A/N: This fic is inspired by and alludes to the TV series Dexter. It depicts graphic violence and dark themes, such as violence, gore, death (non-major character), and imprisonment. It also will depict sexual themes and experiences, both implied and graphic. Zoro and Sanji are 26 in this fic and everyone else is aged up accordingly. It is ZoSan and will have hints of other pairings, such as LawLu and Frobin. The cover art was made by the awesome aevium.


Chapter One

"Fuck!"

He frowns at the red stain forming on the chest of his white button-up. Fumbling for his napkin, he almost knocks over his water as he rushes to blot the smudge that's ruining his best shirt. After a few minutes of scrubbing, he concedes that the ketchup has bested him, returning to his watch and his lunch.

Patrons enter and exit the old seafood shack endlessly; it's lunch rush and the restaurant's reputation is high amongst casual diners who need a quick bite on the go. Finishing off the last of his fish and chips, he can understand why. Probably the freshest seafood anyone can get without having to travel to the coast.

Parked inconspicuously in the lot across the street, he continues to observe the joint. This has been his routine for the last four or five days. Jotting notes of the patronage, the peak hours, and the staff's day-to-day, he makes sure anything and everything relevant is scribbled across his pad.

The vibration of his cell phone interrupts his vigil and he grimaces as he reads the name flashing across the screen.

"What?" he answers, peering back at the busy street ahead of him.

"Where are you?" the voice on the other end of the receiver grumbles.

"Busy." He licks his finger and tries to scrub the spot on his shirt but its hopeless. "What do you want?"

"Mihawk wants you down here. You'll be late for court," Law sighs, both annoyed and resigned to the fact that he's almost always late for court.

"Gotta buy a new shirt. Be there soon."

He hangs up the phone before the other man can even protest. With one last look at the establishment, Zoro puts his car in gear and heads out to find the closest store.


Zoro dumps his shoulder bag on his desk amongst a mountain of papers before dropping into his office chair, weary from a long day in court. Gathering his documents neatly to finish his reports, he doesn't even raise his head to acknowledge Law and Mihawk entering the workspace.

"What's the excuse this time?" Mihawk inquires half-heartedly. Zoro knows full well he's only there out of duty as Sergeant of their department, not because he actually cares that Zoro was a little late.

"Had to get a new shirt. Spilled some shit on mine."

"Since when do you care?" Law pipes in from his desk situated in the opposite corner of the room. He's occupied that space since before Zoro joined on as a detective and was assigned to be Law's partner. A bookshelf crammed full of literature and research of varying subjects sits to his left, overstuffed to the impossible degree of making their small office look even smaller. Zoro's desk is in the other corner near the door, usually clear of any clutter but their recent caseload has caused him to get a little behind on paperwork.

"Since I got chewed out last time I went to court with a stain," Zoro sneers with a contemptuous glance at their boss. Dracule Mihawk may not care about punctuality but to hell with anyone who might show up looking anything less than immaculate. Well-trimmed goatee, clothes always ironed, and never a hair out of place – it's almost exhausting just looking at him. Despite this, Zoro respects him wholly. Mihawk has a presence that not many other men have, one that exudes confidence and demands reverence. There has been a long-standing rumor around the precinct that he'd been offered position of Homicide Lieutenant several times over but he'd always turned it down. Given his calm intensity, Zoro understood why they'd want him. Mihawk is the ideal person to call in for the dirtiest of crime scenes, followed only by himself and Law. He's sure that's why the Sergeant rides their asses so much.

Mihawk nods, accepting Zoro's answer. Turning to head out the door, he pauses before his exit, "Make sure your reports are on my desk by morning. You too, Trafalgar."

They both grumble in acknowledgment as he closes the wooden door to their office. The room settles in an amicable silence accompanied with the random shuffling of papers. As dull as he may be, Zoro is glad that Law is his partner. The other man has never chided him for small talk, so they work together pretty peacefully.

An hour passes and he's finishing his last report when Law clears his throat, a telling sign that he wants Zoro's attention. Zoro looks up and finds the man's desk cleared, his folders neatly stacked.

"I have dinner plans," he says plainly.

Zoro nods, only half-interested before realization hits. Law's a workaholic and a recluse – preferring to spend his time crammed in their tiny office or with a very select group of friends. If he has dinner plans, that means…

"Luffy?"

Law nods as he stands up, briefcase already slung over shoulder and paperwork under arm. The man is impressively tall, but very slender. His long limbs accentuate his height, making him appear even lankier than he already is. He's depressing to look at, dark bags ever-present under his eyes from the hours he puts in at the precinct. Tattoos cover his arms and hands, evidence of his teenage criminality. He says he keeps them to remind himself why he left his old life to become a cop.

"8:30 at Shakky's?"

Law gives him a peculiar look, his normally hazel eyes darkened to a steely grey. A moment passes between them before Law's stern face grimaces.

"We better get going."


"I'm telling you, a bear would definitely beat a shark."

"No way! Sharks live in water. They got the upper hand."

Zoro rolls his eyes as he takes a swig from his beer, watching Luffy and Usopp bicker over their typical bullshit. The two of them are always going on about something or another. Law, situated across the table from him, frowns into his Jack and Coke, brooding as always. It's obvious he didn't expect this to be a group outing.

"It doesn't make sense, Luffy. Why would a shark be in fresh water where a bear is? If he was, that means he's probably been weakened and a bear could take him out."

Luffy opens his mouth to reply but closes it immediately, giving Zoro a begging glance. Zoro shrugs – he has no fucking clue – and Luffy's shoulders sag in defeat. "Damn man… shut up."

Usopp laughs and flags down the waitress for another round of drinks. The four of them hang out at this bar pretty regularly. It used to be mostly Zoro, Usopp, and Luffy until Law somehow came into the picture. Surprisingly, it wasn't Zoro who introduced him to their group of friends. Luffy had met him somewhere, became fast friends, and started inviting him out. Zoro was shocked when they ran into each other for the first time at a party. He saw enough of that grim bastard at work.

"Long day at work?" Usopp asks as the waitress walks away with their drink order. "Didn't see you at all."

Usopp works in File Management at their station. It's a quiet job, administrative with lots of filing and organization. Zoro tries to visit him when he can, even if it's just to wave hello. He knows the other man gets bored pretty easily, especially since budget cuts decided that the whole file room is only a one-person job.

"Lots of paperwork," he answers, taking the final swig of his beer and placing the mug at the edge of the table. "And court."

"Any verdicts?" Luffy pounces at the mention of court, bouncing in his seat. He hits Law's shoulder, causing the man to slosh his drink on his cell phone lying on the table. Law jabs Luffy in the ribs with a sharp elbow, provoking Luffy to howl in pain and the bartender to glare at them from across the room. Usopp waves apologetically and leans across the table, squawking at Luffy to shut up.

Grinning in bemusement, unsure why he even hangs out with these idiots, Zoro's eyes light up as he spots the waitress coming their way with a tray full of drink refills. She winks at him but he ignores it, providing his immediate attention to the lager. Their friend Nami regularly calls him an alcoholic but he prefers to think of himself as a nice guy who keeps dumpy bars in business. Two gulps of beer later, the table has calmed down, Law dabbing the spill with a napkin and Luffy rubbing his ribs with a pout.

"No verdicts, they adjourned for deliberation and will pick up tomorrow. Defense was a total prick, took up a shitload of time talking," Zoro responds to Luffy's earlier question. Law nods in agreement as he goes back to scrolling through his cell phone.

"Is he guilty?" Usopp asks. The two of them are always entranced in the court cases; Usopp because he spends so much time reading the files when work is slow and Luffy because his grandpa is Deputy Chief of Police. Bizarre that such a troublemaker would be related to such an important presence in their local police, but that's just Luffy. Bizarre. Still, it was a shock when Zoro arrested him the first time and the whole station laughed when he brought the kid in. They'd become pretty close friends after that.

"Definitely," Law replies for him. "Two eye-witness testimonies."

Glancing at his phone, Zoro raises an eyebrow at the digital clock flashed across the screen. Almost time. Catching the waitress' eye, he motions for his check.

"Leaving already?" Luffy pouts into his drink. It's pretty early for him to retire but he has somewhere to be.

"Long day. See you Sunday?" He nods at the waitress as she sets down his check, digging into his pocket and pulling out a couple crumpled bills, enough to pay the tab and tip.

"You know it!" Luffy gives him an enormous grin as he stands. He gives a half wave to Usopp and nods sharply at Law before heading for the door.

The cool night air is refreshing against his skin, the stuffy bar causing a light sheen of sweat on his temple and neck. Walking briskly to his car, Zoro glances at his phone once again. Cutting it close on time. He spots his small SUV in the parking lot and climbs in, quickly turning on his GPS. Normally he hates the damn thing but he doesn't want to risk being late. Directions flash across the screen and he starts the drive to the other side of town.

Twenty minutes later and he's parked discreetly in a row of cars along the street, engine turned off. Through his tinted windows, he surveys his environment. It's a quiet, residential neighborhood with townhouses lined up uniformly. The kind of calm place where most families are tucked away inside by 10 p.m. Driveways and curbsides are full of SUVs and other vehicles comparable to the price-range of his own, helping him blend in easier to his surroundings. One more glance at the clock and Zoro grins. Right on time.

Less than five minutes pass and he spots a figure walking down the sidewalk. Pace even, hands shoved in pockets. Gangly and slender, dark clothing contrasting with light hair. Head down, shoulders shrugged. A distinct, recognizable stride. Slowing speed, the man fishes out a cigarette and cups the lighter, two flicks and its lit, glowing in the distance.

Zoro's dark eyes trail him as he continues his stroll, finally reaching the townhouse across the street and two buildings up from where he's parked. Zoro notes the man fiddling with his lock before swinging the door open and disappearing into the darkness.

Zoro digs his notepad out from under his seat and jots down the time. It's too dark to see his scribbles clearly but he knows that it's the same as the last several nights before. He has a fairly predictable schedule and that makes Zoro's job easier. It's always a little amusing to him how much humans are creatures of habit.

He lets a few more minutes pass before starting his engine again and pulling into the street, heading home to study his notes and continue finalizing his plan. It's Friday night and in their area, the most common night for high crime and murder. He smirks, remembering the bottle of Jameson he has sitting on his counter. There's no point in going to sleep anytime soon. Most likely his phone will ring in a few hours, beckoning him to another crime scene. Another death. Another puzzle to solve in order to bring justice to their city.


"Bro, it's gross in there."

"Yeah, bro. Totally gnarly."

Zoro rolls his eyes at the duo in front of the house. Crime scene tape is littered across the lawn of the run down house, officers everywhere, mostly securing the small crowd forming. It's the middle of the night but the flashing lights and sea of uniforms attracts people from their homes to come watch the spectacle.

He stands outside the front door with Johnny and Yosaku, buddies of his from back when he was in blues. Street cops, they had answered a domestic violence call but the damage was worse than they expected when they showed up. As he expected, Zoro received the call from Mihawk around two in the morning.

"I'm sure I've seen worse." He pats Johnny on the shoulder as he walks through the front door. "What room?"

"Bedroom," Yosaku calls after him. They're good guys but would never make it as investigators. Need a strong stomach for this kind of job and that's not a quality either of them possess. They're better off giving speeding tickets and saving cats from trees, day-to-day shit like that.

The house is empty, the noise from out front fading as his footsteps echo down the short hall. A thorough sweep through the house for intruders and then the officers usually wait for his unit to come in. No one wants to be around dead bodies longer than they have to. Zoro doesn't mind; he doesn't like the hustle and bustle of crime scenes. When he and Law show up, the crowd always parts in a sea of relief. Glad that it's someone else's job to study the cadavers and their places of death.

Turning to his left, he finds the bedroom and stops in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. Blood splatters across the wall and bed, man and woman slumped on the floor. With one quick glance, it appears to be a typical murder-suicide, as most domestic violence cases tend to be. A part of him is relieved, not because two people are dead but because it should be an easy case. Not much time to spend here and minimal paperwork on Monday.

"DB's?"

Zoro looks down the hall and spots Law walking in the front door, pulling on gloves over his tattooed fingers.

"Two of 'em," he replies, turning back and taking a step into the room. The scent of blood fills his nostrils, a familiar stench.

"Motive?" Law joins him in the room, frowning at the mess.

"DV. Neighbor heard them arguing."

"Typical," Law says with a sniff. He pulls out his cell phone turns to leave, probably to call Mihawk for a report. Zoro takes a couple more steps closer to the body of the man. A gun lay at his side, gunshot wound in his head. Most likely self-inflicted. The sight makes Zoro sneer in contempt before turning on his heel and exiting the house.

Law's talking to a short, squat woman in the yard. Zoro can tell by his face that he's bored already. Better it's him, then. He walks to his car to grab his kit and camera, avoiding the eager faces of the neighbors watching from behind the yellow tape. They all want the murderers to be caught but spend so much time entertaining themselves with the news stories and crime scenes.

Law escapes his interview, leaving the woman in the hands of Johnny and Yosaku, who are much better at comforting people than he and Zoro ever could be.

"She the one who called?"

"Yeah." Law replies, writing a couple more notes on his pad before tucking it away in his coat pocket. Zoro hands him the camera, pulling gloves out of his bag as they walk back into the house to go through the motions of taking pictures and gathering evidence. The first responders are eager to get to the bodies so they work quickly to get everything they need.

A couple hours later and Zoro is back on the road to return home. The sun will rise soon, just about when he's going to be falling asleep. Times like these are the only moments when he regrets living so far outside of town. All of his friends live in the city but Zoro lives about fifteen miles outside of its limits, quiet farmland surrounding his old house. He likes the privacy and the space. He needs it, more than anyone will ever know.

He drives in silence, not bothering to turn on the radio. It's only morning talk show hosts and cheesy 80's music at this time of day. Buildings and suburbs pass him by before he's surrounded by countryside, expanses of land on either side of the old county road.

Finally making it to his driveway, Zoro's weary body reminds him of his long day. Car parked, engine off, and few long strides and he's at his front door. Letting himself in and locking it behind him, he stretches as he throws his keys on the table, glad to be home. Shuffling to the bedroom, he slumps onto his bed and falls quickly into deep slumber, needing as much rest as possible to prepare for the next night.


Everything's in place. His car is parked out front, close to the town home but situated far enough away that it's unnoticeable. Bag shoved in the closet. Cell phone turned off. Shoes wrapped in plastic, gloves on, hair tucked under a cap. There can be no evidence.

Hidden in the upstairs bedroom, Zoro crouches on the other side of a large bed and waits. He's been there about an hour, allowing himself ample time to break into the residence and make sure everything is in order. Tucked in his back pocket is a small bottle of chloroform and a rag – just in case. There's no room for error.

He's done this so many times before. At this point, he considers himself almost an expert at home invasion. But there's always that small voice in the back of his mind reminding him that the smallest detail is what makes or breaks a case. It's how he catches so many of the bad guys. They always overlook something. That's why he spends so much time scouting. No detail is too small.

Glancing at the soft glow of a clock sitting on a bedside table, Zoro notes that the man should be home any minute. Alert but distinctly calm, even the adrenaline pumping through his veins doesn't faze him. No matter what may happen, he's confident this will be an easy takedown. He's ready.

Right on time, he hears the jiggle of keys unlocking the door. A few more seconds and the drag of it being pushed open. Zoro keeps his breathing even and his body absolutely still. Keys clank on a table, rustling followed by two soft thumps – shoes coming off – and then a small sigh can be heard from down below. Dim light floods up the stairwell and trickles into the bedroom. Zoro is situated out of its reach, maintaining his position in the shadows, waiting to pounce.

Soft footsteps pad up the stairs with the rhythm and echo of a strut he's observed for days. The smell of cigarettes and seafood loom outside the door as Sanji treads up the hall and turns into the bedroom. A jacket is tossed onto the bed, the cuff of its sleeve grazes Zoro's ear. Moments like this are why he takes his earrings out for these ventures. Small details.

Zoro listens, relying on instinct to determine the position of his victim. He doesn't dare peek around the bed or lift his head an inch. Any glimpse could get him caught and cause a scene that would jeopardize what he's worked so hard to attain. The footsteps have stopped and Zoro hears some shuffling, then the sound of a wooden drawer being pulled open. He must be standing in front of the dresser, which is positioned against the opposite wall on the other side of the bed. This is the moment Zoro was waiting for.

Lightning fast, he ambushes the blond. He's across the room instantly and grabs Sanji; hand over his mouth and wraps a thick arm around his neck, bicep cutting off his airway. Sanji jumps at the sudden movement and not surprisingly, elbows Zoro in the gut. Undeterred, Zoro clenches his hold harder, removing his hand from over Sanji's mouth and seizing one of his wrists in one fell swoop. Unable to scream or yell due to the hold on his throat, the blond gurgles and gasps for air, his free hand ripping at Zoro's arm and legs kicking wildly, trying to land a blow. Zoro grins at the squirming. Even though it's safer when it's easy, he always loves a fighter. This one's feisty, that's for sure.

Sanji's writhing is weakening, the lack of oxygen impacting his brain and muscles. His kicking and grabbing slows and after a few seconds, stops completely. Zoro releases his hold and allows his opponent's slender frame to crumple to the floor. Not completely knocked out, Sanji looks up at him, blue eyes wide with confusion, clutching at his throat and trying to catch his breath. Fear paints his face and is illuminated by the yellow hall light, making him seem almost innocent. Not allowing any opportunity for him to get away, Zoro pulls back a fist and delivers a hard punch to the side of his jaw. His head snaps back and in an instant, he's knocked out cold on the floor.

Zoro stands still for a moment, catching his breath. He checks out his forearm, scratches speckle up and down his tanned skin. He feels a bruise forming on his hip from the sharp elbow he took to the gut. Fiery fucker.

Crossing the room, he opens the small closet and grabs the black bag he stashed earlier. Great thing about working for the homicide unit is easy access to body bags. They're perfect for transporting a body inconspicuously. Late at night in the dark most people would glance over and see a stranger carrying a duffel bag or a guitar case. No one expects a body bag.

Zoro unzips the bag and works quickly to roll Sanji's limp body into it. He turns on a light and studies the room for any damage, carefully correcting random bottles of cologne and other miscellaneous shit that was knocked over in the foray. Satisfied with his handiwork, he bends back down to zip up the bag. His hand hesitates on the zipper as he reaches Sanji's throat, his dark eye studying the pale face. Disgust pools in his stomach and he firmly zips the bag all the way, grabbing the small handles and tossing his haul over his shoulder.

Light and thin, albeit a little heavier than expected, Sanji is easy to carry as Zoro leaves the room, turning off lights as he goes. Down the stairs and through the small living space, Zoro reaches the door and opens it a crack, glancing out into the street. As expected, the suburban neighborhood is dark and still. He shifts the body on his shoulder and exits the house discreetly, pulling the door closed and using the spare key he found in the kitchen to lock it. One more look around, he sets across the small lawn to his SUV, unlocking it on the way. Opening the hatchback, he gingerly sets the bag in the back before closing the door and making his way to driver side.

Climbing into the seat, he wastes no time starting up and pulling into the street, tugging the cap off of his head and tossing it into the passenger seat. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair and glances in his rearview mirror. No movement from the back. Re-focusing on cautious driving and maintaining the speed limit, Zoro stares straight ahead the long ride home.

As the city lights fade behind him, the road becomes darker and more desolate, no street lamps or houses to keep company. He releases a sigh of relief, knowing once he's made it out of the city his chances of being caught are significantly slimmer. His heart still beats rapidly, knowing his night has just begun.

He pulls into his driveway, his dark house waiting under the moonlight. Parking the car in the dirt drive, he swiftly hops out and retrieves the body from the back, not wanting to risk Sanji waking up.

Fumbling for his keys, Zoro pauses in front of his oak entryway. It's aged but durable, just like the rest of his house. Early 1900s according to the auctioneer he purchased it from. It needed some work and Zoro handled most of the updates himself, recruiting his friends to help with easier tasks like painting. Luckily, he got to customize certain parts of it during the revision. Sections of the home unknown to others cater to his specific needs.

Shoving the door open, Zoro makes his way into the living room, dropping his keys onto the table. He rapidly crosses to the back of the house and enters his bedroom. He sets Sanji down on the bed before turning on the light, squinting slightly at the brightness filling the room. It's cozy, oversized furniture filling in the space. He doesn't need much, just a bed, dresser, and table.

He opens the closet door, a small walk-in that's sparse with a few work suits and shirts. Kneeling to the floor, he reaches into the back corner and picks at a piece of the carpet, digging his fingers underneath and pulling it back to reveal a trapdoor. He yanks on the handle to jerk it open and stands, returning to the bed to pick up Sanji once more. Carefully, he begins his descent down the steep wooden stairs onto the dark landing. He expertly takes two steps forward and pauses at a thick heavy door, mechanically unlatching several locks as he has many times before.

Shouldering the door open he enters the vast cellar, a part of his home that he's kept secret for the few years he's lived here. Flipping a switch to the left of the door, the open space fills with a murky, yellow light from a singular bulb that hangs in the middle of the room. Underneath sits a large chair with straps attached to the arms and legs. A workbench stretches across the sidewall, stopping at a thin door that leads to an old, rustic bathroom that still has original plumbing. At the back of the room is a large furnace, a stack of wood and coal piled high by it. In the opposite corner, a hose hangs off the wall, long enough to stretch to the center of the room and reach the drain that sits underneath the metal chair.

Placing the bag on the ground by the chair, he unzips and finds Sanji still knocked out, breathing shallow from stifling conditions. Zoro hoists the limber frame out of the carrier and into the chair, sitting him upright. He fastens the straps around Sanji's wrists and ankles, fingers working with skill and speed of experience. The last strap goes around the halo of blond hair and across the forehead, tight enough to keep his head straight and forward.

He rolls up the bag before walking to his workbench and pulls a small set of keys out of his pocket. Unlocking one of the cabinets, he shoves his tools back in, including the bottle of chloroform from his back pocket. Zoro grins; it's the eighth hunt in a row where he hasn't needed to use it. A personal best.

A small cassette player is bolted to the counter of the workbench. Zoro keeps everything bolted down or locked up, not wanting the risk of anyone ever getting loose and trying to use miscellaneous items as weapons. Unlocking another cabinet, he pulls down an old metal box and a fabric case of knives. Unrolling the knife kit across the counter, they gleam in the soft light, their sharp edges glistening, almost begging Zoro to use them. Catching his own eye in their reflection, he smirks, knowing their hunger will be satisfied soon.

Opening the metal case, he digs into the box of cassette tapes. He found them down here, along with the cassette player, when cleaning out and modifying the space. They're old, music from the 40's and 50's but that's what he likes. Classic. Vintage. Easy to listen to. Picking one at random, he reads the name and satisfied to settle on Sinatra pushes it into the player. Keeping the volume down low, he traverses to the other side of the room and takes the hose off the wall, dragging it to the center. Twisting the nozzle slightly, a soft cold stream trickles out and he splashes the water on Sanji's face in an attempt to wake him up.

Sanji blinks once, then twice, and slowly his eyes open. Zoro watches the confusion spread across his pallid face, glaring down at the seated man, hose still in hand.

"Wh-where am I?" Sanji asks hazily, still impacted by the blow to the head he took earlier.

"In Hell."

Sanji's eyes widen, the gravity of his situation becoming more evident on his features. He tries to stand but is quickly made aware of the thick leather straps pinning his hands and legs down. He tries to move his head to look but can't, trapped by the chair. His blue eyes dart wildly around the room before landing on Zoro's face. Zoro smiles menacingly, enjoying the desperation and anger that rises from Sanji as seconds tick by.

"Who are you? What the fuck is going on here?" Sanji's voice breaks at the end, his words spat furiously at Zoro but panic masked underneath the rage.

"Me? I'm nobody. Just doing my duty."

"And what's that?"

Zoro drops the hose on the floor and kicks it away before leaning in close to Sanji, hands resting on the other man's thin forearms strapped to either side of the chair. He can feel the skin underneath his palms rising in fear. Faces close, his dark eye bores into Sanji's with loathing.

"To serve justice to scum like you."

He grips his hands tight around Sanji's arms, bruising the pale flesh. Sanji winces as Zoro continues in a low rumble, "Murderers, rapists. Criminals who thought they got away. I make sure you don't."

He stands again, crossing his arms across his chest and glares down at Sanji.

"What the fuck makes you think I'm like that? I'm no murderer or rapist. I would never – "

Zoro shoots his hand out and grabs Sanji by the throat, completely cutting him off. Through gritted teeth, he growls, "Can't any of you just admit it? Do you think I'd do this without proof? I'm not a fucking murderer, not like you."

With one last squeeze he lets go of Sanji's slender neck, causing him to cough from the sudden outburst. He walks over to the workbench and picks up a long, sharp knife, toying with it in his palm as he turns around and watches Sanji.

Something feels off, deep in his gut as he eyes the blond's body shaking with coughs. He begins mentally reviewing the night, making sure he hasn't left out a single piece of the puzzle. He has the proof; he's done his watch. Everything checks out. No evidence was left at the apartment, no risk of anyone seeing him. Doors are locked. Tools are ready. Nothing is awry. But still, he can't shake this gnawing feeling…

A guttural noise interrupts his thoughts. Zoro looks up from his knife to find Sanji's chest rising and falling heavily, his breathing quick and ragged. His eyes affixed upon the blade.

"I'm not a fucking murderer," Sanji roars from his seat, voice raspy. He tries jerking his arms and legs from the straps but they're too tight. Zoro gazes on as the man attempts to use his torso to shake the chair but it's no use – he has it bolted down for that very reason.

Zoro tucks the knife into his back pocket and turns back the bench, unlocking and opening a drawer underneath the cassette player. Pulling out a manila folder, he pages through it swiftly and finds what he needs. Taking a photo from the pages, he throws the folder on the counter and approaches Sanji's chair, holding the picture out in front of him. It depicts a young, pretty girl laid across a tan carpet, dark bloodstains pooling underneath her from her bludgeoned head.

"Remember her?" Zoro asks as Sanji stares at the photo. Disbelief seems to shroud his face, making Zoro raise an eyebrow. This guy's acting skills are good.

"Cosette? Heard she was missing but… I didn't know…" Sanji's voice trails off at the end, quivering slightly.

"You did know. You did this to her." Zoro responds coldly, tossing the photo in Sanji's lap. "Took her out for coffee and then you killed her."

Sanji jerks his head as much as he can to glower indignantly at Zoro.

"I would never lay my hands on a woman like that."

Zoro wants to believe him; the man looks like he believes himself. But the video evidence, the definitive proof, says otherwise. He reaches his hand back to his pocket, his fingers hesitating slightly on the handle of the knife.

"This why the cops came and asked me about her?" Sanji questions, his eyes cold and calculating. Not allowing time for an answer, he blurts, "Wait - I know you!"

Zoro removes his hand from knife and places it on his hip, looking quizzically down at Sanji.

"You came by my restaurant the other day. I remember the hair. You had a badge… you're a cop?!"

"Told you, I'm nobody." He responds, walking slowly around the chair to stand behind Sanji, where the man can't see him. Truthfully, he wanted to get out from under his stare. As every minute goes by, Zoro feels more and more hesitant about this kill, which has never happened before. "Doesn't matter anyway. You have to pay for what you did."

He grabs the knife from his back pocket and reaches around Sanji's head, firmly pressing the tip of the blade against his neck. The room goes silent and everything stands still. Heartbeats pass between them, Zoro pressing steel firmly against flesh, enough pressure to break the skin and cause blood to trickle. He feels Sanji gulp from beneath the knife.

His instincts gnaw at him, his inner voice whispering at him to stop. His mind knows that this man before him is a murderer but deep down, his gut is telling him otherwise. Something just isn't right. Removing the knife he steps back and studies the top of Sanji's head. Despite what he may know, he can't allow himself to go against instinct. For the first time, Zoro Roronoa steps away from his kill. He returns to the other side of the room and tucks his knife back in its spot.

He has to do more research.

He glances at Sanji, whose face is full of confusion and horror. Crimson blood creeps down his neck and pools on the collar of his shirt. Zoro begins packing up his supplies, ignoring the other man. He needs to think.

He stops the music abruptly, dropping the tape back into its box. He pushes the metal container and his knife kit back into the cabinet and reaches for a rag before locking it. He feels Sanji's gaze on him the whole time, tension of uncertainty rising in the room.

Before he can say another word, Zoro treads back and grips Sanji's jaw hard, forcing out a sharp cry. He takes the opportunity to shove a rag into his mouth, no wanting to risk the man screaming all night.

The foreign feeling of uneasiness continues to rise in his chest; he gives one last glare to Sanji then promptly stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him and latching each lock. He leans his sweaty forehead against the cool cellar door and closes his eyes. He needs to sleep on this and hopefully the morning will bring clarity.

Pushing himself off the door, he climbs the steep stairs and hoists himself out of the hole in the floor. He closes the trap door and returns the carpet to its rightful place before collapsing on his bed, trying to disregard the unfulfilled lust for the kill and the skepticism of his intuition.