A/N: I don't think many of you will like me after this chapter.
WARNING: YAOI
How We Live
[Summary: Moving across the entire country shouldn't be too bad…right? Eventual ZoSan]
So here he was, at nine fifty-seven in the morning, at Grand Line Airport, about to wait forever and a day for one duffel bag in order to plan a funeral.
Joy.
But damn, it was hot out.
Sanji descended the final step and stood on the field. He felt inside his empty pants' pockets absently, mourning the loss of his lighter and pack of smokes. They had taken them from him from North Blue Airport, because of their obvious fear of spontaneous combustion midair - not that the blond man could fault them - but still. They were his smokes and he wanted one.
Badly.
Sanji rolled his bottom lip back and under his upper teeth, barely stopping himself from chomping them senseless. Shit, he thought as he continued to violently masticate the stick of gum that had been tossed around his mouth for the past hour. The things lost their flavor within sixty consecutive seconds of chewing.
He hated gum.
Cheap shit. His mouth felt raw, but as soon as he cleared customs and immigration he was going to the first convenience store inside that damned airport. Decision made, he glared at the large airport in front of him.
His visible blue eye was no longer exposed to the open, hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses. Casual was the name of the game; Sanji still wore one of his black suits, but went without the blazer, preferring to just wear a black silk dress shirt.
Not the smartest choice weather-wise but too late to correct it.
Sanji strode inside the terminal, moving his shades and sitting them atop his head. Though in a bad mood, he still graced every passing lady - young and old - with a charming smile. It just wouldn't do to glare at everyone. But his main goal was to get to a good pack of cigarettes and a respectable lighter. The blond chef followed the crowd to baggage claim. As he waited, he flicked his wrist to check his watch.
Come on, come on. He chanted mentally, absently tapping his foot.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, his black duffel hit the conveyer belt. Before the bag could settle properly, it was snatched up by long fingers and hauled over a broad but lanky shoulder. Thankfully the persons at customs and immigration were men. He wouldn't be waylaid by any feminine charms, at least. And he was thankful for that.
Next stop: the nearest convenience store.
The first one he got to was near the exit, actually. Seeing that he was coming from the Arrivals terminal, it was to be expected. The angry, nicotine-craving blond wasted no time.
Sanji stepped outside the airport and set his duffel between his feet. His glasses were still sitting on top of his head, visible blue eye taking in the flow of traffic in the pick-up zone. Usually he'd hail a cab or rent a car, but this time he had someone who was more than willing to give him a ride to where he was going.
Question was: did the asshole even remember?
Sanji didn't come to Grand State all willy-nilly. He had time to keep, and people to meet. His old man, Zeff Black, had finally kicked the bucket. It was a shock at first, really. The man sounded pretty lively and healthy to Sanji the last few times they spoke over the phone. They exchanged their insults and what not as usual. Two weeks later, some lawyer called and told him that he needed to come in and deal with a funeral for the old fart. Don't get him wrong, Sanji and the shit-bastard were close; the old man taught him everything he knew about cooking. Sanji had gone back home to North Blue and got himself a job as a chef in some other restaurant.
"I don't want you near me when I'm working," Zeff had told him after he'd finished college and was looking to work at a restaurant. He had figured he'd work with the shitty old man until he croaked and left the Baratie in his care. Turned out that it wasn't the case. Well, partially, anyway,
He'd become head chef in less than six months of starting at Le Mellorine back in North Blue. He'd only been there for about three years before he'd gotten the call. Zeff was only fifty-seven years old. But hey - they all had to go some time, right?
Sanji ripped the seal off the new box of Marlboro and slipped out a cancer stick before stashing the rest inside his left pocket. Shielding the exposed part of the lighter from the wind, he flicked the gear a few times.
Five.
Seven.
Again.
The relief on Sanji's face was tackled by a dark scowl. The cigarette hung limply from his lips and he let his arms drop in frustration. No. Fucking -.
His mental tirade was nipped in the bud when there was a click and the taste of nicotine caressed his taste buds.
"Whew," a familiar voice breathed dramatically, followed by a light hearted chuckle. Sanji's surprised blue gaze met with the merry brown one of none other than Ace Portgas.
"Thanks," Sanji grinned, taking a well-deserved drag and putting the dead lighter inside his pocket along with the box of smokes.
Ace's grin turned into a playful smirk and he tipped his cowboy hat (what an obnoxious shade of orange…) and closed his lighter. "Keeping the streets safe."
Sanji rolled his eyes and slung his duffel over his shoulder.
Ace laughed and slung an arm around the other's shoulder, guiding his long-time friend toward his black truck. "Good to have you back, Sanji. There's someone I want you to meet."
"Yeah?" Sanji hummed. "Who's that?"
"My baby," Ace cooed, running his hand over a black Dodge Ram with an exaggerated lover's caress. Sanji could do nothing but snort and shove Ace out of his personal space.
"We met just a few months after you skipped town," Ace said, not really caring for the hostile treatment - Sanji was always like that. And besides, it had been forever since he had openly gushed about his truck. "We hit it off almost instantly. She's a keeper, I tell you. God, I love her."
Ace gave the hood a pat and circled around to climb into the driver's seat. The way that man spoke about cars, Sanji would have been led to believe that they were real women - if he didn't know any better.
Ace's 'baby' was a double cabin, so Sanji tossed the duffel right onto the back seat as soon as he slid inside the truck. Inside was just as black as the outside, but even in the unbearable summer heat, it was cool and Sanji said as much.
"Should have been here earlier," Ace grimaced, looking into the rearview before pulling out. "Was hot as hell. Could have taken a match and touched the tip to the leather then whoosh! Instant fire."
He was surprised Ace wasn't sporting some kind of burn on his back - the man practically shunned shirts. Even now the guy only wore a pair of khaki shorts and black high tops along with that crazy hat of his. But to put bare skin against hot leather…
"Holy shit," Sanji commented, taking another drag from his cigarette.
Almost as if feeling left out, Ace leaned over to his left a little and fished into his pocket for his lighter and reached over the dashboard for a loose smoke that poked out of the half empty box.
"How's Vivi?" Sanji asked, watching traffic pass them by as Ace maneuvered the large truck toward the exit.
Ace took his eyes off the road, and hands off the steering wheel. Using his left knee to keep the wheel steady, he lit up. "She's doing alright," Ace mumbled around the cigarette and shrugged. "She went out with Nami to the mall today. So I'm a free man."
Vivian - or, as they called her - was Ace's girlfriend of a year and a half. It was the longest relationship Ace had managed to hold down, actually. Sanji had found out about the other's girlfriend three months into their 'union' and was flabbergasted. Ace D. Portgas had managed to go steady with a woman for more than a month? Unheard of! But Vivi was a sweet little lady. Sanji had the pleasure of talking to her himself when he'd dialed Ace on a whim.
"You make her sound like a slave driver," Sanji said, glaring at Ace from under the blond fringe. No ordinary person from that angle could tell the glare, but Ace had become familiar with it without even having to look.
"She is," Ace, said theatrically, shuddering a moment before putting his hands back on the wheel. A stream of smoke left his lips. "You really don't know, man."
"You're just too fucking, lazy," Sanji snorted.
"I'll never deny my laziness," Ace said smoothly. "But I have a freaking right to be lazy, now."
A faint buzzing sound came from somewhere in the truck. Both men reached for their pockets.
"That's me," Ace declared, glancing at the screen before flipping the phone open and returning his attention to the road. "Hey…"
Sanji tuned the other man out, retreating into his own thoughts about the situation at hand. He'd have to deal with the two stooges; Patty and Carne. Those were Zeff's best chefs at that Baratie - at least while Sanji wasn't there. Those two knew how to work on his last nerve. But it was just as well because he could afford to wipe the floor with their asses, or any of the employees for that matter. All of them were ex-criminals who couldn't get jobs anywhere else. Some had basic cooking skills while Zeff and those who knew how, taught the others what they needed to know. A lot of them ended up waiting tables and running orders anyway, but it was good to know a little of everything.
"Hey."
Sanji turned his attention to the dark haired driver.
"Change of plans, man," Ace said, looking to the road once he knew he had Sanji's attention. He was still on his phone, however. "Got to make a run somewhere so I can't stick around today. I'll drop you off at the restaurant and head out. Sounds good?"
Sanji shrugged. "Sure, whatever." He just needed to get to the Baratie in any case so that was just fine with him.
"Cool," Ace nodded before speaking into the phone again. "Yeah, I'll drop off a friend of mine and meet you there… Alright."
Ace snapped the phone shut and tossed it onto the dashboard.
The rest of the ride was spent in companionable silence, Ace pointing out all of the tiny changes made since Sanji left Grand State for North Blue. There were a lot, for minor changes. The small deli on Market Street had expanded; they had six branches all around the state. The old lady who owned them was sure making a killing. There were a few liquidized businesses as well, but they weren't of any particular importance to Sanji. At least not at the moment.
The truck turned off the highway and into another district: All Blue.
Sanji remembered the streets in this area like the back of his hand. He'd lived here for longer than he can even remember - the old fart was about twenty three at the time when he'd opened the Baratie. Good times, those.
Speaking of which, the large mauve building was coming up to their right. The restaurant was almost like a movie theatre - hell it had one, actually. It was a combination of a five star restaurant, down below was a dine-in movie theatre while the second floor was where the massive kitchen was. The third was where Zeff lived. It wasn't that big of a place, considering that most of the room was used for his own personal kitchen and the smaller portion for the bedroom and bathroom.
Ace came to a stop just inside the emergency vehicle parking space. The man had next to no consideration for warning signs sometimes.
"Here we are," the freckle-faced man grunted.
"Thanks, man," Sanji said, moving to reach over to the back seat for his possessions.
"Nuh-uh," Ace stopped him. "Leave your shit right there. You're coming over at my place for the weekend."
Sanji raised a brow at his long-time friend.
"Come on, babe," Ace gave his most charming smile. Ace was the only one who could have gotten away with calling Sanji that as a man. Not like he could have stopped the other, really. "Everyone wants to spend some time with you for a few days - just like old times."
"You just want me for my cooking," Sanji deadpanned.
"Damn straight," Ace affirmed unabashedly with a manic grin.
"Fine," Sanji sighed with a roll of his blue eye.
"Great," Ace beamed. He removed the cigarette from his mouth, leaning over and puckering his lips. "Now come here give pretty boy some sugar."
Sanji responded by tapping the ashes of the butt of his cigarette right onto the tip of Ace's nose.
"That's pretty damn mean," Ace pouted, clutching his nose and glaring at Sanji with one brown eye.
"You only want me for food," Sanji countered logically.
"Semantics," Ace said with a dismissive wave. Sanji gave the man a flat look.
"Call me when you're ready, man," Ace said, sitting up again and replacing his cancer stick and tipping his hat.
"Will do," Sanji nodded and closed the door. He watched as Ace reversed through the entrance and took off in the opposite direction.
Sanji shook his head. That was Ace for you.
With a sigh, he dropped his spent cigarette onto the pavement and stomped it out, using the side of his shoe to kick the smoldering butt somewhere in the direction of the large dumpster across the wide expanse of the parking lot. The blond turned around and looked up at the restaurant.
"Home sweet home," he muttered, shoving a hand into his pocket and walking in.
Ace leaned over as he drove, opening his glove compartment and pulled out a pair of leather gloves along with a black baseball cap, handgun and magazine. Using his left knee to stay the steering wheel, Ace pulled on the gloves and took up the gun. Glancing up from time to time at the road and the surrounding traffic, the freckled twenty three year old loaded the gun and cocked it.
Ace chewed absently on his cigarette as he took proper control of the wheel again and turned into an alley. Rounding the only corner, he put the truck in park behind the butcher's. Grabbing the cap with a gloved hand, he replaced the orange ten gallon, sliding it under the driver's seat. Ace looked into the rearview mirror, trying to tuck his unruly hair up and under the cap.
Ace grabbed his phone off the dash and flipped it open, dialing a certain number.
"You here?" a familiar voice came over the receiver. Ace dug around the glove compartment again for a pack of bubble gum - he was going to need it.
"Yeah," Ace breathed, a thin wisp of smoke leaving thin lips.
"Well get a move on, we're waiting."
"Come, on, Ace," another whiny voice sounded from far away. "I want to kick some ass!"
Ace chuckled and killed the call without saying goodbye. That was some unwritten rule they all had. Never say goodbye. It spelt bad luck.
Whistling, Ace hopped out and slipped the gun into the waistband at his back then moved to open the back door of the truck.
He reached under the seat and pushed a button that folded the back seat and flipped it backward. A black bundle met his eyes and he picked it up. Underneath was a wide array of every kind of explosive he could think of, ammunition for guns that were there and that weren't. There were also a few pairs of brass knuckles and a small duffel. He reached into the duffel and pulled out two bundles of cash and shoved them into his back pocket.
Ace pushed the button and the seat replaced itself. The freckle haired man closed the door and unfurled the black bundle. Slipping on the tank, he tipped the lip of his cap lower and slid his hands into his pockets.
He meandered out of the alley in into the sparse human traffic.
A block over loomed the notorious Galley-La. The Galley-La was more of a hangout than a club, really. Inside was lined with pool and card tables and a large circular bar in the middle of the room. Ace had been inside more than once, stopping for a few bottles of booze. This time around, however, he was here on business.
Ace reached into his pocket and took out a stick of gum, chewing it around his smoke.
He stalked walked between two parallel parked vehicles and through the doors of the pub. Inside was dimly lit, like an old mafia movie setting. Smoke filtered through the air, mingling with the assorted scents of booze and wine. He felt familiar presences at his back and hid a grin. The card table at the back of the room was occupied by a young, smooth-looking man. They called him Fedora. He wore a fedora, tilted to the side with a red feather sticking up on its left. The first that hit Ace was 'Sanji might like that…'
The presences at his back slowed and stopped in the shadows of the room as Ace approached the card table and took the only empty seat. Ace was careful to keep most of his face hidden beneath the lip of the baseball cap, tilting his head toward the croupier [1].
"Deal me."
The man in the fedora looked at Ace quizzically, just like the others who sat around the table. Just about everyone else was dressed business casual, one or two to the nines. Ace looked severely out of place in a black tank, baseball cap, khaki cargo shorts and dark high tops.
The croupier looked at Ace dubiously, openly sneering at his 'shoddy' appearance. "Sir," he said. "It's the middle of the hand. I can't possibly-."
Ace reached into his pocket and threw down one of the bundles. One hundred grand off the top.
"Deal me." Ace repeated, proceeding to chew the gum around his cancer stick.
The croupier looked at the bundle and to Fedora. Ace kept his eyes on the man, taking a drag from his cigarette. There was a frozen moment where Ace looked away to smash the butt of the cigarette onto the ashtray and blow a bubble. The pink mass popped, letting go an abrupt puff of smoke.
Looking back at the man, he flipped the lip of his cap so that the man could see his face. There was a flash of fear in the other man's eyes for a mere breath before he nodded to the croupier.
"Deal him."
"That's more like it," Ace said between chews. He was never really a fan of gum, but it was necessary. His identity was something that mattered, and he needed to throw people off whenever they came looking for him in public. He never chewed gum unless going on a job like this one.
Ace gathered his hand and perused his cards. He hummed appreciatively and tossed a five hundred dollar chip atop the pile already sitting in the middle of the table.
"So," Ace said, looking shiftily around the table. "I take it you're on your early morning gamble."
One of the women in the game passed a card to Ace. The dark haired man looked at his hand and chose a card, different from the one he'd gotten, and passed it over to the gentleman to his right. He got a glare from said man, but didn't care, rearranging his own hand as he saw fit.
"That's right," Fedora answered slowly. "What's it to you?"
Apparently, this man wasn't smart, Ace thought with a mental grimace. He passed another card to the man beside him.
"Just making friendly conversation," Ace shrugged, liking the look of his hand. He was no gambler like Nami, but he could shove a good hand or two whenever he got ready. Ace tossed another hundred dollar chip onto the pile.
"Why are you here?" Fedora questioned, taking his eyes off Ace to play. He tossed three hundred dollar chips onto the pile. Ace surveyed the tri-colored mound of chips. There was roughly six million dollars in it for him if he won the hand. Just enough to repay the boss man the money this bloke owed him. Ace watched Fedora's hand retreat, noting the gold Rolex that clung to the pale wrist. A nice little trinket that Nami may like…
"I'm here to make a living," Ace answered succinctly. "And have some fun while I'm at it."
Ace couldn't help the smirk that graced his features when he practically heard the anxiety behind him. He knew the others were itching to fight, but they knew the way Ace played - pardon the pun. Patience was the name of the game because with Ace around, things would be sure to heat up at the right time.
Ace took the card proffered to him from the lady to his left and studied his hand. He liked what he had. It was good, but was it good enough? He looked at his cards and began to count. Satisfied, he waited until the round was done.
He placed seven hundred dollar chips along with the pile, face smug.
The lady to his left and the man to his right folded almost immediately.
"You sure you want to risk that much son?" The man in the fedora asked, spreading his hand. He had a straight: queen of spades, Jack of diamonds, ten of hearts, nine of spades and eight of clubs.
"Not bad," Ace said, nodding. "But not good enough."
He laid out his hand. A complete Flush of the suit of clubs. Ace grinned and leaned over the table, beginning to rake in all of the chips. He stopped short when everything in the room seemed to move on one accord, and his nose was met with the gold barrel of a blunderbuss [2]. Ace moved his right hand slowly, tipping his cap backward and looking up.
On both sides of Fedora were armed men, aiming machine guns at his hand where it hovered over the chips. One of said men was the croupier himself.
Well I'll be damned, Ace thought.
At Fedora's throat, he noticed, was a blade that had already drawn blood.
"You sure you want to do that?" Zoro's voice questioned patronizingly from behind. A weight settled onto Ace's back. The crazy bastard was leaning against him like nothing was wrong.
He loved this guy.
Behind the croupier was none other than Luffy who held the gun hand in an awkward position that spelled pain should the dealer do anything…rash.
"You might want to put those away," Luffy grinned happily. "But I don't mind if you don't personally. That just gives me an excuse to break some bones."
The croupier blanched considerably as the younger Portgas' hold tightened just a bit.
"Stand down," Fedora spoke carefully, as if speaking too hard would drive the sword at his neck deeper than it already was. Chances were, Ace thought absently, it probably would.
There was no movement in the silent bar.
"Put them down, dammit," Fedora said with a little more force. The guns were lowered hesitantly, the card dealer dropping his with a loud clatter. Luffy retained his hold, albeit loosening it slightly. Zoro retracted his sword just a bit, ready to impale the man at a moment's notice.
Ace grinned wolfishly and proceeded to rake in his winnings. All six million dollars' worth. He took a comfortable seat on the stool and set an elbow onto the table, resting his chin in the upraised palm.
"Where's the money?" Ace's face took on a sleepily evil look, eyes half lidded and cold even with the 'friendly' smile.
"The hell are you talking-." Fedora was silenced with a slight twist of the blade Zoro held near his throat. A warning that would only be issued once.
"Isn't that more than enough for the man?" Fedora amended, eyeing both the sword's tip and Zoro warily.
"That's my money," Ace answered smoothly. "I earned that shit. I want my boss' money."
Fedora cast a glance at someone behind Ace and Zoro. He signaled to the person with a flick of his eyes. Footsteps faded for a few seconds and there was a shift in Zoro's stance.
They got the money.
Luffy groaned in dismay. "I wanted to break something," he whined.
"Next time," Zoro placated with a grunt.
"Hey, croupier," Ace said to the dealer. "Go cash my chips. Let him go, kiddo."
Luffy let the man go, the dealer gathering all of the chips and scurrying to the cashier on the other side of the room.
A few minutes later, the dealer returned with another duffel and placed the straps in Ace's outstretched fingers. The shaggy haired man tipped his cap so that it covered his eyes and rose to his feet.
"Pleasure doing business with you." He turned to leave but stopped short and leaned into Zoro. "Do whatever the hell you two want, but save that fedora on his head for me."
Zoro grunted and eased the tip of his sword into Fedora's neck, just above the jugular. Ace took the other duffel from his sword-wielding friend and strode out of the building. When the door closed behind him, an explosion of cacophonic catastrophe erupted.
Ah, it felt great to be a Mugiwara.
[1] Croupier - casino card dealer
[2] Blunderbuss - horn barreled gun…pretty old, but awesome looking.
A/N: I have nearly no idea how to continue this, but yes. This is my imposition into the OP fandom and I am proud of what I came up with. The length is ridiculous and I did promise future Zo/San an I will make good on that. I suck at plots, but this is the most concrete I'd ever get.
The only way this would be continued is if I get me some reviews. They drive me, and I hadn't gotten any in a long while. So how bout it?