Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Zoro notices is just how tiny it is.

These days, the World’s Greatest hulks over even the most massive of men. Next to a child, he’s a titan. It’s a wonder the little girl didn’t run off in fear as he approached her— most kids tend to.

Not only is she short, barely coming up to his mid thigh, but the second thing the swordsman takes in is how malnourished she looks. Dark skin clings to her frail bones, and her chestnut eyes have sunken deep into their sockets. In a scary way, she resembles Brook, and unfortunately not because of the coiled curls hanging limp and lifeless from her head. The tiny thing is barely a kid anymore than she is a skeleton wrapped up in a few tattered pieces of fabric. 

Zoro's just finished subduing the Yeti Pirates for one of the Pirate King’s gazillion allies. Snow is falling and frigid air bites at his cheeks. If it wasn’t for the thick coat the damned cook had forced him to bring, he’d be an ice cube, or had lost a limb or two to frostbite by now. They’re on a winter island, and this little girl is only wearing a dish rag.

“Where are your parents?” the swordsman asks as he shrugs the fleece from his shoulders. In the middle of saying it, he realizes the question is a waste of breath. No adult who’d allowed their kid to get into a state like this was worthy of being called as much. And Zoro had no intentions of returning the little girl back to people who would allow her out like this, not then.

And not when her dark eyes welled up with tears the moment the coat dropped over her shoulders, her lower lip trembling. Especially not when she collapsed forward into his leg, her small hands gripping his pant legs with a surprising strength.

He’d told the cook he’d be back at the end of the month. There’d been a challenger tracking him for the past three islands that he’d eventually have to deal with and he was supposed to stop by to see Koshiro. Nami was waiting for him in Alabasta, saying they had something super important to discuss “in person, not over the damned Den Den Mushi” and if he didn’t haul ass his great-great-great grandchild would still be paying off his debt. Franky wanted him to pick up some specialty knives he’d crafted for the restaurant (which Sanji’d bitched about and insisted he refuse, but Franky had slyly offered up a barrel of rum and that was the end of it).

Hand nestled in the girl’s frail lochs, Zoro decided Nami’s threats and Franky’s knives and challengers could wait. There was nothing more important than getting this little girl a good meal as soon as possible.

And there was only one person the swordsman trusted enough with a task like that. 

[ // ]

The marimo’s most recent fight had been more bloody than usual. 

Cooped up in his kitchen, Sanji had been stress baking since he caught wind of it, smoking a mile a minute and ignoring all the excited chatter leaking in from the dining room. Still recovering from the first time Carne told him to stop acting like such an anxious lover, the crew knew better than to mention anything about the duel. They went as far as to shoo off News Coos, fearing the fiercer kicks they got on days the blonde read an update he didn't like. 

Which was turning out to be any update on the situation.

Broken bones, gallons of blood, torn skin. Apparently, the dumbass had nearly lost his arm to a challenger who’s bounty wasn’t high enough to warrant that much trouble. Of course, the mosshead won , but if the reports were to be trusted, it wasn’t without a hefty burden. 

How was the World’s Greatest experiencing any trouble?!

Since defeating Mihawk, Zoro ended every fight with barely a twitch of his wrist. Not a single battle lasted longer than thirty seconds. People didn’t even challenge the World’s Greatest Swordsman in an attempt to defeat him anymore; no , just to see if they could break the record and survive longer than the last person. 

He was the most dangerous, bloodthirsty holder of the title in the past centuries–so it came to a shock to the entirety of Baratie: All Blue when the first rumors of the fearsome battle hit the dining room. 

Given that a good chunk of their clientele these days were the swordsman’s stupid admirers (hoping to catch a glimpse of the restaurant’s unfortunate moss infestation during their visit), the guests were already raving about the fight before the first newspaper article came out. According to them, the battle had gone on for thirty-six hours straight, with Zoro’s opponent being a high ranking marine with a twelve foot blade. Or it was a forty-five minute fight against a werewolf devil fruit user. Or a fishman gunslinger. 

After dropping a second plate upon hearing some rumor about the idiot marimo losing his second eye to someone who’s bounty wasn’t even hitting three digits, Sanji had been forcibly confined to the kitchen by a Zeff who ‘deserved a better retirement than this. ’ For days after the rumored fight, he was left with nothing better to do than stress bake and avoid listening to the fan’s unhinged gossip, at least until the News Coos arrived and gave a clearer story.

But even knowing the fuller picture didn’t make Sanji any better. 

According to the papers, Zoro had been on route back to the restaurant (which already set off alarm bells since the Mosshead wasn’t due for another two months– only one according to Zoro, but Zoro-time was already .5 slower than the average population), only to be held up by some no name. According to rumors, the dumbass challenger had wet his pants mid battle, but not before making the famed swordsman shed blood . 

How was the carp nipping at the bass? Sanji fully intended to beat the answer out of the Mosshead once he returned.

But then Zoro returned. On the familiar scraps of wood the idiot called a raft, the cooks and clients on the deck whooping and hollering their cheers (partially for another successful duel, but also because it meant Sanji would have someone else to nag finally ), yawning like an unimpressed fool– the way he normally did. 

Aside from the still bleeding cut on his forehead. 

Because, of course, the dumbass wouldn’t have even treated his wounds even though it’d been days at that point. Of course he’d left an open wound to fill with sweat and grime from days of floating on his splintering excuse of a boat. Nevermind the fact that the cut shouldn’t even be there in the first place , the least the Mossheaded fool could’ve done was take care of it.

So focused on the dripping wound, Sanji didn’t notice when the cheers and shouts of greeting stopped or when Zeff let out an amused snort of laughter. He didn’t notice the uncertain gleam in Zoro’s eyes or the way he shuffled from foot to foot in a way that was comically unbecoming of him and his hulking frame. He didn’t even notice the child until he nearly tripped over the runt.

The blonde barely managed to steady himself before he and the little girl went toppling over into the ocean. And only when he did did he blink slowly down at the child– who’s dark hair was a bird’s mess and chestnut eyes squinted up at him blarily. 

For a heartstopping second, Sanji sees himself. Sitting on a rock, stomach more barren than a desert and light faded from his eyes, hoping for a ship to come and bring salvation. If this was what Zeff saw when he looked at him all those years ago, he feels like he may understand his decision more than he had in the past twenty years. No child should have been able to get in a state like this. 

She’s in dire need of a haircut and a good bath. Barely a kid any more than she is a skeleton with the way her skin is all too tight around her bones. 

Zoro yawns and breaks the staredown between him and the child by shoving the kid forward with the butt of Wado Ichimonji. Sanji scrambles to catch the kid before she falls face first into the deck, glaring venomously up at the swordsman as he starts towards the Baratie’s entrance, nonchalant. Like any of this– the still bleeding cut, the little malnourished girl, the bruises the cook can now see now that they’re closer– is normal. As if he would get away without facing Sanji’s wrath.

“Wha-where the hell are you going?!” he shouts, sounding more frantic than intended. Arms tightening around the child when the girl whimpers at his volume, he lowers his voice. “Who’s kid is this?”

“Need booze,” the Marimo supplied, helpfully, nodding in greeting to a few of the cooks. Carne congratulates him on his most recent fight. Even Zeff, who normally pointedly ignores the swordsman’s existence anytime he wasn’t yelling at him, grunts in greeting– cordially . 

This has to be some sort of cosmic joke. And Sanji’s the only one isn’t in on it, everyone else continuing on as normal like he doesn’t have a kid that’s more bones than skin trembling in his hold. 

“Marimo, if you don’t—“ Sanji called out, trying to regain his bearings and keep his chill for the child that’s still staring up at him, expectantly . Like even she knows what’s going on and is waiting for him to get with it .

“Booze. Cook.” Zoro said, returning Patty’s wave half heartedly as he started to turn the corner to go get lost on the ship for the next several hours and leave Sanji to a child with no clue as to where she came from or why. Or what he was supposed to do with her. 

“ Roronoa Zoro. ” The entire deck stills.

Only a few times had he used Zoro’s full name since he appeared at the restaurant’s front doors, freshly victorious after his fight with Mihawk. The first time was when Zoro was being a bit too hard on a regular (who had adamantly been flirting with Sanji and making crude comments about the cook– though, Sanji would argue he still didn’t deserve to lose an arm and a leg ( literally ) for that). A second was when he’d drunk their supply of booze fully with the help of Law ( “I don’t care if Law drank just as much– he was paying! ”). 

Always, following the name came the flames, like thunder after lightning. Already, chefs and clientele were stepping back, looking for cover and a good place to watch the fight. Though the last thing Sanji wanted to do was traumatize the poor girl with charred flesh, it was the least Zoro deserved if he couldn’t be bothered to explain what was going on.

Not even a second after the words escaped his mouth, the swordsman had already leveled him a flat look. The words tumbled out in a stream after that– quick, direct and nonchalant the way Zoro always spoke. Grounding. “Found her on the last island I was on, shivering and cold. Says she’s been alone for a while, hasn’t gotten a proper meal in months. She’s starving, can’t you do your job and hold off the interrogation?”

They held gazes for a moment, silver and blue colliding in an unspoken conflict. And then, as if to offer up its own argument, the little girl’s stomach growled.

Sanji’s eyes fell down to her, softer this time, contemplating for a long moment.

And he dropped to his knees before her. Cupping her hands in his own, he asked: “Allergies?”

The little girl, wide eyed and chewing on her thumb, shook her head.

“Crepes?”

The little girl’s stomach spoke up again, even as she nodded eagerly.

Smiling warmly, Sanji’s expression didn’t falter once as he raised to his feet again and gently pulled her in the direction of the kitchen. Even as he coldly ordered his staff: “No booze for the Mosshead until he gets a bath and cleans every wound– am I heard?”

Zoro groaned loudly over the sounds of dozens of cooks enthusiastic agreement. 

Zeff’s grin couldn’t get any wider. 

[//]

Her name is Calliope and she was one of the natives of a snow island before it was overrun by the Yeti pirates. She’s only six and has an impressive appetite, putting down seven crepes before promptly passing out in Sanji’s lap.

Which was where Zoro eventually found her, after being chased by a gang of pirate cooks and having every wound scraped and cleaned. 

Sanji had her bathed and in a sundress at that point, her unruly hair tied back in a complicated chignon. Under the candlelight, his hair shines golden and there’s a warm glow to his features that makes them appear softer. Or maybe that’s just the gentle way he stares down at the girl in his lap, azure eyes crinkled as he wipes drool from her mouth with the cuff of his shirt.

As focused as he was on the little girl, Zoro hadn’t even thought he’d been noticed coming in. After a few seconds of staring, something in his chest so light and warm seeing Sanji cradle a child so tenderly, he’s taken aback by the resigned voice: “What did you drag in, Marimo? What are we supposed to do with her.”

“Well you fed her, and then she took a bath— nap time comes next, right?” Zoro tried.

Sanji finally tore his eyes away from the child to land him an unimpressed look.

Zoro was the textbook definition of a ruthless killer. 

All he did these days was swing swords and shed blood— he didn’t build things, he destroyed them. He wasn’t qualified to answer a question like that, or to take care of a child himself.

But Sanji. Sanji whose hands were soft and feather light, who spent every day caring for people and giving away meals even to those who didn’t deserve it. Sanji who held so much kindness inside him he practically glowed with it, who created with his hands, never killed— Sanji could do this.

It was just a matter of convincing Sanji he could.

“Her family is gone. She has nowhere to go, cook,” Zoro said, stepping further into the room. The shadows grow longer on Sanji’s face as he tilts his head up, setting an examining look on the swordsman. Zoro has fought the World’s Greatest Swordsman and lived to tell the tale. He’s stood up to the World Government and Emperors of the sea alike. That look does not set him on edge.

Maybe it does just a little .

“So take her to an orphanage. The Baratie is no place for kids,” the blonde said, waving his free hand offhandedly.

A dojo clogged with riff-raff. Older boys who were far too rough and cold nights snuggled up alone. Koshiro did everything to make sure they were provided for, but there was no escaping the fact that a dojo couldn’t be a home. A place of training, cultivating bloodlust, wasn’t warm with familial touch. 

Zoro imagined orphanages were the same way— houses where a bunch of children were stuffed together to survive. Not a place meant for a kid to grow. Not somewhere he wanted to throw Calliope into after she lost everything.

The Baratie was in a home, all but in name. Regulars greeted each other and the staff warmly, children ran around on the deck, and the kitchen was always alive with laughter. Besides the Sunny, Zoro never felt more at home than he did getting bitched at by the cook about his table manners or reluctantly handed a bottle of beer by Zeff. Here Calliope would not only be safe, surrounded by one of the toughest crews on the seas and in the King of the Pirate’s domain, but she would be loved .

“I can’t,” Zoro mumbled.

Sanji raised an eyebrow. Repeating it slowly, as though he were savoring the words, he said:  “You can’t?”

Zoro scratched at the back of his neck nervously. Sanji shut his eyes, his lips moving in the way that meant he was mentally counting to cool himself off.

When he reached twenty-four, Zoro had finally built up the will to speak again.

“I saved her, cook,” he said, words starting slowly, but gaining momentum with every syllable until they were flooding out of him. “I told her I would protect her and make sure she was safe and happy. I can’t do that if she’s traveling alongside me with all the bastards attacking me for my title, and I can’t do that if she’s cooped up in an orphanage in the middle of nowhere. If I leave her here, I know you’ll take good care of her. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with her.”

Sanji was looking away now, appearing out of his depths. A faint pink started to rosen his cheeks, and he opened his mouth to speak— but Zoro wasn’t done.

“I couldn’t get her to sleep the whole way here, and only two hours after arriving she’s already asleep on your lap. She took your hand without question, Sanji ,” Zoro was practically pleading now. The Greatest Swordsman never pleaded. “I know she’s my responsibility, but I can’t think of anywhere she’d be safer, and any place more worthy to take care of her, than the Baratie with you.”

He’s wearing him down, slowly but surely. Sanji’s face is now tomato red, his eyes filtering to anywhere but Zoro's own, yet never straying too far from his form. With the way the blonde’s hold on the girl tightens just the slightest bit, the swordsman can tell he’s nearing defeat. Just a few more words nudging him in the right direction would do.

Dropping the original argument, Sanji squared his shoulders. Confidently bringing up a new concern, he wasn’t at all prepared to be cut off so quickly. “I don’t know if you haven’t noticed, but I’m running a restaurant here, Mossy. I can’t have kids running around—“

“That’s rich coming from you,” a heavy voice cuts in. Soft thuds mark the sound of an old man approaching them, and Sanji looks appropriately reproached to see Zeff coming up besides Zoro. “She looks a bit more behaved than you were that age at least.”

It’s a bit unnerving to have Zeff side with him given how their normal interaction was the old hag tripping over his sleeping form and cussing up a storm, but Zoro readily accepted it. Especially when Sanji goes silent, worrying at his bottom lip. 

“Give her here, your bitching is keeping her up,” Zeff said after a silent moment, reaching out impatiently for the girl. Even Zoro is surprised at that, glancing down to find that her eyes weren’t as tightly shut as he originally thought they were.

Sanji startled, guilt flashing across his features when he glanced down to match eyes with the ones now tightly shut. Calliope’s grip on him has tightened, and she’s faking snores, pretending she hasn’t been caught even with the entire room’s attention on her. Realizing she was probably awake for a lot longer than the tail ends of their discussion, Zoro inwardly panics, wondering how much she heard about them debating what to do with her.

“ Calli ,” Sanji says, soft as a caress. Jostling the girl slightly, he attempts to hand her over to his waiting father, but the little girl burrows into his chest further. “It’ll be better for you to get to an actual bed. Your neck will hurt if you–”

“Please don’t get rid of me.,” Calliope said suddenly. Her hands are still tightly clasped on Sanji’s apron and her eyes are still forcefully shut, but there’s a tremor in her tone telling of how weak she probably feels. She was awake for the entire conversation . Sanji looks as stricken by the revelation as Zoro feels, face losing the red tint in favor of cold pale. “I’ll be good. I can wash dishes and take out your trash and-and… I don’t know how to cook but I-I think I can learn and–”

“Calliope,” Sanji cut her off, sounding just as wobbly. 

There doesn’t seem to be many words left in him after that, so Zoro decided to take over. “Kid, get to bed. Don’t worry about this, I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” If he had to take her with him, that was fine. Though it’d been difficult to fend off a challenger with a kid tied to his back, he had managed it. Maybe he wouldn’t be as impressive anymore, being nearly defeated by low level challengers, but he could do it. And they could always visit the Baratie to get a taste of home when needed.

It was stupid of him to bring her here anyway. What did he think, just because Sanji was okay with him lounging around whenever he had nowhere to go, he’d be fine with him dumping a child on him? It was too much to ask of anyone. 

It was just as he was thinking so that Sanji took a deep breath and spoke again. 

“You can’t even take care of yourself, Mossy,” he reprimanded, voice now more solid and decisive. “You can stay here Calliope, but only if you get a good night’s sleep. Think you can do that for me?”

Zoro’s mouth drops. Zeff let out a bark of a laugh. Calliope’s eyes pop open.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Calliope agreed, nuzzling closer to Sanji once more before hopping from his lap. She’s practically shining with joy as she runs up to Zoro to give him a quick squeeze before reaching for Zeff. “Hurry! I need to get to bed!” she orders the older cook, practically stumbling over herself to do as asked.

“Wait–” Zoro started, feeling as though things were moving way too quickly. Just a second ago Sanji was too busy to watch a kid, and now he was accepting Calliope as one of his own?

No one seemed willing to wait for him to process the shifting scene, the little girl flashing a bright smile at him as she tugs Zeff from the room impatiently. The old man looked suspiciously content with the situation, almost as though he’d orchestrated the whole thing, but before Zoro can call him out on it, he’s turned the corner with the younger girl and left him with the most confusing part of the puzzle.

A blonde cook staring at the ceiling above.

Zoro cleared his throat. “So you’ll really take care of her?”

Sanji stared at the light fixtures a moment longer before shaking his head. There's a split second where the swordsman's heart plumments and he can nearly see the look on Calliope's face when he breaks the news to her that the cook wasn't serious, but then the blonde continued. “I’ll help take care of her,” he corrected, pointedly. Raising from the chair, he slid off his apron and crossed the room in a few steps. “You’re not just dumping her here, Mosshead.”

“Of course,” Zoro rushed out. Because, of course. He'd made a promise to Calliope, and he wasn't some deadbeat. The little girl was his responsibility just as much as she was Sanji's.  “I’ll help with whatever you need, just…”

“Just,” Sanji prompted, heading towards the exit of the room, still without sparing him a glance. 

A bit instinctively, Zoro snatches his wrist as he passed. Grip tight around a thin wrist as it was when he wielded his swords, he rushed out his gratitude before the cook could break free. “ Thank you . I couldn't think of anyone else I'd want to do this with but you.” 

Blue eyes meet his for a moment, and Sanji's face has pinkened once more as he returns Zoro's firm smile with a smaller one of his own.

Chapter Text

“ Mmm ,” Sanji choked out, wondering what god he pissed off to end up in this situation. Spoon trembling against his lips, he forced down Calliope’s sixteenth attempt at a basic cake batter that day. 

There’s a silent mercy in the fact that eggshells don’t crackle under his teeth when he bites down. Sanji doesn’t have a lot of time to appreciate this when the medley of cumin, oregano and garlic attacks his taste buds and it takes all of his energy to keep a straight facial expression. 

Loathed as he wanted to admit it, Calliope was bad at cooking. 

Luffy-level bad. 

At least she didn’t try to inhale raw flour, but in a Luffy-esque fashion, she managed to get more ingredients on her apron than in the bowl every time. One of her attempts had come out moving on its own, escaping the kitchens to the dining hall where it tried to eat a guest . Another smelt so rancid that Zeff and Sanji agreed to break their food wastes policy, just once, to incinerate it. 

Four months into her stay at the Baratie, Calliope still hadn’t learned how to crack an egg without coming out with yolk sticking up her fingers. Surrounded by the best cooks in the world, she retained nothing from their lessons— no matter how often warnings were repeated or skills demonstrated. It was as though she was allergic to cooking, and for the past few weeks, Sanji and Zoro had both been paying the consequences of her downward learning curve as her unwilling taste-testers. 

“You don’t like it,” Calli groused, arms crossed over her chest.

Incapacity to learning how to cook aside, she showed emotional intelligence impressive for her seven years of age. Able to read even the stone-faced mosshead, Calliope was smart . And that was the most confusing part of this little dilemma. She could read even the least emotional faces, had all the cooks wrapped around her little finger within a week’s time, but could swallow a whole cookbook and still come out struggling with basic tasks like boiling water.

Try as he might, he wouldn’t be able to hide his distaste from her. Dropping the act, he reached hurriedly for the ready cup of water, nearly choking as downed it in a single gulp. It does little to clear up the lingering taste of bird shit and burnt eggs, but he’s collected himself enough that he won’t throw up all over her in the middle of his attempts to reassure. 

“The seasoning doesn’t exactly scream sweet, darling. Lay off the cumin,” and the oregano, and the basil, and the garlic, and the thyme, and mix it a little longer, and watch the amount of water you add – “and otherwise it’ll be perfect.” 

Halfway through his encouragement, he can already tell it isn’t working. Calli’s displeased frown grew deeper with every word and there was a frustrated wrinkle appearing between her brows. He can practically already hear her next few words before they’re out. “It’s okay, mordir . I know I’m just illur .”

Sanji couldn’t put his finger on when Calliope had given him the nickname, but he knew it was early on in her stay. Randomly, she’d throw in words in a language he, nor anyone on the ship knew of. Whenever asked about what certain words meant, she’d helpfully point at Sanji or Zoro or random objects, and refuse to elaborate. Until the lovely Robin paid them a visit (which wouldn’t be a while, with her stuck supervising Franky on Water 7 and writing historical textbooks that could be used as weapons, they were so thick), they were out of luck with anything beyond elementary level translation.

At least from what he understood, with the way she used it during softer and vulnerable moments like these, ‘mordir’ wasn’t derogatory. Not the way ‘illur’ sounded. The little girl had spit out the word like it was sour. And as far as Sanji was concerned, nothing about his little girl was sour. (Aside from maybe her refusal to turn in for the night without six bedtime stories every night). 

“You’re not… that. Learning to cook just takes practice, Calli,” Sanji insisted, setting down the spoon to fully face the girl next to him. Dressed in her paint-stained overalls, her cheeks dusted in brown sugar and flour, he didn’t think there was anyone more precious than her at that moment. Even as her cheeks puffed out at the sound of his words and she was looking more like a puffership than a child by every second.  “You’re a beginner, and this recipe isn’t easy.”

Refraining from pinching the baby fat of her cheeks, knowing it would only make her more frustrated, he busied his hands reaching for the dirtied bowls and a sponge instead. Luckily, this attempt was less messy than the one just an hour ago, in which she managed to get batter on the ceiling (Carne was still up there, scrubbing at the splatters and sending down various curses at them every now and then).

Little arms crossing over her chest, she complained: “Patty said it only took you a day to learn this recipe.”

Patty was going to be on dishwashing duty for a week. 

“What did I say about listening to Patty?” Sanji questioned, not denying it because it was true. This was an easy recipe, Sanji couldn’t deny that. Even their dishwashers were able to do something as simple as this, and the blonde had gotten it at age six, in an hour. All it was was mixing flour, egg and sugar in a bowl, after all. Anyone could do it.

Anyone besides the pouting little girl at his side. 

“Look, Calli. I…” There was a lodge in his throat, the uncomfortable lump that choked him up every time he thought of anything to do with his own childhood. Calli’s eyes are imploring, curious the way they got whenever she was analyzing someone, so Sanji hurried to speak again, practically hurling out the next few words. “I grew up cooking. I had years of practice before I got to the Baratie. You’ve only been here a few months, it’ll take time.”

There’s a quiet pause, broken only by the waves rocking the ship to a silent melody. Sunlight from the window casts a long shadow on Calliope’s face, highlighting the furrow of her brows and the twist of her lips. Sanji wished he knew what to say to smoothen the wrinkles out. To make her realize that they had all the time in the world and she had nothing to prove to anyone. Cooking side by side was supposed to be fun , not the most stressful part of their day.

He was no good at this without the idiot Mosshead.

“It’s okay, mordir ,” Calliope insisted after a moment, pushing the bowl away from herself with a frustrated shove. “I just can’t do this. Fadar tried my batter ran away after it was so bad!”

“Mosshead didn’t run away,” Sanji corrected immediately, abandoning the sponge in the bowl to rub at his temples. 

Though it sure had looked that way, what with the way he turned as green as his hair and rushed to hurl over the side of the ship seconds after Calliope had proudly stuffed the spoon into his mouth. To add insult to the injury, the dumbass had hopped on his raggedy dinghy and headed off on another trip the very next day . 

Impeccable timing, per usual.

Though, really, Sanji was surprised he hadn’t left sooner. 

Four months of the World’s Greatest Swordsman dining on the Baratie was a near record. Normally, Zoro was quick to bore of the hustle and bustle of the ship’s atmosphere. After a month on board, when he couldn’t get away with annoying Sanji mid lunch rush without having his well-being genuinely threatened, he’d escape for a “fishing trip” ( bar hopping )  with a few of the cooks or on one of Luffy’s elaborate errands. Usually, Sanji only found out about these trips after Zoro had already left, and they never really bothered him. Mosshead would always be back. Like a stray mutt they’d fed once and now expected a full course meal every time he returned. It was impossible to get rid of him— that part didn’t bother Sanji.

If anything, it pissed Zeff off more than anyone else. For whatever reason, the old hag was all up in Zoro’s business whenever he returned about where he’d gone off to and what his plans were– if he planned on running off again and when he’d return. For someone who complained about their moss infestation more than Sanji did, he sure liked to bitch about when he’d be back whenever he left. In a way, it was nearly funny, watching Zeff bitch at the swordsman the same way he used to bitch at Sanji when he’d sneak out with a random patron, now and then. 

This time Zoro had actually told Sanji and Zeff, in detail, about where he was going beyond “ I dunno somewhere cold” and when he planned on being back. The old man had been pleased, and Sanji had felt something he hadn’t been able to put a label on yet.

Mosshead would be gone a few weeks (a month, in Zoro time), visiting Nami, Koshiro and Franky. Which was normal . He wasn’t chained to the Baratie as a cook or indebted to it or anything– he could go where he wanted to. He had upheld his promise by caring for Calliope and providing for her where Sanji couldn’t (reading her bed time story two, three, four, five, and six )– he wasn’t doing anything wrong by running overdue errands.

But after weeks of spending meals with Zoro on one side and Calliope on the other, of watching Zoro slowly but surely teach the little girl how to swim during Sanji’s breaks and settling her down for a nap when the dinner rush was too intense and Sanji was too busy– it almost felt cruel . As though a blindfold had been yanked from his eyes and he realized the past few weeks weren’t the norm , that before this Zoro was just a stowaway on their ship every now and then, not a permanent resident. Hell, Zoro slept in the crow’s nest, he didn’t even have proper lodgings. He wasn’t part of the Baratie.

And despite this all, Sanji didn’t want him to leave. Sanji didn’t want to be abandoned , even for as little as a few weeks, no matter what the norm was. 

He wanted Zoro back so badly it almost hurt . Back to do just as bad a job at mixing the bowl as Calliope, and smooth out the wrinkles in her brow with lighthearted teasing. Here to pick up the slack where Sanji couldn’t and steal her away for swimming practice after she’d messed up another recipe.

“Then where is he,” Calliope impressed, big doe eyes wide and wavering.

Sanji sighed. He was supposed to be with Nami. But the sweet angel had just called him a few days ago to yell at him about why Zoro still hadn’t arrived, so there really was no telling. He knew there was no point sending him with a map— it was a wonder he ever managed to get back to Baratie at all. The quickest he’d ever returned was the time he was bringing Calliope back, claiming he made the trip in a single night, and even then, Sanji had trouble believing the truth of that timeline. “He’s visiting some friends, darling. He’ll be back soon…”

There was just no telling what soon was with the Mosshead. 

That had never really bothered Sanji before. 

Calliope’s bottom lip trembled, hands balling up into fists at her side. “ Whatever ,” she said. Her new favorite word ever since she caught one of the bratty busser boys spat it out at Sanji a month into her stay (Zoro would not stop laughing the first time he heard her use it, after Sanji had been telling her the importance of eating vegetables with each meal). “I hate this. I’m illur . I’m bad.”

“Calli, doing things isn’t about how good you can be at them,” Sanji chidded, setting the freshly scrubbed bowl into the sink at their side. Running the water over it, his eyes slide shut as he opens his mouth to explain the importance of doing things solely for the fun of it and not putting too much pressure on herself. She didn’t have to earn her place at the Baratie, but no matter how often he reminded her, it felt like she always forgot somewhere in the middle of trying to shove raw flour down his throat and roughly mixing a batter too thin.

Before he could make his solid arguments, an accusing tone announced: “You’re the best cook in the All Blue and fadar is the World’s Greatest Swordsman!”

Never had Sanji thought both Zoro and his competitive natures would come to bite them in the ass like this . Wincing at the titles, he shut the sink off and tried to come up with something to say against that. Somehow, the your best is good enough  didn’t sound half as encouraging when she put it like that. If Zeff had told him so when he was her age, he probably would’ve kicked the old man in the nuts.

“Calli…” Sanji began, having only a half baked idea of what he could say. 

Calli’s head to pop up suddenly. Her entire aura shifting in an instant, Sanji is struck silent. Her glossy eyes immediately drying, frustrated frown morphing into a broad grin, she’s the antithesis of the despair she’d just radiated with. Sanji wasn’t sure what he’d done to warrant such a quick lifting of her spirits, but he’s so, so grateful.

For a grand total of three seconds .

“If I can’t be the next greatest cook, I’ll be the next greatest swordsman!” Calliope exclaimed, glowing with newfound energy. 

Sanji nearly goes into cardiac arrest on the spot.

He sees his little girl impaled upon a sword. He sees her beaten and battered the way Zoro was when he finished his training sessions. He sees her slicing up her little fingers on the edge of a blade. 

Zoro needs to get back now .

“Calli, no ,” Sanji tried, but he was frozen for a second too long and the little girl had already jumped from her stool and was halfway across the room in a flurry of movements.  

Beaming brighter than the North star, the little girl twirls to the door in excitement. “If I can’t cook for this ship, I’ll protect it when fadar isn’t here!”

“I promise we have enough protection without Mosshead, darling,” Sanji tried, weakly. 

Calliope ignored him in favor of using the spoon from the bowl as a mock sword, swinging her disaster of a cake batter about the room. “I’ll stab and defeat all my enemies! The way fadar does! No one will ever touch the Baratie!”

Sanji is borderline offended that she thinks they’re defenseless without Zoro. As if she hadn’t watched him kick someone off the boat earlier that day. But even more than the offense is the growing fear that his little girl is about to insist on using the kitchen knives to stab people . “It’s fine if you don’t want to cook, Calli. But you cannot swing around swords on my deck.”

“That’s fine! I’ll do it in the cow’s nest where fadar does it!” Calli agreed easily, smiling a shit-eating grin she’d had to have picked up from the Mosshead.

Zoro had to be back now. 

So Sanji could kill him for influencing his sweet little girl like this.

“I mean in general, you can’t–” 

Calliope is laughing maniacally, already out the door before Sanji even finished his demand.

“ Calliope !”

Up above, still scraping batter from the ceiling, Carne bursts into boisterous cackles.

Roronoa Zoro, you are so dead.

[//]

“He’s the most generous man I know. So giving, it makes him stupid . He fed our prisoners on the Sunny, did I ever tell you about that?” Zoro asked, taking a swing of his sake.

“Yes, Zoro,” Koshiro said, a frail smile on his face. “Numerous times in the past four years and six times tonight.”

“Oh, did I?” Zoro said, a confused look crossing his face.

Koshiro’s eyes crescented as he nodded. 

Every time the World’s Greatest visited his old dojo and had a few too many drinks, the conversation would always derail to this at some point. Sometimes it’d be the cook’s stunning blonde hair, other times it’d be his eyes ‘ deeper than the ocean ’. Often it’d be of his character, his overwhelming kindness or his unwavering generosity. Once, it had been of his ‘tight’ ass– but Koshiro had stopped that discussion pretty early with the butt of his sword (the morning after, Zoro had been very confused when he was made to run a hundred laps around the dojo before he left. The students had a field day with it, bursting into laughter at his sweaty, confused form and the older ones shouting crude jokes after him).

Koshiro had only met Vinsmoke Sanji once, back after Zoro’s victory against Mihawk. The Baratie had thrown an unofficial celebration, inviting people from all over the seas to celebrate the crowning of the new World’s Greatest Swordsman. As much as he preferred to stay secluded in Shimotsuki village, it felt wrong to not celebrate his student’s great success, especially with it having such a sentimental attachment to his daughter. And Head Chef of the Baratie: All Blue had written him a very pressuring, vaguely threatening , invitation that would’ve been hard to ignore in good faith.

The Sanji Koshiro met wasn’t the one Zoro used to describe in his letters from their adventures– who was naggy and a complete asshole. The Sanji Koshiro met wasn’t the one from the godawful bounty posters, that left nothing to be desired. The Sanji Koshiro met wasn’t anything he’d been expecting at all.

The Sanji Koshiro met was a pretty blonde with big, blue eyes, who welcomed him with an appropriate bow and a mesmerizing smile. A handsome man who was attached to Zoro’s hip the entire night and forced the swordsman to use his two left feet to dance to a few songs when the night neared its’ end and they both had a bit too much alcohol in their systems. A talented chef provided Koshiro with the most delicious rice balls he’d ever tasted outside of his mother’s kitchen. 

Zoro had been so different around him. The mammoth of a man, with such an intimidating aura, had looked so soft around the cook. A smile didn’t leave his face once in the blonde’s presence that night, if not to break apart for a bellowing laugh. Relief had flooded Koshiro upon seeing him so reposed, glad he had somewhere, someone , he could lose that now-normative tension of his form.

Koshiro and Zeff had shared one look and just knew . 

They placed bets on when they’d be married, shared stories of all the stupid things Zoro and Sanji had said about each other, and fondly watched the duo dance around the room– never straying out of arm's length from each other. 

Since then, they exchanged letters regularly, and Koshiro waited anxiously for a date, or at least some allusion that it was happening .

It’d been four years since then. Zoro and Sanji still weren’t married.

And according to Zeff’s most recent letter, they had a kid .

Koshiro was never one to put matters on the back burner the way Zoro seemed keen to with his blonde cook. 

As a sensei, he had to be direct and to the point, throwing his punches in clear cut ways so his students were able to learn and mimic. Clearing his throat, he demonstrated the best way to uppercut someone in the throat when he said, “When were you planning on telling me about your daughter, Zoro.” 

Zoro choked on his most recent sip of sake.

Zoro arrived in Shimotsuki three days ago. The first day he spent beating up every student of the dojo that was overconfident enough to challenge  him. The second was spent bandaging wounds and ruffling hair as he shared stories of his time out on the sea to eager children and handed out the sweets Sanji had insisted he bring. The third day, they visited Kuina’s grave and Zoro didn’t say a word about it as he laid flowers down on her grave. And Zoro told Kuina everything , especially anything to do with one blonde cook.

Now, it wouldn’t be fair for Koshiro to claim to be a father figure to Zoro. 

He didn’t take that role for any of the children he trained, not with how rough he was on them and his refusal to offer them any comfort beyond sage advice. Since Kuina, he didn’t dabble in the warmth of fatherly touch, and even back with her, he hadn’t been all that forthcoming about fatherhood. To Zoro, he was nothing more than a caretaker before the kid was old enough to row a boat and start bounty hunting. His sensei who built up his foundation, but otherwise, didn’t have a hand in his road to the World’s Greatest Swordsman.

But even still, as his sensei, he was owed enough respect to at least know about a situation like this.

Not waiting for Zoro to recover where he’s turning an alarming shade of red, Koshiro continued to demonstrate the perfect punch to the gut. “You have a child with him, but you won’t give him the dignity of marrying him? Did you learn nothing from my teachings? Do you understand how this makes me look as a sensei?”

Zoro is now blue, slamming his hand against the table in sharp, staccato slaps. Koshiro would feel bad for him if he weren’t smearing his name in the mud by taking advantage of a man’s much too wide generosity. Zoro was lucky Zeff hadn’t stomped him to death with his peg leg yet.

“It–” Zoro wheezed, shaking his head hastily. “It’s not like that at all– what the hell are you going on about?!”

A hundred laps wasn’t enough to cut what Zoro deserved for this.

“You have a child together,” Koshiro said. “But last I checked, you were too foolish to ask for his hand. Explain to me how this situation comes to be?”

Zoro must hear the poison in his tone, because he immediately sits up, reminiscent of the way he would in his youth when he knew he was about to be reprimanded. “Sensei,” he muttered out, shifting eyes looking anywhere but at the other man. “We just take care of a little runt together. Don’t get your panties in a twist, plenty of… friends do things like this together these days.” His words even sound unsure. 

Oh, Koshiro is going to have a field day with this . It’s not as though he doesn’t think single parents don’t do amazing on their own. Simply that this isn’t a situation of single parents , this is Zoro and Sanji not getting their act together still , even after agreeing to father a child together. They skipped six steps— from the confession to the engagement, and Zoro didn’t even have the gall to look abashed by it. 

“Uh-huh,” Koshiro agreed, wondering what Zoro’s definition of friend was. Koshiro had never noticed a friend’s ‘tight ass’ in his life. Maybe it was a generational thing. Or more likely, Zoro was shoulder deep in denial. “It’s just something the two of you do now? Take care of a kid together to strengthen your friendly bound?” 

Even Zoro cringed at that. But as stubborn as he was, he nodded resolutely. Like a captain choosing to go down with his broken raft, he was sticking with this argument, of all the ridiculous arguments to make.

Wanting to give him one last out, Koshiro hummed non-committedly. “Right. And after you finish your trip in a few weeks, you’ll go home to his ship and your kid. You’ll probably even ask me for those spices you always want to bring him and he’ll cook you and your kid a nice dinner to share between the three of you. Like the way a family would.”

Zoro takes a nervous swing of his drink. Left hand fidgeting against the spinter-ings of the table between them, the World’s Greatest Swordsman sounds entirely absurd as he announces, “Yeah, but like in a friendly way.”

“Oh, of course,” Koshiro agreed, nodding resolutely. 

For a moment, Zoro almost looks relieved at the easy agreement, shoulders dropping from where they’d hunched up to his ears. 

Really, had he truly gained nothing from his teachings?

Demonstrating the surprise attack , Koshiro poured both himself and Zoro another shot full of sake. When the green-haired bafoon hesitantly took his cup, the sensei spoke again. “In that case, a dear friend passed something onto me recently that I’d appreciate for you to take off my hands,” he mused, eyes narrowing. “Since this is a hobby of you and your friend’s , I’m sure it wouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

Though the East Blue wasn’t as bad with orphans as the other seas were, a few washed up every now and then. From what Koshiro was aware of, orphanages were far off to nonexistent. The Shimotsuki Dojo was one of the few places for miles where a child could be dropped off and cared for (as far as teaching children to be trained swordmasters could be considered ‘caring for’). 

The toddler was only two when his grandmother came and handed him off to Koshiro, giving the typical spiel about dead parents and being too frail to care for children in her old age. Koshiro had trained younger children into prime soldiers, but he didn’t exactly look forward to it. Toddlers wielding swords were a headache. 

And if Zoro wanted to play stupid games, he’d win stupid prizes.

“Yeah,” Zoro said, before blinking slowly. “Wait, what something?”

Koshiro smiled thinly and downed his shot

[//]

“Listen child, we must preserve Sanji’s honor. Your job here is of the utmost importance. Time is of the essence.”

“ Baa ,” Baby Fraise responded, around the thumb he was sucking on.

Koshiro nodded firmly.

[//]

“ RORONOA ZORO .”

The waters around the dinghy trembled. 

“That’s not promising,” Zoro told the toddler attached to his chest. 

The little boy blinked up at him slowly. Zoro canted his head to the side. For some reason, that look felt judgmental.

A few dozen yards ahead of them, the waning sun set the Baratie: All Blue ablaze. Dripping in golden sunlight and rocking against the sparkling sapphire of the sea, the floating restaurant looks particularly beautiful– like a lofty heaven, opening its arms to beckon them closer. 

Closing time was whenever the sun hit the horizon, and by this point, the chefs had kicked ( literally , in some cases. He’d rowed past a few grumbling patrons in their nicest attire, stranded in the sea) everyone out of the restaurant. If he was a bit faster, he’d make it for the time Sanji would ask him and Calli to set up a table on the deck. They’d dine under a sky full of stars. Zeff would grumble out stories about what constellations meant and how he’d once traveled the globe with just the sky above as his guide (even if they were the same tales, over and over again , the little girl never grew tired of them). Sanji would fill his plate with seconds and stomp on his foot under the table whenever he chewed with his mouth open. 

A relieving sight given the fact that he’d just spent the last half week floating around with a toddler (whoever coined the term terrible twos needed more credit. All the little runt knew how to do was scream and shit).

When he realized Koshiro was dead serious and he wasn’t getting away from the toddler (not that he had a choice after the bastard had shoved him into his arms for the first time ( who could abandon those big, green eyes? Despite what his title suggested, he wasn’t actually a demon )), he turned course straight back to Baratie. Nami would probably scalp him for delaying the visit again , but he was more afraid of what the cook would do if he found out over the transponder snail that he’d recently acquired another child. 

Actually, he was pretty afraid of Sanji finding out in general about the new baby. As much as he’d painted it out to Koshiro that raising children together wasn’t anything serious, now in the face of the other man, he had trouble still thinking as much. Sanji had warmed up to the idea of Calliope pretty quickly, but Calliope didn’t shit every couple of hours or start shrieking when Zoro stopped holding her for two seconds to catch something for dinner. Calliope was a good girl who didn’t cause any trouble. Baby Fraise was a toddler . There wasn’t such a thing as a good toddler.

Each yard closer, the shadows melt from the scene and give the swordsman a clearer view of the chaos going on the ship: a mock attempt at a welcoming party. For an instant, Zoro is scared that Sanji somehow already knows. Maybe someone saw the World’s Greatest Swordsman on his raft, carrying a child, and it hit the news already; or maybe Koshiro had called to warn him in advance. Either way, with the way Sanji had screamed across the waters before, it wasn’t promising for Zoro’s likelihood of walking away with all of his limbs still intact. 

Squinting, Zoro makes out the sight of a cackling staff of cooks, led by a Patty who looks all too amused (a red flag in itself, since the man only ever looked amused whenever Sanji was beyond irritated). The blue-haired man holds a large butcher’s knife above his head, as though he’s playing keep away. 

A few steps away from him, Sanji looks like he’d have less trouble wrestling a wild boar than keeping Calliope still in his arms. The little girl is yelling a riot as she struggles to escape the blonde’s grasp. Not exactly the good girl Zoro had left behind.

Huh , Zoro thinks, wondering how quickly he could turn the dinghy around and try again another day.

Fraise burbles against his chest.

A few of the waitstaff have already noticed, pointing and murmuring, but luckily for the state of everyone’s well-being, their head cook is currently too preoccupied to pay Zoro a second glance. 

“Tell Calliope–” Sanji struggled, getting knocked in the face with a stray fist. Closer, Zoro can see the cook is flushed up to his ears, a distractingly pretty pink, and his eyes are narrowed the same way they did whenever Usopp used to set one of his contraptions on the table during a meal. “Tell Calliope she can’t play with swords!”

Despite himself, Zoro can’t hold back his knee jerk reaction at the sound of that. “Cal’s playing with swords?!” 

He realized a split second too late when Calliope stopped her rampaging to beam at him that it sounded far too excited to be the reprimand Sanji had wanted. At the cook’s lidded look, he cleared his throat and tried again.

“I mean, listen to the cook.” 

Calliope laughed loudly and went back to fighting to reach for the sharp blade. Despite himself, Zoro can’t help but feel a swelling of pride that his little girl was taking after him. And an overwhelming amount of relief that he wouldn’t be subject to any more taste testing if she lost her interest in baking for this.

It’s short lived when the atmosphere visibly shifts. Air dropping ten degrees and becoming more crisp instantaneously, Zoro feels the moment Sanji notices. Even Calliope paused in her struggle, eyes widening as she stared at the toddler blubbering spittle on the swordsman’s chest. 

“ Zoro ,” Sanji said, low and threatening. Chin purpling where Calliope nicked him a second ago and eye twitching, he continued to growl more than ask: “What is that.”

The entire deck goes silent. Zeff’s mustache twitched upwards.

Zoro’s little boat knocked against the edge of the Baratie.

Tentative in a way that was entirely unbecoming of the World’s Greatest Swordsman, Zoro said: “Surprise… it’s a boy.”

Patty nearly stabs himself on the butcher’s knife when he falls over with laughter.

Chapter Text

After setting Calliope down and fixing the collar of her violet blouse, Sanji crossed the deck in silence. No one so much as breathed when he stopped before the dinghy and held out his arms expectantly. Zoro’s sure his face has turned blue by the time he thinks enough to set an owlishly blinking Fraise into the waiting arms.

“ Baa ,” the toddler greeted, patting Sanji on the cheek once he’s settled up against his chest.

Caught in the remnants of sunlight, the cook is devastating when his lips split open in a warm smile. Zoro goes numb as the cook greets the ginger child with his own agreeing, “ Baa .”

So enraptured by the way the sun makes Sanji’s hair look like it was threaded in gold, the swordsman is only loosely paying attention when the cook continued, in the same soft tone he spoke to the toddler in, to order his staff. “Whoever left the knife on the counter, twelve laps around the ship. I want every corner of the kitchen checked for any more blades, am I heard?”

“Yes, chef,” a platoon of cooks agreed. Though it’s clearly more of a formality than anything else. Not a single chef seems to have heard a word, busy muffling laughter into their aprons and exchanging pointed looks. 

“Calli, darling, help Zeff set the table, okay? No blades,” Sanji continued, finally tearing his gaze away from the toddler to land it on the little girl who’d taken the distraction as her chance to inch back towards the butcher’s knife. 

Caught in the act, she doesn’t even have the gall to look ashamed. Hands on her hips, she pouted: “But you said once Fadar is home I can show him–”

“ Fadar is in trouble,” Sanji said. The decisiveness of those words should’ve been a warning for impending doom, but as he was still speaking in that buttery tone, Zoro was having trouble getting a good grip on the meaning behind anything he said. “And unless you want to join him, no knives . Go help Zeff set the table, honey.” 

Calliope makes a face at that, the same one she’d make whenever she found a carrot in her soup or Zoro said this is the last one on the sixth bedtime story of the night ( it was never the last one ). Zoro can’t help the smile that grows on his face at the sight of it, throat tightening as he sets his eyes on his little girl for the first time in over a week.  

Getting to Koshiro’s took a lot longer than expected, as had getting back to Baratie after. And even then, he was still home a lot faster than he would’ve been had he squeezed in the planned trips to Nami and Franky. Normally, he was gone for a lot longer, joining Luffy on whatever journey he was on at the time or hunting down a giant sea beast with a few of the cooks. A week-long trip was short by his usual standards. But for whatever reason, it felt too long. It had bugged him to be away from Sanji’s warm dinners and Calliope’s faces and the Baratie staff’s never-ending laughter. He’d missed this. 

He’d missed home .

Calliope’s pout faded into a bright smile as she skipped across the deck. By the time she reaches Zoro, he’s managed to get his limbs moving enough to throw his arms open wide, catching her when she vaults herself at him. 

“Hey kid,” he greeted, feeling lighter than he has in days as she burrows her grin into the apex of his shoulder. 

“Hey Fadar !” she sang. Zoro thinks it’s the most beautiful song he’s ever heard. 

A squeeze later, and she’s beckoning him closer, tugging on his hair until his ear is right next to her mouth. There, she whispers as well as any child could when she says, “When you’re out of time out, let me use Whadda Itchy Monkey, okay?”

How could Zoro dream of refusing such a request? 

After setting her down with a kiss to the bow of her head and a pinky promise to let her practice with the blade, Zoro quickly realized his mistake. He couldn’t dream of refusing such a request, sure. But he sure could have nightmares about Sanji’s reaction to him agreeing to it. 

Suspiciously, the cooks scatter instantaneously. Zoro sees dozens of them miraculously heal of their limps and bad hips in their haste to abandon him to the hell hot fury of their head chef. When he sees not even Patty or Carne linger to catch an earful of the drama, he realizes he must’ve really put his foot in it. When Zeff heaves up Calliope and salutes to him the way a captain would a sinking ship, Zoro has the solemn realization that he’d put his entire leg in it .

The most dangerous part of the situation is that Sanji doesn’t look bothered. The blonde doesn’t spare him a second glance as he tickles at Fraise’s stomach and makes the baby giggle, a smile on his own face never faltering once. Leaving Zoro to fester in the silence that’s charged between each peal of laughter until they’re left alone to the waves and gossip of seagulls. 

It should be a cute scene. Watching the cook go all soft the second he got his arms’ full of a baby was always endearing. Sanji’d always cooed over the toddlers who visited the Baratie. Oftentimes, whenever one started screaming bloody murder in the middle of lunch rush, he’d be able to calm them easily, scooping them up and rocking them to silence for a pair of grateful parents. Kaya and Usopp wanted him to be their children’s godfather and Charlotte Chiffon had dropped off Capone Pez to be baby sat numerous times. It was one the reasons Zoro had been so sure he could do this. Sanji was great with babies, and he’d always wanted one of his own.

Just, Zoro was sure Sanji’d never imagined this was how he’d wind up with one.

Swallowing hard, Zoro decided it was time to bite the bullet. Knowing Sanji’s petty ass, they could be playing the silent game for hours . It was like talking with Koshiro but worse . “What about me,” he said, reluctantly. 

Sanji shot him a glance over the tiny redhead. Sharp and pointed and so, so blue. Mouth hidden behind the toddler, Zoro can’t tell his full expression– whether his lips are pressed tight together or pulled into a frown. Hearing the icy tone of his words, he decided sometimes, it was best not to know everything. “ You and Fraise are taking a bath.”

Taking a bath is a suspiciously light sentence for coming back unannounced with a second child and promising Calli she could play with his most dangerous sword seconds after Sanji banned her from blades. But the cook doesn’t elaborate, eyes return to crinkle at the sight of the toddler cooing in his hold.

Entirely unnerved, Zoro makes to step on the boat after a few more seconds of tense silence. 

Sanji kicks him straight into the ocean before his foot makes contact with the deck. 

Gasping for air, Zoro emerges to the sight of the blonde’s retreating back and the cold sentence of: “And then you’re cleaning the entire dining room, on your own. And sleeping on the deck tonight.”

Fraise’s big green eyes are on him, peering over Sanji’s shoulder. The brat is giggling .

Zoro spits out a mouthful of seawater.

[//]

Dear Koshiro, 

Eggplant would not stop his bitching even as he sat Fraise in his lap and spoon-fed him ice cream. It was hilarious, Patty couldn’t stop laughing.

Unfortunately, they’re not any closer to figuring shit out on their own. The idiots. Eggplant had the swordsman sleep on the deck for half the night before making him come back in because it was too cold. Says he’ll make Moss sleep on the deck some other night as punishment, but that was over a week ago and the dumbass has probably forgotten by now. 

Have any more kids to toss at them until they get it?

Your future grandpa-in-law,

Zeff

P.S. Eggplant found the sword you sent in your last message before Moss did and they chased each other around the deck in the middle of lunch rush for half an hour. Truthfully, it was the greatest shift I’ve ever had at Baratie.

[//]

Zoro feels like the timeout never ends . 

First it’s the dining room, and then it’s dish duties for the foreseeable future. Then it’s the barnacles on the underside of the ship. It’s polishing the anchor. It’s repainting the stern. It’s fixing a leaky sink. By the end of the week, the swordsman has a To Do list that could wrap around the Grand Line three times.

But that doesn’t bother him. 

Baratie: All Blue had been his only stable home, rent free, for the past six years. If he could take off any of the cook's workload after dropping two kids off on him, he’d do whatever without question. Sanji could have him scrubbing toilets until he died, and he wouldn’t be able to find it in himself to complain. Not after he opened his home to not only him, but the two kids as well.

A worse punishment, however, was the fact that Sanji hadn’t directly spoken to him about anything yet. 

Back on the Sunny, Sanji had his own brand of the quiet treatment for anyone who’d annoyed him just a tad too much. If Luffy got into dinner before it was done being prepped or Franky had been loudly working on his contraptions all night, he’d go all rabbit around them. Aside from the necessities, he wouldn’t address them beyond a disappointed look or a grunt as he was passing out meals. Normally he’d let up after a week or a good, sentimental apology. Captain even squirreled his way out a few times by being even more annoying (“Hey Sanji, why won’t you talk to me? Sanji, Sanji, Sanji, Sanji, San–”).

It’d been three weeks and there hadn’t been a single opening to make amends with the blonde. 

Fraise is around Sanji. Always .

The kid can walk. Or well, toddle. Zoro saw him on two legs at Shimotsuki. And whenever he and the baby were alone together, the kid was practically climbing walls . The baby did know how to move around on his own and did so often .

And yet, the second Sanji entered the room, suddenly the kid was a sack of potatoes. A molded sack of potatoes, at that, who refused to move on his own and burst into tears if the cook didn’t immediately tend to him. Fraise had taken to screaming bloody murder the second Sanji put him down only a few days after they’d arrived on the ship, going ballistic whenever he wasn’t within arm's reach of the blonde. Super inconvenient (and mildly hilarious) for busy lunch rushes, and even more so (and less hilarious) for Zoro’s attempts to have a one-on-one conversation with the blonde. Between rocking a baby to sleep with one arm and decorating a cake with the other, Sanji was out of time for much of anyone these days. Much less someone he was angry with.

As it was, the only times they truly exchanged words was during mealtimes. And that was sparsely , in between one of Calliope’s excited retellings of one of whichever customer she’d met that day and where they were from or– and this would always draw out more words from the cook – of the controversial sword lessons.

“And then I learned how to party !” Calliope announced, halfway through lunch, around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. 

“ Parry , Cal,” Zoro corrected, pinching her cheek. 

Though, he couldn’t honestly claim she learned how to do that either. Quickly after Sanji reluctantly agreed to the training, the swordsman realized that the little girl wasn’t taking to lessons as they expected her to. As easily bored as she was, meditation was fast to kill her enthusiasm, and the kid had no balance to speak of. Most of their lessons ended up with her crashing into the floor and a broken vase Zoro had to add to his tally of things needing repairing. Slowly but surely, her eagerness to learn was drizzling away, just as her desire to cook had.

Zoro felt a lot of the reason Sanji agreed to the lessons at all was because he’d somehow seen this happening. And that he had half a say in what Zoro got to teach her.

Case in point. “I thought you were sticking to basics?” Sanji asked, accusingly. His narrowed look was a lot less intimidating than it would’ve been if he wasn’t currently airplaining peas into Fraise’s mouth. 

“Parrying is basic,” Zoro returned, quickly. He was always fast to respond whenever the cook deigned him with any words these days. Overly eager. “But, if you want to go over what is and isn’t swords fighting basics, I’m free in between mopping your dining room and polishing your anchor to have a one-on-one–”

“Pity, I’m busy then,” Sanji mused, distractedly, switching to speedracing the peas to Fraise’s mouth after the kid turned his head in refusal to the airplaned spoonful. Zoro can’t help but scowl. He’d watched the baby spoon feed himself just a few hours before when he was let loose in the dining room and spent his time stealing food from gushing guests. At this point, the kid was doing it on purpose .

“ Partying is basic ?” Calliope interjected then, looking as though someone had just told her Santa wasn’t real. Given she’d fallen on her face three times before Zoro decided to call it quits for the day, it was only natural she’d have such a reaction. It probably hadn’t seemed all that basic when he was picking the splinter out of her index finger. 

Zeff grunted from where he sat at the head of the table, between Calliope and Fraise’s booster seat. The optimal position to share his grandfather-ly wisdom. Unfortunately, recently rather than spreading any of that wisdom, he spent most of his time convincing the little family he was starting to go senile and pinning Zoro with weird looks. “No, Calli, partying isn’t basic. Did you know there’s this big party people can have called a wedding . It’s a pretty complicated process to get it planned, but in the end it’s worth—“

“She knows what a wedding is, old man,” Sanji chided, dropping the spoon when Fraise turned his head to the speedraced scoop as well. When the blonde turned away to face Zeff directly, Zoro watched bewildered when the little boy immediately snatched a handful of the chicken at the edge of Sanji’s plate.  “Are you sure we don’t need to get you instituted? We were talking about sword fighting–”

“You know, marriage is a lot like a sword fight,” Zeff continued to insist. Zoro is confused why Zeff is staring and nodding at him so insistently. What ? Like he was supposed to agree ? He wouldn’t know, he’d never been married. 

Calliope, always one to back up her grandfather, nodded resolutely. “Fadar would be great at marriage. He’s the World’s Greatest Swordsman, so he’d be the World’s Best Wedding.” Unlike what Sanji had insisted, Zoro is 99% sure Calliope had no idea what either of those words meant.

Zeff clapped her on the back in approval and Sanji dropped his head into his palms. Fraise happily steals more of the chicken from Sanji’s plate.

Another meal passes without the chance for a much needed conversation between the two of them.

[//]

Under one of the tables, mid dinner rush, Calliope has Fraise under Table 7, conducting very serious business.

Having never had a younger brother before, she didn’t really know what was expected of her when she first saw the redheaded baby. It didn’t even talk, just babbled, ate and pooped. Nothing interesting enough to pull her attention from the fact that Fadar really was going to teach her how to swing around sharp sticks– yay!

But then sword training turned into a lot of sitting with your eyes shut, clearing your mind (boring!) and baby Fraise revealed his hidden talent (cool!) .

“Get Table 6, that guy keeps looking at Mordir funny,” Calliope ordered, sneering at the beer-bellied man reclined far too back in a table seat. Every time Mordir walks by, he stops him with a hand on his waist. It’s disgusting .

“ Baa! ” Baby Fraise said, biting his own big toe and blinking owlishly at her. Calliope choses to understand this as his form of saluting to her demands, because seconds later he’s tripping waiters and guests alike on his way to bite the creepy guy at Table 6’s ankles.

Mordir isn’t happy with them later, when he has to pry Baby Fraise out of the ugly man’s leg. 

Fadar is really bad at hiding his laughter.

Calliope loves having a little brother. 

[//]

“ Marimo ,” Sanji moaned.

“I know,” Zoro said, voice gruff with exhaustion. 

“I have to open the kitchen in two hours .”

“I know, blondie. Close your eyes.”

Sanji groaned into his pillow. Zoro takes the screaming toddler to the dinning room to feed him.

Ten minutes later, Calliope wakes Sanji up to tell him she threw up. And, more importantly , to ask where seagulls go to sleep at night.

[//]

“I just wish he wasn’t so fu– freaking obtuse,” Sanji’s voice wailed into the charming tea room. “It’s like everything I say goes in one ear and out the other!”

Comfortable on a plush, velvet couch, Nami popped an olive into her mouth before musing out her twentieth mhmm of the hour. Nestled into her shoulder, Vivi bit back a peel of laughter.

“He just pisses me off so much with his– with his stupid– stupid everything!”

“Right,” Nami repeated, for the nineteenth time. A giggle escapes Vivi’s lips.

“I asked him to fix a sink and he called Franky, and now he’s trying to upgrade all of the sinks and I’m so mad because they work better than they did before and the water pressure is amazing–”

Nami had this conversation every other week. She knows she doesn’t need to respond to keep the conversation going and that Sanji will eventually run out of fuel on his own at some point. But as of recently, ever since Zoro brought Sanji the kids , the blonde has had far more fumes to choke out than he normally would’ve. 

It’d been over half an hour and she didn’t think she could bare much more of Sanji’s poorly disguised lusting over Roronoa fucking Zoro. If she had to hear Sanji describe his “stupid” big biceps or his “stupid” strong shoulders one more time, she might hurl all over the porcelain saucers and teacups before her. The Alabastan palace staff was already miffed about her presence as the dirty pirate that stole their princess’ precious heart, no need to add onto that dislike.

“Sanji,” Nami interrupted, right before the blonde could delve into his specific dislike of Zoro’s broad chest or too-big biceps, or whatever it was today. Naturally, Sanji cuts off immediately, as any man should when a woman speaks to them. This makes it incredibly easy for Nami to probe, “I don’t understand. Why don’t you just make him get rid of the damn kids if you’re so mad?”

After all, the Baratie was no place for kids to be running around. Nami was surprised Sanji hadn’t used them for “emergency food” at this point— the entire place must smell like a barn house. Baratie had a no pet policy for a reason. If dogs weren’t allowed, how did Zoro manage to get a few bucks in?

When Sanji first admitted to it, a few weeks ago after Nami demanded to know why Zoro still hadn’t arrived for his scheduled super important in person conversation , he’d sounded disgruntled and out of it. ‘ He brought me a kid!’ he’d shouted, hysterical, before hanging up on her . The only reason she hadn’t bankrupted the Baratie in response, was the fact that he sounded panicked enough that it picked at even her money-driven heart.

A few days after, when Sanji was calmer, Nami got to hear the little animal over the phone. And, while, yes, his little baa s were adorable– if it was working up Sanji this much, there was no shame in handing the little thing off to Luffy. 

Luffy loved baby goats. Or at least, she’d assumed he did. The boy liked anything that walked on four legs and could potentially be eaten, if it came down to it.

“ Get rid of them ?!” comes Sanji’s predictable, harried reaction. As though Nami had suggested something inhumane. “ Oh my god, no, angel. ”

Blinking slowly, Nami glanced down at Viví, who was hardly containing her snorting. At least someone got enjoyment out of the idiot’s ridiculousness. The only reason she entertained the cook at this point was for her fiancée’s amusement. 

That, and because the date she was betting on was coming up and Sanji and Zoro still weren’t together. At this point, no one would ever get their hands on that pool of money. 

Why did Zoro decide to invest in barn animals now of all times? They had been so close to spring.

“I mean, it’s always an option if it gets too overwhelming…” Nami said slowly, squeezing the blue haired woman around the waist. “I’m all for making Zoro’s life difficult, but I’m not really seeing the problem. You obviously want the damn kids. And he’s doing everything you’re asking, right?”

There’s a greater pause between Sanji’s words, when he reluctantly mumbled out, “ And more.”

Nami was aware. Back on the Sunny, Zoro had barely managed to take a bath once a week. Now he was an engineer, a handyman, and a busser all rolled up into one. The man was whipped .

“Zoro’s even came to me asking for advice. Even let me charge him a hundred berries per minute on the Den Den Mushi– he’s desperate,” Nami confided, shuddering as she remembered that dreadful discussion. “Hate to say it, but I think instead of spending an hour once a week complaining to me, you could resolve all of this by just talking to him .”

Both about their little goat dilemma and their feelings. At this point, half the Grand Line was in the betting pool of when they were going to get together. The amount of money in this thing was insane. If she lost the bet because a couple of barn animals got in her way, she’d visit the Baratie herself and have a nice heaping of goat stew.

“ Baa ,” one of the goats announced over the line, accusingly, as though it could follow her train of thoughts. Sanji cooed at it distractedly and Nami rolled her eyes heavenward.

“ I still don’t understand why he has to play swords with my little doe though ,” he complained eventually. And Nami’s eye twitched. There was a fucking deer too? And Zoro was training it to sword fight? “Speaking of which, do you have any constellation or geography books you could send over? We’re running out of bedtime stories for her and she’s been really into the stars and sailing recently.”

“You want books for a–” she hesitated, pressing at her temples. Vivi was full on laughing now. “Nevermind. I’ll send them.”

“Thanks, Nami-swann! And it’s always nice to hear from you Vivi-chwann! My dearests, darlings, sweetest, loves– ”

“Alright,” Nami cut him off, before he could list off any more endearing adjectives about her fiance. “Go be a good wife and make dinner for your husband and kids.” 

Sanji barely manages to get out his predictable squeak by the time Nami has hung up on him. 

[//]

“Still not talking?” Vivi surmised, peppering quick kisses to her cheek as Nami tossed the Den Den Mushi to the floor at their side.

“No,” Nami said, rolling her eyes and melting further into her fiance's hold. “I just can’t understand how they’re so worked up over some goats . It’s driving everyone mad– Franky said if Zoro doesn’t pick up the machines by next month, he’s sailing down to Baratie. Luffy’s probably on his way there by now already.”

“Mm, I could use some Baratie risotto,” Vivi mused into her hair, tightening her hold around her waist. There’s a suggestion in the way those words lift at the end, a teasing of a potential getaway.

Romantic. But entirely unrealistic. And Nami had never been one to play pretend.

The Cat-Burglar-Turned-Princess-Consort snorted. Bluntly, she blurted her next words before she thought better of it. And then, seeing the way Vivi deflated at them, she immediately wished she could swallow them back. “Yeah, right . Like the court will let you leave in the next year.” 

With the coronation coming up, the courthands had kept them beached on Alabasta for the past year. For a while, it had annoyed Nami the slightest bit. Sailing had been her entire life for years with the Strawhats, and then for that sweet couple months after when she whisked Vivi away to explore the seas– but now she was confined within the palace walls most days. Instead of being able to visit Zoro and Sanji to slap some sense into them face to face, she had to wait for them to visit her.

Vivi hesitated, pulling away from her for a moment. Voice sombering entirely, dropping the humor of before, she said: “I know you miss the  sea, Nami. I –”

“ No ,” Nami cut in, forcefully. “I didn’t mean it like that.” And she didn’t. Even if she had, in some sort of way. 

Yes, she did miss the rolling waves and undocumented islands. She missed the freedom of just picking a direction and going , without having to wait for an entire delegation to get back to you about whether or not it was okay. She missed the rocking of the ship under her feet and having nothing tying her down. She was a pirate , for hell’s sake, she’d never called any place home for more than a handful of months. 

Then again, she’d never truly known what home was until she met Vivi. 

Catching her chin in her hand, Nami angled her head up, pulling the reluctant blue eyes back up. “Really, listen to me. I just thought it was funny. You heard Sanji asked for some books for a deer , right? What is she going to do with it? Eat the pages? You think Sanji is trying to train a doe to read?”

A faint smile re-emerged on the princess’ face. “I’d love to see it.”

Nami’s eyes crinkled as she caressed her fiancee’s cheek. “Knowing him, he’d probably manage to before he realizes his feelings for Zoro.”

Vivi’s laughter is the prettiest song she’s ever heard. 

Chapter Text

[//]

Children had always been in Sanji’s future plans. 

He’d just always assumed he’d be in his thirties by the time he had some of his own. 

Baratie: All Blue had only been open for five years at that point. He’d expected to at least get to a decade before he started thinking about settling down and starting a family. Hell, he’d expected to at least be married before he started popping out sons and daughters. 

Never had he anticipated being a single father at twenty-seven when he was sailing as one of the arms of the pirate king. If he’d been told that only four years after Luffy found the One Piece he’d be Head Chef of Baratie, he’d say duh . If he’d been told that he’d be Head Chef of the Baratie while also fathering two children, and single, he’d say what the fuck.

Staring out the galley window, where Zoro patted Calliope’s head as he corrected her form, Sanji bit his lip, conflicted. 

“It must be cold out there in that doghouse,” Zeff mused, taking the last dish from Sanji’s still hands. Startling, the blonde’s easily shoved out of the way by the suspiciously cheerful old man , who continues to hum out, “It’s been what– four weeks now?”

Only three. And four days. But, really, who was counting?

“You sure you’re not going senile?” Sanji sniffed, glancing down at where Fraise was playing with toy blocks a few paces away. Zoro had made those a week ago. Carved letters and numbers onto them and painted them red, yellow and blue. Sometime in between polishing all of the silverware on the ship and refurbishing the lobby. Sanji bit harder on his lip before claiming, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Setting the freshly cleaned plate onto the drying rack, Zeff turned to face him directly, raising an bushy eyebrow. Sanji hated the look on his face. It was the look he used to give him when he was a kid and messed up a recipe he’d been trying to get right over and over again. Consoling and pitying, and suddenly he could understand Calliope’s little temper fit a month ago so much better. “ Eggplant .”

Out the window, Zoro was barking out a familiar loud laugh at whatever it was Calliope had told him. 

Despite himself, Sanji wishes he was out there to hear it.

Responding to Zeff’s meddling will only encourage it, but Sanji can’t help himself. Nami had cut their last call short before he’d finished ranting, and if the old hag wanted to bother him with his stupid senile wisdom, he could, at the very least, listen to Sanji’s laundry list of complaints. 

“What should I say to him, hmm ? Thanks for consulting with me before picking up another baby?” he grumbled, plucking up a potato peel from the floor before Fraise could shove it into his mouth. Dropping it off in the trash can, he avoids looking out the window at the Mosshead and his stupid laughter. “Or maybe, thanks for arming my little girl with blades after I specifically said she wasn’t allowed to wield them? Hm?”

“ Eggplant .”

Sanji ignores the old man, needing to get his piece out. It was something to keep his eyes from slipping to that damn window and the man he was trying to avoid, shirtless and glistening under the glow of the sunset, just beyond it. “Oh, ooh, or maybe I should remind him this is a kitchen, not a daycare. He always seems to forget that somehow. I mean, these are clearly stoves, not cribs. Stupid Mosshead.”

“Son.”

“Do you think he knows we’re open seven days a week? Or maybe he hasn’t noticed. I mean, he used to be gone so often, I’m sure he doesn’t know we’re open 8:00 to 8:00 every weekday. And later on the weekends. I mean, if he did, surely he wouldn’t think it’s a good idea to bring two kids here, right–”

Zeff is smiling slightly when he asks, “What are you so afraid of, son?” 

The question brings Sanji to a screeching stop– mind instantly going blank. For the most part, he had been joking about the senile thing, but this was the second time this week that Zeff had gone entirely off-topic mid conversation. (The wedding thing had been weird enough, and now this ?). With how hard it was for the old man to follow along with conversations these days, maybe he was losing it. He’d have to call Chopper in for a visit soon.

His sudden unease must show on his face, because Zeff scoffs and hurls the dish rag he was still holding straight at him. It smacks loudly against his face. Baby Fraise bursts into laughter.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I know what my boy looks like when he’s scared,” Zeff chided, leaning down to scoop up Fraise with a grunt as Sanji gags over the dirty rag. Once the boy was settled in his grandpa’s arms, still giggling as if his father being assaulted was the funniest thing in the world ( and Zoro thought he was the favorite ), the old man continued. “Calliope has the World’s Greatest Swordsman as her teacher. You and I both know the Moss wouldn’t do anything to harm her. And you refuse to put Fray down during a shift even when someone offers to take him from you. So what is it? Are these kiddos something you just don’t want?” 

“ No ,” Sanji said, before Zeff even finishes the question.

Of course not. 

Zoro held up his end of the deal– he took care of Calliope and Fraise. It was him who’d set up the crib in Sanji’s quarters and who decorated the spare bedroom to Calliope’s liking. Him who still slept up on the floor of the Crow’s Nest every night without complaint, and didn’t mind climbing down from it at 3:56AM to rock Fraise to sleep if the dinner shift was awful and Sanji just needed to rest. 

And Sanji had always wanted children anyway. Calliope and Fraise hadn’t been expected, sure, but that didn’t make them any less his . Even though he was reluctant to accept Calli onto the ship, he knew deep down from the moment he saw her that he couldn’t abandon her. He hadn’t even been able to pretend when Fraise came aboard. Sure, the Baratie still was no place for children. But Calliope and Fraise were an exception. This was a special scenario.

Really. Truly.

Only them .

Zeff nodded knowingly, appearing very coy, as though he had expected the response. Sanji is suddenly very aware that the old man is in on a joke he’s not. And the bastard is clearly enjoying this, even though to Sanji, whatever it is isn’t very funny at all. 

“Then out with it. What is it? What’s wrong?” Zeff started. And then, as though he could predict Sanji’s planned response of ‘my dad has stage one dementia’ , he elaborates. “What about raising these kids scares you so bad that you decided to take it out on the poor mosshead?”

Sanji’s immediate reaction is to scoff. 

Because he’s not doing that. The mosshead is reaping the consequences of his actions– and that had nothing to do with the kids at all. If Zoro had simply listened to him after bringing Calliope in, and understood that kids couldn’t be raised on the Baratie because–

Because .

Because there was no room. 

But, there were plenty of open rooms. Calliope had one on the same floor he and Zeff slept on, and there were several other guest rooms they weren’t exactly using. Maybe it would be a bit tight during the holidays and anniversaries when all the Strawhats came to visit, but it would be that way with or without Calli and Fraise claiming a room (Luffy tended to bring twenty-six plus ones. Half of which he met along the way to the restaurant). 

Because a kitchen was no place for children to run around?

But, Calliope and Fraise were running around the kitchen fine. If anything, the older cooks were constantly chirping about how much they missed having a kid race between their legs. And the younger ones were always excited to get Calli’s hum of approval every time she taste tested for one of them (mostly because Sanji couldn’t yell at them for their salty broth if his sweet doe had just called their dish perfect! ). The bussers always scrubbed dishes with soap a tad harder whenever Fraise was playing with the overflowing bubbles at their feet. Servers always plead with him to take Fraise and Calli into the dining room with them, claiming it doubled the amount of tips they got.

And though Sanji had to pull Calli and Fraise away from guests once or twice for bothering them, they only targeted guests the entire staff hated– people who didn’t tip well, snotty food critics, creeps. The little girl had fashioned herself a Robin Hood– and Sanji’s desperate attempts to teach her you cannot send your brother to bite the ankles of people you dislike were nothing against the cheering of Zoro, Zeff, and the Baratie staff whenever one of their least favorite guests walked out, teeth marks etched into their ankles, yelling “I’ll never be back!” 

Because he, as Head Chef, was too busy?

Never too busy to see Calli off to bed and rock Fraise to sleep, of course. And it was kind of nice to have an excuse away from an irritating customer or out of a boring meeting whenever the kids conveniently called him over. Mealtimes were nicer too, more routine, now that the table was full. Instead of the fast snacks he used to have mid-rushes, he’d actually take time to sit down and eat with his family. And the restaurant didn’t fall apart with Carne and Patty in charge during those times, as he always feared it would if he ever gave himself a break.

Zeff gives the dignity of looking away the moment it Sanji runs out of because s and the realization slaps him in the face. 

There is no reason children can’t be raised on the Baratie. He’s making excuses. He’s making excuses because he’s scared .

Zoro had seemed so sure about bringing the children here. And Sanji wanted them. But every time he saw a sword in Calliope’s hands or sometimes when he caught the red of Fraise’s hair out of the corner of his eyes all he could think of was where he had grown up. And he couldn’t help but wonder, every time he didn’t know what to say to comfort Calliope or ease Fraise– was he ready ? Would he ever be?

Kids had always been in his future– but that had always been a fantasy. Not real . He thought he had another decade to prepare, to fix himself to become the father his never was.

Now it was all too real and Calliope’s words of not being enough kept echoing in his head and he didn’t know what to do . He was scared .

He was terrified that soon Zoro would see through him and realize he wasn’t someone who could raise a kid, and this restaurant wasn’t a home. Terrified that one day, Zoro would pack up what little he had on the Baratie, gather up Fraise and Calliope, and run off. God, the man didn’t even have a bed here . He slept on the wooden ground up in the Crow’s Nest every night. It was only a matter of time that he’d realize this wasn’t his home, and no amount of mascarating could make it so.

And no amount of mascarating could make Sanji, a Vinsmoke in his blood , a father.

“ Sanji ,” Zeff interrupted his disorganized thoughts, voice tender. Leaning against the counter, eyes still on Fraise, he smiled slightly. “Do you remember that night the ship picked us up after…”

They met eyes for a split second. After didn’t need an explanation. In their relationship, there wasn’t an after as profound as the night the ship docked, saving them from their eighty-five days of starvation. Sanji doesn’t need to nod or acknowledge the words before Zeff is continuing.

“You fell asleep so quickly after you ate. Curled up under the captain’s coat right at my side,” he spoke slowly, tentatively. They’d broached this topic maybe once or twice in the past twenty years, uncertain every time. Raw fish, chicken, beef– they could deal with perfectly fine, they were cooks, after all. Raw emotions? You couldn’t exactly throw that in a frying pan. “You slept for fourteen hours straight, and the whole time, you had the tightest hold on my wrist. I couldn’t–”

“Get up if you tried,” Sanji mused, ringing the dish rag in his hands distractedly. He’s heard this story before. He lived it. 

He didn’t understand why Zeff thought now was a good time to bring it up again. He almost thinks it's another thing to add to the dementia evidence tally, until he said, “I did try , you know.”

Sanji’s hands tighten on the damp rag so tight dirty water floods his hands.

Zeff's gaze leaves Fraise as he continues, a twinge of shame souring his tone. “It was a passenger ship that picked us up, with a couple of fishermen. They were nice folk. I figured, you’re better in the hands of those honest men than someone like me– so when they spotted an island about two hours after we boarded, I… the plan was to leave you with them, and they would keep you.” 

It had been the first night Sanji had been able to sleep comfortably in years. Zeff had been so warm, and his eyelids had been so heavy. When he woke up, the old hag was there, fingers combing through his hair and a gentle glint to his pale blue eyes. He looked like home . Like he was ready to take him in and care for him. For the first time since his mother, Sanji felt acceptance for merely existing.

Twenty years later, Zeff was solemnly rewriting the memory. “I didn’t know a lot about taking on a kid, I just knew it would be a lot. I reckoned I could provide you food, water and shelter just fine. But the other stuff? I thought I wasn’t ready for that. I thought I’d never be ready for that.”

There’s a long, quiet pause. Only Fraise breaks it, patting his grandfather on the cheek in comfort, as though he’d been following along the conversation. Zeff grins down at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead and tickling his stomach until the baby begins to laugh again. In that moment, deep dimples and smile lines forming on his face, he looks so fatherly, Sanji wonders how he could have ever thought he’d never be ready. 

Maybe Zeff had been a bit heavy handed with the violence at the start, and maybe he’d been harsh with his words a few times, but he had always seemed so sure . From the start, he’d been protective, patient and dependable– everything Sanji knew a father was, but never experienced for himself. Since he was a kid, Zeff had always just been a dad . And he never would’ve guessed Zeff thought any different about himself.

“I’d never imagined myself a father,” Zeff eventually continued, when Fraise became distracted by his braids. Looking away from the child, he meets his eyes once more. In the pale blue, Sanji sees a heaviness reflected right back at him. “My father was hardly around and my mother was a sloppy drunk.”

“I never knew,” Sanji said, slowly. Zeff did him the favor of never asking about his family, Sanji did the same, and that was that. But Zeff would pass on his old sailor stories and advice as though it was secondhand, like someone had raised him with it. As a kid, he’d always believed Zeff’s parents had died, but he grew up with them. Not that they were absent by choice.

“It’s not for children to know the strife of their parents,” Zeff said, winking. “It’s for the parents to use, and be better .”

Sanji wanted nothing more than to be better . To be the father Zeff had been, instead of the failure Judge had been. He wanted to give Calliope and Fraise a childhood of laughter and joy, to shield them from the horrors of the world as long as he could and watch them blossom. 

“But how did you know you were ready?” It came out as less a question than a beg. How had Zeff gone from being uncertain, thinking he’d never be ready, to taking him in and raising him. Was there some sort of switch Sanji needed to flip to feel at ease? Some way to assure himself? Some way to know?

Zeff shook his head, apologetically. “I didn’t. I just know when you looked up at me on that rock after we’d been shipwrecked– the decision had already been made that you were mine and I was yours. It just felt right.”

Sanji remembers the first time Calliope faced him, and how he knew she was already his. How he didn’t even think before pulling Fraise from Zoro’s hands, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to let go once he had him. He thinks of how even though he knew they were his, he still feels uncertain, not ready at all.

How fucking terrifying.  

It must show on his face, because the old man snorted. “The whole thing is horrifying. The whole time I thought I’d messed you up horribly. Oh god, do you remember your ‘too-cool-for-anything-but-the-color-black-phase’? Oh, or when you were weirdly obsessed with that rockstar– Uta. I genuinely thought something was wrong with you,” he said, grave and serious. Sanji feels momentarily offended for his teenage self. But then, Zeff laughed, slow and uncertain, and said, “All I ever wanted was to be a good father for you— and I figure, I did something right seeing how kind you are now. ”

And maybe Sanji had been expecting a list of Dos and Don’ts . Maybe if Zeff had given him a rulebook or a blueprint on constructing a good childhood, he would’ve been beyond grateful and felt more sure of himself. 

But nothing would’ve settled his heart more than hearing that and seeing the crinkle of Zeff’s eyes as he said it. 

He wanted to tell Zeff that nothing he did– no hit, no raised voice or harsh word– could ever mess him up more than he already was. Even more, he wanted to tell him that he was more a father to him than his own biological father could have dreamed to be. That he loved him. 

Thank you, dad . 

His voice doesn’t work though, words lodged in the back of his throat. Zeff’s eyes shine all the same, as though he somehow hears what’s left unsaid between them.

“Sometimes that’s enough, Sanji. You’re going to make mistakes. You’re going to mess up. But as long as you never stop wanting and trying, the kids will be alright,” the old man grunted eventually, raising Fraise back up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. The baby giggles. 

“They’ll be alright,” Sanji eventually repeated, glancing back out onto the deck, a small smile playing on his lips. 

For once, he actually feels it to be true.

Zeff clears his throat after a moment. “Now, what was I saying earlier about that wedding I heard about in the West Blue. You know, the grooms had been living with each other for two years before tying the knot? They even had a child together! Isn’t that ridiculous? To be living with each other and raising kids together outside of wedlock. How sacreligious.”

Zeff had never been religious. And at no point in any of their conversations today had he brought up these supposed two grooms. Sanji squints at him and makes a mental note that he seriously needs to call in Chopper for a check up on the old man.

Two seconds later, Calli’s scream pierces through the deck and into the kitchen.

[//]

“I’m fine, Cal,” Zoro insisted to the wailing girl.

Zoro should’ve been able to dodge the sword easily. In fact, it was embarrassing that he hadn’t, getting nicked right above his good eye. Close enough and deep enough that he was having trouble seeing much of anything at all as he tried to reassure the sobbing child.

She’d been slashing the blade erratically, playing around the way she did when she got bored. Zoro rarely used his Haki on Baratie, a bad habit he’d picked up back when he first started visiting, all those years ago. This was the one place he could be at ease, and most of the time he could spot an attack without it. In fact, he had seen the sword slip from Calliope’s hands.

He’d been too focused on getting her out of the way when it ricocheted against a steel pillar. Seeing her in danger, his brain had shut down. There wasn’t time for thoughts when he stepped between her and the incoming blade. If there had been, he would’ve raised his own sword and deflected it easily, rather than standing like an idiot flew straight at him.

Which led them to now, blood pouring down his cheek as the little girl cried in his lap.

“‘ M sowwy ,” she sniveled, hugging as much of his waist as she could get her hands around (barely a quarter of it).  “ M sowwy, m sowwy, m– ”

“Cal, I’ve been cut up worse than this. Look at my other eye,” Zoro tried, going for a reassuring grin. 

Calliope blinked up, stared at his missing eye for a half second, and cried harder .

“You’ve always been terrible with women’s tears,” a dry voice called from behind. 

Sanji was already jumpy around the idea of sword lessons as it was. Seeing Cal’s instructor bleeding all over her was likely the last thing he needed to sway his favor. Cursing under his breath, Zoro pressed at the wound, trying to make it look cleaner than it was. All he gets for his efforts is a handful of blood and blurred vision. 

Not that he needs his vision to know Sanji's giving him a familiar exasperated look as he comes to a stop before them. 

“Go to my room, Moss. I’ll meet you there in a bit,” Sanji said, less a request than an order. Zoro doesn’t hear the underlying threats, too thrilled at the fact that the blonde is finally extending an olive branch. They’re going to be alone in the room to talk– even if that means the talk is going to be Sanji bitching at him for nearly cutting up his little girl, they’d finally be exchanging words. 

A big step for them as just a few days ago, the idiot cook walked straight into the ocean with a tray full of drinks when Zoro had merely stepped in his direction. 

Sanji only needs to hold out his arms for the little girl to turn and collapse into him, a large sob rocking her entire frame. Wrapping one arm around her tightly, the blonde uses the other to reach out and cup Zoro’s cheek in his hand, pausing him where he moves to get up. Inspecting the damage with lidded eyes, he questions, “World’s Greatest Swordsman?”

“Shut up, Shit-Cook,” Zoro returned, melting into the soft hand.

Sanji rolls his eyes and shoves him in the direction of the entrance. 

Zoro decides not to test his luck by mentioning how this is done with far less force than usual.

[//]

“Darling, hey, it was an accident. Don’t cry,” Sanji insisted, seconds after Zoro had dutifully disappeared into the ship. Heading the opposite direction of where he’d been instructed to go. Predictably. 

A problem for a later moment, after Calli’s tears had dried and her breath had eased.

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, Sanji pulled her closer as she trembled. With as sunny as her smile was– warming up a whole room the moment it appeared– and her penchant for heat, it was normally hard to remember she was picked up on a winter island. But now, in her shaking and the sudden graying of her dark skin, it’s obvious. All she needed was a pile of snow, and she would be the picture of an ice island inhabitant.

“But I-I- I hurt him,” Calli blubbered, snot oozing from her nose and hot, fat tears drizzling from her eyes. Burying her face into Sanji’s dress shirt, her next words are muffled, “I hurt fadar !”

Despite himself, a small smile played onto Sanji's lips. He can hardly mask the amusement in his voice when he mused: “You’re going to need a lot more than one sword and a month of practice to hurt fadar , trust me, darling.”

“But- but he was bleeding.”

“Don’t you remember last week when Fraise bit his finger? He bleeds all the time,” Sanji insisted, pulling Calli away from his chest to look at her directly. It took a bit of prompting, tapping at her chin insistently and humming softly, before she finally dragged her gaze from the ground to look him head on. “You’re practicing, honey. It’s normal for accidents to happen and someone to get hurt when you’re still learning. It’s okay, I promise.”

Calli’s lower lip quivers slightly and her eyes are still glassy, but for the moment, the tears have stopped flooding. When she falls back into his arms, it feels less like the collapse it was before and more an embrace. For a moment, they’re silent, enjoying the sounds of the waves crashing into one another and the faint laughter and clinking of glasses from the bar on the other side of the ship. 

It’s peaceful enough that Sanji feels his own eyes drooping, realizing for the first time how exhausted he was from the long shift he just got off of and the emotional conversation that came after. With his daughter leaning on him, calming and warm, and the light above only gentle pinks and purples now that the sun bowing down to the moon, sleep could’ve easily pulled him under then and there. If not for the soft voice of his little girl pulling him back into focus. “I’m no good at this…” she said, slowly. “ Illur .”

They’ve gone over this before with the cooking and Sanji has rerun that conversation enough through his mind enough times that he has a response ready. Biting back a yawn, he started, confident that this time around that he knew what Cali needed to hear, “No one’s good at anything when they just start–”

He hardly gets a few words in before Calli shakes her head, tearing back from him to look up with narrowed red rimmed eyes. “No, mordir ,” Calli insisted, far firmer than a six-year-old had any right to be. “I was bad at cooking and now I’m bad at this. I just can’t do it.”

“With practice—“ Sanji tried again, a lot less tired.

And then a lot less confident when Calliope blurted, “What if I don’t like swords?” 

In none of his reruns of the conversation did she say that. And in none of the reruns of the conversation did she look nearly as panicked, as though not liking sword fighting was some profound, life-changing thing. Maybe it would be for the Mosshead, but Sanji really can’t imagine that many people in a floating restaurant sharing the sentiment. Then again, maybe she’d run into one of the World’s Greatest Swordsman’s fan club meetings at the bar and they’d left her with some strange thoughts about the importance of jousting.

Blinking slowly, he shrugged up a shoulder. “Uh— then you don’t like swords, Calli.” Realizing by her blank look that that was a given, he continued, near questioningly. “You can find something else you like?”

“But, that’s not…” Calli puffed out her cheeks cutely, and then shot Sanji an irritated look when he poked at them. Slowly, after Sanji relented and stopped messing with her chubby cheeks, she took a deep breath and continued. “That’s not what you and fadar …”

It hits him all at once. 

What she’s trying to say, and what she’s been trying to do these past few weeks. Keeping herself awake by the sheer power of will through Zoro’s boring meditation sessions, trying again and again to dutifully follow a recipe when she’d inevitably get bored at some point and start experimenting. Swinging swords and mixing batters, when she’d so clearly rather have her nose in a book or run around the deck with her little brother. Sanji’s gaze softens.

“I like carrots, Calli. And I like broccoli, coffee, and cooking. Zoro likes spicy food, bitter drinks and swords.” Sanji said, slowly, eyes crinkling in amusement as he watches Calli’s nose scrunch up with every like listed. “We’re different. And that’s okay. Whatever you like, we’ll like, because we love you.”

Calli looks like she wants to argue for a split second, even though she knows he’s right. (There’s no way they’d ever convince her to pick up a carrot again, no matter how much Sanji liked them and Zoro pretended he did, and she couldn’t argue that). But whatever the stubborn girl has to say dies in the back of her throat. Eyes widening somehow further, she whispers as though astonished, “ Love ?” 

Sanji hesitated for a split second. They hadn’t exactly said that part yet, but it’d just slipped out in the heat of the moment. It felt right . And anyway, it was true. Of course he loved Calliope, and Fraise. And, glancing to the hallway the idiot Moss disappeared into, Zoro too. “Of course, Cali. Of course, we– I love you, honey. Whether you like sword fighting, or cooking, or carrots, or whatever else.”

Love is unconditional. It’d taken him a long time to learn that, and he’d be damned if it took his daughter even a fraction as long as it took him.

A fresh round of tears wells up in Calliope’s eyes and Sanji’s heart seizes with panic. For a split second, he thinks he’s said the wrong thing again, and he scrambles for a way to correct it. But then Calliope launches herself back into his chest and announces right into the crook of his neck that–  “I hate sword fighting! And cooking! Cooking sucks! Really bad, I hate it so much!” Oh. That one did kind of hurt to hear out loud. And Zoro will be devastated. But the sting is easily overcome when the little girl finished. “And I l-love you too, mordir ! And— and I love fadar ! And I love Fray and grandpa!!”

And in that instant, everything clicks into place. He feels that this is right . He feels that this is almost the most right he’s ever felt. Right next to diving into the All Blue for the first time– opening his eyes to the burn of saltwater and the exotic colors of fish from across the world– and stepping foot into Sunny's kitchen. Warmth floods through him from head to toe so much so that he’s left feeling lightheaded.

Twenty-seven was close enough to his thirties anyway, he supposed.

From the galley window, Zeff smiles out at him.

[//]

Miraculously, Zoro was waiting in his room by the time he got there. 

Having passed off Calli, who immediately announced her new favorite word ( “I love you grandpa!” ), to a Zeff who was trying and failing to hide his glassy eyes, he began searching the halls for his green-haired nuisance. After half an hour of no luck, he headed to his room where somehow the swordsman was sitting on his bed, dutifully. Cut on his forehead long since scabbed over and blood staining half of his face red. 

Focused and all-consuming, Zoro’s eye finds him the second the door opens. Normally Sanji would yell at him about sitting his sweaty ass on his nice, silk sheets and tracking mud through his freshly mopped floor. Normally he’d greet him with an insult and demand to know who let him on his bed. 

But after a month of avoiding him, the swordsman’s sudden attention is claustrophobic. Sanji can hardly open his mouth, and only lasts a few seconds before he has to look away and find something to busy himself with. 

This ends up being a ceramic basin by the door. Pulling the rag from it, the blonde stalls time squeezing water until it has no more drops to give. And even then, he takes his time crossing the room, feeling the swordsman’s gaze heavy on him the entire way. Not letting up even after he sat next to him on the bed and gingerly began to rub at the blood.

When Zoro still hasn’t spoken after the first few strokes, silence stifling between them, Sanji realizes the ball is in his court. Which is unfortunately fair. He’s the one who’s been avoiding this conversation, after all, drawing out the subject until it became this awkward. Zoro tried to start conversations– now it’s his turn to return the favor.

Clearing his throat, Sanji ignored where Zoro’s gaze immediately searched for his own when he started to speak. “Fraise is loud . And Calliope can be stubborn,” Sanji admitted, focusing on where the swordsman’s skin was fading from bloody red back to its original copper color. “But you gave them to me. They’re mine , and you’re not taking them away.”

Zoro frowned. “I wouldn’t,” he said like an oath. Like it was ridiculous for Sanji to think any other way at all.

“I know ,” Sanji said, surprised that he truly does. Zoro wouldn’t– he knows this. “I just…” 

It feels infinitely stupid now that he was in front of the other man. He was scared he would be such a shitty father that Zoro would decide to take the kids away and find a better home? Scared that Zoro would one day disappear without warning like he used to, only this time, taking the kids with him? Leaving Sanji alone and abandoned and on his own.

Looking at Zoro now, how ridiculous he looks with his kicked puppy expression and slumped shoulders over just the thought– Sanji feels like an idiot for even thinking it into existence. This is Roronoa Zoro . The most honorable man he knew. A man who’s life dream was based on a pinky promise with a childhood friend. Who any Strawhat would claim was the most loyal member. A man who looked him in the eye and told him he’d help raise these kids, and they’d raise them together.

“I want you to stay,” Sanji whispers more than he says. Hand stilling against Zoro’s cheeks, he finally builds up the courage to look at the swordsman head on. And of course, he’s already looking back at him, dark eye unyielding when it matches his own. Zoro melts into the caress when their eyes finally meet, and Sanji wonders if he truly gets what he’s asking.

“Okay,” Zoro said, wetting his lips. “I will stay.”

He can’t get it. He can’t get that staying means forever to Sanji. That Sanji can’t imagine a world where he wakes up and doesn’t trip over Zoro taking a nap at the most inconvenient of places or doesn’t have to think about catering meals bitter enough for his ridiculous palate. He doesn’t get that, even if the kids weren’t involved, Sanji would still be asking the same thing.

But, for now, it’s enough. For now, it settles something deep within Sanji’s chest.

Sanji scrubbed one last time at his cheek, before reaching into Zoro’s breast pocket for the alcohol he knows he has stashed there. Pouring some of it onto the towel, he then presses onto the gnash. And now that he's looking directly at it, it really isn’t so bad at all. No need for anything beyond a bit of cleaning up. Nothing for Calliope to worry her sweet little head over.

“I missed you,” Zoro sighed out, suddenly, distracting Sanji before he could truly get to work. Startled by the omission, the blonde is stunted still. Up until the idiot mosshead continues and ruins the moment. “I didn’t know it was even possible to miss your constant bitching, but I did.”

Sanji scrubbed the cut a bit harder and with a bit more alcohol than truly necessary. This time, when Zoro meets his eyes to give him a pointed glare, it feels familiar. It feels right .

After a pause, when Zoro’s glare turns more questioning than anything else, Sanji clears his throat and searches for something to say. “Call and give a heads up next time you decide to bring a kid home, okay?” he ends up deciding, entirely joking .

There would be a reason to call, as there wouldn’t be any more kids. Calliope and Fraise really were special cases. And either way, there was no way someone could land themselves with more than two kids in under a year without trying . And Zoro would not be trying any time soon, as far as Sanji was concerned.

“Okay,” Zoro agreed, nodding seriously instead of smiling and laughing. And Sanji is ninety-percent sure he’s joking back, because he knows he’s not supposed to bring any more kids home. 

He decides to leave the ten percent for a later date. ( Big mistake, truly ).

They’re silent for a few more minutes after that. Until Sanji finally builds up the courage to admit, as he’s crossing the room to drop the soiled rag back into the basin, back to the swordsman and whispering, “I missed you too.”

He did. So much . Even if half their words to each other were insults, even if Zoro got on his nerves like no one else could– god , Sanji missed him. He missed them , together. Reminiscing about old times after hours, when all the guests had left and it was just them on the deck under the stars. Arguing about something like the importance of taking a bath every day and gossiping about something Sanji had overheard in the kitchens or Zoro had heard in the dining room. 

The bed creaking announces the moment Zoro stood. Sanji turned quickly, mouth forming around an insult to soften the sentiment, to make the silence less awkward. But before he can get a word out, Zoro’s strong arms are wrapped around him, holding him still. 

Zoro hasn’t taken a bath. He smells like sweat and blood and really, they don’t do hugs. They never have. Instinctively, he wants to fight, to pull away and kick. And Zoro must already anticipate this, because the hold tightens around his waist, tugging him even closer.

“Next time you start overthinking things, please,” Zoro said, into his hair. At the softness of his words, Sanji finds himself easing slowly. And maybe he’d never admit it out loud, but those stupidly strong arms feel so nice against him, holding him steady enough that he feels like he can finally relax . “Just come talk to me instead of driving yourself crazy.”

Hands raised to land on the swordsman's firm back, Sanji caves, collapsing against him. It’s not exactly an agreement, but it’s as good as Zoro’s going to get, and Zoro’s snort into his hair tells of how well he knows this.

They stay like that for a long moment, holding onto one another. There’s other things they need to tell each other– Sanji wants to tell Zoro about the drama between the line cooks and the servers and he wants to know how Zoro managed to get every barnacle off the stern of the ship in a single night . There’s more to be said about what Calliope revealed, and how sword lessons will probably be coming to an end very soon. About Zeff, and father figures. But for the moment, they just enjoy the silence. 

After all, they have all the time in the world to catch up after this.

When Zoro eventually pulls away, after what must have been only a few minutes at most, but felt like hours , Sanji can’t find it in himself to release him.

“Stay here… tonight,” Sanji murmurs, looking up to meet the swordman’s eye. Green eyebrows are drawn together in confusion, so the cook clears his throat and clarifies by nodding towards the bed. Not waiting for the reaction to that , he continued with a ready excuse. “I– uh… it’ll be easier. When Fraise cries.”

Fraise hasn’t cried in the past three nights, content for the time being after they moved him to Calliope’s room.

Zoro doesn’t call him out on this, instead reinstating his hands at Sanji’s waist and walking backwards towards the bed, tugging the blonde along with him. “Right. Of course. For when Fraise cries.”

An amused smile is pursed onto the green-haired man’s lips. Between Zeff’s earlier smirk and this look now, Sanji’s found himself the subject of too much amusement to be comfortable with as of recent. He’s about to complain as much when the back of Zoro’s legs hit the bed and he falls back into the sheets. Pulling the cook down with him. 

Sanji lands onto a broad chest with an annoyed grunt. “You haven’t bathed!” he complained, unable to keep it in anymore. The sheets were white and sewn finely. It was hell to get dirt out of them, and Zoro practically sweat dirt. “And the kids haven’t eaten. I need to–”

“Zeff said he’d take care of it,” Zoro cut in, around a yawn, eye already decisively shut. 

When the blonde tries his luck at pushing against the hold locked around his waist, he’s very sore to find it unyielding. The cons of inviting the Greatest Swordsman in the World into your bed, he supposed. 

Resorting to banging his fists against the stupidly broad chest after a few more moments of straining, he demands, “Zoro, let me go.”

Eye still shut, Zoro grins up at him, cheekily. And then he rolls them over to the side, arms still trapping the blonde chef against him. 

This position is a bit nicer. With his side buried into the pillows and his front warm against Zoro. 

“It’s been four weeks, cook. At least give me this,” Zoro mumbled, already half way asleep.

Sanji groaned loudly, to show he was still very much against this. 

And then he leans into the warmth and succumbs to sleep without much a fight at all.

Chapter Text

“ Hey, cook.”

Shouldering the Den Den Mushi against his cheek, Fraise in one arm and a frying pan in the other, Sanji wasn’t really in the position to be taking any calls. “Hm?” he assented anyway, solely because there’s a note in Zoro’s voice that he doesn’t like and the damned swordsman is three hours late . “I expect you at dinner in half an hour, you know?”

“Right, just, before, listen–”

“Calli’s with you– you should’ve been back by now,” Sanji continued, flipping the medley of vegetables in the pan with expert ease. Setting it down over a burner, he turned on his heels to do a thorough inspection of the line. Saturday was one of the busiest days at the Baratie, and the dinner rush was brutal . Last week, there had been far too many mistakes for a place as high-end as they claimed to be, and Sanji was not looking forward to a repeat of the peanut-allergy at Table 216. Really, he had no time to be chatting with Zoro in the midst of the chaos that was the kitchen at the moment. And yet still, as he squints at a salad, he distractedly murmurs, “She can actually read maps unlike some directionally challenged mosses I know.”

“....Right. Anyway, I really need you to sit down and hear me out–”

“What dumb motherfucker chopped the Romaine like couldn’t find the pointy end of the damn knife?! Get this shit off my line and get your ass to the dishes!” Sanji shouted, going for intimidating. Given that his words are echoed by Fraise’s giggling and a bunch of the chefs coo rather than racing to do as told, it’s not very effective. 

Not until Sanji lights a leg on fire, at least. 

Hmphing as the chefs rushed forward in response to the threat, Sanji turned to the next dish. A broth that wasn’t quite golden enough for his liking. Eye-twitching, he picked it up and turned to face the chefs again just in time for an annoying Moss to interject, “Cook, you told me to–”

“Be back by dinner,” Sanji finished, rolling his eyes. When they stop, they land on a wide-eyed newer member of the staff, who jolts in fear. With the amount of sweat running down his face, this was clearly the creator of the insult-of-a-broth. Licking his lips as his mind raced with every insult he was going to sling at the man, he distractedly continued, “The fuck are you doing over there? I don’t have time for whatever it is, Marimo. And neither do you, if you want to make it back before closing to set the–”

“I’m bringing back another one. Or, uh, two. I think. But one’s a new hire, so they don’t really count, right? You needed new servers, didn’t you?”

Lucky for the new guy, Sanji’s mind doesn’t have the capacity for how golden broths should be as he struggles to register what Zoro just said.

“And… and there’s another thing ,” Zoro says, slowly. For the first time since the call started, Sanji realizes just how nervous the swordsman sounds, and an overwhelming sense of dread immediately courses through his system in response to it.

When Sanji isn’t able to get his mouth moving for a solid minute, Zoro’s swallow is audible over the line. And then, he courageously tries to break it to the blonde gently, “Right, so, we ran into—“

“SANJI! HEY SANJI!” shouts the King of the Pirates, who still had yet to learn that you didn’t need to scream to be heard over the Den Den Mushi. “I’M HUNGRY! I’M SO EXCITED TO COME EAT YOUR YUMMY FOOD WITH YOU AND ZORO’S KIDS. I COULD EAT A WHOLE ISLAND, AND MORE! HAHAHA, CAN YOU HAVE MEAT READY FOR–”

Sanji promptly hung up.

=

A table of businessmen clink their glasses of red wine together on the upper deck of the Baratie. A private spot only available through reservation, right under the slowly emerging stars of the darkening sky.

“You were right, Larc, this was a wonderful place for us to host this meeting,” the bald man at the head of the table whispers to his colleague, eyes twinkling under his half-moon spectacles. Across the table, their potential partners were chatting amicably and already shaking hands. 

His colleague grinned, nodding knowingly. “I told you so. The Baratie is known to be rowdy and noisy, but the food is to die for, and they have peaceful spots hidden in it like this,” the man claimed, proudly. “And that blonde chef, he’s so charming. I’ve requested he stop by our table once tonight, you must meet him, Venier.”

“Oh, I’d love to know the owner of such an establishment like this. I’m sure he’s a wonderfully elegant ma–”

“ I’M GONNA KILL THAT DAMNED MARIMO !” a voice suddenly sounds, interrupting the peaceful silence, followed by a loud crash that seems to shake the entirety of the ship.

Venier and Larc stare in horror as the rocking causes one of their potential partners to spill the entirety of their wine glass on the other’s one-of-a-kind, high-end, silk dress.

=

At the bar on the other side of the ship, the enraged yell falls over the World’s Greatest Swordsman Fan Club like a foreboding dirge.

Baffled, the bartenders watch as a bunch of heads (all with dyed green hair) drop into the bar, hands clasped together or raised in the air. And in tandem, they chant, “Long Live Roronoa Zoro. Stay Safe Roronoa Zoro. Protect Roronoa Zoro. May whatever sins he committed, be washed away by the ocean. May Vinsmoke Sanji let him live another night–”

=

Kingfisher is the closest island to where the Baratie floats in the All Blue. Ever since the restaurant’s grand opening only a half day’s sail from it for most of the year, it had become a tourist attraction. 

Pricey hotels and fancy shops line the street, alongside vendors and stalls that boast rare fish from all around the world. The docks are always chock full of ships, half of which offer round-trips to the Baratie throughout the day. Meanwhile the streets are just as bustling, people packed like sardines– haggling to get the best prices and watch the newest street performers do cool flips or play funny-looking instruments or do cool tricks while playing funny-looking instruments. 

Personally, Zoro always found the town too crowded for his liking. Even right when the Baratie opened, and the town had yet to see its first hints of growth, he had never preferred it. The residents had big mouths and even bigger ears, always ready to snoop in someone else’s business and chatter about it after. Plus, they’d given him the less-than-charming nickname of the Baratie’s Lap Dog , and the Old Ladies just loved following him around and nagging him about his age and how he was still single for some reason.  

Sanji loved it. He’d always been one for crowds and socializing with others. Where the street performers gave Zoro a nasty headache, the cook always dragged him closer to get a better look. Where the people of the town teased Zoro and ridiculed him (fearing no danger of him being The fucking World’s Greatest Swordsman ), they seemed to have an open admiration for the cook who could identify any fish shown to him with a single glance and brought in tourists year-round with his famed cooking. Where the Old Ladies demanded for Zoro to hurry up and get down on one knee, they were weirdly sympathetic to Sanji’s lack of a romantic life and always gossiped to him about their husbands. 

If it were up to him, Sanji would be here escorting Calliope now. The town welcomed the pretty blonde with open arms every time he stopped by, where it would instead cross those same arms to Zoro. Old hags would coddle him instead of scrunching up their nose, and the merchants would happily give him everything for a fraction of the price instead of doubling that price as they did for one grumpy swordsman. 

Plus, the whole point of the visit was to pick out some new clothes for Calli, and Sanji always had more patience and advice when it came to dress shopping with girls (far more than Zoro’s grunts and never-changing looks good to every dress shown to him, at least). 

This was clearly a job for the cook.

But when Zoro said as much earlier that morning, when he had Sanji to himself in the warmth of the bed-they-were-still-sharing-but-refusing-to-talk-about-even-though-Fraise-had-stopped-crying-at-two-in-the-morning-weeks-ago, the blonde had rolled his eyes and said, “It’s Saturday .” As though that was supposed to mean anything to Zoro beyond the fact that it was a day of the week. 

Later, Zeff had explained how it was one of the busiest days of the month and Sanji had his panties in a twist over some mistakes made during last Saturday’s dinner rush, and Zoro wondered why Sanji couldn’t just say that. Or take Calliope on Sunday. 

(In response to that, Zeff had simply said, “It’s Sanji.” And that made the most sense of anything told to him all morning).

“ Fadar ,” Cal called, from a few paces ahead of him, wrapped up in a purple scarf that screamed  unnecessarily expensive. Zoro dodged a fisherman and tripped over a giggling gaggle of kids on his way towards her, all the while lugging ten full bags of the little girl’s conquest over his shoulder. And wondering, not for the first time, how he ended up here after defeating Mihawk and becoming one of the greatest warriors the world’s ever seen. Kuina’s probably dying of laughter at him from somewhere up above ( or, knowing how much of a menace she was in their youth, probably somewhere down below).

“Didn’t we just buy you a scarf?” Zoro asked in vain, avoiding the beady gaze of the stall owner. It’s the little old woman that would always hold Sanji up for half an hour whenever they passed her by, chatting about recipes and knitting and whatever else. The cook humored her because he thought she was lonely. Zoro had seen her on dates in the island’s best bar with four different men, on the same day . If anything, she was just nosy.

Case in point. 

“And who’s this pretty young lady?” the little old hag crooned, reaching out to pinch one of the little girl’s cheeks. Cal hissed in displeasure, but the woman paid her no mind as she eyed Zoro up-and-down suspiciously. “I didn’t know you had a kid, Mr. Swordsman. Is Sanji aware of this?” she says this part like a threat. Like Zoro should be scared of the prospects of her letting Sanji know about their kid. Like she was about to turn, open her big mouth, and yell to the entire island of how the Baratie’s Lap Dog somehow managed to smuggle a child aboard the Baratie under the Head Chef’s nose. Zoro could laugh.

“Why wouldn’t mordir know?” Calliope interjected just as the old woman seemed ready to whip around and start belting out her hot new gossip to the entire crowded square. Pushing out of the witches’ hold, she rubbed at her cheek and blew a raspberry (a little trick that Zoro had proudly taught her– but then blamed on one of the servers so Sanji wouldn’t murder him in cold blood when he first saw her do it). “How much for the scarf? I want it.”

Sanji would’ve chidded her and demanded she take on a kinder tone when speaking to a frail old lady. 

Sanji wasn’t there. Because it was Saturday. ( Whatever that meant).

Zoro proudly clapped her on the back and smirked at the batty hag who blinked slowly in surprise. “You heard the girl, how much for the purple rag?” he reiterated, when the old woman stood frozen for a few seconds longer, staring aimlessly off into the distance. 

There was a beat of long silence in which Zoro wasn’t even sure she was breathing anymore. 

It had just gotten to be concerning, Cal shooting him a frown, when Zoro leaned forward to snap his fingers in the old woman’s suddenly very gray face. He didn’t exactly like the lady, but Sanji was very fond of her, and he doubted he’d take it well if he came home and explained ‘ Yeah, she just stopped breathing right in front of me. No, I didn’t do anything .’ 

“IT HAPPENED!” the old woman suddenly screams, right as Zoro reaches to feel for her pulse. The World’s Greatest Swordsman doesn’t flinch, but he does retreat a few safe steps when old hags suddenly go senile in split seconds. It’s a safety precaution. Not a fear response. Even if the way her eyes widen into saucers and her fists fly into the air with a crazed giggle is a bit frightening. “IT HAPPENED! MARGE, ELI, IT HAPPENED! HAHA!”

Emerging from the stalls at their sides, a crowd of old women and men suddenly appear, screaming in hysteria. A graying redhead fell to her knees and appeared to be praying. An old couple Zoro recognized from the bar he frequents is swinging each other around in joyous dance. Throughout the streets, sudden cheers and screams chorus in bursts. The already crowded market square overfloods within seconds. 

“What the fuck,” Zoro mouthed to himself, knowing better than to curse openly in front of Cal. 

Cal who was standing only a few steps in front of him a few seconds ago. But had now been replaced by a swarm of people shouting nonsense at him about ‘ finally’ and ‘ tying knots’ and ‘thank God’ .

“Fuck.” Zoro feels more than says, shoving people out of the way. “ Fuck – CAL!” he shouted, with more urgency, voice lost under the sudden thunderous cheer. “CALLIOPE!”

“We’re wishing you a long and happy marriage!” some bald guy cries back at him, making no sense at all, whatsoever. Not that Zoro has the time to even try to make sense of the sudden well wishes shouted at him.

He lost Cal.

He lost Sanji’s precious daughter. 

He lost his precious daughter.

Three hours after he was entrusted with her. In the largest, most popular market in the All Blue.

Sanji is going to kill me. The World’s Greatest Swordsman is going to have death by bitchy cook written on his gravestone. 

Somewhere down below, Kuina is cackling.

  =

Calliope doesn’t get lost.

Even when she was a baby ( which she still was, though don’t tell her that if you want to save your ankles. She will send her baby brother after you ), she’d always been pretty attuned to directions and finding her way. Back when she was living with the wolves on the ice island she grew up on, she always knew the path that would lead her to a warm cave for the night or could easily find a good barn to sleep in if she needed to venture into the village. She had been the one to stumble up to fadar , after all– not the other way around. She found him, and he led her home.

That being said, when she was separated in the crowd from fadar , she wasn’t nervous. She knew she’d find him again before it was time to run home. Plus, she was still hanging onto that purple scarf when she was pulled away, and she was pretty sure that made it hers now. And she didn’t even have to pay for it!

Tossing one end of it over her shoulder, Calliope skipped deeper into the part of town the crowd had spit her out into. It’s calmer than the square, with less people milling about. In the shop windows, she spots everything from piles of books with interesting titles to rusty old machinery with huge price tags. She decides she likes this part of the island better than the other part. Back there, there had been too many people eying fadar up and pestering them with annoying questions. Like that old lady. What type of question was does your dad know you exist ? What a strange woman.

She could tell fadar didn’t like her either. He always scrunched up his nose slightly when he didn’t like somebody, as though he just smelt something super bad. He does it a lot whenever one of the servers has a day off and mordir has to be a server for the night. But Calliope understands. She really didn’t like when people hit on mordir either. That’s what she had a little brother for. To bite their ankles. 

She loved having a little brother. She bets fadar wished he had a little brother to send after the people who flirt with mordir too. But since he doesn’t, she’ll just have to do it for him.

She wades through the town for a while like that, peeking into windows and taking her time making her way back to the square. Pretty soon, she’s halfway across the island with the sun starting to sink, preparing to turn back around and retrace her steps to her father, who would be undoubtedly lost by then ( he really was hopeless without her ).

Which is just when she catches sight of a straw hat, with a bright red ribbon wrapped around it. 

Glowing in the late afternoon sunlight, a man tilts his head at her as she freezes before the wall of a bakery he’s leaning against. There’s a scar under one of his eyes and his hair is crazed under the hat, tuffs of it escaping at random and curling without rhyme or reason. He wears a thin flannel without sleeves that’s just as bright as the ribbon on his hat, and sandals that look as though they’ve seen better days. After a second of surveying each other, the man– boy? -- shines a toothy, broad smile down on her. 

“Hello,” he greets, laughter woven tightly into the timbre of his voice. He pushes off the wall and tips his hat as he crouches to her level. Up close, she can see smile lines etched in his face, worn just as proud as the battle scars on his bronzed skin. “I’m looking for some friends of mine. Do you think you could help me?”

Calliope feels as though she’s meeting the sun in the flesh.

“Hi,” she greets, a little shy all of a sudden. Fiddling with the end of her purple scarf, she glanced away from the man in the straw hat and apologized, “I’m supposed to go back to find my fadar now, actually…”

The man shrugs indifferently, straightening to his full height once more. “Oh, that’s fine,” he said, tone not changing in the slightest in spite of her decline to help. Calliope glanced back up at him just in time for him to ask: “Then do you think you could point me in the direction of the Baratie?”

“Oh!” Calliope exclaimed, eyes widening. “My mordir works there. We’re actually going back there soon. Do you want a ride?”

Fadar probably wouldn’t mind. He didn’t mind a lot of things if she puckered her lips and used her begging eyes on him. Anyhow, mordir was always talking about helping people who were hungry, and if the straw hat boy was looking for a restaurant– he probably fell into that category!

The man with the straw hat's eyes flashed as his smile broadened once more. “That’d be nice, I rode a raft here, but it sank as soon as I docked.”

“You rode a raft to Kingfisher? But the closest island from here is hundreds of miles away!” Calliope exclaimed, in surprise.

The man in the straw hat laughed. “You should hear about the one time I rode a barrel into a whirlpool!” he proclaimed, laughing louder at the expression Calliope made in response to that. 

“Did you survive?!” Cal yelled, excitedly, falling into step next to the other as he dived into an impossible tale about how one time he rode his ship into the sky. 

=

Zoro bangs his head against the wall of the bar he’d managed to find refuge in.

He’d wasted a whole hour trying to escape the embraces and well wishes that he could hardly understand . The townspeople were crazy – talking about how lucky he was and how he’d better treat the cook well. There were demands to know where his ring was, to know when and where the wedding had been. Of whose last name had changed, and what Zeff thought. 

Nothing that made a lick of sense.

Nothing beyond the fact that Calliope was missing, and he couldn’t find her no matter what direction he looked. 

Shutting his eyes against the splintering wood of the counter, Zoro let out a pained groan. The bar had been a last ditch resort to escape the swarm of people and collect his thoughts, and still, it was far more bustling than normal. People were practically breathing down his neck, waiting to pounce with more ridiculous nonsense. If not for the hand resting strategically on his sword, he doubted he would’ve been graciously lent these few seconds of reprieve.

“Ya know, yer wonderful fer business,” a gruff voice grunts from across the bar top. Zoro’s never visited this tavern before– Sanji always scrunching his nose up at it and demanding to be taken to an ‘actual fucking restaurant, Morimo, not somewhere for you to get shitfaced’ whenever they came to Kingfisher– so he can’t place the owner of such a tone as the bartender until he forces his gaze up to find the beer-bellied man scratching at his chin.

“Glad it’s doing someone good,” Zoro grumbled back, dropping his head back down in the universal signal of this conversation is over . 

Unfortunately, the old man doesn’t seem to know how to take a hint. “Did you really snag such a fine piece of ass?” the man demands, all too grotesque for someone who owns’ a place called Friendly’s Bar . Before Zoro can say as much, the man’s continuing to halt Zoro’s breath— “Everyone who’s come in says ya and the cook’ve been sleeping together.”

“What? How do people know that?” Zoro snapped, raising his head to find the man’s amused expression staring back at him.

If the barkeep thought he was embarrassed about who he shared a bed with, he had the wrong man. The last thing Zoro cared about was what Kingfisher Island thought about him sleeping next to Sanji every night. Zoro had spent nights in pig pens and chained to jail cells as a bounty hunter– there were worse places he could lay his head than next to the cook’s golden lochs and steady warmth. This was a step up from the floor of the crow’s nest he had been sleeping in before, and he wouldn’t feel bad about it because of a few old hag’s gossip.

No. Zoro doesn’t really care that people know he’s sleeping next to Sanji. He doesn’t even care if people know how much he enjoys it. That, in the past few weeks since they’ve started sharing a bed, the swordsman has never slept better or fallen asleep faster. That he kinda enjoys when he wakes up with Fraise and Cal having snuck in at some point in the middle of the night, snuggled in between them. He loves waking to the sight of his son tucked under Sanji’s chin and his daughter burrowed into his arm. He loves how close Sanji sometimes gets when he’s tossing and turning in his sleep. How sometimes, he’ll wake up and they’ll be chest to chest. Sometimes he’ll wake up to Sanji using his shoulder as a pillow. Sometimes, he’ll wake up to the weight of crinkled blue eyes on him as Sanji cards his hand through his hair.

Zoro wouldn’t even care if the whole world knew. He wouldn’t trade this for anything. 

But he is worried Sanji couldn’t say the same.

Sanji had always been someone with fragile masculinity (surprisingly, for a man who wore perfumes and bathed religiously even as a pirate). 

Before Kamabakka Island, it hadn’t been so bad. Starting their journey, he’d been little more than a hormonal teenager slinging around a sword and Sanji had always been attractive. Blonde and slim, a sharp jawline and legs for days– he met all of Zoro’s usual criteria ( which normally just consisted of: strong and hot ). But given their first interaction was of Sanji proclaiming his undying love to the witch they called a navigator, it became pretty clear, pretty fast that they weren’t playing for the same team. But, again, before Kamabakka, Zoro had questioned it. There had been a point on the Merry, back when they were still young and foolish, when Zoro had toyed with the thought.

Ace had flustered the cook enough that Zoro thought for a time that maybe there was a chance they at least played the same sport. Multiple times and by multiple crewmates , Sanji had been caught chancing a glance at Luffy’s brother’s biceps or stuttering while talking to the man. Back then, Zoro had been mildly annoyed that the fire-user had such an effect on the blonde after just an afternoon knowing him, and looking at it now, Ace probably knew this. What with the way he’d always cheekily smile and wiggle his eyebrows at Zoro whenever he’d get Sanji to melt into a blushing mess over another one of his compliments, the gleam in his eyes teasing, ‘ see, this is how you do it.’

And then after Thriller Bark, when Sanji’s touches started to linger a little longer, Zoro’d been convinced that if he wasn’t also playing baseball, maybe at least soft ball. Zoro had been in so much pain, and Sanji had been there, anchoring and devoted. Catching him whenever he tripped and sliding an extra portion of food onto his plate without comment, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. It was the most excruciating experience of Zoro’s life, taking all of Luffy’s pain, and at the same time, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. Not when Sanji’s caresses had been so gentle as he sat next to him, rewrapping his bandages and checking his temperature. It was then that Zoro realized just how blue Sanji’s eyes were. 

But then Saobody happened, and two years and a couple mermaids was all it took for the blonde to forget the game entirely– if he ever knew it at all. 

The Sanji that came back from Momoiro Island wouldn’t like rumors floating around about him laying down next to another man. The Sanji that came back from Momoiro island would probably look at him funny if Zoro ever admitted to how much he enjoyed resting next to him each night. The Sanji that came back from Momoiro island wouldn’t be able to withstand Kingfisher Island’s opinion on them sharing a bed.

“This ‘ole town knows, boy,” the barkeep said, matter-of-factually. And that fact alone already annoys Zoro enough, but the man decides to follow it up by leaning over across the bar, flashing his yellow teeth at him and blowing his fish-piss breath at him when he asks, “Tell me, what’s ‘e like? ‘E looks like ‘e’d be a screamer or a crier– pro’ally got a pretty moan, amirite?”

Zoro’s first thought is, god, wouldn’t I like to know . And then, a flush of embarrassment and shame that turns quickly into a panicked anger.

Sanji wouldn’t like the town knowing they slept next to each other. Zoro was dead if the town thought they were sleeping with each other .

Even worse, the man was genuinely waiting for a response. As if he had any right to know– or even wonder – what the cook was like in his most intimate moments. This filthy barkeep, at some no name bar that Sanji wouldn’t even double glance at in all their time in the town, was grinning all greasy and gross at him, eager for the information as though he had any right to it. Zoro has felt less rage taking out enemies of the Pirate King than he does now.

Leaning across the bar, Zoro unsheathed Kitetsu the slightest bit. Proving he had at least one brain cell up there in the barren wasteland behind his forehead, the idiot stumbled back the slightest bit in the face of the World’s Greatest Swordsman’s anger. 

“You have no right to even think about him,” Zoro seethed, pointedly glancing at the man up and down with distaste. “Speak on him again and I’ll skin you alive and throw you to the Sea Kings.”

The rest of the bar had quieted just in time to hear the threat. Following the fiasco in the square, it was pretty crowded, every table full with people and the bar all piled up besides the wide berth Zoro had been graced with. Flushing a dark color, almost purple under the dim lighting of the bar, the man sputtered, wild eyes flying around to their audience. 

Zoro sees the moment the man decides to double down in the face of the humiliation. Smile stiffening on his face, fist balling up at his side, the man puffs out his chest at the swordsman. Ridiculously overconfident.

“Ah– you don’ even know?” he gruffed out, eyes alight with misplaced amusement. He must not realize Zoro’s sliced down men thrice his size. If he had, maybe he would’ve thought twice before saying, “Vinsmoke looks like the prude-y type. Won’ let ya hit it ‘til after the wedding, is it?” And maybe he would’ve thought at least once before smirking and continuing to say, “Ya must be pent up. Livin’ around that ass without a chance to even–”

A mere serving platter is the only thing between the barkeep's neck and Kitetsu in the next second.

Zoro could easily slice through it. His sword’s sliced through entire empires before— a little wooden thing is nothing. In fact, his sword had made it halfway through the flimsy board before he stopped.

Red eyes are narrowed where they lock on his own. 

Since Jinbe announced himself as a hand of the King of Pirate’s crew, relations between humans and fishman had improved. And as far into the Grand Line as the All Blue was, it wasn’t uncommon to see them on the dining room floor at Baratie. Zoro’s less surprised to see that there’s a fishman working the bar, than the fact that this is clearly a child, only a handful of years older than Cal at most.

Fishman ages had always come harder for him. But the girl’s shoulders barely come up over the bar top. Her hands, striped black and white like the rest of her body, are tiny where they grip the wooden board, and her cheeks are round with youth. Aside from the skin color, the eyes, and the fact that the long mane of hair cascading down her shoulders is clearly a fin– she looks like any other little girl would. Only she’s wearing an apron, behind the counter at a bar, and wearing a look all too steely for a child who just stood in the way of the Demon of the East’s blade.

“ Aniela !” the barkeep barked. Seconds ago, he looked like his soul had already left him, face pale and frozen stock still. All of the anger seemed to come back to him all at once– only this time, having realized he couldn’t take it out on a man whose body count went into the thousands– he turned to the young girl who’d just saved him. Because sure. That was logical . “Yer done!”

Looking away from Zoro, the little girl’s eyes flew to the barkeep, eyes widening in shock. “ What ?! But I just–”

“How many times ‘ave I told ya not to leave the kitchen durin’ yer shift!? Don’ ya see how busy we are! Those dir’y dishes are pilin’ up!” the man continued, undeterred, yanking away from where Zoro started to lazily shake his sword to unlatch the wooden board. “Serves me right fer hirin’ a damn fishman in the first place!”

Red eyes turn fiercer at the jab and the little girl grits sharp teeth. Yet, still, she argues, “But you would’ve di–”

“I can handle m’self!” the man huffed, chest puffing back up as it had before. All bravado as he glanced around at the onlookers, he continued, “I don’ need help from a subhuman scum. ‘Specially not against the Worl’s Greatest bed warmer. Now get out!”

That really wasn’t the comment that did it. Rather, it was the little girl’s head bowing, lower lip quivering and the fight leaving her shoulders. How frail her voice sounded suddenly when she sneered, “Fine. I didn’t want this damn job anyway.” How her fists shook slightly as she untied the apron around her waist. How distressed she looked storming around the counter and towards the door. 

“Next time, it’ll be the head,” Zoro warned, not bothering to turn and watch the man’s arm fall from his shoulder. 

Hearing it hit the ground in a familiar thud, followed by the man’s immediate scream, Zoro continued to the exit after the girl.

Chapter Text

They’re far past the point where Zoro feels the little girl should’ve stopped by the time she whirls around on her heels and juts a long, black talon to his chest. Or well, his mid stomach. ( He just supposes that was where her finger would’ve landed if she was any more than a few inches taller than Cal ).

“Stop following me,” she demanded, petulantly. By that point, her tears had dried against her cheeks and the snot dripping from her nose had mostly been sniffled back up. All that remained of her crying– which Zoro had very politely not commented on the entire way– was the slight glaze over her eyes and the way her words slightly trembled as she proclaimed, “Y-you ruined everything.”

Her tone was far more gravelly than Cal’s was when she was angry, holding more emotion than his little girl ever did in her anger fits. Though, he imagined, whatever this kid had going on was probably a lot heavier than being told to clean her room before she could bother guests in the dining hall. With that in mind, Zoro wisely does not respond with the firmness or teasing he would’ve when addressed with his daughter’s anger, and instead asks, “Why did you stop me?”

The question had bothered him since they stepped foot out of the bar, and only grew more and more damning each step they took into the shabbier part of town. Whatever the man had been paying her to put up with his shitty attitude, it clearly wasn’t enough given the state of her block. Shady alleyways and a spit’s distance from the red light district of the island– the rent here was nothing. Someone who was paying her so lowly that she got stuck here – was knowingly letting a child live in this part of town– was no one worth saving. 

The little girl— Aniela — looked at him like he was dull. The normal reception the World’s Greatest Swordsman got after asking a question. “ What .” she said, punctuated with a period to emphasize that it was no inquiry, and moreso a bewildered reaction.

Sanji would probably understand. He was self-less and empathetic like that. Where Zoro saw fit to murder every prisoner they ever took on the Sunny or Merry, no questions asked, the cook would serve them quality meals and insist they receive medical treatment. If Zoro was wronged or his skill was disrespected in any sort of way, it was his first priority to get his lick back and prove everyone dead . Meanwhile, Sanji always seemed to take any criticism he got at the Baratie with grace or a push to do better.

Sanji wasn’t here to break it down for him. And even if he tried to, they would both probably get frustrated in the process of him trying to explain and start arguing. Seeing the girls’ narrowing stare, reminiscent of the cook’s expression whenever he was eyeballing something he didn’t like (a man not picking up the tab for his date, most commonly), the swordsman’s head was already starting to hurt. He could practically feel the ensuing argument brewing in the space between them.

Taking a deep breath, Zoro reasoned as well as someone who had two brain cells (one of which was traded back and forth with the young, dumb King of the Pirates) could reason, “He treated you like trash. Why did you stop me from killing him?” 

“Just because I’m part fish doesn’t mean my ears don’t work like yours. I heard you the first time, old man,” Aniela scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. Zoro, who was only twenty-seven– still very much a young adult, bristled. Unfortunately, the little girl is showing out to be as quick as the cook when it comes to cutting him off before he’d even managed to get his mouth open. “I know it may be hard for a homicidal maniac to understand, but some people don’t like watching others get cut up into itty bitty pieces in front of them.”

“I’m not a homicidal maniac– I’m the World’s Greatest Swordsman ,” Zoro corrected, affronted. 

To which the little girl simply raised an eyebrow and questioned (with information she should not have access to at her age, mind her), “The World’s Greatest Swordsman who currently has the highest body count in the history of the holders of that title?”

There was a long silence before Zoro finally gathered back enough face to say, “I’m not old.”

Aniela snorted, turning back towards a large, crumbling building at their side. Half the windows are missing or shattered, while the door half hangs off its hinges. Graffiti artists have left their mark with dirty words scattered from the lowest to highest points of it, and empty bottles and old cigarettes litter the entryway. If not for a balding man smoking off of one of the terraces and the flickering lights, Zoro would’ve easily misinterpreted the place as abandoned. Even when an old woman’s voice snaps at Aniela to shut the door after herself, the swordsman is still questioning it.

“Nowhere else will take a fishman kid with no money and no documents,” the little girl eventually states, as Zoro follows her up creaky steps despite her protests. Glaring over her shoulder, she continued to impressively never break her scowl once as she explained, “And nowhere else would hire me. So no, it’s not the most pretty of places to live and-and the job really sucked. But you really fucked a lot up by getting me fired today.”

Zoro doesn’t press for reasons why the town would shy away from a young seagirl down on her luck. Despite Jinbe’s best attempts, prejudice never faded slowly– and prejudice that ran as deep as humans against seamen would take years to completely erode away. Stories about Arlong still plagued the East, scaring old sailors who had never set foot past the Grand Line to know any different. Even growing up at the dojo, there were old campfire stories about monstrous seapeople that he was pretty sure the kids still retold to this day . Even if the King of the Pirates welcomed seamen with open arms and his hundreds of allies followed suit in response, it would take a long time for the rest of the world to get in line with the new beliefs.

Young girl or not, Aniela being a girl of the sea walking the shore would set off any old hag stuck in their ways, even this far deep into the Grand Line.  

That didn’t change the fact that her boss was still a dick, though. Or the fact that Zoro had gotten a lot of satisfaction from lobbing his arm off.

The lock to her place was broken, the door swinging open with a single rapt of the girl's fist. Zoro has to duck to fit under the small doorway, and then hunch over to fit into the apartment with the roof having sunken down as far as it did. It gives him the perfect view of the layout of the entire one room-fits-all layout of the place, and with it, the sight of a scrawny boy on the musty couch, folded between tattered blankets. 

Wide, monolid eyes pin down Zoro and a mouth missing half its’ teeth gape open. For a second, the swordsman thinks the little raven haired kid is going to scream at the sight of him– which is a pretty typical reaction for children seeing him. But then the kid eyes the three swords hanging from his hip, and his agape mouth snaps shut instantly. There’s a few beats of still silence in which Zoro doesn’t even think the kid is breathing.

And then. “The World’s Greatest Swordsman!” the kid shrieks, but he’s missing half his teeth so what really comes out is more like– “Tha Wars Gayest Soresman!” While Zoro slowly processes the remark, the kid pushes himself up with his arms, his legs rolling out from under the blanket to the floor in stiff, sudden movements. The newly ordained Wars Gayest Soresman doesn’t need to watch his stumbled attempts to get to his feet to realize the situation.

And suddenly everything makes sense. Why the little girl would put up with the ill-treatment of an evil boss, why she was willing to live in such a horrible setting with her lowly income– Hell, even why she had allowed Zoro to follow her back to her home ( judging by the way the little boys eyes had stars in them as he stared up at the swordsman ). 

After all, what wouldn’t Zoro put up with for Fraise and Calliope? What wouldn’t he put up with for Sanji? The world could throw their worst at him, and he’d still march onward if it was all he could do for them.

It’s almost like looking in a mirror– watching where the little girl stares at the boy with equal parts exasperation and adoration.

“You stole away the sole income of a fishgirl and a cripple,” Aniela reiterates the thought for him as the little boy falls back down against the couch, despite his attempts to get up and greet them. “You feel like a dick now?”

[]

In the end, Zoro doesn’t end up finding Cal. It’s Cal who ends up finding him.

Her new purple silk scarf is thrown over her shoulders and she wears hot pink sunglasses that the swordsman has never seen in his life. There’s a wide smile on her face that dims the slightest bit when she spots the little boy, Tuskan , hanging off of Zoro’s back and Aniela, kicking rocks at his side. The swordsman hardly has time to process the reaction before it disappears into a giggle as he captures and swings his little girl around in a relieved hug. 

“Never do that to me again,” Zoro begged into her curls, squeezing her with one arm and supporting a snickering Tuskan with the other. “Where were you, Cal? We’ve been searching the whole island!”

After Aniela finished packing up their meager belongings, they’d started back for the main square on a manhunt and had since scraped almost the entirety of the town for his little girl. All the while, Tuskan babbled his ear off with questions about his swords, his more famous battles, and even his time with Mihawk . How much the kid knew about his experiences may have been a bit creepier if the swordsman was in the right headspace, but his thoughts all revolved around finding a missing child and what the hell he was going to tell Sanji before they started sailing back to Baratie.

As a response, Cal grinned and winked in that endearingly mischievous way of hers that the swordsman just knew would cause him so much grief one day. 

He didn’t think that grief would start today. Like in-the-very -next-second-after-she-flashed-the-smile-at-him today . But then a familiar laugh steals Zoro’s attention away from the children hanging off of him and straight to his captain..

“Zoro! What are you doing here? I didn’t know you knew Calli!” Luffy proclaimed, excitably, as though it was completely normal for him to be here, standing before him, on Kingfisher. As though the King of the Pirates wasn’t supposed to be far off somewhere in the South Blue with Law’s crew, searching for some powerful devil fruit rumored to be spotted there. As though it was normal for him to know Calli, as opposed to her own father. 

Cal pushed herself out of Zoro’s hold, only managing in the midst of the swordsman’s shock. Rushing back over to the glowing boy, she took his hand and tugged him eagerly towards his second-in-command, the same way she’d drag some stowaway she’d met on board to meet him and Sanji. “This is my fadar that I was talking about!” she explained to Luffy, her fadar’s captain . “ Fadar , this is Luffy! He’s real funny and he wants to eat at the Baratie! Can we give him a ride? Please, please, please–”

“Wow, Zoro. I didn’t know people called you fadar ,” Luffy said, sticking a finger up his nose. He smiled, confused. “What does that mean?”

“ The King of the Pirates! ” Tuskan shrieked into Zoro’s ears, somehow managing to get that perfect despite his missing teeth.

“Good grief,” Aniela groaned.

[]

They’re forty-nine minutes late to dinner. Zoro kept track to calculate just how much trouble he’d be in when he docked at the Baratie– three stowaways in tow.

The first time the swordsman brought a child home with him, he was nearly waterboarded in a bathtub by a few of the cooks at Sanji’s orders. The second time, he was kicked straight into Sea King infested water. This time, not only had he brought home a child, but a second one as well. And, as though that wasn’t enough, he also dragged along the ultimate, all-time, eternal child– the King of the Pirates, himself. 

They were late to dinner and Zoro had brought along three extra mouths to feed (times ten, counting Luffy’s appetite). 

Sanji is already waiting for them on deck with Fraise on his hip and Zeff at their side. 

Zoro expects the blonde’s face to be split into a demonic glare, for one of his legs to be on fire if not both. He fully expects that his little raft would be sinking– with him still aboard – the second the kids were safely aboard the Baratie. That, or he was being burned alive and served for the main course tomorrow's breakfast. 

Whatever it is, he knows it’s coming . Knows he’s in for it, already six feet down into the grave.

What he didn’t expect was the way the cook simply held out a hand to help him aboard with Tuskan half asleep against his back, and answered Luffy’s immediate question about what they were eating with ease. He didn’t expect for Sanji to usher them all hurriedly into the dining room, which had been entirely cleared despite the fact that it was only seven and a Saturday – the busiest day of the week . What he didn’t expect was to be directed to a table with just enough seats for everyone, and for the blonde to slide into the seat next to him after he was done serving the table as a whole like it was any normal Saturday night dinner.

“I think Zoro over exaggerated about you,” Aniela said, in between stuffing her mouth with her third helping of lemon pesto pasta. She’d caught an attitude the entire ride to the Baratie that had completely disappeared sometime in between Sanji pulling a chair out for her and her second plate of food. Now, her voice was lighter– sweeter– so long as she wasn’t speaking directly to the swordsman. “You don’t look like the type who would set someone on fire.”

“Oh, really?” Sanji questioned, amused. Zoro snorted, having watched the cook light a man on fire just that past week (his fears had been very valid, Aniela , thank you). He was still half expecting for the cook to shove his fork into his stomach at some point in the night, flinching every time the blonde leaned over him to reach for the salt or swat at Luffy for trying to steal someone's food. 

“Mordir would light someone on fire,” Calliope insisted, prickly. The little girl was showing off a possessive streak, spouting out information about the Baratie and Zoro and Sanji at random as though to prove she knew them best. Tuskan took every new grain of information with excitement, seemingly enamored with the old tales of the King of the Pirates and his crew– baffling Cal when he returned her statements with a fact about the crew that she didn’t even know (even some that Zoro, Sanji and Luffy didn’t know). Meanwhile, Aniela– having confirmed her age to be thirteen on the way to Baratie– was proving herself to be a haughty teen by purposefully riling up the younger girl every chance she got. 

Smirking slightly, Aniela shrugged. “Maybe. But he doesn’t look like it. Not the way Zoro looks like he’d chop off someone's arm, at least,” she said.

“ Fadar doesn’t look like he’d chop off someone’s arm!” 

“He does a little,” Tuskan disagreed, a bit more apologetically than his sister. And then a bit more thoughtfully, “But maybe that’s because he did.”

“He what?” Sanji asked, pausing where he was trying to convince Fraise to eat at least one green bean. 

Aniela opened her mouth to readily throw Zoro under the bus and retell the events of that morning, but the swordsman was quick to cut her off. As odd as Sanji was acting now, his mercy wouldn’t extend to the point of ignoring the fact that he cut off an arm of a resident of Kingfisher. Sanji adored the island too much and knowing the ruckus the swordsman had made there in his most recent trip wouldn’t do anyone good (most specially, him). “He meant in general. I’ve cut a lot of people's arms off,” he announced. 

“And legs,” Luffy agreed, helpfully.

“And heads!” Tuskan added, excitably.

“Baa ,” Fraise commented. And then he threw his green bean at Zoro’s face.

Sanji laughed then, forgetting about the arm thing. Zoro watched him and immediately lost his train of thought.

“How come you’re sisters and brothers but you don’t look like each other,” Calliope asked, sometime later, after dinner had been cleared from the table and replaced with bowls of homemade ice cream. 

By that point, Fraise had been taken up to bed and Zoro was free of the danger of flying green beans. Sanji was still acting weirdly natural about the two new additions to the ship and the fact that Luffy was here and on his sixth bowl of ice cream already– but the swordsman had been lulled into an odd sense of security at that point. Enough that he hardly reacted when Sanji reached over to him and wiped ice cream from his cheek and didn’t even flinch when Sanji began, reproachfully, “ Cal –”

“You don’t look like your brother either,” Aniela pointed out, looking hardly miffed by the question. But also clearly unwilling to offer up any more information than just that.

Cal, being six and curious, barreled onward despite the finality of the statement. “Did your fadar bring you two together?”

“We don’t have fadars ,” Aniela said, with a shrug. 

And really, there didn’t need to be any more to it than that. Zoro hadn’t had parents for a while before he found the dojo, and Sanji hadn’t before Zeff. Luffy had gone without guardianship for a long while as well. Nami and Usopp lost their mothers young, and before Nami had a mom– all she had was an older sister who wasn’t even blood. Coincidence, or not, it felt as though many children in the East Blue ended up parentless at some point. It was how Fraise and Calliope ended up with them, after all. 

Even still, Tuskan lit up. “Ani saved me!” he announced, dodging his sister’s attempts to cover his mouth. “When I was little, I was in a shipwreck and my legs stopped work–” Aniela caught him then, before instantly releasing him with a loud EW, her hand covered in spit. “Anyway, I couldn’t swim when I hit the water and I would’ve drowned if Ani wasn’t swimming in the area at the time! She’s been watching out for me ever since!” 

“It’s whatever!” Aniela insisted, huffing and crossing her arms over her chest. “I just couldn’t have it on my conscience if you drowned.”

“You’re like a hero!” Calliope exclaimed.

Aniela looked like she was going to barf.

Sanji and Zoro shared an amused look. And then when Sanji broke it to nudge the conversation down a safer path, the swordsman stared at the side of his face a moment longer. A moment that lingered far past what was appropriate– something he only realized when he felt the heavy weight of a gaze on his own face.

Luffy was watching them across the table. Curiously , the same way he looked at him all those years ago now when Zoro first decided he was going to make Baratie his return point after all their little adventures. How he’d looked at them after Zoro won the title of the World’s Greatest Swordsman and the first thing he did was take a visibly shaking Sanji into a tight embrace, right before passing out. 

Luffy is still looking at them like that some time later, when the kids are starting to struggle with keeping their eyes open and he finally decides to disclose why he’s there. 

“Robin and Franky need help in Water 7,” Luffy explained, patting his stomach (which had expanded greatly somewhere in between his sixth and seventeenth bowl of ice cream). “A lot of his ships are being broken after he builds them, the seas have been acting weird– and Robin said she thinks it’s a group of devil fruit users behind it. Zoro, can you come with me?”

“We can be there by next week,” Sanji answered, before Zoro could get his mouth open. Luffy looked as surprised as Zoro felt by the interruption, and with it, the odd proposal. For most odd jobs, Luffy would swoop in and steal the swordsman away, knowing the cook would always choose to man his restaurant if he wasn’t needed. And for something like this, where three members of the strawhats were already involved– the cook wasn’t needed. Still, the blonde continued, “We just need time to prepare Baratie–”

“Hang on, eggplant,” Zeff interjected, holding up his hands in a placating manner. “We’re supposed to be in All Blue another few months before the weather changes. What about all the reservations for the upcoming weeks? And the incoming school of Yuda?”

Sanji had been talking nonstop about how he was planning on catching and cooking one of the Yuda. There were recipe concepts littered all over the desk in their room and journals full of plans of what could be done with everything from their eyes to their scales and how their poison could be nullified by certain herbs. Not only that, but the Baratie ran a tight schedule with where it was docked and for how long, and within those periods, it hosted everything from political meetings between warlords to celebrities as famous as Uta. The reservations had been made months in advance, if not years. 

“Yeah, but,” Sanji started, avoiding the gazes of the three other adults at the table by busying himself with piling dirtied bowls together. “It’s, uh, perch season. In Water 7.”

“This is the All Blue? We have perch here year-round?” Zeff said, completely baffled.

Sanji cleared his throat. “Not Water 7 perch.”

Zoro knows enough about basic fish to know that there is no difference between the Water 7 and All Blue perch. He also knows Sanji enough by now to know that he’s teetering around his real reasoning for trying to die on the hill of insisting the Baratie: All Blue lifts itself off its hinges and sets sail for Water 7 at a random point in the year, leaving any scheduled reservations in the dust. 

He knows because he feels the same way. Zoro doesn’t want to leave Sanji as much as Sanji doesn’t want to leave him.

“The ship needs repairs,” Zoro pointed out, helpfully. 

Sanji’s lips curled upwards slightly. “Yes, right. Those repairs.”

“Pesky repairs, can’t be helped,” Zoro nodded.

Zeff threw his hands up. “Since when have we ever needed repairs?”

This time, when Zoro turns to look at Luffy, their captain is smiling widely, his eyes crinkled. He looks like he figured whatever it was out at some point during their conversation, and for a second, the swordsman wondered if that was by design. Luffy’s always had a funny way of getting what he wanted in the end, after all.

[]

“ Zoro, a word,” Sanji said, as Zeff began ushering all the children to their rooms (including Luffy). 

And here it was. Zoro had reached the end of the line here, he just knew it. Maybe Sanji wouldn’t stab him with a fork in cold blood in front of all the kids, but now that there were no witnesses? Although the swordsman did stop at the sound of the call, he made no move to step any closer as Sanji plopped down into a chair and pulled one of his server pads and reading glasses from his suit pocket. 

Squinting as he made a few markings on the small sheet, Sanji murmured, “Did you get enough clothes shopping with the girls?”

Zoro is expecting him to say something more along the lines of you’re dead, marimo . The question goes straight over his head and the cook continued undeterred, either uncaring or not noticing the green-haired man’s petrified state only a few paces away.

“Zeff kept my old clothes because he’s a sentimental old prick, so we have enough for Tuskan, but nothing Aniela would be caught dead in,” he explained, pressing the pen against his plush bottom lip in thought. “Also, we need new bedding for Tuskan, because that one in the guest rooms is too old and torn a little. I think we should room him with Fraise, unless Aniela wants to stay with him. Or, honestly, I was thinking about asking Franky to expand the ship when we reach Water 7. They could both get their own if they wanted it. And I’m sure Franky can do something about helping Tuskan walk on his own– it’s not good for your back if you keep carrying him around like that–”

Zoro isn’t sure what exactly does it. 

He’s always liked the way Sanji looked with his reading glasses sliding down his nose. How they magnify the blue of his eyes and make him look a bit more regal in a way, highlighting the arch of his nose. He’s also always liked the way Sanji looked in the soft lighting of the dining room at night, with only a candle’s glow and the light of the moon slipping in from the window to light up his golden hair and more dramatic lines. And the way Sanji looked when he was strategizing, when he was rambling with too many thoughts, when he was thinking about and planning for the kids– their kids – 

Ah . That was probably it.

The reason Zoro leaned down, cutting off Sanji mid sentence when he pressed his lips briefly to the shell of the blonde’s pretty little ear. 

Sanji’s breath caught in his throat, pen slipping from his grasp and clattering against the table. Wide blue eyes are on the swordsman in a split second, and his lips gaped open the slightest bit– mouthing around words that won’t come out. 

“You were saying, about the bedsheets?” Zoro prompted, helpfully, leaning against the chair to glance down at the notepad in front of him, full of the cook’s pretty font. Narrowing his eyes, the swordsman glimpsed through a list of things they needed to make the two kids more comfortable and he wondered where the cook had even had the time to come up with it all between dinner and the clean up that came after. He really was too good.

“You kissed me,” Sanji blurted, instead of answering. And Zoro almost hums non committedly before he completely registered the words.

Fuck . 

He’d moved so automatically, so naturally, it hadn’t even hit him what he was doing when he was crossing the room and leaning down. In the moment, he was a moth and Sanji was the flame completely hypnotizing him. Nothing in the world could’ve stopped him when he started towards the blonde, not a Warlord or a monstrous seaking or– least of all – reason. Reason that was now standing before him with its head in its hands. 

“ Pssht ,” Zoro sputtered, waving a hand as alarms began blaring through his mind. Jumping straight into the first tactic could think of, he immediately denied: “No I didn’t.”

Sanji cupped his ear gingerly, fingertips ghosting over the spot Zoro’s lips had just been pressed against when he kissed him. “Yes, you did,” the blonde insisted, defensively, cheeks pinkening the slightest bit. Almost pleading, he continued, “Don’t lie to me, mosshead.”

Zoro let out an awkward laugh that sounded more like a choke than the casual sound he was going for. Sanji twisted further in his seat at the sound of it, looking more concerned by the second. Denial clearly wasn’t going to work on a man who could remember fifteen different tables’ orders in one go, so the green-haired man proclaimed, “Yeah, but like, in a friendly way, you know?” With his chest.

Sanji’s nose scrunched up and pretty blue eyes squinted. “Can you kiss in a friendly way?”

Zoro pressed his lips clumsily against the blonde’s cheek as though to prove it. Sanji let out a squeaking sort of sound, hand flying from his ear to cover his cheek instantaneously, as though he was shielding an injury “Yes,” Zoro claimed. With his chest. His chest that was currently trembling under the force of the violent beating of his heart.

Sanji is looking at him as though he can hear it. “Bedsheets– Tuskan needs bedsheets,” he eventually said, instead of calling the swordsman out on it. And Zoro couldn’t be more grateful for the cooks' easy acceptance, hoping that the ground would open up and swallow him whole and they could forget the conversation ever happened. But then, because fate hated him, the cook blinked and doubled back with, “Is this… is this going to be something we do now? Like– raising kids together, and sleeping together?”

“What?” 

Sanji stared at him for a long, disbelieving moment– the typical response the World’s Greatest Swordsman received after asking a question. And then he looped his arms around Zoro’s neck and dragged him down into a proper kiss. 

His glasses pressed uncomfortably against the swordsman’s face and Zoro knew his lips were slightly chapped– but that didn’t change the fact that he so easily melted with the blonde. Quickly, too eagerly , his own hands finding a thin waist and the curve of his neck, squeezing just a tad too tight. When Sanji gasped, Zoro sank in deeper– and he really isn’t sure how far he would’ve made it had the cook not pulled back.

He doesn’t go far– Zoro won’t let him, with his finger’s still digging into his side. Though, for the record, Sanji doesn’t make any attempts to escape the hold either, looking up at the swordsman through long lashes as he asked, “Is this something we do now? You know, in a friendly way?”

Zoro really wanted it to be. Sanji must realize this, because Zoro barely gets out a hum of approval before Sanji is pulling him back down into a second, deeper kiss. 

A friendly kiss. Of course.

[]

When Zeff comes back to announce that the children are all soundly asleep to the sight of Zoro and Sanji wrapped around each other, he nearly cries.

And then he really does cry out in frustration when he hears Sanji say, “Can you carry me to bed too? In a friendly way?”

And Zoro’s response of, “Yes, of course. In a friendly way.”

Needless to say, Koshiro awakens to a very angry message that next morning cursing out his best student.