Hi, I'm Yumi, and this is my first online published story. Ever. Which I wrote in the last hour, by the way, so if it sucks I blame my muse. But hey, I always say don't ignore it when inspiration calls; rather, pick up the phone and give it directions to your house! On that note, I may just make a series of this. But that's just because I like the idea, I don't have any concrete plans for another story... And that is the reason for the rating, as later stories may easily contain Zoro and Sanji interacting...

This is an AU fanfiction for the series One Piece written by a fan for fans; I don't own the series. (If I did, Sanji would be the main character and Ace... *sniffles*) I wrote it while listening to Snow Patrol's 'It's Beginnning to Get To Me'. Though this is not a song-fic, as I came up with the idea while listening I'm pretty sure there's some connection my subconcious made... But who knows? (Not I, said the cat...) It's up to you if you want to listen to said song while reading.

Hope you enjoy!

He could remember the first time he saw her. In person, that is. She had seemed so cold and detached in that moment. So ice cold and reserved that he thought he might have been looking at a corpse—but no corpse hummed so intensely with life. She was cruel and apathetic, yes, but beautiful—straight hair so darkly black it seemed blue, olive skin and such refined features... Heavily lidded eyes that could almost be called teal, so deep was their color. Tall, slender almost but for the curves that were so apparent by her body-hugging and ever-so-brief leather dress. Dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes, dark clothes... a dark, shadowed gaze. Haunted even, and when her head was shoved roughly downwards while her body was forced into the open police car, he saw those haunted eyes close in agony. It wasn't at any physical discomfort—her tight control would never allow her to betray something so slight—but it was there for that split second before she disappeared from his view, having fallen on her side roughly with hands cuffed behind her back. It was painfully apparent that the officer had no concern for her well-being, as the dark, goateed man could easily have broken her legs had she not had the sense to pull them inside before they were caught between the door and the frame.

And that was enough to spark his temper.

Down his mallet had gone, landing with a clunk on the concrete garage floor, but he had paid no attention, already striding to where the hat-wearing officer with a small bird pin on his collar stood. The man didn't seem to notice, staring instead down at the woman he had just treated so roughly. His partner however, a passably pretty woman with wire-frame glasses and dirty blond hair pinned up in a business-like bun just below her hat (Looks like a secretary. Isn't that just super...? he recalled thinking) had, and pushed away from the car's blindingly white hood, on which she had been leaning, and asked him what he wanted. He was known to these two: being a binge-shopping(-and-drinking), streaking, 'ex'-gang leader on parole tended to do that to a guy, especially one with brightly colored hair and a large blue star tattooed on each of his forearms. And he knew them, though mostly by reputation. Kali, defender of women everywhere who had no tolerance for any man except the one at her side. Rob, he was called, and that was all that was really known about him... other than his belief in absolute justice no matter the cost and his vehement but quiet support of capital punishment. Rumor had it that he had thrown the switch a few times—and done so without the slightest shift in expression...

Of course, rumor also had it that they were members of an elite force controlled by the government itself, every member of which had a license to kill of course. Rumor said that he himself often ran around in a speedo (which was totally untrue, he just wore swimming trunks a lot because they were comfortable and light...) in addition to being the sole heir to the estate of the greatest mechanic in the world (he wasn't the sole heir...). And, as he later discovered, that the woman in the car was a genius hacker who could read inaccessible files which contained knowledge that could bring down the United Nations... Hey, the one thing he had never said about the city in which he had made his home was that it was boring.

Either way, he didn't put much stock in rumor or superstition. Charity and hard work were the values he put faith in, and he had yet to be steered wrong by the instincts honed by years on the streets. He was a successful businessman of the only breed he deemed worth anything: the owner of his own little company who worked hours just as long as those of the workers he had pulled off the streets. So when those instincts had told him to get that woman out of the car and then get the hell out of dodge...

He listened.

And after a slight altercation, he dropped a bloody Officer Rob to the ground and with the help of his... 'employees' once reinforcements had arrived... he had broken open the police car, gently extricated the violently protesting woman, and gotten a high-heeled-totally-had-to-be-against-regulations shoe in his face for his efforts. At which point the woman had asked, a chilling note in her voice, that her cuffs be removed, all the while keeping the offending officer in place with a frigidly furious gaze. With a shrug he had set about going through Rob's key ring, which had about seven infinitesimally different keys on it, trying the first five without success. But no sooner than he had triumphantly popped the cold steel bracelets open and pulled them off, she lunged forward and knocked the female officer to the ground with the force of one ear-splitting smack! across her cheek. (Which had proved the super-secret-legal-assassin theory wrong with disappointingly little effort.) Then she slowly moved to stand over the cop who had treated her so harshly before—and in a move that made every male watching cringe and hunker down on himself protectively, swiftly kicked him. (Best as he could remember, his only thought had been a hearty Ow.)

And, rolling the unconscious-but-shuddering-with-pain-all-the-same man onto his back with her petite, booted foot, she had knelt down and pulled a slip of paper from his breast pocket. Sitting back, she'd unfolded it and stared for what could have been a second or forty minutes before asking softly if anyone had a lighter. Patting his shorts pocket, he pulled one out and watched as she methodically shredded and burned what he could now see was a contract. The task took long enough that he ordered his workers back to their previous tasks after profusely thanking them for their support. When she had finished her shoulders relaxed, losing tension that he had scarcely been able to see before, and she stood, dusted off her ash-covered hands, and smiled at him in thanks. A small smile, barely visible—but all the same he reached out and brushed away an errant tear as it slid down her cheek.

It was years later now, but still he would never forget that last piece she had destroyed. It'd had two names on it, both handwritten; one in a plain, tight scribble, clearly signed in a rush of efficiency—Rob Lucci, it read—and the other in a fantastically flowing script, the last letters of which seemed to have been drawn with a slightly shaky hand. It had been the first time he had seen or heard her name since he was a boy and his foster father had mentioned her at dinner, showing he and his... whatever he was.... a picture of her in that days newspaper.

Nico Robin.

Author's Notes, the format of which is, err... 'borrowed' from Dandy... who, err... 'borrowed' it from someone else as I recall...

...as the dark, goateed man...

...Is that a word?

...the hat-wearing officer with a small bird pin on his collar...

I couldn't resist. Really. I tried.

Kali, defender of women...

Kalifa. "Sexual harrasment!" 'Nuff said.

...dropped a bloody Officer Rob to the ground...

Insert contemptuous sneer here.

...and with the help of his... 'employees' once reinforcements had arrived...

I was thinking the Franky Family, but feel free to consider his helpers any number of Water 7 characters.

...if anyone had a lighter. Patting his shorts pocket, he pulled one out...

Franky, tell the doubtful masses(?) why you have a lighter in my AU stories even though you don't smoke. "I'd be glad to! I'm feeling especially SUPA this week! ...FRESH FIRE!"

So that's it. Thanks for reading this if you did. Thanks for reviewing if you feel so inclined. Thanks for not reading it if you didn't because at least now my name is getting out there, so to speak... Write... Type...? Ah, whatever. I can't think of anything to add.

[Space that will typically be reserved for responses to reviews.]

Ja na!