AN: This is going to be a story about the aspects of a LawZo relationship as it unfolds from Sanji's perspective. And as such, will go a little bleak in some spots (longing for a kind of relationship he wants and can't have) and humorous in others (sometimes realizing its probably for the better that he doesn't). But it won't have a terrible ending for him, so no fear! ;3; There will be ZoSan (no one can say that Law can't be generous ^.~) as well as minor LawSan. Following canon, post-Punk Hazard and pre-Dressrosa; I like my version of a filler a lot better than Toei's. :D There will be 5 chapters total.

Anyway, if you're expecting monumental amounts of sap, you're barking up the wrong tree (and wrong author, for that matter, haha). If you're expecting some rather visceral angst and romance, riddled with awful toilet humor and filthy sex... well. At the second chapter, this will start getting very mature very, very quickly, and the content is going to stray off into... not-so-vanilla territories (This is Law we're talking about FFS). Enjoy!

Roronoa Zoro had to be, beyond a doubt, the most simple and bland person that Sanji could think of. His interests were limited, conversational skills lacking, knowledge non-existent outside of specific expertise, overly predictable, and so short of brain-power that Sanji had speculated for some time that the reason why the man slept so often might have had something to do with being so bored by his own thoughts that they put him to sleep. Eat, train, nap, booze - The End.

And irritating as hell, to boot, with his shitty attitude problems, swaggering confidence all over-the-top - almost egotistical, and unjustified, as if his dick were bigger than the Sunny's mast itself but damned if he could back up any of that cockiness (and/or cock) outside of a battle. All he was good for, really. World's greatest swordsman? Fine, he could see it. The ambition was without question, the possibility was doubtless... but Sanji chalked up the goal as another reason why Zoro was so unlikeable, his dream just as fuck-all dull and simple-minded as the rest of him. Life had so many riches to offer and so many experiences and so many flavors and sounds and colors (Zoro felt/smelled/tasted/heard and probably shit in green, insofar that the monochromatics were likely white-green and black-green with grey-green in-betweens).

Didn't ponder the meaning of the universe for a moment, had no grasp of philosophy; didn't wonder why or how or what existence meant, or what meaning life and love gave - didn't love, for that matter. How does someone not love? - Sanji cared all of five seconds before he wondered why he was wondering at that and wasting precious time that he could have spent deliberating upon his own sweet-dreamings. Love, and...

All Blue, it was.

The chef's own dream first and foremost, yes, but there was more to it than the easy-explanation given to keep others from probing too deep into Sanji's psyche. If it were only about fish alone, Sanji could sail all seas and toss every catch possible into the aquarium and have the same result. Convenient that they all be in one place, of a certainty, but All Blue wasn't unlike other myths, the true glory of it found in its story.

If Sanji could find it, it wouldn't be the end of his journey, but a second beginning upon a stretch of ocean that gave all that any ocean could give and more. A new chapter that brought about a new field of dreams, only more colorful, more wonderful - lustrous, bright and full. Meaningful kinds of new dreams that simpletons like Zoro couldn't ever understand. Because All Blue was a fairy tale like any other, complex beyond a simple legend. And in the variating storybooks inside of Sanji's dreams, he alternated in his role between the prince of happily-ever-after's and the poison with a million Sleeping Beauty's to put to bed.

And yet...

And yet, somehow, suddenly, shockingly, that man less-than-mysterious that he thought he knew the in's and out's of better than his own self for so much lack of substance (couldn't fall under the like the back of my hand comparison as his had a lot more finer lines than Zoro's brain, surely), Sanji fell into him, for him, against him harder than a tidal wave breaking against the shimmering rocks of the Red Line. World's colliding like suns expanding over galaxy's and pulling planets into spiraling crash-courses in its gravitational pull, burning up even as they exploded in impact.

Because there was so much more to Roronoa Zoro than Sanji had ever known. A lot more. And he thought he'd understood so well and had him so figured out that once Sanji began to notice the deep, soft, secret underbelly of his inner workings, his mind completely reeled with this new information and what the fuck it all meant. Hell may or may not have frozen over, but he wasn't swayed. Zoro had... this perceptiveness, and sensitivity put to use only where it truly counted that made it more infinitely more meaningful. And an aggravating certainty in the way he went about things that Sanji lacked - he was decisive in his actions and took their repercussions as they came, without fuss. The man was solid all over, inside and out, polished as an adult after a two year span of distance that made Sanji feel like no more than a child. And that notion... had a strange power over him.

Stupid way to look at it. Stupid that he'd let his guard down so much that he'd let himself become wrapped up in what he saw when he'd bothered to give the man more than the cursory glance his piss and vinegar disposition had previously merited.

At some small consolation, at least if he had to find an obsession to rival that of Nami, at least it came with an equally nice set of tits. Heh. Pectorals? Whatever, at least he could still attach a chest to it and goddammit, shit like that mattered. So he thought. And thought. And thought on and on until he had to stop himself from thinking because whatever he thought was what Zoro would automatically know, and he wasn't sure if that additional thought was infuriating or enthralling. He acted the former, felt more of the latter, but then it didn't matter because Zoro would ultimate see through him and make sense of what he never could himself (as if Sanji himself were that black and white - or green).

The realization had been a slow one to make, however. All exacerbated by a man named Trafalgar Law.

Before they'd ventured into the new world, he had never really crossed his mind - a pirate captain like any other pirate captain (who wasn't their own pirate captain, atypical as he was), men of his ilk were never in short supply. As he could recall from the first days on Sabaody when he'd given the man the most cursory of glances more than two years back, his reputation had already been one to be contended. Though his initial thoughts might have given him a care only as to wonder if the man was going to be a problem. And by problem, he really meant nuisance.

But that was never the case, and he had purportedly saved Luffy's life, which was worth the weight of all of their dreams combined but he left his gratitude unsaid as the moment - to understate - was long expired when they came across him again. Even then, something about Law's demeanor had him under the impression that he wouldn't appreciate anything of the sort. When assumptions and guessture was all there was to be had, it was nice to not be wrong in them and this had been no different.

For the most part, it was still difficult for Sanji to put his finger on what it was about this man in particular - toiling his mind more than usual to unravel him with his eyes and discern his wants and motivations and whatever force that drove such an atypical man to take to the sea, let alone The Grand Line. But appearances, they could be so deceiving. And this one - a doctor, a swordsman, and a pirate captain in one - didn't appear as any of those things, outwardly. More the type found lingering in the dark corners of some upscale bar, a mysterious stranger nursing two fingers of whiskey, neat, whilst demurring away from inevitable attentions and/or propositions. Or perhaps some damp, lofty, timeless and elegant library, thumbing through obscure medical volumes in the way that a certain archaeologist was wont to do with molded-over codex. Or somewhere in-between those two places, alternating in highs and lows. He'd proven himself a strong man, and one worthy of the sea, and yet-

And yet...

And yet, the assumptions he sometimes made weren't as difficult to discern as he read into the little subtleties that only the most astute would take notice of - how he carried himself coolly, inhumanly graceful over the ship's threshold wearing the most taciturn expressions. But sometimes could stiffen just so at certain things and words, then never at all if they were presented a somewhat different way. When caught in the whirlwind of his own captain's general what-the-fuckery and pandemonium, all that cool, calm and collected could disappear quickly into something utterly horrified.

But, given a few moments, the mask would be back just as fast as it could slip.

While seeming to have no outward use for what anyone else might have thought of him, Law was clean and well-groomed, his style very casual, yet he seemed to relish a bit of ornamentation. It was there in the piercings, the tattoos, the clean-shaven face around his goatee, and the well-fitting clothes. Noticed, how darkly handsome his face could be and how carefully tailored the expressions he wore - the man obviously knew his own natural gifts. But this appearance seemingly did not matter in the larger scheme of things inasmuch as what Law thought of his own self - no one else really mattered. And there were similarities, familiarities, conclusions that Sanji could make But these were all plain guesses and the man was yet magnificently foreign to him. Like a new island, an undiscovered adventure; there were so many landscapes and so many new things to explore.

That was the way that Sanji was drawn to him, watching this inscrutable mystery biding his time aboard their ship, saying either many words or going eerily silent, but the ones he did choose could stretch heavy with meaning. There was little for the ship's cook to do but pretend that it did not matter at all, pretend he couldn't care much less of whatever poor soul Luffy had dragged along for this next absurd escapade. Pretend he was less than utterly fascinated with the Surgeon of Death, Trafalgar Law.

In another life, he might have been a great actor. But not this one, no.

Pretend, pretend away, young chef, but there were too few things to hide behind on such a small ship. Too few other thoughts to tuck these ones behind until they were forgotten. There were only so many instances where he could distract himself by conjuring up the image of ludicrous breasts bouncing in too-small bikinis before he had to kick it up a notch to the fond recollection of his beloved mermaids in said bikinis, rendering himself near-catatonic in a sagging heap of his fantasies. Blood from his nose, hearts in his eyes, useless and pointless and ridiculous and he knew it, but that was what became of lonely men who'd never known a true lover - someone to call his own, just his own and his only. No such person existed for him, and his heart compensated its emptiness by making itself a stomping ground for pointless pornography.

He tried to keep productive in his kitchen, but his attention span constantly had the better of him. When the oceans of his mind would inevitably cool and the mermaids set off for warmer waters, he couldn't keep himself from looking towards Law, watching the way his shadowy eyes would always focus out on some unseen point off the boundless horizon.

It was relatively quiet and peaceful that day, contrasting what they'd dealt with prior, and Law was sunning himself quietly on the deck, wearing his typical jeans but not much else. With his weight resting against the ship's rail, long legs lackadaisically spread in front of him, his expression was one of equal parts deep thought and mild indifference, lost somewhere else on a distant point that his gaze sought out, yet entirely still there in the present.

One couldn't help but wonder in that moment what it was the man was thinking of, but wouldn't dare to ask. The not knowing of it all is what made it so perfect.

Sanji found himself making a great show of his excuses for slipping out of the galley and onto the deck, refreshing drinks more often and more loudly than was necessary, amongst various tasks. Every time he emerged, he awarded his eyes to let them rest upon and drink in the older man's calm visage. Unto the point where he had eventually failed to watch where the fuck he was going, stumbling with little to no grace into the flailing wall of another person's body. At that precise moment, he had been in the midst of attempting to discard the completely unusable parts of a large fish (not one to ever waste anything) into a bait bucket that Luffy and Usopp had been using for their outlandishly over-sized catches. The result was... unpleasant, to say the least.

Without turning his head, Law looked to him, those unfathomably deep eyes shifting to his peripheral. And he smiled, just the barest touch at the corner of his mouth in a way that made Sanji feel idiotic and transparent all-over, caught as though his crewmate's fishing hooks had flung themselves from the water and attached in his mouth. Some cursing and shouting behind him in the form of a shackled up Caesar suddenly decor'ed with fish-innards only vaguely registered in his mind's sudden tunnel vision, and dismissed him with a wave of his hand and a small 'Sorry.'

Sanji couldn't have cared less at that moment (or any other moment, really) - his eyes refused to move away from Law - tall, dark, and handsome as he was - and time suddenly felt all so still and sluggish. The epitome of casual, the man looked so at home under the late afternoon sun and the wind as it gently palmed across his dark, shining hair, unfettered from his usual cap, like some fond acknowledgement. As if to say I know you, and I will always be here with you.

Feeling a sudden heat prickling at the back of his neck, Sanji's collar felt too stiff and tight that he tugged at the knot of his tie with his free hand and loosed the top button of his shirt. Standing there blankly, dumbly, clutching an empty bowl that bore the remnants of fish blood and bits of scales to his person as he realized that Law's interest had long waned from his direction while he had remained openly staring. As a curious warmth swelled beneath his cheeks and over his ears, he made to retreat back to the galley, somehow out of breath.

He tried to calm himself; he thought of cool rain and wintry islands. He thought of ice cubes and refreshing drinks. He thought of anything except mermaids.

Why, he thought... just why (does he make me feel so anxious)?

"Zoro-ya..."

Through the open door, he could hear the man's soft voice give recognition to an approaching swordsman. Before he could afford the chance to fully regain his better judgement, the cook turned back towards the deck, watching from the galley's shadowed entrance in a rather pathetic attempt at discretion. Law was regarding his new acquaintance as coolly as ever, a secret half-smile kept low under a bowed head as Zoro invaded his personal space and took to leaning his back against the ship's rail beside him.

"That nodachi..." he began, and Law's smile opened up with a hint of white teeth at its edge, his expression lifting pridefully.

"Kikoku," he said, his soft cadence pleasant to the ear. "Do you like it?"

Zoro eyed the large weapon interestedly, almost heatedly, the way that Sanji might have undressed a beautiful woman with his eyes - he thought it all too typical of the man. "Yes."

"Go ahead, then," Law replied simply with a silent and unspoken I trust you somewhere in between the lines. A swordsman recognizing another swordsman's intent, but it was rare to see one so agreeable to let another fondle his weaponry. Sanji wondered at that (he'd never, not ever touched Zoro's swords, let alone thought to ask... not that he would), but dismissed the thought as Law seemingly cared much less, looking away once more, almost serenely, eyes wandering on that invisible point across the ocean.

As Zoro took up man's invitation, Sanji watched on as he seemed to hesitate slightly, trailing a fingertip softly across the grey silk of the sword's tsuka as though it were some sort of slow seduction. An implicative gesture. If the man were feeling a little hot and bothered, he wouldn't have put it past him at all. Simple-minded, single-minded, pointy sticks of sharpened metal and all of the ways to best make things bleed with them governed Zoro's thought processes to the extent that nothing else was there. They could have been his personal version of Sanji's mermaids.

Swords, not women - or men. There was no appreciation in him for true beauty, for sensuality, for love. Could never understand the wonderment found in another human being over the things that they themselves wrought with their two hands. Even in their own way that blades could be beautiful, that beauty was dependent entirely upon the movements of the body that wielded them and all of the ways that they could think to manipulate them. The placement of weight, the turn of wrists and hips, the level of power behind every swing and every thrust were only designs of the body that commanded each motion. A body like Law's, perhaps. Quick and lithe and graceful, powerful tendons guiding his movements from large to subtle-

Zing!

The sword sung from its sheathe a scant milometer above Law's head, sure and precise in Zoro's two-handed grip in a movement so quick that Sanji felt his heart skip in startle from his reverie. The power in Zoro's usual draw, withheld. The shimmering waves of the ocean rippled off for miles from his trajectory as though he'd merely sent the most perfect little skipping-stone spinning across its face. It was atypical to his favored concussive force, such a modest amount of power... or had that been a purposeful display of his tremendous control? Whichever was cockier was the truth and it had Sanji mentally eye-rolling, while Law looked neither over, nor under, nor any definition of whelmed. Palm-up, his hand lifted to catch the tiniest amount of blue-black fuzz that Zoro had shaved off the top of his hair and watched as it floated listlessly off into the breeze.

"I'm glad that you approve," was all he had to say, dusting his hand off on his jeans. With a hum of agreement in the back of his throat, Zoro returned the sword to its sheathe and settled it back beside its master before he, too, slid down to sit alongside the man. But not before loosing his three katana from his hip and rest them at his own side.

"It's not bad."

Law cocked a slender brow towards him, amused, but said nothing at all.

From then on, they sat still and silent in some sort of understanding that had to be a thing exclusive only to swordsmen of their caliber, speaking in low voices with as few words exchanged as possible. Recognizing hidden meanings in-between the lines of everything unsaid, speaking in the language of eyes and body, reading tensions or lack thereof in the air like some long-winded discourse had taken place when to Sanji's fixated ears and eyes, there was nothing of interest to be had there anymore.

And it was vexing in a way, that Law understood what fell upon Sanji's ears as a lot of muscle-headed, inarticulate idiot-speak akin to, 'Sword good. Me cut. Me like cut with sword.' But he refuted the thought that he and Zoro could have much more in common than that; just because a man understood a common language didn't necessarily equal being native to it. He knew better. Law was a man of intellect, after all. And Zoro was just dumb.

Receding from his hiding place and back into the kitchen, Sanji rolled up his shirt-sleeves to set about preparing their evening meal. Steadier now in the place that he could truly, finally thrive (though he could easily pin the blame of his earlier misstep to the heat of the sun - which, he did), he began to work his magic, his sleight of hand, beautifully filleting fish to be laid in decorously-cut sheets of parchment.

His confidence was renewed - lost in the throes of his skill, his lifeblood, preparing not mere sustenance, but a science and art in one with the love of his craft tucked into its flavors, be they fragile or robust. Not as a mere cook, but a chef; a culinarian; the blood and sweat and tears he'd paid for his talent over the years were the ever-growing seasonings of his capability. In half the time that it would take a man referred to as a 'great', Sanji had prepared his dish for the oven (with an extra ten servings of fish for the ship's captain) with minced shallot, green peas, chopped mushrooms (held for Usopp's share) with a light tarragon sauce. A dish of braised leeks and a basket of warmed, buttery fantail rolls adorned the table just as the internal timer in his head went off for the entrée.

"Nami-swan! Robin-chwan!" He blithely sashayed from the galley, "Law-kun!" He mentally stuttered - What the actual fuck, Sanji? Law-kun... Seriously? - one of these things... was definitely not like the others. He badly needed to ditch his sudden hang-up with the pirate doctor - and why (can't I stop thinking about him)? - before it got the better of him and/or wrecked his self-image as a ladies man, but some things were easier thought than done.

Regardless...

"Dinner is ready!"

The kitchen was heavenly with aroma and garnered no small amount of compliments from the more polite members of the crew as they filed in, taking each one gracefully as he served them their respective favored drinks. He looked up as Zoro and Law entered together, and though both were withdrawn and quiet, to Sanji's knowledge of at least one of the two swordsman, that he wasn't wearing his common scowl while within his domain was akin to them being linked arm and arm with a skip to his step. Something about Zoro's air altogether troubled his stomach, like some parasite (a green and mossy one, at that) attaching to his intestinal wall and gnawing at his gut, but he dismissed it as trivial... and a bit too commonplace. As whatever it was that had put the shitty moss-head in good mood, he knew that it was going to be something tragically asinine and/or irksome towards Sanji's regard in general that he knew better than to ask.

Not that Zoro ever gave much away. No more than in one-word ogre grunts, anyway.

Everyone seemed pleased, and it pleased him in turn as he picked into his food, glancing up now and then at the ladies and barbarians at the table to make sure they were all well accommodated. Boisterous as usual, loud laughter commingled with random angry shrieks as they resounded the room. Bits of fish flecked in the air as Brook regaled Kin'emon and Momonosuke some silly story of Soul King grandeur with his mouth full, one errant little piece alighting perfectly between Nami's mountainous and heavenly breasts. The navigator balled up a fist that put Luffy's third gear to absolute shame, smiting the skeleton with an unholy amount of fury. With sizable lump protruding from his afro and tilting his crown more askew than before, Brook became unnervingly withdrawn after that.

Luffy himself was incomprehensible, cheeks puffed with food squirreled in as he waved his arms emphatically over at Franky and Usopp over something or other that Sanji would never understand and honestly knew it was better that way. It was, over all, a good night. The ladies were both smiling, Zoro seemed about to fall asleep in the midst of all the cacophony, and Law looked as though he were suffering how this alliance he'd formed was the largest mistake of his pirating career (very likely so, and Sanji could sympathize well on questionable life choices), but he was quiet and his table manners were... adequate enough... if not a little bit too hasty and bored as though eating out of necessity with little to no enjoyment.

He was going to tell himself that he wasn't disappointed, as if that ever worked.

"SANJI!" He looked up from his perch in the kitchen from its partition, daintily chasing a pea across his plate with his fork. "THIS IS GOOD!" Luffy crowed across the room as he shoveled another helping of fish down his gullet.

"Of course it's good, asshole, I made it," he droned out, wondering if he'd left his appetite out on the deck or if Luffy had mistaken it for food and consumed that, too.

When Law finally spoke, Sanji immediately felt light all over as the man complimented, "After being on that island for so long, it's been a while since I've had a well-prepared meal." His elbows were on the table in front of his empty plate but the cook didn't have it in him to complain, a beer mug in one hand while the palm of his other propped the weight of his head just under his jaw. Lazy, indolent... why did he have to look so good?

"You're quite skilled."

Feeling his cheeks warm just a touch, Sanji suddenly had a new understanding and appreciation for their little resident tanuki as the urge nearly overcame him to grin all big and stupid and wriggle about happily, right beside the urge to curse up a storm and go kick the everliving shit out of Law for making him feel so suddenly nervous and embarrassed.

Because, goddammit, that doesn't make me happy at all, bakayarou!

Speaking of, Chopper smacked his lips satisfactorily and sighed over his cotton-candy fattened belly. "Sanji's desserts are the best, Law. You should try one!" Shut up! I don't want your compliments!

"I bet Momo-kun would love them," Nami(-swaaan!) chimed in, doting upon the little dragon in a way that made Sanji internally swear with certain vehemence that she'd one day be the perfect mother of his many, many... many children, "What's for dessert, Sanji-kun?"

"Mango and rum mousse," he replied, hearts popping into his eyes at the beautiful navigator as he smoothly (so he thought) twinkle-toed from the kitchen to refill her glass.

"SANJI! DESSERT!" Luffy demanded, and those hearts were just as quickly absent as he looked to the captain who had slammed both of his fists on the table, a massive grin stretching up at him.

"Quiet the hell up!" he snapped, expression taking a one-eighty turn to the gnashing of teeth, "Ladies first, bastard!"

The hearts re-emerged with a fiery passion burning in his chest at the sound of a melodious, feminine chuckle, obscured by a pale, delicate hand. (Robin-chwaaan!) "That does sound wonderful, cook-san."

"I could use more sake." Those hearts were now gone into the abyss forever as Zoro - the antithesis to his libido - spoke for the first time since dinner had begun.

"Do I look like your fucking maid? Get it yourself, lazy aho-kenshi."

And on and on and on they went and this was his constant in life, pulled back and forth, to and fro, caught in a tug-of-war between happiness and irritability that could be fucking exhausting, yet still satisfying; he loved every moment, if he had to be completely honest (but seldom ever was), in every high and low. Pulling a cigarette out from his jacket's inner-pocket, he lit it and made for the fridge to serve desserts to those who cared for it. And left the remnants of the rum bottle for those who didn't... or those who wanted to have their cake (eg: mousse) and eat it (eg: get drunk) too.

Some, like him, were neither - he wasn't in the mood that night. But eventually the din in the galley died down and the crew retired to varying parts of the ship for the evening, Franky staying behind to help with the dishes with his extendable, tiny hands. Relaxation was once again able to set in - initially, the cyborg proposing that he dry the dishes with a fireball... notwithstanding.

The soft strains of Brook's violin came to the galley through the open door in some tune that Sanji knew enough of to hum along, but could not name. Voices drifted in and out, footsteps here and there, absent of the day's clamor. And night slowly fell upon the ship with a beautifully full moon in the sky, revelling amongst a garland of starlight. The cook helped himself to a large glass of sherry as he laid down the prep-work of a beautiful breakfast for the next coming morning. And eventually the ship went quiet and asleep, save for the sharp-shooter on first watch who'd taken roost up in the library and Zoro, who usually didn't drop off until nearly dawn. Otherwise, all was silent and still.

Soon, as well, Sanji carried himself off to the men's quarters for the night.