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Sanji pried his eyes open as the white ceiling above him swam in and out of focus, his eyes straining out of their sockets to sharpen his vision.
"-nji? Are you awake? How are you feeling?"
He slowly turned his head to the side, the action enough to cause his head to start pounding, barely taking notice of the bleary figure sitting at his bedside.
Multiple sets of hands came to push him down as he attempted to get a closer look, sweet, muffled whispers filling his senses as they carded their fingers through his matted hair.
Sanji felt the tears well up before he could place them, a weight burrowing its way onto his chest as it pushed him down further and further. ‘’Maman?’’
He melted onto the bed, savouring the touches as if they would disappear in the next moment. He couldn’t remember the last time she felt well enough to care for him like this. Was she finally feeling better?
He reached out his hand, his mother too close yet too far for him to reach her.
The voices whispered amongst themselves.
‘’Maman, c'est toi? Tu n'es pas elle.’’
‘’It’s okay, we got you Sanji. You’re okay-’’
Tears streamed down his face.
They felt like his mother, but they didn't sound like her.
He didn't want anyone else; he only wanted his mother next to him.
A wave of hysteria washed over him as his throat tightened, another set of sobs threatening to break him open.
‘’Maman s'il te plait, ne me laisse pas- ‘’
Nami frowned at him as she shared a worried look with Usopp from across the bed, ‘’What’s he saying? Do you understand it?’’
Usopp shrugged helplessly, ‘’I didn’t even know he spoke another language, should we get Robin?’’
‘’Yeah, go get her, he looks really upset.’’
‘’You got it’’, he saluted her on his way out of the infirmary.
Nami rolled her eyes, her smile disappearing as she continued stroking Sanji’s hair. It seemed to placate him into calming down, but it didn't quite stop the tears.
It was always hard seeing her friends like this, when there was nothing she could do to help them.
He muttered under his breath before his eyes fluttered to a close, momentarily giving her respite from having to witness that wretchedly anguished look mar her friend's face.
Nami slid her sleeve gently underneath his eyes, her heart clenching a little less with each movement.
Her head swivelled up as the door opened.
‘’Hello, you needed me?’’, Robin asked, ‘’Is everything okay with Cook-san?’’
‘’Sanji is saying some stuff in another language, do you think you could try to decipher it? It might be important.’’
Now that piqued her interest.
"Of course-", Robin clapped her hands together, "-I was unaware he spoke other languages."
Nami grimaced, "You and me both. Looks like there's a few things he's been keeping from us."
"Everyone has their secrets."
"I suppose so", Nami suppressed a yawn with her elbow.
The older woman tilted her head, her hair flowing around her face like one dark curtain.
"Would you like me to take the next watch? You look like you could use a break yourself.’’
That earned her a rewarding smile.
‘’I would really appreciate that, thanks Robin. Let us know if anything happens?’’
"You'll be the first to know."
Nami nodded to herself, satisfied as she stiffly stood up from the chair. Poor Franky tried his best to install comfortable chairs in the infirmary, but eventually there was no chair that could stand in the face of a solid six hours of sitting.
Her back popped as she stretched her arms into the air, a content sigh slipping its way past her lips like a confession as she picked up her book and went outside to the kitchen.
She could do with a snack.
She greedily took in the light sea breeze, the faint smell of salt and brine, the lapping of waves against the deck of the ship.
Nami bumped the door open with her hip and stopped, the inside contrasting clumsily with the outside.
There were no warm fairy lights shining against the dark wood of the Sunny's interior, no smells of cooking food wafting deliciously through the air, no compliments or gestures of grandeur doled out by a certain cook, all accompanied by a nice drink or a small treat.
It felt odd seeing the kitchen so quiet and empty, like its soul was extinguished.
She stared at the grooves on the floor, worn in by the repeated paths taken by Sanji's dress shoes, at the seasonings carefully labelled with his stupidly hard-to-read swirly handwriting, at the set of knives pridefully brought over from the Baratie.
All testaments of his soul and pride.
Nami's shoulders dropped as she strode up to the drawers and pulled out a package of roasted nuts, barely able to stomach moving anything from the spots Sanji meticulously left them in.
It was better than nothing.
After five days of rotating shifts and laborious efforts, the fever broke.