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Cooks are early risers. They don’t all like it, but it’s part of the job. Sailors wake up at dawn wanting to start the day with a hearty breakfast, and that means that their cooks have to be awake even before the sun's risen to have the breakfast ready on time.
Some might grumble about this, but Sanji doesn’t mind. After years of having no one care where he was or what he was doing, it feels good to wake up to someone calling his name. It reminds him that he has a place here. That he's needed.
Or at least, it usually does.
Today, Sanji startles awake to the usual banging on his door and Zeff hollering, “Rise and shine, li’l eggplant!”, but instead of feeling warm in his chest, he just feels achy.
And stuffy.
And more than a little gross.
“Nuh-uh,” he mutters as he drags himself upright. “No way.”
He knows exactly what's going on. He'd been running down the docks, trying to get the last of their latest food shipment in and, like an idiot, he'd slipped on a bit of seaweed and fallen straight into the ocean. With how dark the clouds overhead had been, he'd just climbed back out and wiped the worst of the water out of his eyes before going back to work. It had been the right decision. Even with his help, most of the crew had been soaked getting the last of the fish on board, cursing and shaking their hands to get rid of the cold from the ice boxes. If he hadn't stayed, someone's numb fingers would definitely have fumbled, sending untold amounts of food into the ocean.
But even knowing that he'd made the right choice, Sanji can't help but regret it a little.
Superior genetics had kept his siblings from ever getting any sort of illness, but Sanji hadn’t been so lucky. As the weakling of the family, he’d spent plenty of nights sniffling in the cold and damp, trying to get his sleeves under his helmet to wipe his dripping nose and hating himself all the while. So he knows that he’s sick, sure.
But even if he is, he can’t afford to be weak. Not now. Well, not ever, really, but especially not right now. Baratie has only just opened, and even though the food is delicious, the dining room is empty more often than not. Zeff tries to put on a brave face, but Sanji knows that he curses at the accounting books at night after he thinks that Sanji’s gone to sleep.
So Sanji might be sick, but he can’t act sick.
Zeff needs me.
That thought gets him staggering out of bed, and once he’s splashed water on his face, he feels mostly awake enough to get dressed. After that, he’s just got to get one foot in front of the other until he makes it up the stairs and down the hall. Easy.
His throat is scratchy, and every time he moves his head too fast, he has to blink really hard a few times to keep the world from spinning, but that’s not a big deal. The stairs have railings for a reason, and no one’s around to watch him lean against the wall at the top to catch his breath. He’s not weak. He can do this.
“Nope,” Zeff says the moment Sanji pushes the galley doors open.
“What?” Sanji snaps as he crosses the galley floor, headed for the bread. He might not be one hundred percent, but even a baby can slice toast.
“There’s no way you’re working in my kitchen today, li'l eggplant.”
“Hey!” Sanji fails to dodge out of the way, and shouts when he finds himself lifted off his feet. “Put me down!”
“Not a chance.” Zeff throws Sanji over his shoulder, ignoring his squirming as he stumps out of the kitchen. “You’re leaking. Nobody wants to eat food garnished with snot, brat.”
“I’m not!” Sanji says, but then he has to sniffle to clear his nose.
Zeff snorts. “Pull the other one. It’s got bells on.”
“I can still help!” Sanji whines, and hates how nasal he sounds, knowing that it makes him sound even younger than he is. “Let me go!” He keeps trying to wiggle out of Zeff’s grip, but his attempts get weaker as Zeff carries him back down the stairs to the crew quarters, stamina drained by his shortness of breath.
“I said no, and I meant it! Sick cooks don’t belong in the kitchen, and neither do sick kids.” Zeff tosses Sanji back onto his bed, then folds his arms over his chest. “Now go back to bed! I might only have one leg, but I only need the one to kick your ass if I get even a glimpse of you dripping into my food!”
Sanji bounces off his mattress and back onto his feet. “No one else’s gonna be up! Who’s gonna help you with food prep for breakfast?”
“I’ll do it myself!” Zeff roars. “Which one of us is the professional chef, and which one is the brat-in-training? I’ve been doing mise-en-place for longer than you’ve been alive!”
Zeff hasn't laid a hand on him, but Sanji feels like he’s just been punched. He scrubs his face with his sleeve, eyes burning.
“B-but you need me-?” Sanji cuts off, trying to hold back his shameful sobs. Zeff already knows that he’s weak. He can’t make himself look even worse by crying like a baby. “I have to help-!”
He cries out when big hands settle on his shoulders and push him down onto his bed.
“I don’t need you.” Zeff says in a tone of voice that is so final, so familiar.
Sanji goes cold. His ears are ringing, and it feels like all the air has rushed out of the room, his chest is so tight.
I don’t need you.
“Kid?”
It sounds like Zeff is calling to him from underwater, not that Sanji really registers it. His vision has started going black at the edges, and he’s shaking, he can’t stop shaking. Why can’t he stop shaking? Why is he so weak? This is why people keep–
“Sanji! Oy, Sanji!”
There are hands on his hands, gently untangling his fingers from his head.
“C’mon, brat. You’re gonna go bald before me if you keep yanking on your hair like that.”
Somehow, Sanji manages to suck in a breath and let go. He keeps his head ducked, though, unable to look Zeff in the eye. The man doesn’t sound angry, but that doesn’t mean he’s changed his mind about throwing Sanji away.
Sanji opens his mouth to apologize for being such a baby, but instead he blurts, “Please don’t kick me out!”
Zeff’s hands still. A heavy stone drops into Sanji’s stomach. Hysterically, he adds, “I know I’m sick, but I’ll still work hard! I promise I’ll earn my meals! So don’t- Please-!”
“Hey. Look at me.”
Sanji flinches when Zeff’s hand comes up, but his shoulders relax when the other man just chucks him under the chin. Nervously, he bites his lip and lifts his gaze. His eyes widen when he realizes that Zeff… he doesn’t look happy, no. But he doesn’t look disgusted either.
“Nobody goes hungry on my ship.”
“But-” Sanji nearly bites his tongue when Zeff shakes his head to interrupt him.
“Nobody. That includes you, li’l eggplant.”
Hot tears cut their way down Sanji’s cheeks as he wails, “But if you kick me off the ship, you don’t have to feed me!”
He’s crying in earnest now, and he hates it. He hates how his tears make his eyes itch, hates how his nose is dripping as well, hates how he can’t find air to breathe, how his shoulders hitch. He hates how lonely he feels, how small and unwanted he is.
“Hey! No!”
Suddenly he’s being dragged into a tight embrace.
“Shhh. Don't you go putting words into my mouth.”
Zeff is slowly rocking the both of them back and forth, and there’s a big hand gently rubbing his back. Sanji’s still crying, can’t figure out how to stop, but he doesn’t feel alone anymore. He just feels warm.
His sobs eventually peter out, muffled by Zeff’s broad shoulder. He sniffles one last time, then turns his head a bit to take a deep breath. Before he can say anything, there’s a handkerchief being shoved at his face.
“Blow.” Zeff says, and Sanji does with a honk.
“Again.” Sanji doesn’t think he needs to, but it’s easier to just go with the flow. He blows his nose again, and Zeff makes an approving noise.
“There we go.” Zeff tucks the hanky away in one of his pockets. “Feel better?”
“Uh-huh.”
Sanji tucks his face back into Zeff’s shoulder, embarrassed about his breakdown.
“Now listen here. I think we’ve had a little bit of a misunderstanding.” Fear spikes through Sanji’s heart, but Zeff gives him a squeeze and says, “I’m never going to kick you off the ship.”
Sanji's head snaps up. “You can’t say that!”
“I certainly can. It’s my ship!”, Zeff says, moustache bristling with indignation.
“If I can’t cook, I’m just a leech!”
“The head chef decides who’s a leech, thank you very much.” Zeff noogies Sanji, ruffling his hair askew. When Sanji yelps, raising his hands to try to fend him off, he continues, “We've lived through something indescribable together. That means we've got a bond that can't be broken by something as silly as taking a day off because you've caught a cold."
Zeff squeezes both of Sanji's shoulders, looking more serious than he ever has. "You’ll have a place in Baratie’s kitchen until the day you decide to leave. No one’s gonna kick you out. Not me, not any of my crew, not ever. That’s my solemn vow as head chef and owner, you understand?”
Maybe Sanji shouldn’t believe Zeff. After all, it’s not like any other adult in his life has ever stayed. But the only time Zeff has ever lied to him, it was to save his life. More than that, he really wants to think that he’s finally found a home.
“Sanji? You hear me?”
Slowly, Sanji nods.
“Yeah. I heard you.”
“Good.”
Zeff lifts Sanji off his lap and onto his bed.
“Now get changed and go back to bed, you hear me? The faster you get better, the faster you can get back in the kitchen and pull your weight.”
Sanji means to do that. He really does. But he feels so heavy after crying, and he was already sick to begin with. Maybe before he changes, he can lie down for a bit.
“Just… for a moment,” he murmurs as he lies down on his pillow, eyes drooping shut.
He must have managed it somehow, though. When he wakes up later, he’s tucked in under the covers and the curtains are drawn.
“No need to get up,” Zeff rumbles, patting his shoulder. “Just brought you some water. Go back to sleep if you need it.”
“‘Kay.” Sanji snuffles, then rolls over and shoves his face back into his pillow. As he falls back asleep, he hears a low sound that might be laughter, but he’s too tired to register what it might be.