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Curly-Brow hisses, “What, exactly, am I supposed to have them do?” The guy looks at Zoro and adds, “Amputation via sword?”
“Clerical, scribing, changing bedpans? The world’s your fuckin’ oyster and they,” Dr. Old Man thrusts a wrinkled thumb at them, “are your fuckin’ problem now.”
Luffy takes this moment to wave and bound right up to the nurse with a chirp of, “Hi! I’m Monkey D. Luffy and I’m gonna’ be the Pirate King. Sorry about your roof.”
The nurse stares at Luffy for a solid five seconds, unblinking.
Nami whispers despairingly, “Oh my fucking gods.”
The nurse turns back to Dr. Old Man and asks, “Am I allowed to submit this one for a psych eval?”
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In which Sanji is the crew's doctor and not their cook. This changes remarkably little. -
Bookmark Notes:
“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down,” Sanji snaps. Even Luffy seems surprised by just how angry he is. “Do you know how they got hurt?”
“A bar fight?” Usopp answers slowly.
“I wouldn’t call letting assholes attack you and refusing to raise a hand to stop them a fight.”
Zoro stands up, a hand on his swords. “Alright, that’s enough, Doc.”
Sanji surges forward all at once and shoves Zoro, once. Hard. Zoro lets him. Sanji doesn’t attack with his hands.
“Hurt yourselves for your pride, fine. I don’t get it, but that seems to be the move around here. Whatever. But you make her—make any of us—just stand by and watch again? I walk. I will fucking leave this crew,” Sanji says, eyes locked and burning on Luffy.
The silence stretches on and on, endlessly. Like the ocean and sky in the dead of night—the tension thick and dark, the jagged silence hanging suspended within it like stars.
“S-Sanji,” Usopp stutters, shocked otherwise speechless.
Luffy nods. “Okay Sanji,” he says. Quiet. Subdued. It’s not a tone of voice Zoro has ever heard from him before. It’s not one he ever wants to hear again.
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“I don’t drink,” Sanji offers, apropos of nothing. “Do you want…?” he offers the blunt.
“No. I’m too drunk for that,” Zoro admits. “Why don’t you drink?”
After a long pull—Zoro tries not to watch, he really does—and subsequent long exhale, Sanji says, “Alcohol interacts poorly with my medication.”
Zoro boggles. “Medication? You’re sick?”
Sanji laughs—his genuine laugh, high and loud and obnoxious—and keeps laughing, doesn’t stop.
“Sorry, sorry,” he titters. “Just… your face. I’m fine, Zoro. I’m on an SSRI for anxiety.”
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Bookmark Notes:
Zoro watches one of Luffy’s hands, bandages glowing near-blue in the moonlight, reach up and gently catch one of Sanji’s own. “We’re safe, Sanji.” A rustling sound—Luffy moving among the lavish bedsheets. “You need to rest, too.”
Luffy tugs on Sanji’s hand. Sanji lets him, swaying forwards toward the bed like he just might fall into it. Zoro’s heart kicks hard in his chest.
“I’m okay,” Sanji protests.
“C’mere,” Luffy insists.
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To read
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Bookmark Notes:
(Basically Zoro’s POV)
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