Inspired by flock-o-fennec's post on Tumblr about an AU in which Usopp is a tattoo artist. It really caught my imagination, and now I can't stop writing it. I originally included this in with the drabble "Home", but then this idea ran wild. So, now it's getting a whole thing of its own.

This is really corny. My apologies in advance.

I do not own One Piece.

Sanji shifted nervously on the pleather cushions in the tiny waiting area. He absentmindedly picked at the buttons on his shirt sleeve, wishing desperately for a smoke…or that his forever lost marimo could actually show up on time for once. This was both terrifying and exhilarating. He didn't much like the thought of doing it alone.

"Sanji?" It was Usopp, seemingly nervous despite his incredible artistic success.

The longnosed tattoo artist stepped around the small front desk, a stencil clutched in his trembling hand. Sanji hoped that his hands would be steadier during the actual process, or this would be a huge, very permanent mistake.

"You ready, Sanji?" Usopp repeated, failing to keep the tremor from his voice.

"Don't sound so nervous," said Sanji with a wobbly smirk. "You're making me second guess this whole thing."

"It's just that—" Usopp nervously licked his lips. "It's just that this is so simple. It's so different from anything I've ever done and it's your first tattoo and what if I mess up? You'll kill me. And it's in such an important place and ohmygod I'm going to mess up. I think I'm coming down with my chronic if-I-do-this-tattoo-I'll-die disease. I really can't do this. I'll—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down." Sanji grabbed Usopp's shoulders, stopping him mid-rant. "If I wanted anyone else to do this, I would be with them instead. You're the best at what you do. I mean, look at all the work you did for Luffy and Nami and Franky! Not to mention that amazing back piece you did for the shitty grass head."

"I know, but—"

"No 'buts'," ordered Sanji. "Fuck, you're supposed to be the one convincing me to go through with this."

"You're right." A mumble. And not a very convincing one, at that.

"Hell, you're the best artist in Brooklyn."

"Only Brooklyn?" Usopp snorted, his confidence returning. "I'm the best artist in the world!"

"Yeah, yeah, okay O Mighty Artist," muttered Sanji. "Let's get this over with before I change my mind."

Usopp gave him a slightly steadier smile, ushering Sanji toward a chair near the corner. He already had all of his equipment set up. His favorite tattoo gun lay on a metal rolling tray with two pods of ink beside it, black and blue. Walking over, Sanji settled into the vintage chair, trying his best not to picture the dentist as he did so.

The two of them were silent as Usopp placed the stencil, confirming with a nod from Sanji that it was in the right place. He felt the muscles in his arm tense as the gun buzzed to life, the nervousness skittering from the stencil on his wrist, up his arm, and through his shoulders and back. Sanji clenched his jaw, willing himself to relax his arm. He closed his eyes. Maybe it was like a shot. If he didn't look, he wouldn't feel it.

Wrong.

"Did you just yelp?" asked Usopp, meeting Sanji's wide-eyed gaze with a small smirk.

"I did not!"

"That sounded like one."

Sanji scowled at him, making the artist pale several shades.

"No, nevermind." Usopp grinned weakly and began to draw in earnest, thoroughly diminishing Sanji's glare. "That was definitely a manly grunt."

"Sh-Shutup," Sanji managed to grind out from between clenched teeth.

Usopp chuckled and then bent back to his work. There was silence again, but for the sound of the tattoo gun's buzzing. As time passed, Sanji noticed that the initial pain faded and that it had probably had more to do with his mind than it had with actual physical stimulation. Now, it wasn't anything more than a biting itch that followed the needle, leaving perfect lines and color in its path.

It was soothing, watching Usopp work. He really was the best artist that Sanji had ever met. He could still remember when he had first met him, some years ago.

He and Zeff had just opened the Baratie in the Meatpacking District. Their restaurant was struggling to stay afloat in the sea of better known eateries in Manhattan. The food was divine—the very few customers that they had raved about it—but they just couldn't seem to bring in any business. Sanji had begun to lose hope. He felt swallowed up by the city, his dreams falling by the wayside and consumed by the staggering rent and bills that they couldn't pay. He had been on the back steps of the restaurant, smoking a cigarette and contemplating starting the conversation about closing down with the old man, when he'd heard it: the sound of a spray paint can.

In a flash, he was on his feet, running around to the alley on the side of the building, ready to kick the shit out of the hooligan that had decided to tag the geezer's pride and joy. Sanji had been expecting to find some punk kid with a lone can of spray paint. What he didn't think he'd find was a man wearing a brightly colored mask and carrying a bag of supplies. A tangle of dreadlocks was barely contained by a strip of yellow cloth as he worked at what could only be described as a mural on the front corner of the restaurant.

Sanji stood and stared at it in awe. Even under only the light of the street lamps, he could see the quality of the mystery artist's work. The scene looked like something from a children's book or a fairy tale. A huge ship sailed around the side of the building, its bow pointing toward the door as it trailed a wake of foaming water and jumping marine life into the alley behind it. The imaginary ocean swirled in blues and turquoises around the vessel, giving whole new life to the old brick of the historic building. Above the boat was an endless sky, dotted here and there with fluffy clouds and accentuated with a bright shining sun.

But it was the ship that really took Sanji's breath away. It was shaped like a giant fish. Its gaping mouth looked as if it were ready to swallow the door, its wide eyes staring out at him. Broad fins extended out from its side, forming a strange sort of front porch for patrons. And set into its side, where the gills would have been, was a set of wide double doors with a brightly painted sign over it that read "THE BARATIE".

Sanji stood in stunned silence, watching the mysterious artist work. What he saw wasn't vandalism; it was art. It awakened inside of him something he had thought long lost.

When the artist had finally finished, he approached him under the guise of anger, almost unable to hide his amused smirk at the terrified reaction he received. Once he managed to calm the panicking Usopp down, he learned more about his work. He was a struggling tattoo artist by day, working out of a little shop in Brooklyn as he pursued his dream of being a great modern artist. By night, however, he was Sogeking, the mysterious street artist with an unlimited imagination. His epic stories about pirates sailing the high seas played out on the sides of buildings and trains all around the city.

Usopp was an interesting guy and Sanji instantly liked him. After talking to him, he had invited him inside for a free meal, cleverly using the longnose as a buffer when he broke the news of the apparent "vandalism" to his old man.

In a matter of no time, the mural became the Baratie's signature draw. Customers came from every neighborhood and borough to see the larger than life piece of art and then to eat the food. It saved the business and introduced Sanji to friends that he would never have met.

As he watched Usopp finish up the tattoo, he couldn't help but to think that there was no one better to do this. The artist had returned his dream to him. The ink and artistry itself was beautiful, but it was the memories that Sanji wanted to immortalize. With this little bit of black and blue, he could always have a piece of his friends with him. And better yet, he would have a constant reminder to chase his dream, no matter what.

"You done yet, or what?"

Sanji turned to face Zoro as he approached. Usopp barely twitched, all of his concentration thrown into the task at hand.

"Did you get lost, shitty plant?" asked Sanji, his voice only slightly tense. From the scowl that Zoro shot him, he guessed he was right.

"It's not my fault those damned subways are so poorly laid out," growled Zoro. He nodded at Sanji's wrist, which Usopp had just finished working on. "That it? It's kind of small, don't you think?"

Usopp looked up at Zoro and grinned, before turning back to wipe at the fresh ink with a cloth. "Yeah, but it's a good one." He rolled his chair back, giving Sanji space to inspect his work. "I think it might be one of my favorites I've done."

Sanji raised his arm, all of the breath leaving his body in one gust of air. Zoro was right, it was small. But it was also perfect.

Seven letters scrolled across the inside of his left wrist. The font was some piece of genius that Usopp had designed himself. The lines were both strong and flowing, embodying everything about Sanji's personality simply at a glance. The black outlines were precise and clean, bounding in a blue that resonated somewhere deep within the cook. As he stared at it, he found himself mouthing the two simple words that perfectly described his life's journey to that point.

"It's perfect," he said, getting up and trapping Usopp in a hug. The memories of everything he had endured, every victory and defeat, pulsed through his mind, threatening to push tears from his eyes. Sanji stepped back to show his first friend in the city a wide, genuine smile. "Thank you."

Usopp returned the grin, glad that he hadn't messed up and that Sanji wasn't going to kick his ass, but even more overjoyed at the reaction he was getting. He had made his closest friend happy. He could ask for no more.

"So, what do I owe you?" asked Sanji, wiping at his eyes with his other hand.

"It's on the house." Usopp patted him enthusiastically on the shoulder. "Consider it as a thanks for not killing me for tagging the Baratie."

Sanji showed even more teeth than should have been humanly possible. Soon, the shop began to close, the floor manager trying his best to shoo Zoro and Sanji out the door without seeming rude. The friends said their goodbyes and the cook left with his directionally challenged plant in tow. Sanji decided that he would have to plan a feast of Usopp's favorite foods to pay the artist back, but any shopping lists would have to wait. For now, he couldn't stop staring at his very first tattoo, completely enraptured by the gift he had just been given.

Once again, he breathed out the two simple words, speaking just loudly enough to hear himself over the roar of New York City traffic. Bundled up within the syllables was his entire life. His friends, his love, his dream. Sanji looked at the tattoo again and grinned. He could carry it with him forever now.

"All Blue."

Absolutely expect more to this. I'm working on the next one now. :)