Nami gives him a tiny smile. “Fuck off, Zoro. You almost sound like Sanji-kun, now.”

Zoro’s tempered irritation regarding the cook inadvertently comes flaring back to the surface at that. “I didn’t mean it in the same way that moron would, and you know it.”

Nami doesn’t rise to match him though and instead just shuts her eyes. “I know,” she says solemnly. “Do you remember like, ages ago, when you found me a mess at the helm of the Merry?” She’s fully laughing now, lost in the memory of it. “We were so scared, weren’t we? Me and the Demon of the East Blue, sitting there like morons, scared to come out to our crew.”

“I wasn’t scared-”

“That kind of fear doesn’t just come from nowhere, you know?” Nami interrupts, barreling over Zoro’s indignant denial. “I don’t know who it was that made you feel that way, and I really don’t need to. I guess I just want you to know that…”

She pauses, biting the inside of her lip thoughtfully.

“If someone like that ended up on this ship… I’d do the same for you, if I needed to, Zoro.”

And… shit. That might be the first, genuine nicety Nami’s offered him without threatening to swindle Zoro out of his Beri.

“But really, it’s fine,” Nami finishes, inspecting her nails. “Hatchan was always one of the better ones, and I like to think I have a good moral compass for remorse. Not that I forgive him, but I like having Camie around, so.” She glances back up towards said mermaid as she finishes her train of thought, grin curving over her face lasciviously. “She makes for a nice view.”

“You’re gross,” Zoro chides with a gag, although he secretly agrees for entirely different reasons. The cook’s still talking with Camie, now, but he’s also picking up the abandoned dishes from their takoyaki feast, moving with the same quick, purposeful grace he always does.

“Oh, rich, coming from you,” Nami quips as she catches his line of sight, sticking her tongue out at him. She gets that inquisitive look on her face again as she watches the mermaid and the cook interact. “I- Listen, Zoro. I don’t really understand men, but I might have a theory? About-" and Nami waves her hand subtly in their direction, “that.”

Zoro squints, not really wanting to return to this topic. “Hm?”

“Just- hear me out. What if Sanji-kun-”

They’re suddenly interrupted as a mail pelican lands on their ship, slowing itself with wide wings to perch at the side table where the witch’s forgotten drink sits. Nami’s eyes go wide as it tilts its head next to her, dropping two letters out of its webbed claws, before quickly taking off once again.

Zoro doesn’t have an eye for things like this, but he’s pretty sure the envelopes are really nice, made of thick parchment and embellished with subtle detailing of vines around the edges. One is a standard ivory color, but the second one has been dyed a deep crimson that reminds Zoro of blood.

They’re both sealed with the same cerulean wax, a tiny emblem of a peacock stamped in the center.

A thick, tense silence passes between them for an uncomfortable amount of time. Slowly, eyes not leaving her lap, Nami passes the lighter envelope to Zoro. “Read this one out to the crew,” she commands, voice deadpan. “I’ll be in the library. Don’t bother me unless a fucking hurricane blows in.”

Then, she’s gone, and Zoro blinks at the letter left in his hands.

Is he just supposed to tear it open, then? The little seal keeping it closed looks so fancy, like he’s not supposed to break it. Zoro knows Nami will probably rip his head off if he does it wrong and fucks up Vivi’s letter, too.

Whatever. He wants to read what she wrote for them.

He breaks the seal with his thumb, cupping his mouth with his other hand to try and get the attention of his spread-out crew. “Oi! We got a letter from Vivi!”

To Zoro’s surprise, that gets his captain’s attention rather quickly, the man springing towards Zoro out of nowhere with his rubber arms. “Really!?” he yells, voice alight with childlike excitement. “Oi, everyone, gather around! Vivi wrote to us!”

At Luffy’s call, the crew gradually migrates to sit in a haphazard semi-circle around Zoro. Hatchan isn’t here for some reason, but Zoro could really care less, since the fishman doesn’t deserve to hear this, in Zoro’s opinion. Camie and Papagg are glancing between everyone with confused expressions. Franky and Brook are quick to join in as well, and he realizes those two are also out of the loop.

“Our nakama,” he fills in for them. “She’s the princess of Alabasta. We helped rescue her kingdom, and she had to stay behind to help rule it.”

“Ah, she sounds super!”

“A princess!?” Camie yelps, her expressive face twisting in surprise. “You guys have a skeleton and a princess?”

“Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” Franky replies indignantly. “I’m a damn cyborg!”

“Chopper is a literal reindeer,” Usopp quips back, even as he sits on his hands vibrating with excitement. “Not to mention the woman who can grow hands, the rubber captain, and the guy who can light his feet on fire without a Devil Fruit. This whole crew is bat shit.”

“Oi, shut up!” Zoro barks at them all, irritated that Usopp didn’t include him as well as growing antsy to see what Vivi wrote for them. “I’m gonna start reading it!”

“Why do you get to read it, marimo?” Sanji questions hotly with a frown.

“Because the witch told me to, shit-cook, now be quiet!” He clears his throat, ignoring Sanji’s subsequent bitching about calling their navigator such unsightly names. Zoro suddenly feels a bit self-conscious now that everyone’s quiet with their eyes all on him expectantly.

“Well!? Read it, Zoro, read it!” Luffy cries as his body waggles with anticipation from where he’s sitting, Chopper having crawled to rest on their captain’s lap.

So Zoro does.

“To my nakama,

Apologies if this letter is delayed in reaching you. I'm told that mail delivery on the Grand Line, especially for those who are as transient as you are, can be quite unpredictable and irregular! With any luck, I hope this letter is able to reach you safely.”

Zoro snorts at the end of the paragraph. Vivi must have been thinking about the possibility of her letter being intercepted to phrase it with such explicit probable deniability like that. It's not like she can just write in plain text that they're fucking pirates, after all, when she’s royalty.

“I've been keeping a steady log of your progress in the newspapers. It appears your value- our bounties,” Zoro fills in at Luffy’s confused expression, ”-has gone up immensely! Cook-san, I’m glad to see that you finally have set a market price- a bounty, Luffy,” Zoro groans again in irritation as Luffy makes another perplexed noise, “-of your own now. It’s been well-deserved for some time.” There’s a little crossed out section that looks like it might have been commenting on Sanji’s poster photo, but as much as Zoro would like to comment on it to rile the cook up, it’s too hard to make out clearly. ”Captain, yours naturally impresses me most of all. I only hope the others are able to keep you out of trouble, for your own sake.” Luffy gives a slight little whoop of joy at that, not wanting to fully interrupt Zoro.

”Mr. Bushido, how has your training been going? You might be interested to know that I still find time to practice with my peacock slashers, and I’ve continued to get increasingly stronger,” and Zoro can’t help but pause to smile at that. Vivi was similar to Nami or Usopp in her insecurity about her own strength, and he’s happy to hear she’s still taking the matter into her own hands. He fondly remembers the times on the Merry where she had asked him for combat help and advice, sparring with him even as Sanji watched on in terror of her being hurt. ”Tony-kun, I hope it hasn’t been too difficult trying to keep everyone healthy, as I know they can be quite troublesome. Carue is doing good as well, and he told me to say hi to you for him as I wrote this. Sniper-san, were you ever able to figure out that firebird star you were working on? The concept you showed me was quite something, and I’d love to hear about your progress!”

Vivi’s letter goes on, updating them about the progress in Alabasta. It’s doing well, she says, as water hasn’t been as much of a concern and the rebuilding efforts after Crocodile’s tyranny are paying off. She also comments, very lightly and vaguely, on their newspaper-worthy adventures, particularly through Enies Lobby. Zoro gets the feeling there’s more about their recent exploits that she wishes to ask them, but she’s quite limited with the filtered language Vivi’s forced to use with them now.

”I imagine you must be getting close to the New World now,” Zoro continues. ”I hope that it’s as thrilling as the stories make it out to be, and that you’re all able to find what you’re looking for on those uncharted waters. My only wish is that I could be there with you to see it all play out for myself.

I’d love it if you could find the time to write back to me when you next dock! I’m afraid I don’t know enough about your newest members to write anything for them individually, but I’d be delighted if they took the time to include themselves in your reply, if they’re so inclined. It would be nice to get to know the people my nakama now consider nakama. Please, for the love of God, though,” and Zoro can’t help but let out a full laugh at her lapse in poise, “have your navigator write the letter for all of you, or at least let her proofread your responses if you’d like to write individually. She’s the only one I trust to be somewhat discrete.

With all the love I can give from an ocean away,

Vivi ~X”

Zoro doesn’t pause as he reads the letter, but he does get the feeling that it must be weird for the crew, hearing Vivi’s prim manner of speaking coming from his own deep voice. He finally takes a glance up from the paper to take in everyone’s reactions. Luffy and Chopper are looking at each other with stars in their eyes, while Usopp appears as though he has fresh wind in his sails to go work on whatever project is currently in his queue. Franky and Brook are shooting each other a curious look at opposite ends of the semi-circle, and Robin is staring off into space while wearing her familiar calm exterior, but Zoro can’t help but think there’s something about her that looks… sad, almost. Camie’s just holding Papagg in her lap, looking across them all with a gentle smile.

It’s then that Zoro notices that the cook isn’t doing the expected backflips and swirling he normally does when anything happens with one of their female nakama. He’s actually the only one still looking at Zoro, his expression soft and his face resting in the palm of his hand. It’s almost the same look he had on back on the last island, when he’d been watching Zoro help Chopper bathe. Zoro tilts his head to eye at him curiously, wondering what the hell that look’s supposed to mean when it’s directed at him, before Sanji’s face suddenly turns red and he jerks his head away with a scoff.

Huh.

Zoro looks back down at the parchment in his hands, and he doesn’t miss the little ‘X’ signed next to Vivi’s name at the end of the note. More than anything else, that’s what starts to make him choke up just a little bit. He’s glad she put at the end, when Zoro didn’t have to read out loud anymore.

“Oi, she didn’t write anything for Nami,” Luffy comments, lips pursing as if in deep thought.

“You’re right, she didn’t,” Chopper asks with equal confusion coloring his voice. “I always thought Nami was her favorite! Did she forget?”

“Where is the girly, anyway?” Franky comments, looking about the ship for her.

“Don’t worry about it. We still need to clean up the mess you guys made,” Zoro redirects them, and he doesn’t miss the calculating glance the cook shoots at him as he says it. Zoro can’t really blame them for their curiosity about the subject, though. As much as it’s none of his business, he’s dying to ask Nami what Vivi said in her letter to the witch. He decides he’ll ask her after they dock and get settled for a bit.

Right before they land at the archipelago, Hatchan catches Zoro staring out into the ocean at the ship’s railing.

“Do your swords still weigh the same, Roronoa?” he asks quietly out of nowhere, not taking his sight off of the cresting waves in front of them.

Zoro’s confused for a second before he remembers his fight with Hatchan back in East Blue. The fishman had been distraught that Zoro could beat him with half the number of swords. In response, Zoro had said that his swords were more powerful because they weighed more, loaded with the burden of trying to fulfill his promise to Kuina.

“More, now,” he answers as his mind falls back to his nakama. He thinks of how he had failed to rescue Sanji from the Flying Fish Riders, how he hadn’t been there to help Nami against that invisible man at Thriller Bark, or save Franky and Brook from the brunt of Oars’s wrath. He thinks of the way Chopper had looked paralyzed on the deck from his overuse of rumble balls at Enies Lobby, and Robin’s tear-stricken face on that same day. He thinks of Usopp, battered and bloodied trying to defend the Beri earned from Skypeia that they were going to use to repair Merry. And finally, he thinks of his captain, who Zoro had nearly died (or did die, and just came back. He’s not entirely convinced yet) to save. “Have yours gotten any heavier?”

Hatchan turns, glancing across the lawn to where Camie and Papagg are currently playing what looks like hide and seek with the younger members of the crew. “They have, I think,” the octopus man finally says pensively.

At that, Zoro gets right in his space, staring at him with the same intensity hundreds of men had seen before their deaths. Hatchan looks distraught, as if he’s not sure if Zoro’s going to kill him or not. At least the asshole has some sense, then. “Not all burdens are made equal, fishman,” Zoro growls. “Yours aren’t anything like mine. But the way I see it, they should still be heavy enough to last a lifetime.”

He stalks off back towards the deck, leaving Hatchan there to wallow in whatever thoughts are going through his stupid octopus head.

He never gets the chance to ask Nami what Vivi had written to her.

He never gets the chance to talk to Sanji, either, and as Zoro spends his last few seconds with his feet still firmly planted on Sabaody, he realizes with acute disdain that he can now finally recognize what that nagging feeling of running out of time that had been circling in his mind was trying to tell him.

Moria had said they would fail - and he was right.

Chapter Text

It’s a fickle thing, the way time passes. When Zoro wakes up, it feels like just seconds ago he’d been eating takoyaki on Sunny’s deck getting badgered by their navigator. It’s as if the events on Sabaody - the auction, the brawling, the admiral - had all just been a bad dream. And the time he spends trying to get back to Sabaody feels even shorter, even more intangible, almost like an afterimage of a memory.

In that afterimage, the goal of getting off of this strange island had numbed out any emotion besides concern for his nakama. But when the reality of the situation sinks in, and he realizes how stuck he truly is, Zoro doesn’t feel that same worry anymore. He doesn’t feel anger, nor frustration - sadness, nor grief. He doesn’t even feel the pain from his injuries.

No. All that Zoro feels is betrayal. Sick and scorching, it coats his heart like oil. He feels it as if black sludge is lodged there, leaking out from his chest to taint his entire body, to the very ends of his limbs.

Yet again, his body has betrayed him. Laying at an admiral’s feet, unable to move while his friends watch in terror. His nakama were screaming his name, begging him to get up, to do anything, and he couldn’t even lift a finger. He couldn't protect them at all.

Over and over, his body has failed him. Kizaru, Kuma, Oars, Arlong, Mihawk - no, before he had ever joined Luffy’s crew. Before he had ever even picked up a sword. Since the day Zoro was born, his body has done nothing but betray him.

He’s always going to be inadequate, isn’t he? He was born unwanted, born in a body that continues to betray him, born in the shadow of the swordsman who should have lived instead of him. He was born wrong, and maybe, despite every effort he’s put forward in his nineteen years of life, he’s going to die wrong, too.

Weak. Weak, weak, weak. Not good enough. Inadequate. Failure. Wrong.

It’s conceited and it’s selfish, but those are the only words Zoro can feel, can think, even as he defeats every damn baboon on the island. Even when he learns of Ace’s death, only able to imagine the misery Luffy must be in. When Zoro’s forehead hits the tile as he kneels, begging Mihawk to train him, those are the only words he hears in his head, repeated in a twisted mantra. His pride doesn’t matter, not in the face of his friend’s well-being, his captain’s dream, and certainly not in the face of his own inadequacy.

What else can he do? He has to get better - he has to try. It’s all he can do. It’s all he knows how to do.

It’s a fickle thing, the way time passes. And two weeks, while a relatively short amount of time, can feel very, very long.

Zoro’s swords haven’t spoken to him since he’d gotten them back from Perona. Maybe there’s not enough room left in his mind for them to speak. Maybe the words that haunt every corner of his mind are theirs, too, and he just can’t sort through whose voices are whose anymore.

Weak. Failure. Inadequate. Wrong.

As Zoro begins to lose himself in the rhythms of his training, the words that haunt his mind start to fade, if only slightly. It really only serves to make room for other, equally painful, thoughts.

Zoro had taken all of Luffy’s pain - and what was it all for? To allow him to suffer in the most heinous of ways, to lose his family, completely alone?

It was unforgivable. It was sickening. The thought of Zoro’s captain’s fractured smile is too much for even him to bear, so every time Zoro blinks as he wanders the castle grounds, he instead sees Ace’s smiling face from the papers behind his eyelids. But over time, that too fractures - Ace’s face twists into something pained, how he might have looked right before his death, until becoming sickeningly placid. It reminds him of Kuina, her lifelessness obfuscated as rest as she laid in her open casket.

Weak. Weak, weak - Kuina’s casket, but it’s a different child inside this time, their eyes closed and long hair spread pooled around them, painting the white satin around them green - Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Things get easier as the days pass, if only slightly. But Zoro’s always been good at adapting, and he learns to live with the manifestations of his guilt, the images that live behind his eyes and the pressure that lives behind his collarbones.

Needless to say, Zoro’s mind has been occupied. And admittedly, when it doesn't come to fighting or swords, Zoro’s skills in deduction and forethought can be lackluster. And truthfully, he knows he's gotten a bit comfortable, a bit complacent in a sense, since he'd joined the Straw Hats, especially once Chopper had joined. So, after the first week of his stay at Mihawk’s castle passes, Zoro wakes up and, habitually, tries to make his way over to Sunny’s infirmary. He's still half asleep, which is par for the course, so he lets instinct guide his feet like he always does every Sunday morning.

He's probably finished half a lap around the castle before he realizes he isn't on the Sunny. Not anymore.

None of his nakama are here. There's no Luffy screaming about breakfast, no Sanji yelling back at their captain to be patient in response. No Usopp catching things on fire, or Nami and Robin suntanning out on the lawn, or the distant clanking of Franky banging on something below deck. There's no Brook, or the sound of his soft violin accompanying the crisp morning air.

And, most relevantly as of now, there's no Chopper. No little hooves clicking against glass in preparation, no infirmary, and no-

Zoro panics.

He keeps running, making laps of the castle as he checks hallways and rooms and - shit, hasn't he passed this area once before? This place is a damn maze - before-

“Oi!” he starts, slamming another door open and apparently nearly giving the woman inside a heart attack. She jumps up from the bed she's sleeping in with a yelp, dark blankets pooling around her as she glares at him blearily first in fear. It’s a fair reaction, he thinks - this is probably the most active she’s seen him since Mihawk agreed to train him.

“What the fuck, Zoro!?” she screams back, rubbing her eyes as she blindly throws a pillow in the vague direction of the doorway. Her pink hair is sticking up in all directions, falling loose from it’s braid. “Get out of my room! It's way too early for whatever this is, you freakshow, I need beauty rest!”

Zoro doesn't bother responding to that, cutting straight to the point. “When does Mihawk do supply runs?”

Perona peeks at him past her fingers, squinting at him with a look that could kill. “How the fuck should I know? I've been here as long as you have. What if he just, like, lives off the land?”

Oh, this is bad. Bad, bad, bad.

Seemingly having come to terms with the fact that she's awake against her will now, Perona stretches languidly. “Don’t curse, it’s not cute coming from you. Do you think I can get him to buy me some nail polish?” she muses, glancing at her chipped nails. “I wonder if those crazy eyes can even tell fuschia from magenta. I'll just need to go with him.”

Zoro just runs a hand through his hair and sighs through his nose. That gets Perona to finally glance back at him, her face betraying her confusion. “What the hell's your deal? It's unlike you to even be able to find something, let alone before noon.”

He doesn’t hear much of what he says, as his brain is already valiantly attempting to leap to its next faze of logical deduction, and he doesn’t have much bandwidth as is.

Okay. Okay. Between Mihawk and Perona, the option that he loathes slightly less to deal with right now is probably the woman before him. He still doesn’t have a great bead on her - all that he’s really learned from Thriller Bark and his short time here is that she’s terrifying, but she’s been the one bandaging him up this whole time, so she can’t totally dislike him, right? She’s kept him company, even, although that might be for her own benefit than Zoro’s. And between all of Zoro’s possibilities, the third one, where he doesn't end up resolving this, is the most terrifying to him of all. Zoro will just have to suck it up.

“Perona,” he says, slowly unfurling his fingers from his hair to let his arms rest folded across his chest. Zoro takes a second to breathe and adjust his posture, forcing himself into a state of calm. “I need… a favor.”

Perona perks up at that, tilting her head as if prompting Zoro to continue. She almost looks shocked, as if she hadn’t expected Zoro to remember her name.

“You said you'd go with Mihawk on his next supply run, right?” Zoro says, barrelling forward. “I need you to get me testosterone.”

As he says it, Zoro rolls his shoulders once more, exuding an aura of calm self-assuredness, because he is self assured. This is who he is, and yet, Zoro's palms itch where they rest on his biceps, and he has to tamp down the desire to fidget in place. The words cycle in the back of his mind like a marquee, the feeling of betrayal once again sweeping over him, and he realizes it’s not unlike the feeling he’s gotten when coming out to his crewmates. For a second, he wonders - has he always felt this way, just on a smaller scale?

Perona doesn’t immediately respond. She does kick the blankets off of her body, though, apparently now fully committed to being awake. She’s wearing the most atrocious pajamas Zoro’s ever seen, light pink with lace on the ends of the sleeves and bright little stars and cartoon bears patterned over it. It puts some of shit the cook wears - used to, used to rings out in his head, and he shoves the stray thought down hard - and Zoro’s gaze burns a hole on one of the pearly buttons on her sleeve.

“Yeah, whatever,” Perona finally says. “I'll grab some when I grab my spiro and E. What’s your dosage? Do you do injection, patch, or pill? Can you even get T in a pill?” She raises a hand to her chin in casual thought as if she hasn’t just shattered Zoro’s sense of reality in four sentences.

For one blissful second, the chaos in Zoro’s mind halts into silence.

“I- you- hah?”

Perona, with her unnerving bug eyes and too-long eyelashes, just stares at him.

After too much time locked in a staring contest passes, Zoro violently shakes his head to regain an ounce of his composure. “You're trans too!?”

“Yeah? Did you not know?”

“How the fuck would I know that, you freaky ghost b-” Zoro starts to yell. He doesn’t realize his mistake in doing so until the familiar feeling of one of Perona’s negative hollows passing through him takes over.

“STOP YELLING IN MY ROOM!” Perona barks, but Zoro barely hears it past the overwhelming despair that wracks his body.

Being hit by Perona’s ghosts is, unfortunately, an experience Zoro has been growing very well-acquainted with. It’s almost different now, though - the words in his mind increase in volume until it feels like his ears are ringing. The syllables blend together, too fast to comprehend, and Zoro shuts his eyes, rendered insentient and waiting desperately for the feeling to pass.

After God-only-knows how long, Zoro finally feels his senses start to return to him as his despair recedes back into his skull. Surprisingly, he remained standing, arms still folded tightly over his chest. But when he opens his eyes, Perona is standing up off the bed now, her pajama sleeves gripped tight at the ends, a strange look in her eyes. She seems… a lot more concerned than she has any other time she's hit people with her hollows.

It’s silent for a moment, a thick tension now between them that Zoro hadn’t previously noticed.

Perona gives in first. “I- sorry. Yeah, I’ll get it for you. Just, um, stop yelling at me at the crack of dawn, maybe?”

That… takes Zoro by surprise. Both the apology, and the relenting.

“... What? You don’t want anything in exchange?” he says incredulously, the tension from a moment ago dissipated. “You’re not gonna dress me up, or make me serve you breakfast in bed or anything?”

“What do you think I am, some kind of monster?” she huffs with a frown, before glancing away as if in thought. “Although that last idea was kind of good.”

At that, Zoro doesn’t quite know how to respond. He feels shell shocked, trying to rapidly rationalize the new information he’s received with his prior perception of the woman. Eventually, though, he decides to give the equivalent of a mental shrug and just roll with it.

Perona doesn’t seem to mind his silence and just rolls her eyes in a way Zoro could almost interpret as fond. She moves in front of Zoro, lightly pushing him back and effectively out her door. “Well, since you're already here, let’s go change your bandages before the vampire makes you go fight more monkeys. That’d be helpful, I’m sure - but we are not doing it here.”

It’s a fickle thing, the way time passes. And two months, in the scheme of things, isn’t really very much time. But it can feel very, very short.

When he isn’t training, Zoro starts to spend a lot more time with Perona after that. Not because he particularly likes her or anything, but he finds there’s a certain solace in being around the strange woman. Some kind of deep-seated contentment that reminds him of the too-warm air of the bar he’d spent the night at with Brook, or the feeling he gets when cleaning Shusui in quiet meditation.

I don’t know you, but I won’t hurt you, it says, because you won’t hurt me either. It’s a bit of a relief from the feelings that have been previously crawling at his mind.

In all honesty, he doesn’t know if he would have gotten along with the woman outside of the circumstances they’re currently in. But after catching the small smile she gives him when she returns from a supply run with a small bag in hand for Zoro, coupled with the realization that he’ll either have to spend time with Perona, be perpetually alone, or deal with Mihawk or the monkeys outside… Zoro comes to enjoy her eccentric personality. She was like if someone took a little piece of every one of Zoro’s crewmates and stitched them together into one amalgamation of a person: Luffy’s childish glee, Nami’s cattiness, Sanji’s terrifying fury, Chopper’s cuteness, Franky’s hard-headed stubbornness, Robin’s morbid obsession with death and the occult, and Brook’s dark aesthetic. She’s still incredibly weird, and Zoro can still only handle her in small doses, but she’s somehow able to keep him from being too terribly homesick while stuck in this fucked up castle.

They mostly spend their time together with Zoro polishing his swords while Perona paints her fingernails, switching on-and-off between a bright bubblegum pink and a glittery black.

“Zoro, will you do my toes?” she says one of these times, fanning her hand to help her last coat dry faster.

“You must be out of your mind if you think I’m going to do that,” Zoro responds gruffly as he critically eyes the edge of Shusui’s blade for imperfections.

He doesn’t find any, and he somehow ends up with a paintbrush in his hand anyway.

“Hey, hey, watch the cuticles, jackass!”

“What the fuck is a cuticle?” Zoro mumbles under his breath as he continues painting, trying not to get pink polish everywhere.

Perona huffs, puffing her cheeks out in a comical pout. “You’re such an idiot,” she chides past her pursed lips, but the words don’t have any bite to them. And unlike when he first arrived at the castle, Zoro doesn’t tense up in the dreaded expectation of a ghost through his chest at her disapproval.

Perona doesn’t hit Zoro with her negative hollows anymore, even when she’s irritated with him. Zoro isn’t sure why, but he’s definitely not about to complain.

The days of training are long and strenuous, and it makes the days pass in the blink of an eye for Zoro. Mihawk teaches him to use haki, and while armament haki comes to him rather naturally, he knows it’s going to take time for him to master it fully.

The worst part of his training, though, is sparring with the humandrills.

Not physically, no, especially after he managed to best the leader of the apes that imitated Mihawk himself. While the humandrills are clever and improve over time, Zoro has improved enough to beat them without too much effort. No, it’s the fact that they mimic his own fighting style that has Zoro wanting to spend as much time away from them as possible.

Fighting the apes feels a bit like looking into a mirror. He sees his own skills reflected back at him to observe as an outsider looking in, and he doesn’t like what he sees. Zoro can pick apart their footwork, their decision-making, their every movement, and it only serves to remind him of why he’s here. He’s not good enough, and the feeling is only amplified as he watches his cloned forms. It’s like they’re taunting him, almost, but he knows it isn’t their fault.

Every time he parries a strike or lands a hit as they spar, the feeling of ever-present betrayal towards his body increases.

It’s fitting that the man called ‘Hawk-Eyes’ catches on to his distaste for the creatures.

“Stop,” Mihawk says, appearing out of nowhere from the trees to interrupt his training. “This isn’t getting you anywhere.”

Zoro grunts as the humandrill he’s fighting shrieks and spits, but it ultimately backs down. “Of course not. It’s just me, fighting myself.”

“Is that what you really think?”

Zoro turns fully now, dropping his swords to his sides to shoot a mean glare at Mihawk. It comes almost as naturally as breathing to him at this point. It’s not like he hates the guy, not really… but he’s hard to look at, for Zoro. His ultimate goal is right there in front of his face, and what can he do about it?

“There is no such thing as a perfectly stiff blade, Roronoa,” Mihawk starts, and Zoro does a proverbial double-take at the conversational pivot. “Steel that is too hard becomes brittle and will fail catastrophically under impact. That’s why blades are tempered - to increase toughness, and allow them to bend.”

Zoro tries to be patient and take in the man’s words, but he’s finding it hard to do after hours of training in what was essentially a dojo of his own failures. Mihawk would be good enough, Zoro thinks, to not see any flaws reflected back at him through the lens of a monkey. If Zoro could just beat him- “What does that even mean?” he ends up barking back. “I’m tempering myself then, aren’t I?”

“No. Every day that you come out here with your mind so full you can’t even hear your own swords, you are dunking yourself in a vat of water.”

That finally shocks Zoro out of his internal thoughts. He can hear Wado, can’t he? His thumb runs along the wrapping of her handle, still in hand, and of course he feels her there, but it feels more like a TV that’s been tuned to static. All this time since he originally landed on Kuraigana, and he really still doesn’t have enough room in his head for her?

“At the end of the day, we might be faster, stronger, more powerful - inconceivably so - to almost all men. But we’re still just men, Roronoa.”

And Zoro - if he didn’t know better, he’d think Mihawk was joking.

The greatest swordsman in the world, a mere man?

It’s hard for Zoro to conceive. It makes sense, in theory - the man is right before him, flesh and blood and all. But even though he’s spent two months training with him now, Zoro’s still never really let himself think about the world’s greatest swordsman, outside of him being a vague personification of ultimate victory and Zoro’s lifelong goal. He’s spent so long putting the man up on a pedestal for his strength that trying to reconcile the legend everyone knows and the man before Zoro is difficult at best.

Mihawk is… ultimately, mundane. He doesn’t do much outside of drinking wine, farming, of all things, and collecting weird rocks he finds while tilling the land. He just seems like he’s bored all the time, Zoro thinks to himself. He’s unnervingly cryptic and doesn’t talk about things that aren’t about sword fighting or his hobbies, and that’s only when he’s in a good mood. When he doesn't want to be found, he's impossible to find (not at all aided by the fact that the castle is like a damn maze). He’s an atrocious cook, and he doesn’t really seem to have friends, let alone nakama.

He’s just a man. And yet, somehow, he’s everything.

But what can Zoro do? All he knows how to do is try, to push and fight and claw his way up to something greater.

Zoro trains with twice the intensity that day, even as the greatest swordsman in the world sighs and leaves. It seems almost cruel, to submit the humandrills to sparring with Zoro in this state, but they don’t seem to particularly mind, and he allows himself the release.

It’s a fickle thing, the way time passes. And two years is, objectively, a very long time.

And yet, Zoro’s not sure if it’s enough. He knows he’s lightyears above where he had been two years ago. He doesn’t find himself too terribly proud of it, though. Mihawk still gives him that look, as though Zoro’s missing something, and Zoro can’t help but partially agree with him, even if he doesn’t know what it is. Still not good enough, he thinks to himself.

Whether he likes it or not, though, it’s time. And Zoro, though he’s fought to ignore it, misses his nakama so intensely it almost hurts. Three times a day, for the last two years, Zoro has been filled with a bone-deep, heart shattering longing to be back on the Sunny. With his crew, and the cook’s food. Now, as Zoro has his last meal with Perona and Mihawk, he wonders if he’ll be able to keep them all safe with his newfound power when he returns. And somewhere, deep down, a part of him hopes that seeing them again will heal him of the hurt that’s been living in his heart.

Mihawk lingers in the entrance to the castle as they leave, as if to see them both off.

“Hawk-eyes,” Zoro says, because he really should say something. “The next time I see you, it’ll be with my blades drawn.”

Mihawk smiles - almost imperceptibly so, but it’s there, just pulling at the edges of his mouth. Zoro’s gotten used to finding minute changes in his expressions over the last two years. “Be careful on your way.”

It’s a simple phrase, just this side of polite, and it shouldn’t strike Zoro as intensely as it does. But it does.

“You two are so weird,” Perona whispers under her breath next to him.

The journey back to Sabaody isn’t particularly long, but it is boring, and he and Perona do their best to stay entertained, mostly by playing cards and fighting with one another over who gets what half of the boat. The ship they’re using isn’t exactly the pinnacle of luxury, and Perona ends up drawing separating lines between them on the floor in black nail polish more than once. Ultimately, though, their familiar quarreling dies down as they near their destination, instead replaced by a strange, foreboding silence between them.

“What are you going to do, now that I’m leaving?” Zoro asks her the night before they arrive, sprawled on the floor below deck. “You’re not actually going back, are you?”

Perona, apparently having found comfort leaning against the wall in a corner of the room, doesn’t say anything to Zoro’s attempt to break the silence. She keeps inspecting her nails, as if she’s going to find a blemish that wasn’t there within the last five minutes. Zoro raises his eyebrows.

“You can’t be. Mihawk will drive you insane.”

She finally acquiesces, dropping her hand to her side with a sigh. “I… don’t know, Zoro. With Moria-sama - gone - I don’t know what it is I want to do. Besides, Mihawk needs someone to take care of him, right? I’ve heard you can go crazy from spending too much time alone, you know.”

Zoro believes that. And that’s why he worries about Perona. She might be insane, and they might bicker like cats and dogs, but she’s someone that’s become special to him over the last two years. Maybe, even-

“You know…” he starts cautiously, “if you wanted to-”

“Don’t,” Perona interrupts in an uncharacteristically stern manner. “I’m not… no. I was- I am a Thriller Bark pirate. I’m not ready to be something else just yet.”

Zoro huffs. “You can’t just sit and rot away in an abandoned castle with only Mihawk for company.”

He realizes a bit too late he may have hit a nerve too forcefully as Perona’s eyes narrow meanly.

“Yeah? Well it sounds a whole lot better than whatever it is you’re doing!”

Zoro feels his blood turn to ice, even as Perona immediately starts to backtrack. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she whispers. “I’m worried about you, Zoro.”

“Why? There’s nothing to worry about-”

“Do you know why I don’t use my hollows on you anymore?” Perona tuts, toying with the sleeve of her lacy dress and kicking the heel of her shoe against the wall. “Most people curl up in a ball when I hit them. You know. Then they usually say something along the lines of how life’s not worth living or they’re the scum of the earth or whatever. Sometimes it’s really funny, like, ‘oh, I’m a terrible little worm, lower than even the dirt,’ shit like that,” she says with a cutesy yet slightly sadistic singsong to her tone that makes Zoro fear for her sanity a little bit. Then, in a strange sudden juxtaposition, her posture folds in on itself as she bites her lip. “The last time I hit you, you didn’t even move. You just… stood there, with your arms still crossed. And it wasn’t like back on Thriller Bark when I hit your sniper. Your voice… it was like I could have been having a regular conversation with you. And the things you said… a lot of it was nonsense, but a lot of the things you said… I’m loath to repeat.”

Perona moves off the wall and sits down to meet his eye level, aiming a blank stare at him that’s not terribly unlike the one Luffy would sometimes give him. Does give him. “Look. What I’m trying to say is... I’m not sure how good of an idea it is to let you walk your stupid ass off of this boat while knowing that you’re, like, not okay.”

“I- That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Zoro retorts, eye wide. “I’m fine.”

Perona grabs at the ends of her hair, knuckles clenching white through the pink locks. “Zoro, I’ve watched you train for two years, nonstop, through broken bones and gashes and - and losing an eye- I’ve seen you slice the tops off of mountains, and you just- keep going. I don’t even think you realize how crazy this all is! You’re going to get hurt, and I don’t know if anyone’s gonna stop you.”

“You need to drop it,” Zoro snaps, and there’s real venom to the words this time, as if he’s a cornered snake coiled to strike. His nails dig into the palms of his hands as he tries to ground himself. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You think I don’t know? That I don’t know what it’s like out there, for people like us? Moria-sama saved me, Zoro, and I’m worried no one will be there to save you when you run yourself into the ground. That they’re just gonna… let you do it.”

“At least I have somewhere to be.”

It snaps out of Zoro faster than he can think about it, quick as a strike from Wado. He expects anger, or even hatred, for his words. Hell, he’s fishing for it at this point, even as the realization of what he’s said starts to make him feel sick. But Perona just looks at Zoro with such sadness in her eyes that it makes him startle.

“You want to know what I think? I think,” she barks as her eyes start watering and her voice wobbles, “that someone once told you it was wrong to be transgender, and deep down inside, you still believe them. You think it’s wrong, or it makes you weak, or something, and- and you think you can make up for it, somehow. That if you’re just good enough, if you’re the best at what you do, maybe your friends, or your family, or- or anyone - that they’ll forgive you for it. Maybe the world will forgive you for the terrible crime of being you, if you just try hard enough. That in some twisted fucked-up way, it’ll make up for it, somehow.”

And as she says the word ‘wrong’ in that high pitch voice of hers, like it’s poison she’s trying desperately to spit out, Zoro’s mind latches onto the word. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong-

Perona’s fully crying now, tears catching on her bottom eyelashes, but Zoro feels like he’s watching her through frosted glass, as if he’s rooms away from her. “Your dream to beat Mihawk,” she squeaks out, “to be the world’s greatest swordsman… I know that’s real. That might be you, to the- the very core of your being. But your relationship with that dream, as it is now, it’s- it’s not healthy, Zoro.”

“Be quiet.”

“Are you really going to live your whole life working so hard, just to grovel for forgiveness for something you can’t control? From people who aren’t worth it? From even people who are worth it - who actually see that there’s not anything to forgive you for?”

“Be quiet.”

“Zoro... I think,” she states, striking him through more cleanly than any blade ever could, “maybe you need to learn to forgive yourself.”

“Stop.”

It comes out more as a whine, and his voice cracks at the end, shocking Perona out of her verbal onslaught. His mouth feels like sandpaper as he begs her, “Please, just stop.”

It’s silent, now, the weight of Perona's words suffocatingly heavy in the small room. Zoro’s remaining eye trace the patterns of the wood underneath him, not actually truly looking. His throat feels sour, and he finds himself struggling to hold back-

He won’t cry. He won’t.

Zoro’s body moves of its own accord as he walks up to the deck of the ship, leaving Perona behind. And that night, he doesn’t sleep, or think, or do really much of anything. He watches the darkness of the ocean as it ebbs and flows, swirling under the light of the moon, and for once, he doesn’t think about what it means to him or what it reminds him of. Zoro just watches.

Chapter Text

Sabaody looks just the same as it had two years ago. Its massive mangrove trees rise imposingly up to the sky as they always had, thick bubbles shiny and reflective against the island’s perpetual hazy green fog. The dense humidity in the air sticks to Zoro’s skin, tacky and wet, as if the ocean itself is trying to rise up and swallow him whole.

Zoro finds out he’s the first one back, and is resultingly very appreciative of the fact that Shakky’s is, in fact, a bar. Shakky herself is pleasant, but quiet, offering little in the way of conversation as Zoro devotedly waits for his nakama, drink in hand.

Zoro doesn’t, however, expect Silvers Rayleigh to sidle up into the barstool next to him.

“You’re a monster, aren’t you, boy?” the man remarks in lieu of a greeting. The sound of it is nonchalant and flippant, but the words themselves thicken the already humid-heavy air around them, left to weigh heavy on Zoro’s skin.

There’s a reason they call that man the dark king, after all, Zoro thinks.

Zoro’s not quite sure how to answer that question, anymore. He feels monstrous, sure. He always has, in the pit of his stomach, and he’s always drawn strength from whatever that eldritch, grisly thing is that sits inside of him. The three heads and six arms of kyutoryu sprout from an innate roar that lived within: one that craved existence, that burned for recognition and physical form. Zoro’s always been - not proud of, necessarily - but confident in whatever it is that monster was, the one that gave him the power to keep getting up after being knocked down, over and over and over again. He’s honed it into a blade in its own right.

But now, with everything that Zoro has seen, and felt, and let congeal inside of himself over the past two years, the monster inside feels less welcome to him. More bestial, more inhuman. It craves destruction, he realizes, and not necessarily from any of those on the outside.

Zoro’s scared that it was never meant for this world to start with. Or maybe, if he’s more inclined to believe Perona, he’s shaped it into something that’s left him in way over his head.

And outside of that part of himself, Zoro really didn't feel like a monster. No, he feels more like a spent match, as if he's spent the last two hours, days, months, years, bathed in hellfire. He swears if something brushed against him with any force, his skin would fade to gray and flake away like ash.

The visual of it reminds him of Yubashiri, and the charm that permanently rests on his sternum burns. Yet someone else that he's let down.

The dark king must see something in Zoro’s flat expression that offers insight into Zoro’s internal conflict, because the older man’s eyes narrow, and he offers a thin, catlike smile.

“That’s good. It’ll keep you alive on that hell of an ocean.”

He takes a drink while Zoro blinks with heavy eyelids once, twice. Zoro sips at his own drink while he thinks of how to respond.

“I’ll be a monster, gladly, if it’ll help Luffy,” he finally says. A half-truth, an incomplete story, but no less fundamentally honest and unwavering.

Rayleigh hums as he swirls his glass, the amber liquid inside churning like a whirlpool. “Not good enough.”

Zoro whips his head to the side to meet Rayleigh’s gaze fully for the first time. The man’s eyes are unsettling, a pale, ghostly blue that borders on white, seeming to stare through Zoro’s form and into his soul itself. It reminds him, a bit, of Mihawk-

He doesn’t want to think about Mihawk right now.

“Hah?” Zoro voices in confusion.

Rayleigh’s glass thunks against the wood countertop beneath them. “It’s good, but not good enough. Not for me, not for your captain, and not for you.”

If Zoro had the energy, he’d probably snarl something back at him, offended and irate at the implication. But his parting with Perona, his separation from his nakama, it’s all left him bone-tired, and to be honest, he probably shouldn’t be biting the hand that’s feeding him, anyway.

Devotion to others… what else did Zoro have, if not for that? Devotion to make Luffy’s dreams come true, to make Kuina’s dreams come true, to prove Koshirou wrong when he had said all those years ago that Kuina couldn’t do it-

Not good enough.

“Blind devotion is a first mate’s ruin, Roronoa.”

And suddenly, a lightbulb goes off in Zoro’s mind, and he realizes what this conversation is about.

He’s looking right in the face of the first mate of Gol. D Roger, the greatest man of his time, the pirate king. And this man - he’s looking at Zoro, now, probing him like a butterfly tacked to a corkboard, seeing who will be standing at the hand of the boy that Rayleigh’s placed his bets on as the next pirate king.

He’s telling him that pure devotion isn’t enough. Maybe he’s even speaking from experience.

“Why is it that you want to sail with Luffy, anyway?”

Zoro exhales a long breath out through his nose. “I’m going to become the greatest swordsman in the world.”

“Why?”

‘Because I have to,’ Zoro thinks to himself, but he’s learning that maybe that’s not a very good answer.

‘Because I want to,’ he tries again, which is true, but still not quite right.

Rayleigh blinks at Zoro as the silence continues a second too long, slow and deliberate. Then, he laughs, the hearty sound swallowed by the rest of his drink.

“You don’t talk much, do you, boy?” The dark king wipes his chin with his hand but misses a spot as a drop of alcohol falls into his beard. It’s a heartbreakingly human action from a man who should be so inhuman. Zoro pushes the image of Mihawk back out of his brain once more.

“You’ll figure it out, then,” Rayleigh finishes. “Write back to me when you do, yeah? I want to hear your answer.”

Hell on Earth, Zoro has missed his nakama so much.

The mad-dash to Fishman Island had left them all with little time for greeting or catching up, and it’s been nothing but a nonstop clusterfuck since then. It’s strange that raising hell feels almost nostalgic, now, with how long it's been.

The celebration party Poiseidon is throwing them is a mass of color, light, and sound, hard for Zoro to keep his focus on any one point. He’ll see glimpses of his nakama, here and there, but it’s hard to reach out to them, for some reason.

He wants to reach out to them, but somehow, they still feel as if they’re oceans away.

Maybe it’s Zoro who’s still an ocean away.

Whenever Zoro gets a glimpse of Sanji, though, he trains his gaze there for as long as he can, honing in on his familiar brilliance. God, he’s missed him so much. He didn’t get to say it when Sanji came to find him, before they departed from Sabaody - there’s so much he still has to say, without the vocabulary to say it.

Can he tell him that? That he misses his cooking, and his touch, and his shit-eating grin that makes Zoro’s blood burn? That the last two years have been so bland and gray, lifeless without Sanji to lean on, to fight, to love?

Zoro catches a glimpse of Sanji again, twirling like a predictable idiot around a new pair of mermaids.

Zoro hates mermaids.

He’s also perhaps a little more drunk than he should be.

The cook has changed, as they all have. And he’s bright. Too bright for the eyes, as if Zoro’s staring directly into the sun after spending two years in the dark. Maybe it’s the booze, though, and Zoro’s just seeing double.

It’s too much. It’s really all too much.

Zoro blinks, and - oh, there’s Robin. She’s right next to him.

He catches her gaze, gradually follows it to where Franky is, flexing and posing for some merfolk. Slow as his brain is, he finds it hard to decide whether to smile, or gag, or giggle. (Giggle? What the fuck.) Their relationship is a secret so terribly kept that even Zoro was able to pick up on it, even if only very recently. The way they had kept shooting glances at each other across Sunny’s deck… good lord.

“I don’t know what you see in him,” Zoro grumbles without any kind of real bite, half rolling his eyes fondly.

Robin’s eyes crinkle up slightly at that, like she wants to smile. “Would you like to know?”

Zoro does a double take at her, completely taken aback by the normally stoic woman’s openness. He does want to know, but he doesn’t know how to vocalize that without accidentally saying something stupid and breaking whatever spell they’re under right now.

“I admire him,” Robin continues anyway. “For his tenacity, and for the journey he’s gone on to shape his body in his own image. To come to terms with his right to exist as he is. We… understand each other in that sense, I think.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, girlish in a way Zoro’s never really seen from her. “He makes me laugh and remember not to take myself so seriously.” She pauses, and her face finally breaks out into a small smile. “Do you know what it was he said that made me realize how I felt?”

Zoro blinks twice at her, owlish and off-guard. He’s lost at sea right now, a proverbial sunken battleship, drunk and confused and out of his element. He and Robin… he likes her, would protect her with his life, but they’ve never really talked about anything verging on intimate like this, have they?

“He told me he didn’t understand how the world could see me as a devil child. That with my power, and my knowledge, I was always creating something beautiful. Shaping myself, and the world around me, as I saw fit. And he couldn’t see anything inherently evil in something, or someone, just because they existed. Just because they could create.” She looks so wistful, so longing, even though Franky is right there not fifty yards away. “Being with him feels like re-reading a beloved childhood book for the hundredth time. Nothing brings me more comfort. He’s something I can return to, to remind me to be more gentle with myself. Franky is, in a sense, my Rosetta stone.”

… Wow. He’d known Robin was probably the most poetic out of all of them, but… shit.

Zoro doesn’t know what to say, and doesn’t think he can even come up with anything worthy to say after that, so he blinks once, twice, and allows a comfortable silence to come over them.

Zoro catches a glimpse of what he thinks is Chopper in his walk form, carrying a laughing mermaid on his back. And there’s Brook, belting out some tune Zoro can’t focus enough to actually hear. And there’s Usopp running by, confident and bold and so different, filling into his frame the way Zoro has over the last two years, too.

“It’s scary, isn’t it?” says Robin as whimsically as ever.

“Hah?”

“To give a part of yourself to another. To trust them to care for it.”

Zoro bites his lip. He squints, trying to glance into the bubbles and crowds to find Sanji, but fails to see that familiar lean form.

“I… can’t give any part of myself like that. To any one person. There’s parts I’m not willing to give up. Parts that don’t even belong to me to give away in the first place. And...parts no one should have to see.”

Robin hums, making a point to not draw further attention to the way Zoro's voice lilts at the end, and Zoro’s grateful for it. “I think we all have parts of us we believe no one would want. Perhaps it’s about finding someone that sees beauty in those parts of us, even when we ourselves do not.” The corners of Robin’s lips turn up slightly as she finishes.

Zoro, instinctually from developed habit, places a hand over his sternum, roughly where Usopp’s charm rests on his skin. “It’s not that simple. You don’t-” and oh, Zoro’s world turns on its side, leaving him in lethargy limbo for a brief moment. He’s had… too much to drink for once. What was he talking about? His words continue on in a babble, the filter of his brain widened to near-uselessness. “Not- not when I’m like this. I’m not- normal, Robin. I’m not good enough. And Sanji, he’s a fuckin’... arrogant, stuck up idiot, but he’s strong, and good, and- what if I give that part of myself to him, and he doesn’t-”

Robin suddenly puts her hand on his shoulder, and Zoro startles at the contact. Robin… doesn’t touch people so freely outside of combat, especially not with her “regular” limbs, and especially not Zoro. She has a soft look on her face like she’s willing it to relax into something akin to comforting, but there’s a grim hardness in her eyes that makes his stomach turn with something other than pink elephants. He’s seen Robin close herself off with a somewhat similar coldness to her gaze, and he thinks of when they rescued her from Enies Lobby two years ago, when she’d snapped Spandam’s spine in two. But...

But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her really, truly angry. Zoro’s not the most perceptive man when it comes to others’ emotions, but she looks so different from how he’s ever seen her that he thinks he might be getting a glimpse of her anger now.

“Zoro,” she says gently, like the words taste like bile, but she’s trying to soften them up with honey before they come out. “Please never say that again.”

Zoro wills himself into steadiness. “What? That the cook is-”

“That you’re not normal.” She pauses and takes a breath as if to steady herself, which is absurd for Zoro to see the ever self-assured Robin do. “There’s been people like you in nearly every culture that’s ever existed in recorded history. There’s people like you that exist today. To think otherwise is to deny overwhelming evidence to the contrary, if one only knows where to look.” Her words are careful but assured, like the ways he’s seen her run her hands across ancient stones full of symbols that looked like nothing but nonsense to him.

Zoro squints, trying to keep her ever-blurring visage in view. “I mean… yeah, it’s that. But it’s not just that.”

Robin arches a thin eyebrow, urging him onward.

“I’ve got this- ah, this thing inside of me, Robin. And I used to just, draw power from it? Like, it’s got so much damn bloodlust and determination-”

He pauses to blink, somehow incapable of performing the two actions at once, and his words continue out in an embarrassing slur, uncharacteristic and raw. “And yeah, maybe it’s bad that - maybe I’ve spent too long shaping it into a weapon. But I - I think it’s just - wrong - that it makes me wrong, too, ‘cuz I made it, didn’t I? And shitty Perona says I’m supposed to forgive it, for existing, but she doesn’t know what it’s like to carry the dreams for two people, does she? Maybe if she did, she would- FUCK-”

Zoro holds back bile, throwing his head back dramatically, as if gravity will keep everything down. For the first time in about thirty seconds, he wonders what Robin’s thinking, but his equilibrium doesn’t give him the luxury of glancing her way.

He keeps talking, the airflow easing his nausea. “If I could just- be better… I bet MIHAWK doesn’t have to worry about proving people wrong or right.” Shitty Mihawk, a God among men, the personification of everything Zoro has ever wanted to be. What right does that bastard have, being so… normal, as Zoro’s learned over the last two years? So un-deity-like, after everything Zoro’s gone through to try and reach his pedestal.

Robin finally interjects. “Proving them right about what, Zoro?”

Like a buoy on the water, Zoro’s torso suddenly swings forward, head dropping low. “Koshirou was wrong,” he says, lilting, unable to care for the fact that Robin doesn’t know who that is. “He said she couldn’t do it, because she was born a girl. And she - fuck - she believed him.”

I want to be the greatest swordsman too. But girls grow up, and their bodies become weaker than men’s. I’m never going to be the greatest.

Whose words are they really, anymore? Are they still Koshirou’s?

Kuina’s?

“If I can’t be good, be better... what does that mean, for her?” His voice, just shy of a crack, now pitches off into a low, aching softness. “What does that mean, for me?”

You're lucky to have been born a man, Zoro.

Or are all of those words just Zoro’s, now?

Robin, brilliant, deadly Robin, is silent for a long moment. Then, she takes one of Zoro’s hands, limp and out of focus, between hers, starting to gently rub her thumbs along the fingers there. And when she speaks, it’s with a terrifying firmness that completely sets that soft movement of her hands in juxtaposition.

“There’s a demon in me too, Zoro. A bit different than yours, perhaps… but maybe not so different, after all.”

Zoro sniffs, blinks, turns his head Robin’s way as he tries to register shock. “Really?”

She hums an affirmative. “I wasted my childhood honing it into a weapon. And it served me well. It’s kept me alive for over twenty years now.”

One of Robin’s hands comes up with two fingers to touch the charm at Zoro’s neck. She turns it this way and that, inspecting it, as if searching for its hidden secrets.

“But the devil child in me - it gets tired of fighting, Zoro. It’s spent most of its life in pain, crying for a way out. For release.”

And Zoro… it clicks for him. Slowly, and fumblingly, but it clicks all the same. Enies Lobby.

Robin understands, doesn’t she? She understands why he needs to be good enough for everyone - why he’s so self sacrificial, unable to let his friends suffer from his own failures. Robin, with her infinite limbs, understands what it’s like for Zoro to let the nine-sworded demon take over. And somehow, she understands how to quiet that demon.

I want to live! Robin had said to Luffy, to all of them, so long ago, from the depth of her soul. Not the devil child. Only Robin.

“Maybe that thing isn’t so much a monster, or a demon, as it is a wounded animal, frightened and shivering and backed into a corner. Perhaps it isn’t even anything bad at all, inherently. Maybe you just need to show it a little bit of sympathy.”

Zoro bites his lip, keeps his head ducked low, fights back the entirely different bile now clamoring for purchase in his throat.

“Perhaps it’ll lash out less,” Robin continues. “Maybe, you can reach him, find the outline of him, and give him the love that he’s needed and never been given, kept buried in the dark all this time.”

Robin drops her hand from Yubashiri’s remains, moving it to rest lightly on Zoro’s shoulder. The bulking mass of it heaves under her gentle touch, bubbling with emotion that the miniscule part of Zoro’s psyche that isn’t drowned in booze is trying so hard to keep at bay.

“It’s okay to cry, Zoro.”

“Can’t,” he says, bordering on a sob. “Can’t - said I wouldn’t- not- not before I beat Mihawk-”

“It’s okay to cry, Zoro.”

And at the end of the day, Zoro, through and through, to the core of his being, is never one to disappoint his nakama.

Zoro doesn’t ever dream.

Maybe it’s his erratic sleep schedule, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but Zoro’s rest has always encompassed him like a blanket, holding him close in its reaches until it ordains to let him back into the waking world. There’s no room for dreams when he sleeps. The few times he can remember dreaming were faded memories from when he was a child, surreal things that vanished from his mind like sand through his fingers as soon as he awoke. Now, there’s only darkness when Zoro sleeps.

Tonight, though, he dreams.

He’s standing on the edge of a beach, dusted with glassy jellyfish carcasses and grains of sand the color of dried blood. Miles of dark ocean stretch out near-infinitely before him towards a sunless stratosphere. The sky is violet and cloudless, blended more into mauve towards the horizon of the sea, and he turns back to the island he's on to see a volcano standing proud in front of the purple backdrop. Zoro’s not sure how he knows it, but the tall mountain is on the edge of eruption, white-hot magma bubbling just under its surface in anticipation of finally rolling over.

Zoro turns back to the ocean to find it suddenly lit to the horizon in a low-burning flame, as if the surface had a coating of oil spread over it. It’s bright, so bright, and Zoro can feel the intensity of its heat licking at his face even from as far away as he’s standing from it.

His swords are gone, Zoro realizes, the familiar weight of his sheaths absent from his hip. That alone should send him into a panic, but somehow, it doesn’t. As if the radiation of thermal energy from the fire before him is making him calm, urging him into submission.

He blinks, and out of nowhere, Sanji’s standing in front of him now, just on the edge of the sand. He’s lit up on the edges of his silhouette by the ocean’s flame, shadows dancing across his back and over the lines of his suit. The man crouches down, lighting a cigarette on the open fire, and the heat of it laps so close to his bare hands that for a brief moment Zoro finds himself on the edge of sickening dread.

Nothing happens, though, and the cook stands to face Zoro with a now-lit cigarette in his hand. Sanji’s eyes widen when he meets Zoro’s gaze, as if he hadn’t expected the other man to be here, hadn’t expected anyone to be here. Then… Sanji smiles.

It’s achingly soft, his eyes crinkled upward and teeth hidden just beneath the upward tilt of his lips. It’s the kind of smile Zoro’s only ever seen him use around young kids, or Chopper, or the kind of eldery stall-owners at island markets that will cut the cook a deal and can’t stop talking about their grandchildren.

It’s not the kind of smile Zoro’s ever seen directed at him before. At least not this brightly.

Slowly, with his arm outstretched and the cigarette resting between two of his fingers, the cook beckons Zoro forward. Then, he turns, walking out onto the flames on the surface of the ocean, bright fire licking up at his legs. He doesn’t sink into the water at all, the black leather of his shoes leaving little temporary circles of suppressed flame behind him as he moves away.

Zoro hesitates, but starts to walk across the sand, carefully stepping over jellyfish as he goes. He’s barefoot, he suddenly notices, wet sand squelching under his heel and between his toes as he moves. He steadily approaches the end of land, the flames slowly rising as he nears, growing high enough to reach his calves, his knees, his hips.

It’s getting harder to see Sanji’s form past the roar of the fire now. But he’s out there, and Zoro has to go, has to follow him, or the lava of the volcano will soon consume him anyway.

He steps out into the ocean, only to find that his feet don’t skim over the surface like Sanji’s do. He sinks, and the ring of water around his ankle burns, digging into the scarred skin there.

Zoro stops, shocked by the sensation, but Sanji’s moving farther, farther away, the distance between the two of them continually growing. So Zoro takes another step, hisses in pain as the flames keep growing in height with his progress.

He sinks lower, lower into the water, the surface of it passing his hips and encircling his abdomen. The burning pain grows exponentially as he keeps walking, the flames feeling like they’re eating him alive. It’s as though someone’s grabbed the base of the flames and the surface of the water, pulling the edges together like fabric and compressing Zoro in between under the weight of their merging. But Sanji’s back is even farther now, so distant Zoro can barely see its outline through the rising wall of fire.

Slowly, he sinks far enough to submerge his chest, and the pain is so severe it almost reminds him of Thriller Bark. But this agony is hot, consuming and acidic whereas Luffy’s pain had been sharp like stab wounds, blunt like a thousand impacts.

I can’t, Zoro thinks as he clenches his fists, body finally shaking with panic. I can’t go any further.

Would death from the lava behind him be better, quicker, than this, he wonders?

But then the cook’s fading outline stops, shifting back to just barely catch Zoro’s gaze. Sanji slowly reaches his hand out, beckoning him forward with his fingers one more time.

Zoro doesn’t know how he knows, frozen there with his feet in the cold sand and the skin of his face melting with the excruciating heat, but Sanji, who feels almost a mile away now, once again gives him that same reserved, gentle smile.

Suddenly, he feels something abstract and dark pull at his ankles, flipping Zoro into vertigo - it’s the monster in him, he somehow knows, trying to drag him out of this ocean, and into God only knows where. And somehow, in the peculiar way that dreams dispense knowledge from emptiness, Zoro knows now that it has a name.

Asura.

The dream shifts into darkness, and all of the pain and sense of surrealism is gone. Zoro instantaneously, unexplainably finds himself sitting on familiar tatami, kneeling with his hands on his knees, head bowed down. He feels small, terribly low to the ground as if his limbs are shorter than what he’s used to.

Zoro looks up, expecting to see the familiar face of Koshirou, but the man’s not there. In his place is a woman, maybe in her twenties, with cropped dark hair and a heart shaped face and eyes like burning coals.

Kuina.

She looks just like Tashigi, and yet nothing like her at all. Zoro’s swept up in disbelief at how he could have ever confused the two in the first place.

Kuina has all three of Zoro’s swords resting on top of her folded legs with her arms draped lightly over them, fixing Zoro with a blank, analyzing stare. Zoro doesn’t move, finds his body and voice frozen, just looking at her in a muddled daze. She looks so old, with the roundness of her cheeks gone, her body solid with lithe muscle. He’s never seen her like this, never got the chance to, and the cognitive dissonance of trying to reconcile his memory of her with the image before him makes his head throb.

He’s not sure what he should’ve expected her to say when she finally breaks the silence. Maybe something sagacious, or something surreal. This is a dream, after all.

Instead, that familiar, nasty grin curls across her face, and it’s like Zoro’s seven years old all over again.

“You look like shit, Roronoa Zoro.”

That’s all it takes. Zoro’s eyes fill with unspilled tears and he bows low to the floor, raw anguish flooding his voice. “I’m sorry,” he says past the lump closing up his throat. “I’m not there yet. I’m not even close. But I’ll get stronger, strong enough to be the best for both of us, I-”

“Quit your blubbering,” Kuina suddenly interrupts, and Zoro immediately drops into silence.

Slowly, she draws and holds up Kitetsu, gaze flicking over his silver length critically while her eyes trace the pattern of his dark, flamelike hamon line. At this distance, Zoro should be able to hear the cursed sword, but the only thing echoing in his mind is a foreboding, endless silence.

“I like this one,” she comments quietly. “Terrible little sword, isn’t he?”

He is, Zoro thinks to himself, but his mind is currently running in overdrive, and he can’t find the executive ability to vocalize the response.

Kuina’s eyes rake across Shusui, next, and then Wado. “Gods above, Zoro, they’re all crying out for you. Can’t you hear them?”

No. He can’t.

“Why are you here?” he asks her instead, not cruelly, just with utter, exasperated awe and confusion. He finally notices that his voice is high-pitched, the familiar rumble of his normal tenor completely shifted and foreign to Zoro’s own ears. But maybe it’s familiar, too, in the way that distant memories are. In the way that dreams are when one first wakes, right on the edges of sleep and lucidity before they vanish entirely.

“I don’t know,” she replies, the flat lilt of her voice familiar and yet so different, as if what Zoro had known a lifetime ago had been taken and pitched down half an octave. “It’s your mind, isn’t it? You tell me.”

Kuina’s right. Certainly she must be here for a reason?

Zoro thinks, pulls back the slowly-fading memory of the surreal dream that preceded this one. Shame floods his mind as he thinks of his hesitance while submerged in that hellish ocean, letting pain and doubt overcome his will even as the cook had told him to follow.

“I’m being a coward,” he answers.

Kuina doesn’t make a show of validating his statement one way or another as her grin somehow grows even more arrogant at that. “Yeah? So what, am I supposed to be your conscience, now? Your guardian angel?” She sheaths Kitetsu, instead drawing Wado with a speed closer to that of an iai, standing to stab the blade firmly into the tatami between them.

“The world sits on an axis, Zoro. It can shift in an instant, tilted by forces outside of our control. Anyone’s control.” The room feels like it’s burning up with the force of Kuina’s willpower, the force of her gaze. “We're all just flames that can be snuffed out at any time. I figured you'd know this by now.”

And she’s right, of course. Kuina’s life was gone in an instant from a simple fall. Zoro had met Mihawk for the first time on a whim, and he’d cut Zoro open in the blink of an eye. One stray tick of the clock’s hand and Zoro wouldn’t even have feet anymore from trying to free himself on Little Garden. It only took one second for Zoro to dive his hands into Luffy’s pain on Thriller Bark. And it had taken even less time than that for Zoro to be separated from his nakama for two whole years.

How long had it taken Ace to die, Zoro wonders? From the wound shown in the papers, he guesses not very long. Did he even have time to tell Luffy goodbye?

“Get it together, Zoro,” Kuina says as her grip on Wado’s handle hardens, her knuckles growing as white as the silk under her fingers. “You’ve only got so much time left to be alive, after all.”

Chapter Text

It’s fitting, probably, that when they have some downtime after departing from Fishman Island, the first one their captain seeks out is Zoro. He’s always had a sixth sense for the things that need his attention on the crew, even those that sit simmering under the surface.

It’s quiet on the upper lawn of the deck. Dark, too, as they sail onwards under the cover of the deep ocean. Luffy sits cross-legged against one of Nami’s mikan trees, juice running down his cheeks as he bites slowly, indulgently, into one of the fruits. Nami’s mikans are the only food Zoro has never seen his captain show a measure of gluttony about.

“Zoro!” Luffy grins as he wipes his face with the back of his hand, patting the patch of grass next to him with the other. “Come sit with me. I missed you a lot!”

Zoro’s lower lip twitches, just short of a quiver. In the face of Luffy’s smile, he feels as though he’s at the edge of a precipice, reality in flux as everything seeks to change around these next few moments in time. But Zoro thinks of Perona’s tear-tracked face, of Robin’s stalwart elegance urging him onward. He thinks Mihawk, the myth that’s just a man, of Rayleigh, the man that’s just a myth, torn between where Zoro himself fits into it all. He thinks of Franky, unapologetic and proud of himself, of Sanji, gorgeous Sanji, who he wants to be better for, of Koshirou, who was kind and accepting and yet whose words still inadvertently left a scar on Zoro’s soul all those years ago, of Kuina-

Zoro thinks of himself, and what he needs.

“Luffy,” Zoro starts, solemn, moving not to sit at Luffy’s side but in front of him. He kneels, prostrate, head turned down to convey his sincerity. “I need you to forgive me.”

At that, Luffy blinks slowly, face placid as he finishes a swallow of mikan. To his credit, he doesn’t ask for elaboration like Zoro expects. Instead, he purses his lips, drawn tight for just a moment as if in thought. His tongue comes out to wet his lips before he speaks.

“Zoro’s been lost, hasn’t he?”

The air is still, for a moment. Quiet. The tension feels thick, like the bubble coating keeping them all alive that’s wrapped around the Sunny.

“You remind me a lot of my brother, you know,” Luffy starts, out of nowhere, and Zoro’s head perks up just slightly in surprise to meet his eyes. They’re flat, distant and almost glazed-over as his captain speaks, and Zoro wonders for a second what Luffy’s talking about, if he somehow missed what Zoro is trying to convey. “I didn’t really get it when we were kids - I still don’t really get it - but he always has-” he pauses, clenching his teeth before continuing, “-had something to prove. We used to all compete over who could bring home the biggest catch when we’d go hunting, or who could hold their breath the longest in the river, or who could win the most fights. All kinds of stuff. And it was so much fun! But now, I think that… it wasn’t just fun, for him.” Luffy’s thumb runs along the edge of the fruit’s peel absentmindedly, his tone staying flat. “It’s like he had to always be better - not just for fun, or to get stronger so he could chase his dreams, or to protect people, but also - just to exist.”

Luffy finally meets Zoro’s gaze, his disarmingly flat expression melting like ice on a summer island into something somber, something bittersweet. “There’s a lot I never understood about Ace. And I don’t really know why, but I think… Ace always thought he was bad, from the start.” His thumb on the edge of the mikan peel stops moving. “That he had to earn his place in the world. That if he wasn’t strong…”

Awestruck, Zoro struggles to respond, to process Luffy’s very uncharacteristically long-winded words. Thankfully, Luffy fills the space for him as his mouth turns up at the corners in a way that blurs the line between grimace and smile.

“Can you sit up, Zoro? You shouldn’t kneel to me. And you look… too much like Ace. Right before…”

Slowly, Zoro sits up onto his knees, like a puppet pulled on a string. The motion is automatic, robotic, instinctual past his shock.

Finally, Luffy smiles fully, and like a damn breaking, a sunrise bounding over the horizon, Zoro starts to find his words with it as Luffy says, “I’m so glad you’re here, now, Zoro.”

Zoro’s heart breaks, his captain’s melancholy smile seeming to bisect him in two. And with it, comes a familiar guilt, a familiar frustration. “We all could’ve been there, then,” he growls. Images of Kizaru iridescent foot from below come to Zoro’s mind, of Kuma and pawprints and days and nights spent flying half-unconscious at mach speed. “If I was, just- if I hadn’t-”

Zoro says it with somewhat measured composure, but Luffy, damn him, snaps his head to meet Zoro’s gaze, dark pupils burning like charcoal. It’s as if Zoro’s blown a dog whistle, pitched at a frequency only Luffy could hear.

“Zoro,” Luffy says, and inspiration has struck, lighting up the boy’s eyes in a familiar way. “Do you forgive me?”

The swordsman blinks. “Hah?”

“I’m the captain. It’s up to me to keep everyone safe. And I failed.”

“That's not...” Zoro immediately interjects, but he chokes up towards the end. How can he find the words to tell Luffy that he doesn’t have to prove himself, as a fighter, as a pirate, as a man, like Zoro does? That Luffy’s given them all a home, a place to belong, a family, just by being himself? “It’s not the same.”

“You’re right. It’s worse.”

Zoro’s face furrows, trying to fight past his own cognitive dissonance. Luffy barrels on.

“You know… when I was at Impel Down, there was this section on one of the levels where I was all by myself. I was in this desert, fighting this giant lion, and it was so hot- I was in trouble, ‘cuz it pinned me with its huge paw, and I didn’t really know what to do.” Luffy is gesturing wildly with his hands as he recounts his story, half-eaten mikan nearly flying out of his grasp. “But then, just as the lion was about to eat me, you were there! And I thought I was going crazy for a second. You saved me, and I was just - so happy that you were there.”

He sniffles. “It turned out it was Bon-chan, and I was still super happy they were there with me after I found out. But I was a little disappointed, too. Because it wasn’t you.”

Zoro feels his mouth drop agape, like a fish. Luffy, ever intuitive, is quick to find the words Zoro’s missing. “And you know, I went a little crazy, after Ace died. You should ask Jinbei about it, when we see him again-” he says with a cut-off little self-deprecating laugh at the end. “And when I was snapping out of it, thinking about why I had to keep going, what I had left to fight for - one of the first things I thought of… it was that little disappointment, realizing Bon-chan wasn’t you.”

When he realizes that Luffy’s eyes look a bit wetter than before, picking up on a subtle voice waver, Zoro finds his own throat closing up.

“Zoro,” Luffy croaks, and something cracks as a few shy droplets break the rim of Luffy’s eyes. “I don’t care if you fail. You’re strong. You’re going to get stronger. We all will, and - and maybe you’ve got something to prove. To the world, to others, to yourself.”

It’s unconscious when Zoro reaches out, arm outstretched to do - something - but by then, Luffy’s pulling him in, rubber arms wrapped tight around Zoro’s broad back. His grip is like iron, as if he’s afraid Zoro will vanish if he doesn’t hold on with all of his might. Zoro clutches back tightly, knuckles branded white into Luffy’s shirt as he grits his own teeth, trying to fight the urge to resist letting his tears fall.

It’s okay to cry, Zoro.

“But you’ve got nothing to prove to us. To me,” his captain rasps into Zoro’s shoulder. “You’re Zoro. You’re our swordsman. You’re going to beat Hawk-Eyes one day, because the pirate king needs the greatest, and I- I can’t do this without you, Zoro.”

“Luffy,” Zoro gasps, wet and strained, the noise more like a train without an end station than a complete thought. He’s missed him so much, too - he wishes he could take away all of Luffy’s pain again, to wipe the last two years away like waves over the sand at his own expense. That isn’t what Luffy wants, though.

If it’s enough, for Zoro to just be here… then Zoro will be enough.

They stay together like that for some time, a captain and his first mate, cut raw and open like a pair of festered wounds, sanitized and ready to heal.

Enough of this, Zoro thinks to himself as he walks to the galley, purpose laden in each step across the familiar wood of Sunny’s deck. It's time to either swing or sheathe the blade. Commit to an action, and follow through without regrets.

Roronoa Zoro does not do things in halves. Who is he, if not for that?

Sanji’s there in the kitchen, of course - he always is after dinner. He turns from the counter he’s cleaning to face Zoro, expression dropping minutely for just a second before he schools it back into neutrality.

It’s quiet and still for a moment after that. A thread drawn taught between them, like the stretched milliseconds before an iai, or the ozone smell that sparks right before a diable jambe.

“You’ve changed,” Zoro starts.

“So have you,” Sanji responds, languid, excessively so. “Probably more than anyone else. At least we all have our eyes still.”

Zoro grunts. Sanji’s eyes dart to his exposed chest at the motion, Usopp’s unhidden charm on Zoro’s sternum shifting with the motion.

“Cook,” Zoro tries again, growing frustrated at himself. “I need to talk to you.”

Sanji’s eyes narrow. “Oh, lovely,” he whispers under his breath before he exits the kitchen, pulling out a chair for himself to sit. “As much as I’d rather do literally anything but this,” he continues, this time at full volume, “I’d rather not have things be weird while we’re stuck on the ocean together for who knows how long. So,” and he gives a wide wave of his hand, like a conductor before a grand orchestra, “the floor’s yours, then, asshole.”

Sanji’s radiating with the energy of somebody cool and composed, but his posture is subtly tense, as if preparing for an oncoming blow. Can Zoro really blame him?

“Well?” Sanji prompts. “Look, I’ve got to finish up, so if you’re just gonna stand there like a braindead apeman-”

A shadow momentarily blocks the already-meager light coming into the galley from the window - a whale passing by, or an underwater mountain crest, perhaps? That subtle change, casting a dark navy shadow across Sanji’s visage, is enough to snap Zoro into action.

Zoro's a flame, and Sanji is too. Zoro's not going to risk either of them being extinguished tomorrow with these words still stuck in his heart.

“I love you.”

It’s quiet for just a moment - stiff, as if the Sunny herself is waiting with bated breath to see how this interaction plays out.

And Sanji… he starts laughing. Hysterically.

“You’re in love with me,” he repeats in a whisper, resting his forehead in his hand. Then, something in the man snaps, like the drawstring of a bow. Sanji’s standing and on him in an instant, grabbing Zoro roughly by the collar of his coat.

“I should kill you,” the cook sneers. “Gut you like fish. Big as you are now, you’ll feed us for days. Have you gotten cirrhosis yet? Is that moss ball you call a brain still edible somehow?”

And, God, Zoro really does almost feel guilty about it, but he can’t help but smile, wide and goofy, endeared as Sanji continues to ramble about the theoretical edibility of his various organs. It just pisses the other man off even more.

Of course, it backfires. “What the hell are you smiling at, mosshead!?”

Zoro just grins even bigger at the cook’s indignation, flashing his canines even as he feels the familiar heat of the man’s diable jambe licking uncomfortably close to Zoro’s calves. Maybe Zoro should be more put out at the cook’s reaction, but it's so familiar, so comforting, to feel that angry heat, to see Sanji’s pissed-off leer right in his face. He knew he missed this, but he couldn’t have possibly put into perspective just how much until now. “You said something like that before.”

“Eh!?”

“Back on Thriller Bark,” Zoro continues, and he’s too late to stop his voice from softening into something tender. “After Kuma. After that stupid party you guys threw. Talked about all the different ways you were gonna cook my corpse.”

Sanji’s eyes go wide as he pauses, his diable jambe snuffing out all at once, like the oxygen in the room has all been sucked out. Maybe it has.

“I hate you,” Sanji says as he hunches over, glances down, hand still in Zoro’s coat as his voice goes terribly small. “I hate you, rotten bastard.”

“No, curly,” Zoro replies, his hand coming up to rest over Sanji’s on instinct. “I don’t think you do.”

Then, all at once, the tension in Zoro’s body that’s lived in his bones since Kuma, since the bathhouse, since the last two years - no, it's the thing that’s been there his entire life, under his skin, in his bones - comes back from its slumber to roar at him. Zoro's previous confidence evaporates as he feels his voice goes horribly, horribly unsure. “Do you?” The silence that follows is heavy enough to feel palpable, quiet enough for a pindrop to be heard.

“No,” Sanji finally whispers. “Maybe I should, but- how could I?”

“Even with-” Zoro starts as his voice fails him, glancing to the side as his hand moves subconsciously from Sanji’s to rest at the charm at Zoro’s sternum. “I didn’t tell you.”

Sanji’s eyebrow twitches. “Marimo, I feel like you’re having a conversation with yourself that I’m not even involved in. What the hell are we talking about right now?”

And to Zoro’s credit, he starts trying to find the words to explain everything, to make this all right, to reassure Sanji, to make him smile again, to selfishly assuage the demon writhing in Zoro’s gut, but-

“You know what, actually, no,” Sanji interrupts before he’s able to start. “Whatever it is that your stupid little peanut brain is trying to say to me, it can wait.” He releases his iron grip from Zoro’s coat, moving to point an elegant finger in the swordsman’s face.

”Fuck you,” the cook growls. “You don’t get to come in here after two god-damned years and tell me you love me. Not when you tossed me aside like garbage before we all got split up.”

“Tossed you-” and at that, Zoro flares up in indignation. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Sanji finally snaps. “I know a rejection when I see one, but you didn’t have to fucking play with my head. It’s cruel, even for you.” His finger falls, coming to rest at Sanji’s side, and Zoro realizes how much the other man’s facade has dropped. He looks so small. “So, I don’t know what your game is, trying to come back and tell me you love me, but no, I’m not having it, asshole.”

Zoro growls in frustration, because why the hell would the cook even think that? Zoro's been fucking stewing in longing and regret deeper than Fishman Island for the last two years. “This isn’t a game. It’s never been a game for me.”

“Then what is it, Zoro, huh? What is it then?” Sanji cries, arms flying out to his sides. “You just- stopped one day. Dropped me like a hot coal, like you got bored of me, or something. And then you- you came back, just for a night, gave me another taste, and dropped me again. Like it was some kind of game to you.”

Zoro’s eyes go wide, and his frustration is all but eaten up and replaced with a slowly dawning horror at that, melting down his spine and making him feel sick. How could he be so selfish, so self-absorbed? “You… thought that I…” His voice trails off, and another shadow passes by the galley, obscuring Sanji’s torn expression from him. “Cook, that’s not… no.”

“Then what is it? You wouldn't talk to me and I just assumed you… changed your mind,” the cook finally decides. “And you know what, fuck it, I don’t even blame you all that much. I-” The ambient blue light of the ocean filters back into the room, revealing how Sanji’s body language has somehow sunk even smaller. “I wouldn’t love me either.”

Poetically, fittingly, Zoro remembers his dream, how he'd hesitated in the flame-licked ocean. His words come out before he even thinks them.

“I'm sorry.”

Sanji's eyes snap up to him. Zoro can't recall a singular time when either of them have apologized to each other - really apologized, with “I’m sorry’s” and “forgive me’s” and all - for anything, and from the look on the cook's face, he can't either.

“I'm sorry,” Zoro repeats, because if he's doing this, it'd be horrifically shameful to not do it properly. “I wasn't- wasn’t playing with you, but my cowardice probably made it seem that way.” He hangs his head, shuts his eyes tightly. “I needed to talk to you, but… I didn't. Kept pushing it back. I’d assumed we had all the time in the world.”

“But we didn't,” Sanji whispers back to him.

“No,” Zoro quietly agrees. “We didn't.”

It's silent for a moment after that.

“So, then…”

Zoro inhales, draws strength from that scared, tortured thing inside of him, even as it snarls and hisses at him, resisting his intended course of action. He’s done Sanji a disservice for too long. Zoro won’t dishonor himself by beating around the bush now.

It’s going to be alright, he tells the thrashing monster: a three-headed demon, a six-armed beast, a little boy with too-long hair and too many practice swords, the ghost of a dead girl, the echoes of the past. I'm exposing you, but it's alright. We're going to be okay.

“I was scared.”

Sanji blinks. It seems if he wasn't already freaked out enough by the apology, then this is enough to do him in. “Hah?”

Zoro barrels on. “After you found out. About me- being transgender. I was scared that… you’d thought I’d lied to you, somehow. Or that things would change, now that you knew, or that…”

He hesitates, draws a deep breath. Asura cries inside of him, a cornered animal, lashing out with fangs and claws and terrible words like, not good enough, fighting with all its might. But for Zoro, it’s now or never.

“Or that you’d hate me for it.”

A pause. “You thought I’d hate you… for being transgender?”

“No. Yes. It’s not that simple,” Zoro answers honestly. He has no idea how to talk about this, so he lets instinct take over. “I have all of these… thoughts, and these fucking- feelings about myself that I didn’t even know I had. Not until Kizaru almost blasted me off the damn planet and I spent two years replaying it - all of your screams, begging me to get up - over and over again in my head, like a mantra-”

He pauses, takes a deep breath. He doesn’t meet Sanji’s gaze, unsure of what he’ll find there.

“I can’t accept failure, and because of that, I’m scared of rejection, and it’s this one part of me that- that I can’t just, force to do anything, anymore.” A pause. “It’s shameful, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, or even talk with you about it after you found out about me. And it’s ‘cuz... ‘cuz every evening that went by, I’d just think to myself, ‘one more day.’ One more day where we could still fight, and call each other shitty names, and act like everything’s normal and nothing ever changed, and I wouldn’t have to worry about the chance that you-” and he interrupts himself, finally choking up, “-might never look at me the same. Might think I’m something I’m not… might think I’m not good enough.”

“That you might hate me… for being me.”

There. It’s out. Asura is quiet within him, and if Zoro didn’t know better, he’d swear his organs and general bodily functions have shut down. Not in a violent way - just held still, like a pause button, waiting in something adjacent to peace for whatever happens next.

Zoro chances a glance up. Sanji - hell. Zoro’s never seen Sanji look at him that way. Look at anyone that way.

“I can’t believe you,” Sanji starts, just barely audible. “I can’t believe…” he looks almost on the verge of tears, and Zoro’s hit with a rush of adrenaline at that terrible sight. “You’re a fucking idiot. You’re worse than an idiot. You’re-”

Both of Sanji’s hands fall over his eyes as he tilts his head back, blond hair shifting like silk with the motion. “I’d never hate you for that. Christ, Zoro. There’s a million things I hate about you that matter more to me. You fucking stink, you do nothing but drink all my booze and get lost when I take my eyes off of you for more than five seconds, you have no god-damned manners, you treat the girls like shit-”

“Is this supposed to be romantic, somehow?” Zoro interrupts, bewildered.

Sanji ignores him. “-and you’re self sacrificial to a fault, but that’s fine, it’s all fine, you seaweed-headed moron, because that’s- it’s-” His palms fall from his face, dropping to his sides as he keeps his gaze resolutely on the ceiling. As if the knotted wood patterns will somehow spell out the words the cook’s trying to find.

“I’m not good at this, either,” he finally concedes. “I have my own issues, too. I don’t… I don’t know why it’s so hard to say that I love you too.”

And there it is. Zoro’s whole body subtly jumps, and he resists the urge to laugh, to cry, to yell as loud as he can. He doesn’t even know how he feels.

“Hell in a handbasket, Zoro. Do you have any idea where I've spent the last two years?”

Oh, and an emotion finally wins out. Zoro can’t help it - he laughs, hand coming up to cover his eyes, holding back the wet catharsis resting there under the surface. He feels insane - the devil in him is pacing, coiled with unspent anxiety, with confusion, and Zoro loses himself to it, just a little bit. He surges forward, grabbing Sanji’s shoulders, knocking their foreheads together in a movement that is anything but graceful.

“I want to be yours, cook,” he says, feeling like he’s babbling, but it’s true, so true, and Sanji deserves to hear it. “Just yours. For as long as you’ll have me. I know that I’ve messed up. And you know what- fuck it. I’ll keep messing up. But I’ll… I’ll get better. I know I can. The whole crew, they’re all here, and that alone, that… that’s more than enough.”

“But I want this. I want you to have me. Forever.”

With those last words, the tension snaps in the room. Zoro knows it isn’t actually the case, but it feels like the timber of the floor has cracked, like the bubble coating on the Sunny has snapped, like the ship has finally broken the surface of the water to be back where it belongs above sea level. Sanji smiles at him, manic and hysterical, bordering on disbelief, and Zoro can intimately relate to that. Suddenly, the other man roughly pulls away, grabbing Zoro’s now-free hand left dangling in the air to drag him in the direction of the galley’s door.

“Come on, marimo. We’ve wasted too much time.”

Maybe it’s not the smartest idea, letting Sanji make himself at home on his knees above Zoro’s lap on the couch in the aquarium, where anyone could theoretically walk in at any time. But it is the middle of the night, now, and they both have the benefit of observation haki, and Zoro doesn’t need much more convincing past that once he sees the wild look in the cook’s eye.

Besides that, even if it’s irresponsible, it's fitting. Everything is so blue in here under the cover of night - the ambient light from the aquarium traces patterns over Sanji’s skin, rippling as the muscles in his neck, his forearms shift beneath. His hair shines like gold, aquamarine at the edges, framing familiar blue eyes Zoro knows so well. Where else should they be, for Zoro to let himself feel as though the ocean itself is swallowing him whole?

The cook’s presence over him is powerful, just shy of overbearing, and Zoro wants to match it, as he always does when it comes to the other man. The tantalizing line of Sanji’s collarbone, just barely exposed by the first two undone buttons of Sanji’s shirt, calls to Zoro like a siren's song. He obliges, teeth and tongue meeting skin as Sanji keens in appreciation.

Zoro blindly fumbles with the rest of the buttons on Sanji’s shirt, fingers numb and uncooperative. It's ironic, in a way, with how long Zoro's spent without Sanji, longing to undo these very buttons, that his fingers struggle now. There's always been something undeniably, heart-stoppingly potent about plucking them free, these clasps of the tailored image that seem to always hold Sanji together. Part of Zoro wants to rip them open, tear the binding thread until the seams pop and they're lost entirely - but he doesn't.

It takes far too long for Zoro to finish undoing them all, but it does give him more time for his mouth to work at the column of Sanji’s neck. The shirt falls away, and suddenly he's skin to skin with the other man. Sanji shucks away the fabric over his shoulders, and there’s nothing between them now, anymore.

It feels like blasphemy, running his hands over Sanji’s skin like this, tainting it with marks of red with his mouth. It feels divine.

“Is there anything you don’t want me to do?” Sanji suddenly asks him between pants, eyes lidded and voice husky. His hand finds its way to Zoro’s jaw, soft and tender in stunning contrast to the torrid arousal flooding Zoro’s senses. “I just- don’t know what you… I’ve never…”

And Zoro - his instinct is to find himself irritated, to spring in verbal self-defense like a bear trap at the implied vulnerability, the difference between the two of them. As if Zoro is something that could break under Sanji’s love. But he pushes that feeling down because that’s not what this is, not from Sanji. It’s care, and concern, and love, and Zoro’s slowly learning that maybe it isn’t a sin to accept those things anymore. To ask for them. To need them.

Maybe you just need to show it a little bit of sympathy.

And Zoro doesn’t feel weak, or less than, or patronized under Sanji’s touch. No. He feels strong.

That doesn’t mean that Zoro’s lost the need to provoke the shit-cook, though.

With a vicious grin, Zoro grabs Sanji by the waist, pulling him forward on Zoro’s lap. Briefly shaken from his haze of arousal, Sanji gasps, shooting Zoro a mean, familiar glare that makes the swordsman’s blood boil.

“You bastard, don’t manhandle me-” Sanji bites out before he interrupts himself with a sharp inhale as Zoro presses the flat of his tongue to the bulge in Sanji’s pants, now directly in front of his face. He laves attention there, heady pain sparking along his nerves as the sensitive skin of his tongue catching on the zipper of Sanji’s pants, before he pulls back just slightly. It takes a great deal of effort, as if his face is magnetically drawn to Sanji’s crotch. Zoro looks up to meet Sanji’s gaze with blown out pupils, watching how the pale skin of his face turns red at the action, at their position.

“I’ll tell you if I don’t like something,” Zoro finally answers, voice ragged and heavy. “I trust you.”

God, have they ever said it to one another so explicitly? It’s so innate, so honest, that it almost feels strange to say out loud. It’s like asking his lungs to breathe, or his eyes to blink. I trust you. I’d kill for you. I’d die for you. I almost did.”

There’s something strange in Sanji’s gaze, something wonderful, something addictive as Zoro says that, moving to undo the fly of Sanji’s pants with his teeth. The cook’s hips stutter against his face, and Zoro’s never felt more exhilarated.

Sanji’s cock springs free, and Zoro gives kitten licks to the already-wet head, delighting in the soft moans it pulls. Zoro’s never been a romantic, nor the best with words - but after everything they’ve been through, everything Zoro’s put him through, if he can try to convey just a fraction of how he feels for the man through doing this, then Zoro’s going to do everything he can to give Sanji the best orgasm of his life.

Sanji struggles for purchase against the onslaught Zoro’s tongue is raging against his cock, one hand on the back on the couch and the other coming up over his mouth, muffling himself. Oh, that won’t do.

“Curly,” Zoro says, pulling back to murmur it into the dip of his hip bone, leaving a bite there for posterity. “Hands in my hair.”

“Hah?” Sanji sighs intelligently.

“Your hands,” he repeats, pulling back to reach for both of the cook’s hands, threading their fingers together, redirecting them to Zoro’s head. “Keep them in my hair.”

Sanji bites his bottom lip, looking a bit embarrassed, but obliges. Zoro, content, brings his hands back to Sanji’s hips, returning to licking stripes up his shaft. A minute passes, and Zoro pulls back, plush lips kissing at the tip, ready to take him in.

Fuck. He hasn’t done this in a really long time - how is he supposed to keep his teeth out of it, again? Zoro hopes some kind of muscle memory comes to serve him as he goes. Like riding a bike, hopefully - not that Zoro’s ever done that.

Zoro takes him in, forcing back the instinctual panic at his mouth being so full, and is rewarded with a beautiful mewl from Sanji, a noise Zoro could have never imagined in his wildest dreams. Arousal grabs the swordsman by the throat, rushing even harder than before, as he loses himself in Sanji’s pleasure.

Sanji tugs on Zoro’s hair as he works, apparently inadvertently as the grip on his hair immediately lightens, but Zoro’s moans at the slight sting, the vibration causing Sanji to claw at his scalp once again. The blond must pick up on the fact that Zoro does, in fact, like it, as he keeps his grip firm after that.

Sanji, valiant as ever, hangs on like a cowboy to a bronco, as what Zoro lacks in recent experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm. Spit runs at the edges of Zoro’s mouth as he inhales deeply through his nose, taking Sanji deeper, longing for his nose to reach the thick blond hair spattered there.

Zoro pulls back after some time, drinking in more readily available air as his hand covers what his mouth doesn’t reach. He rolls his eyes upward to take in the state of Sanji - beautiful, debauched Sanji, flushed deep red, mouth parted, hair mussed over his face, lost in bliss. Valkyrie, Zoro thinks, and he only has himself to blame for that one, much to his brief chagrin.

When Sanji comes, Zoro feels it in the grip he has on the man’s thighs first. They shake with the force of it, and Zoro presses in firmly with his fingers, in awe of the strength held there made weak. Maybe it’s strange, to focus mainly on something like that instead of the way Sanji moans through it, or the thickness Zoro manages to now swallow past in his throat, but they’ve always been a bit strange, haven’t they?

Sanji comes down, head thrown back as his chest heaves. Zoro can’t bear to truly pull away to get a better look, resting his chin just below Sanji’s naval. Maybe it’s a product of being separated for two years, or the emotional turmoil still crashing against the inside of his chest like stormy waves, but Zoro feels like if has to stop touching the cook right now, he’ll probably go insane.

“Fuck. What have we been doing all this time, marimo?” Sanji babbles absentmindedly just under his breath, apparently lost in his own afterglow. “We’re so stupid. We could’ve been doing this ages ago. Fuck me.”

Zoro smirks, two parts proud and one part arrogant at Sanji’s praise, wiping the wet edge of his mouth across Sanji’s stomach. “I can, if you want?” he replies cheekily.

At that, Sanji seems to find himself again, snapping his gaze back to Zoro. It’s so suddenly intense from just a moment ago that it makes Zoro’s head spin.

That’s all the warning Zoro gets before Sanji’s legs come to wrap around his midsection, and the cook twists, falling back lengthwise across the couch with Zoro sprawled inelegantly on top of him.

“Shitty cook, what-”

“Sit on my face.”

..

.

Ah. Alright.

Zoro’s brain short circuits.

“Did I break you, moss-for-brains?” Zoro faintly hears the cook coo past the roaring in his ears. “Hello? Earth to marimo?”

Zoro resists the urge to loll his head to the side, slowly snapping back into reality by force of will. Taking a moment to right himself on his knees, he grips a hand in Sanji’s hair, tugging at the strands lightly, taking a moment to revel in the dumbstruck expression the cook is wearing right now. His eyes trail the lines of Zoro’s body with reverence. It’s as if he’s looking at All Blue for the first time, adoring in a way that makes Zoro’s face warm.

The conceited little demon in Zoro indulges the cook, lets the man look his fill for just a moment before Zoro tilts Sanji’s head back, pulling lightly on the golden locks between his fingers. With the cook’s chin now bared up to him, brandishing the beautiful sharpness of his jawline, Zoro lets the heat of himself hover just over Sanji’s mouth.

“Shit,” Zoro says, surprising himself at his own breathlessness. “I’m not gonna break you, am I?’

Zoro speaking seems to snap Sanji out of the daze he was in. He surges up, fingers digging into the meat of Zoro’s hips as he presses the flat of his tongue against Zoro’s cock.

Zoro lets out a harsh groan as his hips twitch with a start into Sanji’s mouth. “Fuck!”

Sanji pulls back just slightly, breath ghosting over Zoro’s dick in a way that makes him shiver with need. “Are you an idiot? Don’t answer that,” the blond purrs, deep and rough like gravel. “I’m gonna break you.”

The cooks eye’s shut as he lays back down fully, pulling Zoro along to lean over him. Pouty lips start their work on Zoro’s cock, and watching that smart mouth work at the most sensitive part of him is sending Zoro into a spiral of primal heat, of burning want. At this point, his head is such a fine blend of fog and need and desire, that all he can really feel is the texture of Sanji’s tongue against him, every ridge and bump and taste bud, working in fine circles.

One thin, elegant hand leaves Zoro’s hips, working its way up his abs, his chest, his throat, up to Zoro’s mouth, plying at his lips for entry. Zoro doesn’t think before he lets them in, laving his tongue over the digits.

Now-wet fingers drop, trailing a cool path up his thighs, gentling trailing over his folds. Zoro starts, bucking his hips into Sanji’s mouth, muscles of his leg stretched in tension.

Zoro still produces some level of wetness, so it should be fine with enough care. God, they’ll have to get lube when they get to the next island.

Lube? At that, Zoro’s mind spirals into everything else he could get to try out with the cook, the near-infinite catalog of sex toys and other things they could use in their debauchery. There’s so much time they have to make up for, so many possibilities, and fuck, Zoro could do this forever, locked in a room with nothing but Sanji and enough triple-x items to fill a warehouse, to make the witch pass out at the wasted beri. Zoro feels like he could fuck Sanji, forever, until they both die of old age or heart attacks or dehydration-

Sanji sucks, hard, as a finger works his way into Zoro’s entrance, and the swordsman’s train of thought completely vanishes.

Zoro’s never been particularly loud or talkative in bed. So, it surprises him a bit when he finds himself speaking his mind, airing out all the things he wishes he was able to say to the cook two years ago while the other man works him like sourdough.

“You look so good like this,” he moans, totally lost at sea, “under me, with your lips wrapped around my cock. Fuck.”

Sanji rewards him with a moan of his own, the vibration of it sending Zoro careening close to the edge, held floating on the precipice. He keeps babbling, squeezing his thighs as he lets go, his weight settling carelessly on Sanji’s face. The slighter man doesn’t seem to mind at all, rubbing at Zoro's insides in a way that's making him see stars.

“Fuck. Wanna give you everything I have… know you can take it. It’s just you. It’s always been you.”

Sanji’s eyes open, lidded and swirling with arousal, and adoration, and-

When Zoro comes, it rolls like an avalanche up his spine, back down to his toes. It grips at his insides, white hot and electric, more powerful than Zoro can ever remember having. His mind blanks, adrift on the waves of the storm that is.

When he comes back to, Zoro finds himself with his forehead on Sanji’s shoulder, arms laid to the sides of Sanji’s head, almost reverently, doing his best not to crush the other man. Peeking his head up, Sanji looks a bit like a drowned cat, mouth covered in wetness and drool as he gasps for air. It’s probably the most beautiful thing Zoro’s ever seen.

Christ alive.

Would it really be so bad, for someone to find them here in the morning, tangled in each others’ embrace? As long as they manage to get their clothes back on, Zoro doesn’t see the issue. To be honest, even that contingency is negotiable.

“No,” the cook immediately barks between breaths, seemingly reading Zoro’s mind. “We're not staying here. Put your clothes back on.”

“Five minutes,” Zoro whines, dropping his forehead back to Sanji’s shoulder, digging his arms into the couch cushions to wrap his arms under the cook’s neck. He knows it’ll probably get uncomfortable here directly, skin to skin like this and sweaty and messy as they are, but that inevitable future seems miles away.

“Fuck," Sanji gasps. "Fine, alright, okay. Fuck.”

They do not leave the couch that night.

That night, wrapped in the embrace of the man he loves, Zoro dreams once more.

He's back in that hellish flaming ocean, a jumpcut to water up to his chest as his skin bubbles with the feeling of being sloughed off. It's awful, excruciatingly so, as much as it was the first time he experienced it.

This time, he doesn't hesitate. Zoro steps forward, letting the water come up to brand his neck, fill the pores of his nostrils, and dissolve the whites of his eyes. Then, he's fully submerged, and…

And the pain is gone.

Zoro blinks, adjusting his vision to the relative lack of light under the water. He doesn't naturally float, his feet naturally sticking to the sand beneath him like the sea here has its own light source of gravity.

It’s peaceful. There’s schools of fish Zoro's never seen before swirling by him, beds of coral that are bright and colorful like hard candy growing at his feet, standing tall above his head. The setting light from the sun above paints the white sand at his feet in orange technicolor, like the remnants of a vibrant memory. Like the light of an aquarium on alabaster skin.

Zoro keeps walking, traveling deeper as he takes his surroundings in, when he’s hit with the abstract desire to look up. So he does.

He’s right underneath the cook now, the surface of the sand he's standing on separating him from the cook by maybe twenty feet. He pushes off the sand with his toes, slowly swimming up to the surface of the water. Languidly, as if moving through molasses, Zoro reaches the top, able to just make out the line of Sanji’s lower body. The surface tension of the water is much, much thicker here than it was before, and Zoro places a palm to it, the reflective liquid solid under his touch. He feels as though he's looking at the cook’s figure through a blurry pane of glass.

Those black legs bend down, and Zoro's suddenly reminded of the first time he'd thought Sanji was an angel. Two years ago, back on the Sunny, during the marine attack when the cook met him at the galley’s porthole with his swords in hand, backlit by the late evening sunset.

Sanji reaches in, breaking past the surface tension to grab Zoro's arm, pull him up out of the sea.

The fire still burns out here, but it's turned to a cool blue, barely licking up Zoro's frame as he rises. He barely feels it anymore, not under the weight of Sanji’s gaze, admiring and lovestruck and oh-so-happy. Zoro reaches out to him, his hands finding the junctures of the cook’s neck and shoulders. When he kisses him with chapped, burned lips, Zoro feels all of the emotions in Sanji’s expression pour into him through their connection.

And that feeling of contentment, of peace - it only grows as Zoro wakes, listening to Sanji - the real Sanji, his Sanji, breathe shallowly under the haze of sleep, his chest rising and falling against Zoro’s.

Chapter Text

“How are you feeling, Zoro?”

“Fine.”

“Any changes I should know about?” Chopper prompts, retrieving various items from one of his many cabinets in the sick bay. His hooves hold a familiar glass vial, clear liquid resting thick at the bottom; a syringe. “Have you been able to keep doing them over the last two years? Same dosage?”

“Yeah,” Zoro replies, a sigh just shy of ragged. “Had… a friend help me with it.”

‘Help’ is a strong term. On Kuraigana, Zoro would have Perona do his testosterone shots for him, but for such a seemingly morbid woman, she’s surprisingly squeamish. While he appreciates her willingness to help, it’s still true that Zoro’s shots have been a much louder, stressful, and drawn out endeavor for the last two years. Chopper doesn’t need to know that, though.

“That’s good!”

The little doctor conducts a familiar routine, drawing the medication into the syringe with surgical precision. He pulls the syringe out of the vial, the tiniest chime echoing through the room as a hoof comes to lightly tap against the cylinder’s side. Even from this distance, Zoro can see the smallest bead of liquid bubble up out of the needle’s end, glistening under the harsh interior lights.

He shivers, averting his gaze at the sight of it.

Zoro has fought all manners of both beasts and men, and despite it all, it's a tiny needle that intimidates him more than anything else. There’s something carnal and primitive about his fear of needles specifically - something about the intrusiveness of it lends to an irrational overtaking of his normally-staunch determination. Cuts, stab wounds, blunt force trauma - those are all at least honest in their intent, and can be considered well-deserved when they slip past his defenses. A needle is deceptive. Tiny, and discrete, and able to put anything that it wants in him.

It's frustrating. Silly, even, to fear something like this.

But it's also alright, maybe. They all have their strengths and weaknesses, and that's what Chopper is here for, anyway. There’s some things that Zoro isn’t able to do on his own, and he's slowly, resolutely, coming to terms with that.

Chopper circles around to his right, and the swordsman flinches involuntarily. He’s glad for a brief moment that his non-dominant arm, the one Chopper always injects his testosterone into, isn’t on his recently-acquired blind side. Not that he actually intends on watching the doctor work, but there’s a strange comfort in knowing he could watch, if he wanted.

“Oi, Chopper,” Zoro finally grunts, because any distraction is better than sitting in silence, thinking about the stupid needle that’s about to go into his arm. The little doctor hums at his side in response, prompting him to continue. “That form you took when we were fighting on Fishman Island, the one that used to make you go crazy…”

“Monster Point?”

“Yeah. You were aware of yourself this time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zoro feels more than sees the motion of Chopper perking up. “Yeah! I trained really hard while we were separated. I wasn’t sure if it would be possible, but I had to try!”

It’s somewhere in those last few syllables that Zoro feels the sting of the needle, gritting his teeth as his face contorts. Chopper has always been clever enough to do it in the middle of a sentence, while it’s still unexpected, because offering a warning just makes it worse. “It doesn’t bother you?” Zoro continues forcefully as the back of his arm throbs.

“Hm?”

“That you’ve mastered the monster inside of you.”

Zoro would turn to try and see Chopper’s expression, but he knows better than to try and look during the shot. The swordsman’s gaze instead stays resolutely fixed to an imaginary dot on the square of white wall in front of him.

Chopper sounds confused when he finally replies. “I mean… it’s me?”

Zoro blinks at that, the animalistic feeling of anxiety lessening for just a moment, as Chopper continues.

“Even if it never listened to me before, Monster Point was still me, you know? Just overwhelmed, and maybe a little scared. It's not so bad, now that I've gotten to practice with it a bit more. And it's kind of fun, getting to smash stuff while I can actually remember it.”

Zoro snorts at that, and Chopper takes the opportunity to pull the needle out, quick and practiced. The soft feel of cotton replaces the sensation on Zoro’s arm.

“You know, before…” Chopper murmurs, pensive. “I always wanted to be a normal reindeer, or a normal human, because I wanted to fit in. But now… I kind of like being a monster.”

“Yeah?” Zoro affirms with a smirk, finally turning towards the doctor. “I guess we’re all monsters here. So you fit right in anyway.”

Chopper grins at that, self-assured and just shy of devious in a way Zoro’s never seen from him. It’s striking, and strange, seeing the product of two years worth of growth all at once, coalesced in that one confident expression.

“You’ve grown up a lot, Chopper.”

And just like that, it’s as if no time has passed at all, the little reindeer wiggling and blushing with familiar delighted embarrassment. “That doesn’t make me happy, bastard!”

Zoro, with a smile making itself at home on the edges of his lips, doesn’t even notice the slight soreness in his arm.

It’s a bit strange, Zoro thinks as he leaves the sick bay, that the crew has been back together for over 48 hours now. In their rush to escape Sabaody, and then with all the chaos and havoc they managed to reign on Fishman Island, the crew hasn’t had a chance to just… talk to one another. To reintroduce themselves after so much time spent apart.

It’s really no surprise, then, that Zoro feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up before he’s barely taken three steps out the door.

When he turns his head to meet the source of the bad omen, predictably, Nami is standing there. She's confidently poised with her hands on her hips and her weight resting to one side, a familiar pose that Zoro normally associates with her ire. But he can't help but grin just slightly when he sees it now. It’s been too long.

Nami marches towards him, her heels clacking against the deck with each step, her shoes somehow even taller than they were even two years ago. Zoro wonders if it’s normal for a person to be able to grow their hair out that long in such a span of time as the new red locks flow behind her. She approaches with all the grace of a queen, her arm outstretched. For a second, Zoro thinks she’s moving to point at his eye, to question what happened to it.

Instead, she ends smacking him in the head with a closed fist-

“Agh! What the hell’s wrong with you, witch?”

-before quickly throwing her arms around his back and pulling him in.

“You cannot have bigger tits than me,” Nami whispers against his collar bone.

“Hm,” Zoro grunts, shaken by her capricious behavior. His arms come around her shoulders on instinct as he processes her words, finally having to hold back a laugh. The verbage she uses doesn't bother him at all, because now that he's taken the time to look at himself and actually see, he's proud. Proud of his body, and the results of his hard work. “But I do. Complaining won't help.”

“Tell me how, then!”

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

She lets out a shriek at that, the noise deadened by Zoro's body as it leaves her mouth. “I don't deserve this!” she sniffles, thumping her fist against Zoro’s aforementioned chest, before she suddenly spins around out of his grip, stalking off. “Who has a tape measure on this damn ship?”

(The number ‘110’ becomes a curse word on the Sunny after that, unspeakable whenever their navigator is nearby. Usopp doesn’t ever get his tape measure back, either.)

“How's Vivi?” Zoro asks, much later, after giving Nami the chance to cool off for a bit. It’s evening now, the orange glow of the setting sun hanging heavy over the Sunny’s lawn. The grass is cool on Zoro’s skin where he rests under one of the trees, Nami tending to her precious mikans.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Nami mocks back at him. Well, maybe she could’ve used a little more time to cool off, then. Zoro’s never been a good judge of that sort of thing.

“She’s good,” Nami finally says after a moment, the storm of her temper receding once more as she smiles wistfully. “We’re official, now.”

“I told you it would all work out.”

“Uh huh,” she replies, a smirk evident in her tone. “How’s Sanji?”

“He’s stupid,” Zoro huffs. “We’re official, now.”

“God! Finally!” Nami barks as she finishes peeling a mikan with her thumbnail. For a second, she looks like she wants to throw the fruit at Zoro’s face, but is held back by disgust at the thought of treating one of her mikans so thoughtlessly. “Maybe now I can breathe freely a little bit.”

“Come on. You weren’t much better off than I am.”

“I beat you by two years!”

Zoro’s eyebrows raise at that. “Two years, huh?” He thinks back to before they had been split up. “You still have that special letter from her tucked away somewhere? The one with the red envelope?”

At that, Nami sniffs, slipping a piece of mikan into her mouth and chewing slowly. Making Zoro wait while she swallows. “Of course. You’re never reading it, though.”

Zoro makes a comical gagging noise. “Like I’d want to.”

Nami sticks her tongue out at him, face scrunched up childishly, and Zoro returns the gesture with just as much gusto.

Things really aren’t so different, after all.

From there, weeks pass. Adventures both large and small begin to come and go, changing and shaping everyone on the crew in different ways. That’s the funny thing about time, how its passage always invokes change, for better or worse. And with intent and dedication, that change can be harnessed.

There's a certain power in repetition, Zoro thinks, a discipline that’s near irreplicable. And, while he may have come to terms with the fact that his feelings towards Koushirou are conflicted, and maybe always will be, Zoro can still appreciate the truth in the things his old sensei had taught him.

Now, every time Zoro finishes his workout for the day (or night), he takes a moment to meditate, legs crossed as he sits in front of the mirror in the crow’s nest.

Meditation comes to Zoro in numbers, most often. Even when he was a child, the best way to still his mind would be to count up from zero and then back down. There’s an odd comfort in it, and the actual mathematics have always come naturally to the swordsman.

Eye shut, Zoro starts a familiar pattern, numbers flashing through his mind like a marquee as he starts counting up in increments.

9… 18… 27… 36…45…54

Minutes pass. By the time he gets to 1080, Zoro’s pulse has slowed and his muscles have relaxed. The noise of his background thoughts and processes fade from his mind, his psyche tranquil like the smooth surface of a lake. He counts back down anyway for the closure of it.

1080… 1071… 1062… 1053… 1044… 1035…

It’s only when he returns to zero that Zoro opens his eye, meeting his reflection in the mirror.

Sometimes, when Zoro looks in the mirror, all he sees is himself as he is now. Some of the baby fat has faded from his wide, rounded jaw, and his hair is a touch longer than what he's used to. Maybe he needs to ask Sanji for a haircut again.

There's times, though, when the image seems to shift. And in the mirror’s swirling vortex, instead of himself, he sees a little boy. He sees something dark, fuzzy at the edges, despondent and angry. He sees too-long hair and cuts and scrapes from years of impassioned training. He sees the shape of a chest that isn’t there anymore, a body shape that isn’t his, distressing and strange. He sees two eyes, and then six.

When Zoro would see him before, in mirrors, he'd always look away. He doesn't do so now, though.

“You've done alright,” Zoro says to himself, to the mirror, feeling a little silly even as the words settle over the still room like fresh snow. They feel crisp and new leaving his mouth, as if somehow untainted by the tenebrosity of his heart as they make their way from his lungs out of his body. He swallows. “You’re enough.”

Zoro stares a little closer, and the image contorts outwards, unraveling until his reflection feels something akin to normal again. Older, with just the single eye, the pinkish scar of it tracking across his eyelid and over the curve of his cheekbone. But it's him, no doubt.

It's a start.

Satisfied for now, Zoro tilts his head back, rolling his shoulders with a satisfying pop. He reaches to grab his swords resting parallel on the floor at his side, hesitating for a moment as his hand moves to grasp Wado. There’s no reason to, though - he feels her presence as soon as his fingers make contact with her sheath, a soothing balm in his mind. Relief washes over him. The period of time when he couldn’t feel her, too lost in the depths of his own dejection, still haunts him: a reminder of how lost he was, of why he’s making the effort now that he is.

Kitetsu just seems to be glad his master is listening to him again. Shusui is still upset. Zoro understands the frustration, and doesn’t wallow for the sword’s approval. Demonstrable action is the only real way to prove one’s change, anyway.

As he stands to reattach his swords, the last thing Zoro catches in the mirror is Yubashiri’s charm, the glint of it eye-catching as he moves.

The grief of losing Yubashiri still aches within him, sometimes. The weight of all his failures, his inadequacies. He still struggles with the heaviness of his need to be better, to keep everyone safe, to prove himself worthy of existence. He grapples with the depth of his burdens, what his failures mean about himself, his gender, his promise to Kuina.

But Zoro doesn’t need to let it control him anymore.

He doesn’t want to let it define him. He doesn’t want to feel broken, anymore, because he’s not. He needs to let that part of himself heal, because he refuses to let himself rust away under the weight of his own mind, of his own perceptions of the world, of himself.

Zoro’s hand comes to wrap around the charm, cool metal heating quickly around his fingers.

Yubashiri is dead. But something new has come from it, and maybe, for now, that's enough.

Zoro’s not a writer by nature. He’s never really had a reason to. But now, as he finds himself knee-deep in the process of letter writing, he finds he actually doesn’t dislike it.

The feel of a pen slipping against paper is satisfying. His letters are neat, blocky as they take shape on the page, the rhythm of the pen strokes reminding Zoro of the calligraphy lessons he had with Koushirou as a child. The movements feel a bit like a kata, although less of the body and more of the mind.

There’s comfort in the repetition of forming the words, a kind of nostalgic solace, and yet the ideas Zoro’s using them to shape are entirely new. The letters take on the form of something more malleable, more raw, as he channels them on the page.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, to try writing a bit more.

He starts by writing to Perona. He asks about how she’s doing, if Mihawk has driven her insane yet. Zoro avoids questioning if she has plans to leave, even though he really would like to know. And mostly, he apologies. Perona never deserved his anger, even if Zoro’s sure she understood it wasn’t because of her. Zoro’s not used to having people worry after him, but it doesn’t excuse how he acted out before they parted. And, well, it’s not as though Perona wasn’t right about him. About everything, as much as it irritates Zoro to say so.

Perona… has done a lot for Zoro. And considering how much they want to tear each other’s hair out most of the time, she really, really didn’t have to show as much kindness to him as she did. He hopes his gratitude comes across in his letter somehow, even though he can’t find the right words to express it.

That first letter takes a bit of time, and Zoro seals its envelope with the hope that it’s at least good enough to convey his intent. He decides not to write to Mihawk. Zoro can’t think of much he’d like to say now to the man that wouldn’t be better conveyed through their swords.

Normally, Zoro doesn’t write to Vivi individually, choosing to let Nami update her about his goings-on whenever she replies on behalf of the crew. But today, Zoro decides to write to her himself. He tells her about the crew’s time apart, about his stay in a castle fit for a vampire, about training under the man he’s meant to defeat one day, about the strange ghost-girl he found kinship in. He asks after Nami, eager to see if there’s anything Vivi will share that he can tease the witch with. He questions how Vivi herself is doing, how her kingdom is faring, and in the most roundabout way he can, if she ever misses traveling on the seas with a foul group of pirates like themselves.

Zoro’s last letter he has to write… it’s a bit of a strange one. But he feels obligated to write it anyway, so he keeps his thoughts concise and simple as he channels them on the paper.

Rayleigh,

You asked me to write to you when I figured it all out. Well, that’s what I’m doing now.

I’ll be devoted to my captain until I die. I’m going to be the strongest, the only swordsman worthy of standing by the future King. But I’m not doing it for him.

There’s a promise I have to keep to someone important. It means everything, to prove to her that I can be the greatest swordsman in the world.To carry on her will. But I’m not doing it for her, either.

I’m not going to be the best because I have to. Not even because I want to.

I’m going to do it just because I can. And I don’t care what you think about that.

III RZ

When Zoro hands his stack of letters off to the next mail bird, Nami ogles him as if she would’ve never guessed he knew how to hold a pen. Zoro sticks his tongue out at her.

And later, across the Red Line and half a world away, an old man laughs, his whiskey glass shaking in his weathered hand.

“What… the fuck?”

Franky waits with bated breath, practically vibrating out of his mostly-synthetic skin as he judges Zoro’s reaction. “You remember when you had to get surgery two years ago, yeah? Well, I kind of just helped out with Usopp-bro’s gift since I didn’t really know you that well. Which is super not super.”

“And… Now you know me well enough. To make me this.”

“Exactly! OW!”

Zoro glances back down at the box in his hands, the aforementioned gift contained within.

It’s… a strap-on. The black harness looks sturdy, made to fit the swordsman’s frame. Fireproof, too, apparently, which may prove useful. The dick is soft silicon in a striking green: big, but not excessively so.

“Please tell me this doesn’t shoot fire or something.”

“Do you want it to?” Franky asks, eyes suddenly lighting up with stars at the prospect. “Robin said I needed to keep it simple, but I could do all kinds of things, like-”

“Robin said HUH?”

That just makes it ten times worse. Between knowing that Robin put any kind of thought into his and the cook’s sex life, and the image unwillingly left in his head of whatever weird shit she and Franky apparently get up to, Zoro's absolutely mortified. But even so, he would absolutely be lying if he didn’t admit that-

“It's a good gift,” Zoro huffs, cutting off Franky’s rambling that Zoro wasn’t actually listening to. But at the same time- “Don't ever do anything like this again, or I'm gutting you.”

“You got it, bro!” Franky shouts, striking his signature pose. It’s a lot more… loud, with Franky’s new gigantic body and humongous arms. “You have to tell me what cook-bro thinks!”

Zoro decides he is absolutely not telling Franky what the cook thinks of it, especially since he later has to hold Sanji back from finding the cyborg and grinding him into a metallic spice for one of his dishes.

“Good for nothing pervert, what the hell’s wrong with him? Who gives someone something like that? Unironically? He should mind his own business-”

Despite the cook’s insistent barking, they eventually end up making good use of it later. Maybe the idiot doth protest too much, Zoro thinks.

The hotel they’ve found themselves in is forgettable. What isn’t forgettable is the way Sanji looks afterwards, resting against the windowsill smoking a cigarette. The window is cracked to let the smoke escape, hazy early-evening light shining through the opening to light Sanji’s profile in photogenic clarity. The way he looks in that moment - relaxed, content, barely dressed and candid - Zoro can’t pull his eyes away from where he’s at, still on the bed across the room. Sanji probably doesn’t even realize it, either, how thoroughly he’s captured Zoro’s attention, how perfect and divine he looks.

It’s an image that’s actively burning itself into Zoro’s long-term memory. He almost wishes he had a den den mushi so he could take an actual photo of it, carry it with him wherever he goes, write the date and location at the bottom as if to say, ’Remember this? I was here then, with you, and I want the thought of that here with me, forever.’

There wouldn’t be any point, though. It probably wouldn’t come out right, at least not the way Zoro sees Sanji at this moment. Like trying to photograph a sunset: it’s never as beautiful on ink and paper as it is in reality. Moments like this are as fleeting and capricious as they are stunning.

“Do you ever think about what it’s like, in this moment, everywhere we’ve ever been?” Sanji says, breaking the silence. He’s apparently in just as poetic of a mood as Zoro is. “Like, if it’s sunny in Alabasta right now, too. It probably is. Or if it’s warm like this in Skypiea.”

“Not really,” Zoro replies, and Sanji turns from the window to glower at him. He’s never been very good at the whole ‘pillow-talk’ thing. “The only way we can go now is forward. No use thinking about what’s behind us.”

“That’s so like you to say,” Sanji mutters with a sigh. “You don’t ever think about what the people we’ve met are up to? Vivi? The Water 7 guys? Hachi, Camie?”

“Oi,” Zoro grunts, suddenly irritated. “Don’t talk about Camie while we’re like this.”

Sanji snorts, taking another drag. “You’re too easy to work up.”

Zoro purses his lips as something seemingly clicks into place in his mind. “Are you trying to?”

Sanji flinches slightly at that, and now Zoro knows he’s found something. “What, work you up? Aren’t we always? That’s what we do. You piss me off, and I piss you off back.”

Zoro doesn’t let Sanji deflect. His gaze meets the other man's across the room, intense as he thinks things through, slow and steady like the gear of a clock.

“...Back before we were separated. When we weren’t talking, and you were doting on Camie. You were trying to make me jealous.”

Sanji scoffs at that, offended. “Not everything revolves around you, you know. Why wouldn’t I dote on her? Camie is beautiful, smart, talented, lovely-”

“Oi.”

“... But, well. Maybe just a little bit.” Sanji nervously fiddles with his cigarette. “That… wasn’t very mature of me, at the time. Sorry.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zoro hears a voice that sounds suspiciously like Nami telling him something like ’of course, idiot. You really missed that?’ He tells her to shut up and get out of his head.

“S’fine. I wasn’t being mature, either.”

Zoro’s thumb rubs along the edge of the bedsheet, threads soft against his fingertips. His next words feel strange to say out loud, but… he’s trying to be more open. With his emotions, and all that comes with that.

“I wasn't jealous of your attention towards her… not exactly, anyway. She saved you, then. I didn’t.” Zoro frowns at the memory. “She was worthy of you. I wasn't.”

Sanji blinks. He puts out his cigarette, then, leaving the butt of it on the windowsill before he moves to sit back on the bed. It’s quiet for a moment while the cook thinks.

“I... don't want our relationship to be like that. Where we’re just… jumping in, trying to save each other all the time.”

Zoro immediately has a memory flash before his eyes, one of Sanji standing resolute before him, offering his life in exchange for the swordsman’s on Thriller Bark. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Be quiet,” Sanji grunts, well-aware of where Zoro’s mind had gone. “I’m not saying there’s not gonna be times when that’ll happen. I’d die before I let anything happen to you, shithead. But… I don’t want it to be all we are. For guilt and worry and all that shit to take over… everything else.” Sanji turns to fully face Zoro, legs crossed. “I like you because I can trust you to be strong. To be there, at my back, pushing me to be better. So the next time I end up in a shit situation, maybe you should just say,” and Sanji’s pitch drops in an offensive mockery of Zoro’s voice, “‘idiot-cook, maybe you should be faster next time. Your flank was wide open. Dumbass.'”

Zoro suddenly laughs at that, loud and unhinged, and his hand comes up to wipe at his eyelids. “Shit. You’re insane.”

“So are you. You’re a fucking Straw Hat Pirate, after all.”

Zoro’s hand slides down his face, coming to rest over his mouth while he thinks carefully about his next words. His fingers part over his mouth. “I’ve… always felt obligated to protect everyone. Because you cook, and Nami navigates, and- everyone has a role on the ship like that, except me. I’m just the guy that kills people. So I’ve always felt, like, what am I even worth, if I can’t even keep everyone safe?” Zoro’s hand moves again, coming up to rub at his forehead with the heel of it. He feels like he’s rambling. “I know you guys don’t see it that way.”

“Damn straight.”

“And I’m working on it. But… you’ve always understood me, anyway,” Zoro continues. “Even though your passion is food. You’re meant to create, to care for others, but… you still feel like I do. You’re strong for it. You’re the one I look to in a fight.”

Zoro turns to Sanji, and his hand comes up to rest lightly at the other man’s jaw, reverent. The hair Zoro’s fingers find there is new. So is the way Sanji parts his hair, and so is the additional lean muscle that sits over his frame. He’s changed, subtly, but it’s still him.

“Sanji, I think… you’re bigger than I’ll ever be, for that.”

Zoro hears him gasp, a quiet noise he barely catches.

“Say my name,” Sanji grits out, practically begs, rough and desperate as he reaches out to hold Zoro’s jaw tight between his fingers. “Say it again.”

He sounds so beautiful. And who is Zoro to deny him?

It all unravels from there. Sanji’s mouth is suddenly on his, tasting of smoke, ash, spice. His tongue pries for entrance against Zoro’s lips, desperate, and Zoro reciprocates. The taste is intoxicating, Zoro’s heart thumping against his chest at the way Sanji moves against him, as if it’s the most natural thing he’s ever done. Maybe it is.

“You’re more than a swordsman,” Sanji pants as he pulls back, his breath warm and wet against Zoro’s lips. “You’re the one Nami goes to when something’s wrong, when even I can’t cheer her up. You’re the one Chopper looks up to, the one Usopp hides behind when one of his stupid experiments blows up. When it’s too loud for her on the ship, but she doesn’t want to be alone, you’re the one Robin finds to read next to. And when Franky needs someone to tie the sails down, or Brook needs a baritone, and at least half the time when Luffy ends up in the fucking ocean… it’s you. We need you. I need you,” Sanji’s forehead comes to rest against Zoro’s, the intensity of his gaze as hot as a brand. “Zoro… you’re gonna be the greatest one day. But… to me, you already are.”

Zoro kisses him again, then, hard, because what else can he do? To hear that Sanji thinks of him that way, the man that puts his entire heart into all of their meals, who would serve anyone that was hungry, whose hands were made to give life, to provide care… it’s almost too much to bear. Zoro feels like his heart could burst from the amount of love his heart has for Sanji, as if the depth of his adoration couldn’t be contained in his mortal form.

Zoro had thought, once, that Sanji was like the sea, and Zoro was like fire. Easy, straightforward, and concise in his worldview.

But that’s not entirely true, is it?

Sanji is the sea, and he’s the devil the sea hates so much, coexisting all at once in the body of one incredible man. He’s got the luck of the devil, and the bastard’s fire, too, burning hot as a forge in the bones of his legs, in his ribs, his hands, his heart. But at the center of it all, his spirit swirls with all the waves of water and fish and salt of that miracle ocean the cook’s gonna find one day.

And Zoro?

He sparked with Kuina. He’d burn until the day his captain died. And then, he’d probably flicker out and die.

But maybe, just maybe, somewhere hidden in the tears he’d cried so long ago after facing Mihawk at the Baratie, in the blood he’d given to Kuma in his captain’s name, in the salt on his skin after sparring with Sanji-

Maybe there was a bit of the ocean in him too. Maybe, with enough time, and effort, and love from his crewmates, from himself, it could douse the parts of this fire that threatened to consume him.

Maybe, Zoro thinks, as his fingers card through Sanji’s hair, as he feels himself sink with him into the comforting sea of bliss, it already is.