Author's note: I have no idea why Sanji is always the one to be injured/sick/dying in my stories…and it's too cliché I know. Sorry about that in advance. Anyway, this fic is meant to explore the friendship Zoro and Sanji have. Set before Chopper joined the crew for obvious reasons.

Erm…it's my first multi-chaptered story…not too sure how it'll turn out. Fingers crossed? Right. Then let's go.

Disclaimer: One Piece and all characters mentioned are created by Eiichiro Oda.

The First Sign of Trouble

Sanji ate a grand total of two spoonfuls of rice and half a bowl of soup at dinner.

Zoro wasn't the only who had noticed it, but he happened to be the one tasked to find out what's wrong with that idiot. Nami reasoned that Luffy had been too busy stuffing his face to even notice, Usopp was too scared of the cook after he got snapped at when he made a comment about it.

And she wouldn't do it because it's probably a guy thing.

The swordsman scowled. Stupid Nami and her stupid reasoning. And she had the nerve to sweetly remind him of the money he owed her.

So he found himself waiting for the cook to finish his duties in the kitchen. The moon shone down on the deck, reminding him that it was late and mocking the fact that he was wasting quality sleep time doing a thankless task. He glowered darkly at the moon. What was taking that dumbass so long tonight?

Presently, he saw the galley door open and Sanji emerged, then trudged towards the stern. There, he stood staring out across the dark waters, elbows resting against the railing, a single lit cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers.

A picture of brooding, if he ever saw one, Zoro thought as he approached him.

"Oi."

Sanji spared him an irritated sideway glance before looking away and taking a drag of his cigarette. "Go away, bastard."

Seeing that he was going to be his usual wonderfully obnoxious self, he decided to cut to the heart of the issue. "Out with it. What's wrong?" He said matter-of-factly.

One curly brow rose. "What?"

"You heard me." He growled, his limited patience slipping. "Something's bothering you. So let's hear it."

Sanji's smirk made him want to punch his face in, especially since it complemented the sarcasm dripping from his voice perfectly. "My my, Zoro. I didn't know you gave a damn about me."

"I don't." His hands were slowly curling into fists. "Nami told me to find out and that woman would hound me till I do. So let's hear it then I can go to sleep."

"Nami-san?" For a moment, a dreamy smile crossed his face but it was gone a second later. "Yeah well, nothing's wrong." He made a shooing motion with his cigarette in the direction of the men's cabin. "Now go."

"Why you shitty cook…!" Zoro aimed a punch at his head. But Sanji's reflexes were oddly slow that night, having time only to bring up his hand instead of his leg to block the coming fist. They connected solidly.

It was just like one of the numerous fights they have each day, but Sanji jumped back upon impact, clutching his wrist with a grimace.

Zoro frowned but the cook was already throwing a kick his way. He dodged the blow and rushed forward, catching hold of Sanji by the arm. Before the blond could recover, he had loosened the cuff and pushed the sleeve back. "What's this?"

Sanji snatched his hand back with a curse, the white bandage sporting dark stains of seeping blood around his wrist showed plainly in the moonlight. "Just a scratch, you idiot."

"Scratches don't hurt this much and they don't bleed through the bandages." He strode forward and grabbed his arm again, grinning tightly. "Trust me, I know wounds."

"Yeah, you would, wouldn't you." Sanji sneered.

"And obviously you don't know enough." The bandages were damp with dishwater, and badly bound. Small wonder the wound was still bleeding.

"It's kinda hard to do it with only one hand and teeth, okay?" He sniped back defensively. Then, he took a deep drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly as if defeated.

"Fine, go ahead and look." He scowled, still managing to sound irate as he allowed Zoro to probe at the bandage. However, his thin shoulders sagged, seeming very tired all of a sudden. "It's just a cut from that last run in with the marines."

"But that's almost two weeks ago." It had been a small scuffle. His own injuries had long healed and he assumed everyone else's had too.

"Are you saying I'm weak?" A hint of challenge and annoyance tinged his voice.

He shrugged and didn't answer, instead concentrating on unraveling the bandage. The wound was coming clear now and he didn't like the way it looked. He gave a low whistle once the wound was exposed. "No shit. This is bad."

The gash was long and deep, darkly wet with blood, stretching across the forearm to end above the wrist. In the long weeks it had festered and was now swollen with infection. He imagined the times the cook spent washing dishes, soaked up to the elbows in soapy water, couldn't have been good for the wound either.

The shape of the slash could still be vaguely seen, but mostly, it was a mass of ragged red flesh half-grown to form a scar before it was pulled apart and kept from healing properly by the constant use of the arm. The edges of the wound were puckered and had gone white from being kept damp for so long, contrasting vividly with the angry red of the surrounding skin. When the wind blew his way, Zoro swore he could even detect the faint stench of rot in the air.

Sanji held his hand up and looked at it appraisingly. "Hmmm…not too pretty, huh?" He said lightly, almost jokingly, but the swordsman could hear the undercurrents of anxiety in his voice. The cook's cheeks were flushed, even more so than during dinner when Zoro had thought was due to the wine and Nami. He shot out a hand, shoved aside the blond fringe and felt his forehead.

"Hey! Hey!" Sanji cursed, swatting at his hand, but as if movement alone hurt his injured arm, he winced.

"You're feverish." He announced grimly.

"As if I didn't know already." The cook replied with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"We should get Nami." Amongst them all, she was probably the one most knowledgeable about doctoring.

But Sanji's response was immediate and firm. "No! You will not bother Nami-san." He took a deep breath and looked away out towards the sea again. "We're at least a month away from port." He admitted softly. "I don't want her to worry."

Zoro felt his brows knit into a dark frown. He hadn't thought of that. A month. If that wound were to get worse…

Then, Sanji straightened and squared his shoulders. "Like I said, it's nothing. Stop fussing like an old woman." He flicked the remains of his cigarette nonchalantly out into sea with his good hand. "I just need to sleep the fever off and it'll be all better in the morning."

"I guess that could happen…" Zoro said slowly, still eyeing the festering monstrosity on the cook's wrist. "Let's get that cleaned up some at least." He added gruffly, trying to match Sanji's unconcerned tone.

The cook sighed once, deeply, closing his eyes briefly for a moment. "Yeah, okay." He said quietly.

There was no fight in his voice, no argument, no sneer nor sarcasm. And that-more than the tired slump of his shoulders, the pallor of his face, and the faint lines of pain around his eyes now that he was studying the cook more closely-worried him.

It also annoyed the hell out of him.

Roronoa Zoro was unflappable. Roronoa Zoro did not worry. Least of all for that stupid cook.

But he didn't comment. Sanji followed him into the kitchen and was silent as Zoro cleaned the wound as best as he could and splashed on some rum. Sanji hissed in pain, bit off a curse, then took a mighty swig of the same rum. Fresh bandages in place, he tugged his sleeve down to hide the wound and fastened the cuff around his wrist.

He also didn't comment when he noted that the cook was stumbling a bit by the time they got to the cabin. Didn't comment as he watched his crewmate crawl into his hammock with a weary sigh, reaching for a blanket even though the weather was warm and the cabin was stuffy.

Without a word, Zoro lay in his own hammock and watched through half-closed eyes, feeling his annoyance build. Only when Sanji's breathing evened out and the stillness in his lanky frame betrayed that he was asleep, did the swordsman turn over and shut his eyes, muttering an angry oath.

"Idiot."