(One Piece-General. 011. Angry.)
Title: Breathe Deeply
Fandom: One Piece
Characters: Sanji, Zeff, Zoro + Sanji
Prompt: 003 - Angry
Word Count: 608
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: Character death
Summary: Zoro’s death doesn’t leave Sanji feeling mournful. It leaves him feeling angry.
The cooks and the busboys of the Baratie grumbled to themselves as they cleaned up the bloody mess left on their ship after the strenuous and painful duel between the challenger and greatest swordsman Roronoa Zoro. But when the restaurant-ship’s medic stepped out onto the bloodstained deck and announced that the green-haired man was dead, they decided there were worst things they could be doing.
Sanji cursed lowly as he pulled the bandage tight around his shin. When he’d seen the damage done to Zoro’s body, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from lunging at the challenger. He knew the attack was unfair, so in a way, he was glad the other man hadn’t been able to see it; he knew he would’ve been disappointed in him. Only Zeff’s hard kick to the back of his head had brought him back to his senses. If he hadn’t been stopped, he would’ve killed that man.
“Stupid, fuckin’ marimo,” he grumbled vehemently as he pulled a clean pair of pants on over his bandages. He growled quietly at a knock on the door. “What do you want?”
“We’re closing the shop for the day, shit-eggplant!” Zeff’s gruff voice answered from the other side of the door. Sanji rolled his eyes, muttering that he “could’ve guessed that, shit-geezer”. There was a moment of silence in which Sanji smoothed the wrinkles of his shirt, until Zeff asked, “What do we do with the body?”
Sanji paused, looked at his hands, and sucked in a breath that he held for a moment, subconsciously. He had known, really, the moment Zoro had fallen. But a part of him kept remembering that moment - years ago, but it seemed so much closer - when he’d fallen into the sea, turned the waters red before resurfacing. That part of him was still waiting for that green head to pop out of the water with a gasping, gulping breath.
“Hey,” Zeff called through the door. “You aren’t in there crying or something are you?”
“No,” Sanji answered, letting his fingers curl tight, into fists. “But what would it matter if I was?”
Zeff coughed. Or laughed; Sanji couldn’t really tell.
“If he was alive, you know he’d be chewing your eggplant ass out right now. What were you thinking out there? That wasn’t your battle.”
“I know that!” Sanji snapped, perhaps sounding a bit too bitter than he would have liked. “I know that, but…dammit, I could have killed him! You knew that or else you wouldn’t have stopped me. If I could’ve killed him, without even one fucking sword, then-” He had stop a minute, had to breathe. “Then-then so could he, dammit!” He pressed his palms firmly to his forehead, his shoulders going tense. “Shitty…shitty marimo…” His voice was thick, but he wouldn’t cry. He felt too cold, too heavy, too empty to cry.
“Don’t blame him,” Zeff said after a while, sounding firm, but understanding at the same time, “for something you hadn’t prepared yourself for. You knew it was going to happen sooner or later, so it’s your own fault if you weren’t ready.”
“I don’t think…I ever would have been ready.”
“Then there’s nothing to be angry about, eggplant. Now-” He cleared his throat, spoke a little louder. “What about the body?”
Sanji let his hands fall from his face as he stood slowly. He reached up and straightened out his tie.
“I’ll be right there.”
Zeff nodded and Sanji heard the familiar knock of his peg leg against the floor as he walked away. Sanji breathed deeply once, twice, and opened the door. He was ready. He could cry.