Chapter Text
Sanji wakes with an already pounding headache, such that the first sliver of light when he cracks his eyes open sends a sharp stab of pain searing through his skull. Against his will, he lets out a ragged groan before he can stop himself.
He hears a scraping sound off to the side - a chair being shoved along the floor, his brain distantly registers - and then the light is blocked by a blurry body leaning into his space.
“Cook?” A gravelly voice asks. “You finally back with us?”
“Hngh,” says Sanji, his parched throat rasping when he tries to speak.
“Shit, hang on,” the voice says. There’s a scrabbling sound for a few seconds and then something is shoved in his face.
Needing a moment to focus, Sanji dimly realizes that the item is a cup with a straw peeking out. Once he clues in, he allows it to be guided to his mouth, taking a grateful sip of cool water. This time when he groans, it’s more out of relief than anything else.
“Take it slow. You’ll only make it worse if you try to go too hard at once.”
Sanji nods, recognizing the logic behind this statement. He takes a few more cautious sips, and only when he’s sure doing so won’t make him choke, does he drain the cup for real. Collapsing back against the pillow with a relieved sigh, he works his throat until he’s satisfied he can successfully get a full sentence out.
“What the fuck happened?”
“You forgot how to duck, dumbass.”
Sanji frowns, only now cluing into the fact that he’s in the Sunny’s infirmary, and the last person in the world he would have expected is apparently keeping him company. Narrowing his eyes, he gives Zoro a look.
“Why the hell are you here?”
Zoro’s good eye widens, like he’s genuinely surprised by the question, and he tilts his head to the side, making him look not unlike a particularly stupid dog that’s just heard a strange noise. “You’ve been unconscious,” he says slowly, “for almost three days.”
“Huh,” Sanji says. “Well that explains why I feel like death warmed over, but it still tells me jack shit about the company. Answer me, would you? Why are you here?”
“The fuck-?” Zoro starts. “I just did. Three days, cook. Three. Days . Where the fuck else do you think I’d be?”
“I don’t know,” Sanji shoots back, his jaw clenching irritably. He’s in pain and exhausted, and he sure as hell doesn’t need a storm of confusion added to that mix. “Did you lose a bet? Or maybe you and the others have been taking turns watching over me? Sorry you got the short straw if that’s the case.”
“Oh what in the hell ?” Zoro snarls, but before Sanji can prod at him some more, he pushes away from the wall he’s been leaning against and marches over to the infirmary door. Throwing it open, he cranes his neck around while standing in the entranceway until he spots whatever it is he’s after.
“ Chopper !” He bellows, the muscles in his neck and shoulders visibly tensing. “You need to get in here now !”
Distantly, Sanji hears the familiar clatter of Chopper’s hooves on the deck, the sound growing louder until the doctor himself becomes visible behind Zoro.
“Sanji!” He exclaims excitedly, making his way into the room. “You’re awake. That’s great. Although, Zoro,” he adds, turning to give the man in question an admonishing look, “you should have come to get me right away. In fact, you promised you would, so -,”
“Something’s wrong with him,” Zoro says, effectively cutting off Chopper’s rambling diatribe. “I don’t know what, but it’s … something.”
“Huh?” His eyes widening in alarm, Chopper scurries the rest of the way over to the bed, grabbing a stool along the way so he can climb up and get a closer look. “Sanji? How do you feel?”
“Like a mountain fell on me,” Sanji admits, “but it’s fine. No worse than usual after a fight. All I asked was why Mosshead there was watching over me while I was out. I’m not sure why he thinks that’s such a weird question.”
“Um?” Chopper chuckles nervously, glancing over his shoulder at Zoro for a second before returning his gaze to Sanji. “I mean,” he says slowly. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
Sanji blinks, thrown by the response. Later, he’ll blame that on why his brain to mouth filter chooses this exact moment to shut down, and he blurts out, “I don’t know. Maybe because he’s barely talked to me since Whole Cake Island?”
Zoro sucks in a sharp breath, but after that the infirmary goes quiet enough you could hear a pin drop. Faintly, Sanji thinks he can make out the sound of waves moving from outside, but maybe that’s his ears playing tricks on him.
Eventually, Chopper straightens on his stool, one hand already reaching for a tray of medical implements resting not far out of reach. “Sanji,” he says very, very carefully. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
*****
A few hours later, Sanji continues to have a throbbing headache, but now he has a shiny new diagnosis of amnesia and a strong need for a cigarette to go along with it. He’s achy, confused, and tired from being poked and prodded within an inch of his life.
More than anything though, he wants Zoro to stop fucking staring at him.
“Would you quit it?” He finally demands, having decided that enough is enough. The other man’s been tucked into a corner of the infirmary the whole time now, curled in on himself and with his arms crossed over his chest like he’s the one who’s suffering here. “God, what is wrong with you?”
“I’d tell you,” Zoro grits out, “but there’s no point since you don’t fuckin’ remember.”
“Zoro,” Chopper says sharply, his head jerking up from where he’s busy scribbling in a notebook. “That’s not going to help.”
“Why is he still even here?” Sanji asks the room at large.
To his shock, Zoro flinches. Then he looks at Chopper with an expression that’s halfway to pleading twisting his features. “How do we fix this?”
“I’ll run some tests,” Chopper replies, “but most likely the only thing that will help is time and maybe exposing him to familiar surroundings. If it makes you feel any better, there’s no reason on the surface at least as to why the memories shouldn’t come back.”
“That’s not the same as saying they definitely will though,” Zoro points out, and Chopper ducks his head.
“No,” he admits quietly. “It isn’t.”
Irritated, Sanji snaps his fingers to get their attention. “Hi, yes, remember me?” He demands when they both turn to look at him. “The actually injured party in the room? Is there any chance you two might like to stop talking like I’m not even here?”
“Sorry, Sanji,” Chopper says, ducking his head. “As I was saying, though, your prognosis isn’t terrible. Physically, you’re going to be fine once the bruises heal, and there really is no reason to believe the memories won’t resurface.”
“Great. Wonderful,” Sanji grumbles. “Can I go then?”
Zoro and Chopper share a look , clearly having some kind of silent debate using nothing but facial expressions. Finally, Chopper sighs. “I’d really rather you stay here for at least one more night, just in case anything else unexpected happens.”
“You just said I’m physically fine,” Sanji points out in the most reasonable tone he can muster. “And I don’t see how keeping me locked up here is going to help with the whole memory thing.”
“Damn, cook,” Zoro mutters. “Nobody’s locking you up anywhere. Chopper just wants to make sure there’s nothing more fucked up with your head than the obvious. What if you keel over and die because you push yourself too hard too fast?”
Sanji gapes at him. “Okay, you ,” he says once he manages to find his voice, “do not get to lecture me about following sound medical advice. Good god.”
Zoro’s face flushes a shade of red that would normally precede the opening stages of a fight. Before he can respond, however, Chopper cuts them both off with a raised hoof.
“You probably are okay to go back to your own room,” he decides, “but I draw the line at you doing anything physical for at least the rest of the day. If you agree to stay here for a little longer so I can keep an eye on you, and then go straight to your own bed, I’ll allow it.”
That sounds like a crap deal to Sanji, especially since it means exiling him from his beloved kitchen for another day. “What about supper?” He demands. “Who’s going to take care of that?”
“We’ve had a roster going the whole time you’ve been out,” Chopper replies. “Whoever’s on supper duty tonight can go ahead as scheduled. Don’t worry,” he adds, “we banned Luffy from taking a turn.”
Given that no one appears to be suffering from food poisoning, Sanji figures that much is obvious. He considers protesting some more, but Chopper’s got a look in his eye that suggests he means business. Between that and the way Zoro’s scowling over the little reindeer’s shoulder, he imagines this is the best offer he’s going to get.
“Fine,” he says grudgingly. “But if any of you fuck up my galley there will be hell to pay.”
“Put another record on,” Zoro snorts. “Like we don’t all know that already.”
Sanji glares at him. “Chopper,” he says through gritted teeth, “since I’m awake now and don’t need a babysitter, can you please kick this idiot out? His presence isn’t exactly helping me stay calm.”
Chopper lets out a nervous giggle. “Um, well, you see …” he starts, only for Zoro to cut him off with a choppy wave of his hand.
“Don’t even go there,” the swordsman says, his tone grim. “It won’t help while he’s like this. Someone should update the others anyway. I can do that while you stay in here with him.”
“Oh, okay.” Chopper says, his eyes narrowing slightly. “If you’re sure. Um, what exactly are you going to tell them?”
Zoro’s mouth twists into something with far too many teeth to be called a smile. “The truth.”
Chopper eyes the swordsman’s retreating back as he marches for the exit, clearly wanting to say something and equally clearly not sure that he should. “What a mess,” he says, as the door opens and closes around the other man.
“You’re telling me,” Sanji grunts. “How long until I can get out of here again?”
Chopper sighs.
*****
Sanji feels multiple pairs of eyes on him when he enters the men’s bunk room. Unsurprised, he sighs, but opts not to push the matter. Instead, he crosses over to his locker and starts rooting around for a change of clothes.
“Alright,” he says, coming up with a worn t-shirt and his most comfortable sleep pants. “Who wants to to be the first to start with the stupid questions?”
Luffy, because he’s Luffy , laughs. “Who says we’re gonna ask stupid questions?” He asks rocking back and forth with his arms crossed behind his head.
Sanji gives him a look. “That’s a stupid question in and of itself, dumbass.”
“How many times are we going to repeat the phrase ‘stupid questions’?” Usopp wants to know, yelping when Zoro throws a balled up pair of socks at his head. “Oh, gross!”
Luffy laughs again, making like he’s going to start flinging his own things about, and Sanji’s quick to cuff him on the back of the head. “Just once,” he says tiredly, “I’d like to see a nighttime routine that doesn’t devolve into foolishness. Although maybe I should be happy nothing seems to have changed, I don’t know.”
Luffy does give him a curious look at that. “So you really don’t remember the last couple years?” He asks, not sounding overly concerned by the notion. In fact, now that Sanji’s cut off his avenue of play, he’s already climbing into his bed, his rubbery limbs flopping all over the place. “That’s so weird.”
“Yeah, try living it,” Sanji mutters. “I don’t feel like I’ve forgotten anything, but then I say something and whoever I’m talking to looks at me like I’ve got three heads. And speaking of things I’m missing,” he says, glancing around suddenly, “Where’s Franky?”
Chopper has the watch, so that explains his absence, and Luffy’s now gone and made himself comfortable in his bunk while the rest of them are still getting ready for bed. Aside from Sanji himself, however, Zoro, Usopp, and Brook are the only ones present.
Usopp and Brook both freeze. On the other side of the room, Zoro ignores them all in favour of stripping down to his underwear and kicking his dirty clothes into a pile by the wall. Then he grunts and climbs into one of the bottom bunks with an annoyed huff.
The others watch him until he rolls over, effectively placing his back to them all, after which Usopp finally glances back at Sanji.
“Um,” he says carefully, “Franky doesn’t sleep in here anymore.”
Sanji frowns, wondering what the hell that’s supposed to mean. “Was there some kind of fight?”
There’s a scoffing sound from Zoro’s bunk, and Brook lets out a soft chuckle. “No,” he says, settling into his own bunk next to Luffy’s and above Chopper’s empty one. “Our very lucky cyborg friend is simply now sharing a room with the lovely Robin.”
“…oh.” Sanji says weakly. He’d always suspected there was something going on between the two, but the thought that he’d missed it, or worse, that he hadn’t and simply couldn’t remember was like another kick to the gut. “That’s … nice.”
“Right, yeah,” Usopp says, his head bobbing up and down the way it does when he’s about to start nervously babbling. “Sorry we didn’t - I mean, no one thought to tell you, but we really should have. It’s just that this whole situation -,”
“It’s fine, Usopp.” Sanji raises a hand to stop any more word vomit in its tracks. “I was only asking. Although,” he adds, feeling his features twist in a frown as another thought occurs to him, “where the hell are they sleeping? Surely they’re not in his workshop.”
Usopp snorts. “No, they’ve got the captain’s quarters.”
“The captain’s - oh.” Belatedly, Sanji remembers that Sunny had technically been built with private quarters for both her captain and first mate. Because Luffy and Zoro had always bunked with the rest of them, though, they’d only ever been used for extra storage. “I guess that works.”
“Right?” Usopp says. “I mean, it’s not like Luffy cares, so the space was there.”
“Of course.” Pulling on his pair of sleep pants, Sanji distantly notes that his locker is not as stringently organized as he normally keeps it. He’ll have to tidy it up when he has a chance. He changes and then moves to climb into his own bunk under Luffy’s and next to Zoro’s.
His mattress feels stiff, probably because it hasn’t been slept in for days, and he punches his pillow a few times in quick succession to try and force it into a more comfortable arrangement. Once he’s satisfied it’s as good as it’s going to get, he flops down on his stomach with a quiet huff.
Above him, he hears the sounds of Usopp climbing into his own bed and moving around to get comfortable. The sniper’s breathing doesn’t take long to even out, and Brook’s quiet snores have long since added to the cacaphony that is their captain’s. Out of all of the usual suspects only Zoro’s appear to be missing.
“Can’t sleep, Mosshead?” He asks, at least slightly against his better judgement.
Enough time passes that he’s almost given up on getting an answer, but then to his surprise he sees Zoro roll over in the darkness, shifting so they’re facing each other.
“No,” the swordsman says. A simple, quiet admission set free into the night.
“You worried?” Sanji asks, again against his better judgement.
“…yeah,” Zoro admits, and Sanji feels his eyebrows lift in surprise.
“…well,” he says uncertainly, “…don’t be. Chopper says the memories should return, and even if they don’t I’m physically fine. This isn’t going to kill me, and I can live with losing a couple years if I have to.”
“…right.”
That’s it. Zoro doesn’t say anything else, instead opting to roll back around as quickly as he had the first time. Meanwhile, Sanji is left staring at the broad expanse of his back, feeling like he’s somehow seriously dropped the ball on something.
It’s a thought that keeps him awake far into the night.
*****
Since Chopper hadn’t directed otherwise, Sanji climbs out of bed at his usual time the next morning, intent on getting back into his kitchen and everyday routine. No one else rouses as he dresses and leaves, meaning at least that much hasn’t changed.
The same can thankfully be said for the kitchen as well. All his tools and utensils are exactly where they should be, and his ingredients are as stocked as ever. There are maybe a few items that are more full or empty than he remembers, but that makes sense given that literal years have passed.
Sanji shies away from that thought as soon as it enters his mind. For all that he’d claimed last night that he’d be able to carry on if his memories didn’t return, he really doesn’t want to. Already prodding at the empty spaces leaves him feeling flat footed and uncomfortable. The last thing he wants is for that feeling to remain indefinitely.
Figuring he should be mindful of Chopper’s request that he not over exert himself, he goes with a simple meal for the morning, deciding that one can never go wrong with the staple of bacon, eggs, and toast. He also slices up various fruits, arranging them on a plate in the centre of the table, and sets out an assortment of juices while putting the kettle on.
“Smells good.”
His soul very nearly exiting his body, Sanji whirls around from where he’s been in the process of plating toast onto a tray. He manages not to send the whole thing flying in surprise, but admittedly only barely.
“Damnit, Mosshead,” he snaps. “What are you doing up this early?”
Running a hand through his hair - which looks even more ridiculous than usual, standing up the way it is - Zoro shrugs. “You made a lot of noise getting up this morning,” he says around a yawn. “Woke me up.”
Sanji glares at him. “I made no more noise than usual, you moron, and we both know you can sleep through anything anyway.”
“Whatever,” Zoro replies, looking unconcerned. “Is there coffee?”
“Of course there’s coffee. What do you take me for?”
“A cranky asshole,” Zoro says, already lumbering over to the machine so he can pour himself a cup. “Is your head still bothering you?”
“I’m fine,” Sanji growls, although now that it’s been pointed out, he notes that he’s still feeling the faint strains of a headache. Apparently, a full night’s sleep in his own bed hadn’t been quite enough to fix the issue.
And in all honesty it hadn’t been the greatest sleep in the world either. He’d found himself tossing and turning for much of the night, restless and unable to get comfortable. Not that Zoro needed to know that, of course.
Although judging from the suspicious glance he gives him over the rim of his coffee mug, Sanji suspects he might be aware anyway. There’s a strange glint in the swordsman’s eye that suggests he knows more than he’s letting on.
“Stop staring at me,” Sanji snaps because just like yesterday he finds it unnerving. “And sit down if you insist on being in here. You’re getting underfoot.”
“Wouldn’t want that now would we,” Zoro drawls, barely shifting in time to miss the kick Sanji aims at his shins. “Tch! Couple days malingering in a hospital bed and your reflexes get shot to shit.”
It’s only the fact that they’re in the sacred ground of the galley that stops Sanji from caving the idiot’s skull in. “Don’t push me, moss for brains,” he snaps, waving a spatula for emphasis. “I’m more than willing to take this outside and hand you your own ass if that’s what you want.”
Fully expecting Zoro to take him up on this, Sanji’s therefore surprised when the other man raises his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not trying to cause a fight,” he says, bizarrely sincere. “And I don’t need Chopper on my case for messing with you right now.”
Sanji blinks, thrown. Not wanting to appear as such though, he turns away under the guise of needing to check on the food. He knows intellectually that enough time has passed between now and what he remembers for their relationship to have changed - maybe mellowed, even - but the Zoro he remembers from all of 24 hours ago had been terse at best and outwardly angry with him at worst. Trying to superimpose him overtop of the version currently posted up at the table, slurping happily from his coffee mug, is difficult to say the least.
It hits him, arguably for the first time, that he really is missing a significant chunk of his life. To him it feels like he’d fled Totto Land all of a week ago, and he keeps expecting the crew to act like that’s the case as well. Instead, they’re not, and it’s left him feeling seriously off kilter.
“You okay there, Curly?” Zoro’s voice cuts through Sanji’s musings as easily as his swords slice through enemies, both his eyebrows raised when Sanji shifts to look at him. “You look like you’re lost in your own head.”
That’s close enough to the truth that Sanji feels his mask of cool indifference start to slip. Sternly reminding himself how unacceptable that is, he schools it back into place and shrugs. “I’m fine.”
Zoro’s brow furrows, and his mouth works like he wants to say something. He must decide against it, however, because instead he sighs and takes another sip from his mug. “How long before breakfast is ready?”
“As long as it takes,” Sanji replies, and he’ll never admit it but he’s grateful for the out. “Longer still if you keep badgering me.”
“Whatever,” Zoro grunts.
He stays where he is as Sanji once again returns his attention to the food, not saying anything more for several minutes until the smell of bacon starts permeating the room. Then he shifts, his chair emitting a groaning sound no doubt thanks to his weight. “You want a hand with setting the table?”
Sanji very nearly dumps the entire pan of bacon onto the floor. “Come again?” He asks dumbly. “What did you say?”
Zoro looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “I asked,” he says slowly, speaking as if Sanji’s the one being ridiculous, “if you wanted some help with the table.”
“That’s what I thought,” Sanji replies, baffled by the very idea. “Since when do you help in the kitchen? Or even offer for that matter?” He jabs the same spatula from earlier in the other man’s direction. “This better not be you taking pity on me because you think I’m injured or some shit.”
Zoro throws his hands up in exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, cook. You really are the worst, you know that?”
“Um?” Says a new voice, followed by the sound of someone nervously clearing their throat. Turning, Sanji sees that Usopp has just entered the galley and is now frozen in the doorway. “Is this a bad time?”
Sanji frowns. “You’re another one who’s up early today. I swear, if you’re all making a fuss over me, I’m not going to be happy.”
Usopp, bafflingly, looks at Zoro. The two of them have a conversation that consists entirely of eyebrow movements and the odd facial tic before the younger man sighs. “I guess that’s a no on your memories having returned, huh?”
“It’s a no,” Zoro confirms, and then adds petulantly, “He’s yelling at me because I offered to help set the table.”
“I thought you were banned from doing that after you broke all those plates Vivi sent from Alabasta?”
Both Sanji and Zoro turn to gape at Usopp with identical expressions of horror, albeit for very different reasons.
“He broke my what ?!”
“Asshole, why’d you have to go and remind him of that ?!”
Usopp yelps and raises his hands in a gesture of surrender as the kitchen descends into chaos.
“Forget I said anything! And don’t start fight - aw jeez !”
*****
Once the crime against his dishes has been sorted out, Sanji goes back to making breakfast like normal. Eventually the rest of the crew trickle in, eat, and leave, all in the manner they normally would as they go about their duties.
The rest of the day passes much the same way as the morning had. Sanji goes about his usual routine, preparing meals and snacks for the crew and keeping the galley as pristine as ever. Pretty much the only unusual spot in his day is that Chopper calls him into the infirmary in the middle of the afternoon to give him a checkup.
“Are you going to do this every day until my memories come back?” Sanji asks. He’s currently perched on a stool as opposed to the examination bed, watching Chopper as he putters around with a notebook.
Almost absentmindedly, Chopper ticks something off on a chart, and then flips the entire thing closed as he looks up at Sanji. “Not every day, no,” he promises, “and the visits will become less frequent the more time passes regardless.”
“Even if my memories don’t come back?”
Chopper frowns, clearly troubled by the thought, but eventually he lets out a tired sigh. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Even then. Now, how does your head feel?”
“It’s fine,” Sanji replies, even though the residual ache he’d first woken up with has yet to fade. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Chopper huffs out an exasperated noise. Eventually, however, he must run out of tests to run because he nods and tells Sanji he’s free to go. Not having to be told twice, Sanji makes good on his escape and hustles to the galley just in time to start on his next meal preparations.
Dinner is a quiet affair, with most of the crew being less boisterous than usual. Even Luffy doesn’t steal as much food as he normally would, which is clearly a sign of the apocalypse. Try as he might, Sanji isn’t exactly heartbroken when everyone finishes eating and he’s left to his cleanup duties.
Stacking dirty dishes together until they’re piled high enough that most people wouldn’t be able to shift them without breaking something, he carries everything over to the counter, and once there proceeds to turn on the tap and fill the sink with soapy water. Realizing he needs a dishcloth, Sanji turns to go find a fresh one and runs smack dab into a solid wall of muscle.
“What the hell, Marimo?” Bouncing off and then away from Zoro’s ridiculous body, Sanji rubs the bridge of his nose irritably and glares at the other man through his fringe. “Supper’s over and everyone else has fled. Why are you still here?”
Zoro freezes where he has one hand extended towards the rack that holds the clean dishcloths. “I …” he says, staring at his hand for a moment before letting it drop down to his side. “Sorry,” he says gruffly. “Force of habit.”
“Say what?” Following the other man’s gaze, Sanji stares at the unassuming rack like he’ll somehow be able to find the answers to the myriad of questions currently chasing themselves around in his brain. “Don’t tell me you’ve become my dishboy when I wasn’t looking.”
“Kinda?” Zoro supplies, refusing to meet Sanji’s gaze. “I wash. You dry. We’ve done it that way for ages.”
No, they most certainly have not, at least not as far as Sanji’s concerned. According to his mind, there was the occasional rota put in place to help with kitchen clean up when they had enough downtime to allow for it, but other than that the task fell to him.
Opening his mouth to say as much, he stops to take in Zoro’s expression first. The other man looks … lost . There’s no other way to describe it. He’s still staring at the dishcloths like they might somehow contain the secrets of the universe, and Sanji’s chest tightens in a way he most decidedly doesn’t care for.
“…fine,” he says, reaching out to grab the nearest available cloth and shove it in Zoro’s direction. “I suppose I shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth while I’ve got it.”
Zoro’s hand closes around the cloth automatically, scarred fingers briefly brushing Sanji’s as they move to grasp at the bright blue fabric. “Are you sure?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Sanji retorts. “And if you break any of my dishes again I’ll have Nami take it out of your debt.”
One corner of Zoro’s mouth twists up in a faint smile. “You always say that.”
“It bears repeating,” Sanji tells him. “Get to work, you useless houseplant.”
“You always say that too.”
Sanji rolls his eyes as he pulls out a dry towel for him to use, and they start to work. Unfortunately, the ensuing silence they lapse into is anything but comfortable and Sanji finds himself needing to fill it.
“So,” he says, dragging the word out when he can’t quite figure out what he wants to say. “I don’t suppose you’d care to fill me in on everything I’m missing?”
“Thought Chopper said not to try and force anything to come back,” Zoro replies, the bulk of his attention on a heavy duty pan he’s scrubbing industriously.
Sanji watches him long enough to be satisfied he’s not going to damage it, and then returns to his own task. “Chopper told me not to try that,” he says, swiping at a plate until it gleams. “I hardly see how having someone else provide the details is the same thing.”
“Mm,” Zoro says, neither agreeing or disagreeing.
“Well?” Sanji prods when he doesn’t say anything else. “Are you going to answer me or not?”
Zoro’s quiet for long enough that Sanji figures it’s going to be a no, but then he finally finishes with the pan and catches Sanji’s eye as he’s handing it over. “What’s the last thing you remember? Whole Cake Island, right?”
“Yeah.”
“From just after you got back?”
“That’s right,” Sanji agrees. “As far as my head’s concerned, we’re barely speaking right now.”
Zoro frowns, his gaze returning to the sink. “We got over that,” he says gruffly, making Sanji snort.
“No shit,” he says, when Zoro looks at him sharply. “You’ve gone from ignoring me to hovering. It’s like you’ve done a complete one-eighty. I’ve got that much, though,” he adds pointedly. “It’s everything else I don’t remember.”
Zoro shrugs, now pulling up a handful of cutlery and beginning to wash each item individually. “There’s not much to tell. We sail, we visit islands, we get kicked off of islands, and we get into fights. Same old, same old.”
“There must be some things you can tell me though like - like Robin and Franky,” Sanji notes. “When did that happen? How did that happen? Beautiful Robin could do so much better.”
“She’s happy, cook,” Zoro says sharply, more sharply than Sanji thinks he intends if the way his shoulders tense is anything to go by. “And they were a thing before where your memories crap out, just nobody knew it yet.”
“I see,” Sanji says, speaking carefully because he now feels like he’s accidentally stumbled onto a minefield, though for the life of him he doesn’t know how. “Well. Good for them.”
“Sure.” Zoro grunts, and even though part of him wants to keep asking questions, Sanji decides enough is enough for one night. He closes his mouth and they finish the rest of the dishes in silence.
*****
Days pass, his bruises from the fight fade, and nothing else changes except that Sanji can’t shake the nagging feeling he’s forgotten something. Which - he has forgotten something, it’s true, but this is different, more pressing. In recent days, he’s become positive that the crew is hiding something from him, but he can’t put his finger on what it could be.
Aside from the fact, that is, that Zoro is definitely at the centre of the issue. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the swordsman is acting really fucking weird. If Sanji didn’t know any better he’d think Zoro was the one with a head injury.
He keeps watching Sanji, is the thing. One moment the cook will be going about his business - bringing the ladies snacks, smoking over Sunny’s railing, doing his regular chores, etc - and the next he’ll feel the weight of a heavy stare between his shoulder blades. Then, each time he looks around, he’ll find Zoro somewhere in the vicinity, usually trying and failing to pretend like he’s asleep.
It’s almost like the other man is pouting or some shit. He’s wandering the ship like a toddler who’s had its favourite toy taken away, and Sanji cannot for the life of him figure out why.
He asks Usopp about it one afternoon while he’s hanging laundry on the line strung up on the far end of the ship. The sniper has been sitting nearby for the past several minutes, idly tinkering with a fishing pole, and Sanji figures he’s as good a source of information as any. Both because he’s got a nose for gossip that usually keeps him in the loop with everything going on around him and because his cowardly tendencies make him the most likely to cave and give up information under pressure.
Case in point - Usopp becomes suddenly fascinated by the pole in his hands when Sanji casually mentions that Zoro’s been acting weird since he got sprung free from the infirmary.
“Weird? What do you mean, weird? I mean,” Usopp coughs, probably trying to stall for time so he can force his voice back down to its normal register, as opposed to the shrill pitch it’s now at. “This is Zoro we’re talking about here. It’d be more weird for him not to be acting … weird. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Sanji takes a quick drag from his current cigarette before levelling the younger man with his best suspicious glare. “He’s skulking around like I poured all the booze off the ship right in front of him, and he keeps looking at me. I want to know why.”
Usopp offers him a weak shrug. “I think we’re all doing that, man. You got hurt and we can’t help but worry about you.”
“Mosshead doesn’t worry about anything,” Sanji says before he can stop himself. “Least of all me.”
Usopp makes a face. “I’m gonna guess that’s your missing memories talking there,” he says, scratching awkwardly at the base of his neck. “You’re still stuck somewhere around Whole Cake Island, aren’t you?”
“So what?” Sanji demands, not really wanting to get into it.
“So things were different back then than they are now,” Usopp says patiently. “That was over two years ago. How you remember your relationship with Zoro right now, hell, how you remember your relationships with all of us, are not the same as what we’re familiar with.”
“Not that I’m saying that’s your fault,” he hastens to add. “God no, please stop glaring at me. I’m too young to die.”
Sanji manfully wills his expression into something slightly less ferocious. “So, what you’re saying is,” he says as patiently as he can, “the idiot swordsman and I are on better terms now, but he’s the only one who remembers that.”
“Yes,” Usopp says, and he’s not a good enough actor to hide the fact that he thinks this should be obvious. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”
And yes, okay, intellectually Sanji has known this, as he is not, in fact, a complete idiot. He’s bright enough to understand that his and Zoro’s interactions have smoothed out between now and the time frame he remembers, but that does nothing to get rid of the odd itch that’s telling him there’s more to it than that.
“Zoro is acting weird,” he reiterates. “Even for him and the situation, he is not himself, and I want to know why.”
“Then you should talk to him,” Usopp says, this time with an edge to his voice that suggests he’s really not going to let himself be browbeat into giving up the answer. “I’m sorry, but I’m not getting in the middle of whatever’s going on between you two. I like my face the way it is, thanks.”
“Hmmph,” Sanji says, and goes back to moodily smoking his cigarette.
*****
Usopp’s advice - for lack of a better word - isn’t entirely off the mark, Sanji knows this. If he wants an explanation for the strange behaviour of their resident barbarian, asking the man in question is likely his best bet. The problem with that is, though, that Zoro clearly has no desire to discuss it. Their fruitless conversation that first night while doing the dishes serves as the perfect case in point.
Still, Sanji is not a man to be easily dissuaded, and since his memories have yet to have the decency to come back on their own, he figures something has to give. Hence why he corners Zoro in the crow’s nest the next time he has a free afternoon, slipping up top under the guise of delivering the last of a round of snacks.
Zoro’s meditating when Sanji arrives, sitting cross legged on one of the padded benches with his hands folded in his lap. He doesn’t move when Sanji sets a tray down next to him, so the cook feels justified in grabbing a towel off a nearby weight rack and snapping it in his face.
A grey eye snaps open, zeroing in on Sanji with a laser focus. Undaunted, Sanji snaps the towel again, hoping to himself that it’s seen the inside of the washing machine sometime within the last few months.
“Up, Mosshead,” he says firmly. “It’s hot as fuck out today, so even the local plantlife needs watering.”
Zoro’s gaze shifts to the tray now resting near his hip before moving back to Sanji. “I’m not hungry.”
Sanji bristles, a familiar flare of heat swirling up his legs even as he sternly tells it to go back down again. “It wasn’t a request,” he says then. “You know the rules about meal and snack times on this ship. There’s no way I’ve relaxed them in the last two years.”
Much to his surprise, Zoro’s face twitches like it does when he’s amused and trying not to show it. The expression doesn’t last long, however. In fact, it’s gone so quickly Sanji finds himself half wondering if he hadn’t imagined it.
Biting back a sigh, he grabs a cigarette from his latest pack, lighting it with a quick flick of his lighter as he and Zoro continue their little stalemate. “You’re being ridiculous,” he says, only partly referring to the idiot’s stubborn refusal to eat. “And it’s getting on my nerves.”
Zoro shrugs, not looking particularly apologetic, and continues to say nothing.
“ Marimo ,” Sanji says sharply. “Eat the damn food.”
“I said I’m not hungry,” Zoro finally replies. “Leave it here and I’ll eat when I feel like it.”
Like Sanji’s going to trust that declaration in light of the swordsman’s obviously crappy mood. Knowing Zoro he’s going to conveniently ‘forget’ about the snack the second Sanji’s back is turned. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a steady stream.
“You can either eat it,” he says slowly, “or you can tell me why you’ve been acting weird ever since I woke up from the accident.”
Caught off guard, Zoro flinches. It’s slight, no doubt over quick enough that he hopes he can hide it, but of the two of them, Sanji’s always been the faster one. “I’m not acting weird.”
Sanji takes another drag, refusing to look away. “Yes, you are,” he says. “And it’s not just because a lot of time has passed between what I remember and now. You’re acting weird in ways that the rest of the crew isn’t.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zoro mutters, and there’s a faint reddish tinge tinting the skin of his face that Sanji knows means he’s getting flustered, “You’re imagining things, stupid cook.”
“Alright then.” Pinching off the end of his still lit cigarette, Sanji flicks it away and plants his hands on his hips, firming up his stance to show he means business. “Spar with me.”
Zoro jerks in surprise more notably this time. “What?”
For his part, Sanji just continues to stare at him, his resolve unshaken. “I said spar with me,” he repeats. “I haven’t had a good bout since before I woke up in the infirmary, and I’m feeling an increasing urge to connect my foot with the side of your thick skull. So. Grab your damn swords.”
“No.” Zoro replies, and this time it’s Sanji who’s caught off guard because there is absolutely no room for argument in the other man’s tone. He’s as firm and resolute as Sanji’s ever heard him, pointedly not moving an inch towards the rack where his blades are currently resting.
Sanji gapes at him. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean exactly what I say,” Zoro informs him. “I’m not sparring with you. You’ve got a fucking head injury.”
“Oh like that’s ever stopped you before,” Sanji scoffs, feeling even more off kilter than he had when Chopper had first announced his diagnosis. “Get off your ass and come at me.”
“ No .” Zoro says, even more forcefully than before. “And if you try to start something I’m just going to sit here and take it.”
Sanji stares. “What,” he starts, “the absolute, unmitigated fuck? I’m sorry, is this somehow supposed to convince me that you’re acting normal? Come on and fight me, you crap excuse for a swordsman!”
“I said no,” Zoro grits out. “I’m not going to change my mind, and to put it plainly, you literally can’t make me .”
The worst of it is, that’s entirely correct. Sanji can wail on the other man as much as he wants, but there’s no way he can physically force Zoro to fight back if he refuses. It’s just that not once in all the years they’ve known each other has that happened. Amnesia be damned, Sanji knows he’s right on this one.
“You,” he says acidly, “are not yourself at all, and you are hiding something from me. Don’t think you can cover it up by using my fucked up head as an excuse, you damn coward!”
And that more than anything should get Zoro moving. Lord knows he’s killed other men for less. All it does, though, is earn him a scowl and a narrow-eyed glare.
“You should go,” Zoro says, after what feels like a small eternity has passed between them. “I promise I’ll eat the damned food.”
Sanji matches his glare with one of his own, feeling suddenly worn out in a way he hasn’t for ages as he realizes this isn’t going to get him anywhere. “You’d better,” he replies, and promptly turns on his heel to leave.
He feels a familiar heavy stare on his back as he stalks away, but tries to ignore it.
*****
Sanji does his best to put the incident in the crow’s nest out of his mind. He’ll admit, if only to himself, that he doesn’t do a particularly good job of it, but if there’s one thing he’s always been good at it’s putting on a brave face over a mind wrought with turmoil. Therefore, he resolves to set aside all thoughts of Zoro, and go about his business.
This works for all of two days until the afternoon rolls around and he exits the galley with a tray of individually prepared snacks balanced on each hand. A quick glance towards the lawn reveals that neither of the ladies is out in the open at the moment, so he heads in the direction of the aquarium to check there first.
The room is surprisingly empty, the dimly lit tank the only thing casting any light inside. Sanji watches a few fish swim lazily about for a moment, before moving on towards his next destination.
Third time must be the charm because when he carefully nudges open the door to the library, he finds Nami hunched over her drafting desk, her lovely brow furrowed in deep concentration as she traces a line with intense precision. As always, he’s in awe of her talent.
Since both his hands are full, he can’t really knock to announce his presence, so he taps the heel of his shoe against the deck, hoping it won’t bother her too much. “Would you care for a light afternoon respite, Nami, my dear?”
“Hmm? Oh.” The bulk of her attention still focused on her map, Nami glances at him from over her shoulder, but returns to her task almost immediately. “Thanks, Sanji. That’s really sweet of you.”
“Not nearly as sweet as you,” he gushes, moving to set the tray in his right hand - this one laden with tea and a plate of carefully arranged tangerine slices - down in a spot that’s both within Nami’s reach but secure enough not to risk it tipping over. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“No, this is fine,” she replies, not looking up from her desk this time. “I’m in the middle of a tricky part at the moment, so I don’t need anything big distracting me. A light snack is just the thing to hit the spot.”
“I’m so glad I could accommodate you,” Sanji trills, as delighted as ever by her praise. “I’ll leave the tray here and you can bring it back when you’re done. Or I can come get it. Whichever works best for you.”
“Sure sure,” Nami says absently. “That’s fine.”
Not wanting to intrude any longer, especially since she’s clearly heavily engaged in her work, Sanji turns to leave, only to have a thought occur to him right before he crosses the threshold. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Robin is, would you? She wasn’t out on deck or in the aquarium, so I figured she’d be in here.”
“I think she said something about bringing a new book to her quarters,” Nami replies distractedly. “She’s probably curled up in that little nook of hers.”
“ … right. Of course,” Sanji says, even though he has no idea what she’s talking about beyond the fact that Robin’s apparently in the room that now belongs to her and Franky. “I’ll just go check there then, thank you.”
“Mhm. No problem.” Nami waves distractedly, her hand already dropping back down to the paper as Sanji closes the door behind himself.
He takes a moment to debate whether or not it’s appropriate for him to bring Robin a snack in her private quarters, but he doesn’t like the idea of the food potentially going to waste or that of Robin thinking he hadn’t prepared anything for her. Deciding he can at least knock on the door and then leave if his presence isn’t welcome, he heads for the area that contains the captain and first mate’s rooms.
Upon arriving, he finds himself blinking at the short, squat hallway that has two identical doors facing each other. He can’t for the life of him remember which is which, and he feels an ache begin to start up at the base of his skull the longer he stands there trying to figure it out.
He’s just about to say to hell with it and pick a random room, when the door to his left clicks open and Franky lumbers out into the hallway. They stand there blinking at each other for a moment, before the cyborg lowers his sunglasses slightly, peering down at Sanji from over the rim.
“You okay there, cook-bro?” He asks, his head tilting slightly to the side. “You’re lookin’ a little lost.”
“Oh, um, sorry.” Feeling oddly caught out, Sanji shakes his head to bring himself out of the weird stupor he’s managed to fall into. “It’s nothing,” he says quickly. “I have Robin’s afternoon snack, is all, and I, uh, couldn’t remember which room was which.”
It’s a painful admission to have to make, and he’s not sure if the indulgent way Franky smiles at him makes him feel better or worse.
(That’s a lie. He knows exactly which one it is, and it’s not the former.)
Franky, however, is kind enough not to push. “No worries, bro,” he says flippantly. “You found us in the end.”
“Right, yeah.” Sanji allows himself a small laugh at his own expense, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. “You had good timing, though. I was about to just pick a door, and I was going to go with the other one.”
Franky makes a weird squeaking noise, but quickly waves it away with both massive hands. “Well I’m glad I came out when I did then,” he says a little too loudly. “There’s nothing in there that needs feeding, and I definitely can’t have my girl going hungry. That would be so not super.”
“You know I’d never let that happen,” Sanji’s quick to assure him, even as he finds himself fighting down a sudden urge to crane his neck around and look at the door behind him. “No one goes hungry on this ship, least of all the ladies.”
Franky flashes him a pair of matching thumbs up, and then shifts away from the door to his room. The two of them do a kind of awkward dance as they shuffle around each other within the confines of the narrow hallway, but in the end Sanji’s standing in front of the correct door, while the other is literally hidden from view by the cyborg’s form.
“Catch you later, cook-bro,” Franky says, and then bizarrely doesn’t move an inch.
Shaking his head at his crewmate’s antics, Sanji reaches up to rap his knuckles against the door, swiftly grabbing for the handle when a quiet voice tells him to come in.
“I promise I’m not Franky having forgotten something,” he jokes as he steps inside.
Robin looks up from where she’s comfortably ensconced in a plush armchair, a book resting open in her lap and her page marked by a few spread fingers. “No, you’re something far more pleasant in this instance,” she says with a smile, her eyes straying to the tray of tea and sandwiches in Sanji’s hands. “Are those for me?”
“Well, I certainly didn’t come here to make you watch me eat them in front of you,” he assures her. “I can’t imagine anything more vulgar.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Robin says with a laugh. Straightening slightly, she sets her book down on a nearby table and reaches out for the snack. “I’m sure you could if you really put your mind to it.”
Even though he knows it’s rude, Sanji can’t quite help but let curiosity get the better of him and glances around the room while Robin takes her tea from his tray. The few times he remembers being in here, the place was always filled with bags and boxes, detritus from previous stops that the crew didn’t know what to do with. Now it’s downright homey.
It’s not a huge room, and most of it is dominated by a large bed that’s no doubt made necessary by Franky’s massive size. One corner holds the reading nook Robin’s currently curled up in, while across from that is a standing wardrobe that he vaguely recognizes from the room she used to share with Nami.
Robin catches him staring. “It’s not much,” she says, smiling at him from over the rim of her teacup, “but it’s nice to have a space to call our own.”
His chest hurting all of a sudden, Sanji gives her a weak grin. “And you deserve nothing less, of course.”
She returns his smile with a skeptical lift of her eyebrow. “Are you alright, Sanji? You seem a little off.”
About to admit that he feels the opening strains of a headache coming on, he makes an abrupt change of course at her next words.
“Should I call Chopper?”
“Oh no, no need of that,” he says quickly, tucking the tray he’s still holding under his arm and backtracking towards the door as fast as he can without being rude. “I’m just a bit tired, is all. I’ve been on my feet all day - trying out new recipes, you know. Enjoy your snack.”
He’s out the door before she can say anything else, breathing a sigh of relief when no limbs sprout from the back of the wood panelling so she can continue the conversation. As much as he adores her, he does not need more of the crew’s oppressive concern right now.
Turning, he finds himself once again staring at the opposite end of the small hallway, coming face to face with a door identical to the one he’s just exited. It’s the first mate’s quarters, he notes, the room that technically belongs to Zoro even though he never uses it.
A sharp spike of pain in his left temple causes Sanji to wince, and he rubs absently at the spot while he continues staring at the unassuming door. Something is telling him to open it, almost as if doing so will make whatever’s going on with his brain calm down.
Figuring it can’t hurt, he reaches out to turn the handle.