Hey! Guess who's still alive and back for more one-a-day ficage? Go on, guess!

…You're right! Elvis!

Okay, so unfortunately not; Elvis has not returned from outer space to write OP fanfiction. But I have! XD

This is round two of 30_onepiece's 30 themes challenge over at livejournal, which ends today. I did, indeed, finish on time (actually posted number thirty a few hours ago) and snagged my second Gold Roger award. YES! For those of you not in the know, I did SaNa this time, mostly romantic but some nakamaship here and there. I logged a LOT more words this time around than last time, and I enjoyed it, but I am never, EVER doing a pairing for one of these things again!

…Until a list REALLY makes me think of Zotash or something.

Anywho, for those of you who read "Thirty Days with Sanji," the same thing will be going on here; I'll post one fic a day for the next thirty days. Ratings and genres vary, but there is very little angst this time around as compared to last time (other than cracky angst, which is different).

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HATE SANA AND YET ARE BRAVING THIS ANYWAY: I will be including a "Fluff Rating" at the beginning of every fic that includes their relationship status and such, so you'll know beforehand if it'll make you want to gag or not. There are actually very few "getting together" fics; most of them have Sanji and Nami in an established relationship (because I like writing about established relationships better than writing about people falling in love).

Thanks once again to Abra Cadaverous for doing beta work and putting up with SaNa spam for three months! ^^

Now that this is done, I'll have some time to work on "real" stuff, like the last chapter of "Kiss Kiss" (which, contrary to popular opinion, is NOT finished). I'll also start being better about replying to pms again, which reminds me, I have a good thirty unread pms in my inbox, so if you've messaged me and I haven't replied, it's nothing personal, I've just been very busy and I've been writing and reading and reviewing and that's more or less it.

I hope everyone enjoys these!

Title: Tally Marks

Theme: 100

Words: 1,672

Rating: K+

Fluff Rating: Sanji and Nami are in a sort of "friends with benefits" relationship here; not really together but not wholly platonic. Not really fluffy until the very end.

Warnings: A curse or two, cross-dressing

Notes: I've finally accepted Sanji's predicament and am starting to have fun with it, though I certainly hope he'll return to normal once they all reunite. Also, there is a fic by dixxymouri done last round that has Sanji being found by the exact same crewmembers, which was not intentional on my part, it just worked out that way.

Summary: It's been one hundred days in hell, and still no sign of his nakama.

Tally Marks

By Dandy Wonderous

Sanji drew a mark through the four chalk tallies on the wall and then sat back to look at his handiwork. Twenty sets. There were twenty sets of tallies on the wall.

A hundred days.

He sighed and pulled out a cigarette, lighting up in agitation. He was sitting on the small bed the Kamabakka natives had given him, wearing a white tank top and a lacy slip. The tallies were all over the wall of the bare bedroom, making it look like a prison cell, and if you were to ask the cook, he would say this was an accurate description.

One hundred days. How had he not killed himself by this point?

As though in answer to his own question, he pulled out the vivre card. He always had it on him, close to his cigarettes. It pointed the way back to his crew, and even if the okama weren't letting him leave yet, there was still the chance that he could make it.

If they haven't already met back up and left me.

Sanji forced that thought away violently. His nakama would never abandon him, not while they knew there was still hope that he was alive and waiting for them.

If they're even alive and waiting.

This thought died alongside the other, and Sanji wore his cigarette down to a stub in record time. His thoughts simply refused to stay in line today.

He looked back at the tallies on the wall. It didn't really matter, he supposed, how long he had been here, but he'd been compelled to find some chalk and start keeping track anyway. It was like when he'd been on that rock so long ago; the tallies were the only thing that reminded him that it was a relatively short part of his life, that it hadn't simply always been that way and that everything before wasn't just a dream. It had a beginning, and it would hopefully have an end, too.

This time, of course, he was well-fed and not on the brink of death. Then again, he was filled with a different kind of hunger now, one that was sharper and more painful.

He missed getting bugged about meat at every waking hour of the day (and most of the sleeping ones). He missed outrageous lies told by a boy with shaking knees. He missed concerned twittering and the quick clicking of hooves on wood. He missed fighting an idiot marimo who was his only competition half the time. He missed making coffee late at night or early in the morning even though she insisted he didn't have to. He missed the out-of-tune strumming of a guitar and incessant demands for cola. He missed the gentle playing of a violin on a calm night while he was washing dishes.

And most of all, he missed the sharp smell of tangerines drifting out of golden orange hair as she pressed back against him and the threats of outstanding payments with every kiss he managed to steal and the way she commanded with such absolute authority as she guided her ship unflinchingly through a storm.

He looked at the tallies on the wall and wondered if anyone else-if she-was counting the days as well.

Then he tossed the cigarette butt into an ashtray and pulled on a canary yellow dress with white daisy floral print, ready for yet another day in hell.

Sanji had a plan, if his crew was to suddenly show up here one day. It was a good plan, if he did say so himself, one that minimized embarrassment and kept his pride intact. He had managed to save his tattered, bloody suit from the ravishings of the okama, and he had strategically hidden it away, not too far from the island's only pier. If he saw them or the Thousand Sunny, he would run, change into the suit, and then just "happen" to run into them in town. Then the girls, or at least the one that was there, would cry out in joy and throw her arms around him and cover him with kisses and happy tears and tell him how much she missed him, and she'd be wearing only a bikini and… oh, mellorine!

Yes. That was how it was going to go.

Sanji held onto this daydream, periodically checking on his suit to make sure it was still there. Some days it was the only thing keeping him from going completely stir-crazy, that dream he had, and so he clung to it like a life raft.

But then, on that hundredth day, as he was in search of ripe tomatoes and trying to ignore the idiots around him skipping and throwing confetti, he heard an all too familiar voice.

"Whoa!!! Everything's PINK!!!"

Sanji dropped the fruit in his hand in shock, afraid to look. He had heard it clear as a bell, but maybe he had finally cracked and was hallucinating.

"Cute boy," commented the tomato vender. "He'd look great in a red sundress."

Now Sanji had to look.

Luffy was standing at the crest of a hill, eyes big and sparkly like they usually were when he found something interesting. There was laughing behind him, and then a scary man in what Sanji assumed to be some kind of leotard and with a huge, heavily make-upped head, appeared behind him. "Pretty, isn't it?" he asked.

"Ivankov!" gasped half the people around him, but Sanji was deaf to their astonishment. Luffy, his captain, was here, barely a hundred yards away, looking just as exuberant as always.

Then, behind the big man, other forms appeared. "These are some weird guys," commented Franky, cresting the hill first.

"What's with the dresses?" asked Zoro, coming up next to him, and Sanji had never been so happy to see the cyborg and marimo in his life.

But then his joy of all joys joined them, and Sanji's heart nearly stopped beating.

"This is so creepy," said Nami, taking a defensive step toward Zoro instinctively. "They're all okama." She paused, taking in the scene. "They have good taste in shoes."

The cook, seeing her there, real as the mascara on his eyelashes, so close to him, lost all control. He forgot his plan. He forgot that he even had a plan. With a cry he ran toward her, vaulting past most okama and mowing over the others with his heels. Nami shrieked in surprise as he barreled into her, nearly knocking her down, and wrapped his arms around her and clung there. Next to her, a startled Zoro had one of his swords half unsheathed, and Franky's hand had retreated to show the barrel of a gun.

The second Sanji could feel her under his hands, he knew for sure it was all real. He didn't care that he was in a dress or that Zoro was seeing it or that his pride had probably just suffered its biggest hit of all time because Nami was wrapped in his arms, and he was wrapped in the smell of tangerines and sea salt and maybe she wasn't wearing a bikini, but the tank top and short skirt were more than enough.

"Hey, you-" Zoro started to growl out, but Nami raised a hand as much as she could to stop him.

Then, in disbelief, she asked, "Sanji-kun?"

"Nami-san!" he sobbed into her shoulder. "It's been so awful! They made me dress like this! And it's been so long since I heard your beautiful voice!"

"Sanji-kun?" she repeated. He pulled his head up with a sniff and nodded at her.

"What is it you desire of me, Nami-san?"

"Sanji-kun!" To his pleasant surprise, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him, laughing happily. "We found you!"

"SAAAN-JIII!" A streak of pure rubbery muscle slammed into his side, knocking him away from her. He stared down at his captain in fake annoyance, glad to see him okay as well.

"Luffy, you shithead, let me go!" he demanded, even as he fought the urge to ruffle the boy's hair.

A hand slapped his back, nearly sending him tripping over (the world was just determined to make him lose his balance today, it seemed). "Good to see you, Curly-cook!"

"Don't call me that!" he snapped. Then, with a little dread, he looked over at Zoro, who was in complete shock, hand still on the hilt of Wado.

After a moment of gaping, Zoro composed himself and released the sword. "…You're in a dress."

"No shit," he growled back, his eyes promising pain if the swordsman even thought about saying more, but Zoro had already lapsed into laughter.

Sanji had been ready to beat the shit out of him, but then Nami spoke again, and he was distracted completely as she took his hand and announced that she was taking him back to the ship they had come in on to find something he would rather wear, and he trailed after her, smiling goofily with little hearts trailing from his eyes.

And with his hand locked in hers, he didn't even care that, behind him, Zoro was still laughing.

Sunset found Sanji in the kitchen of the ship (wearing some shorts and a t-shirt Nami had found). It was nice, but he looked forward to the day when he was back in the Sunny's kitchen, cooking for all of his crew rather than just half of it.

He was just finishing up some soup when suddenly he felt arms wrap around his waist and a head rest against his back.

"Only a few hours and your clothes already reek of smoke," said his hugger, and his heart leapt at Nami's voice. She breathed in the scent some more. "You know, I've gone one hundred days without this smell."

Sanji's eyes widened. He hadn't been the only one counting days after all.

He turned and gathered her into his arms. "If you want, Nami-san, you'll never have to go a day without it again."

"Good."

The End

A/N: Hmm, I'd forgotten how fluffy that was at the end there. This was written early on.

Oh, and one more thing: I will, for the most part, be posting these in the order the prompts are listed in, but I'll stop and go out of order for three chapters because they together are a three-shot. You'll see when we get there.

Again, I hope everyone enjoys these! See you tomorrow!