One Piece 1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Putting this one back up, working on finishing the last two chapters. Also polishing up these first four chapters for a smoother read.

**Warnings: **This fic is not for the faint of heart. It depicts graphic scenes of **violence**, **blood,** **mutilation** and various implications of **rape** (including that of a child - though that's non-graphic). That'll be my only warning. It's a western fic, guys. I wanted it to be grisly so that's what it is. Flail or bail.

— ××× —

Born Unto Trouble

Chapter 1

— ××× —

—

"_Although affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground; Yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward."_

—The Bible, Book of Job 5:6-7

—

His targeted outlaw was a fresh one though already blooming with many names and epithets. The most common of them all was 'Black Leg Sanji'. Apparently it derived from his fighting style—though most were aware of the double meaning. Black Leg Sanji; famous for assassinating a World Noble with his 'black and seductive legs coiled around his victim'. Known across the lands as a 'slutty, cold-blooded snake'; 'the castrator'; and of course, 'Sanji: assassinator of Saint Charloss'.

It was safe to say that Zoro had a good idea of what to expect when he located the guy. A lunatic, for one. The man had to be insane to murder a World Noble. He secondly expected a seductive little bastard.

Word had it he had been spotted in Water 7, heading horseback into the Eastlands on the Grand Line path to Loguetown; a port town which shored the waves of East Blue. What the outlaw was planning to do from there Zoro had no clue, but surely the saphead must've realized how dumb it was to sit nice and pretty on the execution town of the continent. To attempt escape on the East Blue Sea was also sheer idiocy. He'd be caught by marines before he even boarded a boat. Security was tight around the shore for a reason; to prevent outlaws from leaving as they pleased. And if this Sanji guy was planning on taking a boat of his own—well, that would be even dafter. Talk about a sure-fire way to label yourself an outlaw.

And with such an outrageous deed as assassinating a World Noble on his shoulders—with a whopping seventy-seven million beli bounty placed on his head from the get-go—this guy was lucky enough to have escaped as far as he had. It was also good fortune for him that Zoro himself was chasing after him—most bounty hunters would've gone for the option of 'dead' over 'alive'. And though Sanji was wanted alive, most bounty hunters were also a lot more rowdy with their captures.

Roronoa Zoro was neutral in this kind of thing. He didn't give a fuck if a World Noble had been killed or some grotty saddle-bum. He didn't understand how the murder of wealthy man outweighed the slaughter of a poor one. All he did know was that the bounty on this man's head was a plentiful one, and he was in need of a good pay.

Beneath him, the thunderous pounding of hooves against dirt gradually transformed into a clacking, sophisticated gallop as he entered the 'civilized' world of Loguetown. His determined week-long journey on dirt paths through various towns had him wiped out and in desperate search of an inn so he could take a much needed nap. However, he had to follow up on his bounty first. He hoped the man was still here. He must have been, as there was nowhere else to go without getting killed.

He'd received his last clue from a kind woman in a small farm village along the way, who told him that a thin blond man had saved her from bandits, only to become awfully frisky in the process. The description of a 'thin blonde man' was Zoro's biggest clue which proved to be a consistent one, and the sexual harassment was also a good indicator if his reputation as a seducer proved to be true.

She also said he rode a perfectly golden horse—it was rarer for a lighter horse to be flawless in colour—so that was an additional clue to watch out for. The type of horse reflected the rarity of the guy. A man with blond hair to travel in the Eastlands was very uncommon. That kind of colour was much more numbered in the Northlands.

In essence, Black Leg Sanji was going to be a cinch to find. And he wasn't wrong about that.

The moment his black mare galloped into the heart of the town he recognized a flawlessly blond horse hitched just outside of a saloon. Go figure.

In the fading daylight, Zoro smirked under the dim shadow of his black Stetson. Easy. "Come on, girl," he spoke to his horse calmly, patting the side of her neck as he instructed her with the reins to stop just ahead of the saloon. Kuina breathed out roughly in cooperative response.

He lifted his feet out of the stirrups and jumped off with a jangle when his boots hit the cobblestone. The green haired man tied Kuina securely to the hitch and adjusted his hat. Calmly, he stepped up towards the batwing doors, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his vest pocket and resting a lax hand on the hilt of his katana. The dynamic piano melody of such places overtook his hearing as he swung the doors open casually. Only a few men and some barmaids in the groggery took attention to his entrance, but he otherwise went unnoticed. He strode in and took a seat at the bar, glancing around coolly for a hint of blond hair. He didn't see any trace of it, yet.

"What can I hit you with, friend?" the bartender asked.

Zoro was blunt. "Sake, got any?"

"Sure do, kinda dusty though. Most people around here drink plain ol' rum or whiskey, you know. Sure you still want it?"

"Hit me with the whole thing," Zoro instructed, slamming beli down on the counter.

The bartender laughed. "You got it."

While waiting, Zoro unfolded the piece of paper in his hand and turned it around on the counter to show the bartender. When the man returned with Zoro's bottle of sake, he instinctively stared down at the wanted poster in shock. Spot on reaction.

Zoro leaned in discreetly. "Seen him?" _Blond hair, bang over left eye, blue eyes, thin frame, queer curly eyebrow...come on._

The bartender nodded slowly, his eyes flickering to his right.

"Over there?"

The bartender confirmed, babbling nervously. "Backroom, number four. He went with a man just ten minutes ago. I thought it might be him, should've stopped 'em, but I wasn't sure. I saw a bit of his hair but it was hidden—he was wearing a hood—so I just wasn't sure. But it must be him if a man such as yourself has come here lookin', right?"

Zoro tilted his hat to the man. "Thanks for the information. Hold my sake for me, would you? This'll only take a moment." The legs of his stool squeaked as he stood.

The bartender looked shocked. "Please don't cause a ruckus, it'll be bad for my reputation. This saloon's been pretty relaxed these past months."

"Don't worry," Zoro assured with a subtle smirk. "I ain't that kind of bounty hunter."

He dragged the wanted poster along the counter slightly before folding it back up, tucking it into his vest pocket. The roar of the crowd dulled and several pairs of eyes followed him on his way to the backroom, number four. Zoro turned nonchalantly out of their sight and down a more secluded hallway. This was a saloon, where many prostitutes gathered, and it was obvious what these rooms were used for. Zoro had used them on the rare occasion himself, male or female. Didn't care who he fucked, just had to like the whore.

Zoro stopped at room four, loosely clutching the hilt of Wado. He tested the doorknob as quietly as possible. Locked. Pressing an ear to the door, he picked up the sound of heavy panting. His eyes narrowed when he realized that the breathing wasn't in the typical rhythm that came with good sex. The breathing was panicked. The kind that indicated a pleading for life, or the last moments of them. Zoro knew more than his fair share of that kind of breathing. He'd listened to it when he chose the option of 'dead' over 'alive'.

His trained ears picked up: "_Stop...stop it! Guh—_"

Sex wasn't happening in there. At least not anymore if it ever had been.

Zoro stepped back and observed the hinges. They were rusty. He could kick it down or slice it. The bounty hunter chose the first option, giving the door a solid boot in its weak spot. The wooden door creaked in protest as it came loose of its hinges and slammed to the ground. He walked menacingly through the dust it kicked up and peered inside. A lantern eerily lit up the room with flickering light and distorted shadows.

The first thing Zoro saw was a thin, shirtless man straddling another on the bed. The shirtless man was clamping a hand over his victim's neck, and the other hand buried behind his own body. His side was facing Zoro, and his head was twisted towards the disturbance in shock. Blond hair, lithe and pale. A perfect fit for Black Leg Sanji's description and photo. The only difference here was that he was bruised and blood splattered. And that expression—Zoro didn't know how to absorb it. It was crazed and desperate, but also woeful and _angry_. It was a lot of things. He settled on labelling it as maddened, because this guy _had_ to be insane to murder a World Noble. That was that.

In an instant, a revolver was pointed at him, clenched in a bloody grip. "Get the _fuck out_ or I'll spatter your brains against the wall," the blond said in a smooth, dangerous tone.

The man trapped under the blond whimpered. So he was still alive.

Zoro smirked, clicking Wado's guard off its sheathe. "'Spose you might've heard. Maybe not. But bullets don't win a race with me. Got mighty fine reflexes to block 'em, too. So let's make this easy on ourselves, why don't we? Get off of him and come with me."

"Fuck you," the blond growled, the gun wavering in his grasp. "There's no way in hell I'm going with you. Step out."

Zoro sighed. "It's never the easy way. You want it the hard way, then? You got it, Black Leg."

He moved, as expected, quicker than a bullet. However what shocked him was that a bullet hadn't been fired. The blond was just as agile, if not more, as he sprung himself off of his victim and onto the end bed frame with his hands, spiralling around on them once and catching the sheath of Wado with a long, black leg. Zoro's block forced him to the side, and as the blond curiously grunted in pain, holding his rib, the bounty hunter took his opening and slammed the hilt of Wado into the man's effected abdomen. He heard the crunch of some already severely damaged ribs.

The blond cried out and fell on the mattress, sprawled on his victim's legs. He was in too much agony to move, pretty well paralyzed. Zoro took this chance to slice the victim's binds in seconds. The victim was surprisingly quick to grab a ball-tipped tonfa at the side of the bed, and slammed the blond in the shoulder with it. He landed on the ground brutally. Black Leg was in such bad condition before their fight had started, Zoro almost felt some sympathy. Kicking a man when down wasn't exactly something he would feel proud of, but it wasn't until he took a good look at the male victim that that trace of sympathy vanished.

And he remembered one of the epithets. The castrator.

Zoro felt sick. Because this was worse than castration. It could have been. The whole thing. The whole organ—this miserable blond fuck had been in the process of chopping the damn thing off. He saw the knife sprawled on the covers, staining the whiteness of the sheets a prominent crimson. And the dark-haired man's member, cut halfway through haphazardly. Oh, god.

Zoro stepped up to the dark haired man. "Go get a doctor, there's a place right across from here. Someone will help you. Go."

The dark skinned man nodded shakily. Panting and practically delirious in shock and anger, he stumbled out of the door, covering himself with a shirt.

On the floor Black Leg Sanji yelled desperately after the departing man. "Gin! You're _fucking_ dead! You hear me!?" He was breathing heavily, tired and beaten. "Shit," he rasped in apparent disbelief. "_Shit._"

"_He's_ dead?" Zoro squatted down, all taunt and loom. "I'm wondering if I shouldn't just drag your cold corpse in, you sick fuck."

The blond pressed his face half into the floor. "You don't know a fucking thing about me."

Zoro was aware of the blond's attempt to get up. He stood and put a foot on his back, kicking him down. "Well, you can tell me along the way to Enies Lobby if I want to hear it. And that's a mighty big _if__."_

The guy shot some piercing blue eyes Zoro's way. "I can't go in yet. I can't. I _fucking_ refuse!"

Zoro caught his assaulting leg with ease. Though he had a nagging suspicion that this guy would prove to be much more trouble when not as broken down by injured ribs. What a brutal instrument that tonfa had been. Then again, what a brutal crime he'd almost witnessed the blond commit.

"Sorry, this ain't a choice."

The blow to his head was swift and decisive. Meant to knock a man out cold and it did just that. Zoro hooked Wado to his side and stared at the unconscious form before him. Catching sight of a cream coloured pullover—assuming it belonged to his caught bounty—he grabbed it and put it on the blond, following up with a thin brown vest. He removed the loop of rope on his belt and turned the blond over, belly down, tying his legs and arms. Scrutinizing over the conspicuousness of Black Leg's hair colour, Zoro searched the room with his eyes and spotted a classic brown Stetson. As an extra precaution, he securely wrapped his black bandana around the guy's head, covering most of the hair—he simply didn't want to have to deal with the nuisance of bandits trying to steal his bounty by sticking out like a sore thumb. He placed the hat on, making sure the strings were tied to secure it to his head. He examined him, and noted that beyond the blood and bruises, the man was damn attractive. If he'd met him as a whore—or possibly even a regular citizen—rather than an outlaw, he definitely would've taken interest.

Zoro then hoisted the slighter man over his shoulder with ease and walked out. Upon his entrance into the main room of the saloon, clapping and cheers ensued immediately. This happened often. Usually Zoro simply made his way out humbly. Today was no exception. He was just doing his job, trying to make a living like everyone else of his class, even though his situation was a whole lot messier than that. Zoro glanced at the bartender quickly, and the man rushed over with his saved bottle of sake, holding it out to the bounty hunter by the entrance. Zoro grabbed it with his free hand as he exited.

"Thanks," he said simply to the bartender. "Take care."

"Likewise," the man said. "Careful now. Outlaws'll leap at the chance to swipe a bounty like that."

Zoro didn't stop, casually shaking the bottle of sake in the air behind him as a gestural wave. "Yup. They'll try."

The bartender smirked, shaking his head in amusement before turning back to his business. Zoro meanwhile placed Black Leg over the back of Kuina and then proceeded to unhitch his horse. After hooking the sake into a loop in the saddle, he rummaged around in a satchel and pulled out a leather strap, almost like a belt. The swordsman placed it around the blond's mid-section. Then he hopped on his steed, twisted at an unnatural angle and used his incredible strength to reset his capture into a side-legged saddled position behind him, back to back. Fastening the strap around his own mid-section, the blond was now tied to him, and though Zoro could feel the laxness of his body, Black Leg was not likely to slip off or otherwise escape with his binds and injuries.

Finally, Zoro tapped at Kuina's neck and jerked the reins. "Giddy up, girl," he instructed. The loyal black mare puffed out and turned at her rider's command.

The idea of settling down for a bit to get some food, maybe a nap, was appealing but now that he had apprehended Black Leg, the best option was to get some ground before the coming night turned into early morning. There was a small town he'd passed through about a two hour's ride away, Little Garden. He'd turn Black Leg over to the sheriff's hands there; have him detained for the night in a cell before picking him back up in the early morning.

It didn't take long to exit Loguetown. He met some trouble on the outskirts—some damn idiots from town had followed him out trying to take his bounty—but the fools soon regretted it after a quick horse-mounted shootout. Zoro used his firearms for situations like those, despite how much he hated guns. Sometimes it was just more logical to fight fire with fire. There was no way he could use his swords in a chase, unless his pursuers were dumb enough to get too close.

When at peace, however, riding out into the wilderness with only dirt paths and thousands of overlapping hoof-marks to guide the way was always his favourite phase of riding. It was mostly enjoyable when it was just him and his horse, and not with some fucked up outlaw bobbing at his back like a ragdoll. But, so long as said outlaw was unconscious, it wasn't so bad.

Of course this was why he was slightly disgruntled when he felt Black Leg stir behind him about an hour plus into their journey. At this point the sun had set and the stars were almost fully in sight with the moon omitting a guiding glow. Zoro kept his eyes stoically forward, anticipating their entrance into a valley.

The first thing the blond uttered was a pained moan. "Fuck...ow."

Zoro ignored the grumbles behind him and his eyes narrowed as he stared at the upcoming valley. Shit...he didn't recall seeing a valley this close to Loguetown on his way here. Maybe he had overlooked it? But how could he overlook something so obvious. He tugged harshly at the reins, and Kuina neighed in exertion as she came to a quick, shuddering halt. Not the best action for his passenger's condition.

"Ow, shit!" Black Leg screeched behind him. "The fuck was that for?"

"Shut up," was all Zoro distractedly replied, twisting the reins and directing his horse to turn around. Yup, he'd definitely gone astray at some point, here.

"Agh," the blond groaned, testing the mobility of his arms and legs. "Dammit." The horse galloped forward now—though it looked backwards to him—and the jerking movements did no justice for his injuries. Where was this asshole taking him? If not for the damage taken to his body by Gin's damn tonfa, he'd have this guy tossed off his own horse and would take immeasurable pleasure in riding it back to Loguetown. What a fucking setback this was. He desperately needed to get back to the ocean, and he'd been so close. If only Gin hadn't been at that saloon.

Ten minutes went by when Sanji heard the foreign man hum, bringing the horse to a more gradual stop. Still, the erratic movements caused him to hiss through his teeth. His fucking ribs were killing him. And fuck he needed a smoke.

Zoro tugged out a map and set it between his thigh and the saddle's leather. He fumbled around behind him for another compartment of the saddle and grazed Black Leg's thigh in his search. He paid it no heed, but wasn't too surprised when the blond spoke up.

"Hey asshole, whoever you are, don't fucking touch me."

Zoro almost laughed at the idiot. A stupid remark, considering they had been touching back-to-back for almost two hours now. He pulled out his desired object, a matchbook, and took his time responding as he broke a match off and lit it. He spoke calmly, "If that's what you really want, I can drag you along the dirt instead."

"Well aren't you a cheeky fucker."

Zoro's face scrunched up a little in the glow of the lit match. This guy was starting to get on his nerves. "Either you shut up or I drag you."

The blond didn't let up. "Fuck you."

"You'd like that wouldn't you, Black Leg slut," Zoro retorted, uncaring as he examined the map with match. Evidently, his words cut off the blond's tongue, if only for a moment.

But then he responded, his voice low and surprisingly more distracting than the yips of coyotes in the distance. "I'm no slut. Don't talk about what you don't know."

Zoro gave a biting laugh. "That's why I caught you, after seducing that man, nearly cutting off his dick? You're a real devil I hope you know."

"I might be a devil but I ain't a slut," Sanji shot. "And like I said, don't talk about something you're ignorant about. That guy—me and him got history."

"Oh, yeah? He a ditched ex?" Zoro taunted.

Sanji let out a snide laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm no queer."

This puzzled Zoro slightly. "Really, now?" he said with a hint of intrigue, a hint of disbelief. He put the map away and blew out the match, throwing it to the dirt.

"So you capture the infamous Black Leg Sanji, 'slutty Sanji', only to find out he's straight as an arrow?" He laughed, "Well maybe you'll start to see how crooked things become in the hands of the law—of the public and society."

"Ain't arguing that, but in my professional experience I can assure you, things are much more crooked in the hands of an outlaw."

"I ain't gonna argue that one, either." Sanji had to relinquish a small, sad smile. "Ain't gonna argue that one."

Zoro allowed the conversation to die down there as he flicked the reins and took off along a now reassured path. He wasn't much for chatting with his catches. Most of them were bastards who swore the whole way—threatening to dig up his mother's grave just to spit and piss all over her bones—but Black Leg was different. He still swore like a drunken sailor and had the bite of a lock-jawed bulldog, but there was something that set him apart from the rest of the degenerates he turned in for pay. Maybe it was that he was a sexy little devil, much to Zoro's discontent to still be admitting. But maybe it was also because he hadn't started begging and bribing to be released yet. A man resigned to his fate, perhaps...Zoro had to admire it if that was the case. He liked to believe that a true man could only die proudly if he knew who he was and what he fought for in the end.

Black Leg Sanji was wanted preferably alive, but dead if no other option. Ideally alive because he was set to be executed by hanging in Mariejois, for the satisfaction of the World Nobles who faced the loss of Charloss. Zoro's task was to take Black Leg to Enies Lobby where he would be detained in the foul prison of Impel Down before transported to the gracious establishment of Mariejois for his execution. To Zoro it seemed like they wanted the blond to suffer the horrors of the prison as well as a long drawn out suspense as he pended for his death.

Black Leg spoke up, shouting over the rumble of pounding hooves. "You're Roronoa Zoro, the bounty hunter, aren't you?"

Zoro affirmed back over the wind, "Yeah."

"Your swords and moss-lookin' hair gave you away. Back at the saloon, I thought it might be you. Just making sure," Sanji said, and coughed after a rather rough bump in the horse's otherwise graceful pace.

"I'm famous, am I?" Zoro asked, maintaining a loose conversation as he struggled to read a wooden sign ahead in the moonlight. It said Little Garden. Good, he was back on track.

"You call me a devil; they call you a demon," the blond continued. "They say you always catch your prey, one of the finest bounty hunters around."

"I thank you for the flattery," Zoro said roguishly.

"_They_ say that. _I_ say you may have caught me but you're not gonna keep me," Sanji declared, twisting his head behind him to the man's back with a mischievous grin.

"That's an awful rash conclusion to make when the statistics ain't in your favour," Zoro commented.

"I also say that fighting with swords is outdated, bushido-man."

Zoro kicked Kuina's sides with a jangle and the horse suddenly jolted in speed. He heard Black Leg behind him shudder in pain, letting an "Ack!" escape him, probably much to his chagrin.

"Why don't you sit tight, get comfortable, 'cause I'm sure as hell not gonna make this ride comfortable for you, Black Leg."

"Asshole," Sanji panted out with strain.

— ××× —

By midnight they'd reached the small town of Little Garden. Zoro was quick to settle Sanji into his cell with a deputy watching. The blond hadn't given up much of a fight, presumably due to his condition, but there was a perpetual scowl on his pretty features, especially when he was behind bars. And so Zoro had left, grabbed some food, and kicked back into a simple inn.

Sanji was practically twitching in need of a cigarette. At least he wasn't completely tied up anymore. Just handcuffed. But his body was in agony, so much so that he couldn't sleep. He really needed a smoke to relax. And what he wouldn't give for a nice warm bath to wash the dried and crusted blood from his body.

"Hey, jerk," he said, referring to the deputy guarding him. They were the only two in the jailhouse anyway, so he would be talking to no one else. "Got a smoke?"

The fat man, currently leaning back in his chair with feet kicked up on a desk, simply scoffed and continued to take a puff from his cigar. "I ain't obliged to give you nuthin', slut."

Sanji frowned at those words, and then pouted his bottom lip out in thought. "That may be true, but you see..." he drifted, shifting his back on the cold, concrete wall and wincing a little. "I'm in a lot of pain and a cig'll help me relax. You don't want to hear me complaining all night, do you?"

"Well," the fat deputy turned to face Sanji. "That would be justified, seeing as I hear you saved a woman from bandits in a farm town just east of here, and then raped her in her own barn. Probably listened to her complainin' all night long, didn't ya?"

Raped...? He recalled saving a woman from bandits in a farm town, yes, and he remembered asking if he could cook a meal for her to help her calm down after the ordeal, maybe even set up some romantic candles...she had seemed put off, probably because of his goddamned misunderstood reputation swirling around as contagious and nomadic as pollen. But he had never..._would _never do something like violate a woman. Just how much was society willing to distort a fact?

"You disgusting piece of lard. I would never do something so despicable to a lady." He said it with a defiant glare.

This got the chubby deputy out of his chair, and he half-walked, half-waddled to the bars of Sanji's cell. He curled his sausage-like fingers around the poles with a metallic clink, and gave Sanji a glare that the blond assumed was supposed to be menacing. But Sanji wasn't intimidated in the least—the lard-cake just ended up looking like an overcooked dumpling.

"You shut your mouth before I come in there and kick your jaw closed," the deputy threatened.

"Kick? _You_? Go right ahead; wonder how far back a fat guy can lift his leg," he egged.

The deputy was enraged as he fumbled with the lock and keys and slid the cell door open with a loud screech. "You're asking for it, boyo." The chunky man swirled his baton misleadingly as he stepped up to Sanji's slim form on the ground, and unleashed a full kick to Sanji's abdomen.

Dammit, his ribs! Sanji let out a strangled groan and a cough but didn't scream. Instead, hunched over, he said breathily, "Hey, lard-boy, you gotta use your heel when you strike, not your toe. Idiot."

"Don't lecture me, scum."

Another boot, this time in his chest. "Bit better," Sanji strangled out, short of breath. "Just kinda pathetic how much you depend on your two-ton legs to pack all the power."

A chubby hand was clamped over his nose and mouth in seconds, slamming the back of his head into the concrete. Surprisingly quick for a man made of blubber, Sanji wanted to verbalize. The man closed in on his face, making dangerous eye contact, brown on blue. He spoke lowly, "Now you listen here, slut. You're a sickening little worm—you rape women, seduce men, kill. You're outright loony, murdering a World Noble and thinking you can get away with it. No one cares for scum like you, so I think it'd be in your best interest if you just kept your filthy little trap shut before I prove that." The chunky man's clamped hand pressed in further, and Sanji stared at him with venom as he attempted to move his head.

Sanji managed to lift his bound legs enough to strike the man in the stomach, even if lifting them both was agony to his mid-section. The hand on his mouth disappeared accompanied by a shout of pain, and Sanji, shuddering from the exertion, breathed in fresher air. "No can do, deputy man. I'm the talkative type."

The deputy growled, fiercely smacking the blond in the head with his baton.

Slouched over on the wall to the side, Sanji's head hung completely still to make the ringing go away as quickly as possible. But the deputy wouldn't have it, grabbing him under the chin and twisting his head cruelly to meet face-to-face. Dammit. If only he could move, if he could endure the pain of his own attacks, just for a little bit. But this fuck-head was now crawling on him on all the wrong places, knees pressing into his severely injured ribs. Sanji laughed indolently with a smart-assed grin.

"And how 'bout that cigarette?"

He spit out blood to the side after a solid punch. It was going to be a long night. And still, despite everything, all he fucking wanted was a damned cigarette.

— ××× —

After making sure to stock up with as much food and water—and liquor of course—that he could take with him, Zoro made his way to the jailhouse. And while he expected to see Black Leg a little more beaten up, he was surprised to find him in terrible condition, much worse than he'd left him off at. He knew sometimes there were lawmen that enjoyed beating on a crook a little, he'd seen it countless times, but what the feisty blond must have done to get such treatment he couldn't say. Though he had an idea it was deeply rooted to his foul tongue.

The blond was coated in bruises and dried blood. He didn't even look up when Zoro entered the cell to retrieve him. His hair was a tangled mess, and his clothes dirtier and even more tattered.

"Hey, still above snakes?" he asked Black Leg semi-seriously.

Sanji lifted his head with strain, squinting up at Zoro tiredly. "Yeah...unfortunately for you."

Zoro put his hands on his hips and whistled. "You just don't give up, do you?" The only response was a weak smirk. "Well, let's get going then." He bent down and picked the blond's arm up, wrapping it around his shoulder and helping him stand. Sanji winced and gave short curses of protest, but otherwise didn't struggle. As Zoro led him out of the cell slowly, he asked the sheriff: "How much sleep did this guy get, you know?"

"The deputy that guarded him said maybe an hour max. Feisty mouth he's got," the man replied, nodded towards Sanji and chewing obscenely on tobacco.

"Yeah and it seemed to earn him more black and blues," Zoro remarked. "Well tell your deputy to take it easy; this guy was already hurt when he came in. He's wanted alive you know. Now I'm not so sure he'll keep."

"Yeah, yeah," the sheriff brushed it off, spitting into a pot. "I'll tell 'im."

As the entangled men slowly made their way down the stairs, Sanji weakly remarked with a scornful smile, "He's not gonna tell him."

"Nope," Zoro said bluntly. "Best we can do is get you bandaged up for now."

"You're taking me to a doctor?" Sanji asked in disbelief. Zoro merely nodded. "Well that's awful nice of you to do for a devil like me. What gives?"

As they stepped onto the dusty road and crossed to the other side of the street towards the small clinic, Zoro replied, "There's no point in stomping on a man's grave when he's already dead and buried. No matter how much of a mouth you've got, that deputy was a dirty son-of-a-bitch to do what he did."

Sanji hummed in thought while Zoro helped him into the clinic. This guy was alright. He seemed to be one of the more humanistic ones he'd met in a while. Most of the men in this wild world had already turned to animals, humanity nil. Some, but seemingly few, retained the soul of a man. Strange to see this in a man who they called a demon-hunter. But Sanji, the 'slutty, cold-blooded snake' knew better than anyone just how much warped facts could effectively turn into lies. Sheer propaganda.

Though some lies preserved truths. It was true that he'd murdered a World Noble, Saint Charloss. And it had been this event that nudged the snowball of slander down a hill.

Patching Sanji up—to the best of the doctor's ability—had been relatively simple, and it involved lots of bandages. Sanji's ribs weren't completely wrecked, but three were fractured, and most of them bruised. There were some head injuries that would give him a headache but were otherwise harmless, and many cuts and bruises that would heal over quickly enough. However Zoro noted something odd in the process of examination. When the doctor had asked to see Sanji's left hand—hidden under a dark brown leather glove—he'd hesitantly obliged. But when the right hand had been requested...well the blond flat-out wouldn't let it happen. He'd tried to play it off casually, but he was so adamant on keeping that glove on.

Zoro was curious, honestly. How could he not be? But he also knew his place when it came to other people's business.

They rode out on the Grand Line for hours, heading towards the poor desert town of Alabasta. It was located in a dry, drought-riddled land which they were increasingly starting to become aware of. Cacti, dried out patches of grass, and loose, shifty mixture of stone and dirt. And of course a scorching sun. Zoro had prepared for the extreme change in weather, bringing draped cloaks to wear and plenty of water. Sanji, tied to his back, was relatively quiet except for the occasional demand for water and some groans of pain when a sudden bump rubbed his injuries raw. Sometimes Zoro shoved some left-over whiskey his way—he didn't dare give up the sake, too rare a find—to possibly numb some of his pain and thus his complaints as well.

It wasn't until night when they'd set up camp that Zoro discovered Sanji was a cook. And, hesitantly, it was the first time—other than bathroom breaks—that Zoro trusted the man to roam around freely and unbounded to cook him something over the campfire. The cook made him something miraculously good out of canned potatoes and beans, and he hadn't the pleasure of tasting something so well prepared in a long while. It prompted the bounty hunter to ask a little about Sanji's background with the hobby.

"Well," the cook responded, "Always had a passion for it, I guess. Was born in the Northlands, where conditions are harsh and food is harder to come by. A good cook there's as valuable as water is in this desert. But mainly...I grew up on the sea, where anything can happen. It's unpredictable, one moment you've got stockrooms full of food, the next it's gone rotten and it's a long journey back to land. Or a storm throws you overboard and you're stranded. Anything can happen." He paused, taking a bite out of potato. "But being on the sea, growing all skinny like that, that's how I realized I wanted to feed people for the rest of my life. I like it; fills me in a weird sorta way."

Zoro smirked. That was an unexpected response. It almost made him feel some sympathy. But he knew not to trust an outlaw; they were crafty, and this one was...different as he'd observed before. He didn't quite know what to think of it yet. But feeling pity wasn't something he wanted, or needed. He couldn't afford to. "So where did you go wrong?" he asked, throwing a dried-out stick into the fire.

"I didn't go wrong," Sanji answered simply. "The question is how others wronged _me_."

"You murdered a man, tried to de-man and nigh kill another and you're telling me you didn't go wrong?"

This seemed to make the blond burn. "What about you? How many men have you killed with your 'profession', huh?"

Zoro was expressionless as he stared into the crackling fire. Suddenly the coldness of the desert at night became more frigid. Many—too many to count. "That's different...they were outlaws, bandits, all in self-defence or by..."

"By what? Request right?"

Zoro's eyes stayed on the flames. "Yeah. By request, sometimes."

Sanji said it in a distant mumble, "If you ask me, bounty hunters are just outlaws favoured by the Government."

"I like to think of what I do as independent from them."

"Doesn't make it any less immoral...I mean, do you ever—don't you ever wonder..." he paused, staring down at his gloved right hand. "If you've turned in somebody innocent for money?"

Zoro's eyebrows furrowed at those penetrative words. It was a thought that near-constantly ran through his mind; a fear. But he could never accept it to be true. "I'm a good judge of character. Sure thing if you saw some of the bums I've hauled along you'd agree. Ooze the vibe from their pores, they do."

"Maybe, maybe not. Never know," Sanji argued. Then, interested, he asked, "If you're such a great judge of character, how 'bout me? Guilty, innocent?"

"Guilty," Zoro said, right away. He could feel it in the blond, that sense of kindredship with a man who'd killed before, like himself. "Definitely guilty, but...I just think you're a good man who happened to tread a bad road." Zoro was surprised to comfortably be able to call Sanji a good man. He'd expected a cold-blooded lunatic, a seductive snake, but what he'd received was just a man. Just a man like many, running from something.

"I guess that ain't a half-bad analysis, in some ways," Sanji said, chuckling. "What are you gonna do with the seventy-seven beli pay while I'm hanging with a dislocated neck?" Though Sanji was handing the swordsman a thoroughly daunting re-examination of the severity of his situation, he handled it in a way that was casual, friendly, and full of jest. Quite honestly, it was rather frightening.

So much so that Zoro nearly refused to respond. But he was drawn to that feeling of dread. That and the comforting, attractive grin spun on the man's face. "Booze. Lots of it."

Sanji's grin turned into a wide smile, highlighted by the warm flickering glow of the campfire. The blond shook his head and took a sip of water, just as Zoro felt a warmth in him in the frigid desert night.

— ××× —

Black Leg Sanji knew he had gained that title for his style of fighting above all else. Fluid, flexible kicks executed by long legs coated in black. And he had also known that during their slumber, he'd be forced to be tied up once again. Regularly, with ribs as injured as his, he wouldn't attempt repositioning his bound arms, something that he knew his flexibility could allow him. But the fact that they were in the desert and farther away from the shores of East Blue picked away at his psyche incessantly.

This had gotten ridiculous enough as it was. He was escaping tonight. And his will would have to override his pain.

Zoro was sound asleep by the dying fire, and the fact that he'd ingested quite a bit of liquor made Sanji even more pledged to take his chance now. He'd humoured the man at dinner a little, made decent and unsuspecting conversation that was simultaneously natural and it'd evidently created enough trust that Zoro had left him with tied limbs _only_.

His arms tied behind him and his legs bound together, Sanji rolled onto his side. Already his mid-section was moaning in protest, but the blond clenched his teeth and bore it. He lifted his long legs at an incredible angle, nearly screaming at the strain he was putting on his ribs. Sweating profusely and shaking from the agony, Sanji forgot to breathe but continued nonetheless, putting his legs through the loop of his attached arms and setting them down as quietly as possible on the rough, gravelly surface. He nearly allowed them to collapse in exertion, and closed his eyes, panting quickly and shuddery as he tried to calm and quiet his breathing. _Fuck,_ that'd hurt.

Sanji glanced over at Zoro, who was still passed out. He breathed out in relief. Good. With his arms in front of him now, it made it possible for him to set himself into an army crawl position. Again, his ribs were screaming, but he pushed through. He gauged Zoro's sleeping form constantly as he slinked past him like the snake he'd been dubbed. If he could just make it to the saddle, he could locate that switchblade that was tucked away in one of the compartments. He'd caught sight of it during one of their breaks from riding earlier on.

With no complications, Sanji found himself by the grounded saddle. The horse was near it, standing on all fours and sleeping. There was no way he was getting that saddle on that horse without a ruckus. He'd have to quietly take enough water to last him until the next town. Finding the switchblade clipped to the saddle, he made quick work of the rope restraining him. Grabbing a canteen of water from the saddle, he knew it would be enough for him and finally stood, slipping the canteen over his shoulder and torso. Holding his abdomen in ache, he gazed up at the horse, silently grateful that the reins were still attached to the headpiece. Riding bareback with fractured ribs would already be demanding, but without reins it would have truly been a feat.

He slowly stroked the horse's neck so as to not awaken her suddenly. She awoke with a low, rumbling exhale. "Shh, girl," he comforted. Climbing on a nearby boulder, Sanji mounted the horse, breathing in deep to ward off the aches of his body. Just as he was about to kick the horse into action, giving Zoro no chance of following him after that, the black mare let out a high pitched neigh that pierced into the dead desert night. Sanji cringed and kicked the sides of the loyal black horse, who didn't seem to cooperate with a stranger, stubbornly not moving. Just when he'd managed to control her, his ankle was grabbed and he was tugged roughly to the ground. He landed on his side, painfully, and as the dirt cloud around him settled he was met with a pressing knee to his back, forcing him on his stomach.

"Fuck! Ow, shit! Get off! Agh—"

As he shoved a hand to the back of that pretty blond head, pressing his cheek to the dirt, Zoro's voice was low and sardonic. "Sorry, just a tad sore I was nearly ditched in a desert with no horse and a puny amount of water."

"_I'm_ a little fucking _sore_ that you're leading me to my fucking _death_! Get off of me!" Sanji struggled. Fuck. _Fuck_. He'd been so close! He couldn't keep going with this self-righteous prick, travelling farther and farther away from his freedom. From his debt to the old man. From his dream of finding that ocean. "Get off!" he screeched behind him as Zoro's strong hands began positioning his arms to be tied up again. Enraged, he managed to take advantage of his free legs to attempt locking Zoro into a flexible leg-hold, but his condition just couldn't allow that kind of twisting anymore. "Aagh, fuck, shit!" _Fuck!_

"Don't struggle," Zoro's dangerously calm voice sounded. With retied arms, Sanji was promptly flipped onto his back as the bounty hunter straddled him to keep him locked in place. "You'll just batter yourself more."

"Fuck you! _Fuck you!_" Sanji yelled out into the desert. Pointless. "Let go of me!" He panted wildly. "I have to get there, to the ocean! To that ocean! I've got somewhere I need to be! So fucking _let me go!_" Just the feeling of being so close, imagining the freedom of the sea, that familiar light, nostalgic wind—only to have the vision tugged away from him, literally slamming him back to the dirt. It had his mind going wild. Was he seriously destined for execution at the end of this all? There had to be _something _he could do. Anything! Was he really not capable of escaping from Zoro, his condition ruthlessly holding him back?

It was so disgustingly unfair all there was left for him was to shout and cuss.

"Damn you! Shit! Get the fuck _off_—!"

_Shhnk_. A cool sharpness pressed up against his trachea, and Sanji knew immediately what it was. He glared up at the dark frame above him in pure rage.

"Don't try to escape from me. You'll regret it," Zoro's voice pounded like thunder—it was on a dangerous margin—and yet he spoke quietly, with the serenity of a breeze. "I made a deal. I have to take you to Enies Lobby."

— ××× —

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

o

o

— ××× —

Born Unto Trouble

Chapter 2

— ××× —

The stubborn idiot was refusing food and water. And it was probably in hopes of deterrence—threatening Zoro with the possibility of having to bring in a dead fish, and thus severely lessening the bounty value. Or maybe he was simply doing it to piss him off. It was doing only one of those things; the latter.

Quite honestly Zoro had his reasons for bounty hunting, and while the pay was good on the side and he was making a decent living off it, it wasn't what he was after. At the end of the day his pay was irrelevant; just put grub in his belly and kept him pushing on. He'd made a deal and he was very close to completing his task. Handing Sanji over was crucial for more than just the reward money. Despite all of this, it was plain irksome to watch the blond worsen his health.

But somehow the most frustrating part was that Black Leg wasn't speaking. No arguments, no complaints. It was as if the blond had given in, surrendered, willingly fallen to his knees. Even when they stopped for breaks, Sanji held an emptiness in his eyes. As much as it made his task easier...it pissed Zoro off to see it. But he didn't know why. Black Leg had done his wrongs—bringing him to Enies Lobby wasn't controversial for that.

Seeing the blond's natural fire douse so swiftly...it was the hopelessness. He realized it was the hopelessness that he hated most.

"Couple hours 'til we reach Alabasta. Sure you don't want to get over yourself and have some water, at least?" Zoro asked behind him. Black Leg felt like a swaying doll at his back. He wondered if the man was sleeping or dead when, as per usual lately, he obtained no response.

Shrugging and ready to soothe the dryness of his mouth with a swig of what little water remained, Zoro stopped mid-way, pensive, before letting the canteen dangle at his hip. He heard the healthy swish of the clear liquid inside, preserving it for later. He didn't need it anyway. If this damn cook could go without water for hours in the desert under the sweltering gaze of the sun, he could rough it too.

— ××× —

Entering Alabasta through a poorer district of the city, Zoro made sure that Sanji was well concealed in a cloak except for the bottom half of his face. Bandits and even other bounty hunters tended to loiter around these shoddy parts and they were sure to try something if he made it obvious which specific outlaw he was dragging along. They might make attempts, and some failingly did, but Zoro warded them off with a cold stare, at gunpoint, or even with the simple gesture of clutching the hilt of his katana. Almost everyone in the world of the lawless knew that Zoro was not someone to be trifled with. Despite that, most of them were still dumb enough to challenge. Fools.

Kuina strode in as the crowd diffused around her. The city was bustling with dominant salesmen and excited shoppers. This district contained white, crumbled walls and buildings with arched entrances, and sales stands which had draped roofs—some colourfully patterned, some solid and plain. The place felt hollow and dry, dusty winds ghosting past them. This was the nature of a desert city.

The plan was to pick up supplies, check in with the lawmen to confirm his status and location to the Government, and then set back out into the desert. Alabasta was located in dead centre of the desert, and so that meant they were half-way out and onto a more flourished part of the Grand Line's path. The heavenly lands of Skypiea, located in a massive plane of valleys and winding mountains. It was known to be beautiful and majestic. But since they had more desert ground to conquer, Zoro _really_ wanted the stubborn idiot tied to his back to at least drink something. And sooner or later he would have to, because he didn't want to have to turn him in dead. He knew it wouldn't benefit his deal with the Government to do so.

Hours later, Zoro had finished picking up the supplies needed for the slog they had ahead of them. And during that time, he'd come up with a plan. The blond criminal had—once upon a time when he'd been, ironically, unable to shut him up—_always_ been begging for a cigarette. "Just one," he'd always say in that annoying sly tone of his. Zoro never gave the criminals at his back any form of special luxury, so Black Leg had been no royal exception. But in this situation where the blond was refusing the very basic necessities of life, he decided he could weave this little trait to his favour.

And so, as he offered the neck of his canteen, now refilled with fresh cool well water, to the cook's stubborn lips—that unwavering blue eye staring back at him—he put his idea into action. "One full pack of cigs, your choice, if you just drink some damn water, mule."

The blond's one visible eye flickered in surprise, his willpower cracking, but there was no further response.

Zoro smirked and readied himself to set back on his horse, shrugging. "I thought that was a pretty generous offer, but if you say so..."

Black Leg growled in frustration. "Fine, dammit! Fine!"

Zoro settled back in a standing position on rugged concrete, laughing shortly, "You're not so tough to barter with, after all."

"Fuck you, get the damn smokes—King Ground—then I'll have some fucking water. _After_ I have a smoke," Sanji spat at him atop Kuina's back. He was practically trembling in his need for a smoke, and wasn't even shameful as his resolve crumbled. And he was pretty fucking thirsty. Hungry, too.

He'd just been too stubborn to have his idiot mosshead captor support him anymore. And, admittedly, he'd truly felt a little hopeless for a while, pondering about the whereabouts of the old man and if what Gin had told him was really true. But the truth was, if he had any intentions of another attempted escape or any more upcoming chances, he'd need all the strength he could get. Gaining the strength he needed in exchange for a pack of King Ground? How could he turn it down?

"Demanding, for someone currently tied on the back of a horse," Zoro commented, turning away with the crunch of gravel. "King Ground, got it," was all he said before walking off into a general store.

Sanji grumbled as he watched him disappear behind the door and instinctively peered to his left, into an alley. These asshole bandits had been stalking them for the past thirty minutes, it was driving him insane. _Honestly, just make a move already...the mossy demon-hunter's distracted, I'm all alone and tied up. Try me._ The criminals caught his gaze and swiftly shuffled out of sight. Sanji pouted slightly and huffed, disappointed.

"Fucking cowards," he said under his breath.

Zoro remerged soon after with a mouth-watering—to Sanji—pack of cigarettes. He was already busting the pack open and sliding out a stick before he made it to the horse. Casually plucking the cigarette into Sanji's mouth, he pulled a matchbook out and promptly lit the tip.

The blond's eyelids drooped in euphoria, finally relieved after two excruciating nicotine-less days.

"Now drink," Zoro pushed the canteen his way.

Sanji swivelled his cigarette to the side of his mouth apathetically. "I said _after_ my smoke."

The bounty hunter pulled the canteen back with an annoyed grimace. "You think you'd be begging me for water in this heat, not a smoke."

"Yeah, well..." Sanji mumbled. Then he bounced the cigarette with his lips for emphasis. "This thing keeps me alive too."

Zoro chuckled condescendingly. "Funny, I keep hearin' those sticks call death quicker."

The blond rolled his eyes. "That's bullshit. Just fancy chemist talk."

"Whatever," Zoro shrugged. It was when the blond coughed, smoke bellowing out of him like he was a dusty antique, that the green haired man stepped up and plucked the cigarette out of his mouth.

"Hey, I was smoking that, bastard!" Black Leg complained.

"That's enough for you," Zoro said, throwing the lit cig to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot, earning a disheartened whine from Sanji. "Just drink now and let's get moving."

"Fucker," Sanji hissed, but when the opened neck of that canteen tilted towards his lips, he couldn't resist. After chugging nearly half of its contents thirstily, Zoro took it away. It sort of reminded Sanji of his time in starvation recovery back on the sea, when his food and drink intake had been monitored. When he was well taken care of. Because he knew more than anyone that if he drank too much after being deprived, it could make him sick. But he'd been awfully dry, and in that state, you take all you can get.

It was interesting, and a little peeving, that Zoro had stopped him.

"Hungry?" the bounty hunter asked casually.

Okay, now he was more than a little peeved. "No."

"You haven't eaten all day."

Sanji clenched his teeth. "So what!? What do you care?"

"Fine," Zoro said, whistling, as if impressed by the blond's short fuse, and mounted Kuina gracefully to join his capture. While casually tying Black Leg and himself together, he responded, "But I have to take you in alive, don't I?"

Sanji's eyes narrowed to the ground. "You don't have to."

"You'd rather I take you in dead?" Zoro retorted, softly kicking the sides of Kuina to get her trotting.

Sanji hissed, "That's not what I meant."

Zoro frowned. "Well then I don't like it where you're going. Don't start begging, now."

"Shithead, I would never," the blond said sharply. "But...you don't have to take me in."

"Don't start lecturing me about what I have to do. You ain't got a clue," Zoro spat back to him. He spurred Kuina harder, encouraging her to break into a run once they found free room on the dirt path. The town of Alabasta blurred out of sight quickly, and Sanji watched it leave, unable to stop it.

Farther and farther away from the ocean they rode.

The blond was about to respond to Zoro's earlier comment when he noticed eight mounted horses emerge from the back of a medicine shop in the distance of Alabasta. He smirked. _So those wimps decided to grow some balls after all..._

Maybe this was just what he needed. Maybe he didn't have to do any convincing after all. A good fight and flee would be more his style, anyway. He waited until he could see their figures better before speaking up. "We've got company."

"I know," Zoro responded. Somehow, he always did.

Gunfire soon erupted towards them, and Zoro cursed when the lightning quick metal nicked his shoulder past Sanji's narrower ones. He flipped out his revolver expertly and twisted around, using Sanji's shoulder to steady his aim and fired. He hit his mark, striking one of the bandits in the left arm and knocking him off balance. The man tumbled to the ground, his foot caught in the stirrup as he was dragged around aimlessly by his own horse, and subsequently slammed into a cactus.

Zoro smirked devilishly, his eyes darkened by the shade of his hat. "I love it when that happens," he shouted over the thundering hooves.

Sanji gaped slightly. "And _I'm_ the sick one?"

The bounty hunter ignored him and twisted to Sanji's other shoulder, picking off another man on the left. The bandit managed to stay on his horse, holding his neck desperately. He would bleed out before his horse even reached them. Just then, a bullet fired and impressively—whether accidental or intentional—skimmed the belt tying Sanji to Zoro.

Sanji laughed excitedly at his luck as he lurched forward and the belt snapped. This situation really _was_ turning to his favour. He kicked himself off of Kuina, and steeled his nerves for a hard landing. Making sure his legs were bent properly, his feet met the dirt and he rolled painfully, kicking up dust and making strangled, agonized sounds before he came to a stop. His cheek to the dirt and his eyes clenched shut, trying to ignore the pain, his eyes snapped opened when the ground trembled harder. He watched as six determined horses whizzed past him, intentionally avoiding trampling him, and heading back towards Zoro's now halted horse.

_Okay, now just for these ropes..._

He felt the earth beneath him shudder slightly—but not as violently as before—as he forced himself into a kneeling position. Glancing ahead of him, he noticed a horse's legs slow almost directly in front of him. There was a suffocating cough, and a man—the one whom Zoro had shot in the neck—fell over to the ground, blood pooling fast. Sanji grimaced, and then smiled when he noticed something shiny and metal coming out of his pocket.

"Today really _is_ my lucky day," he said, as he scooted over to the dead man beneath that beautiful get-away beast.

Still kneeling, he had to awkwardly grab the knife with his arms tied behind him, but once he accomplished that he positioned the knife and worked at his legs. Keeping an eye on the ensuing battle—in which Zoro was impressively using a combination of guns and swords—he placed the knife in between his ankles to hold it steady as he sawed the ropes tying his wrists back and forth on the sharp edge. One of the bandits pointed in his direction, and another began to gallop his way in response. Shit.

It looked like they didn't want him getting away, either. They definitely wanted the money on his head.

Sanji ripped the weakened rope apart, freeing his hands and he turned, grabbing the dead man's abandoned colt from his belt. He swung himself over the horse, ignoring his protesting bones, twisting the reins backwards and kicking the horse into action. He flinched at the gunshots that followed but kept that horse running hard. "Go, go!" he yelled to the chocolate coloured horse.

Feeling the wind of a bullet past his ear, he clenched the colt's handle and turned, aiming it. He'd never been good with guns, especially horseback, and he tried to hit his pursuer's arm and missed. Cursing, he tried rapidly again, this time making contact with the man's side. Sanji twisted the reins as the man motioned to make a final shot. The bullet just missed him as he diverged off of the main dirt path. Now able to peer to his left to check his pursuer's condition—still alive and riding—Sanji aimed again and pulled, shooting the man in the chest. Sanji smiled as the bandit collapsed bloodily on the neck of his horse.

"Not bad for a guy who prefers kicks over this shit."

Inevitably, he took sight of Zoro's fight from this angle. Only to discover one of the men aiming at him with what looked like a fucking _rifle_. Shit, didn't these fuckers want him _alive_!?

He didn't have time to get his gun ready, but luckily he didn't have to. He saw Zoro take his eyes off his current opponent to fire a quick bullet into the back of that sniper's skull. Sanji stared, shocked, as the sniper slumped over immediately. And as Zoro's close-ranged opponent struck him in the temple with a gun—possibly empty for him to have resorted to that—knocking Zoro to the ground from Kuina. The black mare neighed terribly.

Sanji's fingers clenched around the reins, twitching and unsure.

_Pick yourself up, you idiot..._

Another man, probably the leader of this whole gang of bandits—it was just the way he walked—strolled up to the grounded bounty hunter. The other remaining bandits—Zoro had picked off the rest—had their guns trained on the green haired man. Zoro struggled, beginning to get up with only his forearms supporting him. He was brutally shoved back down with a booted foot to his spine, and held there.

_Come on, get up..._

The man trained his gun to Zoro's head, close range.

_Get up...!_

Sanji hissed, "Shit!" and whipped at the reins. His horse took off and Sanji made sure it rode quick and flawless. He fired a shot in that general direction, being too far to aim properly, and was satisfied as the distraction worked and Zoro's executioner stopped and turned his way. He ducked when he was fired at—mere warning shots. These men didn't want to kill him, perhaps wound him, but not kill him. As he got close enough to aim properly, he pulled the trigger, afflicting the man's upper right leg. The leader curled into the wound, and Sanji fired again, this time hitting one of the other bandits in the shoulder who was about to shoot his way. Almost to the scene, there was no noise but Sanji watched as the leader fell, bleeding unnaturally. Zoro had finished him from the ground, his sword striking through torso and flesh. Sanji had no time to gawk at the grisliness of the scene, shooting the other bandit in the stomach. The last remaining one—the guy whom Sanji had shot in the shoulder—seemed to panic a little, aiming his gun towards Zoro's head.

Sanji wouldn't let him do it, aiming for a quick finish. He pulled the trigger but was met with an unnatural click. An empty click. His gun was out of fucking bullets, and Zoro's gun was scattered somewhere on the ground, not near him. The blond kicked the horse, urging a quicker pace. Zoro rolled to his feet, avoiding the first bullet which sunk into the loose dirt and sand. And before he could give the remaining lackey a taste of _true_ metal, his neck was clipped by a bullet. Zoro stumbled, clenching a hand to his neck, and it was all the bandit needed to deliver a final, more dexterous shot.

Unluckily for him though—while Sanji was out of bullets—the cook was now hurtling close enough to make his feet useful. Leaping off of the dark brown horse, Sanji used the speed and momentum he'd gained to his advantage and struck the man in the head with a brutal side kick. His wounds roared and he collapsed upon landing, the lackey tumbling to the ground in synch with him, unconscious. On his knees, Sanji panted, holding his abdomen and trembling.

Fuck if he wasn't already getting too old for this. Or rather, too injured.

But even still, Black Leg Sanji stumbled to his feet, only to be taken down to the dirt again. "What the—?"

"Stay down," a familiar voice said into his ear with dangerous composure.

Sanji was shocked as Zoro flipped him over, onto his stomach, and pulled his wrists together. "The fuck are you doing!?" he shouted back, his voice strained with the agony of the pressure to his ribs.

"Tying you up," Zoro said brusquely.

Sanji's voice cracked slightly in surprise, "After this!?"

"This doesn't change anything. You made your mistakes. I don't have an obligation to let you go," Zoro explained curtly, tugging at the rope and tightening the knot.

The blond growled, "I murdered some top shit man, but people don't pay attention to the hundreds of murders that go down everyday. Once a World Noble is touched, everyone fucking loses it! I killed Charloss because he was a sick fuck who _bought_ people—slaves, who—"

"Listen to me!" Zoro yelled thunderously, flipping Sanji over to face him. He put his hands on the cook's shoulders and leaned in, making brutal eye contact. "Don't try to convince me of anything. Your reputation says enough, and even if you say it's false, the fact is: I _caught_ you practically sawing a man's dick off. So even if you claim Charloss is a sick fuck, it's not a stretch to say that you're sicker!"

Sanji glared, his eyes a strange mixture of fire and burn—hurt. "The world knows nothing about me, neither do you. So don't you fucking call me sicker than him."

Zoro's eyes narrowed and he leaned in further with an incredulous but patronizing glare. "You crawled into his bed, poisoned him, _cut off his cock,_ and now you're trying to convince me that you're not sick? When I caught you doing the same only three days ago?"

Sanji was silent for a moment, staring unwaveringly into Zoro's deadly gaze before responding, "Both were well deserved, trust me on that. It's just coincidental that they earned the same punishment."

"Whatever they did, whatever they deserved, it means nothing to me. I'm not here to help you. Remember that. Don't ever try to convince me," Zoro warned, and then added. "I've got too much shit on my shoulders to start feeling sorry for you."

"I don't need your damn pity." Sanji clenched his jaw, his one visible eye lighting up with fury and he shouted doggedly in hopes of piercing through Zoro's cold equanimity. "But I saved your fucking _life!_ So save mine!"

"I told you," Zoro said, finishing up with the loops around the blond's ankles. "I can't help you."

— ××× —

The lonely clacking of hooves ascended up a rocky path. A cool, whistling wind flew past as Sanji peered down the valley's side. They'd escaped the heat of the desert a little over an hour ago, and were now in Skypiea territory in the midst of an explosive sunset. The landscape was a welcoming change from the dry and desolate desert lands. Skypiea Valleys were just that, weaving valleys and hills and mountains, all blanketed by vegetation. In the early mornings, it was said that the mist from the huge shroud of plants created a heavenly atmosphere—mist that looked like clouds. There was a place they were headed for high in the hills called Angel Town, fittingly.

The cook, again, wasn't speaking much. But neither was Zoro. It was a silent journey into the hills, not quite comfortable but not quite awkward. Just a presence, a sense of companionship, perhaps. One didn't know if he'd go so far as to call the other a companion, but no matter the circumstance—call it what you will—travelling horseback with someone along the Grand Line was some kind of company.

Sanji's ears picked up the sound of swift feet, barely audible over the crunchy thuds of the black mane's hooves. Finally the physical forms that belonged to these footsteps appeared past him, shirtless men wearing worn-torn leather. Their bodies were covered with large tattoos—a deep teal and magenta ensemble of colours and swirls. They ran with weapons—spears, bows, and shields—presumably, they were heading out to hunt.

Some of them glanced their way with a cold stare, but they focussed on the trek ahead of them soon after. Sanji wondered why there hadn't been any trouble—he'd heard about Skypiea Valley, and the territorial tribes that guarded the area. Trespassing was a common blame.

He had a feeling Zoro had something to do with it. "Why didn't they stop us?" the blond spoke up.

"I've been through here too many times to count," Zoro responded, maintaining his horse at a slow pace through a particularly shifty and steep section of the uphill path. "I've had my dealings with them already. They know who I am."

Sanji pursed his lips at that. He wasn't surprised that, as bounty hunter, Zoro had made himself known across the continent. "Who are they?" he asked, curious. He'd heard of the tribes, but he didn't know exactly who they were, how they lived, that sort of thing.

Zoro stared downhill as a small settlement began to emerge. "They call themselves Shandians. They've got villages set up all over the valley, there's one down below."

Sanji watched as Kuina progressed far enough for him to see the small village, full of tipi shelters buried in the trees. "They hospitable?"

Zoro snickered. "Are you kidding? Did you see any welcoming smiles on their faces when they passed?"

"I meant to you, since they seem to have a hard-on for you."

"They just tolerate me because they know I won't interfere with them. There's an ongoing war in these parts, you know," Zoro said. "So everything's real unstable here. The Shandians trust no one."

"A war?"

"Yeah," Zoro began to explain. "Over land—place called Upper Yard—good soil, a great farming spot. The Skypiean tribe took it over from the Shandians. I guess that's why those guys are so distrusting. The Skypieans are friendly though. The town we're heading to is nice, probably not what you'd expect in these parts."

"Angel Town?" Sanji recalled. "Sounds a little too good."

It was merely an hour more of hiking high into the tall hills and mountains until they reached the high-altitude mountain town of Angel. Sanji was in awe of its architecture. It was like a place built in heaven and brought halfway down to earth. Tall buildings, tons of balconies overlooking the beautiful view. Buildings and patios built seemingly impossibly over cliff sides, nearly hanging right off. Trees, fountains—it felt as valuable as finding the myth of Shandora, the city of gold.

Zoro yawned and stretched his arms into the air obnoxiously on Kuina's back. "I'm beat."

"So then throw me in the nearest cell already and sleep, dumbass."

The green-haired man readjusted his hat and gave Sanji a quick look-over as he stepped on solid ground. "I think I'd better babysit you tonight," he decided. In all honesty, he didn't want Sanji more beat up than he already was. And he knew that if he placed him in a cell, even in Angel—a town out of touch with its scummy society below—something could happen to the blond criminal. He'd best watch over him tonight.

Sanji didn't respond to this immediately, slightly confused and concurrently amused. "You warming up to me, demon-hunter?"

Zoro smirked as he led his horse to a hitch. "Not in your wildest dreams, Black Leg."

— ××× —

The blond limped up the stone stairs holding his abdomen, admiring the unruly ivy which curled and coiled around posts and railings. Zoro's callous footsteps were behind him, his hand probably hovering over sword or gun. Sanji placed a gloved right hand on the railing to aid his ascension, and fought off a wave of dizziness. His body had faced too much trauma from travelling and fighting, and not enough recovery. Even he had an exhaustion point.

He paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, before receiving a forceful push from behind. Grumbling, he kept moving. But godammit, he was hot. And why couldn't the world stop spinning and blurring? When they reached their room number, Sanji couldn't help but lean on the doorframe. He was done in, and damn if he didn't look a wreck, either. What he wouldn't do for a nice bath, or another cigarette. Both simultaneously would be heavenly.

Sanji opened his eyes in surprise—not even realizing that they'd been closed before—when he was grabbed by the collar and shoved into their room. There was the distinctive click of a door locking.

"Real gentlemanly," he grumbled at the swordsman, clutching slightly at his beat-up torso.

"Stay there," Zoro said promptly, looking around the room before moving towards the bathroom briskly.

Sanji glared at his crouching form in the washroom with an aggravated sigh. Water pooling into the tub sounded distinctly, and Sanji didn't know whether to look away or to stubbornly maintain his hardened glare as the man began to remove the clothing on his upper body. A beckoning hand waved his way.

"Come here."

Sanji's mind hesitated, but his body didn't. He inched forward, watching as Zoro patted his neck and shoulder wounds with warm water. Zoro had a man's dream of a body, and even the blond had to admit, it was attractive. He was the perfect balance of muscled and lean; fit and toned. He was still bulky and broad, but not to a ridiculous extreme—looked as strong as he proved himself to be, the fucker. Sanji, meanwhile, knew that his own strength was hidden in a much more slender frame.

When Sanji was inside the bathroom, facing Zoro at a different angle now, he noticed the scar. One massive diagonal line of distorted skin across his torso. The blond was both impressed and surprised.

"Where'd you earn that?" he asked.

"Another's sword," was the barren response.

Shirtless and a little wet, Zoro stood and rummaged through his pack. He pulled out some bandages and a bottle of something clear. Then he tugged out Sanji's cigarettes, slipped out a stick, and handed it to the blond. Sanji took it without hesitation, and subsequently the matchbook that came after. He hastily lit up and absorbed that sweet nicotine rush.

"What do I have to do in return?" Sanji asked, a little comically.

Zoro gave him a calm stare as he rotated the bandage roll in his hand, and the antiseptic in the other. "Sit still."

"You're patching me up, seriously?" Curving one corner of his lip downwards, Sanji glared at the swordsman suspiciously. "Thought you wanted me alive," he said, semi-joking.

"This ain't gonna kill you," Zoro responded. "Quit over exaggerating and come here."

The blond's foot subconsciously slid forward on the tile, and he kept his gaze trained on Zoro's calm demeanour, watching his eyes. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why help me?"

Zoro said straightforwardly; "Your injuries need attention."

Sanji's hand folded over a rather deep gash on his forearm that's origin was a mystery to him. Then he breathed out exasperatedly. "You're not supposed to be like this, you know."

"Like what?"

"This..." the blond struggled to find the right word. "Considerate, I guess. You're supposed to hate me."

"Who says I don't hate you?" Zoro asked with a subtle, know-it-all grin. "I just need you alive, remember?"

"Asshole."

"Come here already. Take off your shirt," Zoro demanded, gesturing for the blond to sit by the tub.

Something about Zoro's tone, his entire vibe in that moment, made it very easy to trust him. And Sanji didn't know if he was making a giant misstep in coasting along with that sense of trust, but if there was the slightest chance that it could lead him to freedom—gaining each other's trust—he'd gladly take it.

Carefully and slowly, Sanji removed his tattered and dirty white shirt, revealing the entirety of his thinness. The bandages he'd been given before were worn and unclean. Not to mention his face and other sections of exposed skin were practically a different colour than his natural pale complexion from the accumulation of dirt and grime, and his hair a sullied mess of tangles and dusty blond.

Zoro himself wasn't much better in terms of hygiene. He alternatively didn't have nearly as many wounds and injuries.

The bounty hunter was expeditious, and began to unravel Sanji's bandages as soon as the blond was on his knees. The mass of purple, red and yellow bruising didn't shock him—he'd expected it—but he still clicked his tongue at it. It looked nasty. He tilted his head a little as he placed his fingers delicately over the other man's lean abdomen.

Even under the severity of Sanji's injuries, his body was a beautiful sight. And_ damn,_ the man was thin but so strong. And those _legs_. Long and deadly; just how Zoro liked. Though mentally slapping himself for thinking such things under their circumstances, Zoro knew he couldn't help it. Sanji was elegantly crafted from head to toe. Those big, bright blue eyes and those pert lips...that sharp, charming nose. The golden shine to his hair. It was no wonder he managed to seduce men so easily, if that was indeed a legitimate part of his history.

Zoro's lips thinned and he wanted to shake his head. Was he really beginning to question the criminal before him?

Poking and prodding at Sanji's ribs, the blond seemed to withstand it, but not without a shudder every time Zoro caught a particularly tender spot. Suddenly, gloved hands wrapped around his wrists and his hands were pushed away.

"That's enough already," Sanji interrupted, clenching his teeth. "If you're going to bandage me, bandage me."

Shrugging, Zoro egged, "Can't take the pain?"

"Maybe I can't stand your filthy hands touching me," Sanji retorted, his logic failing at the fact that he was himself just as filthy, if not more. "And fuck yeah I can take the pain," he added.

Zoro delivered a quick shove to the blond's torso, knocking him back and causing an immediate groan from his victim. "You sound pretty hurt to me, stubborn idiot."

Sanji breathed out exasperatedly. "Did you not see my stomach? Of _course_ I'm fucking hurt."

"So you admit it, then."

"Fuck you," the cook moaned, climbing back to his feet.

Zoro turned off the bathtub's tap after acknowledging its full state, ignoring Sanji's lame response. "Undress and get in."

"What?"

"Gotta clean out your wounds before I can properly disinfect and bandage them."

Sanji's patience was drawing thin as Zoro didn't appear to be leaving. "You know I can take a bath myself, so get out."

"Quit being difficult," Zoro scolded. "I have no fucking clue what you'll try if I leave you alone. I've gone through enough shit leaving criminals alone. Consider yourself lucky I'm even letting you have a bath in the first place. I rarely do it."

Sanji wanted to argue, but the wave of exhaustion was hitting him again and his footing wavered. "Fine," he grumbled out, cigarette still hanging from his lips. He really wanted a bath, anyway. The blond tugged off his boots and socks with irritation. He then shamelessly began fumbling with the buckle on his belt, undoing it and unbuttoning the fly of his slacks. It wasn't until he got to his gloves that he became contrastingly slow—hesitant—taking off the left one and pausing with the right.

Zoro, at this point, was not only staring at the blond's near-nakedness, but was also watching with curiosity as Sanji took off that right-hand glove. But all Zoro could see of the mystery that lay beneath was the palm of a regular, undamaged hand. Then Sanji manoeuvred it up to brush through his hair, turning sideways to step into the tub and hiding it from Zoro's direct line of sight. It was obvious that he was doing his best to casually conceal whatever it was that he had to hide.

"Do you have to sit so fucking close? It's a bath, give a little privacy you crude bastard," Sanji complained, his back to Zoro as he shifted his boxers off, feet in the water.

Still, all Zoro saw—besides a stunning ass, lovely hips and the hint of something hanging—was the palm side of that right hand, looking healthy and regular. What was the blond hiding, dammit?

Ignoring Sanji's last comment—and in turn doing the exact opposite—Zoro reached out and grabbed that mysterious hand just as the blond began to ease himself into the tub.

"The _fuck_ are you doing—?"

A large splash and a wet foot immediately soared his way, but not before he caught the mark engraved on the backside of it. A deep crimson red dragon claw, branded on his skin like a tattoo. There was no mistaking it.

As Zoro smashed into the tiled wall—holding his side from the fury of Sanji's kick—the blond stood panting and naked, folding one hand over his shameful mark while covering his midsection.

"You miserable fuck," Black Leg huffed. "You had no fucking right..."

"You were..." Zoro spoke softly, drifting off with his eyes trained on Sanji's livid blue one, like an ocean in storm. There was simply no mistaking it.

The mark and permanent shame of a slave.

— ××× —


	3. Chapter 3

Fair warning that this chapter implies rape, as well as child rape and there's a graphic part with genital mutilation. (I don't dwell on it though.) Again, not for the faint of heart, but it's not so bad, really. Could be a lot worse. Tried to write it tastefully.

o

o

— ××× —

Born Unto Trouble

Chapter 3

— ××× —

"You _bastard_!" Black Leg blazed, covering his right hand with his left while cupping himself below for some dignity. He was, after all, standing there stark naked—not only physically—in front of a man leading him to his execution in a matter of days. His greatest shame had been unwillingly revealed, because the bounty hunter had unrightfully tugged it away from him. He said his next words with strain in his tone. "You miserable, dirty, _shitty_ fuck!"

Zoro's eyes were wide and vexed. Black Leg Sanji had been a slave? Where did this revelation leave him to think? "You…" was all he managed to sputter. He was almost tempted to simply exit the bathroom to leave the cook to himself. But he knew that wasn't at all possible.

The bath water splashed as it was disturbed when the blond leapt out, not caring about covering himself or his brand anymore, and went for the attack. Zoro crossed his arms in front of him to block a viperous kick aimed at his face. But the power was there, evidently as it smashed him into the bathroom's tiled walls. They sounded like shattering glass as some of them dropped to the floor, and amongst it Zoro grunted from the impact. The blond was already swinging another long naked leg at his neck and he barely managed to duck in time, feeling the wind of that kick soar through his hair. He was about to shout at him to calm down, but Sanji left him no time and before he knew it a bare foot connected with his stomach. That was concrete evidence that Sanji didn't need shoes for power, as Zoro slid down against the wall, coughing and clutching at his centre.

Sanji breathed heavily, then keeled over when he couldn't take the agony in his ribs anymore. He made strangled sounds as he attempted to make none at all, but he knew he couldn't pause for long. He smirked a little; proud of the work he'd done on the swordsman, before reaching for his clothes swiftly. The pain couldn't matter at this point. He'd finally been able to stun his captor, and he had to take his chance. Even if that meant wildly running out of their room bruised and naked. But Sanji didn't care, he was already out the bathroom door.

He heard Zoro call after him. "Oh no you don't!" And just as he turned the knob at the front door, a tanned arm snaked around his midriff and tugged him back. He growled in aggravation as he kept his grip on the knob and the door swung open, his escape in front of him, but he was being dragged away from it. And Zoro wasn't exactly being considerate of his injuries, either.

Still, despite the pain, he thrashed anyway. He tried sending his foot into Zoro's skull from behind, but the bounty hunter dodged it. The two grunted as they tried to offset each other's control on the situation, and Zoro eventually tugged the struggling cook close enough to a wall, where he slammed him belly first and pressed against his back to trap him. Sanji thrashed like a fighting fish out of water, but Zoro pushed him in further, causing the cook to let out an aching groan when pain seared throughout his torso. _Fuck_, it hurt! He stopped moving, because resisting only made his injuries _roar_, and all that was left of his fury at this point were raw, frustrated gasps.

Zoro's cheek brushed past his ear and he flinched away from it. He could feel his captor's quick breaths playing with his tangled strands. "Tantrum over now?" the green haired man taunted.

Sanji huffed, and spat, "Fuck you." His breathing became harsher and his voice rumbled out with each quickened exhale. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the wall in aggravation, trying to take his mind away from the fact that this fucker was currently pressing his naked body up against a wall.

Zoro grabbed the cook's wrists and brought them behind his back. The blond snarled at the action. "Are you going to be a good boy and take your bath now?" he teased, his hand snaking on the blond's shoulder. He had to admit; holding that slim, naked frame to the wall was pretty stirring. And the way the blond was breathing… "Or do I have to take that privilege away?" he added.

"Shut up, you fuck," Sanji snapped back at him. "Don't talk to me like some child. And get your _fucking _hands off me already, pervert!"

"Not until I have a guarantee that you'll cooperate," Zoro bargained, still clutching those thin wrists in front of him. Sanji spat another curse at him, which prompted him to do something he really didn't want to do, pressing against Black Leg's back and crushing him further into the wall.

Sanji yelped briefly and heavily panted to deal with the pain in his ribs. He was pushed some more and it was when his vision turned hazy that he gave in. "Agh—_fuck_, you psycho! Fine! Fine, get off! Get the fuck off!" His fucking injuries would _never_ heal with the amount of abuse they consistently seemed to attract.

Zoro stood back, releasing the cook from the wall but he kept those hands behind his back and shoved Sanji by his filthy blond head towards the bathroom with the other. The man grunted but obliged and walked back onto tile.

Following the skirmish, Zoro now sat on the toilet's lid, half-watching the cook clean his thoroughly alluring body and half-wondering what that mark on his right hand would do to his psyche in the days that remained before reaching Enies Lobby. Soon his thoughts were interrupted when he heard the water pouring as Black Leg stood, dripping and naked but finally clean. His now purely golden strands of hair—rather than the dusty tufts of blond they'd been for days—temptingly clung to his fair skin. Despite his wounds, it was a striking sight, even as Sanji made sure to cover himself. He thought this as he casually handed the cook a towel, who took it devoid of eye contact and stepped out of the tub while wrapping it around himself.

Zoro himself wanted to bathe, but he would have to figure out what to do with the blond. Tying him up in the bathroom with him seemed like his best bet.

Sanji didn't move as he stood above his clothes—they were far too sullied, stained with blood and grime and torn beyond proper repair. It almost felt paradoxical to wear these again on his clean skin. But even still, he resignedly bent down to pick them up, remembering that his standards had been stolen from him long ago.

Zoro witnessed Black Leg scrunching his nose up at the state of his clothes. "Wash them in the tub," he suggested. "Before I refill it for myself."

Sanji simply nodded, and got to work. He did wonder what Zoro cared, though. He was just a twisted crook in his eyes, days away from execution—what did clean clothes matter in his circumstances? When he was only set to be hung in the end? He wanted to imagine that it was a glimpse of hope for him. But he knew that Zoro was a bounty hunter just trying to get his pay. There wasn't a hope for him unless he could suck up the pain of his injuries to beat the leaving shit out of this guy.

But realistically even he knew there was only so much he could do with such a damaged torso. He'd been suffering through these injuries for days, and each day they only became worse. On top of that he'd been running from death for weeks, too, and there were various injuries he'd had since before Zoro captured him. His fatigue was immense, and at this point he was seriously going to get sick. He was already feeling a little feverish through his skin and sluggish in his bones and muscles as he scrubbed furiously to get the dirt out of the only clothes he had left on his back. His brows furrowed at this thought. He must've been a pathetic sight. The thought didn't sadden him as much as it infuriated him, and he subsequently scrubbed frantically.

He wrung out the clothes and slapped them over his shoulder. Then, still kneeling, he unplugged the tub and watched as the foggy water began to swirl down the drain—an easy escape. He was considerably jealous. His eyes widened when he felt Zoro kneeling behind him, and before he could whip around a hand was on his chest. Confused and angry, he startled and almost sent his foot into the guy's stomach again from behind when Zoro's voice cut off the impending action.

"Relax," he said calmly, bring his other arm around the cook, under his arms. In that hand he held a bandage roll. "Just putting on new bandages."

"Could've warned me, asshole," Sanji said, feeling strange and irritated with this act of tenderness. Zoro's hands and arms constantly looped around him, appearing and disappearing from his sight as he looked down at his progress.

"Too tight, too loose?" the bounty hunter gauged from behind, closer to the blond's ear than needed.

The question itself magnetized Sanji's teeth together. Why did he care? Why? He was just a crook to him, right? Did he pity him because he knew, now, about his mark? About his prior status as a slave? His jaw locked further at these thoughts. "You're one confusing bastard…" he griped.

Zoro didn't respond for a minute, simply kept up his task of looping those bandages around the man's body from behind. Then, he stoically asked again, "Is it too loose or tight?"

Sanji's fuse blew, and he turned halfway around to shove Zoro away from him. The man landed on his ass, legs extended in front of him as Sanji exploded. "What's with you, huh!? You're a _bounty hunter_! I'm your fucking catch! Beat me, stab me, shame me 'til I reach those Gates of Justice and you gain your prize! Don't do _this_! Don't fucking _bandage _me with that calm tongue! It's the worst thing you can do!" he huffed, still on his knees and only in a towel, his body so vulnerable looking but the contradictory vehemence apparent in his expression and words. "It's the absolute _worst_ thing you can do!"

Zoro said nothing; simply waited for Black Leg's heavy breathing to slowly settle. It was then that he questioned softly, "Why can a bounty hunter not be human too?"

Sanji gave a barking laugh at the query. "It's too cruel, that's why! You like giving your criminals false hopes? You like stringing them along on these—these _glimpses_ of yours, of humane treatment? It's fucking torture, is what that is! Throwing these fleeting hopes at me and then _shattering_ them just as quickly…!"

Again, Zoro remained tight-lipped and silent. But he absorbed Sanji's angry words, and he understood them. The criminals he'd travelled with had been treated with normal callousness. That was his usual approach, because he'd been well aware of Sanji's words even before they'd been spoken. But the cook was right—this whole journey had been different than his previous ones. He'd been breaking his own rule. He'd been treating the man like Black Leg one moment and then like Sanji the next.

But he didn't like this uneasy feeling that came with it, knowing that he would have to choose between the two at some point. These fleeting emotions couldn't continue like this.

Because the solution was entirely dangerous; completely risky. He couldn't grow an attachment, couldn't spare _any _reason to continue viewing Black Leg as a crooked outlaw. That's why that dragon claw mark had been an unsafe revelation. Because now he was piecing things together—Sanji, the cook, the possibly innocent man forced to trek a bad path as a human slave. Black Leg, who ruthlessly murdered a World Noble, or Sanji, who freed himself from his oppressor.

At this point, Zoro's lack of response prompted Sanji to begin dangling his clothing from the sink. The blond's actions brought him out of his ruminations, and after Sanji finished hanging his clothes, Zoro stood.

"Finish off your bandages if you don't want my help," he told him simply. The bath was empty now, and so he turned on the faucet to begin refilling it. "Do it quickly, I'm taking a bath and while I'm in here you'll be tied."

Sanji simply scoffed at him and picked up the bandage roll.

Ten minutes later the situation was exactly as Zoro had planned. He was relaxing in the tub and the near-bare blond had his arms, legs, and torso thoroughly wrapped up with thick rope, sitting on the ground against the tiled wall. Sanji didn't look at him throughout most of it; the blond really just stared at his immobilized legs. But Zoro could see from the dark circle under his visible eye, he was either severely exhausted or getting sick. Both wouldn't be a far-flung stretch. It was when Black Leg began to drift off—his head tilting to the sink and his eyes closing—that Zoro decided he was clean enough. He'd been just relaxing at this point, anyway.

When he rose from the water, it stirred the cook out of his daze. The blond made a swift glance at Zoro's poised naked form, before again leaning his head on the sink and staring dully ahead of him. It irked him that the bounty hunter took his sweet time to put a towel on. The boorish man was anything but refined, walking around like that right in front of him. He even washed his clothes in the tub naked before finally grabbing a towel for himself.

Sanji wanted out of this bathroom already and onto that couch that looked as soft as clouds. Of course he'd rather sink into the bed, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. Though, with Zoro's fickleness, maybe he wasn't so sure anymore. Either way, thinking of cushions and mattresses made him want sleep even more. He was utterly exhausted, and the little touch of nausea was just icing on the cake. He watched curiously as Zoro took his wet clothes outside of the bathroom to probably hang them somewhere better, like by the window.

When he came back, he stared down at the cook, and said, "Don't fuss, I'm going to carry you out. Just easier that way."

Sanji scowled, and then sighed. "At least I got a warning this time," was his tired response.

The swordsman said nothing as he bent down to pick the blond up in his arms at his front. The best way to hold him without terribly aggravating his ribs was simply with one arm supporting the cook's back and torso and the other under his knees.

Sanji wasn't impressed being held like a woman in the least, but he knew it was best for his injuries. Zoro swiftly carried him to the side of the bed—to his semi-shock—and set him down softly. Sanji felt all of his muscles and weight melt into the bed's mattress, and he repressed the urge to let out a relieved sigh. Despite the fact that he was bound, this was heaven.

As Zoro walked towards the couch, he informed coolly, "If you need to get up in the night, just call me."

Again, there was that glimpse. Sanji hated it tremendously, but his fatigue took over and he allowed himself to drift off with the dimming sunlight.

Zoro picked up his swords and gun belt, placing it at the fore of the couch on the ground. Then he lay down facing the ceiling and closed his eyes. Black Leg wasn't the only one who was bushed. Very rarely did he not let sleep claim him almost immediately after relaxing, and right now was an exception. He couldn't shake this feeling of responsibility. He'd seen something that needed to be questioned further; delved into, because otherwise he really might be sending an innocent man to a terrible, despicable fate.

He remembered the cook's words while camping out in the desert.

"_Don't you ever wonder...if you've turned in somebody innocent for money?"_

They would make him suffer in Impel Down after reaching Enies Lobby, he was sure. And after that, they would execute him in Mariejois in front of all those slave-buying, disgusting excuses for human beings. And _he_ would be the one responsible. Could he really deal with all of that guilt? Could he ever atone for something like that?

In order to find out Black Leg's true situation, he would have to press the information out of him. Yet not only was he the absolute worst person to listen to other people's sob stories, but he had his own shit to deal with. Sanji was his sixty-second catch. At this number, he was _so_ close to fulfilling his deal with the Government. He wanted to be free from all of this already, to travel with Luffy and the rest on the sea. To become the strongest. He so badly wanted that freedom, and he didn't want to make the others wait for it, either.

Would it be worth it to feign ignorance of Black Leg's past in the promise of his own future? When he had every opportunity to listen? But outlaws were cunning, willing to do or say anything if it could mean freedom. Which reminded him—what if that mark had been a trick? He slid off of the couch and stood, staring at the blond's hands suspiciously. Black Leg was lying on his side, hands tied to his back which faced Zoro. The green haired man stepped closer.

He bent down to the mattress' level and—knowing Sanji was asleep by his breathing pattern—touched the surface of the back of that right hand. The skin was uneven and abnormally warm, but Zoro had seen the marks before; this thing was as real as it got. A real brand mark. It sickened him to even touch it.

So the mark was authentic. Would the story be genuine too? Zoro closed his eyes in frustration. If he was wrong about this hunch, if he was wrong even in the _slightest_, everything he'd be risking to save this man would be for naught.

He couldn't decide, he really couldn't. Would it be worth the risk?

Zoro stood and headed back to the couch. He'd told Sanji once that he was a good judge of character. He'd get the information out of him—hear his story—and he would know then, whether or not he'd save his life.

And all he could think about as he drifted into a slumber was that Black Leg Sanji was the luckiest wanted criminal in the lands to have been captured by him. Though he couldn't say the same about his own fucking luck.

— ××× —

Water 7 was their next destination.

That morning, after the two finally dressed into their now dry clothes, they left the inn and Zoro led Sanji to Kuina. The mare was where he'd left her, hitched just outside the inn. She was eating grass when they arrived, and raised her head as she breathed out heavily upon seeing Zoro. The bounty hunter greeted her back with a pat to her long, dark neck.

He lifted the saddle onto her back and got all of their supplies ready for their upcoming long stretch between towns. With Sanji strapped to his back, he kicked at Kuina's sides and they sped along down the hilly path which led out of Angel Town and back into the Skypiea Valley.

Sanji hadn't been very talkative this morning, but understandably the blond looked horrible. He felt hot to the touch, too. Even back to back as they rode, Zoro felt a fire behind him. The goddamn idiot was ill. This made things so much more frustrating. But again, he couldn't blame the guy with the injuries he'd withstood for so long.

Zoro realized he'd made a mistake leaving Angel without seeing a doctor about a day later, their midway point to Water 7. The cook hadn't said much that first day, in fact he mostly drifted in and out of sleep or told him when he needed a break, so this time when he spoke up around noon that next day—the sun radiating above the many meadows and fields of their current landscape—Zoro took it seriously.

"Stop," he groaned out. Then, more urgently, "Stop the goddamn horse!"

Zoro complied immediately, pulling at Kuina's reins and telling her to slow. Her hooves trotted to a gentle halt, and Zoro glanced behind him. "What's wrong?"

"I feel…" Sanji began, holding his breath. "Get me on the ground," he rasped.

And Zoro knew what was happening. He quickly unfastened the strap tethering them together, threw it to the ground and slid off of the saddle, holding Sanji up with his hands all the while. He helped the blond down, who immediately collapsed to his knees and lurched—his hands still tied behind him—Zoro took him by the shoulder to keep him from falling over. The blond was trembling under that hot, clammy skin as he threw up on the dirt path. Zoro winced at the liquid's colour; a mix of his stomach contents and blood. He brushed the golden strands out of Sanji's face with his free hand and watched with a grimace as he heaved another two times before settling into a stage of shuddery breaths, coughs and gags.

"You okay?" he asked him.

Sanji didn't make much of a response, just tried to breathe in steadily and ignore the pain his retching had shot into his ribcage. He'd fought with the nausea off and on ever since leaving Angel Town, but it had simply overwhelmed him now. Panting and spitting to get the taste out of his mouth—the taste of iron, which couldn't be good—he straightened up and sighed. He then shook Zoro's hand from him shoulder.

"I'm fine, now," he said grittily.

The bounty hunter stood up. "When we get to Water 7 I'm taking you to a doctor," Zoro informed, staring at the bloodied vomit Black Leg had just finished spewing. "That can't be a good sign."

Sanji turned to him with a contemptuous sneer. "Again with your thoughtfulness. What's the _point_—"

Gunshots interrupted his words, and the sound of Zoro biting back a scream. His eyes widened when he saw the man hold his lower right arm in pain, leaving no time to tremble as Zoro was already on the move. Someone had just shot the bounty hunter—who?

He glanced around and saw four horses approaching from what looked like an abandoned barn in the field to the left of them. Sanji knew Zoro didn't have enough time to hook him back up on the saddle—Kuina was already running from the gunfire anyway—and so the man forced him off his feet, giving him a hasty push to get him running off the path and down the ditch. Zoro ran ahead of him as the gunshots whizzed, moving towards a nearby tree. Cover. Right. He didn't appreciate Zoro manhandling him into the tree's bark, but given his drowsy state, he could admit he was thankful for the support.

"The fuck did these scumbags come from," Zoro pondered aloud as he sliced Sanji's restraints, and then tugged out his two pistols. Of course his swords would be saved for the grand finale when these assholes dared to come closer.

"The barn," Sanji answered over his shoulder. "Probably just degenerates hiding out there waiting for travellers to rob."

"They got my fucking arm…" Zoro nearly growled it out and handed the blond a pistol.

Sanji smirked devilishly as he took the gun. He thought the man had made an unintelligent move, after all, what if 'Black Leg' decided to shoot him dead right then and there? "Too much pain for you to handle, mossy?" he taunted.

"Heh," Zoro laughed. "More like I'm pissed these pig fucking farm boys managed to claim it."

The gunshots had stopped since they gained the tree's shelter, but the thundering hooves only became more raucous. These men were probably gun slinging amateurs, but they definitely had caught them in a bad situation. How could they retaliate without being shot dead on the spot? Once those horses appeared past their cover, there wasn't much to be done. Well, in these situations, riskiness just had to do.

Zoro clicked his tongue. The horses were a bigger, easier albeit innocent target. "There's only four of them, shoot down the horses!" he yelled to Sanji. Both of them hugged the sides of the tree, aimed and fired several times over. They managed to get three of the horses, whom all neighed terribly and plummeted, taking down their riders with them. The last one continued on and its two riders were already firing back. Zoro and Sanji took cover once again.

Zoro hoisted Sanji to his feet just as the ground's trembling spiked into what felt like an earthquake—they were close—and he knew which side it came from. He directed the blond with a rough push to his back. "Go around, this way, now!"

Sanji was forced to comply despite his disdain for taking orders from the swordsman. They followed the curve of the tree's trunk, and the last rider whizzed past on the opposite side, firing aimless gunshots at the spot they'd been holding cover just moments before. Zoro was quick to aim from their new location around the tree and fired at the horseback men. He hit them both and barely even saw them slump over before Sanji's pistol fired, bringing him back to the possible survivors from before.

Some of them must've been crushed under the weight of their own horse, but some were getting to their feet. Sanji had already begun picking them off as they rose in the wild meadow grass, and Zoro was prompt in aiding him. They held their pistols steady for moments as nobody else rose. Whether it was because they didn't dare or there was nobody left to rise, they weren't entirely sure.

Sanji checked behind him to make sure Zoro's prey were indeed that; hunted and dead. He confirmed it and again kept an eye on the field again. "We got 'em," he said, breathing out lengthily. "I think they're all dead…"

Zoro wasn't sure what would be safer, going over there to scout it out, or leaving with the possibility of a survivor. Especially since he didn't know where Kuina had run off to. _Shit._

"I spared a horse, anyway," he remembered. "We can get away for now, hopefully Kuina'll turn up later." The pain in his arm wound resurfaced, and he clasped a hand over it. It was leaving an impressive trail of blood down his forearm, branching off to his fingertips.

"Wait," Sanji said, noticing it. "Your arm."

"Fuck my arm, let's get out of here," Zoro spat roughly, already heading for the brown horse he'd spared. Its riders hadn't been so lucky, currently laying dead in the ditch with bullet holes strewn through their flesh. And from the sight of their clothes and faces he could tell; they'd definitely just been some degenerate thugs.

Sanji followed, but persisted. "Idiot, if you don't at least bandage it now you'll bleed out! What if it struck a vein or artery, huh!?"

Zoro glared at him as he picked up the strap he'd thrown on the ground from before. "Says the guy who just vomited up blood! Stop worrying about my fucking arm; it's not bleeding out enough to be serious!"

Sanji wanted to make a retort, he really did, but Zoro had made a point—he'd just spewed blood from his stomach, and on top of that had to deal with a shootout directly after—he wasn't totally inclined at the moment to make a huge fuss. Besides, as if the mosshead deserved any sympathy from him.

They rode on that unfamiliar saddle and horse for about an hour before reuniting with Kuina, who'd been munching on grass in a nearby field. Zoro bandaged up his shot wound after tying Sanji up again, and then they were well on their way to Water 7 on Kuina's back. Sanji's fever most definitely didn't go down, and his nausea had surfaced with such rigour that they'd had to stop a couple times more. Sometimes he dry hacked, other times there was more blood. Zoro was really anticipating arriving at Water 7 to get him some proper care. The most he could do for him now was offer water and, to the cook's delight, some smokes.

Currently Zoro lit up a smoke for Black Leg and reached around to place it near the blond's mouth for his lips to grab. Sanji was grateful for it; it took his mind off of his giant list of miseries; the pain, fatigue, fever, chills, and nausea. Little bit of hunger, too. But Zoro appeared to be trying to care for him, giving him most of their water, taking breaks and feeding him when he needed it, and handing over cigarettes anytime he demanded them. He admitted to taking advantage of that last one a little bit. Zoro also kept his hair out of his face and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder when they had to stop for him.

And while Sanji fucking hated being in this position, it did get him thinking. These glimpses of Zoro's humane side were becoming more and more prominent. His sickness played a major role, of course, but there were lots of bounty hunters who wouldn't give a shit about him no matter what his state. He'd experienced a bit of that—before kicking the living shit out of them maybe an hour or less into his capture—so he could compare.

But it led him to the question: "Why'd you become a bounty hunter?"

With a lacklustre tone, Zoro gave a vaguely straight-forward answer. "Circumstances."

Sanji smiled. He recognized the truth behind that response. "You never wanted to become one…" he inferred with an amused tone, impeded by a short cough which nearly made him spit out his cigarette.

The pause that ensued said enough to the blond, before Zoro questioned; "What makes you say that?"

The cook's eyes were half-shut and he dully watched the landscape pass backwards in his view; he retained that smirk to go along with his intuition. "_Circumstances_ tend to fuck us all over in this cruel world, don't they?"

Zoro cracked a grin. He couldn't agree more. "Well, aren't you the pessimist?"

Sanji gave a weak laugh. "Just the truth."

— ××× —

They arrived in Water 7 at sunset. The city was an upper-middle class cluster of brick buildings with orange shingled rooftops and cobblestone roads and sidewalks. It also had been built atop a lake in Grand Line's path, and so the city looked like it was surrounded and protected by a large moat of water. Getting into the city required traversing on any of the several extensive bridges that connected to it. Once into the city, Zoro headed for where he knew there'd be a good doctor he could trust. Sanji for hours now had been getting severe chills and was currently shivering at his back.

He barged into the doctor's office holding Sanji up on his shoulder. "Chopper, I've got a patient for you."

A young teenaged boy got up from his chair immediately. "Zoro! You're back! Is this your newest bounty?"

"Yeah, he's uh, sick—"

"Oh! Oh he looks terrible—what'd you do to him Zoro!?" Chopper asked with wide brown eyes. "I know he's a criminal but you can't just treat someone like that…"

"I barely did anything, it's just been a rough ride here, is all," Zoro briefly explained, sounding somewhat ticked. Did Chopper think he was some kind of monster?

"Okay, well place him down here…" he gestured over to the bed in his office. Noticing Zoro's arm and various other minor wounds, he added, "I'll have to look you over too."

Zoro simply shrugged, letting the youth do what made him happy. He always got rather feisty when he refused his help, anyway. Chopper was an exceptional prodigy of a boy, already a doctor of his right at his young age. But he was still just a kid, and sometimes because of that Zoro forgot to appreciate his extraordinary accomplishments.

After Chopper had done his job on Black Leg and his arm, Zoro told him to watch over Sanji—who was sleeping, now—for a half and hour, more or less. But as he left, Chopper slipped out of the office to have a short chat with him.

"What number is he?" he asked him timidly.

Zoro turned around in the hallway, mumbling, "Sixty-two."

Chopper smiled excitedly at that number, which was a huge contradiction to his changed, downcast expression as he relayed the blond's situation. "He's, um…really hurt, and some of internal bleeding from the broken ribs caused the blood in his vomit. Luckily I managed to stop the bleeding. Also, his fever and chills will pass, he's just at a state of complete exhaustion, his immune system wasn't able to withstand—"

Zoro cut him off. "You don't have to relay his injuries to me, Chopper. Just watch over him for now." He began to turn around after that.

"But Zoro," Chopper continued, gaining his attention once again. "You've never brought one of your bounties to me before…"

"Most of them haven't been so severely hurt."

"But, I mean…" the brown haired boy stumbled. "I mean, he's going to Enies Lobby, anyway…"

Zoro sighed resignedly. "That guy in there, they want him alive at all costs. It's important that I keep him alive until I reach Enies Lobby. So I'm counting on you to watch over him, okay?"

Chopper nodded obediently. Then he brought up something else he felt was worth mentioning. "Did you see what was on his hand?"

"Yeah," he affirmed. "I know." He would sort that situation out soon, to see if they really were going to leave the city for their next destination, Enies Lobby, tomorrow morning. He decided to change the subject. "Listen, if anyone asks about Black Leg Sanji, you know nothing, okay? Just keep him hidden in that room, act natural. I was careful bringing him here, made sure no one recognized him or followed. But he's kind of a big thing right now, I'm sure you've heard."

Somehow, even though Zoro needed this bounty to be set free of his deal, it saddened him that his new patient had to go to Enies Lobby for it to happen. He'd never made any direct contact with Zoro's business until today, and so it was a little hard to deal with. Tending to patients created a protective doctor-patient bond and for him helping the blond man with the knowledge he was off to his probable death was really very contradictory and distressful. And so that was why Chopper stared up at Zoro with determined eyes. "Okay, I won't let you down." He would protect his patient with every inch of himself, for as long as he was in his immediate care. A doctor wasn't supposed to differentiate between regular clients and criminals, not by his morals, even if the Government wasn't fond of him for it.

"I know," Zoro acknowledged. "I'll be back soon, just gonna visit Franky and Usopp if you need me."

Consequently, it took Zoro the full half hour to even find the place, which should have been a ten minute walk. But finally he stumbled upon the shipyard in which Franky worked. Franky was a shipwright raised in the Southlands whom Luffy had encountered a while back during his travels in Water 7, and after some initial rivalry, eventually the young outlaw had managed to get the muscular man to spit out his dream. From there it took a little convincing to get Franky to become a member of his crew. Franky had promised to build an incredible ship for them all to sail on, since that was part of his dream. And to this day, he continued to work on it with Usopp.

Usopp was a slim teen from the Eastlands who came across Luffy in his hometown of Syrup Village. He'd been making a living as a grifter at the time. Eventually the two began to travel together, and when they reached Water 7 and encountered Franky, Usopp decided to stay and help build their ship there with him while Luffy went on in search of more adventures and crewmates.

Now most of the time as Zoro passed through Water 7 with his bounties, he checked in with the two to see how the ship's progress was going. And as he approached today, he called out to the familiarity of their hardworking forms. "Hey, it's looking good!" he complimented. It truly was. He admired it as he strolled closer. The ship was really coming together, and it was massive. Truly an incredible sight so far.

They turned away from their work, recognizing his voice immediately.

"Hey, Zoro!"

"Zoro-bro!"

Usopp ran up to him first, a hammer in one hand and a wrench in the other. "You're almost off the hook, aren't you?"

All of these vague questions about his deal with the Government were making him feel a large amount of guilt. But nonetheless he continued to deal with it and lie, acting completely normal. "Yeah, just one more after the one I've got."

"That's super! Great timing also, the ship should be complete in a couple weeks!" he said excitedly. "I'm sure you'll be turning in your last bounty by then."

Zoro smiled, and inwardly frowned. He adjusted his hat a little as he lied, "Yeah, it's looking that way…"

The topic receded into the shadows as the two eagerly showed him the improvements and additions they'd made to the ship's design.

— ××× —

After relieving Chopper's extended watch on Sanji and getting a thorough lecture on what to do in specific emergency situations in the process—as well as medicine to give him for his fever—Zoro had finally made it to an inn with the blond. Immediately Zoro put the cook into bed, who was in a cumbersome state. Chopper had given him pain medication while he had treated him, and so he was more fatigued than before. Zoro didn't know what he was going to do with somebody who simply needed some uninterrupted, back-to-back days of long rest and recovery.

Because if he chose, in the end, to do something crazy like ride away from Enies Lobby—well, dragging an injured cook along with him would raise that situation to an even higher level of insanity.

Again, Zoro slept on the available couch, but he couldn't sleep consistently. His worried mind kept bringing him in and out of consciousness. Tonight he needed to know, for his own sanity, what Black Leg's story was. The _truth_—not the stories told by the Government, or the public's gossip, none of that unreliable bullshit. He needed Sanji's story. And so he stood, grabbed a chair, and pulled up to the bedside where the blond was recuperating.

He sat there for a long while, admiring the blond's peaceful expression as he slept. But then the cook began to tremble, going through another episode of chills. He watched with an unemotional expression, and soon turned his gaze to that branded hand. He wasn't sure what possessed him to do it, but he reached out to initially touch it—just graze his fingers on its surface—however as the blond went through his feverish bout, those lofting fingers of his were now instead folding over that mark. And he didn't know if it was this gesture or the fever itself that brought Sanji out of his slumber, but he decided he didn't care. Now was the time.

The blond's blue eye stared at him blearily, and then in shock as he seemed to realize where Zoro's hand was. He felt that branded hand flinch, trying to pull away, but he held onto it tightly—wouldn't let the cook escape this.

"I need you to tell me…" he spoke, cutting the night's air clean. His voice was low and somewhat raspy from not using it in a while. "I need you to tell me everything."

Sanji's uncovered eye widened, and then he frowned scornfully. "Why should I tell you anything?" he posed, in a near-whisper.

Zoro knew the answer to that quite easily. And he was sure that Sanji knew it too. "Because, right now, I'm what's standing between you and those Gates of Justice. I'm what's standing between you and the torture you'll receive in prison; between your life and your death by a snapped, hanging neck. You give me an honest story, no lies. But believe me; I'll know if you're lying. The fact that I'm even giving you this chance now, it means that you've got a story worth telling. Now here's your chance to finally set your story straight to someone who will listen. So go," he finalized, leaning back of his chair and crossing his arms before adding: "Tell me who Black Leg Sanji really is."

There was an implicit pause, and Sanji's shocked expression gradually faded. He collected his thoughts as he decided to accept the deal that Zoro was offering him. He had no other choice, at this point. If he wanted to get on the East Blue Sea, to confirm someone he thought dead, to search for that ocean for the both of them if need be…if he wanted any of that—and it all meant _everything_ to him—then he would shunt his pride aside and tell his tragic tale.

And so: "Black Leg Sanji was just a chef in a sea restaurant on the East Blue. But about eight months ago…"

"_Bandits!" one of the cooks had shouted, and he still remembered how calm he'd been, if a little peeved. _After all, it wasn't a shocking announcement_._ They'd been attacked by outlaws on a weekly basis, even on the sea and especially when they drifted close enough to the mainland. It was too bad for those decadent thugs that the employees of the Baratie had gone from crooks to cooks, and knew how to fight just as dirty when asked for. Bandit attacks basically became the norm, and Sanji found himself at most annoyed by them; like a mosquito buzzing incessantly into his ear only for him to swat it away.

But this time had been different. Don Krieg's posse was massive—and while his lackeys were, for the most part, no match for their fighting cooks, their numbers and guns had won out in the end. Gin, the Demon Man, had taken owner Zeff hostage, and that had been the final stroke. That had been his point of resign to their cruel demands, because he simply wouldn't leave that shitty old man to die in front of him when his life had been saved on that sinking cruise ship years before. He was absolutely determined to eternally repay the favour.

He would do anything to keep that geezer alive. And he'd been stifling his dream long enough to know it was apt of him do just that much more. And so after they'd been thoroughly looted, and some of the female customers had been nabbed, Krieg's demands had been met. Gin's had not.

The Demon Man, engraving the barrel of his pistol into his father-figure's skull, looked straight into his eyes and then nodded towards his retreating group and their fresh captives. "You too," he'd ordered. "Or I'll blow this dotard's brains out."

He'd said nothing, simply rose with his eyes closed. Yes, he'd even do this. Anything to keep that old man's heart pumping; to keep his brains in his skull where they rightfully belonged.

He never remembered hearing much out of Zeff as he walked away from his comfortable life. Though he was sure the geezer had mumbled his name once or twice, in a tone that he could call saddened. But his plan had been to return, in the beginning. To simply kick these dirty sons of bitches to hell and back when he knew that the Baratie was safe. But Gin had put a wrench in this. Because Gin had picked up on his devotion to Zeff and the Baratie.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Zeff to survive the various threats Gin used to make him behave. He simply couldn't do that to the man again—have his restaurant ravaged like that, stripped down to the naked wood of its frame.

On his journey with these scuzzy gangsters towards Sabaody, he'd protected the women as best he could from intolerable acts. And Gin, with that damn leverage he had—threatening Sanji's life back on the sea with his boss' numbers and guns—held him under duress for the entirety of their travels together. He'd been brought down to a level he never thought possible by that demon of a man. Raped of everything but the blood still pumping in his veins.

He'd been so depreciated that it came to him as no grave shock when they finally arrived in Sabaody to auction him and the women off. He'd no reaction to them searing the skin on his right hand, not outwardly, anyway. Inwardly he did scream at being branded, and it wasn't because of the scalding pain. But what had bothered him the most was seeing the women he'd suffered with forced to go off among wealthy men and their crooked smiles. How badly he wanted to leap off that podium and kick their filthy hands off of them. But he'd instead been forced to close his eyes to the cruel world around him.

He'd be out soon. After Krieg's crew had gotten their unscrupulous pay, and without Gin there to shackle his every move, he'd be able to escape. These money-sniffing bastards couldn't contain him.

Saint Charloss—furthest from a saint one could ever trek—had been his unfortunate buyer. The man's fat oozed over his tight white collar, squeezed by a black bowtie tied too tightly. He'd contributed his immature behaviour to that bow being knotted too taut, cutting off the blood circulation to his brain. But that had been his taunt. He knew the man's disgusting existence stemmed from the corrupt society that was Mariejois, where he'd lived for months as a slave.

It was also where he met the little girl who held him back for that length of time. A scrawny, unkempt little girl with messy chestnut locks and wide, glossy eyes that held a crazed kind of sadness. That plastered smile stretching across her freckled face, lifting her cheeks in an unnatural, twisted disguise. This had been her only protection. A fragile little girl in a world of stone cold immorality and debauchery. She perpetually smiled and took the beatings and did the chores which asked more than she could give like being a slave had been engraved into her being. And she couldn't have been more than eleven years old.

It was the most sickening thing Sanji had ever witnessed in all of his painful memories.

Sanji had mostly been forced to clean and take care of the stables, but he quickly took on more than that. He took on Koala's pain and labour because he couldn't stand to see a child like her being forced though such travesties. He'd nearly gotten himself killed on a weekly basis protecting that scorned little girl. And part of it was to relieve the overwhelming guilt in himself that he'd been too late for her. That the only soul she had left was that of a slave's.

But over time, he'd scrounged up the scraps of the beauty that remained in her soul with his acts of care and kindness. She grew fond of him; attached to him. He'd taught her how to smile when she truly wanted to, and how to frown when she felt sad. At least, only around him. And she kept his soul his own, too, amidst the cruelty of this world. She gave him someone to show himself to, someone to feed kindness to. Rather than the disobedient poison he normally fed to Charloss and anyone else throwing orders his way.

He only stayed for her. How could he have left her behind? What kind of a man would that have made him?

But Koala had been a volcano on the verge of eruption. He felt like he'd been the catalyst in releasing her hidden magma. He remembered clearly the day Charloss had scolded her for finding a mouse in his extravagant kitchen. The fat fuck had told her not to invite members of her family into his presence; that he already dealt with enough rodent slaves. He'd blamed her for not setting up rat poison traps even though she'd never been told to, nor could have known. The mouse had been a mere fluke, after all. Mice rarely got into Mariejois, the nobles were thorough about that.

Of course he stepped in to explain this as Charloss raised a fist which ended up hitting him instead. The blubbery child of a man had stomped off after that, shouting insults along the way which Sanji had tuned out. "Come on," he'd beckoned, bending down to help her up. "You did nothing wrong."

He told her this on a regular basis. They were probably the most necessary words in the world to mend her soul.

And the girl had hugged him there, crying into the bottom of his filthy white shirt, apologizing for nothing. Saying that she felt like a burden; that she wanted to fix everything for him and them both. He'd comforted her, thinking she was just releasing words from the uncorked bottle of her mind. But he should have taken it as more of a warning sign; should have known that Koala was bottling up more than just mere words.

And there was something else that he didn't catch onto until the end. While he blamed himself for letting it get past him, there was also little chance of him ever knowing. They lived and slept in separate areas. She had a small dingy room in the cellar while he slept in the stables.

One night, he'd been expertly cleaning the cooking knifes, though no one had ever seemed to care or notice this glimpse of what he used to be. But one was missing. At first he'd thought it was a miscount, but no…one was missing. And he recalled Koala had worked in the kitchen that evening. But he had that gut-wrenching feeling that the connection was a true one.

It was a risky move but he knew inside that he had to take it. He would accept the punishments if his hunch was wrong. He'd gotten past the guards to Charloss' room quite easily, and it was thoroughly satisfying to drive their skulls into the wall with his far-too-fallowed kicks. And when he opened the large, elaborate doors he'd discovered something terrifying.

She was naked, sitting on top of the equally bare Charloss, holding a bloodied kitchen knife at her side. There were harsh gasps, the struggling of a devil that'd been called a saint—a creature who was so far from that level of purity that it made him sick to his very core. He pieced together the situation and told her to stop, ignoring the unpleasant churn of his stomach. He stepped forward to the large bed and saw the fat man frothing at the mouth.

Koala turned her head to him with a non-plastic, genuine smile. "I poisoned the rat…" she said. "See? I poisoned him…"

Sanji hadn't said much in response to his memory. He just remembered nodding as he gently took the knife from her. He had stared blankly at the deformity that was left of the noble's genitals, and tried to ignore the fact that its severed part was in her hand. And while the situation was altogether repulsive, what was more repulsive was what had to have been occurring here to make Koala resort to such a thing. And for this, his fist clenched; the bastard'd had it coming.

Charloss was still struggling, clinging desperately to that repugnant life of his. His swollen, tear-filled eyes stared into his own, and he hated to see that pleading expression. This miserable fuck had nothing worth clinging to. Nothing at all. He thought this and stared coldly back at those fading eyes and plunged the knife into that bellowing chest. So that she wouldn't be blamed. The hacking gasps ebbed and then ceased altogether. He'd technically ended his life, now. He could take responsibility.

And so the two had runaway. There'd been no other option. Escaping Mariejois that night had been something fierce, but he had lots of things in his life worth clinging to, for every inch of survival. Him and the girl both. They rode tirelessly for weeks—striving for the familiar breeze of that eastern blue—alternating between holding their breaths in hiding or disguise and having government agents breathing down their necks, shooting at their backs. Soon the regular lawmen and bounty hunters cracked their knuckles as the posters went up, and finally society and the world hated him, Black Leg Sanji, 'the blond castrator', and 'the cold-blooded snake' who'd poisoned Saint Charloss and barbarously mutilated his body. Who raped women, seduced men and killed. He took on all the blame, all of the lies and the shame, because he couldn't stand to see a young, fragile girl scorned simply for protecting herself from her oppressor.

It'd been obvious to him that this couldn't go on, that one of them wouldn't survive it. He'd only expected it to be him. That was a fate he'd mapped out for himself.

She'd been shot, simple as that. In the midst of a get-away, she'd been shot in her chest by a lawman—he didn't know who, not even that; he'd no knowledge of the man in the blur of men who'd been the one responsible, no chance of revenge. Perhaps that was for the better, though it ate away at him to the present.

When Koala had died he'd truly been left alone and all that remained to drive him—to keep fighting for that inch of his life, stretching for that ocean—all he had left was the life waiting for him on the sea. His dreams and his debt to Zeff kept him riding, dodging bullets at every corner and words that struck just as deadly. Death his very shadow. Leaving him sleepless and riding 'til the golden horse he'd swiped couldn't harmonize with the intensity of his willpower. He rode for that old man Zeff, and for himself, and for the little girl with a beautiful soul that he'd simply been too powerless to save.

But his will had carried him somewhere. Taken him to Loguetown, right on the shoreline of East Blue. He could taste the salt of that sea's breeze, and if he'd only stayed out of that damn saloon, he'd have been able to feel its spray too. But he'd had a disturbing reunion with Gin, the man responsible for all of his pain and suffering. And finally he had a chance at channelling all of his unresolved anger for the death of that little girl, too.

Gin had asked him at the bar counter, "You're heading back to that sea restaurant, aren't you?"

He'd nodded, clenching his teeth and nearly crushing the glass of water in his grip.

"I'll spare you the time and tell you that you're headed for a place that don't exist no more."

And he'd responded lowly. "What do you know?"

A smile that Sanji knew too well sprouted on his face. "I'll tell you. For the right price."

He agreed to 'chat' with him in one of the saloon's private rooms, of course with ulterior motives. Like he would let this sick bastard take him again. He wouldn't dare pay him a favour to get want he wanted—no, he'd make the demon man squeal it out. And so once Gin even dared to touch him in that room—going for his shirt—he retaliated, something he'd wanted to do to the perverted fuck for so long. They fought, and Sanji had woefully taken some bad hits to his ribcage with those damn tonfa, but Gin's perversity was no match for his rage, allowing him to pin the thug on the bed in the end, straddling and gluing him there with a knife to his throat.

"What did you do?" he growled out.

Gin was still smiling. "That restaurant is long gone."

Sanji trembled, but pressed the knife in further, warning. "_What did you do!?"_

Gin released the information coldly, without emotion. "After we took off with you, we knew that old man would come after us with his cook posse. Didn't you ever wonder why he didn't come save you? And so we sent back some men on a mission…they shot that old man down dead, probably all of your cook-friends too. They coated his restaurant in gas, and gave it a good ol' Viking funeral party."

Sanji's hands shook in fury and disbelief. "You _lying_ bastard. Bullshit. _Bullshit!_ Those guys would never get taken down so easily…"

"Oh they didn't go down easy, from what I heard. But we had _a lot_ of guys stationed nearby. Krieg gave the order. Your friends and the place are both history, Sanji."

The knife still to Gin's tanned throat, Sanji trembled, not knowing whether to believe him or not but truth or lie, for what this man had done he _hated_ him with every inch of himself. And he screamed at the demon, "You dirty, _stupid_ son of a bitch! I've got a _fucking_ knife to your throat! And you're just _handing_ me the will to kill you on a silver platter…!"

But Gin continued his death sentence, laughing it up. "And the best part is…the best part is that this happened _before_ I got you in bed with me—"

Sanji cut his disgusting words off clean with an enraged howl. All of the cohesion—everything that he'd endured—all of it had been fucking false! If this sick son of a bitch was telling the truth then he'd really _behaved_ for him for _nothing_…! It'd been the last straw, and the image of Koala, that little girl who took her abuse into her own hands, who'd poisoned the rat that had brought her life so much suffering… He'd decided it was time Black Leg came into light, just this once, in time for his revenge. And he reached down to the bastard's belt, willing in this crazed state to sever something important to the demon, something which had brought him so much suffering. _And Gin hadn't been the puppeteer anymore, and he'd held all of the power and control, then and there_…

"And that's when I…" Zoro concluded, still leaning back in his chair, utterly in shock at so many revelations he didn't even know what to think of it all.

Sanji nodded, lying on his back with the covers drawn up, staring at the ceiling. He said nothing more, there was nothing more to be said. He was drained; from his injuries, his fever, and from retelling that miserable story. He shuffled around in the bed slightly, before closing his eyes, clearly not wanting to talk about it anymore.

Zoro let him be, standing from the chair and heading to stare out the window at Water 7's night glow. He was aware of what he'd done, now. He'd dragged the cook away from the shoreline he'd fought so resiliently to reach. And farther and farther away from the ocean…

He placed a hand to his forehead in frustration as he slid down the window's frame to sit there watching Water 7's eerie quietness at night. Enies Lobby was just a day's ride ahead of them.

Now that the story was out in all its finality, it left Zoro feeling more conflicted than ever. Because he'd always been a good judge of character; he'd been able to tell throughout the entirety of the cook's explanation whether he was lying or being truthful. And it'd candidly been a while since he had seen so much honesty packed into one man alone.

This assurance came at a price. He knew what would be the right decision, here. And his heart had decided. But his mind couldn't come to peace with the fact that this bounty, Black Leg Sanji, had been meant to be a build up to his freedom, for a new life—not a countdown to his death.

His final decision was pricy indeed. But what he alternatively couldn't pay was a lifetime of guilt and shame at the death of an innocent man, and so the option was an obvious one, if not the only one left on the table.

— ××× —

The following morning Sanji's fever had receded thanks to Chopper's medicine, and he made sure to bring it with them in case the sickness re-emerged. He was also walking with more of a healthy stride. Zoro was happy for this, for his own reasons but…the cook must've been aware of the gravity, here. With Enies Lobby so close, how could he be recovering like this?

A man resigned to his fate, perhaps.

Sanji was tethered to his back on Kuina as they faced the long bridge across a shimmering lake in the morning sun's bright glow. He'd bid farewell to Franky and Usopp who had walked with his trotting horse towards the city's west exit. They two had been excitedly talking about sailing on their new ship, and that Zoro would only have to go through this process once more. That they were happy for him. Of course Zoro had put on an act. He didn't know how they would react to the news, but…he put on his act to make what he was about to give up a little less painful.

And so Kuina began running along the stone bridge atop the lake as they headed to Enies Lobby. Sanji had said mostly nothing, not a word since they'd left the inn. But he did speak up as they stretched across the expanse of the lake.

"Good friends, you've got."

Zoro didn't respond, ending the short exchange there.

Sanji sighed. He wasn't sure what this bastard was planning after last night. But right now he closed his eyes, picturing nothing but a dark, short and bleak future. How could he expect anything from a bounty hunter? Even if Zoro had a heart in there somewhere…did he really think that he would just turn on the Government for one man? No—that was suicide. And it was selfish of him to believe it.

But it didn't mean that he wouldn't keep trying for an escape. All the way until they locked him behind those Gates of so-called Justice, he would fight for his rightful freedom. Because nobody could believe that he was just Sanji, the cook. Not after all the hype about Black Leg. There was no other hope for him but to fight or die.

About half an hour into their journey, he felt Zoro's back muscles contract sharply, and then Kuina slowed to a calm stop. This shocked him and he opened his eyes, looking around. His view of the fielded landscape circled as they turned.

"That's far enough," Zoro spoke, kicking the mare back into action and down another path which they had apparently approached.

The bounty hunter's words confused him and he spoke over his shoulder. "What's going on?" he asked vigilantly.

Kuina was galloping once again as they strayed down the new path. "Well, you see…" he began in a sort of bothered, playful tone. "You've really fucked shit up in my life, Sanji."

Sanji held back a smirk as he heard his proper name. He _really_ hoped that this wasn't one of the bounty hunter's fleeting glimpses. So he asked to confirm the situation: "What are you doing?"

And Zoro knew exactly what he was doing. "Saving your sorry ass."

— ××× —


End file.

One Piece, Romance, Western