Chapter Text
Zeff doesn’t get a lot of calls. The Baratie gets plenty—customers wanting to place reservations, mostly, along with the occasional farm or winery that wants to make some sales. Those are always for the den den mushi that lives in the kitchen, though. When the eggplant was still here, answering calls was one of his jobs. He was always the first to reach the snail, and his bitching was always a source of entertainment for the rest of the chefs. Any vendors or customers who were put off by a ten-year-old swearing at them wouldn’t last long at the Baratie anyway.
Nowadays, Patty and Carne split den den duty, snickering to each other when they can answer with a “Welcome to the crap café,” in truly shitty Sanji impressions.
Only a few people have the number for Zeff’s personal den den mushi, and most of them already live on the Baratie. When he hears a ring, it’s usually just a chef asking about alternatives while grocery shopping.
“Who’s calling?” Zeff asks into the receiver as he picks up, and the voice he hears is unexpected.
“Chef guy!” says Monkey D. Luffy, loud as Zeff remembers him even after two years. His tone isn’t as cheerful as the last time he heard him, and immediately he feels like something’s wrong.
“Luffy,” he says gruffly. “Why the hell are you calling?”
Silence on the other end.
Luffy’s voice drops. Normal volume by most standards, quiet by his.
“Sanji’s missing.”
He almost hangs up on him. It feels like a joke, except Luffy doesn’t make jokes like that. Sanji doesn’t either. Zeff stays silent, and Luffy keeps speaking.
“We were supposed to meet up but it’s been almost a week and Sanji’s not here, and Nami said we should call you, and I thought that was stupid ‘cause Sanji told me he won’t go back to see you until he finds the All Blue but Nami told me I was being stupid and no one had any other ideas and Sanji left the number in a drawer in the galley so I called it.” He doesn’t seem to breathe at any point, a solid stream of words that takes Zeff a moment to work through.
“He’s not here,” Zeff says. “Asshole never calls unless it’s to ask about recipes, and he writes even less. Last thing I got was a letter from him, two years ago. Right after that shit at Marineford.”
All it had said was: “Don’t give yourself a heart attack reading the news. I’m safe. Still searching.” Zeff had kept it on his nightstand for the last two years.
On the other end Luffy is silent, a rare quality from the future King of Pirates. He’s taking this seriously, and in some ways that only makes it worse. If even Luffy is being serious…
“We’ll find him,” Luffy says firmly. “I can’t become King of the Pirates without him. We won’t stop looking until we find him, promise.”
Zeff feels unsteady. The floor sways below him.
“Call me if you have any updates,” Zeff says, and then he hangs up.
—
It’s not always Luffy that calls.
Sometimes it’s the sniper, who always manages to sound nervous, or the navigator that has captured Sanji’s heart. Zeff finds Nami to be the best to talk to, as she’s the only one who seems to actually know what she’s talking about.
“We have a lead,” Nami tells him as soon as he greets her. “Rumors about a family in the North Blue that’s made an alliance with one of the Four Emperors. Something about curly eyebrows. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it’s the best we’ve got right now.”
They’ve been searching for nearly six months. The strawhats’ search for the One Piece has been delayed, and Zeff’s heard every step of this new journey. The swordsman had told him about their trip through Fishman Island—they’d delayed leaving Sabaody as long as possible, but they could never stay forever. They had to travel through Fishman Island without Sanji.
“He would’ve lost his mind over the mermaids,” Zoro said. “We’ll have to go back sometime after he’s back.”
Zeff doesn’t know why they keep calling. It’s not something that he discussed with Luffy—he’d asked for updates, not to be used like a diary. Zeff knows better than to tell them to stop. It’s clear the crew needs this, someone to ground them, someone to listen and understand.
“Curly eyebrows?” Zeff repeats. “What, you think you found his long lost cousins or something?”
“Did Sanji ever talk about his biological family?” Nami asks.
“No. I figured whatever family he had must’ve died on the Orbit,” Zeff says, leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. “He’s from the North, and that’s all he would ever say.”
There’s a long silence on the other end. “Have you ever heard of a kingdom called Germa 66?”
Zeff frowns at the den den mushi. “I can’t say I have.”
“I don’t think his family died on the Orbit,” Nami says, and she sounds near tears. Sometimes when Zeff listens all he can think about is how young they all are.
“‘Course not,” Zeff huffs. “His family’s sailing around searching for him, and the rest are out here on the Baratie.”
“We’re gonna find him, Zeff. I promise.”
She sounds so different from the girl he’d met two and a half years ago. There’s a confidence to her now.
“Keep me posted,” Zeff says. “You kids better be taking care of yourselves. Eggplant’ll be pissed if he finds out you weren’t eating properly during all this, and so will I.”
“You say this every time we call,” Nami says, in a fond, teasing tone that makes him think of Sanji again. “Talk to you later, Zeff,” and the den den turns off with a click, leaving Zeff alone in a too quiet office.
—
The next call comes out of schedule.
Usually it’s once a week. The strawhats know his schedule well by now, what the best days and times to call him are, but this time he’s in the kitchen when it rings. Zeff doesn’t even get a chance to speak when he answers, because Nami’s already talking.
“We found him,” she says in a breathless rush, “we found him, the lead was right—”
Zeff bites back tears. He breathes slowly.
“You found him,” he repeats. “You got a plan?”
There’s a sound that resembles laughter. “You should know by now that plans aren’t really our thing.”
Zeff grunts. “Just get him home safe.”
Nami hangs up soon after, and it’s only after Zeff hears the click of the receiver that he lets himself cry.
It’s over a week before he gets another call, long enough that he’s started snapping at his chefs when the kitchen gets too loud and he thinks he might miss hearing the den den ring.
When he finally hears it he barely manages to put his knife down before bolting to his office, and this time he doesn’t try to hold back his tears.
“We got him,” Luffy says, firm and confident. “He’s home.”
Zeff exhales for the first time in six months.
“Thank you,” he says, and then he hangs up so the strawhats don’t hear him cry.