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Sanji’s in the kitchen even before the first crack of thunder. Nami saw the clouds on the horizon earlier, dark and heavy with rain, unavoidable but far enough away that they had time to prepare. By the time the storm reaches them, the sails are already rolled up, the drift anchor is floating behind them, and Sanji is just setting the first bowl on the table.
The crew trickles in as it starts to rain. Sanji can hear it overhead, wind and water beating against the ship, and he starts a pot of popcorn on the stove to drown it out.
Luffy, unsurprisingly, is the first one in, but the others aren't far behind. He bounces into the kitchen and makes a beeline for the food Sanji’s already set out, grabbing a plate from the waiting stack and scooping out handfuls of chips and stacks of small sandwiches, all simple, easy finger foods that Sanji doesn't have to think about to cook.
It lets him focus on getting a head count. Behind Luffy is Chopper, then Usopp and Franky, then Robin and Nami, with Brook bringing up the rear just a few minutes later. Sanji dumps half the popcorn into a large bowl and adds it to the collection on the table. The rest, he drizzles with butter and honey, tosses with a cup of pecans, and spreads on a baking sheet that goes immediately into one of the ovens.
Thunder cracks overhead as he does, and the sheet slips from his fingers and lands on the rack with a ringing clatter when he flinches. Nothing spills, at least, he won't have to worry about cleaning burnt caramel off the bottom of the oven later, but the sound was loud and unmistakable.
The crew is used to it. No one says anything as he stands up and brushes off his shaking hands, even though he can see Robin and Nami both eyeing him from their places at the table.
He clears his throat and sets a timer for fifteen minutes. “Anyone seen the mosshead?”
“Heading to the crow’s nest, last I saw,” Usopp says. “Said he needed to put some things away before the storm hit. His weights rolled all over the place during the last one.”
Sanji frowns. “When was that? He's not done yet?”
“Maybe half an hour ago?” Usopp says. “I don't think he thought about it when we were getting ready at first.”
Sanji groans and glances at the various timers set up for his row of ovens, trying to estimate how long it will take him to go collect the shitty swordsman.
“Do you want me to go get him?” Luffy asks around a mouthful of food. He's perfectly sincere, but Sanji winces all the same at the mere thought. Bad enough for any of them to be on the deck in weather like this, but Luffy especially shouldn't risk it if it's not necessary.
“No, that's fine, I'll go get him,” he says, tossing his hair back with a distracted huff. “Nami, darling, can you watch the ovens for me? The sesame chips will go off in a minute, and I don't want them to burn.”
“Sure,” Nami says. “Which one?”
“Center left,” Sanji says as he unties his apron. “Just throw them in a bowl, then put those two sheets in right after them for another ten minutes.”
Nami gives him a thumbs up. “I'll add it to your tab.”
“You're an angel,” Sanji says over his shoulder, then hurries out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Out of sight of the others, he takes a moment to brace himself before he steps outside. Hearing the weather outside and seeing the rain beating against the windows isn't the same as being in the storm, and especially not like being on an open deck, unsecured, nothing to hold onto if a wave comes over the side–
He grits his teeth and steps outside.
He's soaked through in an instant; he might as well have jumped in the aquarium. It's pitch black out here with the clouds and rain blocking the late afternoon sun, but he can make out a light up in the crow’s nest. Moving as quickly as he can without slipping, he hurries across the deck and scrambles up the ladder, trying to control his racing heart and unsteady breaths.
Zoro jumps when Sanji slams the hatch open. “What the fuck, shit cook?” he demands, standing up from where he was sprawled comfortably on the floor. “What are you doing up here?”
“What are you doing up here?” Sanji demands, clambering through and slicking his wet hair out of his face as he kicks the door shut behind him. “It’s storming, you know you're supposed to–”
He stops suddenly, biting his tongue. It's not like Zoro is really supposed to do anything. Snacks in the kitchen during storms aren't an official rule. It was just something that started back on the Going Merry when there were still just a few of them, and it kept up once they had a bigger crew and a bigger kitchen. Once they got to the Grand Line, which had bigger storms.
Sanji doesn't like storms. He especially doesn't like storms when he doesn't have eyes on his crew, no way to make sure everyone is safe. He's never outright said it, but he's not as subtle as he’d like to be, and the crew cares more than some of them would like to let on. After the third time he'd gone around the ship like a nervous sheepdog, herding everyone into the kitchen where he could keep an eye on them, they'd started gravitating there on their own at the first sign of bad weather. Zoro always comes too, but that's not to say he has to, and habit isn't a good enough reason for Sanji to run through what's halfway to a monsoon just to bring him inside.
Zoro actually looks apologetic, though. “It started raining while I was tying things down,” he says, abashed. “I was going to wait it out. Sorry, I didn't mean to make you come out here.”
“Of course I was going to come out here,” Sanji snaps, but his irritation is dying down at the unexpected apology. “I didn't know where you were.”
“Do you want to just stay in here?” Zoro asks. “You're just going to get even more soaked if we try to go back now.”
Sanji hesitates. Nami can handle what little food is left to cook, even if it will mean an exorbitant fee he'll have to pay back later, and it's not like he's looking forward to running through the storm again, even just along the length of the deck. Zoro’s got towels and water in here, and he knows the rest of the crew is safe in the kitchen. It wouldn't be the worst idea to stay put.
The ship lurches as it hits a wave. Riding out the storm in the kitchen is bad enough; up in the crow’s nest, Sanji nearly loses his footing as the floor tilts beneath him. He drops into a crouch with a whimper that's not entirely drowned out by another roll of thunder, wet fingers scrabbling uselessly on the floor in search of something to hold onto.
His heart pounds as the Sunny rocks back into place. They're fine. They're fine, Franky built this ship too well to be stopped by something as small as a storm, but Sanji’s ears are ringing all the same.
Zoro’s still standing. He barely moved when they hit the wave, rolling with the shifting floor with a balance Sanji can normally match, in other circumstances. His eyes are wide as he looks down at Sanji, holding on for dear life. Sanji braces himself for mockery—or worse, pity—then Zoro says, “Actually, I'm hungry.”
“What?” Sanji croaks, and Zoro nods.
“Yeah, I need something to eat. And a drink. You made food, right?”
“I… yes,” Sanji says. He's not sure why Zoro is giving him such an easy out when the two of them normally seize every opportunity to make fun of each other, but he'll take it. “Yeah, there's, uh, there's some s-snacks and things.”
Lightning flashes, and Sanji gives up on dignity entirely, squeezing his eyes shut and clapping his hands over his ears at the thunder the follows. He can't just hear it, he can feel it, rumbling in his bones like the air itself wants to rip him apart.
The wood creaks in front of him a moment later, and he pries his eyes open to see Zoro now standing in front of him. “Come on then, cook,” he says quietly. “Let's get back before Luffy eats it all.”
It's a miracle he makes it down the ladder in one piece. The whole ship feels like it's bucking underneath them, and the wind has gotten strong enough that it's a struggle to stay upright. Sanji, already unsteady and wearing his damn dress shoes, stumbles after Zoro across the deck, slipping in the field of mud that the lawn has turned into. He yelps when he steps wrong and his foot shoots out from under him. Just as he resigns himself to a face full of mud, Zoro darts out a hand lightning-quick to grab one of Sanji’s, jerking him back upright and continuing to pull him forward. They're both soaked to the skin, fingers too slick for purchase, but Zoro doesn't let go anyways.
Sanji sucks in a ragged breath when they finally get inside and Zoro slams the door shut behind them. “Fuck you,” he gasps, trying futilely to wipe water out of his eyes and silently praying Zoro believes that it's all from the rain. “Next time just come to the damn kitchen!”
“No one said you had to come get me,” Zoro gripes, glaring down at his wet clothes. “Come on. Let's go get changed, then get you back to your kitchen. You owe me so much sake.”
“I owe you a concussion,” Sanji mutters, but he follows Zoro down the hall to the boys room, making a face as his shoes squelch with every step. Within minutes, they've both toweled off and changed into blessedly dry clothes. Sanji forgoes another suit, instead grabbing a hoodie and sweatpants. He doesn't imagine they'll be running into company, and the crew’s seen him in worse.
Besides, his hands are still shaking. He doesn't think he could manage a necktie right now.
He and Zoro hurry towards the kitchen in silence, but Sanji hesitates before they step inside. “Hey, um… thank you.”
Zoro frowns. “For what? You're the one who’s making the food.”
Like he didn't offer Sanji a way out when his heart felt like it was about to pound out of his chest. Like he didn't run through the rain when he was perfectly safe and dry in the crow's nest just because he knew Sanji wanted to go inside. Like he didn't pretend not to see when Sanji needed an extra minute to wipe his eyes while they changed.
Sanji can't think of a proper response. He just clears his throat, hitches a smile onto his face, and strides back inside.
“Found a sopping wet moss ball outside,” he announces. “Thought I might as well– why do I smell burning?”
It's easy to lose himself in the distraction of saving the curry chips from a firy demise, then making sure everyone’s plates and glasses stay full. He forgoes a full dinner for once, instead contenting himself with an endless stream of snacks and treats, equally filling but less formal. It means he's never done cooking, but that's the point; keeping his hands busy and his head full with trying to keep track of four different conversations, drowning out the thunder, is the best way to distract himself.
If he has to stop every so often to grip the edge of the counter for balance that no one else seems to be struggling with, if he cuts himself off at every roll of thunder to press his lips together and count down from ten, if he keeps pausing to doublecheck the headcount and make sure everyone is safe in the kitchen with him…
Well. He meets Zoro’s eyes by accident across the kitchen and ducks his head over a bowl of batter before he can think too hard about the shitty swordsman’s expression, damnably soft and understanding.
No one seems to mind.
It's raining. Not just raining, storming like the sky is trying to wipe the entire island off the face of the map. None of the exercises or training Zoro normally does outside are feasible in this kind of weather, and Mihawk is too busy handling something with the farm to work on sword forms with him inside.
Hadn't that been a surprise? Dracule Mihawk, the strongest swordsman in the world, one of the seven Warlords of the Sea, part times as a farmer.
Zoro's skin feels too tight. He's never been bothered by bad weather, but he does get frustrated when his plans are ruined. He's supposed to be training. The whole point of this is that they're supposed to be training, and if he can't train, then all this time apart from the crew is just a waste. Why spend years apart from Luffy, from Nami and the cook and Chopper–
“You're going the wrong way,” calls a bored voice, and Zoro jumps and whips around. He's still adjusting to the missing eye, and Perona’s on his blind side, floating on her back and staring up at the ceiling. She rolls onto her stomach in midair when she sees Zoro looking at her, propping her chin in her hands and kicking her feet absently. “The kitchen is to the left. Can you get me some cookies while you're in there?”
Zoro frowns, suspicious. “How'd you know I was going to the kitchen?”
Perona just rolls her eyes. “You always go to the kitchen when it rains. I mean, you at least try to. You've been walking around it for ten minutes now. Do I need to show you how to get there?”
“No,” Zoro snaps, but he's too distracted to focus on her ribbing him about his perfectly fine sense of direction. “What do you mean I go to the kitchen when it rains? No I don't.”
“Uh, yes you do?” Perona says. “I don't know why rain makes you hungry, but I know I want cookies, and if you're going to make a snack anyways, I'll save myself the trip. To the left, now. You can do it.”
“Shut up,” Zoro snarls, spinning on his heel and storming off. She can get her own damn cookies. He’ll grab himself some food and make a point of not getting her anything, just to–
“To the left, Zoro!”
“Shut up!”
He makes his way there eventually. It's second nature to load up a plate with food. Nothing really solid, not for this kind of weather. Just crackers and chips and easy, mindless foods. Begrudgingly, he adds a few cookies for Perona, too. He might as well, if she's hungry. Besides, as much as he hates to admit it, it would have taken him that much longer to get here without her yelling directions at him. He might not have gotten anything to eat before the storm passed, and that's… that would be wrong. He's not really that hungry, but it would feel wrong not eat during a storm.
It feels wrong anyways. It's raining, sure, but he's the only one in the kitchen. None of the food on his plate was made fresh by expert—if sometimes shaky—hands. Hands that had once held Zoro’s on a bad day, trusting him to get them somewhere dry and warm.
He frowns down at the plate. He's not sure what to do about the mass of nameless feelings in his chest, the empty feeling in his gut that no food has managed to fill. It's too quiet in here by himself. He hadn't even realized until Perona pointed it out what he was trying to recreate, but now that he knows what he's been aiming for, it's impossible to miss how different this is.
“Hey, Perona,” he shouts.
“What!”
“Get in here,” Zoro calls. “Come eat with me.”
There's a long pause, then familiar heel clicks as Perona stomps into the kitchen, probably just so he can see her looking at him like he's lost his mind. “Do what with you?”
“Eat,” Zoro repeats. “Sit down, I'll get you a plate.”
Perona eases a little further into the room. “Did you hit your head, or did Mihawk finally drill some manners into you between all the slashing and stabbing?”
Zoro snorts. “Do you want a snack or not?”
Perona narrows her eyes, but she crosses the room and sits primly at the table, ankles crossed and hands folded in her lap. “All right, then,” she says. “But why are you determined to feed me all of a sudden?”
Because Sanji’s not here to do it, Zoro thinks, then shrugs as he grabs a second plate and begins loading it up with a random assortment of food from the fridge and pantry.
“Can't do much else with the weather like this,” he points out, pulling a few cookies out of the jar on the counter and turning towards the table. On second thought, he turns back around and scoops up the entire jar to bring with him. He sets it on the table, slides Perona her plate, and drops into the seat across from her.
“No point in going hungry while we wait.”