Characters: Law, Sanji, (Zoro)
Warnings: Spoilers for the Punk Hazard arc.
A/N: Written for bluewalk.
Sanji's hard at work on dinner for twelve plus Luffy when Zoro stomps in, slams the door shut behind him, and demands a drink.
Sanji takes one look at his disgruntled expression, confines his objections to a single eyeroll, and grants him both sake and sanctuary.
The ship feels overcrowded these days, what with Kin'emon and his perverted dragon spawn on board, and Caesar Clown a belligerent prisoner in seastone chains, all alongside the usual madness of the crew. And then there's their new ally, Trafalgar Law, who's sitting cross-legged on the deck, cradling his sword to his chest, right in Zoro's favourite spot. He can't blame Zoro for seeking temporary respite in the galley.
"D'you trust him?" he asks by way of conversation, nodding towards the shichibukai who's visible through the porthole on the kitchen door.
"Hell no," Zoro growls. He downs the sake in a single swig and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, the boor. He looks back out at Law, frowning. "He watches you, you know."
Really? He hadn't noticed. But of course Zoro would. "He has good taste," Sanji says, grinning when Zoro's scowl deepens. "Why, are you worried about me, marimo?" he teases.
"Tch. Just...watch out for yourself," Zoro says, and stalks out without a word of thanks to resume his watch over the crew. The door swings back and forth on its hinges behind him, affording him a glimpse of Law, his eyes dark and brooding under the brim of his hat, boring straight into his soul.
Huh. Maybe Zoro was right about Law.
Weirdo bastard, he concludes, shrugging off the fleeting feeling of discomfiture, already dismissing it from his mind in favour of concentrating on his meal.
He's made sure it doesn't contain even a hint of bread.
Law knows the North in the cook without asking, sees it in the echoes of frost that glitter in that golden hair, reads the famine in his bones.
What else he needs to know about Sanji he gleans from the everyday chatter of the Strawhats. East Blue. A sea restaurant. The shitty geezer.
And what's left unsaid speaks through his smile, the grin that makes his eye go wide and lights up his entire face.
The sort of smile that signals happiness. Love. At a minimum, forbearance, for when he talks to the green-haired swordsman.
It's not the baring of teeth you put on a pirate flag, not the kind of smile you would never think to associate with a mass-produced weapon designed to put an end to peace. It's as far from apocalyptic as you can get.
He sees it. He hates it.
It begins to fester within him.
Part of him knows that's unfair, that Sanji can't help his own good fortune. But the world has repeatedly demonstrated its unfairness to Trafalgar Law, and he doesn't see why he ought to be any better.
I can hate you, can't I.
For growing up in that kindliest of seas.
For being brought up by a man who let himself be called "shitty" without putting the fear of Vergo into you.
For escaping Doflamingo's hell, when I was left behind.
A/N: Concrit is welcome.