omiyuun

Sailing at the break of dawn, you bask in the sounds of the peaceful sea and the rhythmic waves that lap at the side of your boat. It had been a week since you’d seen Sanji– having to stay on the mainland to help your uncle out with the market. He’d slipped on deck, spraining an ankle during one of the stormy trips you made a few days ago, and you had to take care of most of the fishing trips with the crew, as well as heading to the markets afterward to sell your catch.

Safe to say, you’d done both arm and leg day for the past week, lugging the heavy nets of fish to the marketplace and having to take up boat maintenance for that entire time. You’d been more exhausted after returning home, nearly passing out the moment your head hit the pillow. Which also means you haven’t written to Sanji as often as you would’ve liked.

The last letter you’d gotten from him spoke about some stuck-up Lieutenant he had to deal with, as well as the addition of a chore boy who caused some sort of damage to the Baratie. A hole in the ceiling, you recall.

How? You have no idea, but you apparently missed out on some juicy drama, for better or for worse.

At the end of the week, the fishing crew had insisted you take the day off to go to the Baratie. Well, not exactly, but you’d rather ignore the way they’d worded it—“Leave it to us for today! You go see lover-boy out at the Baratie!”

Of course, all you could do was frown and avert your gaze, feeling warmth flood across your cheeks as the guys all encouraged you to go. They’re all good men that you’ve known for nearly a decade and longer, but of course it’s embarrassing for you, having these middle-aged, mostly married men cheer you on for your own love-life. You have no doubt they’re protective of you like their own daughter, but they’re all fans of Sanji and his cooking, granting him their approval, unbeknownst to him.

So here you are, sailing towards the floating restaurant on your own, personal boat, Wave Wonder. She’s much smaller than Tide Caller, but she’s all yours, once a fixer-upper project you and your uncle took up together after getting it for a decent price from the marina in town. You can get to the Baratie on her without much trouble, and she still sails well despite her older touch.

Yet as you sail closer to the Baratie, your breath hitches once your eyes lay over the destruction across the entire deck. While the body of the ship seems mostly unharmed, the smooth wooden panels that lined the surrounding deck are splintered and raised–cracked like the ground as if an earthquake had shaken through it all.

A panicked urgency pushes you to hurry and dock, hopping off the boat and carefully making your way to the entrance, slamming the lopsided doors open, only to be met with complete silence.

Your heart stops. Not a single customer or chef or waiter is on the floor, a sight that you’ve never seen in all your years. You quickly make your way into the kitchen, the tiniest bit of relief filling you as you hear the telltale clink and clank of pots and pans and the roar of the stove fire as you near, and you open the door.

All the cooks are busy across the kitchen, but they all look towards you, brightening up and greeting you heartily. But you notice immediately that they all adorn a bandage or two, whether it’s across their arms or plastered on their face. 

“Lil fisher is here!” Patty bellows loudly, and everyone greets you heartily, not at all sharing the sense of doom that you’d felt just moments ago.

“What… What happened?” you barely manage to ask, more taken aback by their jolly mood as they pat you on the shoulder and usher you close. “Are you guys alright?”

“We’re right as rain!” Carne laughs, and as the others chime in, a familiar tapping sound of a peg-leg approaches from behind, and you whip around to meet Zeff’s calm smile.

“Nothin’ to worry about,” he gruffs, reaching out to mess up your hair. “Just had to deal with some pirates these past few days. Lil chef is fine, he’s resting in his room if you wanna go see him.”

“I’m glad you guys are alright,” you let out a sigh, letting the tension release from your shoulders. “I’ll go check on Sanji, then.”

“Get him and chore-boy down here!” one of the chefs calls out. “We got lunch ready!”

“Chore boy?” you echo in confusion, but Zeff pats your shoulder, ushering you to head upstairs before you can ask any more questions.

As always, you head up the stairway to the quarters upstairs, finding Sanji’s door and knocking on it gently. “Door’s open!”

And to your surprise, he’s not the only one in his room. 

“Honeycomb?” Sanji is quick to get to his feet from where he was seated on the windowsill, and on his bed is another boy, maybe just a few years younger than you. 

“Honey?” The boy echoes excitedly, but you don’t hear it as you close the distance between you and Sanji, hurrying to reach up to his cheeks. 

“Oh, Sanji,” you breathe out, brushing your thumb against the bandage plastered right beneath his eye. “Are you ok? What happened while I was gone?”

“My sweet honeycomb,” he sighs out, cupping your hand with his own, and you pray he doesn’t feel your heart pound against your chest. “I’m fine, promise. We had to protect the Baratie from pirates, but it worked out in the end. With some help from—“

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy!” the boy greets you loudly, fixing the straw hat on top of his head as he beams at you brightly. “And I’m going to be King of the Pirates!”

You offer him a smile back, stepping away from Sanji to greet the boy still seated on the bed. “Thank you for keeping Sanji and everyone safe, Luffy.”

You introduce yourself, and Luffy laughs, a bright sound that makes you chuckle with him. “So? Are you a chef, too?”

“Oh, I’m not,” you answer with a shake of your head. “I’m an angler. I catch fish and supply the Baratie with all their seafood with my uncle.”

“A fisherman!” Luffy exclaims in awe. “Are you good at it?”

“I’d like to say I am,” you answer amusedly, unable to fight back his infectious smile. “I’ve done it for a long time now.”

Luffy considers your words with a hum, before he says, “Well, why don’t you join my crew, too?”

“Too?” you repeat curiously, before it clicks in your head, looking over to Sanji who is shaking his head. “Wait, your crew?”

“We’re not going to become pirates and join your crew,” Sanji states with a sigh, heading outside to lean against the deck railing. “Luffy, I told you my answer already, stop asking.”

“You? Become a pirate?” you say in disbelief, before you chuckle quietly. The last thing you’d expect for prim and proper Sanji is to become a pirate. Sure, he works alongside former pirates, but you can’t imagine himself to become one himself.

“Exactly,” Sanji answers. “And I can’t possibly leave any of them when they’re such a mess. Who knows what would happen to this damn restaurant if I did.”

Luffy pouts. “But we can go find your Blue All together!”

“The All Blue,” Sanji corrects him, and you feel your breath hitch. “And sure, but like I told you, I can’t just leave.”

“What about you?” Luffy asks, redirecting his attention to you. “Would you join my crew?”

“I can’t just become a pirate either,” you quickly say, putting your hands up as you’re put on the spot. “Sorry, Luffy. It’s not in the cards for me.”

Despite your refusals to join, he doesn’t seem that fazed, merely appearing more determined as he nods.

“Alright,” he acquieses, and before you can speak up to finally mention about lunch downstairs, something shoots out from Luffy, and you yelp at the fact that his arm stretches across the entire room, latching onto Sanji’s neck like a snake wrapped around its enemy.

“Your hand… says otherwise!” Sanji chokes out, and you’re still way too shell-shocked to even process what you’re seeing, Luffy elongated limb, stretched at least ten feet, and just inches away from your own face.

That’ll be an interesting story for you to hear over lunchtime.

By the time Luffy lets go of Sanji at the promise of food and meat, the three of you make your way downstairs. The chatter of chefs and clinking of silverware greet you upon opening the door, and as you watch Luffy bound inside with unrestrained eagerness, you reach out to Sanji, catching his sleeve between your fingers and pulling him back.

”Do… Do you really not want to go with him?” you ask. “What if it’s true? It’s… it’s your chance to go find the All Blue.”

Sanji’s gaze softens with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He knows it full well, too. 

“Just like I told him, I can’t just leave Zeff and Baratie,” he shakes his head. “And I couldn’t possibly leave when you’d still be here. How could I just pursue our dream without you, honeycomb?”

Your heart drops at the realization of it, recognizing that you’re part of the blame. The promise made when you two were children are the shackles that keep him at the Baratie, where he fights tooth and nail to cook alongside the chefs and trying desperately to show the world something new. He must see the gears turning in your head, grasping your shoulders with gentle hands, as he forced you to face him.

“You’re not stopping me from my dreams,” he reassures you, his tone gentle. “It’s our dream. I want to go find it with you, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Our dream. He says it so easily, as if it’s blatantly obvious, like pointing to the sky and calling it blue. 

Our dream, he says, knowing you’ve made your decision from an insanely sudden question. But what if you secretly want to go, too?

With another smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, he turns to head inside the restaurant, and you have no choice but to follow behind, watching as he makes his way to Luffy’s side. Said boy is currently skipping from table to table, in awe at the spread of foods that the cooks are all plating and handing off to one another.

“Where do we sit?” Luffy asks excitedly, head on a swivel as he looks left and right, licking his lips in anticipation.  

“Sit on the floor,” one of the cooks gruffs. But he turns his head to look past them, calling your name. “We got a seat for you right over here, though!” 

You share a look with Sanji, then Luffy, but you don’t make a move, frozen in place. Something's not right, and your stomach churns at their sudden coldness. 

“Honeycomb,” Sanji whispers to your side, and you frown at him, about to protest until he shakes his head. “It’s fine. Luffy and I will sit over there.”

You muster a nod, making your way towards Patty as he slides the seat back for you to sit, handing you a plate of food and a bowl of soup. He sits back down, and you watch from the corner of your eye as he clenches his hands together and he lets out a deep breath. It’s when you realize a nervous tension blankets the rest of the chefs, all glancing nervously at him as he sighs once more, before he reaches for his spoon to take a sip of the soup.

You do the same, and just as you taste the warm flavors of Sanji’s cooking, you nearly choke as Patty slams both of his hands on the table, rattling the plates and silverware as he growls in anger. “Who the hell prepared the soup this morning!?”

Sanji. Your brain supplies, because you’d know his food from the others in an instant. The way his flavors meshed and danced along your tongue, a distinct taste and scent that you can easily differentiate from the other chefs. There’s always a few differences when the others prepare it—a little too salty, a little too spicy, and in Patty’s case, a little too garlicky. But Sanji’s was always perfect.

Which is why you’re rendered speechless as Patty spits out his soup, nearly gagging as he curses. “You call this food? How can I eat this damn soup when it tastes like garbage!?”

In shock, you watch as Sanji stands, anger radiating from him in waves, growing stronger and stronger as the other chefs begin to speak up, slamming their spoons on the table and turning to Sanji in disgust. 

That can’t be right. It just can’t be. You know how much the cooks love Sanji. Despite their gruff exterior and tough love attitudes, they’ve always cared for the boy as he grew up over the years. They taught him everything he needed to become such a talented cook, and not a day goes by when they aren’t of him.

And that’s when you realize in an instant—it’s on purpose. 

It has to be. 

But why, why would they make him upset and try to drive him away—

Your eyes widen at the obvious answer.

They’re trying to make him leave.

They must have been aware of Luffy’s invitation for him to join his crew. And just as you had believed, perhaps they knew too, that it’d be best for him to leave the Baratie in search of his dreams, to grow even more as a chef. The tension simmers, even as Zeff sternly reminds Patty not to waste a drop of soup, and everyone watches with bated breath as the old man finishes the last of his own bowl.

You hold your breath as he stands, and your heart drops just as he throws the bowl to the floor, shattering it into pieces on the floor. 

“You damn geezer…” Sanji grits out, the last of his restraint gone, shattered like that damn bowl. In his rage, he quickly closes distance, grabbing onto the front of the old man’s uniform, staring at the man in vivid anger. “How is this soup different from yours? Tell me!”

“Don’t flatter yourself!”

And for the first time in your life, you watch as Zeff raises a fist, striking Sanji across the cheek. It’s hard enough to knock the boy down to the floor, and he's just as stunned, raising a hand to where he’d been hit, jaw dropped in disbelief. The other chefs don’t try to hide their shock—murmurs shaking through the entire crew. It's the first time Zeff had ever used his hands for violence; the very same hands that had taught Sanji everything since he was so young.

“It’ll be a billion years before you can give me a lecture on cooking, you little brat!” Zeff spits out, glaring down at the fallen boy. “I’m a man who has cooked on the seas all around the world.”

Silence covers the entire floor, and as Sanji gets to his feet, he clicks his tongue before turning on his heel, running out the door. Distantly, you hear him yell and curse, and you watch Zeff as he turns away from the window, closing his eyes.

“Zeff…” you murmur quietly, but you make no move to intervene. Because what he’d done is right. It’s for the better, for Sanji’s sake.

And it’s something that you can’t seem to do. All because you selfishly want him by your side.

(But what if you went with Luffy? Even if it meant treading the unknown and leaving behind everything you’ve known? If you were by Sanji’s side…)

“Say, kid,” Zeff starts, huffing as he sits down on a nearby chair. “You said you wanted a cook for your ship, right?”

Luffy nods, eating the soup using the ladle and pulling it from his mouth with a pop.

“This isn’t a favor or anything, but would you take the little brat with you to the Grand Line?” Zeff asks, staring straight at Luffy. “The Grand Line… it’s his dream.”

And then, Zeff looks at you. “I know it’s yours, too. And I can’t force you to go either, but it’d be good for the two of you to go see the world and find it together.”

It.

The All Blue.

You purse your lips together, a war of emotions raging in you. It’s all so sudden, with barely any time to consider. Leaving your home, your uncle and your fishing crew and Zeff and the Baratie, just to sail the great wide seas full of uncertainty?

It sounds too much like a risk to take, regardless of how much you want it.

But it doesn’t matter, since—

“No,” Luffy says suddenly, breaking your mental conflict in a mere instant, right before he gulps down another helping of potatoes. After seeing how much he wanted you and Sanji to join, you wonder why he suddenly seemed to change his mind, and Zeff makes a noise of disbelief, loudly echoed by the other chefs listening.

“He wants to keep working here,” Luffy explains simply, before he looks at you. “And you want to stay here, too. I won't force either of you, even though I really want you guys to join.”

You remain quiet, meeting Luffy’s gaze head-on as Zeff hums.

“So you’re saying you cannot agree to it unless the two agree themselves…” Zeff murmurs to himself. “I know you’ve made up your mind to stay, and that damn brat is an idiot he’ll never say it outright.”

“I doubt he can make a decision,” Patty jokes from beside him. “He’s too sentimental, that boy.”

As the other chefs laugh and joke, returning to enjoying Sanji’s soup, you turn to Luffy, letting the chatter drown out your own voice. You eye the open window, before lowering your head closer towards the young boy who looks to you curiously.

You’d made a decision, but…

“Luffy,” you say quietly, steadily. “Will you truly help us find the All Blue? Will you be a Captain worthy to become the King of the Pirates?”

Luffy, without a beat of hesitance, nods firmly. “I will!”

And even in your eyes, you can tell he means it. Honest to god and with absolute certainty, he believes in it like it’s one of the very truths of the world. You don't break your gaze from him, and he doesn’t falter, either.

Impulse is not familiar to you as to others. The idea of jumping into things has never appealed to you, and with a trade like yours, you’ve always learned to be cautious, to calculate the tide and the seas and to set off when it’s right and do the things as you’ve done. A routine has always led your life, a monotonous routine, brightened up by the few times you could see Sanji.

But becoming a pirate would go against all of that. You’d explore new places and fight with enemies of all kinds, you’d grow stronger and wiser and learn an infinite amount on seas you’ve never treaded on before. And the chance of finding the All Blue would grow bigger and bigger as you sailed.

Considering Luffy’s kind heart, you’d join a crew who would do good. Even if the label of ‘pirate’ is slapped onto your name, you know without a doubt that Luffy would never resort to meaningless violence and plundering. He would lead a crew that would continue to help those in need, a crew that would change the world for the better.

And you have the opportunity to join him at this very moment— the chance to change your life forever, and hopefully, by Sanji’s side.

With a deep sigh, you calm your rattled nerves, you calm your racing heart, you calm all the worries and anxieties and the “what-if’s” that pop into your head.

And you gently hold onto what you desire the most.

“Then, I’ll go with you.” It takes a bit for you to say it, for your voice to stop trembling and your resolve to power through. You mean every word.  “If it means Sanji will go, I will. I hope that’s alright with you, Captain.”

Luffy smiles, and it’s near blinding. The smile of your new captain, the smile of a boy who will become the King of the Pirates.

The smile of a boy who will help you and Sanji find your dreams of the All Blue.

Sanji buries his head into his hands, pulling his knees closer to his chest. The unlit cigarette between his lips trembles as he chokes back a sob, listening to the chef’s loud clamor, and listening to you. 

“Captain.”

For him, you’d drop everything and become a goddamn pirate. 

For him, you’d leave home to sail the ocean in search of the All Blue.

All for him. For pathetic, pitiful, lying, Black Leg Sanji.

He doesn’t deserve it by any means. 

Yet all he can do is bask in the love you hold for him, wondering what he’d done to deserve your kindness.

The cooks begin to clamor about, cleaning up their lunch and taking the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. One of them finally closes the windows, and you sigh, wondering if Sanji had heard your decision, or if he’d still been away, taking out his anger on the rubble of the deck farther away.

Either way, he still hasn’t returned, and you’re still somewhat reeling over the fact that you’d made the decision, one that you have no idea how you’ll bring up to your uncle later. 

“I’m glad you’re going to come with us,” Luffy laughs, a shi-shi-shi that you have no doubt you’ll get used to. “And that means the two of you won’t be sad!”

“Sad?”

“Yeah!” Finally, he finishes the last of his meal (and the leftovers of at least six other chefs that he’d somehow grabbed), plates left squeaky clean as he rubs his belly in satisfaction. “He would’ve been sad to leave you if you didn’t go,  and then you would’ve been sad if he went, since you love—“

You slap a hand over his mouth in panic, ignoring the way he struggles against you. “Since what!?”

He says it again, and though it’s muffled completely by your hand, you know exactly what he says against your palm. 

Since you love him.

“Oh, no, no,” you quickly deny, your heart beating faster in your chest as you grow more flustered by the second. “No. He and I? We’re just…”

You hate to say it. Close friends, best friends, childhood friends. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, when you know he’s more than that, and you want more than that with him. 

Since you love him.

And hell, it’s true. But Sanji can’t know—not when he doesn’t feel the same. Not when he kneels before other women, lavishes them in sweet words and worships them like goddesses. Not when he’ll never treat you the same like them.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids,” you respond instead. “And I want him to chase after his dream and be happy.”

Luffy blinks, and you take his sudden silence as a sign to pull your hand away. It hovers near him, just in case he says something out of line, or even worse; loudly.

“If you say so,” he answers simply to your relief. “But what about you?”

“Huh?”

“What about your dream?” Luffy asks. “You want to find the All Blue, too. But is there something more?”

“A dream…” you repeat slowly, and you feel your resolve harden. “Yes… You’re right, but…”

And for the first time in your life, you share your secret with the boy you’d just met, putting your faith into his power, his smile, and he grins.

“Good!” Luffy declares. “Then that settles it!”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, the weight off your chest. “Thank you, Luffy.”

Lunch ends with the plates nearly licked clean (courtesy of Luffy and his neverending appetite) and the cooks all chattering loudly once more, headed back into the kitchen to prepare for the evening dinner rush.

It’s also time for you to head home, too, mind scrambling for solace as you consider the words you’d told Luffy.

Your new captain.

Sanji had returned to your side just as you’d prepared to head out. Quietly, you’d let Luffy know that you’d have to head back home before you could leave with him. The boy had no complaints as long as you came back as soon as possible, and while you couldn’t quite promise him when you’d return, you let him know you could reach Sanji via snail or Doval.

As you make your way across the splintered deck with Sanji, you find yourself staring at his back, thoughts heavy and lingering on your mind. You can only think about Sanji’s words from earlier, how he can’t leave Zeff, or you, for that matter. And it’s not like you don’t understand his intentions—you share the sentiment full well with your uncle. 

But despite that, you also know it’s his dream, the one he’s been wanting since he was so young. 

“What’s wrong?” Sanji asks, peering down at you as you shake your head.

“What do you think of Luffy?” you ask, and Sanji seems a bit surprised by your sudden question, eyebrows hiking up before he hums in thought.

“Think he’s a good kid,” he answers vaguely. “Why?”

Perhaps he didn’t hear you earlier, you think to yourself, eyeing him as he faces away from you, taking out a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with practiced ease. “Just considering his offer again. Maybe… Maybe it’d be good for you. For us.”

Sanji sighs out a puff of smoke. You don’t see his eyes. “He has a foolish dream. Becoming the King of Pirates?”

A beaming smile as bright as the sun, a heart of gold brimming with kindness.

“I don't think it’s foolish,” you whisper. “Not when we dream of something just as great.”

Not when you dream of him, just out of reach from your very fingertips.

He remains quiet, back turned to you as you approach him, footsteps tapping against the wood, the same sound you’d grown up listening to. And gently, you wrap your arms around his middle, pressing against his back and leaning your head against his shoulder blades. He flinches, a soft jolt of surprise that you feel against his frame, but he makes no move to step away. 

“Sanji,” you call his name softly. “Let’s go find the All Blue, together.”

His breath hitches, and you wonder what thoughts run through his mind as he stays completely still in your hold. And then, he moves ever so slightly, and you loosen your grasp, letting him turn around to face you, before he hugs you tight into his chest, one arm around your shoulders, his hand resting against the back of your head. The scent of smoke fills your nose, mixed in with everything that’s Sanji; a melody of citrus and the sea and a hint of musk underneath it all.

“You make it hard to say no, you know,” Sanji murmurs into your hair. “Because I’d follow you anywhere.”

It’s not an answer. It’s not something you expect him to say. Yet somehow, it makes you feel as if you’re on cloud nine. There’s a fog of guilt and pity and anxiety and worry, but there’s also a glimmer of hope as you squeeze your arms tighter around him, to which he responds similarly.

After what feels like eternity, you finally force yourself to let go, letting your touch linger, as his hands do. “I want you to go. Not just because of me, but because you want to.”

“I know, honeycomb. And I do,” he admits softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. A pained smile barely reaches his lips. “I do. I just…”

He trails off, the words dying in his throat as he gazes down at you, and you offer him a reassuring smile in return. “I know. But think about it?”

He musters up a smile and a nod—a promise, and you finally tear yourself away from his gaze, preparing to set off back home. As it is, you can only wait for him to make up his mind, and you can only assume that Luffy will head out in the next few coming days, leaving you with too little time to prepare yourself. But surprisingly, you feel resolved with your fate, keeping it locked and unshaken even as you turn away from a conflicted Sanji. Like always, you go to undo the mooring line from the dock before hopping into your boat and making sure everything’s good to go. Sanji watches, and just as the engine revs to life, you raise a hand to wave, and he waves back, the trail of his cigarette smoke wafting between his fingers at the movement. 

As you turn the boat around to set sail towards home, you have no doubt he’s still watching you—just as he always does, until you’re barely a speck visible against the neverending blue. Whether out of habit or out of caution, he’d always wait and watch you sail away, up until the very last moment he can see you, before he finally heads inside himself.

But soon, if you were to live a pirate life with Sanji, you wouldn’t need to separate from him again, you wouldn’t need to say farewell every night, waiting days before the next time you’d see him. 

As you sail back, mind distracted by everything, you barely catch in the corner of your eye, something swimming incredibly fast in the opposite direction you’re headed. Something like a muffled scream reaches your ears, but it passes you in an instant, the sound growing more and more distant as it continues to zoom along.

The white and black pattern reminded you of a panshark, but you had no idea what it was holding in its mouth, and you’re pretty sure they didn’t normally scream.

Oh well. Perhaps it was on the hunt for some prey or trying to find a mate. It's the time of the year, after all. But besides that, you had bigger fish to fry, and you let the waves comfort you as you head home.

The next morning as you prepare breakfast for you and your uncle, you nervously wonder how to strike up the conversation regarding your decision. After returning home the previous night, he’d already fallen asleep on the couch, snoring to the late night show on the television snail. Quiet as a mouse, you’d snuck into your room, letting your decision simmer and keep you up late into the night, burning the midnight oil as you began to pack up a few necessities and try to figure out how you’d break the news to him before the sun rises.

But now it’s well into morning, and you have no idea how to bring it up as he reads the paper, grumbling about pirates causing trouble across the East Blue again. 

Before you can finally speak up, a peck at the window makes you bite your tongue, and both you and your uncle turn to see Doval sitting outside, perched upon the sill and waiting to be let in. You hurry to open it so he can hop inside with a satisfied hoot.

“He’s back pretty early,” your uncle comments around his mug of coffee, and you agree, until you realize a note is sticking out of his satchel, and you quickly reach for it. “Hm? Did Sanji write to you?”

You vaguely hear him, instead focused on the words inked on the paper.

My honeycomb,

By the time you get this from Doval, I’m enroute to Cocoyashi Island to go save our navigator from Arlong. Luffy believes she is not evil, and I believe so, too. There was no way she could be on their side, not when she looked so lonely when I saw her.

And afterwards… I convinced Luffy to head to Landel, to pick you up. 

I know I said I could never leave. I owe Zeff my life, I owe so much to the Baratie and all of those damn cooks. But there’s so much out in the world, the Grand Line and everything beyond it. I want to find our dream. 

Let’s go find the All Blue, you and me, together.

Yours,

Sanji

Sanji had made his choice.

It’s becoming true, it’s real. You’re going to set off into the unknown waters, adorning the name of a pirate at sea. Surprisingly, you feel rather calm for such a realization—almost numb—until you realize your uncle is still waiting for an answer. “Yeah, yeah. He just wrote to me about some stuff that happened. You know, with that chore boy and whatnot.”

Your captain, you correct yourself in your mind. Oh, how the tables have turned.

He hums, before turning back to the paper, cutting his waffles on the side as he takes big bites at a time. A nervous breath quietly escapes you—he’s not suspicious of you, good.

Your eyes trail over Sanji’s words one more time, just to make sure. The All Blue, the life of piracy, the sea, and the world well beyond your home. Just how will you break the news to your uncle, unaware of everything that’s happened in the past few days? How will you tell him that you’ll set out from home to the vast ocean in a matter of days, to become an enemy of the Marines and a criminal to many?

And of course, it comes to you in a sudden thought—one that pops into your head like a fish snagged on a hook.

Golden-Scaled Tilapia.

They're a species of fish highly raved about by anglers and cooks alike, with valuable scales that glimmer like gold and rich meat that are worth every berry of its high price. Traditionally, it’s cooked over flames with slices of pineapple stuffed into deep cuts along their bodies, with a sprig of rosemary and lavender in its mouth, said to signify protection out at sea. It’s a meal you’ve grown familiar with, enjoying it when some members of your crew who had departed to other islands and across the world, to even fellow fisherman across the island who have moved on. Without fail, they’d follow this longtime tradition of fishermen and sailors as a heartfelt farewell.

Pirates, you clarify in your head, but it’s almost the same. But it’d be perfect and proper, before you set out to the seas, across the East Blue and to the waters far beyond it.

You hurry to pull out your fishing journal and unfold your map across your desk, checking for where they should be during this season. They’re not the most common around these parts, but it’s not impossible to catch, especially when there should be some close by…

When you find your notes regarding said fish, you check the map, tracing the coordinates with your finger before you find it.

Organ Islands. Just a few miles eastward, and they should be plentiful due to their current migration season.

“Got the straws?” 

Usopp nods and salutes, holding up the nine straws in his other hand. “Yes, ma’am!”

Nami nods sharply in approval. “Ok! Everyone on deck! You know what time it is!”

You hear an audible groan, courtesy of Sanji who then mutters a few curses under his breath. At that, you offer him a small smile as you go to stand next to him, appeasing his frown in an instant. The rest of the crew follow suit, and everyone, minus a certain someone, is in a circle at the center of the deck, Usopp’s arm outstretched so the straws are in the middle. One by one, everyone reaches for one, and you reach for the one that calls to you.

Unlike the chef, who whispers prayers to not pick the one with the painted tip, you secretly hope that the one pinched between your fingers has the little stripe of red at the end.

“Alright, one, two,” Nami counts down, and everyone waits with bated breath. “Three!”

You all pull the straws from Usopp’s hand, and to your surprise—

A stripe of red paints your chosen straw.

“Looks like you’re on Zoro Retrieval Duty!” Nami announces, and everyone looks unfazed, except for Sanji who looks equally relieved and guilty at your supposed misfortune. “Try to find him before dinner, but let us know if you can’t find him by sundown!”

“No worries, Nami. It can’t be too hard to find him,” you reassure her, waving a hand. “I’ll see you guys later!”

The crew bids you off and you make your way down the gang plank to head into town. From what Chopper had told you, Zoro had gone off to explore the forest further inland, curious about what it has to offer. So, you head deeper into the town, making your way across it before entering the forest past its gates. Thankful for the temperate climate of the island, you take in a deep breath, enjoying the warm sun and the fresh air that fills your lungs. It’s a calm respite from the chaotic islands you’ve visited before, and you bask in its peace. You’re not quite sure if it will stay that way, and you keep your fingers crossed that trouble doesn’t find you.

Or perhaps, Luffy doesn’t find trouble in the next few nights you’re here.

Regardless, you take the time to traverse forest, following the dirt path as you listen for any sign of the swordsman. The trees seem endless as you continue forward, and eventually, they open up, revealing a beautiful stretch of green, speckled by a myriad of blooms and hues. It’s a perfect spot to relax, it’s a perfect spot for a daytime nap.

“Zoro!” you call out, scanning the meadow. The breeze makes the grass and flowers sway, the movement reminiscent of ocean waves that you’ve grown accustomed to in the past few years of becoming a pirate.

Still, to this day, you’re not quite sure how fate had led you here. It had never been your plan to sail the seas. Originally, you’d lived a peaceful life, studying to become a botanist and having worked in your town’s research labs for years. 

That is, until it had been taken over by your island’s government. They’d forced you into corrupt projects that went against all your morals and ethics, yet you had no choice but to lower your head and follow their orders to survive. 

For months, you had suffered quietly alongside your team, until a fateful day had arrived— the Straw Hats arrival to the island, and their rebellion against the evil ruler.

And of course, the one to save you from the lab was none other than the green-haired swordsman, Roronoa Zoro.

It had concerned you quite a bit when he had nearly led you back from the way he came—aka, where he’d burst into the lab, a hoard of guards and enemies in tow. You had to lead him out of there and back to where his crew was in the aftermath of the battle, where you were introduced to everyone.

If not for your chance meeting with Zoro that led you to meeting the infamous captain of the Straw Hats, you would never have been invited to join the crew. You couldn’t help it though– not when Luffy was about to eat one of the most lethal fruits on the island. It snowballed from there, once Luffy realized you had all sorts of plant knowledge that even Robin commended on. It was helpful for him– especially when there was so much native vegetation on the island that he didn’t recognize, but smelled absolutely heavenly.

Yes, you’ve had to stop Luffy from eating other poisonous plants that resembled grilled meat and yes, you had to do it multiple times during their stay in your hometown. 

Same with Chopper, who had nearly eaten a deadly flower that looked and smelled like cotton candy.

That alone was enough for an invitation (along with Nami and Usopp pleading you to keep the crew safe), and it’s how you find yourself as the Straw Hat’s dedicated botanist. Did pirate crews normally take in botanists? 

Well, you consider Robin’s role as the archaeologist, and realize perhaps maybe it’s fine.

But back to your current search–carefully, you trek through the meadow, you do your best to navigate around patches of dirt and grass, eyes scanning the picturesque scene until you notice something in the distance.

A hilt—three, actually, stick up from the blooms, and as you grow closer to it, you find Zoro’s swords laid against a low tree stump, their owner lying comfortably in a patch of flowers. You can’t help but chuckle at the irony of it, recognizing the blooms to be gladioli, as Zoro sleeps away unbothered on his back, hands behind his head as a makeshift pillow. 

“Zoro,” you murmur a bit quietly, crouching down next to him. “Wake up. It’s time to head back to the ship.”

At the sound of your voice, he grumbles a bit, but he cracks open his eye, blinking a few times before he focuses on you. “Oh? When’d you get here?”

You offer him a small smile. “Just now. Did you have a good nap?”

With a grunt, he sits up, yawning as he stretches his arms above his head. “Yeah. It was nice and peaceful. Couldn’t just pass up on a nice spot like this.”

“It’s perfect for you, too,” you point out, and Zoro raises an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

You gesture to the flowers that surround him, gently swaying with the breeze. “They’re gladiolus flowers,” you explain, gently caressing one of them near you. “In ancient languages, the word, gladius, means ‘little sword.’ Quite fitting for a swordsman like you to be around them, don’t you think?”

Zoro cracks a smile at that. “Guess so.”

You continue, “Warriors wore them around their necks for protection. Gently, you pick three and hold them in your hands. “They’re a symbol of strength and fierce loyalty.”

And with that, you offer them to him, holding out the bundle of flowers toward him. You watch as he sits up, eyeing them curiously until you flinch, realizing, “Sorry. This must sound quite foolish for someone like you.”

Just as you go to pull away, Zoro’s hand wraps around yours, his fingers curling around your own as he stops you. 

“‘Course not,” he mutters quietly as he takes the flowers into his own fingers. They look much smaller in his calloused hands and he peers down at them with a gentle look in his eyes. “Thanks for teaching me.”

And your heart flutters at his words. “Of course.”

The sun melts into the expanse of the ocean by the time you return to town. Strolling through the dwindling foot traffic, you diligently stick by Zoro’s side, careful to keep him on the right path. While usually annoyed when someone corrects his path, he follows your lead without complaint, letting you reach out and tug on his arm to lead him down the right way. He’d given you the flowers back to hold onto, in case the two of you were to be ambushed by enemies or bounty hunters.

You never thought he’d cared much about your ramblings or your knowledge of flowers, but something about the three little gladiolus flowers in your hands says otherwise, and you can’t help but let the warm feeling bubble inside you as you make your way back to the ship.

At one point, you realize your footsteps have lost the echo of another, and you stop immediately, realizing that his presence is nowhere to be found. You sigh—it really does only take a split second for him to sneak away somehow, and it’s rather impressive he’s able to achieve such a feat. To be fair, you shouldn’t have been so distracted over the flowers in your hands or your bubbling emotions in your chest.

Feeling just a bit embarrassed, you backtrack, making sure to check every street and crossroad in search of the man, and you even go as far as peeking into the taverns and bars you’d passed by, wondering if he was just thirsty for some sake.

As soon as you’re turning around the corner, your heart leaps up as you crash into someone—only to yelp in surprise—“Zoro!?”

He makes a startled sound, maneuvering one of his arms upwards and steadying you with his other as you barely catch yourself against him. “Shit—sorry!”

You feel yourself grow warm—while one of your hands is still clutching the small bundle of gladioli, the other is splayed across Zoro’s bare chest. Fuck, fuck, your mind is going haywire at how firm his muscles are and how warm his skin feels under your fingertips and you’re absolutely mortified at your train of thought that continues down in a spiral. 

“Where did you go?” you muster out, hoping you don’t sound frantic as you focus on the edge of his green coat and not his bare chest. He relaxes his hold on you, but makes no move to let go or step away. 

“Saw something that caught my eye,” he answers nonchalantly with a small shrug. “Didn’t think you’d come running into me.”

“Hey, I was worried you’d end up back at the meadow with that compass of yours,” you joke lightly, tapping his forehead for emphasis. Zoro chuckles, and finally, he unwinds his arm from around you, and you take a small step back. “So, did you find something?”

Zoro nods, revealing the little item of interest that he’d been holding onto this entire time. 

A small potted cactus. An Alabastan Spire, to be more specific.

“For you,” he says simply, and you shift the flowers to rest in the crook of your elbow, reaching out to accept the pot gently into your hands. 

Your eyes land on the blooming flower at the side, the light pink petals beautifully flaring out despite the long needles that surround it. 

“Why… Why a cactus?” you ask curiously, knowing your voice trembles a bit. You can’t help it—not when the botanist side of you pulls out any and all cactus related information from your brain in an instant, and the implications of it hitting you full blast. Floriography isn’t your strongest suit, but you remember some meanings well enough—including the meaning of gifting a blooming cactus. But to your surprise, a flush of pink dusts his cheeks, and as he turns his head away to avoid your gaze, you notice the tips of his ears are painted a similar hue. Your breath hitches as your heart beats faster.

“They’re resilient. Not sure if that’s what they mean or symbolize, but it made me think of you,” he answers a bit bashfully, before he musters up the courage to finally meet your eyes. “Don’t laugh.”

Rough and tough Supernova Roronoa Zoro may as well be pouting at this very moment, barely meeting your gaze with rosy cheeks, and you can't help but smile to the point your own cheeks hurt.

“I would never,” you breathe out, half in relief and half in adoration. “I love it. Thank you, Zoro.”

He perks up and grins, a beam of pride as he looks down at you. “Good. Now let’s head back. I’m starving.”

With a smooth step, he takes the gladioli from your hands, before making his way down the path. With a chuckle, you shake your head before catching up to him, slipping an arm around his and tugging him the right way back home. With your arm entwined with his, and your new little cactus in your other hand, you make your way back to the Sunny by his side.

But you’d never tell him the true meaning of giving one a blooming cactus. You’ll save him the embarrassment, but perhaps one day it’d be a humorous story to tell him.

When you open your eyes, you’re met with the snowy, snowy forest. One blanketed in a familiar white, one that makes you sick to your core.

It doesn’t make sense. It can’t be real. But it looks the exact same as it did back then. The same place you were, just moments before the bomb had gone off, nearly taking both Penguin and Shachi’s lives, thirteen years ago.

You were fourteen, the same age as Shachi, just a year younger than Penguin. surviving in a small little shack, deep in the white forests of Swallow Island. It was a little bit after running away from Shachi’s terrible relatives, you recall. You’d somehow survived for a few months or so, living off of foraged berries and edible plants while the other two hunted and fished. 

The town was just a bit away by foot, but you never dared to approach the town bathed in warmth, always hiding in the snow and forest, even when people would trek and travel to the ports a few miles away. There was no way they would welcome you back, not with what you had done, what you all had been forced to do. But the three of you had each other, and that was enough.

You remember that day clearly, the frigid cold biting your fingertips with gloves much too thin for the weather. Penguin had given you one of his scarves, wrapping it around your neck to keep you warm, and you clung onto his scent, letting it comfort you as you trudged through the snow. There wasn’t much nearby, and you’d gone deeper into the woods to find more food; herbs and mushrooms that you learned were edible from some old books that the two had gotten you.

Stolen, probably, but you knew they had no other choice—none of you did. You didn’t say anything when Penguin gave them to you, only smiling and thanking him instead. Equipped with a little woven basket, you’d set out, promising to return before nightfall.

But that never came. You never met them at sundown to cook the fish they caught or to doze off afterwards, sandwiched between them and bundled in the threaded blankets you had to share to stave off the cold. You couldn’t curl up against Penguin’s side, clinging to him as the cold storm howled in the dark night, listening to the remnants of the tiny fire crackle and fizzle out as the night stretched on.

You’re not the child you once were. 

You’re fitted in your boilersuit, you’re twenty-six, and in moments, the explosion will go off and—

BOOM!!

The tremors of the bomb shake your entire soul, making the white forest tremble. The heavy sound bellows in your ears, just like it did all those years ago, leaving behind a high pitch ring in the aftermath that pierces your head.

It fills your stomach with a familiar dread—one that you’ve never quite learned how to move past from. 

It doesn’t stop your feet from moving through, heading towards the trail of smoke that wisps upwards from the treeline ahead. The scent of gunpowder and smoke fills your nose as you near, and it’s only when you reach where your home once was that you realize—

“Penguin… Shachi…” their names leave your lips, but the scene in front of you is not as you remember it.

The boar lays dead and bloodied in the snow, and the cabin the three of you had worked so hard to build from wood and scrap is half destroyed. And in front of it all, are Penguin and Shachi, the grown-up versions of them who are pirates, your crewmates, who lay bloodied and still against the clean white of the snow. Shachi lays unmoving, surrounded by red that blossoms from his torso, and Penguin—

Your name is gasped in his voice. It’s just like back then, when he was still conscious when you found him. With shaking legs, you run to his side, falling to your knees in front of him, reaching out to cradle his head in your lap.

“Shachi… He’s…” Penguin’s voice dies as you turn to look at the redhead, buried in snow that quickly turns crimson around him. “Dead.”

His blue, blue eyes, dulling with each moment, stare up at the sky, and you grasp at his hand— his left hand—while you desperately try not to look at his detached arm just a few feet away. “He’s not—”

“You… You left us here to die,” Penguin groans, his voice broken as he tilts his head upwards. You feel your limbs lock up, fear washing over you in a cold, cold wave.

Is that what he said back then? Did he blame you?

“It’s your fault we ended up like this. It’s your fault Shachi’s dead and I’ll be dead soon.”

“No, no, no that’s not true,” you can’t help but quickly say, shaking your head as tears threaten to fall. Everything starts to blur—nothing seems real, but at the same time, you can’t deny the way the ice bites at your legs where they’re buried into the snow, the warmth of Penguin’s blood seeping through your hands. The fear you feel is the same as the one so long ago. “That’s not true, you guys are ok and—”

“Shachi’s dead,” Penguin repeats, and you finally realize his eyes, dark like the bottom of the sea, stare directly into your very soul. “You left us to die. You killed him. You killed me.”

Snow falls. Or perhaps it’s ash. Shachi’s body lies incredibly still just a few feet away.

“I didn’t, I didn’t!” you plead, holding him closer, eyes glued to where his arm is bleeding out, a crimson flow that seems endless through your fingers. “I didn’t leave—I didn’t kill you guys. Law and Bepo came and saved you and—”

“They’re not coming.”

His words cut through you like a knife. And he’s right. Law and Bepo should have been here by now. They’d arrived while Penguin was still conscious, while there was less blood splattered across the snow underneath your fingers. You remember seeing them, blurry through your tears as they stared at the scene in horror, only hesitating for a moment as you pleaded for their help through thick sobs.

But a chilling silence fills the air instead. The forest surrounding you turns dark, trees growing impossibly taller, caging you in slowly. 

You know that the forest wasn’t like this. You know Law and Bepo come, bursting through the trees and into the clearing, you know all this yet—

The memory slips away from your fingers like sand, the line between imagination and reality blurring violently. Scrambling for the truth, you rack your head for memories of the past, your crew and Law and Bepo and Penguin and Shachi and Wolf and—

Who?

Who is Wolf? What crew?

Everything turns blank.

What happened? 

Did you actually…

Panic overwhelms you in an instant—you don’t remember, you don’t remember anything. All you know is that Shachi is dead because of you, and Penguin is dying in your arms, and you can’t do anything about it. 

Had you truly killed them in the past? Could you have protected them if you were with them?

Penguin’s eyes grow dull and gray and his head lolls over your lap, his hat—his precious hat—soaking into the puddle of blood that grows and grows around you.

“Penguin…?” you whisper, your throat tight and your hands growing still. “Penguin—”

And all of a sudden, you’re surrounded by an ocean of blood red. It soaks through the legs of your own boiler suit and stains Shachi and Penguin’s white and they’re both still and dead and lying on the ground—

Their blood seeps into the fabric, an oozing warmth that makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. And suddenly, they both slowly sink into the sea of red, and your fingers barely grasp at Penguin’s boilersuit until he’s disappeared from under your very fingertips. Your hands are drenched in warm, sick red—is it Shachi’s or Penguin’s? No matter, the crimson stains your skin all the same, like a persistent reminder of your responsibility, of your failure. 

You’re alone.

You close your eyes, curling into yourself, chin digging into your chest as your fingers claw at your head—No! No, you didn’t kill them, you swear you didn’t kill them back then but—

They’re dead. They’re dead and gone and cold and lifeless and you’re alone and it’s your fault.

“No! This isn’t real!” you cry out, voice muffled as you tremble, an overwhelming grief cutting through your very being. “It’s not true, it’s not true—I didn’t mean to kill them—I—”

Something grabs your shoulders, but you can only choke on a sob that shakes your entire core, a desperate cry as white noise fills your ears. Your chest hurts, inexplicably tearing itself in half, a pain that severed anything left that was keeping you on the ground. All your thoughts are a scrambled, broken mess, as despair takes you whole, drowning you in grief.

You scream and cry, denial and pleads rushing out from your lips, apologies repeated like a desperate prayer as your voice grows hoarse and broken. 

Words can only mean so much—you have them in spades, but it won’t bring them back. It doesn’t stop you from begging and crying, more than willing to spiral into oblivion if there’s even a sliver of a chance to bring them back.

Vaguely, you hear the shape of your name, formed in his voice, and fingers dig into your arms but you just can’t help another sob that claws its way out from your chest, heaving breaths struggling to fill the air your lungs lack.

You hear your name again—loud and unshaken—words taking shape in your ears. The voice pleads, “Please, you have to snap out of it!”

You close your eyes, willing your head to stop showing you his lifeless body—his name, stitched in black, which has turned an ugly color of wine. It’s burned into your eyes, no matter how hard you will it to be erased from your very thoughts.

He’s dead and you killed him because you weren’t strong enough and you left him and Shachi to die and—

Arms surround you, pulling you into a crushing hug that makes you finally open your eyes.

He died in your arms, it can’t be. His blood stains your hands and he’s gone, he’s gone. 

But you'd recognize his scent anywhere—his comforting scent of oak and rain and home. It clears your vision, just for a moment, grounding you slightly from your descent into a winding misery.

“We’re safe, I’m here with you, I promise! You didn’t hurt me or Shachi or anyone—Please, wake up!” Penguin’s voice cuts through the silence, each word dripping with desperation that you cling to. “It’s a nightmare from a Devil Fruit. You have to fight it!”

You’re silent for a moment, letting the words sink in, bringing you out of your head, clearing away the red. He whispers your name, and you let out a trembling breath, your heart still pounding in your chest, pain keeping its thorny vines tight around your heart.

“A nightmare…?” you mutter, and he nods, arms tightening around your frame. “Penguin?”

“None of this is real.” He pulls away slightly, and you finally meet his gaze. Penguin’s eyes, like sapphires dipped into the great blue sea, stare into yours, alive and determined. The same eyes you’ve fallen in love with, that you lost yourself in during quiet nights spent in each other’s arms. “You can’t get swallowed up by it.”

His hands come up to cup your face. His thumb wipes away the tears trailing down your cheeks, and you can’t help but rest your hands over his, warmth spreading from his palms to your cold, cold skin. “It’s not real. You can fight it—I know you can. You gotta wake up, alright?”

“Penguin…” you mutter his name once more, watching as his lips curve into the same smile that he’s always given you.

“All of us are waiting for you,” he whispers. “We’re here. I’m here with you, always.”

It’s not real. It’s all just a terrible dream. Penguin and Shachi and Law and Bepo are all safe—

They’re safe. 

They’d stood by your side over the years, sailing the seas onboard the Polar Tang, growing stronger, growing older together.

With the crew, with Penguin.

They had never died in that snowy grave, they had never suffered a terrible fate from that explosion.

They were okay. They were waiting for you. 

Penguin’s body begins to fade into white, but before panic can grip you once more, you watch as all the red begins to melt away, revealing the white, white snow once more. A young Penguin and Shachi are lying upon it, and you recognize your child self, crouched in the snow beside them, begging them to wake up in broken sobs and pleads.

But footsteps approach from behind, a young Law and Bepo arriving at the scene, hurrying to the three of you, carrying your two friends towards the light, with you following close behind.

It’s as it happened before. It’s the past, playing out in front of you—of your friends being saved and alive and well.

Your vision blurs, a blinding light growing brighter and brighter, and you let it sweep you away, before everything turns dark.

Like all the air rushing back into your lungs, you find yourself awake in an instant, heart pounding fast with adrenaline and fear that makes you sit upright. A cold sweat covers your entire body, and your vision blurs as you gasp in a heaving breath.

“Penguin—“ 

“I’m here, I’m here.” He’s at your bedside, leaning over in an instant, and despite how disoriented and exhausted you feel, you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and digging your face into his chest. He welcomes it, shifting from the chair and to the edge of your bed so he can properly wrap his arms around you, rubbing soothing circles over your back. 

You murmur his name, muffled against the fabric of his boiler suit, and he leans down to whisper into your ear, I’m right here, you did it, you woke up, you’re safe, breathing in deeply, in a way that has you unconsciously following his rhythm, filling your lungs with much needed air.

Once you calm down a little, Penguin sits back, sliding his hand into yours while you lean your head against his chest, catching your breath. “Cap is here, too.”

You let out one deep breath before you lift your head, finally meeting Law’s furrowed gaze from where he’s standing near the doorway.

“Law…”

“Are you alright?” Law asks, his voice soft, though tinged with concern. He crouches next to your bedside. “There was a Devil Fruit user who had hit you with his powers. They said it would induce the victim’s worst nightmare, but it could also allow others to enter your dreams in that state.”

“So…” The words process in your head, and you look at Penguin. “Was that…”

“I was there,” Penguin reassures you softly. “You weren’t waking up so I went inside your dreams.”

That was him. Penguin was there, not the dream version of him, where he and Shachi—

It flashes in your head like a gruesome reminder, him and Shachi lying motionless on the ground. 

“If… If you hadn’t come, I don’t think I would’ve been able to wake up,” you admit honestly, voice shaking. It has all felt too real. How could you detach yourself from what could have been reality? The chill in your bones, numbness of your fingers, the warmth of their blood on your hands–

It was just like it was back then–it was almost real.

“You’re safe, now.” Penguin smiles at you, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand comfortingly. “None of it was real, alright?”

You nod, but even that small motion has your head pounding, a spike of pain making you wince.

“What’s wrong?” Law asks, noticing immediately, steely eyes peering into yours. 

“Head hurts,” you muster out, and you watch as he summons a Room, shambling some painkillers and a water bottle into his hand.

“Take these and get some rest,” he instructs you, dumping out two pills in your hand before handing you the water. “If anything feels off or you’re in pain, inform me right away.”

“I will,” you acquiesce quietly, before swallowing the pills. The water is a much needed respite for your dry throat, and you finish half the bottle before Penguin takes it to put it on your bedside table.

“Captain,” Penguin starts softly. “Could you call Shachi in for us?”

Law nods. “Rest. We’re safe now, so don’t worry about anything.” He lays a hand over yours, squeezing it reassuringly. It’s a simple gesture, but it means everything to you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and he takes his leave, the door clicking quietly behind him.

Your heart calms, and you sink deeper into Penguin’s warm, protecting arms. He’d situated himself to sit back against the wall, pulling you towards him so you were on his lap, arms wrapped around your middle. The sound of his heartbeat, soft yet constant, is a much needed reassurance.

A small knock at your door has you sitting up slowly, a quiet “come in” that you’re not sure is loud enough for him to hear. But the door opens, revealing a nervous Shachi, who looks relieved upon seeing you’re awake.

“Thank goodness, both of you are al–right!?” As he was breathing out a sigh of relief, you’d untangled yourself from Penguin, launching yourself at the redhead who’d stumbled for only a moment before steadying the both of you. His arms automatically wrap around your smaller frame, and he blinks down at you in confusion, feeling the soft trembles and your shaky breath against his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into his chest, and he holds you tighter at your words. “I’m so sorry.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and you vaguely feel Shachi lift his head– no doubt looking at Penguin. Yet he focuses on you in an instant, arms rubbing your back soothingly after his moment of shock passes.

“Everything’s ok,” Shachi reassures you gently, pulling away slightly so he can take a good look at you. His red eyes peek out from his glasses, and you take in a shaky breath once he grins, toothy and wide. He’s here, he’s alive, he’s safe. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, alright?”

It takes everything in you to not utter another apology again, and you dig your nose deeper into his boilersuit instead, tightening your arms around him as he holds you. You stay there for a few more moments, composing yourself and ready to lower the walls that have been built up in your panic. Letting out a shuddering breath, you pull away slightly, ready to speak.

“It was a nightmare of back then,” you whisper, and the two know immediately, of course. It’s always haunted you, despite escaping unscathed. “Both of you died.” 

Shachi ushers you to sit back on the bed, and Penguin pulls you into his arms once more. Your gaze flickers to the man as you melt into his hold. “It was my fault, and you blamed me. For killing both of you.”

“That’s not true,” Shachi interjects, shaking his head. His hand finds yours. “We never blamed you for what happened. Of course not.”

“I know, but whatever that Devil Fruit was…” You let out a frustrated sigh. “It messed with my head. I’m… I’m better now.”

“Regardless, it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident that we caused,” Penguin reminds you gently. “Honestly, we were both glad you weren’t there to get hurt by it.”

Shachi nods, and while you’re still not fully convinced, it’s hard to doubt them, as you meet his honest gaze behind dark frames and feel Penguin’s embrace tighten around your frame. 

They stay like that for awhile, comforting you with their words and their touches, reminding you of their presence, that they’re alive and here with you. The panic that once edged your emotions eventually retreated, leaving you exhausted. But you can think a little clearer than before, which leads to your next realization…

“Wait, how long have I been asleep for?” you ask, suddenly nervous. “It wasn’t for long, was it?”

“Just a few hours,” Shachi tells you. “It’s nighttime, right now.”

Shit. 

Sitting up slightly, you pull yourself from Penguin’s arms. “I’m supposed to be on night watch tonight—”

“Nope!” Shachi stops you with a small smile. “I’m taking care of that tonight. Just focus on getting better, alright?” 

“Shachi…”

“Your bed’s comfier than the nav room,” Shachi teases lightheartedly. “It’s fine, seriously. Tomorrow you can help me with maintenance around the ship, ‘kay?”

“Alright,” you give in, after a beat of hesitation. “Thank you, Shachi.”

He gives you a blinding grin, ruffling your hair gently. “Speaking of, I should get going for that, but you make sure to just take it easy!” His arm wraps around you in a quick squeeze before he’s heading out your door in a few long strides. 

A few moments pass before Penguin begins to move from your arms.

“I should get going, too,” Penguin sighs, untangling himself from your arms to get off your bed. “I’ll let you rest—“

You grasp onto Penguin’s sleeve—just a pinch of fabric has him freezing in his tracks as he looks to you.

“Stay with me?” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Please?”

Who is he to deny you? His heart clenches at your quiet tone, and he quickly finds himself returning to your side. “Of course.”

Instead of leaning back on your bed, you crawl under your covers, to which he joins you after shedding his boilersuit and throwing it over your chair, leaving him in a simple black tank top and boxers. The bed isn’t big by any means, so he squeezes in tight, yet comfortably by your side. It’s easy for you to nestle yourself against him, and he holds you close, sighing as you slot yourself against him, basking in your shared warmth.

“I’ll be here with you,” Penguin murmurs quietly, a hand petting your hair gently. “Sleep. I’ll protect you.”

“I’ll protect you, too…” you mumble, a wave of exhaustion hitting you suddenly, lulled by his warmth and the sound of his steady heart. “I'll get stronger so I can.”

Penguin chuckles, soft but deep. “You’re already strong.”

“Not enough,” you whisper back, so vulnerable. “I can’t lose you.”

One of Penguin’s hands comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing against the apple of your cheek. “You won’t. It's you and me, always. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

“Of course not.” You shake your head lightly. “You and me.”

“Always.” His promise is a soft whisper, before he leans down to kiss you. It's a gentle kiss, one that’s different from his playful ones—it’s a vow, engraving all of him into your very heart, making you memorize everything encompassing your lover.

He sighs against your lips as he parts, and you sink into his hold in a bliss as you catch your breath.

Just as sleep begins to take you, lips press against your forehead, a ghost of a touch that makes your heart burn like the world is on fire.

“Sleep well,” Penguin murmurs into your hair.

Apart from the days you deliver fresh stock to the Baratie, you don’t get to see Sanji for the rest of the week. Which is probably for the better nowadays in particular—you’d probably lose your mind, having to watch him ogle at women and hear him bicker constantly with Zeff and the rest of the cooks.  

(Plus, it gives you a much needed break, to silence your thoughts that seem to only revolve around him.)

Absence might make the heart grow fonder, but his constant presence at your side might make it explode.

Regardless, you’re still busy with your own responsibilities with helping your uncle. The day starts early as always—getting up before dawn and sailing towards the town port to meet with the rest of your small crew. You go over the target catches for the day, which depends on the Baratie’s orders or what’s in season to sell in town. They seldom change over the years, so it’s easy to chart a route to take before you follow it. 

As you make your way along the route, the boat drags along the trawl, the large net tossed out to capture whatever’s in its path. At each designated checkpoint, you toss crab traps into the water, marked by the large floating buoys that you’ll come by later to pick up. And in between each trap, you sit out on the deck, casting out your own line to see what you can catch. Some days you play it simple with a simple bobber and bait, other days you like to cast out one of your many lures. Usually, you manage to reel up different species that aren’t caught easily in the trawls, keeping them for dinner that night or saving them for Sanji if they’re rarer kinds of fish. 

Once quota is reached, you head back towards town, where business truly begins. The markets are busy as always, and the hours sail by as customers haggle as much as they can. You head off to go trade and bargain with the other market sellers, getting some good deals on produce and meats for the fish you’d caught, while your uncle and the crew man your usual stand at the docks.

Afterwards, you head home with your uncle, where, as usual, you’re greeted by Doval, who sits on your windowsill waiting patiently for you to let him in. He’s a small barn owl, barely the size of a cannonball, that you had found hiding away near your private dock one day, an injured wing keeping him curled up in the pile of nets and ropes thrown off to the side. While he’d been cautious of you at first, the little spark of trust he had was all it took for you to help nurse him back to health. Even as you opened the door to let him go, he insisted on staying by your side ever since, happily indulging in a warm home and the nuts and seeds you’d always offer him. Some days he’ll tag along on fishing trips out to sea, but he usually prefers to explore the island on his own, bringing back little trinkets and pebbles and shells he finds.

As soon as you open the window, he chirps in greeting as he flies around your head, perching on top of your shoulder, to which you reach up to scratch his chin.

“Hello to you, too,” you greet softly, and you let him hop off so he sits on your desk. A little satchel is slung around his body, and you reach into the pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. 

“Did he feed you more seeds?” you ask curiously, and he merely ruffles his feathers, to which more seeds shake out from the pack. With a chuckle, you gather them up in a little pile for him to peck at as you unfold the letter.

Occasionally, he’ll fly out to the Baratie—something you’d taught him not too long ago. It had taken some patience and a whole lot of seeds, but he’d finally acquiesced to finding the floating restaurant, specifically the window of Sanji’s quarters. To your surprise, he was not as friendly as he’d let on to the poor boy, immediately pecking at him during their first meeting. It was only when Sanji had fed him some grains and seeds as a peace offering that the owl had dropped all hostility in an instant. If not on top of your head, he’d find comfort upon Sanji’s, much to the boy’s dismay. But you know secretly he has a soft spot for the little owl, even going as far as to make him little snacks that fit his diet perfectly. 

Normally, you’d send him letters about anything, ranging from the day’s events, no matter how trivial they are, to ideas for recipes or even a new fish you wanted to reel up. You’d sent one last night, along with a copy of a tiramisu recipe that you’d found among the old cookbooks resting in your bookshelves. Sure, you could call him using the Transponder Snail, but you were well aware that both your uncle and Zeff had complained about how you’d hog the snails for hours on end, racking up the phone bill and being subject to endless teasing. It wasn't hard to turn to your second option of communication.

You unfold the paper, letting Doval hop to his little makeshift nest as you sit back and read Sanji’s familiar handwriting.

My honeycomb,

The cookbooks you’ve lent me have been wonderful to experiment on. If only the old man would give them a try, I think it would do him good to put something new on the menu, even if it’s just a new dessert item. I’ll make sure to get the freshest coffee beans in the next shipment so I can make a sweet treat for my even sweeter honeycomb.

Apart from that, it was another busy evening. I hope your day was as lovely as the spring blooms. Zeff received some floral arrangements to decorate the tables, and they reminded me of you. 

They’ve inspired me to try experimenting with some edible flowers. Maybe we could take a trip to the mainland together to forage for some, a nice outing with my honeycomb would lift my spirits. I think they’d pair well with some sea bass, or perhaps even some scallops, and we can use them to top the tiramisu as well. 

Perhaps we can go this coming weekend in the late morning. I can come meet you at port and we can spend some time together. I look forward to it, let me know.

Yours,

Sanji

While it’s rare, there are days he’d come to you on the mainland, on the hunt for ingredients and inspiration in your little hometown. You’d always accompany him, knowing the best vendors and farmers to do business with. He always craved your input on certain seafood dishes, while he taught you any and all sorts of cooking techniques. As mundane as it was, you always cherished these outings, basking in the normalcy as you shopped through the markets or went out into the forest to forage.

But, as you’ve gotten older, you’ve had to remind yourself more and more often that these trips weren’t dates. No matter how many times he bumps shoulders with yours, no matter how easily he puts a hand around your waist to lead you away from busy foot traffic. They’re just little outings, two close friends shopping around town or walking through the meadows and forests deeper inland to forage for wild ingredients.

They weren’t dates. Of course they weren’t.

It’s easier to tell yourself that when he flirts with any lady who passes by, fawning over her beauty with hearts in his eyes and a sweet tongue while you slip away into the crowd or to the food stall next door. 

It's not so easy when the granny at the little vegetable stand, the one who always gives Sanji a discount for sharing cooking tips and helping her with the heavier stock, coos at how you two look as a couple, you force a smile and shake your head, ignoring the bitter taste in your mouth. Sanji chuckles, before voicing similarly. 

You’re not a couple, but at least you got some fresh squash and asparagus for cheap.

He holds the groceries in one arm, persistent on not letting you carry any, while his free hand slips into yours, so you can lead him to the little bakery across the street where they serve one of the best macaroons you’ve had in your life. 

Does he also think about how your hand fits perfectly in his? Does it make him feel warm inside, just as it does for you?

You’re not a couple, but it’s hard to ignore the way his fingers tighten around yours, mimicking the feeling in your chest when he gives you a smile that makes his eyes crinkle, like he’s staring at a brilliant sun.

And when you return to the Baratie, you talk with him like you’ve known him forever, like you’re his lover and maybe something more than a friend as he cooks up dinner for the two of you to eat under the stars. And of course, it comes with dessert— the very same tiramisu he’s cooked just for you, topped with sweet nectar blooms, the same flower that he’d plucked from the meadow, tucking one behind your ear as well.

You’re not a couple, but it’s becoming harder and harder to differentiate the fine line between friends and lovers, and how part of you desperately wants the latter, as he feeds you like you’re his everything.

It’s so, so sweet, and all you can do is to indulge in your fantasies.

Sanji wonders, as he watches you sail away on your little boat across the sea of stars, if you long for him, just as he does for you. The taste of tiramisu, the sweet scent of nectar blooms, your pink lips and your serene smile.

Sleep evades him that night as he imagines you in his thoughts. Your warmth, your kindness, your smile. 

And he closes his eyes, looking forward to the next time he’ll see you again, the next time that he can slip his hand into yours.

The Baratie brings in a variety of customers. You’ve spoken to rich misters and madams, to high-ranking Marine officers, even to top-tier business owners and their partners. Usually, they offer up pleasantries and gratitude as you smile, and sometimes they even indulge you with fine tips and grand stories.

But some days, you’re greeted by unpleasant ones. Ones with too much money to flaunt, ones who have too much blood on their hands, ones where their gazes sink down a little too low. It’s the reason why Zeff never hired waitresses, knowing exactly what they could be subjected to in a place like the middle of the sea. But with your persistent offer to help and the lack of waitstaff on a regular basis, he couldn’t say no with full reservations booked out for months.

Usually, in these cases, the other waiters would notice first, making sure to take over those tables for you. It was just your luck that all of them were busy, so you have no choice but to head to the table as soon as they make eye contact with you, a duo of fishmen who have smiles that spell out nothing but trouble.

You greet them as you normally do, smiling awkwardly as one of them leans in a bit too close to you, staring at you a bit too intensely for your liking. A pit forms in your stomach, but you steel yourself and continue.

“What can I get you, sir?” you ask as politely as you can, and he grins, a cheshire grin that makes shivers run down your spine.

“You choose for me, girl,” his voice oozes disgustingly, and you feel your skin crawl as you muster a nervous laugh. “And maybe you could stay here, too.”

“I can recommend you our dinner special, sir,” you try to suggest, yet he shakes his head.

“C’mon, you’re a cute little waitress,” he coos, his buddy snickering from across the table. “Maybe once you’re done working we can grab a drink together, I’ll take you back on our ship, whaddya say?”

“No thank you,” you decline, and before you can ask them for their orders once more, a hand grips at your wrist— his claws digging into your skin, piercing it easily that makes you cry out. Any stronger, then perhaps he could break your wrist with even a little more force.

Hushed silence covers the dining floor, and you feel the burning gaze of other customers as they watch with thinly veiled curiosity. As usual, the customers always love dinner and a show, but the white hot pain that shoots up your wrist is anything but amusing.

“That’s not the right answer,” he growls, eyes flashing with vivid annoyance, but you steady your own glare, ignoring the way blood drips down your wrist. “Try again, girl.”

Before you can find your voice to demand them to leave, you feel a presence behind you appearing suddenly, a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You don’t have to look to see who it is, a familiar waft of tobacco and citrus reaching your nose.

“That’s no way to speak to a lady.”

The two fishmen click their tongues, their attention shifting away from you. As soon as his grip falters, you’re quick to pull your hand away from the man’s grasp, wincing as you cradle your wrist, stinging pain erupting from where his claws had dug in. “Huh? And who the hell are you?”

“The sous chef,” Sanji declares roughly, still balancing a plate of appetizers in his left hand while he steps in front of you. His eyes flit towards your wrist for a split second, and his glare deepens. “And I ask that you leave this restaurant for assaulting our staff.” 

“Or else what?” the fish man challenges, with a threatening glare that rivals Sanji’s. “You can’t possibly kick me out when I'm a customer–”

His words are cut off with a cry of pain, Sanji’s leg raised high to smash against his face. The fishman falls, hands grasping at the table, and only bringing the tablecloth down with him. His acquaintance quickly gets up, glaring at Sanji before he charges, yelling as he pulls his arm back to punch the blonde.

Sanji is quick to dodge the clumsy punch, lifting his leg before delivering a punishing axe kick on the man’s arm. The other, quickly getting to his feet, has no time to react as the blonde man pivots his body, aiming a roundhouse kick to his head, sending both men to the ground in a heap. The other patrons watch with surprise and fear at the sudden display of violence, hushed whispers filling the dining room as they groan painfully. 

Sanji sneers down at them, still holding the plate in his hand as he fixes the collar of his shirt. He serves them to the table next to him with an apologetic smile, before turning back to the mess at his feet.

“Get lost,” he threatens, letting the other waiters take care of them before he turns to you. “C’mon, let’s get you back in the kitchen.”

There’s still a ruckus as the waiters all grab at the fishmen to kick them out, but you eventually let him lead you back, gentle fingers wrapping around your uninjured hand as he tugs you across the dining floor, disappearing behind the kitchen doors. 

It’s not the first time something like this has happened— not when you’ve been around unruly pirates. While most of the customers seem to enjoy the bouts of violence and excitement, you were never a fan. It was always a game you hated to play, never knowing how they may react, despite your polite refusals. It’s harder when you help out as a waitress around the Baratie, where your option of fighting back is not the most professional. Sure, Zeff had told you it was alright for you to defend yourself in any case, but you always tried not to, in fear you’d damage the restaurant or ruin its reputation in any way shape or form. 

Sanji sits you down at the table at the corner of the kitchen, before he quickly gets the small first aid kit hung up on the wall. Some other chefs crowd around you, asking questions and checking in on you, but Sanji is quick to shoo them away as he gets to work. Soaking a clean rag with alcohol, he presses it to your wrist, gently whispering to you as you hiss at the sting. With deft hands, he’s quick to apply some balm, before bandaging them so they’re not too tight against your skin. Whatever he’d applied had numbed the pain a bit, and you thank him as soon as he makes sure the bandage is secure.

With one last check, he finally puts everything away and goes to put up the kit, returning with a warm steaming mug of tea that one of the cooks had prepared for you, to which you cradle in your hands. One sip, and it eases your strung-up nerves in an instant, the familiar blend of herbs and spice calming you down.

“Take as much time as you need,” he reassures you, before he gets back to work, swapping out his chef jacket to go wait your tables. You quickly grab his wrist, heart sinking to the pit of your stomach once you realize his intent, and you shake your head. 

“I’m fine,” you insist. “You don’t need to–”

“Honeycomb,” he interrupts you, squeezing your hand. “Just until everything’s in the clear. Zeff is probably still kicking them out as we speak.”

“But–”

“It’s alright,” Sanji breathes out, a small smile on his lips. “I’ll be back in here once everything’s cleaned up.”

And the words die on your lips, watching as he turns around to head out of the kitchen, leaving the vet place where he belongs. 

All because of you.

But he’s right—you take another sip of tea and let out a shuddering breath, feeling your fingers tremble lightly against the mug in your hands, the nervous jitter that continues to shake your entire frame.

Calm down, you tell yourself. You need to get back out there as soon as possible.

A few of the chefs check in on you, and after you chat a bit with Patty and Carne who reassure you with bright grins, you return to the floor once more, relieved that the two fishmen are gone, replaced by a new couple of customers who appear much friendlier than the duo. You pick up the few tables that you had, shooing away Sanji to the back, once you reassure him you’re alright, and you’re able to finish for the dinner shift without more trouble for the rest of the evening.

By the time the last of the customers leave, the cooks and waiters are cleaning up, and you find yourself at the little table in the corner once more, finally catching a break after the busy night.

As they begin to filter out, eager to rest after another long day, Sanji comes to your side, flopping onto the chair across from yours before he pulls out a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. He lights it in an instant, igniting it within cupped hands, before he takes a deep inhale, slipping the lighter back into his pocket.

“You can always kick out lowlife pirates like them,” Sanji mumbles, before exhaling, a puff of smoke dissipating around him. “You and I know full well you could’ve kicked their asses.”

You could have. 

The life of a fisherman is not as kind to you as you wish. Having to share the seas alongside pirates, you’ve had plenty of times you had to raise arms and fight. Your uncle had taught you to wield a glaive since you were young, and while you weren’t the most skilled like Marine soldiers and other pirates, you’re well aware that you can hold your own when it comes to combat.

But it’s different here, at the Baratie. Here, you’re at the customer’s beck and call. Here, is a place for those to eat, to help them if they starve. 

It’s a safe space. It should be a safe space for those who simply want to eat. There is no place for such violence here, and the last thing you want to do is taint this sacred place with spilled blood, even if the owner and chefs are former pirates themselves.

You shake your head. “I know, just don’t want to cause more trouble for you or Zeff, though.”

“Like you’d ever,” he chuckles, smoke escaping with his breath. Guilt runs through you as you watch, white wisps curl against his lips— the very ones you always wondered how they’d taste on yours.

(It’s not the first time you’ve had such thoughts—and it surely won’t be the last.)

But it will never be reciprocated, not with the way he butters up to any woman he sees. It’s something you’ve come to realize, the older you got, the more he learned how to please the ladies who walked into the Baratie.

You’ve learned how to ignore the twinge of annoyance (and jealousy, to your dismay) whenever you see him lean just a little too close to the ladies he serves. You wonder what goes on in his mind as he coos saccharine words to please them, when they’re dressed to the tens and caked with makeup that makes them look picture perfect. You wonder if he’d ever recite those words to you, even if you’re a far cry from the pampered and pretty.

Instead of smooth hands adorned with big jewels and sparkling diamonds, yours are littered with scars and calluses, and on darker days, even blood of pirates who have tried to raid your ship. Your hands, that know how to reel in a kingswordfish the size of a horse, also know how to fight a dance of death. 

They're the hands of a woman that Sanji would never want to please. Yet he scoots the chair he’s sitting in so he’s right in front of you, holding your hands gently in his own, as if they’re a treasure to him, like the most precious jewel in the whole sea.

“Does it hurt?” he asks quietly, cigarette still between his lips as he turns your wrist so your palm faces upward. His fingers trace the bandages covering them, and you fight back the shiver that threatens to crawl along your skin. 

“Not anymore.” 

Gently, he brings your hand to his lip, pressing his lips against your wrist, just below the bandages at the edge of your palm. No doubt your cheeks are flushed, maybe even to the tips of your ears, as you fight the way your body overheats and your heart pounds rapidly against your chest. 

“Zeff made sure to take care of them. They won’t be coming back.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize quietly. “I took away your time to cook since you had to cover me.”

You took away his precious opportunity to prove himself, to show Zeff and all the cooks what he’s capable of. Every moment, every dish he prepares. And just like that, you’d taken it away from him. Sure, it was only for a little bit, but you know how important it is to him.

“Never apologize,” he shakes his head. “I’m just glad you’re safe, honeycomb.”

Honeycomb.

“It’s fucking cold.”

You curse under your breath as you tug the coat tighter around your frame, burrowing your nose into the scarf that Thatch had lent you. Lucky bastard himself was cozy in the galley, probably all warmed up from cooking up dinner for the rest of the crew while you were sent out to explore the island that’s been snowed and iced over like Admiral Kuzan’s Winter Wonderland. It’ll be fun, Ace said. To tag along with everyone else.

Everyone else, also known as, your crewmates who all have incredibly strong, cold-resistant builds or powers to keep them toasty, twenty-four seven.

You glare at Marco at the front of the group, who is literally unfazed and looking all too comfortable for wearing shorts, sandals, and his usual shirt unbuttoned when it’s below freezing and blizzarding. He chuckles and shakes his head at you, as you continue to shiver lightly even with all the layers you’d managed to bundle on, teeth chattering as you sniffle. Your snot might freeze, at this rate, then you.

A sudden weight launches itself over your back, and you nearly topple forwards with a surprised noise that escapes the back of your throat. 

“It’s not that cold!” Ace exclaims from above you, and you nearly shove him off if not for the immense warmth that spreads through. Like Marco, he’s in his usual state of half-dressed, and you envy his powers that keep him unbothered by the chill. But almost immediately, your annoyance melts away, just as the chill across your body does, and Ace chuckles as he lets himself drape over your frame. 

“It’s not my fault the entire crew is as tolerant to the cold as they are to alcohol,” you snip back, glancing back at the rest of your team trudging through the snow. “Let’s go, we gotta keep up.”

He finally relents, leaning back to let you continue walking, stepping through the footsteps left by Jozu so you don’t sink into the snow any more than necessary.

Though you’re one of the newer recruits to join the crew, you found yourself by Ace’s side more times than not. You provided him the stability and strategy while he brought to you the spontaneity and the firepower (quite literally) and it didn’t take long for the two of you to click, as friends and on the battlefield as well. He’d drag you to explore and show you things he discovered, while you shared with him your knowledge and techniques you’ve gathered over the years, teaching him of cultures and history and survival tips all around. It was the perfect amount of push and pull, one that has, without fail, executed so effortlessly.

And that compatibility may have led you to harbor a slight crush on the man. It wasn’t hard to develop feelings for him when you’d been with him for all this time. He’s doted over you countless times, watching your back and looking out for you, showing you kindness that you’d never received before. 

Even now, he’d opted to walk behind you to make sure you were keeping up, offering a steady hand at your back when you faltered, and without a doubt, ready at any moment to catch you if you’d slipped or fell.

It made your heart absolutely soar. Despite the shivers that wracked your body, it felt like your heart was doing somersaults and backflips in your chest with every warm touch.

The snow howls around you—the icy winds growing thicker and thicker like a white curtain. Even with Jozu's hulking figure in front of you, his shadow begins to fade into white and gray with each step you falter, holding your ground to avoid being blown away. 

A warm hand rests against your back, and you can barely lift your head against the wind to look up at Ace.

“The storm’s getting worse,” he says, a bit more firmly with his usual cheerfulness stored away. “C’mon, get on my back. We need to catch up with them.”

Without waiting for a response, he crouches down in front of you, and you have no choice but to suck up your pride, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him pick you up. “This alright?”

Ace’s entire body radiates with heat, and you press yourself to his back, letting out a shaky sigh as you feel yourself regaining feeling in your limbs and fingers. “Yeah.”

With one last nod, he walks on. But the blizzard rages on, even more violently that has you tightening your hold on Ace, who even falters against the strong winds a couple of times. The curtain of rushing white is blinding, and you can barely tell where you’d come from and where you were headed—the stretch of snow looking the same no matter which way you looked.

He says your name—but it’s nearly lost in the wind, if not for you feeling his chest rumble. You look up to see what he’s looking at. There’s a small crevice between some jagged rocks sticking up from the ground, but it's probably big enough for you and Ace to slip inside, and take shelter from the storm. You nod, and he shifts his direction to head towards it, letting you down gently so you can slip in, before he follows. It’s big enough for both of you to be seated comfortably across from another.

“Let’s wait for the storm to die down a bit,” Ace peeks out, observing the white blur together like rushing waters. “We’ll end up lost if we keep going at this rate.”

Your teeth chatter loudly as you curl up, hugging your knees tightly to your chest as you try to warm up to no avail. Ace immediately scoots over towards you, sitting just inches away from you before he spreads his arms. “C’mere. I’ll warm you up.”

Without hesitation, you crawl onto his lap, sitting on his thighs as you wrap your arms around his middle, digging your face into his chest. The thought of you clinging to his bare top would normally make you embarrassed to hell and back, but you were too cold to dwell on that, especially when the man had offered open arms and all. And thank the Blues for him—his warmth encases you pleasantly, as Ace hugs you tightly to his chest, pulling you impossibly closer to him. Taking in a deep breath, your body relaxes, his comforting scent of smoke and cedarwood filling your nose and soothing the tension in your cold limbs.

You can’t help it as you feel your eyes close, exhaustion hitting you in an instant, but Ace squeezes you, jolting you awake and you look up to meet his gaze. “Can’t fall asleep right now. Try to stay awake with me for a little while longer, alright?”

You hum against his chest. “Sorry. It’s just… really nice.”

Ace considers a thought, before he leans over to rest his chin on top of your head. “Then let’s talk. Ask me anything.”

“What, like we’re two schoolgirls gossiping?”

Ace laughs, a pretty sound that echoes around the stone walls and drowns out the wind outside. “Yeah, sure.”

You chuckle, playing along. “Then… you think Marco will confess to his little crush anytime soon?”

Ah, yes, the new nurse that the doctor’s taken a liking to. You and Ace have pointed it out, and you’re well aware of the piling bets that have accumulated among all the Commanders. Last you heard, the pool had reached nearly a million Berry. 

Ace huffs. “I think she’ll do it first. Bet a hundred thousand Berry on it, and Izo agreed with me, so I’m pretty confident about it.”

“Maybe I should add to that pool too,” you murmur thoughtfully at the thought of free Berry. “Izo’s never wrong.”

“Exactly,” Ace agrees matter-of-factly. “But, well, what about you?”

“What about me?” you deflect, maybe a bit too hastily. But if he notices, he doesn’t point it out.

“Do you like anyone?” Ace asks, straight to the point, and you can't help but wonder what sort of expression is on his face. Because for you, you feel your heart drop to your gut—and you really hope he didn’t feel you flinch.

“You answer first,” you counter shakily, hoping he doesn’t catch your nervous tone. It takes everything in you to not blurt out his goddamn name. “And then maybe I’ll tell you.”

It’s dangerous territory, you realize. But you can’t help the nagging curiosity that’s been on your mind for quite some time, now. It's a fitting question to his little scenario, after all.

“You better keep your word, then,” Ace says, but his words hold no bite. “Well. What if I said I do?”

Ouch. You actually weren’t expecting that. It makes you wince, and you make sure to keep your head lowered, still hiding your face in his chest so he doesn’t see. Could it be you? But what if it wasn’t— what if it was someone like Tate? Or even a long lost lover, a childhood crush that never left his hold and you didn’t know about all this time? 

Realizing you’ve been quiet for a moment too long, you let out a nervous chuckle. “I mean, I’d ask who it is, but you don’t have to tell me if it’s a secret.”

Perhaps it’s better you never know, anyways. 

Ace hums in mock thought again. And just as you wait for his answer, you feel the breath escape you as his arms tighten around your frame. Slowly, he lowers his head, lips right above your ear, and you freeze as he whispers. “Let me tell you a secret, then.”

His voice drops several octaves and you suppress the shiver that runs through you at the feeling of his breath right at your ear. You’re all warmed up now—maybe on the verge of overheating, and Ace seems to know full well since he laughs, leaning back and prompting you to look up at him to meet his gaze.

“I like you too much to keep it from you anymore,” he confesses, a slight flush across his cheeks as he grins down at you. A hand comes up to cup your cheek, a warm thumb swiping over your skin as he cradles it. “I’d like to keep you in my arms like this, if you’ll let me.”

Any and all thought in your head melts in an instant, and you’re left a flustered mess once his words sink in. Ace grins even wider at your surprise, and your brain works overtime to come up with a response.

Instead, Ace just brushes your cheek again, his eyes flickering to your lips, before they meet your gaze. “What do you say?”

Unconsciously, you find yourself doing the same—eyes lingering on his pink lips that makes your heart beat faster against your ribs, heat spreading across your cheeks. Releasing the vice grip you had on Ace, you lean back a little so you can raise both hands to cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing against his freckles as you murmur his name. “Ace…”

You feel him flinch under your touch, but he smiles up at you, with a look so fond and gentle that has you nearly melting in his arms as he says your own name softly.

Mustering up all your courage, you lean down to press your lips against his, feeling his warmth overtake you entirely. You answer, slowly moving your lips against his, savoring his warmth, his taste, everything he has to offer you, just as you offer yourself to him. Affection, adoration, love, cherish. Without any words you convey it to him as the wind howls outside and the snow rages on, oblivious to you.

“Is that a yes?” Ace asks, as you part from him, a little bit breathless. “Because I sure hope it is.”

You can’t help but laugh at him at how ridiculous he is, and how he’s all yours, now.

“Of course,” you breathe out, pressing your lips against his once more. 

Blue-tipped winged grubs are the best bait for Cloudhead Carps. They’re a pain to find, though, only coming up in rain soaked dirt, blending into the damp soil. Luckily, it had poured just a few days prior, and while it took a few hours and you ruined a pair of trousers with mud stains to hell and back, you had a whole pail of them ready for this very day. 

The carps appear as they’re named, their bodies tender and fluffed all around. You haven’t had them before yourself, but from the old recipe books adorning your bookshelves, they’re well known for their flavorful and tender meat, usually seasoned with citrus and pepper and paired with red wine. During this time of year, they’re mostly found in rocky coasts, hiding away in the dark shadows and crevices and only coming out to find food or migrate at the end of the year. All in all, they’re a tricky bunch to fish up.

You gently reel your line, tugging rhythmically to coax out the puffy fish from hiding with the juicy grub at the tip of your hook. For a moment, you shift your attention to your little journal, finishing the sketch of one on a new page, before jotting down some of your observations to the side. 

“Looks like we got enough Pancake Flounders and Red Scuttlers for Baratie’s order,” your uncle yells from the deck, wiping his hands on a towel thrown over his shoulder. “Any luck on those clouds?”

“They aren’t bitin’ too much,” you answer back. You’ve caught at least two, but you wanted to try and catch a few more before the day wakes. It wouldn’t hurt to bring back a few extras. “But I want to try catching a few more, if we have the time.”

“Sure thing,” he shrugs, checking the time on his watch, a cracked old thing that you had gifted him long ago, one he refuses to replace or get fixed. It’s still a little before sunrise, and you’re not too far off from your usual route. “Let’s throw out another trawl! Anything extra you all can take home!”

The crew cheers, their spirits revived as they hoist the huge net over the boat once more. You laugh as one of the crewmen swings an arm over your shoulders, thanking you loudly for tonight’s dinner. As your uncle sets course to take a wider turn around the ocean body, you manage to snag a few more within the next half hour, relieved that there’s a good number of them to work with just as the sun begins to peek over the horizon, stretching a glittering gold across the deep blue. Rather than tossing them into the livewell with the other fish, you lean over to grab the bubble fruit, stretching it open and dumping the fish into it. After, you close it up, tying the stem into a tight knot. The fruit jiggles against the deck as it rocks with the waves, the fish floating freely within the water inside.

“Those for the little chef?” your uncle peers over your shoulder, eyeing your catch. The rest of the crew are pulling up the trawl as he speaks, and you hear them cheer over Snakefin Tuna and Kelptails. 

“Yeah,” you nod, tying the stem to the railing. “He’s been mentioning some new ideas so I figured I’d get him some while we were around here.”

“Ha!” he laughs with a wide grin. “Always helpin’ him cause trouble with ol’ Zeff. You’re half the reason he’ll lose that mustache of his in the next few years.”

“I can’t help it,” you smile back. “Not when Sanji keeps coming up with such delicious recipes.”

“No time to waste. Let’s get goin,’ then!” he calls out, and you make your way to the rest of the crew for the first delivery of the day.

The Baratie is quiet by the time you arrive, the beautiful ship floating gently under the dawn bringing sun. It’s a stark contrast from the lively nights, where the bar, snug deep inside the mouth of the fish, teems with energy and gentle lights. You spot some of the chefs outside already, moving back and forth fresh ingredients from other vendors, mostly produce and meat from the mainland that are to be used for the coming week. 

Your uncle anchors the boat onto one of the loading docks before he hurries out, meeting with one of the chefs to confirm their order. You wave at him, receiving a firm nod before he orders the rest of the men to start carrying the load in, and you take that as a sign to grab the bubble fruit, slipping into the restaurant among the busy loads of stock being brought inside.

The chefs, while busy as they count the inventory and begin prepping before the morning shift opens, still greet you with booming voices, to which you return with equal energy. Zeff waves you over from where he stands near the swinging doors to the kitchen. He greets you with a familiar smile, and you already know what that means– “Mind helping out tonight?”

“Did you fire your other waiters?” you ask in a knowing tone, to which he huffs. 

“Didn’t have the chance to when they ran out on me. Bunch of weaklings.”

You laugh. Same ol’ Zeff. “You know I’m always happy to help.”

“Thanks, little fisher,” he grins. “Lil eggplant is in the back, don’t want to keep him waiting any longer, that impatient shit.”

Despite his scowl, you know he means it like a doting father, chuckling as you wave over your shoulder before pushing through the doors to the kitchen. Immediately, you’re greeted by the bustling morning prep. Like always, you weave your way through the chefs, greeting them as you pass, until you spot a familiar head of blonde at the very back. “Sanji!”

He’s chopping up some carrots by the time he looks up to meet your gaze, his lips curling into a grin that you can’t help but return. “Honeycomb!”

You heft the bubble fruit onto the counter space in front of him, revealing it to him with open arms. “Ta-da!”

“Oh, you didn’t!” His jaw drops open, coming around the counter to examine the bubble. “Cloudheads? Caught by my sweet honeycomb herself?”

“Yup! And I expect you to let me taste test the moment doors close tonight,” you grin. “Zeff told me you guys are short on waiters again.”

“Much appreciated,” he smiles softly, a hand coming around your waist to pull you closer to his side. “I’ll make sure to repay you with a delicious meal afterwards.”

“That better include dessert,” you grin, and he mirrors it on his own lips.

“It always does,” he winks, and he lets you go, allowing you to go help your uncle unload the rest of the goods. Once it’s all done, you wave at him and the crew as they head back to the mainland for another busy day in the markets once more.

“Why don’t I prepare a small snack for you before we open?” Sanji asks, as you head towards the back table to properly set away your stuff. Your glaive sits against the wall as you place your rucksack on the table, and from the hooks of aprons and jackets, you grab your uniform, a crisp white button down with a black jacket and matching slacks. “Anything you want in particular?”

“Those crepes from last time, if it’s not too much trouble,” you give him a sheepish grin. “They were delicious.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he responds in kind, with a little flourish and bow. “Coming right up!”

You curtsy in return, playing along. “Thank you, my kind sir.”

Patty snorts from the background, muttering loudly about how insufferable the two of you are together, and as you chuckle, Sanji quips back, “There’s a reason why this crepe is for honeycomb and not you, Patty!”

It doesn’t take him long to whip it up for you, perfectly topped with fresh strawberries and cream that he presents to you as soon as you return into the kitchen, now donning your uniform. You enjoy it for as long as you can, up until the doors open, and the wave of customers, early for their reservations, begin to file in, the restaurant floor soon filled to its max capacity. You get to work, easily getting into the swing of things as the orders start to come in.

The lunch rush keeps you busy, and you take a quick break once things calm over, a period of time right before dinner for the chefs to rest and do some last minute prep once more. Sanji and you enjoy some simple sandwiches he whips up, enjoying the clear skies and warm sun as you share with him the cloudhead recipes you got from the cookbooks at home, and ideas for dishes he could make. His eyes sparkle with excitement, and it’s infectious, pulling a smile to your lips as he writes it all down into his little journal.

“Time for dinner, lovebirds!” Zeff calls out, and while Sanji sputters out a few curses to the old man, getting to his feet in an instant, you merely laugh, hoping the heat that surfaces to your cheeks isn’t too visible in the afternoon sunlight.

Zeff means well, but you only hope that one day, perhaps it’ll come true. Sanji turns around, leaning down to offer you a hand. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”

Your heart somersaults and flips as you slip your hand into his and meet his smile with one of your own.

Until then, you’re perfectly content to stay by his side just as things are.

You’re twelve by the time your uncle receives the opportunity of a lifetime. 

At the crack of dawn, you go outside to meet the postal gull, thanking it as you accept the stack of mail it has in its beak, before it flies away. As you return inside, you hand the envelopes to your uncle as he sits at the counter while you make your way back to the stove to finish up breakfast— toast and eggs, with some homemade jam that you had traded for some fish a few days ago. 

Crackle, sizzle, rip. You listen to your uncle’s grumbling from behind you, plating the eggs as he mentions something about terrible deals and bad business, until suddenly he sputters, choking on his coffee before he slams his mug onto the table. As you balance the plates on your arms while you bring them to the dining table, you merely raise an eyebrow as he stutters out something to you, coffee dripping down his chin as he gets up to go to his desk. 

“You alright?”

Your words go unheard, and he continues to ramble about so and so, his words unintelligible as he digs through the papers scattered across his desk until–”I found it!”

He nearly trips over his own feet to show you an old newspaper he’d dug up from somewhere, basically slamming it onto the table and forcing you to lean away as the plates and glass rattle across the wooden surface. It’s from a couple years back, with a headline that spells out, “Culinary Treasure of the East Blue: Welcome the Baratie!”

You have no idea what a Baratie is, and your uncle beams down at you with indescribable pride. “So? What’s a Ba-ra-tee?”

“Baratie,” your uncle corrects you, before finally taking a seat and beginning to dig into his own plate of breakfast. As he scarfs down his food, he tells you, “One of the most famous restaurants of the East Blue.”

Nibbling on some toast, you nod, not exactly understanding, but at least now you know how to say it. He doesn’t even wait for you to ask any questions, wolfing down his eggs in one gulp before hurrying back to his desk, grabbing the Transponder Snail and dialing numbers from the letter he’d received.

It chirps as the line connects after a few rings, and you listen to your uncle excitedly greet a gruff voice on the other end, talking a mile a minute as he jots down notes and numbers in his notepad to the side. You don’t pay too much attention—preferring to read through the current newspaper splayed out on the table as you continue your meal at a normal pace. Pirate drama and the like is pretty juicy, after all.

You’re finishing the last of your orange juice by the time your uncle ends the call with a triumphant grin. “Something good happened?” you ask.

“Something great,” he answers simply and vaguely, leaving you to merely wonder for the remainder of the day.

He doesn't leave you in the dark for too long, and your curiosity is satiated that next morning, where you find yourself sailing out at dawn to the middle of nowhere. Famous restaurant, your ass. You thought you’d be heading into town or sailing to one of the bigger islands around—not to the middle of nowhere!

The chill nips at your skin as you look out to the sea, waves padding against the boat as your uncle steers it. Unlike the usual mornings where he gathers up the crew, it’s just you and him, surrounded by deep endless blue.

“It’s one of the biggest contracts we’ll have,” your uncle explains gruffly, knowing most of the details will be lost on you. “They want our fish, we’ll give it to them for good money.”

Simple enough. 

Most of your business was done in the outdoor markets of Seaside Village, famous for the largest selection of fish and produce. Located on Landel Island, just east of the Gecko Islands, you’ve grown up in the busy streets of the maritime town, where the livelihood of many of the villagers, yours included, depended on fishing. Selling and trading your catch was enough—not plenty, but enough for the two of you to get by with a roof over your head and food on the table. But it’s hard when everyone else and their mother did the same thing.

And at the very least, you know that this opportunity puts you above so many others, and that’s obviously a good thing.

Your uncle barks a laugh, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts, eyes landing on the speck in the blue distance ahead. Between the seam of sea and sky, you spot a ship that simply floats on the water's surface. In the shape of a fish, it sails with no direction, resting like a place for weary sailors to go. It’s a peculiar design, one that you’ve never seen before, but you recognize it instantly from the photos in the newspapers. 

The floating restaurant, Baratie, in all its glory, greets you with its open mouth. Your uncle steers the boat to dock at the entrance, and after he ties it up, you follow him to the front door, wondering just how such a famous restaurant could operate in the middle of the ocean.

As soon as you enter, you’re greeted by an elegant restaurant floor, much more upscale and sophisticated than you ever imagined. Smooth mahogany surrounds you for a comforting vibe, illuminated by warm candlelights, a striped floor of black and white under your feet as you enter. There’s a tall man with a goatee, wide shoulders, and muscular forearms standing at the front, chatting with a much smaller man, but is quick to see you two enter. With a few steps, he greets you both, introducing himself as the head pâtissier, Patty. He offers your uncle a firm handshake, before he turns to you with a small smile and greeting, to which you return quietly.

“Don’t make too much trouble,” your uncle says softly, his hand ruffling your hair gently. “Go fish out on the docks or somethin,’ alright?”

You nod quietly, before he turns to follow the man, disappearing up the stairs and into what you assume is the chef’s office. The host who he was talking to bows in greeting, offering you a small nod as you head outside once more, and you return to the boat to retrieve your rod and net, before settling onto the edge of one of the empty docks. You’re not quite sure what’s around, but you use a simple lure, casting it far before you reel it in. It comes to you naturally, as if you’re breathing, the small jigs and pauses, the way you imagine the lure moving under the water, swimming prey to the other fish.

The waves lap at the dock, and you embrace the ocean’s calm, surrounded by blue that stretches as far as the eye can see. 

“Who are you?” A young voice calls out from behind you, and you slowly turn to meet the gaze of a young boy, probably the same age as you, as he looks down at you with a raised, and to your surprise, curled, eyebrow. 

Before you can answer, you feel the telltale tug on your rod, and you quickly avert your attention to it. It’s not a small one by the way it yanks heavily on your rod, and you let it pull, keeping the line taut as it fights. The moment it slows, you reel in, repeating the process until you see it under the water’s surface, tired as it gets pulled higher. With the net at your side, you easily scoop it up once it’s in arm's reach, before plopping it on to the deck, letting it flop energetically on the wood.

It’s a Honeycomb Halibut— a sizable one, at that. Its dark golden scales reflect against the sunlight, thin wings sprouting from its back, similar to that of a honeybee, and the boy voices it, identifying the fish to which you confirm with a nod.

“I’m surprised you recognize it,” you comment offhandedly. 

“Of course.” He turns his nose up. “I’m a chef, after all.”

“You? A chef?” you ask incredulously. “You’re just a kid.”

“So are you,” he bites back, and you can’t help the annoyance that bubbles up in you. Titles like ‘chef’ are for the muscular man dressed like one, not for snotty kids who act like they know everything.

“If you’re a chef like you say you are, then prove it!” you point at the fish still flopping around at your feet. “Cook me something with it.”

 “Fine!” Sanji rolls up his sleeves, before crouching down to pick up the fish by the tail. “C’mon, I’ll make you the best food you’ve ever had.”

He leads you back into the restaurant, with you trailing close behind, until he slips into the kitchen, stopping you in your tracks. Stay out of trouble, your uncle had said, and you bite your lip as you eye the doors definitely meant for chefs and waiters to pass through. It surely wouldn’t do your uncle well if you were found lurking around in the very kitchen of the famed restaurant, not when he’s making negotiations at the very moment. 

“Aren’t you coming?” The boy pokes his head out the swinging doors with a frown, and you hesitate. Your inner conflict must be clearly visible, and he merely raises an eyebrow, before he grabs your hand with his free one, tugging you along as he uses his shoulder to push open the swinging doors. Before you can retort or yank your hand from his grip, you’re immediately bombarded by the energy of the chefs, all sorts of scents and sounds bombarding you in an instant.

The boy is unfazed, easily weaving his way around the chefs to the end of the workstation, an empty counter where he makes himself at home. He lets go of your hand to pull out a stool for you, setting it on the other side of the counter he’s set up, before he goes to wash his hands and prep the fish you had caught. Immediately, you’re intrigued by the steps he takes, recognizing the method as ikejime, something your uncle had taught you early on to prepare fish so they’re at optimal freshness.  

You want to watch his technique up close, but you find yourself slowly inching away, nervously backing away from the counters.  With every curious glance from the cooks around you, you lean further back as if you could melt into the walls, feeling more and more out of place as the cooks bustle around, busy with their morning prep.

“You can come sit here if you want,” the boy calls suddenly, gesturing to the stool, but refusing to meet your eyes. “You don’t have to just stand over there.”

Hesitantly, you make your way closer to the counter, and when he nods, you climb up onto the stool. He had already bled and removed the spinal cord, before tossing the fish into the large bin of ice, letting it bleed.  You watch him weave through the other chefs, gathering herbs and spices in his arms before getting to work on the seasoning. Once done, he sets them aside, before returning with the bled out fish, beginning to prepare it. All that exudes from him is confidence as he holds the knife, expertly cutting away at the fish until a small filet is left, the rest stored away in the walk-in freezer nearby. The filet itself doesn’t look like a normal fish–the honeycomb texture, hence the name, makes it quite fragile, yet the boy handles it with ease, seasoning it, with a mix of spices he pulls out without a second thought, before gently drizzling it with a mix of olive oil and honey. 

“So, halibut girl, what brings you here anyways?” the boy asks, and you can’t help but glare at him.

“Halibut girl?” you question, pointing at yourself. 

“Don’t know what else to call you,” he shrugs, nodding to the filet that he begins to sear on the pan. You finally give him your name, and he tests it on his tongue in a soft voice. “Well, you’re still a halibut girl.”

You roll your eyes. Stubborn. “What about you, you stupid cook?” 

“It’s Sanji,” he answers simply. “A damn good cook, if you ask me.”

“We’ll see about that when you’re done.”

But honestly, with how skillful his hands are and the confidence he exudes as he navigates around the kitchen, you have no doubt he’s true to his word. Sure, you may know how to gut a fish and tie any kind of knot on the fly, but the way Sanji moves is entirely different— much more graceful and beautiful than you could ever dream of doing yourself.

When he pauses for a second, you finally snap out of your stupor, meeting his gaze with a waiting look, and you realize you hadn’t answered his initial question. It's not like you’re a customer, and you surely looked out of place, alone on their docks, fishing as the sun rose.

“I fish with my uncle,” you explain briefly. “I think he’s making a deal with the owner to sell fresh fish to your restaurant.”

He hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t comment on it, instead focusing on putting the final touches on the dish before he slides it in front of you. It’s a beautiful thing, even to someone like you, who doesn’t know the first thing about cooking, other than the simplest meals you’ve learned to cook with your catch. 

The honeyed glaze is absolutely divine—a rich flavor that melts sweet into savory. Coupled with the interesting texture of the filet, it takes everything in you to chew slowly as you meet Sanji’s expecting gaze.

“Well, how is it?” he asks. “Told you I’m a chef.”

“The best!” you exclaim, making him jump slightly. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever had!

His surprise is quick to morph into pride, and he beams at your praise, his smile wide as he watches you take a bite, then another.

“What are you doing?” A gruff voice echoes, and you see a man with a long braided mustache with the tallest chef’s hat you’ve ever seen. Not a moment later, you glance down to see his peg-leg tapping against the wooden floor as he enters the kitchen. Behind him, your uncle follows, eyes immediately landing on you before glancing at Sanji and the food laid out.

“Needed to prove to the halibut girl that I’m a good chef,” Sanji answers as if obvious, but Zeff clicks his tongue, visibly angry as he approaches the boy.

“What did I tell you about treating ladies?” Zeff yells, forcing Sanji to bow his head as he faces you. “Don’t call them by such rude names! Now apologize to the young lass, this instant!”

Sanji roughly pushes Zeff’s hand away, fixing his hair before he turns to you with an embarrassed frown.

“I’m sorry…” he murmurs, pink tinting his cheeks. “For calling you ‘halibut girl.’”

It surprises you— it’s not like you haven’t dealt with rowdy boys, having grown up in a village like yours. But for the most part, their teases and jabs were always something you learned to push aside or spit back with your own. Despite him being forced into an apology, you can tell he means it, by the way he looks regretful. 

“It’s… okay,” you mumble in response, watching your uncle nod from behind Zeff. “And… your cooking is really good. You’re not a stupid cook.”

Sanji puffs out his chest a little at that, a little grin soon appearing on his lips.

Zeff crouches down, offering a hand as he says your name. “So you’re his niece, huh?”

You take it— it’s scarred and rough against yours, but you squeeze it all the same, shaking it twice, just as you see your uncle do when doing business. “Yes, sir.”

He eyes you, before his gaze trails up to your half eaten plate, and then he laughs, a hearty belly laugh that makes you ease up. “I look forward to cookin’ your catches, lass.”

You turn to your uncle. “Does that mean…”

“We’re officially suppliers for the Baratie!” your uncle declares happily, throwing up a thumbs-up. “Any and all seafood orders, we’ll make sure to fulfill.”

Zeff chuckles from beside him, before turning to the rest of his kitchen as he speaks up. “We’ll be getting some of the most high-quality fish from these guys, so treat them well!”

“Yes, sir!” They echo back, throwing in their own greetings and gratitude to you and your uncle. Once more introductions are tossed around, it’s time for you to head back to do a round of fishing for the evening. 

Your uncle expresses his gratitude once more, and while you’re led out to the deck with him by your side, Sanji stops you halfway, running up to you as you tilt your head curiously. There’s a nervous frown on his lips and he looks at his shoes before he musters up the courage to glance up at you with a hopeful sparkle in his eyes.

“I’ll see you later, honeycomb.”

It’s not rare for wanderlust to hit the crew, and the moment the Polar Tang docks on the unassuming island, Law finds himself at the front of the deck, looking at his crew. There’s a buzz of energy that jumps between them, a wave of eagerness that splits their attention away from their captain. He pays it no mind, though, knowing his crew will be responsible like always.

“As usual, don’t cause trouble, and fulfill your assignments before sundown.” Law’s gaze shifts from crewmate to crewmate. “I’ll remain on the ship, so draw one less for those assigned to stay here.”

It’s the system they’ve established for fairness— and while exceptions were made occasionally, they stuck to it quite well for each island they’ve docked at. Ikkaku holds the straws in her hand, and she grins at you as you take your sweet time debating which to pick. And to your luck, you pick the straw without the red-colored end—the sign that one will stay on deck while everyone else gets to traverse the new town. Penguin, Shachi, and you share a high-five, cheering, “Time to explore!”

Quick to call your assignments, the three of you volunteer for crewmate restock duty— compiling a list of necessities each crewmate needed, or as a collective whole for the Tang. More toilet paper for the bathrooms, extra hair clips for Ikkaku, some fabric for Kurage and yarn for Jean Bart. And of course, you have to ask your dearest captain for any requests– though, you already know what to search for. Still, before the three of you depart, you catch Law before he can return to his office, with plenty of work to be done while he remains on board.

“Any personal requests for the Captain?” you ask, grinning to him as he sighs. “Maybe any rare-looking coins I happen to come across? To finish your Alabastan set? Or perhaps a new collectible coin I happen to find?”

Law smiles—one that’s reserved for you, a small one that barely lifts the corner of his lips, but reaches his eyes with a gentle look. “Don’t spend any crew funds for that.”

“I would never!” But you know he means it in jest, and you chuckle as he shakes his head at you in a fond manner. “But I’ll do my best to find you something new, my darling Captain.”

While you’re no collector yourself, you’d always indulged the hobby by Law’s side, helping him find many for his collection, both now and years ago.

Ever since you were children, you’d search through your piggy banks and whatever spare change you’d come across to expand his collection. And after setting sail, you’d helped rekindle the hobby, fanning the flames to let his interest burn brightly once more.

While it was a source of grief, at first, reminding him of your shared childhood in Flevance, the days you and he would scour old antique shops and marketplaces to find pieces he did not have, he’d found joy in it once again, finding unique kinds all across the North Blue, early on in your pirate career. The moment you’d caught him peering curiously at an array of coins displayed at an antique stand, you didn’t hesitate to encourage him in his little hobby once more. It’s not something he boasts to anyone other than you, but when there’s time to spare, you’ll always tag along to find him more for his collection, especially with how many kinds exist along the Grand Line.

He chuckles, with a small smile on his lips as he leans down to press a soft kiss on your forehead. “Stay safe. And keep those two in check for me.”

“Will do!” You salute, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his lips, before turning on your heel to head back out towards deck to catch up to the duo— knowing full well they’ll tease you for taking your sweet time.

A few playful jabs and eyerolls later, you find yourself deep in the city alongside Penguin and Shachi. The markets are bustling even in the midday, and the three of you take your time to peruse all the local specialties the town has to offer. You munch on a sweet crepe from one of the food stands, topped with cream and fresh strawberries and honey, while Penguin nibbles on some fried fish, Shachi sneaking bites of it when he can.

Once your appetites have been satiated, you start going down the list, picking up items and haggling as much as you can with the stall owners for whatever possible discount. For the most part, the salespeople are decent, if not kind to you—business is business, after all, even if you all don the jolly roger of one of the more notorious pirate crews on the Grand Line. The time flows by smoothly, with more bags hanging off the boys’ arms as you go down the list. With just a few things left, you separate from the two as they’re arguing with a persistent old lady, who was definitely upcharging them for being “troublemakers.” 

You weren’t going to stick around for that—they can deal with her and whatever imaginary tax she was trying to slap on the price.

Instead, you make your way down the street, eyeing the outside displays and exploring what the town has to offer. It’s a peaceful town, one that doesn’t boast any strange or unique features as the people live on happily.

You wander into a strange storefront, decorated with, well, everything. From tin cans lining the windowsill to beads hung up in the doorway, a strong scent of incense barraging your nose as you step inside. It’s like a collector’s paradise, or perhaps a hoarder’s backroom. Vials of liquids and antiques and stones, bottle caps and knick knacks, trinkets galore. It’s definitely a bit messier than you expected, with barely enough space for you to walk inside.

“Hello?” you greet hesitantly, walking up to the counter. There’s no one there, but you eye the glass displays, searching through the piles upon piles of items squished inside until your eyes land upon—

You freeze.

A set of Flevance-issued Berry. They sit nestled in a small box, placed on a velvet cushion in pristine condition—all six of them—the one, five, ten, fifty, hundred, and five-hundred.

You’d recognize the designs of them anywhere, depicting the white angels and cross of Flevance churches, the pickaxes symbolizing miner’s pride, the shape of the citadel, all pressed into the metal—the very same metal that’s laced with the poison that ruined your life. 

Your home, your past— you remember these very coins between your fingertips. The very same coins you’d tossed into the white fountains, wishing for trivial things with a less enthusiastic Law by your side. You’d drop them into your piggy bank, or you’d gather up all your spare change to buy the new volume of Sora to read with Law the following day. You had no idea that even these coins held the amber lead that seeped into your blood and bones.

And once you fled your hometown, you’d never seen them afterwards—left behind like everything else. Not a single penny left in your pockets as you buried yourselves in corpses and rot. Slowly, the international  Berry became familiar to your hands.

“Welcome in,” a voice greets you, slow and calculating, and you turn to see an old lady walk out from the back, a cane in her hand as she approaches you. “Anything caught your eye? I have a wonderful collection, as you can see.”

“This set of coins.” You point into the case, throat dry and fingers trembling. “How much for them?”

She follows your finger, squinting. “Ah, those Flevance ones? How about fifty-thousand Berry? They’re the last of their kind, most certainly.”

You stop yourself from wincing. It’s understandable, considering the rarity and value of the coins from a land that’s no more. But it’s the first time you’ve seen them since the day Flevance burned, its existence erased from history and the world. You don’t hesitate to nod. Hell, you would have bought them regardless of the price. “I’ll take them.”

She gives you a look, before she smiles, one that stretches across her face with missing teeth. “Gladly.”

As you pay her (from your own funds, of course), you watch with a nervous air as she pulls it out from the display case, accepting the Berry before sliding the wooden box towards you. You accept it carefully, a strange sense of relief filling you, like finally reuniting a part of home that’s been torn away from you.

“Are you a collector yourself?” she asks, but her eyes are focused on counting the bills between her bony fingers. You shake your head.

“Oh, not me. My… friend is quite fond of coins, though.” 

She chuckles, her eyes staring deep into your own with unbridled curiosity. “A friend? Quite sweet of you, my girl. Why don’t I give you a little something for them? Consider it a service.” 

Her fingers trace the wood of the shelves until she plucks out a little ball from a drawer on the wall. It’s barely larger than a marble, glittering with something that flows gently inside.

“What… What is it?” you ask suspiciously, but you accept it from her, letting it roll onto your palm as you peer into it. It’s… mesmerizing. Something swirls inside that makes you feel strangely nostalgic, as if it’s a word that’s on the tip of your tongue.. “Ma’am—“

When you look up, she’s gone, and your heart nearly leaps out from your chest when you realize she’d vanished from her spot right in front of you. You hadn’t heard her walk away, and the beads covering the doorway to the back where she had come from earlier are completely still. Even one glimpse with your haki had told you that you were alone.

She had vanished into thin air without any trace.

A bit shaken, you take that as your sign to leave with a quiet thank-you. Something jolts inside you the moment you step outside, and you blink, curling your fingers and flexing your legs experimentally. That was odd…

But you’re glad about the coins, checking to see them safely nestled inside your bag. While it isn’t the happiest gift, moreso a grim reminder, you have no doubt that Law will appreciate a little part of home.

“Hey! There you are!” A voice pulls you out of your stupor, and you look up to see Penguin and Shachi wave towards you at the end of the street. Their arms are full of paper bags, filled to the brim with all the things you’d gotten. You quickly make your way towards them. “Where have you been? We finished the list while you went off and disappeared!”

Shit, had it really been that long? 

“Sorry! I was just looking at that antique shop over there,” you say, pointing over your shoulder. “The owner was kind of… weird. But I scored big!”

“Antique store?” Shachi repeats, looking over to where you’re pointing. “What are you talking about?”

“Huh?” You blink at their confusion. “That one, right over… what…?”

There's no way…

The strange storefront is gone, and in its place is an empty building, a for-sale sign plastered on the open window, absolutely nothing adorning the space inside. It’s all white space—a stark contrast to the hoarders paradise you’d seen before. Disbelief and panic grip at your throat and you’re quick to rifle through your bag, finding the case of coins and opening it—all six are still there. 

“I got these,” you say in disbelief, showing the two. “They… they’re Flevance coins. They’re just as I remember them, I don’t—“

You’re staring at the empty shop, thinking back to every moment you can play back in your head. Sure, the old lady was strange and you felt a weird vibe from her, but how could an entire store just up and disappear? 

Did she have a Devil Fruit? One that let her manipulate space and herself? If not a Devil Fruit, then who the hell was she?

“Are you alright?” Penguin asks in concern, shifting the bags in his arms to get a better look at you. “Maybe we should head back to the ship. You don’t look too hot.”

Shachi, on the other hand, is focused on the case, wide eyes examining the coins from behind his shades. “Holy shit. Flevance? You said you got these from that, well, what shop?”

“I’m telling you! It was there! Some old lady was there and she had all this shit in that building!” you exclaim, realizing you probably sound insane as shit because no matter how many times you blink, the storefront is empty. And the lady disappeared in front of your eyes right after she gave you the coins and—

Wait— you still have the marble, too, right?

You dig through the pocket of your boilersuit, pulling out the marble, but as you pinch it between your fingers, it suddenly explodes into a puff of smoke—

“What the—“

Vaguely, you hear Shachi and Penguin shout your name, but it’s the last thing you hear as black fills your vision.

“Captain! Captain!” 

Bepo bursts into his office with no warning, which is a rare occasion. Even in most urgent matters, the navigator would always knock, nearly flinging the door off its hinges the moment Law answers.

“Bepo?” Law stands, Bepo’s apparent panic quickly seeping its way into his own bones. “What’s wrong?”

He blubbers and points towards the hall before he shakes his head, finally clearing away the words jumbled on his tongue. Law’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach when the mink mentions your name—“Something happened to her!”

Law’s moving in an instant, grabbing Kikoku and hurrying to the door, steps quick and heavy as he follows Bepo towards the deck. Concern fills him, the lack of context or details making him cycle through any and all worst-case scenarios. His powers are at ready, to summon a Room and Shambles him and you to the medbay if necessary. Bepo’s words give him no context as to what state you’re in, and all he can do is prepare—mentally cataloguing every procedure in his head in a speedrun review, recalling where every piece of equipment is for him to set up and begin at any moment's notice. 

There’s yelling on deck that catches Law’s attention the closer he gets, and it’s enough to make his pace speed up, hurtling past the mink and nearly slamming open the door of the Tang as bright sunlight nearly blinds him for a moment.

Most of the crew is already crowded around, but they’re quick to part as Law approaches, and between Shachi and Penguin’s frames, he finds—

You. 

His heart stops.

Little, child, eight year old you. 

The you with white littering your cheeks, nearly engulfed in your boiler suit as tears trail down your cheeks, little pained sobs escaping you. Panic and fear lace your cries, and it stabs Law deep in his chest with every noise and breath that escapes you.

Penguin whispers to you, sweet-nothings and cooing that does little to calm you down, while Shachi watches with a mix of fear and uncertainty, hat clenched in his hand as the other runs through his rust-colored hair. 

“What happened?” Law snaps, tone harsh and sharp. Shachi flinches, quick to throw the hat back on his head as he turns to face Law.

“We—We’re not sure,” he admits. “She stopped by some antique store that, uh, disappeared? But she said she got something from there and it popped in her face and there was all this smoke—“

“And then next thing we knew, she turned into a kid,” Penguin finishes. He’s crouched down next to her, an arm hovering around her frame. “It… It doesn’t seem like she has any memories of us, but—“

The sound of your cries cuts through Law, shaking his entire being as he stares at you—the you that he remembers standing beside all those years ago. The you who watched beside him as Flevance burned, the you who had lost Corazon with him, the you that trusted Law with his shaky hands to take away the disease that plagued you so.

A myriad of emotions well up in him, sending him into a spiral that both overwhelms and numbs him simultaneously, muddying all of his thoughts and taking away all the words lodged in his throat. 

No longer is he twenty-six, the captain of the Heart Pirates and a fearsome foe across the seas.

He’s little, nine year old Law, who prayed desperately to the white angels for hope and salvation.

Law’s eyes trace the white across your skin, the same wretched pattern as he’d remembered it. The memory of it had begun to blur in his head, time dulling the clear image that once haunted him.

But now he sees you with it vividly, the edges of white sharp and definitive, amber lead plaguing him once again, refusing to loosen her hold on his entire being. His past wasn’t enough, it seems—she wanted to take over his present, and perhaps his future, too. A disease that should have been gone for good, purged from the world by the government. White, white, a pure white turned so evil, so terrible—

“Captain,” Penguin says firmly, and Law snaps out of it, looking at his first mate. His lips are pressed in a thin line, and his eyes shine with determination under the brim of his hat. “She needs you.”

Law swallows the lump in his throat, and he nods, and Penguin stares at him for a moment longer before he lowers his head, catching your attention and whispering to you softly as he points up towards Law. “Hey, look. I think you might know him.”

For the first time, you seem to register what Penguin says, stifling your cries and looking at the man with teary eyes. Another sniffle escapes you, but you hold it in as you follow his finger and meet Law’s gaze. 

It’s as if time stands still—for a moment you stare quietly, eyes picking apart at Law’s appearance and his very soul. He can only wonder if you’ll recognize him, and to his surprise, he sees a flash of something in your eyes as they widen in recognition, and his heart soars until it stills in midair and—

“Uncle?” you whisper, eyes lighting up. You stumble in your boilersuit that drags behind you, and you nearly fall, Law crouching down to catch your shoulders in time. You choke on a sob that sends another wave of tears trailing down your cheeks. “Uncle Tora…”

Law feels all the air in his lungs disappear as he stares down at you. 

Uncle Tora. 

Doctor Trafalgar.

His father. 

It shakes him to his very core, and he swears something cracks inside him—his heart aching in a way that no words can describe. Because, fuck.

His father. You think he’s his father— the man he looked up to his entire life, his role model, everything that had inspired him to become a great doctor.

And you saw him in Law.

The realization settles heavily in his chest, a weight that presses down on his heart, rendering him absolutely speechless. He may as well be tossed into the sea, rendered powerless and frozen in the water’s grasp. Every thought and reason has disappeared from his very mind, gone is his usual collected nature, and all that’s left is a little boy that has lost his home with you.

Your face falls at the lack of his response, little hands clutching onto his sleeve. “Uncle Tora…?” 

Law inhales—oxygen finally filling his lungs and reaching his brain. This is no time for him to break down, especially not in front of you. With a slow exhale, he closes his eyes, and finally musters up enough courage to shake his head. Slowly, steadily, as if he’ll scare you with any sudden movements, he lowers himself to the ground, gathering you up in his arms to pick you up. You let him, but he feels you freeze as he wraps his arms around your frame. You’re so incredibly small, even with the thick fabric of your boiler suit engulfing your entire body.

“It’s me,” he says softly, searching your eyes for any ounce of recognition. “It’s Law.”

“Law…?” Your gaze doesn’t waver, eyes widening as you look into his own before you search his face. “Law?”

His crew is quiet. Most of them are confused, unaware of the gravity of the situation. Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin, on the other hand—it had clicked for them the moment they saw white. They recognize the shadows that cross their captain—their best friend’s eyes, the way that hurt stretches throughout his entire face. They know your tale, they’ve etched it into memory, since that very night you two had finally opened up about your origins. 

Law whispers your name. “It’s alright, I’ll keep you safe.”

It’s a promise that he intends to keep, even after he helps you get back to normal.

First things first is to get you proper clothes. Penguin and Shachi are quick to head back into town to get some things that will fit your tiny form. In the meantime, you calm down in Law’s arms, letting him hold you quietly as you find solace in the small medbay of the Tang. While you’re still weary of the crew, Bepo seems to be the only exception— his soft white fur comforting you while you wait for the two to return.

“Are you sure it’s ok for me to touch you?” you ask quietly. You’re seated on Law’s lap, wide eyes staring at Bepo’s crouched form in front of you. “If you don’t want me to touch you, I understand.”

Law feels his heart caving in on itself as he sees you curl in against his chest, as if trying to escape the mink’s gaze. Bepo notices immediately, lowering his head further to reassure you with a smile, and you hesitantly reach out to pat his head, pleased by his soft fur under your fingertips.

“See? Everything’s ok!” Bepo grins, and you can’t help but smile back, running your fingers through his fur. Law’s heart aches at the fear that grips you tightly. He’d nearly forgotten how withdrawn and quiet you were as the white traversed widely across your skin, the curses and fear thrown your way making you hide away even further into your shell. It was a stark contrast from Law’s own response– one full of bitterness and revenge. Your voice, like a whisper, asks curiously if he’s truly a mink, and Law’s relieved to watch as your curiosity blooms as your confidence.

The moment that Shachi and Penguin return, Ikkaku helps you change, making sure you’re comfortable before she takes her leave, so Law can give you a checkup. He opts to sit on the chair, making sure he’s looking up at you while you’re seated on top of the exam table. Last thing he wants to do is scare you with his much larger frame looming over yours. This way, you’ll have a little bit of reassurance, maybe.

Truth be told, you were both the same height around that age—you even had an inch or two above him at one point, to your delight. It was when he and you found home and solace on Swallow Island and you weren’t constantly surviving or fighting that he’d finally hit a much needed growth spurt for the rest of his teenage years.

But here you were, oh-so small, in Law’s towering presence.

He’s gentle with each step, praising you for doing so well as he checks over your vitals. And you watch with beaming curiosity as he handles the equipment with ease, but your eyes stay on his face, for the majority of the time. It makes Law self conscious, but he has no doubt what you’re searching for.

“You don’t have it,” you say quietly, small hands reaching out to touch Law’s cheeks. They barely brush against his skin until you pull back, scared. “Are you really Law?”

His hand reaches up to cup yours, and he returns it to rest against his cheek. His stubble is scratchy against your palm, and you stare into his dark eyes unsurely.

“I promise you it’s me,” he answers gently. “I remember. We would always grab crepes together at the market, and you’d help me find coins for my collection. When we had sleepovers, we’d always read Sora together, under the covers with your flashlight so your parents wouldn’t catch us sleeping late.”

You remain quiet, processing his words, but you relax—a miniscule amount that makes your shoulders fall a little. It’s all true, it’s everything normal that you recognize with Law. “Where are they? Or Aunty and Uncle? Lami?”

Law expected this, but hearing you ask for your family and his—it hurts. He exhales, squeezing your hand gently. “They aren’t here right now. We’re pirates now. And we’re on the Grand Line, far away from the North Blue.”

“We’re pirates?” you perk up, surprised, but something else turns in your head. “That means I got better too, right? Does that mean everyone else is ok?”

All the air escapes Law’s lungs, and he freezes. The current you doesn’t know. Regardless if you’ll remember or not once you return back to normal, he doesn’t stop himself as he forces a smile that trembles against his lips. “Yeah, that’s right.”

He’d never forget the look on your face. Pure, unfiltered happiness—it punches him straight in the gut. “Did Uncle find a treatment? How?”

“I can treat you,” Law answers slowly, bringing a hand up to your cheek and brushing his thumb against the skin. There’s a big blotch–one he remembers clearly, that covers most of your cheek and eye. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“You can do that?” you gasp in awe. “You’re a doctor? Like Uncle Tora?”

 “Yeah.” Law’s hand rests on top of your head. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course!” you beam widely, without a hint of doubt. “I trust you, Law!”

It takes everything inside of him to maintain his composure as he gets you ready for the procedure. He doesn’t feel good about lying to you, but he doesn’t need to overload you with more information with the realization of his devil fruit. Putting you under, he watches as your eyes close slowly, and he feels his powers thrum in his fingertips, letting out the breath he was holding.

“Room.”

Briefly, he’s reminded of back then—in that cold, little cave on Swallow Island, the howl of the blizzard roaring just outside as he tested his new, unfamiliar powers on himself, before he’d proceeded to remove the amber lead from your body.

I trust you, Law.

Even now, the words are the same—your unwavering trust in him, even as his hands shook in the cold and in unknowing fear. After watching Cora-san die at the hands of his terrible brother, escaping his clutches together by your side.

It’s the same, but his power is familiar to him now, knowing it like the back of his hand. A power that he has honed and trained for so many years.

“Scalpel.”

It comes out as a whisper, and alone in the medbay, he faces his demons once more.

By the time he finishes, he feels a raging storm of grief and hatred stir in his chest, staring at the bundle of white, encased in a familiar blue that he’s used to remove hearts and organs. Like this, the amber lead is safe to be disposed of, never to be exposed to anyone, and Law can’t help the bitterness that wells up inside him, staring at the poison in his hands. The one that ruined his life, the one that took away his home and family.

He never imagined he’d have to face it again, all these years later. Never had he thought you, of all people, would be forced to go through it again.

“Captain?” Penguin’s voice is muffled through the door, but Law grunts quietly, listening to the door creak open. “We found something.”

“Report,” he says, voice low and tired. He sets aside the cube, and doesn’t miss the way that Penguin’s gaze flickers to it before returning to him.

“Looks like she ran into some traveling merchant around these parts,” Penguin informs him. “Makes all sorts of weird potions and shit, too, from what we heard. One of the locals got hit by a similar thing, but they returned to normal in about two days.”

“Any other effects?” 

“Not according to them, no. Listed off the same symptoms of memory loss and de-aging. Apparently they turned back after they woke up the following day.”

Law sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Thank you, Penguin.”

He expects the man to leave, but after a beat of hesitation, footsteps approach him, and Penguin appears next to him, a comforting hand squeezing his shoulder.

“Cap?” he says softly, before he corrects himself. “Law? Are you alright?”

Not as a crewmate, but as his friend. As a longtime friend, for both you and him. Law releases the breath he’d been holding.

“She thinks everyone’s well,” Law whispers, his hand finding your hair, patting it gently, slowly. “She thought I was my father.”

Glimpses of white flash in his vision. The white that covered your skin, his family’s skin, even his own, when he looked into the mirror. 

“You’ve become an amazing doctor like him, after all,” Penguin says, smiling softly at your sleeping face, void of the white he’d seen before. “She’s proud of you. All of them would be, you know.”

Law says nothing— just a sharp nod as he grits his teeth. Penguin huffs, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close to his chest. “We’re all with you, Captain. And she’ll be just fine.”

Law makes no move to return it, but he doesn’t push him away, letting out a shaky breath. “She will be.”

Penguin smiles. “Yeah.”

He excuses himself afterwards to head to dinner, chiding to Law that he’d bring some rice balls—“I know you aren’t moving from that spot so I’m getting you some, end of discussion.” 

Meanwhile, he Shambles his paperwork from his desk to his lap, swapping it with a paperclip before he gets to work. He accepts Penguin’s judgemental look as he returns with food, but he merely drops it off with a fond sigh and shake of his head, before heading off to cover your night watch shift.

While his appetite is nowhere present, he forces himself to nibble at one, then two, for safe measure, because the last thing he needs is you to be concerned if you were to see a plate of half eaten food that’s definitely not enough for an adult man as himself. Plus, he can tell that Bepo was on dinner duty— the shape and flavor of the riceballs the exact way he remembered them from back then. His favorite, and also yours.

And somehow, the night grows late as he works by your side, hoping that you have a sweet dream for once.

When morning comes, you awaken to a Law who is fast asleep in a chair pulled up to your bedside, head buried in his arms uncomfortably next to you. You frown, immediately recognizing how bad it is for his posture, and he’ll surely wake up with a crick in his neck. But you can’t find yourself to wake him, not when you find the dark bags that cup his eyes. Quietly, you study his face—matured and aged with rough lines, furrowed brows and a frown on his lips, even as he sleeps.

He’s a little different than the Law you know— ten and scrawny and a mere fraction of this Law’s height. Sure, your Law didn’t smile that much either, and sometimes he was a little too serious for being a kid like you, but he was never this… sad.  

Were things not as alright as he’d told you?

Your eyes trail down to his hat, set aside on the bed, and you reach over to pick it up. It’s reminiscent of the one he had as a child, with a thick bill instead of a rim around it. But it’s still the same white fluffy hat you’ve always loved to steal off his head to wear upon your own, tracing your fingers along each spot that adorns the white.

Curiously, you put it over your own head, only to be absolutely engulfed by it, and you sputter in surprise, realizing it tilts over, covering your face and plunging you into Law’s scent and darkness.

You fumble to grab it to try to pull it off, but it gets lifted off your head, and you meet Law’s tired, yet amused face.

“Good—Good morning,” you greet him, embarrassed, and he chuckles, resting the hat on your lap.

“How do you feel?” he asks gently, and you look at your hands, free of white, before they come up to pat your cheeks.

“It… doesn’t hurt anymore,” you murmur. “You’re amazing, Law.”

“I’m glad,” Law says with relief. “You must be hungry. Do you want to eat?”

You nod. “Can I… meet them, too?”

He raises an eyebrow. “The crew? Do you feel up for it?”

Another nod. Though, your cheeks tint with a light blush, as you shyly lower your head. “They seemed… nice.”

Law smiles. “Of course.”

Once he checks your vitals one last time, he lets you change out of the gown and into the clothes that Shachi and Penguin had gotten the previous day before heading out of the room together. He slows his stride, letting you walk beside him as he leads you down the metal hallways. You follow close beside him, taking in the bolts and hum of metal that surround you, your footsteps echoing his, lighter and shorter than his own. Leading you to the galley, he stops in front of the door, listening to the muffled noise and chatter through the thick walls.

“Ready?”

You reach up to grab his hand, your fingers wrapping around his pinky. You nod, you’re ready.

With that, he opens the door, and the chatter grows louder in volume, before it immediately quiets down as you enter alongside Law. You shuffle beside him, peeking around his frame to notice all eyes settled on you—and you quickly hide behind Law’s legs, clutching onto the fabric of his jeans.

“Introduce yourselves,” Law announces to the crew, before mentioning your name. “It appears she’ll be in this state for at least another day, so make sure to be cautious around the ship when going about business.”

A few of them make their way towards you, crouching low or getting onto their knees to match your height a little better. You don’t recognize any of them, apart from Penguin who carried you back to the ship the day before, along with Shachi, Bepo, and Ikkaku, who helped you get changed into your new clothes the first time around. 

They all offer your friendly smiles and greetings that coax you out from hiding, and you shyly greet them back, peering around Law’s leg cautiously as you take in all the new faces. From the crowd, a man with twin braids crouches down, a small bundle of fabric gathered in his arms. He has dark bags under his eyes that are just barely covered by the brim of his hat, but he still offers you a tired smile. 

“What is it?” you ask quietly, reaching out to take it from his hands. 

“Did you seriously stay up all night to make it?” Ikkaku asks from beside him, raising an eyebrow. “Captain said she’ll turn back in a day or so.”

“But Heart Pirates pride,” Kurage answers sleepily, before yawning. “Plus, isn’t it super cute?”

No complaints there. Ikkaku shrugs, before taking you to the bathroom to get changed into your new outfit. 

And honestly his efforts are totally worth it, because the moment you return to the galley in your little uniform, everyone coos.

“Someone get the Camera Snail!” Shachi yells, ushering Clione to get it awake and ready. “Take a picture! Hurry!”

Law watches quietly and in your little boiler suit, heart soaring at the wide smile on your face as you look down at yourself. “I’m a pirate!”

Another round of coos and cheers erupt from the crew. 

The new uniform and the jolly roger on back has you warming up to everyone donning the same thing, and you get seated next to Penguin and Shachi as they finish up breakfast, with Law getting you a small plate of your own. You nibble on delicious pancakes and fruit, and as the galley empties out, you’re left alongside Law and Bepo who will watch over you and do a tour around the ship after you’re done eating.

Seated on top of Bepo’s shoulders, you’re careful not to tug on his fur as you hold onto his head. Law follows close behind, always at the ready in case you lean back and fall, but he knows full well that Bepo will exercise utmost caution with you.

They show you around all the rooms, from the engines to navigation, and even the greenhouse and common areas, where the crew all take time to chat and greet you along the way. With each space comes a plethora of anecdotes and fun facts which you soak in eagerly, listening intently to what everyone had to offer.

Eventually, you make your way outside, your enthusiasm infectious as you run across the deck at the realization of–“We have a submarine!?” your exclaim, eyes twinkling in awe as you spin on your heel to look back at Law and Bepo. “It’s yellow!”

“Yeah, it’s called the Polar Tang!” Bepo proudly says. “Isn’t she cool!”

“Very cool!”

As you admire the ship alongside Law, there’s work being done to it as you venture around, hearing the clangs and metalwork from below. You take the opportunity to get to the bow, hands grasping at the railing as you peek through the bars, eyes roving across the portside curiously. Flevance was quite a way from the coast, so seeing a seaside town was a first for you, and Law could tell that you were curious about it too.

“Bepo, can you help us out with lifting this up?” Someone from the crew calls from below, and you look down, seeing various metal panels and other supplies for repairs stacked across the dock. They offer you polite waves and greetings, but most of them are hard at work, focusing on doing whatever they need to for the ship.

“Go, Bepo,” Law says with a nod, and the mink turns to you. 

“We’ll play more later, alright?”

“Ok!” You wave at the mink who heads down the gangplank, hurrying to help with the heavy materials as needed. But in his stead, a familiar duo appears at your side, and you’re quick to fire off your questions to them— why the color yellow? Why is the word ‘death’ on the side? Why a submarine?

They take it all in stride, bouncing answers back and forth and showing you all across deck, Law following behind and keeping a close eye on you so you don’t slip through the railings and fall into the water below. As you’re mid-sentence, you pause, looking up to see a tall man—even taller than Law or Bepo, come up beside you. Uni, you recall, who offers you a little wave, turns to Law. “Captain, I was wondering if I could ask you about a few things…”

Shachi looks to Law, who waves the two of you off. “I’ll catch up. Go with the two, alright?”

“I actually have to go back and help Ikakku with some engine fixes,” Penguin admits sheepishly. “Just came out here to grab some tools Clione took from her.”

“Don’t worry, Cap. She’s in good hands!” Shachi states, saluting playfully and you follow in suit, to which he chuckles. “We can go check out your room in the meantime!” You gasp, nodding eagerly.

“Be careful and don't run–” Law warns, just as a precaution because he can’t help but worry about how small and fragile you are, but Shachi’s already following you back into the Tang as you hurry inside, excitedly waving over your shoulder, as you talk a mile a minute. He sighs, while Penguin chuckles next to him. 

“They’ll be fine, Captain,” Penguin reassures him. “You can dote on her as soon as you help them out.”

Law grunts, and before Penguin can say anything else, he summons a small Room before Shambling himself onto the dock, disappearing in the blink of an eye. But to Penguin’s luck, he’d switched with a stray screwdriver–the exact same one he needed. He picks it up and shrugs. At least it saves him the trip down the gangplank. 

All the while, the prospect of the older-you’s room has you incredibly curious, not at all aware of Law’s continuous concern for your wellbeing as you nearly trip over your feet while you run down the halls following Shachi’s directions. His hands land on your shoulder and he steers you down each hallway, excitedly pointing out the rooms you recognize, until he reaches the crew cabins, to which he differentiates between the guys' and girls’ sides. He points out Ikkaku’s room, before he shows you to yours just across from it, a small little thing that’s tight and cozy, the desk and bed bolted down and the walls plastered with posters and pictures that you instantly notice. Your eyes flicker from each photo, and you watch in awe as you recognize yourself, a bit older than you are now, with Law, without the white haunting either of you.

There are pictures with Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi, and a man with an aloha shirt, all younger than they are now, and you can’t help the many questions that bubble up in your mind. “We’ve been friends for a long time?”

Shachi nods. “Yes! We’ve known each other for over ten years now.”

“Penguin and Bepo, too?”

“Mhm!” Shachi looks at the photo, red eyes softening behind his shades in reminiscence. “We started the crew together!”

You let out a noise of awe, dragging it out as your eyes continue to scan the wall. Bounty posters line the board as well—Law’s, Bepo’s, and—

“That’s…me?” you ask, and Shachi grins. 

“You look cool, don’t you think?”

You can’t believe that you’ve become such a strong-looking pirate with a bounty on her head. You never thought you’d leave Flevance to sail the seas and find home within the deep waters. It feels unbelievable, and if not for how familiar you look in the poster, you’d still be in doubt. But your name is printed right below it, wanted dead or alive, Law’s name, too.

But something else catches your interest. Little printed photos are scattered around the walls, and you realize they’re newer ones—ones where you’re with some familiar faces of the crew and donning your boiler suit.

Your gaze lands on one of the newer photos, one of you and Law, the older version of you happily in his arms.

“Is that…”

Shachi freezes, stumbling over his words, unsure how to address the fact that you were definitely in a romantic relationship with the captain at this point in time.

“Ah, yeah, you and Law are still, well, really close friends!”

Nice going, dumbass. He regrets the words that come out of his mouth, and you give him a curious stare. 

“That’s a relief!” you exclaim happily, not at all connecting the dots to Shachi’s panic. “I’m glad he’s still by my side.”

“Yeah. I know he is, too,” Shachi answers quietly. He watches you look happily at the photo before your attention trails off elsewhere, eyes scanning across the room with bursting fascination that refuses to dampen. It doesn’t take long for you to lock onto your next target—your rucksack—the same one you had before you got turned into a kid. It sits upon your bed, innocently splayed out across the sheets as you clamber up the side to get a closer look. Shachi watches, holding his breath as he recalls you had pulled out that weird marble from your bag, and you also had—

“What’s this?”

“I think it’s what you had before you turned into a child,” Shachi says, peering into it curiously. “What's in there?”

With a shrug, you dig through the bag, ignoring this and that, until your fingers brush against smooth wood, piquing your interest as you curl your fingers around it. A wooden case sits in your hands, and you don’t hear Shachi inhale sharply as you open it carefully.

“Flevance Berry?” you mutter confused. Why are they in such a fancy case? 

Shachi’s heart drops, even more so when you turn to look at him questioningly. “O-Oh? Maybe you got Law then as a gift!”

Until realization dawns over him and he covers his mouth, forgetting about your current state of mind at that very moment. You don’t notice, though, looking down at the case of coins. Surely, Law would have some in his collection already—it’s such a common coin design, after all. Before you can ask Shachi why, he pats your back.

“Why don’t you go show him?” Shachi says strained, and you nod, hopping off your bed to follow the man out of your room. You poke your head into all the open doorways, but Shachi steers you back towards deck, knowing Law would probably still be out there to monitor some of the repairs and maintenance.

And indeed, he’s still there by the time you make your way outside, discussing something with Uni and Clione. His back is turned towards you, but by the look of recognition on the two’s faces, he turns around, quick to lower himself into a crouch to greet you.

“Law, look!” You run up to him, the case in your hands as you present it to him! “I got you these yesterday! For your collection, I think!”

He looks to Shachi who nervously nods, and he crouches down, accepting the little box before he opens it.

“I thought you already had all the Flevance coins,” you begin, unaware of the shadow that casts itself over Law’s face. “But Shachi said I got these for you yesterday!”

You watch curiously as he brushes a finger over the plastic covering them, eyes tracing each design of the coin, before he lets out a shaky sigh, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Shachi who watches from the doorway, Uni and Clione by his side as they watch on curiously.

“I lost them, after we set sail,” Law tells you softly. His hand finds the top of your head, patting it gently. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

You miss the way he looks down at the coins, a mixture of longing and nostalgia and grief all in his eyes. You’re just relieved he seems happy about it. “I’m glad!”

Before Law can say anything else, Bepo’s return catches your attention as the mink excitedly runs up to you, scooping you into his arms as he continues his little jog around the deck. Your laughter fills the air, excited squeals and giggles that fuels his to grow even louder. Law watches on, a small smile of his own gracing his lips as he soaks in your happiness. But as soon as his fingers tighten around the case in hand, his heart drops to the pit of his stomach.

Nostalgia, longing, relief, guilt. It all consumes him in a terrible wave. It’s a part of his life that he never thought he’d see again, that you somehow brought back to him.

Shachi meets him, standing by his side as he watches on. “She was really excited to give those to you,” he murmurs quietly. There’s no response from Law, who looks down at them in his hand. “You alright, Cap?”

“They’re just coins,” Law states simply. “But you’d think something as trivial as this wouldn’t feel so…”

He trails off, and Shachi hums in agreement. “It’s not trivial when it used to be in your hands everyday. It’s part of home.”

Law watches you, listening to your laughter as Bepo twirls around. “Yeah.”

Home.

And he can’t seem to take his eyes off you.

Evening arrives in no time, and you find yourself in the galley, surrounded by the crew—your crew, once more.

Dinner is a feast—one that you enjoy until your stomach feels like it’ll burst. Meat and fish and veggies, all prepared and cooked in a multitude of ways and spread colorfully across the galley tables. It felt like a huge family dinner, and you loved listening to all the stories your crew had to offer, all the while enjoying the unfamiliar cuisine.

Dessert is a smaller affair of light sweets and treats, and after a warm soak with Ikkaku, you find yourself in the common room, listening to Bepo as he reads one of the light novels for Sora, Warrior of the Sea. His voice is like a calming blanket over you, as you pet his fur gently, listening to him tell the tale of Sora as he fights Germa 66 once more. It’s a new story—one you don’t recall reading, but you enjoy it all the same, wondering if Law is caught up to it even now. 

A few of the boys enact the scenes with great dramatics— Bepo narrates it all as Clione voices a fake shout of pain, Shachi—no, Sora, defeating him and the other Germa lackeys. You laugh at the use of his “high-tech blaster,” which is just the man pointing at the others with his finger gun accompanied by dramatic sound effects. As much as you enjoy their theatrics, you can’t help the drowsiness that takes a hold of you in her comforting arms, melting into the warmth of Bepo’s soft fur as his voice lulls you to sleep. It has been a long day, after all, and it hits you in an instant, even as their loud acting and laughter fills the air, on top of the quieter chatter of the others playing cards or enjoying their quiet hobbies. It all fades into the background like a gentle fall. 

You’re not quite sure how long you’re asleep for, but the next time you open your eyes, you find yourself looking up at Law, curled up in his arms as he makes his way down the hall.

At one point, you must have fallen asleep—cozy and warm against Bepo, the last thing you remember is mentioning the heroic Sora defeating his enemies after a long battle.

It doesn’t take long for him to notice you rouse, and his steps slow, meeting your gaze with an apologetic look. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

You shake your head with a tired hum. “Law?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I stay with you?” you ask quietly, voice riddled with sleep and a hint of guilt. “Please?”

“Of course,” he responds, changing course to head toward his room instead. You’d seen it briefly earlier, but you find yourself in his quarters, where he gently tucks you into bed. The sheets smell like him— a scent that you’ve grown so used to when you were younger, but tinged with something deeper, muskier than you remember. But it’s so familiar, so comfortable, that sleep nearly ushers you back into its hold until you realize—

“Are you not going to bed?” You watch as he crouches down by the bedside, but makes no move to get into bed himself. He frowns.

“There’s some work I have to do,” he tells you, but you shake your head—he slept poorly last night, you’re sure of it. He needs some proper rest. 

So, you scoot over, doing your best to not mess up the blankets too much with your small limbs, before you pat the free space next to you. “You need to go to bed.”

Law chuckles. Yet he makes no move to deny you, merely slipping under the covers next to you, tucking an arm under his head as he lays on his side, facing you. Satisfied, you grin, closing the distance between him and he raises a hand to brush your hair away from your face.

“Can you tell me about your tattoos?” you suddenly ask, and Law raises a brow.

“What about them?”

“Why you got them,” you state sleepily, yawning. “I didn’t think doctors should have ‘death’ written on their fingers.”

Law remains quiet for a beat, before he lets out an amused breath. “You're not wrong about that, I suppose.”

He lets you hold onto one of his hands with both of your own—small fingers barely wrapping around his thumb and the side of his palm. Small, little, unscarred hands, that are just as warm as he remembered. You trace the letters on his fingers, the shape on the back of his hand, and he savors the light touches as he tells you all about them.

He tells you about the gears on his forearms, the ones on the back of his hands, the ones on his biceps and his chest, as well, but he’s certain you didn’t understand a single word he said regarding that one—not as your head tilts forward and your eyes drift closed. His voice lulls you back to the state between sleep and awake, a heavy weight lowering your eyes as you struggle to keep listening.

“Captain…” you murmur softly, almost incoherently. But Law hums, and you reach out to clutch at his shirt, scooching closer towards him. “I’m glad you’re still with me even after we grew up.”

“I am too,” Law’s voice is a deep whisper from above. “I won’t leave your side. I’ll be here, I promise.”

Cradled in the gentle ocean waters and in Law’s arms, you let sleep take you once more.

Law is naturally a light sleeper, so the moment he feels something rustle around in his arms, he finds himself roused from his slumber, eyes opening and registering your form curled up against him.

The you that’s back to normal.

You freeze, lifting your head slightly to meet his gaze with a sheepish smile. “Good morning, darling,” you greet him with a nervous chuckle. “I, uh, don’t have the clearest memory of the past two days, but it looks like I’m back to normal.”

Law hugs you tightly, pulling you to his chest as he presses his lips into your hair. You return it, eagerly wrapping your arms around him and squeezing, intent on soaking in every bit of warmth that he wishes to give you.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your forehead. “Do you remember anything that happened?”

“It’s… a bit fuzzy, but a little bit,” you admit quietly. “Like I was in a dream of being a kid again. Couldn’t take control, but I could see everything, you know?”

“You were so behaved as a kid,” Law teases, in a reminiscing tone. “Nothing like the big bad pirate you’ve become.”

You gape at him in faux shock. “Says the Surgeon of Death. The literal Supernova with an enormous bounty on his head.”

He chuckles, a soft sound that makes your chest buzz. “I’m glad you returned to normal. If anything feels weird or off—“

“I’m fine, Law. Promise.”

You wonder if he’ll still activate his powers just to Scan you while in bed, but he relaxes, melting in your hold. “I’m giving you a check-up later, though. Just to make sure.”

“Aye-aye,” you acquiesce softly. “Speaking of check-ups…”

Law watches as you pull back, loosening his hold on you so you can bring your hands up, cupping his cheeks gently. “Thank you for saving me again, Law.”

One hand comes to hold yours, and he presses a gentle kiss against your palm.

“For you, always.”

His devotion, his warmth, his loyalty. It all burns in his words, in his touch. 

“I hope you like the coins, by the way,” you whisper, like a quiet secret he shouldn’t hear. “Thought you’d want them to feel back at home.”

“Thank you,” he says, genuinely. “But I don’t need anything else but you by my side to feel at home.”

You resist the urge to laugh. What a sap. “You’re my home, too.”

The Flevance coins sit upon his desk, twinkling under the lowlights of his room. But you find yourself cherishing your lover instead, hidden under the covers away from the outside world.