The very first memory Sanji ever had of his parents was of them reading to him. The memory of his mother was more the way she smelled—Sweet, like apples and frosting—and the way she felt than it was anything specific. His father's voice was gentle and kind. The sound of it soothed him. It made him feel safe and warm. He knew nothing could ever go wrong as long as they were there.

The very best memory Sanji ever had of his parents was the three of them on the Tilt-a-Whirl. They were spinning and spinning and spinning so fast that the world around them was nothing but a blur of lights and colours streaking through the evening. The smell of cotton candy and clouds was in the air. He and his mother huddled together, laughing and laughing until they had tears streaming down their cheeks. His father sat across from them, a giant teddy bear buckled into the spare seat, and his hands wrapped tightly around a wheel that made them spin.

The ride ended just as the rain began to fall in sheets. Sanji's father picked him up and put him on his shoulders, while his mother carried his prize and they all ran towards the car together. The night was warm, and the rain felt good. His mother was still laughing, and his father's strong hands were his only connection to the ground. It felt like flying. It was perfect.

The very last memory Sanji ever had of his parents was clouded by screaming and pain.

The three of them had been on a bus. They were headed in to the city to see the ice sculptures at the winter festival. Sanji was so excited to skate on the canal, to go through the giant snow maze, and to have poutine. If he was very good, he might even be able to convince his father to buy him some of that snowy maple syrup on a stick. They only ever ate junk food like that when they were on vacation, so Sanji liked to see how far he could press his luck on the matter.

Sanji didn't know how the bus ended up in the lake. All he remembered was the slushy water rushing in through the broken windows. Colder than he could ever remember being. His mother was coated in red. Beyond her was nothing but black water. He didn't know what happened to his father. It was just cold, and dark, and scary, and Sanji didn't think he would be getting any candy that day.

The next thing he knew, he was curled up in the arms of some stranger. They were lying on top of the ice, he and the stranger. And they were wet. And it was cold.

"Saaaanji-kun…"

Sanji blinked open his eyes from where he was laying on his back on the practice ice. Nami was standing over him. Or, rather, looming. Her hands were on her hips, and she was bent over so that her face could very well have touched his if only she leaned just a little bit more. Pink lips were pressed together in a pout, and orange red curls fell down from a pony tail to frame her perfect cheeks.

Her breasts were heaving with her heavy and frustrated breaths under her pale blue dress. Nami had the most amazing rack. It was a wonder how she didn't topple over right on top of him, but he supposed that her balance had a lot to do with growing up in Japan, and all of the bowing everyone did over there. At least if cartoons had taught him anything.

A broad smile crossed his lips, and Sanji immediately pushed away thoughts of his childhood. "Oui, ma chère cygne?" he beamed back up at her as though it were perfectly normal to be lying on his back on the ice instead of being up on his feet and practicing.

Nami rolled her eyes and stood back upright. "He's fine," she informed Robin, skating away, and only flicking a few ice shavings in Sanji's direction as she went. Nami was thoughtful that way.

With a sigh, Sanji sank in a toepick and pressed back up to his blades. "Sorry, Miss Robin," he said honestly, brushing some of the snow off his black slacks.

Robin watched him keenly before nodding. Either she was satisfied there was nothing wrong, or decided she wouldn't be getting a straight answer. "It's alright, Sanji. Let's go back to the first break and take it from there."

Practice after that was intense. He and Nami both had bruises and blisters in uncomfortable places before they were through, and neither of them had ever been more excited to see the hockey players coming in to kick them off the ice.

Figure skating in Canada—Even at the Olympic level—was a strangely taboo thing, as far as the general public was concerned. It wasn't so much that they thought the costumes were weird, or that they didn't understand the artistic value, or even that they didn't comprehend the athleticism. No, Canadians thought figure skaters weird simply because the skater hadn't decided to pick up a hockey stick after he'd strapped on his skates.

Most hockey players respected them enough to be cool with the figure skating thing, but some of them were total goons over it. A few bar fights in Vancouver had set that record straight four years earlier. By the end of each of the fights no one could remember who had started them. Everyone was just laughing and drinking and singing together in French and English. Every so often, Sanji would see people peeling off in pairs to enjoy the Athletes' Village together.

This wasn't the Canadian hockey team rolling in, though. The players wore navy, red, and white, and the goalie's mask was painted like an American flag. He could already hear the murmuring on the team about his clothing, his sport, even his hair. With a grunt of derision, Sanji blew a loose strand out of his face and wiped the sweat from his forehead on the back of his long poufy sleeve.

Self-obsessed and pompous hockey players… Like they were even ones to talk… One of their players had a long blue pony tail hanging down his back that was easily longer than Nami's. And he was pretty sure the big quiet one with the A on his shirt was going moldy on top.

Sanji's eyes drifted up to the scoreboard to check the time. Technically, they still had another five minutes, but it probably wasn't worth arguing over. He turned his attention to Robin to wait for instruction, but she was distracted.

One of the largest men was leaning on the boards next to her. He had a bandage on his nose from where it appeared to have been broken and reset, and his hair—also blue. Was that a 'thing' on this team?—was spiked out at such an odd angle that it looked like antlers. Sanji hadn't realised Robin's type was so… big. Actually, if he were to be completely honest, he thought Robin's 'type' was, well, 'Nami'.

Ah, Nami and Robin. Together. The thought of it would have been enough to send him into a swooning spiral, had he not been suddenly knocked into by one of the players. Acting more on instinct than anything else, he twisted around the bump and hip-checked the offending player.

Moldy-Top went down like a toddler running in sand, and was laid out flat on his ass before he even had a moment to comprehend what had happened. Anger quickly boiled up in him, and he reached out to hook Sanji's skate. "What the Hell do you think you're doing, asshole?" he snapped.

"You should watch where you're going, idiot," Sanji snapped right back easily skirting the edge of the stick. He had the distinct impression that if the hockey player had a second stick he'd be swinging that at him too. Brute force. Violence. It lacked a certain level of finesse. Probably owing to the way moss-head was sprawled on the ice like a fish out of water. "Aren't you hockey players supposed to be good with the whole situational awareness thing?"

Everyone was quiet and watching them, and Sanji was suddenly aware of it. He felt it tingling up his spine. It was possible he was over-reacting to the situation.

"Maybe if you snow-ballerinas weren't hogging the ice, you wouldn't get run into."

Later, Sanji would realise that was possibly the weirdest thing he'd ever been called. "Maybe if all of that moss growing down into your brain wasn't impacting your ability to tell time—" He didn't have time to finish the thought before some laughing fool came crashing over and flopped on top of green-hair.

'Monkey' the back of his shirt said, and God but it was appropriate. He was all arms and legs. Small and flexible. "Pile on Zoro!" he called out. It sounded ridiculous, but some of the other players were already skating over to join. It was the most idiotic conflict resolution he'd ever seen, and it was stunningly effective.

While he contemplated the pile of hockey players that was starting to form silently next to his feet, Nami skated up to his side. "Robin says that's it for now."

Sanji nodded dumbly and let her lead him off the ice. "Idiot hockey players," he murmured, glaring over his shoulder at Zoro, who was glaring straight back at him even from under the pile. They were all straightening up and preparing for their drills, so Sanji decided to ignore them. He and Nami left the ice and sat on the benches, quietly sliding skate guards on so that they could walk over the concrete to the locker rooms.

"Sorry about that," a bright voice drew Sanji's attention back up. Monkey—The captain apparently, according to the C on his jersey—was leaning on the boards and smiling at them. "I shot the puck past you and Zoro was just trying to catch the pass. Plus, it's my fault we were early." He shrugged. Something told Sanji that this guy didn't much care for things like rules and schedules. "I'm Luffy," he said, offering his hand before Sanji had a chance to reply to the first part. "Luffy D Monkey. I'm going to be the best player in the history of the NHL."

Sanji stared at the gesture like he'd never seen a handshake before, but then reached out to take it cautiously. "Sanji," he said and gave one pump.

Luffy's grin split impossibly wider. "Hi Sanji!"

"Captain! You planning on joining the rest of us for these drills?" Zoro called over. He didn't raise his voice, but it carried over the ice on a rumble. Obnoxiously sexy if you were into that sort of thing.

Luffy laughed and scratched the back of his head. He looked like he had in fact forgotten why they were there. "Nice to meet you," he said quickly, and then skated over to join his Assistant captains where they were assigning drills to the rest of the team.

Sanji glanced at Nami, blinking. "That is the weirdest hockey team I've ever seen," he admitted.

She nodded solemnly. "Definitely strange," she agreed.

"I don't think we have much to worry about from the Americans this year."

Nami nodded again, watching Sanji. "You're dwelling," she commented, nudging him with the edge of her shoulder. "Go get dressed. You're going to take me shopping."

Shopping with Nami meant following her around while she picked out a bunch of things for Sanji to buy her, carrying her bags, and making certain to tell her how beautiful she looked in everything she tried on. It was one of Sanji's favourite things to do. "Sounds perfect."

Nami kissed him on the cheek before linking an arm with his and pulling them towards the locker rooms. He pretended the blush was because of the kiss, but he was also pretty sure that Zoro's eyes were drilling into his back as he walked away. A quick gaze back once he hit the door told him he'd been imagining it. If asked later, he would deny the disappointment he felt.