“I see you’ve come back at the most inconvenient time possible,” Zeff grumbled, stomping through the darkened Baratie and slamming the kitchen door open. Somewhere behind him, a dim point of light glowed briefly before vanishing in a curl of smoke.

“You were awake,” Sanji replied, following the old man through the maze of tables and chairs.

“You should let an old man have his rest, Eggplant,” he snapped, walking past the rows of stoves and gleaming countertops. “I slave away in the kitchen from dusk to dawn, and here you come, fresh from the Grand Line, to invade my few hours of peace.”

“If you’re tired, you should let someone else cook for you every once in a while,” the younger man said, pulling out a pan from beneath one of the ovens and setting it on the counter.

Zeff eased himself into an overstuffed chair at the end of the kitchen. “I can’t stand other chefs’ food,” he said peevishly.

Sanji rolled up his tailored sleeves and began selecting knives, pressing his thumb against the edges to test their sharpness.

“Where’s your crew?”

“We’re meeting up again at the end of the season.”

Zeff watched him pick things out of bowls with slender fingers. Soon, his knives began flashing and tapping out a familiar rhythm against the countertop. The stove roared to life.

“Your bounty’s pretty high these days.”

“Yeah.”

“Not as high as your captain or his first mate though.”

Sanji shrugged, his hands never faltering. “Chefs don’t go for as much as swordsmen.”

“How do they like your food on that ship?”

“Half of them devour it without noticing it what it actually is.”

“That’s a good thing since you can’t cook for shit.”

The younger man gave a dry chuckle and tossed the contents of the pan high into the air, listening to them return to earth with a sizzle.

Seeing that old jibes no longer got a rise out of his protégé, Zeff moved to more interesting subjects. “I heard that Monkey D. Luffy of the infamous Strawhat pirates found what he was looking for.”

Sanji gave an affirmative grunt and switched off the stove.

“Did you find All Blue yet?”

“I’m working on it,” he said, setting a plate in front of the old man.

“You’ve been ‘working on it’ since you were a kid,” snapped Zeff, unfolding his napkin with a flick of his wrist. “When are you going to get off your skinny ass and find the damn thing?”

Sanji settled complacently against the countertop and rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, letting his cigarette dangle loosely from his fingertips.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Passable.”

He smiled a little at the grudging compliment.

Zeff put down his fork. “Kid.”

He took a drag at his cigarette and looked over.

“I won’t be alive the next time you pass through East Blue.”

The younger man blew smoke forcefully through clenched teeth, stubbing his cigarette on the counter before lighting another. “I know,” he said, placing it in his mouth.

“That’s why you came by, isn’t it?”

Sanji pulled the cig out and rolled it between his fingers. He said nothing.

“No matter,” the old man grunted, heaving himself out of the chair. “If you’re here, you’re here.”

“What do you mean, old man?”

“I mean I’ll say goodbye now, while your still in earshot.”

“Oi, oi,” he said agitatedly, shoving away from the counters edge. “Don’t talk about dying until it happens.”

“I'll talk about whatever I want to talk about,” the old man snapped, bringing the point of his wooden leg down with a smart tap. “And I’ll say what a dying pirate says to some worthless kid he saved years back.”

The younger man frowned and leaned back against the counter, loosening his tie with a trembling hand.

“I’ve lived my life the way I wanted,” Zeff said, standing up straight and looking the younger man in the eye. “Without regrets. I was a pirate for half of my life and a chef for the rest of it. The only thing I lost was a leg.” His stern face softened slightly. “And I still think that it wasn’t such a bad trade.”

Sanji’s pressed a hand to his eyes.

“I’ll leave you a Baratie, of course, but it’s a damn good thing you’ll be sailing off again,” Zeff continued, easing back into their old game of insults. “With you gone, people might have a chance to get some half-decent food in this place and—” He was cut off by Sanji’s savage embrace.

“Shut up, old man,” he sobbed, clutching the frail body to his own, shaking with grief.

Zeff smiled and rested a gnarled hand on the blonde head, stroking it fondly.

“Mind how you go, Eggplant,” he said. “Don’t catch cold now.”