Chapter Text
Friday evenings were always busy at the Baratie, and with Carne away for a long weekend and two new waiters that would be out of a job soon if they did not get their asses in gear, tonight was no exception.
“Patty!” Zeff shoved his way over to the cook, “What’s in that oven right now?”
Patty turned from the oven, hand resting on the handle. He opened his mouth to answer, but Zeff cut him off, yanking the door open as he spoke, “It better not be the damn salmon.”
Peeking in, Zeff raised a brow at the row of bubbling pink fillets and turned on the cook, arms crossed.
Patty met the head chef’s stare coolly, “We’re behind and I thought I’d shave off a few minutes with a higher temp-”
“Oi, how long have you been working here? You want to serve this dry crap to our customers, then go out there and do it yourself.”
Zeff slammed the oven door shut and turned on his heel, trying not to let the cook see his smirk. As much as he hated to admit it, Patty was not half bad and if Zeff thought of anyone in the kitchen as his right-hand man, it was him, but Zeff was getting old and his leg hurt like hell from his prosthetic on the best of days. If he was going to have to retire in a few years, he wanted to rest well knowing the Baratie was in capable hands.
As Zeff scanned the kitchen searching for another employee to harass, an obnoxious tone cut through the already noisy space. Eyes turned to him, older, more experienced ones lingering longer before turning back to their work. Zeff cursed under his breath and dug his phone from his pocket, catching Patty’s gaze as he did so. They both knew Zeff only had one number unsilenced during working hours.
Patty strode over quickly and offered a reassuring smile, “Take as much time as you need, I’ve got the rest of the night.”
Zeff grunted his thanks and made his way over to the back door of the kitchen, flipping open his cell as he did so.
This is Makino from East Blue Child Services, is this Zeff?
“Yes,” Zeff pushed through the door and exited into the dimly lit hallway that contained the staircase leading up to his front door.
We have a boy in need of placement, do you have availability tonight?
“How old?”
Um, let me see here… six? We’re unsure.
Zeff frowned, easing himself down onto the stairs, “You got his birthdate?”
No, not at this time. This was an emergency removal, and we’d like to get him placed tonight.
“Okay…” Zeff sighed, running a hand over his face, “Anything you can tell me about the removal?”
Uh, yes, this was a general neglect case.
“Are there medical concerns?”
No, but we’ll have you follow up with his pediatrician as soon as you can.
“Behavioral concerns?”
None noted.
“Have you seen him?”
No.
“What school does he go to?”
At this time, I do not believe he is enrolled anywhere.
Zeff took a breath and tried to keep his tone in check, “So, is there any information you can tell me?”
I’m very sorry, sir. It’s late at night and we’d like to get him in a home as soon as possible.
“Visitation? Siblings?”
Visitation is not being considered at this time and, um, yes, multiple siblings, but they were not removed from the home.
Zeff frowned, massaging his bad leg. The whole situation seemed odd to him, but he supposed that was no reason to deny the kid a safe place to sleep for a few weeks, “Alright, yes, I’ll take him. What time?”
We’ll drop Sanji off around nine.
“Great,” Zeff muttered, wondering how he was going to get set up for the kid within the hour.
Thank you, sir.
“Wait!” Zeff’s eyes widened, the hand that had been working through the knots in his thigh froze, “What did you say the kid’s name was?”
Uh… The woman paused as if checking her notes. Sanji. Vinsmoke.
“What?”
Sorry, do you know him?
“Do I-?” Zeff scoffed. Anyone who paid any attention to the news knew the name Vinsmoke Sanji. Anyone who paid any attention knew that what the woman had just said was impossible.
Sir?
Zeff shook his head, letting out another humorless laugh, “No, I don’t know him.”
…Okay, we’ll see you at nine.
“Yeah,” Zeff said, shaking his head again before dropping the phone to his lap and flipping it shut.
Surely the care worker had been mistaken. Surely she had meant one of the other Vinsmoke boys, or maybe even the girl. The department Zeff worked with was known to make mistakes, they would get ages or genders wrong, and once Zeff had been told a single teen was being placed with him only to be shocked when three kids arrived. So, surely the boy was really Ichiji or Niji or Yonji, or—hell—even Reiju, and whoever had entered the name into the system just had the unfortunate quadruplet on their mind and made a mistake.
That had to be it, Zeff reasoned, rising from the steps, after all, they had gotten the age wrong too. Last he had heard, the prodigious Vinsmoke boys were eight and the girl had just started junior high.
Zeff poked his head back into the kitchen and caught Patty’s eye, waving him over. The cook jogged to him, grinning, “Got yourself another brat, Chef?”
“It would seem so.”
“Need anything from us? We’re not seating anyone else, so we can handle the rest and close up tonight.”
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Zeff tugged on his mustache, eyeing the clock above the door, “Kid’s coming soon, could you have one of the boys bring me up some grub?”
“Sure thing, boss,” Patty nodded to Zeff before turning and making his way into the bustling kitchen and pointing at a young cook, “Hey, you! I said until just mixed! Give that to me. Go make a plate and bring it up to Chef Zeff’s.”
Zeff chuckled, watching as the poor man allowed the bowl to be snatched from his hands before ducking out of the doorway and making his way up the stairs.
It had been a while since Zeff’s last placement. He was known for seeming a bit too rough and looking a bit too scary for him to be their first choice when placing kids, especially younger ones. The kids they did determine would be a good fit with him were normally teens with enough attitude to get them kicked out of Sunday school, but Zeff did not mind that much, to him attitude meant personality.
This unfortunately meant, however, that Zeff had never really acquired many toys for small children, and the bedroom set up he normally kept for the kids was a tad boring and mature for a six—or eight—year old. When he had first gotten licensed as a foster parent, he had bought a bunch of items he could use for younger kids, but they were all at the back of the linen closet now.
Digging through the boxes in his closet, Zeff came across his childhood bedding set. The sheets had little sailboats and fish on them and the quilt was patchwork with different aquatic patterns and a large sailboat stitched right in the center. It would be perfect for a young boy and they had held up surprisingly well over the past 40 years, so Zeff tossed them in the washer for a quick cycle before the boy arrived.
While waiting for the laundry, Zeff moved into the kitchen and began arranging a snack box to put in the boy’s room. If there was one thing he could make sure of while the kid was in his care, it would be that he would be well fed. Zeff tried to provide a variety of options for the kid, but it was tough to find an assortment of healthy non-perishables, so it mostly ended up being snack packets and applesauce.
Just as Zeff was finishing arranging the snack box, a soft knock came at the door. Zeff hobbled over and greeted the young cook on his doorstep. The man presented Zeff with a container of soup and a plate covered with foil. Zeff took the items, nodding his thanks before closing the door and setting the food on the counter.
For the next 20 minutes Zeff moved from room to room, cleaning up and pulling out any toys or games he could find to make it more kid friendly. At ten to nine he put the sheets in the drier and poured the now cold soup into a pot to heat it on the stove. He checked under the foil of the plate that had been prepared for him and determined the food would be adequate if warmed in the microwave for a few minutes before eating. Then, he sat at the kitchen table stretching out his leg and waiting for a knock on the door.
At 9:30 Zeff turned off the stove, let the soup cool back down to room temperature, and placed the plate in the fridge. 20 minutes later he took the sheets out of the drier and made the bed. At 10:30 Zeff started getting nervous. It was not unusual for child services to run late, but they had seemed to want to pass the boy off to him as quickly as possible.
Then, just as he was about to call to check on their progress, a sharp rap rang through the apartment. Zeff turned the heat on the stove on again and made his way over to the entryway. When he opened the door, a young woman greeted him with a smile that did not reach her tired eyes, “Sorry, Zeff, we had some…trouble…getting out of the car.”
Zeff grunted in acknowledgement, frowning at the implication, and moved aside to let her in.
“Thank you,” the woman stepped inside, revealing a small boy behind her.
Zeff stared down at the boy just past his threshold and knew no mistake had been made. This was the strange swirly brow and shock of blond hair the world had mourned not four months ago.
Zeff knelt down before the boy as best he could, ignoring the sharp pain in his leg, “It’s nice to meet you, Sanji.”