A/N: Takes place between OP chapter 813 and 824. It also links up a tiny bit with my other fic "In the Kitchen" (specifically, Chapter 2 of it) but it's probably not necessary to read that to understand this.

Requests

After a day, Sanji learnt that he could make them do nearly anything he wanted without needing to threaten Caesar's life - except release him, of course. So he made them do things.

Clean his room. Put Caesar's cage in his room (Sanji still felt obliged to keep an eye on Caesar - just in case Law decided they'd need him later). Polish his shoes. The most expensive meat and wine at every meal. A plate of oranges in his room at all times.

The meat and wine he requested partly out of sheer spite. After all, if he was going to be a princely prisoner, he might as well eat like royalty. And requesting fish might have been a tad too easy since they were sailing on the sea. (It was a pity he didn't have Luffy's appetite for food and Zoro's love of alcohol; if he did, he could just eat them out of house and home and how terribly satisfying would that be?) But it was mostly to hide the fact that the oranges were what he really wanted.

Well, to say that he "requested" for those things was putting it mildly. "Snarled at them and demanded" was more like it. But they obeyed him nonetheless. The minions hurried to fulfil his wishes, Capone rolled his eyes, the fellow in the giant eggshell shrugged his shoulders, and Vito, a combination of smarmy and subservient, laughed off his fussiness, attributing it to his Vinsmoke heritage.

He made it a habit to kick everyone out of his room and to sit quietly with an orange in his hand. When Caesar, the only person he couldn't actually kick out of his room, got annoying, he'd go out to a quiet spot on the deck (and there were many quiet spots as the crew appeared to give him a wide berth) and stand there instead, thinking. Sometimes he'd peel the orange and eat it almost unconsciously. Sometimes he would just stare at it. Occasionally he'd hold it to his nose and took a deep breath, letting the citrus smell sink in.

He'd remember her most vividly at those times. Nami studying her maps and log poses with careful focus. Nami, looking up at the sky and gauging the weather with an experienced eye. Nami, gazing at him with a sort of embarrassed happiness, admitting that she cared about him too. Kissing him back in the kitchen that night. Giving orders to help the sick and injured Minks. Radiant in the pearls and the slinky gown the Minks had given her. Begging him to "come out" and not go with Capone. The look of confused horror was the last thing he'd seen on her face, and how he wished it wasn't that.

Sorry, Nami-san. I'll be back.