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They had just entered the Grand Line a couple of days ago. They still didn’t have a doctor – even though Luffy’s priority was acquiring a musician for whatever reason – and despite the euphoria going into this new adventure, the unpredictability of the weather was straining their nerves.
Zoro kept watch in the crow’s nest. From time to time he looked around in the darkness of the nightly sea and the single light source below him. Only the shitty lovecook was still up and in the kitchen. Presumably, he was taking stock. Maybe he was preparing some ingredients for the next day. It was hard to say with him.
Luffy, Nami and Usopp had gone to bed hours ago.
417, 418, 419, -
He was training – lifting dumbbells – when he felt the sudden change in humidity and pressure. It hadn’t been the usual built-up of puffy-white clouds that then turned into the menacingly grey ones. Then again, it was night and there was hardly anything to see except that it was cloudy. This must be what Nami feels like, he mused and then sprang into action. He rang the alarm bell and hurried down to the deck. The door to the kitchen opened with a hud. By that time it had already started to rain. Heavily.
What was wrong with this sea? Why couldn’t it be normal?
With carefully practiced routine, the two men set to work separately. They understood each other without words. Zoro did the groundwork and Sanji climbed up the shrouds to secure the sails. Zoro was a heavyweight and Sanji a lightweight.
A flash of light blinded them momentarily.
1, 2, 3 – thunder rumbled, shaking the slippery, wooden ground.
If thunder roars, go indoors.
That’s what Nami had told them.
“Oi, shitty lovecook!”, Zoro shouted. He looked up at the other man. The blond was still tying the sails, almost done. The only reaction he got, and that was proof that the other had heard him, was a deep frown.
Zoro would have helped, but he was holding a securing rope that had gotten loose and tried his best to tie it. He knew that both of them should leave that behind and go inside. They would go off-course, get carried away, but they wouldn’t die.
Then again.
Lightning, 1, 2 – thunder.
It got closer.
“Oooiiiii!”, he tried again, his brows furrowed in desperate anger at the other man. He was unnecessarily endangering himself. And Luffy and his insatiable hunger needed the cook on their quest.
Then another lightning strike. Four seconds away. Maybe they weren’t right in the middle yet. Maybe there was still time.
Finally, the sails were tied and Sanji climbed down the shrouds. Zoro stared up at him, relieved that they could go inside now, rain drops hitting him right in the eye as he kept them on the blond, his skin cold in the frigid weather. It was hard to see anything in the dark, stormy night. The only light source came from the still opened kitchen door. For a second, its shine hit the other man. Sanji’s clothes clang to his skinny figure and Zoro’s mind and eyes wandered where they shouldn’t go.
He didn’t need to count the next lightning strike.
It started right above them and before Sanji could even look up at what was coming, it was already done.
Zoro’s ears were ringing, it was unbearably hot instead of clammy and cold. His chest tightened and for a moment he thought that his heart wasn’t beating anymore.
He breathed in and out, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
All he did was stare at the other man. He dangled from the rope net, his legs caught in the little rectangulars, his arms flailing in the storm, his whole body limp.
The blond reminded him of an apple on a tree in a soft breeze, ripe and ready to fall.
Zoro practically leaped up the shrouds, not caring that it was still dangerous, not caring that he could very well die.
His nakama needed him.
Sanji needed him.
First, his fingers made their way to the other man’s adam’s apple to feel the pulse. He didn’t feel it.
He crashed his lips on the other man’s. It wasn’t very effective at first. In his panic, he had forgotten to pinch the nose close. The next ones were better. Zoro could feel the rising and sinking of the chest in the black suit.
He tried to take the pulse again. Still nothing.
Another lightning going off in the distance, five seconds away.
It was quite the ordeal to disentangle Sanji from the net and get him on deck safely. There he performed the heart compressions and silently thanked Nami for teaching them – even though she had charged them massively for it.
A minute later he checked for the pulse again – this time laying his head on the blond’s chest.
Ba-dumm, ba-dumm, ba-dumm.
It was faint but steady.
He breathed a sigh of relief, trying to see if Sanji’s chest rose and sank on its own – and it did.
Lightning again, still five seconds away. He flung the limp body over his shoulder and carried him inside. On the kitchen floor, Zoro kneeled beside his friend, checking his breathing and heart beat every couple of seconds.
Should he get the others? Could he leave Sanji alone for so long? Should he yell for them? Should he pray to a god he didn’t care existed?
As the lovecook’s eyes fluttered open, still dazed but alive, Zoro contemplated if the thought about believing in god had been enough. He wavered for a second, but then shoved the thought right through his ears and out of his mind.
The storm was long gone by then. Their friends down in the ship’s heart hadn’t even woken up.
“Mosshead…”, the other said weakly, his hand reached out, clinging to the muscular arm. “Nothing happened.”
This was so dumb. So incredibly dumb.
Zoro had little knowledge about the human body, but getting struck by lightning couldn’t be healthy. They should get a doctor asap. Sanji should get a check-up immediately. Maybe Nami could do that. On second thought, then he would probably die of blood loss from his stupid nosebleed.
Why would he be so proud and try to hide this from their friends? Just because they would worry on his behalf? And feel guilty for sleeping through it all – through the literal death and rebirth of their nakama?
And then Zoro understood.
This wasn’t a pride thing.
This was Sanji caring about the others.
This was unbearable.
He shook the hand still clinging to his arm off and went to the adjacent pantry. Plopping the cork of the bottle with practiced ease, Zoro took a big gulp. And then another one.
Then he went back and offered the rest. It was politely declined. In its stead, the blond lit a cigarette.
After Zoro finished the bottle with a final swig, some stray drops trailing their way down his chin and neck, which were obscured by his overall wetness, he could look the other man in the eyes again.
The unasked question had lingered there.
“You wouldn’t let me get with that.”, he said.
The shitty lovecook understood him, neither of them would say a word.