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1.
Chopper comes to with his face pressed against thick fabric. It’s warm and smells like cigarette smoke and spices, blocking out the chilled, salt-tinged air. He nestles closer, pressing the icy tip of his nose against the heat source, and the dark comfort is enough to keep his mind in a peaceful, half-unconscious buzz.
“...think he dozed off,” a familiar, distant, and fuzzy voice says. Who did? Chopper thinks, not caring much for an answer. Something shifts around him, and then human hands are wrapped around his sides. Soft and gentle and slow as they raise him to cradle more firmly against the fabric hold.
“Oh yeah,” a different voice says. “Little bud’s suuuuper out of it.”
This voice is a little too loud and jolts Chopper from sleep’s onset. He grumbles and wiggles until he can see over the arm curled around his body. Blinking around a bleary gaze, he sees the hulking shape of Franky nearby. It’s dark on the deck, but between the moon and the light of a fire, he makes out a number of other crewmembers, sprawled in deck chairs and wrapped in blankets.
This spurs a recollection of the night. The fireside party where they ate Franky’s barbeque and Sanji’s complimentary snacks, listened to Brook’s music and Usopp’s stories, and laughed and danced and talked until Chopper had sank into the nearest warm, comfortable spot and left his limp, exhausted body for sleep.
But now someone is standing up, holding him. “I’ll put him in the cabin,” the someone says. Their chest rises against Chopper’s side, their voice rustling against the ear Chopper has pressed to their ribcage. Chopper thinks that maybe the ‘he’ the person means to move is actually himself.
“Hmm?” Chopper says, trying to clear his head.
But a hand comes up and strokes along his head, giving a little scratch before dipping to his chin and his tummy and Chopper is gone.
“...back to sleep?” comes a vague whisper.
“...really tired…”
“Aw,” a brief, amused sigh. “...like this…so cute…”
The snatches of words and phrases mix and tumble and then fade as Chopper is moved away. He stays suspended half in and out of awareness as he’s carried down steps, each stair an unwelcome dip that has his carrier giving him apologetic pats. And then they enter the men’s cabin.
Chopper is deposited on a hammock. He almost whines at the loss of warmth, the familiar blend of smoke and seasoning growing distant, but then he hears the sharp press of sturdy shoes against wooden floorboards and the person returns. A blanket is laid over him. Soft, stable hands tuck its folds around Chopper, trapping heat.
The blankets smells of the spices and smoke as well.
Chopper sighs, sniffling and turning and growing comfortable in the hammock. He hears his carrier give a soft chuckle, and when Chopper blinks up at him, he makes out deep blue eyes half hidden in shadows and behind a curtain of pale hair.
“Goodnight,” Sanji says. He makes one last adjustment to the blanket, keeping cold night air from seeping in around Chopper’s hooves. Chopper’s last thought is gratitude before he is asleep. Slipping away to the distant laughter and soft chatter of his crewmates above deck, the warmth of the blanket that smells like Sanji, and the fond pressure of the man’s gaze.
2.
“Now the problem is,” Usopp says, between pants. “I’m here against my will.”
Sanji grabs him by the straps of his overalls and hauls him around a corner. Just in time. A group of marines march by, eyes shifting and steps solid. Sanji waits until they’ve cleared the hall and disappeared around a bend to yank Usopp in the other direction.
“The problem,” Sanji says. “Is that you’re running your mouth instead of your feet.”
“I’m doing both!”
Sanji scowls. “Shh!”
While the marines at this base don’t pose much of a threat, he did promise Nami they’d be in and out without drawing attention. It’s one of the reasons she selected Usopp and him for backup. None of the Straw Hat Pirates had much of a claim towards being subtle, but the Cat Burglar seemed to reason Usopp and him would be less chaotic than other options. After all, talking reindeer or rubber men weren’t very commonplace.
Of course, considering they left a number of unconscious guards tied up a few floors below, the whole stealth angle won’t get them very far if they don’t find Nami and scram. Yesterday.
Grimacing, Sanji picks up the pace. Usopp makes a pained noise at the increase in speed. Sanji spares him a brief, “C’mon.”
“My ‘running-in-a-marine-base-from-people-with-guns’ allergy is acting up,” he spits back.
“Pack a pill next time,” Sanji says, unsympathetic. They come to a flight of stairs and Usopp groans but follows him, pounding up the steps.
“So rude—” Usopp is saying, even as Sanji rushes into the next hallway, only to freeze. He twists to slap a hand over Usopp’s mouth and yank them out of sight, but it’s too late. Down the hall, a lone marine freezes, hand still resting on the door closing behind him. Sanji can hear the rumble of people in the room. For a brief moment, the marine glances between Sanji and Usopp, eyes widening, as he finds his voice.
“Straw Hat Pirates!” he gasps out.
Sanji winces.
“Who?” Usopp tries meekly as the rumble of motion, coming from the room the marine just exited, ceases, replaced by a commotion. Chairs scrape back and marines race out the door, piling up in the hall.
Usopp makes a noise in his throat as a number of guns are leveled in their direction.
“Move!” Sanji orders and the two of them take off at full tilt, a dozen marines on their tail, numbers only growing as more of the building’s personnel take notice of the abrupt chase. Bullets zip overhead, pinging against metal, sinking through walls, burrowing into wooden supports. The rough cacophony of scrambling footsteps follows them. Yells and shouts fill the air—Usopp is responsible for some of them. Sanji grimaces. Nami is going to kill them.
A marine ducks into the path ahead of them. Surprised, he rushes to level his firearm, but Sanji’s kick snaps it in two. A second hit sends the young man crashing through the wall and out of their way. Usopp draws back his slingshot and shoots one, two, three marines chasing them. But more take their place.
“We need to get out of here,” Sanji says aloud, panting.
Usopp huffs. “Open to suggestions!”
Sanji glances around wildly, sees a window up ahead, and snags Usopp’s upper arm, directing him toward the opening. Immediately, Usopp realizes what’s happening. “Not this one!” he shrieks, even as Sanji kicks out the pane of glass and launches the both of them out of the empty, wooden frame. Sharp, glass edges nick Sanji’s side. Usopp flinches as one catches him, deep in the arm.
And then, they are falling.
The world spills out in front and below them. The glaring, overhead sun and warmed air. The rolling waves of the ocean and the dock beside it. Sanji sees the stone cobblestones of the street below them and on it, a pile of wooden crates. Sanji has time to yank Usopp closer midair, maneuvering so they’re landing feet first, and then they hit the pile.
Wood snaps and Sanji’s knees pop as he lands in a disjointed crouch. Beside him, Usopp smacks into the ground with a shriek. There’s a moment where Sanji rolls free of the wreckage and Usopp writhes and forces his way up. And then bullets are pounding the ground around them as the marines poke out from the overhead window, trying to shoot from the awkward angle in a pile-up of people.
“My foot,” Usopp moans.
Sanji glances at it. The limb looks fine, but he sees real pain shining in Usopp’s eyes as he hobbles after Sanji away from the building. Sanji wraps an arm around his waist, Usopp’s arm slipping over his shoulders, and they manage to stagger down a narrow side road. The island this marine base is located on is decently sized, filled with choppy streets and a mashup of buildings that makes it easy to lose any oncoming tail. They drag themselves a couple more lefts and rights before coming to a stop.
“Oh seas,” Usopp says, dropping to sit on the ground.
Sanji is also distressed, though for different reasons. “Nami-swan,” he says. “We have to go back for her.”
Usopp grimaces. “Do we really?”
Sanji is about to kick him, but before he gets the chance, a redhead slips around the corner. Nami leans against the wall, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed at Usopp. “You don’t,” she says. A bag is slung over her shoulder, weighed down in stolen goods. Sweat glistens on her tan skin, sharp adrenaline roosts in her warm, dark eyes. A goddess, Sanji thinks with love.
Usopp has a different reaction. He flinches, eyes wide, like a feral dog has him cornered. “...Nami.”
Sanji ignores him, and rushes forward, prepared to greet the lady with the enthusiasm she deserves. “Nami-swan~”
“Stop,” she says, holding up a hand that has Sanji freezing, almost falling over himself in his haste to put on the brakes. “We don’t have time for this,” she says. “The mess you two made—” she shakes her head. “The marines will be crawling over the island soon.”
“I’m sorry Nami-Swan,” Sanji says, rightly contrite.
Usopp just shrugs. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Before Nami or Sanji can hit him, a shout rings out. It’s followed by another, and then more. Listening intently, Sanji can make out the shuffle of many people rushing, and the dissenting murmurs of errand runners ducking out of their path. The marines, searching. Combing the streets for their crew.
“We need to leave,” Nami says.
Sanji nods.
Usopp grimaces, glancing down at his leg. Nami follows his stare and frowns. “What happened?”
“He messed up his leg,” Sanji says, already stalking toward where Usopp is staggering to his feet.
“It’s not that bad,” Usopp says, leaning against the wall.
“How bad is ‘not that bad?’” Nami says. “Can you walk?”
Usopp pauses.
“No,” Sanji says for him, just as another not-so-distant shout rings out. All three of them glance toward the end of the street. “I’ll carry him.”
Sanji turns and offers his back and Usopp clambers on. “Hey,” Sanji says as Usopp’s slingshot digs between his shoulder blades, his knee thudding against Sanji’s elbow.
“Sorry,” Usopp says. “It’s not like I have a lot of practice with this.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
They start walking, heading north to avoid the market set up on the other side of the island. There are fewer people this way, and they run across a handful as they make for the ship. No one pays them much attention. The marines haven’t reached this side of the island yet.
After a few minutes, Usopp starts to get heavier. Sanji hikes him up higher a few times when he slips down. Once, Usopp isn’t expecting it and bangs his foot awkwardly against Sanji’s leg. He hisses and ducks his head down near Sanji’s shoulder. Nami and Sanji exchange looks. They’ll be handing him over to Chopper when they get back.
By the time they reach the ship, Sanji’s arms are tired and he’s started to sweat beneath the afternoon sun. Nami’s readjusted the bag from shoulder to shoulder multiple times, but rejected his offers to hold it for her. They climb onto the ship with twin sighs of relief.
“Chopper!” Nami calls. “Usopp’s hurt!”
Sanji sets Usopp down and he takes a seat on a deck chair as Chopper barrels into view. “He’s hurt?!” Chopper says frantically. “Someone call a doctor!”
Luffy jumps up from below deck, laughing. “That’s you!”
“Oh, right!”
Nami slips into her element, ordering people around and getting the ship ready to depart from the dock. Sanji scrambles to follow her requests. As he works, untangling lines, he keeps an eye on where Chopper prods at Usopp’s foot, expression crinkled as he concentrates.
“These toes are broken…ankle…sprained…”
Chopper mutters as he works, and has passed by diagnosing and into treatment by the time Merry bobs into the open sea. The shouts of angry marines sound in the distance, carried along sea spray. Soon, they’re entirely indecipherable. Only then does Sanji straighten up, stretching out the pops in his back and crossing to hover where Chopper’s corralling Usopp into the infirmary. It looks like they have it covered, but Sanji stays just in case. Ready to lend a helping hand if it’s needed.
”Next time,” Nami says, also watching, “I’m taking Zoro.”
Sanji slumps, defeated.
3.
The pirate ship that attacks them is hulking and fast and rides up on the Sunny with its crew jeering. Nami rolls her eyes, Brook idly brushes dust from his jacket, and Sanji sighs. He was about to start dinner.
“Gomu gomu no rocket!” Luffy says, and is immediately swinging onto the other ship, landing on the crow’s nest to peer down at the surprised crew, laughing. The idiot is way too excited for this, Sanji thinks, but follows his captain over anyway.
Usopp picks people off from afar, his feet safely planted on the Sunny. Nami stands beside him, occasionally directing balls of electricity or extreme temperatures to people who venture too close to their ship. Robin’s hands sprout to twist and yank and break limbs. Sanji sees a flash of green in his peripheral vision as Zoro boards the enemy boat beside him. The Straw Hats going to work. It has been some time since their last adventure, after all.
Sanji moves between enemy crewmembers. He kicks a man in the chest and turns to hit another. With Zoro running around, sword unsheathed, he tries harder—the last thing he needs is that sorry excuse for grass claiming he managed to beat more adversaries than Sanji.
The boat is large enough to host a substantial number of people, but the enemy crew seems endless. A few minutes of fighting pass and Sanji loses himself to the smell of salty sweat and sharp copper, the glint of weaponry in the high sun, the stretch of muscle and clicking of bone.
And then, suddenly, Zoro is at his side.
“Take this,” is all the warning Sanji has, and a child is pressed into his arms. Alarmed, he rushes to adjust his hold, resting the kid on his hip. He looks down. She’s a young toddler, with a gummy smile and two short pigtails sticking out. She glances up at him with wide, curious eyes, and sticks a hand in her slobbering mouth. Sanji grimaces and immediately wants to hand her back—but Zoro has taken preventative steps away, and is busy plunging a sword into the stomach of a man writhing on the deckboards.
“Zoro—” Sanji winces as the girl pets his shirt, coating it with saliva. “Who the hell is this?!”
But Zoro just shrugs and stabs someone else. “Dunno.”
“Why do you have her? Where did she come from?” Sanji presses, ducking out of the way as a woman with short, light hair rushes him, knife in hand. Zoro steps between them. Normally, Sanji would protest at his rough treatment of a lady, but with a toddler in his hold, he doesn’t want to get too involved. Not when the most Zoro does is knock the woman unconscious with the hilt of his sword.
“I dunno,” Zoro growls. “She just wandered up to me.”
“Here?!”
Zoro slashes and spins and hacks and takes care of most upcoming threats, but then someone comes up from behind Sanji and he’s forced to step in. Holding the toddler tightly against his chest, he lands a crushing blow against the man’s leg. The man yowls, dropping to the ground and crawling back. He stares up at Sanji, eyes wide and gleaming, and then his gaze lands on the girl. Confusion and then anger enters his expression, an undercurrent to pain.
“They’re taking the cargo!” the man yells, and more crewmembers turn, taking in Sanji and Zoro and the toddler they have with them. Zoro and Sanji exchange looks. Cargo? Pieces click into place. Sanji feels rage bubble within his chest, crawling through his limbs, and sees the anger mirrored in Zoro’s eyes.
Sanji wants to break limbs and bruise flesh. Holding this little girl, warm and wiggling and pressing her small, expressive face against his chest, and hearing her referred to as cargo — he wants to hurt these people. But the little girl is pawing at the buttons on his shirt and her fingers are so small and gentle with pink little nails and Sanji can’t do anything to anyone while he’s carrying her.
Luckily, Zoro has no such restrictions. He nods at Sanji, just once, and Sanji turns the little girl's face away, knowing what’s coming.
Zoro adjusts his grip on his sword—it only takes one—and plows through those who remain. Blood splatters against the deck boards, seeping into the wood. People scream and cry and run. Metal shrieks and bends as lesser weapons are held in pitful defense. And then it's over.
Zoro turns back. There’s blood in his hair, his clothes. Sanji looks away when the little girl begins to cry.
“Oh no,” Sanji says, stricken. “Don’t do that.”
But waterworks have started and tears run down her chubby cheeks and her face has screwed up, red and twisted. “Maaama,” she cries. “Maaaaaama.”
Sanji bounces her and looks around for help. Zoro has sped away very quickly (the coward) and Luffy is nearby, but what kind of help would he be? Sanji wants the little girl to live after all. Sanji is getting very desperate and very worried and has pretty much no idea what to do—
“Lena! Oh seas, Lena!” A sobbing young woman comes sprinting toward them. Sanji’s arms tighten around the toddler on instinct, but then he sees the woman has the same dark hair, the same nose as the girl. The crushing relief in her gaze has Sanji handing the girl over.
Crying, the young woman cradles the girl close. “My little Lena…” she murmurs. Shaking, words stuttering over gasps, she meets Sanji’s eyes and says, “Thank you.”
Sanji can only nod.
His gaze finds Zoro again, where the Marimo stands across the boat. Sanji sees the blood cooling and sticky in his hair, and thinks, grudgingly, he’ll loosen the wraps on their alcohol stash tonight.
4.
Sanji doesn’t hesitate. It’s him, Nami, and Brook standing on the pier. Of them, he’s the best option, and they know it. Even if he wasn’t, he’d jump in anyway.
The water is cold as he dives into its embrace. The ocean’s salt stings his eyes and the dark expanse swallows his vision. It isn’t deep here, so close to shore, but the currents are tugging and twisting and it’s much too easy to lose someone in the roiling waves. He feels a stab of panic. Where is she?!
Sanji swims forward. Blinking, he tries to clear the leftover splotches of light from the too-bright sun, so he can deepen his search of the nearby waters. All the while times ticks away, and Sanji’s apprehension mounts.
He turns and tries the other direction. Should he go this way? What if the currents pulled her there? There’s no time to make the wrong decision. No time at all, because if he doesn’t find her right now, Robin will—
There!
He sees her, floating, suspended in the dark shadows of the water. Sanji kicks his feet and swings his arms and cuts his way toward her, his heart hammering in his throat. He gets closer and sees her eyes are shut. Is she unconscious? Is she…?
Sanji’s hands close around her shoulder, his arm folds around her waist, and then he’s dragging them both to the surface, each passing moment one too many. They break free into the open air and even as Sanji sucks in a lungful of air, he’s hoisting Robin up, angling her face away from the water. Her skin is pale, her dark hair sopping and sticking to her face. Blood leaks from somewhere on the back of her head, bright and red and glaring.
Sanji hears exclamations from Nami and Brook as he tugs Robin towards the beach. His panic is mirrored in their voices.
Sanji manages to swim them close enough to the beach that he’s able to stand. He takes Robin into his arms, one below her back, the other under her knees, and carries her the rest of the way. Her clothes drip, weighed down with water. Her soaked hair hangs in a curtain.
“I’ll get Chopper,” he hears Brook say, and then he takes off. Nami is left standing alone on the beach to meet Sanji as he steps onto the dry sand. It sticks to his drenched shoes, slipping into his socks. He’s loath to set Robin down on the sand, but does. Nami kneels on one side, and he takes the other. The both of them eye Robin’s torso with the same, tense, bated yearning.
It rises.
Sanji exhales with relief. Nami tips forward, resting her head against her hands for a brief moment before straightening, tucking a strand of hair back.
“She’s okay,” Nami says, shrugging out of her swim coverup to press the fabric against the cut on Robin’s head.
Sanji nods, trying to convince himself. “She’s okay.”
He watches Robin carefully as they wait for Chopper. At first, she’s gone to the world. Motionless and cold and painful to look at. But as a minute crawls by, she twitches. Her eyelids flutter. And then, she’s awake.
“What..?” She tries to sit up.
“Careful,” Nami says, holding out a hand to stop her. “That old pier was falling apart. It broke and you fell—hit your head on the way down.”
Robin blinks. “I don’t remember.”
“Would you want to?” Nami points out.
Robin tries to get up again, and this time, Nami reluctantly allows her to. Sanji holds out a hand to help and Robin looks at it, and then him.
“Cook-san,” she says. “You went in after me?”
Sanji nods.
“I’m sorry, you’ve gotten all wet.”
“It was my pleasure,” Sanji assures her, because his clothes are the furthest thing from his thoughts right now.“To assist a beautiful lady.”
Robin hesitates, before nodding. She rests her hand on Sanji’s, where he’s holding her shoulder. Her skin is clammy and cold, but Chopper will be here an second to order her into blankets and Sanji will make her a warm drink, and soon, she’ll be back to her normal self. Robin squeezes his hand, and he’s grateful for the pressure.
“Thank you,” she says, meeting his gaze.
Sanji nods. The fall could’ve gone much worse, but it didn’t. And for now, that’s enough.
5.
Zeff is buried in the dinner rush.
His cooks are new and scrambling, making rudimentary mistakes that have his nerves on edge. An aching throb pulses within his skull. The clamber of pots and pans, the clashing mix of different spices and smells, the heat emanating off the stove—it’s all too loud and too much and Zeff is not in a good mood.
So when Patty comes up to him, expression twisted, and says “Trouble up front,” Zeff’s blood boils. The Baratie is his dream. But some of the customers…
Zeff cleaves a path through the bustle of cooks chopping vegetables, marinating meat, placing garnishes, and they make way for him readily with one look at his expression. Zeff doesn’t want to leave, it’s the busiest hour and there’s so much to do, but he also knows Patty wouldn’t tell him to go upfront unless it was necessary.
So he steps out into the dining area—sweat beading his neck and red face and laying damp beneath his clothes—already itching to leave. Until he sees the problem.
Of course, it’s Sanji.
The kid is facing away from him, toward a table where two women stand, chairs pushed out. They’re older than Zeff, but the lines on their faces speak of misery more than age. One woman is standing closer to Sanji than the other, and Zeff doesn’t like the way her shadow pools out, covering him, as she speaks. Words biting and tone dripping with condescension. Zeff draws closer.
“...know how to get decent help around here? You need to take this back and throw it away—Hey. Are you listening to me?”
“Ye—”
“Unbelievable. No respect. Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners, boy? It’s yes ma’am when speaking to your betters. Now go fetch your boss, so we can get something done. I’m exhausted from dealing with your incompetence.”
“I’m sorry,” Sanji says, and his voice is small and light as he looks toward his toes.
The woman clicks her tongue. “Look up when you speak, don’t mumble.”
And then she reaches out, seizes his chin, and tugs his head up.
Zeff sees red.
The simmering irritability from running the kitchen fades, replaced by a searing fury. Zeff comes to a stop behind Sanji, planting a hand on the kid’s shoulder to tug him away and behind Zeff. The woman glances up at him. She lets her hand, hovering in empty air, fall.
“Finally, someone I can talk to—”
“Out.”
The woman pauses. She stares at Zeff with a perplexed look, which is quickly replaced by disgust. “Excuse me?”
“Get out,” Zeff says, biting around his words, “Of my restaurant.”
He resists the urge to grab her and throw her out himself. It wouldn’t be good for business. Nor would he like throwing a woman around.
“I—” the woman glances at her friend for help.
The friend crosses her arm. “I want to speak with the owner,” she says.
Zeff feels an unhappy smile cross his face, sharp and rough, but before he can say anything, Sanji finds his voice.
“He is the owner,” the kid says, and his voice sounds a little firmer now. Zeff glances down at him. Sanji’s face is twisted unhappily, and his shoulders are curled in, one hand coming up to play with the collar of his shirt. Zeff feels another rush of anger. He wants these women gone.
“I am. Get out,” Zeff says again, eyes hard.
The first woman’s face purples. Her friend stares at them, open-mouthed. The purpling woman finally jolts, grabbing her purse and slipping it on. Gold bracelets around her wrists jangle and click and continue to make sharp noises as she turns on one heel and marches away, friend following. Some of the other customers look up at the clearly enraged stride, but the whole establishment turns when the woman stops and addresses them all at the door.
“Your restaurant is a horrid establishment,” she says firmly. “And I will never be back.”
“Good,” Zeff says as the door slams behind the pair. The other customers are staring, glancing between him, Sanji, and the door, and Zeff feels Sanji shy away from the attention, shifting to hide behind Zeff.
Zeff sighs. “C’mon,” he says, and steers Sanji away with a hand between his shoulder blades.
Patty is waiting nearby when they exit the dining room. He takes one look at Sanji, who’s flushed red and biting his lip and blinking around watery eyes, and makes himself scarce, tugging another, new cook into the kitchen behind him. Sanji and Zeff are left alone.
Sanji’s breaths start to come sharper, and soon he’s gasping. The wetness in his eyes spills over, tears cutting down his red cheeks.
“I-I’m sorry,” Sanji says.
Zeff raises an eyebrow. “For what?”
“For…for crying…”
Zeff shakes his head. “Don’t be stupid, that’s not something to apologize for.”
Sanji’s shoulders shake, his arms crossed to hug around his chest. “Then…then ‘m sorry…for getting her mad…”
“I’m sure whatever the hell her problem was, it had nothing to do with you,” Zeff says.
Sanji glances up at that, and shrugs. “I dunno.”
Zeff scans him. Between the tears, the shaking, the sobs, Zeff comes to a decision. He’s too worked up. The kid’s done for the night.
“Alright,” he says, bending to scoop Sanji up, into his arms. “Time for bed.”
Surprisingly, the kid doesn’t protest. He just buries his little blond head into Zeff’s neck and dissolves into heavier crying. Zeff carries him to the kid’s room, nudging the door open with his foot, and bringing him to the bed. He pulls back the covers and sets the kid down, tugging the sheets and comforter over him.
Sanji’s still crying when Zeff straightens up.
Zeff sighs. “What’s wrong, little eggplant?”
“I-I,” Sanji trembles. “My m-mom taught me m-manners. And I know to s-say ma’am. I j-just…I didn’t like that lady at all.”
Zeff nods. “Me neither. Just…try to sleep it off. Try again tomorrow.”
He turns to leave, knowing the other chefs are waiting for his help. But before he can a small hand reaches out and seizes his shirt.
“Wait?” Sanji says.
And Zeff doesn’t do this. He was the captain of a pirate crew. He doesn’t cater to the needs of crying kids. Even if he wanted to, he doesn’t know how.
But Sanji’s stuttering sobs are fading and his eyes are drooping and he looks close to nodding off. So Zeff leans against the bureau in Sanji’s room and waits for Sanji’s breaths to even, until the kid has dropped off.
Only then, does Zeff slip away.