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Zoro’s in a bar, in a town somewhere. It's night. He drinks the terrible sake until the bartender kicks him out, insisting he's had enough. He wanders out into the main street of the tiny town, looking for another open bar, or a place to sleep.
He ends up at the docks. Someone's tied a small boat to the end of the pier; stacked with burlap sacks and sails, Zoro decides it’s as good a place for a nap as any. He falls asleep in seconds.
When he wakes up, he's out on the sea, somehow. Maybe the mooring line was tied improperly, or maybe some kids thought it would make for a funny prank, but either way, he's sort of fucked.
He doesn't know which way he came from, or which way he should go to get back to land. After trying to think of something for a few minutes, he shrugs to himself, stretches his arms, and starts rowing.
He figures if he goes in one direction for long enough, he'll probably find an island eventually. There's only a small canteen of water on the boat, and no food, so he decides he'd better get going.
He rows until the sun sets. He sleeps. He rows some more. On the second day, it rains— not a real storm, thankfully— so he has some more water. He skewers a fish on the end of one of his katana and eats it raw. It tastes like shit, but food is food.
He rows. He sleeps. He rows again.
It's been more than a week, and somehow he has yet to reach land. He's hungry, dehydrated, and fucking pissed.
He goes to sleep, and this time, when he wakes up, there's a giant fish in front of him.
Or... wait. It's not a fish. It's a fish-shaped boat. Well, whatever; he's close, and he can smell food cooking on the fish-boat.
He rows over to it, abandoning the little boat unceremoniously and stumbling into the doors.
It turns out the staff are all rude as shit. They clock that he's broke and refuse to serve him, kicking him out. He heads back over to where the boat was, only to find that it's gone. He sits on the edge of the pier.
“Hey, you— with the green hair.” someone says.
Zoro looks up to see a blonde guy in a suit with weird curly eyebrows.
“Yeah?”
“You hungry?” the guy says, setting down a plate of food and a tall glass of water.
Zoro eyes him suspiciously.
“I don't have money.”
The man shrugs.
“You're hungry, you eat. That's my rule.”
Zoro snatches the plate before blondie can change his mind, wolfing the meal down between gulps of water.
He honestly wishes he weren't so fucking hungry, because this is probably the best thing he's ever tasted. It's mostly rice, with scallions and shrimp; everything bursts with flavor, warm and perfectly cooked.
The guy stands there while Zoro eats, hands in his pockets, an insufferably smug grin on his face.
“It's good?”
Zoro grunts and nods, still not finished with the food.
When the plate is finally clean, every last grain of rice consumed, Zoro sits back, leaning on his hands.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” the man says, then kicks the dishes into the sea.
“Where you headed?”
“Dunno,” Zoro says, shrugging. “Was in a town, fell asleep on a boat. Woke up in the middle of the sea.”
“What town?”
“Dunno.”
The man frowns at him, looking incredulous.
“Why were you there?”
“Turned in a bounty. Went to get a drink.”
“And you… fell asleep on a boat?”
Zoro shrugs.
“I was tired.”
The guy rolls his eyes and mutters something, turning away from Zoro slightly to light a cigarette.
“Okay, so you’re lost. Do you need to go back to wherever you were? Got friends waiting?”
Zoro considers whether Johnny and Yosaku count and decides they don’t because they’ll definitely catch up with him somehow.
“I’m not lost. And nah, could go anywhere, really. Just looking for another bounty.”
“Alright,” he says, then jerks his head towards a small boat on an adjacent pier. “Follow me.”
Zoro considers whether he’s about to get jumped, but decides he doesn’t have anything going on, anyway, and follows him.
“I need to go to Sixis for ingredients. I’ll drop you off there— sound good?”
Zoro grunts.
“Not much of a talker, are you?”
“Don’t see a point in running my mouth.”
The man scowls.
“Maybe it’s better if you keep it shut. I’m Sanji, by the way.”
“Roronoa Zoro.”
Sanji nods.
“Well, c’mon then, Roronoa, let’s make this quick.”
They make it to Sixis in a couple hours— it must’ve moved again, or Zoro would’ve found it before.
Zoro stands up and stretches from where he’s been napping on the deck, then goes to leave, but is stopped by Sanji.
“Take these with you,” he says, offering several onigiri wrapped in cloth. “In case you don’t find another pirate soon.”
He nods.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah. Try not to get lost again, Mosshead.”
Zoro scowls at the unwanted nickname and stalks off— he can hear that bastard laughing as he does.
He doesn’t see that cook again for a few months— he follows some guy through a swamp and turns in his bounty, catches a couple more bandits unaware. Unfortunately, their bounties aren’t really enough to keep him in the green for long. He meets up with Johnny and Yosaku a couple more times, but they keep getting lost, and he can’t wait around for them, so he just keeps on doing whatever he wants.
He’s at a harbor, trying to barter passage to the next island— hopefully there will be more prey there— when he hears some people talking about heading over to a floating restaurant. He ends up catching passage with them.
As luck would have it, there is only one floating fish restaurant— the Baratie, it’s called— so Zoro makes it back without incident.
He keeps thinking about that onigiri, and that rice dish that cook had made— it was really some of the best food he’s ever had. Since he has some cash leftover this time, he figures he might actually be able to get in and find out what they serve paying customers.
The man who seats him looks at him skeptically when he arrives, but a glare sets him straight, and Zoro finds himself in a corner table sipping on the cheapest sake they had on offer.
He hears what sounds like a fight coming from the direction of the kitchen, and then that same cook from before comes storming out, looking very much like he wants to hit something. He lights up a cigarette, runs a hand through his hair, and looks up.
Their eyes meet, and the cook gets a lopsided smile on his face.
“Hey, Roronoa, right?” he asks, sauntering over and taking the empty seat across from Zoro.
Zoro nods.
“Thought I’d come back and see what’s available.”
“Anything catch your eye?”
Truthfully, Zoro doesn’t even understand what most of the shit on the menu is. Foie gras? Confit de canard? What’s even the point of offering that kind of stuff in East Blue?
He shrugs.
The cook beckons with one hand for the menu, then looks it over.
“What do you like?”
He shrugs again.
“Food’s food. But… I liked what you made me, last time.”
The way the cook smiles at him, then, he might’ve gifted him the sun.
“Really?”
Zoro nods. Drinks, to hide his embarrassment.
“I think I can get you something you’d like,” Cook says, nodding.
When the waiter comes, he orders for Zoro, giving some detailed instructions and bitching at the guy until he writes it all down.
The server drops off a bottle of wine, as well, and Sanji pours himself a glass.
“Bounty hunting going well, then?”
“Well enough. Trying to get to a new island— see if there are any bigger fish around.”
“Might be able to—”
The doors to the restaurant slam open and some pirates come bursting in, already shouting and firing randomly into the restaurant. People start screaming and scrambling to hide under their tables.
In the same instant, Sanji and Zoro are on their feet.
Zoro keeps an eye on the Cook as he makes his way through the horde of attackers— numerous but weak— just in case he needs help, but. Well, he really doesn’t.
Zoro’s never seen anyone fight like this guy. He hears Sanji’s kicks break bone; watches as he slams people into tables hard enough to split the wood apart. But, best of all, he somehow never gets in Zoro’s way; it’s like they’ve been fighting together for years; like they’re dancing. It’s as easy as breathing for them to take out the pirates.
They stand, bloody, panting by the entrance.
Zoro sheathes his swords.
Sanji straightens, adjusts his clothes. Lights a new cigarette.
They stare at one another, somehow wary— something new, fragile and wondrous between them.
The spell is broken by the loud step-thunk of someone exiting the kitchen.
Zoro turns to see a man wearing the tallest hat he’s ever seen bearing a tray with something that smells amazing on it, steam still wafting off.
“You the one the Little Eggplant ordered this for?” the old man asks.
Zoro nods.
“Well get the fuck over here,” the man orders, “I’ve got a kitchen to run.”
Zoro sits back down and is presented with a spread of white rice, carefully seared fish, soba, and various kinds of tempura.
He digs in immediately and finds himself pausing for a minute, eyes closed, to take in the incredible flavor.
“Damn good, isn’t it?” Sanji asks, all smug.
Zoro opens his eyes to him smirking at him from across the table, wine glass in hand, as if nothing has happened.
“S’alright, Eggplant,” he teases.
Sanji’s face turns red.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he says, but somehow Zoro knows he doesn’t mean it.
“Not until I finish this,” Zoro insists, gesturing to the food with his chopsticks.
Sanji huffs and leans back in his chair.
When Zoro’s done, Sanji waits until he pulls his swords, and they have one of the most exhilarating sparring sessions Zoro’s ever experienced. Not since Kuina died has he felt this energized by an opponent; he feels like they’re pushing at each other’s boundaries; like at any moment this might turn into an actual fight.
They battle across the dining hall for around twenty minutes until that old man comes stomping out of the kitchen, shouting for them to cut it out and come sit down.
“The boys tell me you help get rid of those shitty pirates earlier,” he says, pouring Zoro some sake— much better than the stuff he ordered earlier.
Zoro grunts. Gestures in Sanji’s direction with the cup.
“We did it together.”
The old man looks over at Sanji, squinting.
“What, you shitty old man?” Sanji snaps.
The Shitty Old Man turns back to Zoro.
“You looking for a job, kid?”
Zoro really fucking hates having a job. He hates being told when to get up, what to do; he hates having a schedule, generally. The pay is nice— and the food is fucking incredible— but he’d take bounty hunting over this any day— if he could get Curly-brow to come with him.
He doesn’t mind being alone and he’d usually just fuck off, but it’s kind of addicting, having someone this good to fight with. They’re always arguing, and a good half the staff are convinced they hate each other’s guts, but Zoro’s not fooled by Sanji’s posturing. He’d have a lot more broken bones if the cook were really trying to kill him. No, he’s testing him, pushing him— and as much as Zoro is enjoying his own noticeable progress, he finds it equally thrilling to see Sanji’s turns get sharper, his aim more precise, and his legs more powerful.
The old man, Zeff, is the one who taught him the technique, but considering Sanji’s advantage in age and strength, there is no one on the boat besides Zoro who can actually challenge him. It galls him to think that Sanji might languish here, wasting his potential, not chasing after whatever it is he wants so badly— that thing that puts that wistful look in his eyes. But he doesn’t seem to want to leave; won’t even entertain the idea, most days.
So they fight. Zoro goes with Sanji to nearby islands to get supplies, and sometimes, if they’re lucky, there’ll be someone with a bounty in town and they can pick up some extra cash. Zoro likes it best when there’s a group of them to bring in, because that’s when they can really work well together. He starts hearing their names whispered in tandem in bars, and smirks every time.
Zoro’s not really one for long-term planning. He doesn’t really know or care what’s going to happen to him in the future, besides finding and beating Mihawk. But he tries not to spend all of the money he brings in on booze, this time— he has some vague idea that maybe he’ll figure out how to get Sanji to leave here, and then they’ll need a boat or something. He hides the stash of beri in Sanji’s room without telling him, since it’s private and he’s in there all the time, anyway.
He’s off shift one day, cleaning his swords at an empty table near the front of the restaurant, when some people come in the door, he knows are going to be trouble. It’s not too unusual, and he and Sanji always end up handling it, but he keeps a sharp eye on them, anyway, as they are seated.
They’re rude to the wait staff and the host; they order too much food and try only bites of things. Zoro’s glad Sanji is in the kitchen today, because he’d be ready to cave their table in.
They’re all dressed in really bright colors; red, blue, green, and pink, to match their hair, like they’re in some comic book or something. They speak loudly in the Northern dialect and keep looking around the dining hall as if they’re waiting for someone. They stay for an absurdly long time; the restaurant fills up and empties for the dinner rush, and still they’re loitering around. Finally, Patty comes out from the back to talk to them— Zoro raises an eyebrow to ask if he’s needed, but gets a head shake in return. They speak briefly, much more quietly than before, sending Patty back to the kitchen with a troubled look on his face.
A few minutes later Sanji comes out of the kitchen, several slices of cake held on a tray in his left hand, headed for the table with that politely bored look plastered on his face. Zoro watches him approach, hoping to get an entertaining show out of it.
Then, Sanji turns white, his eyes visibly widening.
Staggers.
Drops the tray.
Food and plates come crashing to the ground, and that, more than anything else, convinces Zoro that something is seriously wrong. In all the time he’s been here, Zoro has never seen Sanji drop a single plate, not once. He hates wasting food like that.
Zoro stands up, his hand already at Wado’s hilt.
“Sanji,” the red one says, and Zoro hates the way his voice curls around the cook’s name; mocking and anticipatory.
“What are you doing here?” Sanji whispers.
He backs up slightly, shaking hand grabbing onto an empty chair for support.
“What, we can’t come for a friendly visit with our little brother?” Blue says, knocking back a glass of wine. “We just wanted to see what you were up to. Father sends his regards.”
This last sentence pulls a wounded noise from Sanji, whose single visible eye is wide and wild. He’s hunching over on himself, breathing fast and harsh.
Zoro steps between him and the others.
“I don’t know who the fuck you are,” he growls, “but you need to get out. Right now.”
“Aw, who’s this, Sanji?” Green asks, looking at Zoro like he’s some dead bug he’s scraped off his boot. “Did you get a little attack dog to protect you? Still too weak to do it yourself?”
In an instant, Zoro has Wado at Green’s throat.
“I said, get out,” he snarls.
The man stands, seemingly unafraid of Zoro’s swords, eyes flashing angrily.
“How fucking dare you, you piece of—”
“Yonji,” the woman says, completely toneless.
Sanji’s gaze, until now fixed on some unseen terror, snaps to her.
Yonji grumbles and sits back down, pushing Wano away from his neck. He seems uninjured.
“We didn’t come to cause trouble,” the pink lady says, pulling bills from somewhere and counting them out onto the table. “We’ll go.”
She stands, the others following her lead with some reluctance.
She turns to Sanji.
“Judge wanted us to remind you of your promise to him,” she says, with the same flat affect, “and also to let you know he may have need of you soon. Be ready.”
Sanji stares at her. Lets out a hysterical little giggle. Nods.
She returns the gesture, then walks away, her brothers following her through the doors.
There’s a beat of deathly silence.
“Cook,” Zoro says, cautiously, “I—”
Sanji flees.
He finds Sanji knelt on the floor of his room, belongings strewn about him, a suitcase open before him.
“What's this, Cook?”
“I have—I have to go, I have to leave,” Sanji says, frantic, the words tripping over one another. He sounds like he's barely breathing, like he's choking on each syllable.
“Why?”
He looks up at Zoro, wild and hopeless, tear tracks glistening on his face.
“They'll come, they'll come b-back, he will, J-Judge will, and he'll— he'll—”
“Sanji,” Zoro says softly.
Those blue eyes widen, surprise warring with panic.
He nudges away the hastily filled suitcase with his foot and kneels in front of Sanji.
He takes his own hands— worn, callused, hard— and folds them around Sanji's— pristine, precious. They are shaking, but Zoro presses them together between his own, safeguarding them.
He looks up at Sanji's face and finds wonder there.
“It's okay. You're safe. You have Zeff, and the cooks, and the staff. And you have me,” he says, squeezing his hands for emphasis. “We will fight with you. They won't take you away; they won't hurt us. I promise, Sanji.”
Renewed tears well and fall from Sanji's eyes, trailing down his face.
“If you— if something happened to any of you because of me,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, “I could never forgive myself. I would rather die, Zoro. I'd rather go back there.”
“Idiot Cook,” Zoro says, smiling. He tips his head forward gently, so their foreheads are touching.
“Weren't you listening? You're not alone. They can't have you, Curly-brow. We won't let them.”
“You don't know how strong they are,” he whispers.
“I don't need to know. You and I, together— we're stronger. We're unstoppable. Right?”
Sanji smiles slightly, the expression wobbling.
“Right.”
Zoro pulls back slightly. Sanji bites his lower lip, trying to contain himself, and Zoro guides his head to his shoulder, pulling his Cook into a hug.
Sanji shudders in his arms, his hands buried in Zoro's shirt.
After a few minutes, they hear the sound of Zeff's distinctive steps in the hallway. Sanji tenses, and Zoro expects him to spring away, but he doesn't.
Zeff knocks.
“Eggplant?”
“Yeah?” Sanji answers, voice scratchy.
“I'm coming in,” Zeff says, but doesn't. Waiting.
“Yeah,” Sanji allows, after a moment of silence.
Zeff pushes the door open and thumps his way over to the bed. He sits, looking down at the clothes strewn about on the floor.
Zoro’s hold on Sanji tightens very slightly.
The old man loves Sanji— he sees that, knows that. But they have some weird way of communicating, and even though Zoro isn’t the best at dealing with emotional stuff, he has enough awareness to know that maybe a shouting match isn’t the best idea right now. He hopes Zeff isn’t stupid enough to start one.
“I don’t know who those people were, or what the hell they meant by saying you’re their family,” Zeff says slowly, deliberately, not looking at either of them, “and I don’t care. You’re my fucking son. And if anyone has a problem with that or tries to take you somewhere you don’t wanna go, I promise you they will fucking pay for it. Okay?”
Sanji makes a strangled, helpless little noise, then nods vigorously against Zoro’s chest.
“Okay,” Zeff says.
He gets up again, ruffling Sanji’s hair as he passes them. He closes the door and stomps away down the hall.
“Those people,” Sanji says, voice clogged, “my siblings. They aren’t human. Judge— changed them. He wanted to change me, too, but it didn’t work. So, I— I’m defec—”
“No, you’re not,” Zoro interrupts vehemently. “You’re Blackleg Sanji; one of the best fighters in the East Blue, and the best fucking chef in the world.”
Sanji makes another choked little noise, then takes a deep breath. He sits back, scrubbing at his eyes.
“Just ‘one of the best?’” he asks, a fragile smile on his face.
“Well,” Zoro says, trying for normalcy, “not better than me.”
Sanji throws one of his shirts at him.
“Hey!” Zoro shouts indignantly, chucking a pair of pants back in retaliation.
By the end of the ensuing battle, Sanji’s room ends up even more of a mess than when Zoro came in, but Sanji’s smiling again, so he counts it as a win.
They still fight— of course they do. How else are they supposed to have fun on this shitty boat? But there’s none of the guardedness Sanji used to have with him, anymore. They sit out on the deck of the Baratie at night; Sanji smokes, Zoro drinks. They look up at the stars.
Sanji tells him about Judge and the Vinsmokes; about his mother’s courage, and Reiju’s. He tells him about how he met Zeff; about starving and the heat of the sun and sacrifice. He tells him, eyes bright, about the All Blue; that mythical sea, hidden somewhere on the Grandline, that Zoro knows is waiting for Sanji to find it.
In turn, Zoro talks about Kuina; about the little village where he grew up; the promises he made. And Sanji says so fiercely that he knows Zoro will beat Mihawk that it obliterates the slivers of doubt that he didn’t even know were hiding in his heart.
They’re inseparable now. The talk of them really hating each other dies away, after the word gets around about what exactly happened when the Vinsmokes showed up. Everyone is vigilant, but, fortunately, they don’t reappear.
Zoro doesn’t have any more luck trying to get Sanji off the Baratie, and has all but given up for the time being when fate intervenes— or, rather, some rubbery idiot named Luffy. He seems to bring chaos with him; Zoro fights Mihawk, and loses— but it’s glorious, and he promises a frantic Sanji that he’ll never lose again.
Sanji tells him he’s an idiot, and to sit still.
Luffy beats Don Krieg and saves Baratie, and even as out of it as he is after the fight with Mihawk Zoro likes him, knows instinctively he’s their captain, because he respects them. He doesn’t interfere with Zoro’s fight, and he doesn’t tell Sanji he’s an idiot for wanting to find the All Blue. He loves Sanji’s food and Zoro’s sword, and when they follow the redheaded witch back to her island at Luffy’s insistence, he says he doesn’t care about anyone’s past. Only their present. Only who they are.
Zoro’s going to follow him to the end of the earth, and he doesn’t even have to look over to know Sanji will too.
Together, they will shape an era, and bring the world a new Pirate King.