ZoSan: The Flower

Chapter 5 - Sanji

The blond's heart soared at the weak pulse of haki that echoed in the twilight. He kicked the paddle and motor back into gear - literally, kicked the button with an easy, gentle move that wouldn't damage Franky's invention. It hadn't been much. Barely enough to tell Sanji that the mosshead was hanging on and what direction he was in. He was still following the current, which made sense as the easiest choice for a weakened, directionally-challenged swordsman.

But even with the current and the paddle and anything Sanji could do to speed up the progress, it was still nearly three hours before the tiny, one-man boat was visible on the horizon. Three too-long, too-damn-quiet hours for the blond to question his entire existence — his sexuality, his bond with his nakama, why he was even on this boat. Even with his mind in overdrive, Sanji had given a haki burst about every half hour, just to make sure he was on the right track. They'd been answered by ever weaker bursts.

Except the last one. The last one hadn't gotten an answer.

Sanji trusted Zoro's strength under normal circumstances. These weren't normal circumstances, not by far. And Sanji found himself getting angry again. Angry at Zoro, for not at least saying a proper goodbye, for not aiding in his own recovery. Angry at Luffy for allowing it. Angry at Chopper for keeping it a secret from the crew for so long, doctor-patient confidentiality be damned! And angry at that stupid flower that sprouted in his friend's chest, killing him slowly. Those same stupidly beautiful white flowers that drifted by just a little ways away, pink-stained from blood that didn't fully wash away in the salt water.

"Damn it." He spoke out loud for the first time since he'd left the docks of the Sunny. His voice was quiet, roughened by sea spray and the countless cigarettes that now littered the small ashtray, the floor, and the ocean. He'd already gone through more than two weeks' worth of the guilty pleasure, and most of those had been since he'd climbed aboard the mini-Merry.

"Damn it, damn it, damn IT, DAMN IT DAMN IT!!" The latest cigarette joined the others in the ocean as he raked his hands through blond hair, his voice escalating into a yell. He let his haki spike again, even knowing he was close enough for Zoro to probably hear him shouting now.

When there was again no response, the anger that had built broke down into its underlying component, the emotion Sanji wanted to face the least. Fear. He was afraid of losing the mosshead. He couldn't say it was love, and, since there was no way that the swordsman viewed him as anything beyond the sometimes-annoying friend, he knew it wasn't enough to save Zoro. But there was affection and fear and Sanji's eyes burned with tears he didn't dare let fall.

He turned off the paddle as he finally caught up to the smaller boat, grabbing a rope to tie them together. Zoro was curled up on his side, practically in the middle. Sanji crossed the small distance effortlessly to check for a pulse. The flowers hadn't busted his chest yet, so that was something. There was a pulse, and the rise and fall of a muscled chest. A grunt of pain escaped from the mosshead, and Sanji had never been so glad to hear the sound.

"Mosshead. Come on. Wake up. I need to talk to you," it came out gentler than Sanji had thought it might. Sad and hopeful and not really sounding like himself.

And to the cook's relief, steely eyes fluttered open.