FicWad

It wasn't hard to understand why no one noticed. After the high of the fight, followed by the mind-blowing parachute excursion from the toppling tower of Clockwork Island, they were all just glad to be on their way again.

So when Sanji immediately vanished into the galley to get back to his pantry and his stove, everything was back to normal. He even allowed generous access to the wine rack, and everyone took shameless advantage.

By late that night, the bruises on Nami's face were a slightly more impressive color, but already fading around the edges. Usopp's coughing and wheezing had lessened considerably, though he was still a little wobbly from all the paralytic gas, but that could also have been all the wine he'd drunk. Zoro had stitched up his own wound, and, when he arose well before dawn, was already ignoring his bandaged midsection to practice sword katas.

Zoro set down all three katanas at last, shaking sweat from his brow, and leaned against the rail to watched the glow of the pre-dawn horizon for a moment, savoring the quietness of the ship. Usopp was in the crow's nest on watch. Nami hadn't yet awoken. It was still an hour or so from Luffy's calls for breakfast. And Sanji... his hammock had been empty when Zoro had woken up, hadn't it? Well, Zoro was thirsty now, he might as well get some water and take the opportunity to see what was being done for breakfast, if the cook was up so early.

Zoro pushed open the door of the galley. Mingled smells of cooking reached him as he spotted Sanji at the counter, pinstriped blue shirt rolled up past his elbows, and protected by that ridiculous pink apron.

"Shitty cook." He grunted by way of greeting, grabbing a mug from the cupboard and filling it with water at the sink, not six inches from where Sanji was reducing some onions to perfect diced squares. Out of habit, Zoro moved slowly as possible, looking around, getting in Sanji's way as he held the mug under the tap. Disappointingly, there wasn't the slightest sign of annoyance from Sanji, just the continued motions of chopping, the uninterrupted curl of smoke from his cigarette, and a slight shift away from Zoro's interfering elbow.

Mildly miffed at the lack of reaction, Zoro twisted the tap shut, and clumped two strides from the counter to take a seat at the table, straddling the bench. The table was almost completed laden, the blue-checked cloth almost hidden below covered plates and bowls, some emitting steam carrying mouthwatering scents, and, after glancing back to where Sanji was still dicing onions and ignoring him, Zoro quietly lifted the lid on one to investigate. All this food... Sanji must have been at this for ages.

He yanked his hand back just in time as a knife-wielding fist came down with a bang on the table in front of the dish. It was handle-down, to Zoro's surprise, rather than the semi-serious jabs Sanji usually threatened him with. "Pulling your punches, asshole?" He asked with a smirk, looking over the lip of his lip as he raised it to take another swallow of water

The amusement evaporated as Zoro looked up into Sanji's sickly-pale face. As Zoro's eyes widened in confusion, Sanji swayed slightly. His eyes were glazed-the reaction to the attempted pilfering of his cooking must have been reflex. Zoro put down his drink in time to reach out and catch the cook when his eyes rolled back and he passed out. As the dead weight landed in his arms, Zoro took another glance at the quantity of food laid out. "Fucking idiot cook!" he growled as he maneuvered the Sanji's skinny body into a better grip. The knife clattered to the deck from Sanji's loosening grip, and Zoro stepped on the cigarette that had fallen from Sanji's lips, "You've-" He felt a stab of unease. Sanji was really warm in his arms, he realized, even given the stove-heated galley. "You've been up the whole damn night, haven't you?" he asked the unconscious man, incredulously.

He hauled Sanji the short distance to the other side of the galley, propping him in the corner formed by a supplies crate and the wall. The cook's feet dragged along the floor as they went and Zoro's eyes narrowed as he remembered the damage they'd taken the day before. If Sanji really hadn't stopped cooking since yesterday...

His growing suspicions were confirmed when he grabbed Sanji's left ankle and pulled off the shoe. The smell of dried blood was strong, and Sanji's bare foot was a horror, lacerated and darkly bruised, ragged cuts and torn calluses angry red and swollen, with ground-in grit from yesterday's battle still speckling the mess. Blood seeped from where scabs had come away with the shoe, and from where cuts had rubbed rawer during Sanji's overnight activity. The right foot was even worse, with deep punctures from kicking that spike-armoured devil-fruit freak having been incurred even before all the rest. The dirt-encrusted holes were oozing, still only half-scabbed. Zoro was aghast.

"You... fucking IDIOT! You fought with your fucking BARE feet, you fell out of a fucking hot-air balloon, and you didn't even clean them or... SLEEP! You stupid asshole!" Zoro snarled as he carefully took a closer look at the wounds. How had the fool even been standing all this time, let alone concentrating on his cooking? Sanji twitched, the ankle he held jerking back in an abortive kick toward Zoro's chin. It far was too easy for Zoro to simply tighten his grip and stiffen his arm. All he would have had time to do normally was dodge or deflect the blow.

"Fuck off." Sanji's weak voice was dull, and when Zoro looked up angrily from his examination of the cook's battered feet, Sanji's gaze, half-lidded but aware, was angry in return, but the tension in his face was shame, and Sanji's eyes slid away from his after only a moment to glower at a point on the other side of the room.

The hostile blue eyes were still glazed, and Zoro reached over to lay the palm of his hand on Sanji's forehead, gripping with his fingers when Sanji tried to shift away. The skin there was as hot as the infected skin on his feet. "Infection." Zoro glared. "You idiot."

Sanji turned his face to the wall. Now that he was no longer caught up with his cooking, it seemed that whatever insane energy had kept him going was had been leeched away. The smell of food reminded Zoro of the working stove, and he left Sanji where he sat to go turn it off, retrieving the dropped knife as he went.

"Wait..." Sanji said with effort, "Just needs... to simmer. Add the... onions... and the... spices in the bowl... and leave the heat... on low."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Zoro demanded, as he dumped the diced onions and mixed spices into the boiling pot of stew. He gave it a cursory stir, then slammed the cover on and turned the heat dial to low. "Did you even take your shoes off once?" He jerked open the drawer under the stove and pulled one of Sanji's large, clean, low-sided pots, dropping it into the sink with a ringing clang, and turned on the hot water. "We don't need this much fucking food! We need a cook that'll still fucking be alive next week!" He yanked the door to the first aid cabinet open, pulling out a blanket and the first aid kit, then closed it again with as big a bang as he could.

"You'll wake up... Luffy... and Nami-san." Sanji protested the noise as Zoro came back to put down the supplies. "And stop... lecturing me, shitty swordsman. I heard you outside before." Zoro wrapped the blanket around Sanji's shoulders, then returned to the sink.

He waited for the pot to fill, glaring dangerously at Sanji. "Maybe I should go wake him, and show him his cook is trying to kill himself." Infection of open wounds... Zoro had seen it before. Wait too long and it became blood poisoning or sepsis. Death. His crossed arms stiffened, hands clenching around his biceps at the thought.

Sanji rolled his head over to face the wall again at that, and Zoro made out muffled negative. Heaving the nearly-full pot out of the sink, he carried to where Sanji lay. "Get up, idiot cook," Zoro lifted Sanji and sat him on top of the crate, pulling the blanket closed around him. The cook's body listed sideways until he was leaning on the wall again. Zoro knelt and pushed the pot closer, dipped one hand into the water to test the temperature, then hooked an arm under Sanji's knees and lowered his feet into the water.

Sanji grunted in pain as the abused extremities were submerged. Zoro allowed himself a satisfied snort as he rolled up Sanji's pant legs. "And I will lecture you, you stupid fuck. I may be doing katas, but at least I took care of my injury." Zoro knelt to set out the first aid supplies. He rubbed medicinal soap into a froth on a wetted cloth, staring up at Sanji, his frown tight enough to hurt. "You fucking know better than this. These're your weapons. I can get other swords, but you only have two feet." Lifting Sanji's less-injured left foot to the surface of the water, he began to delicately wipe off the blood and dirt. Minute twitches were all that gave away Sanji's pain from the friction of the cloth, and Zoro kept his touch as light as he could, relieved to discover as he worked that nothing serious appeared to be damaged.

"...first... up..." came a muttered snarl.

"What?" Zoro snapped. Sanji shuddered.

"At least... you weren't the first... to be strung up, you... asshole," he repeated, and Zoro rolled his eyes.

"Doesn't matter." Zoro said derisively, laying Sanji's calf across his bent knee. He dribbled disinfectant over the washed foot. "You weren't the last." Zoro felt his jaw twitch as he recalled the horror with which he'd watched Sanji plummet towards the minefield from so high up, and the furious shame he'd felt not too much later, passing out from a rain of poisoned feathers, of all the stupid attacks. Waking shackled to a metal cross next to Sanji and Usopp had been a furious embarrassment, edged with relief the other two were at least still alive. "You wanna thank Luffy for saving our asses by killing yourself in here instead?"

Sanji blinked slowly as something apparently turned over in his mind, then shook his head. He said nothing after that, and closed his eyes, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. Zoro dried his foot, slathered it with antiseptic cream, and expertly bandaged it, then moved on to the next.

By the time Zoro had fastened down the last bandage, the water in the pot had cooled to room temperature. Zoro smoothed the tape with his thumb, anchoring the bandage a final time. Sanji weakly pulled his foot from Zoro's grasp, but Zoro didn't miss the flare of pain in Sanji's eyes from just the brush of Zoro's fingertips against the bandage. Nonetheless, Sanji leaned away from the wall, with an effort. "Let... go of me... marimo... I'm going to bed." But he stopped short of standing.

Zoro stayed where he sat, and stared evenly at Sanji, flicked a glance at the gauze-wrapped feet, and then raised his eyebrows slightly.

Some colour returned to flush Sanji's cheeks in embarrassment, and his jaw was clenched. Zoro waited. Finally, Sanji ground from between clenched teeth, "Can you... help me to the cabin..." He swayed slightly where he sat. "...Please."

Zoro shrugged, "Sure."

And he did.