Author's Note: Thanks to AllBlueChaser for pointing out that the original upload of this second half I somehow managed to re-paste the text after the ending! Whoops! Also, lyrics are still from Finger Eleven, denoted by the / marks. This is the last part so I hope you've enjoyed!


/ I hold out for one more drink
/ Before I think
/ I'm looking too desperately.

"Are you well, Mister Bushido?"

"Huh?"

Another night, another visit to The Paralyzer. Zoro was beginning to think there was something severely wrong with him. All he had done for the last week was get up, go to work, then blow his hard-earned paycheck on drink after drink at the dance club each night. He was so absorbed in the ritual…Robin had stopped asking if he wanted more to drink and just kept the sake coming, occasionally taking an order for something new. Nothing froofy or girly, of course…shots mostly and beer.

The thing was…he didn't understand why he was doing it.

"I asked if you were well," Robin sighed with her ever-knowing smile and sharp, analyzing gaze.

"Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?" he grumbled, handing her his empty glass to take the full one from her tray.

"You have not told me how things went."

"What things?"

She sat down across from him gracefully, chin in her hand as was her usual position when she either had something insightful to offer or if she simply wanted to hear a story. The swordsman could make a guess as to which it was tonight; he sighed.

"You mean the fight between me and the shit-cook?"

"Yes, I am most interested to hear how it went. Cook-san has not spoken of it to me, so I hope that you might be more divulging in the matter."

Zoro cast the dance floor a last glance before turning his full attention to the woman, somewhat begrudgingly. Blunt, rough fingers pushed through his short green hair and he closed his eyes, letting the memories of the fight wash over his mind, looking for words to explain it to her; he wasn't the best at that sort of thing, it was Usopp who could do that at the drop of the hat…even if it was all made up.

"Alright, well…it happened like this…" Zoro began.


The park was fairly quiet that afternoon…during the weekdays, it generally was. Most of the population was either at work or in school, which suited the swordsman just fine; he wasn't hoping for an audience, just a good one-on-one match. He planned on sitting in the shade of a tree to wait for the cook…at the very least, if the idiot didn't show, Zoro could at least get in a nice nap.

But, much to his surprise, he spotted someone leaning against the tree he had been scoping out, hidden mostly in the shadow but he could smell the cigarette smoke wafting downwind toward him.

"Oi, I thought I told you not to keep me waiting, marimo."

Zoro sneered, setting his duffel bag on the nearby picnic table.

"Didn't set a specific time, not my fault you got here first." he shot back, unzipping the bag to retrieve his three katana.

Setting them out on the weather-beaten wood, they looked utterly pristine in comparison. Special care was given to the one held within a white sheath…Wado, the sword of his first rival and the one whom he had made a promise to that would propel him up through the professional sword-fighting league ranks all the way to the top…someday. Beside her was Yubashiri, a light, sharp blade, and Kitetsu, a lower-grade sword but it was believed to carry a curse…as if Zoro believed in those sorts of things.

The cook stepped away from the tree and into the light, the afternoon light setting his blonde hair aglow. As always he was finely dressed…probably fresh from the restaurant, if the swordsman thought about it. Black dress pants that he swore made the other man's legs look longer somehow, polished hard-toe shoes, and a blue pinstriped shirt with a crisp collar and buttoned up, tucked in and adorned with his near-constant black tie. The jacket to match the pants was folded and draped over his arm, soon joining the duffle bag on the table.

"Nice sticks," Sanji muttered around his cigarette, eying them with a somewhat bored expression. "Why'd you bring three?"

"Because I use three swords," he answered plainly, retrieving a black bandanna from his pocket to tie around his head, casting shadows over his eyes. "That a problem, shit-cook?"

"Feh, use whatever you want," the cook snorted, casing him a glare, his deep blue showing a bit of fire in it.

Zoro nodded, fastening the three katana to his hip and regarded his surroundings…no prying eyes, a nice breeze…it was perfect. The cook finished his cigarette, snubbing it out before rolling his shoulders, foot brushing over the grass briefly as if to test it…too wet and he'd have trouble keeping his footing. But he seemed to find it acceptable because he turned attention to the swordsman then.

"Well, let's have at it, then…" he drawled. "I want to see if what the others say is true."


Robin listened with her curious blue eyes reading every passing facial flinch and flicker in the swordsman's eyes. Something about the event had obviously changed something in him…he seemed restless to her, as if his new habits were not an already obvious hint to this. He came to their dance club every night, despite not liking to dance or the music. He would sit in the dark underside of the stairs and broodingly watch the dance floor, like a tiger crouching in the brush, stalking its prey.

She could imagine what that prey was…prey that for some reason, was not showing up. Ever since the fight, Robin had not seen the blonde. At first she thought nothing of it, as his restaurant was often busy this time of year. But now it seemed almost deliberate. And this fact seemed to annoy the green tiger under the stairs.

He had gone quiet, lost in thoughts of the fight judging by how his hands curled around the absent katana, eyes dark even without the aid of his bandana…the demon-look. It chilled her a bit to see this close, but if only because it made him seem so hungry…

"How did the fight turn out?"

Zoro blinked, the demon fading back into the depths of his green eyes.

"No one won, really…we just kinda wore out and called it, mutually." he murmured, his expression quickly becoming its usual lazy again.

Robin nodded, having read what she needed between his spoke description as easily as if she'd been watching a movie play out in the man's eyes. It had been a rough fight, neither of the two men holding anything back. She stood, gathering up her tray and turned to head back to serving her guests, leaving Zoro to fall back into the memories that would replay themselves over and over, especially when he slept…

Zoro was thankful for her departure. While explaining the basics of how the fight had gone, he was at a complete loss as to how to accurately describe what had really happened. He closed his eyes and let the images surface…broken, bright flashes that all melted together into something he could not fully grasp.

Some details were so sharp…even in the club amid all the moving bodies and perfumes and sweat, he could feel his own heart beating in his chest, hear the thump of another…smell smoke and ocean and some sort of fancy shampoo…maybe it was an aftershave? Flickers of blue and gold-yellow tugged at the corners of his eyes, the shudder of impact he could feel even then in his teeth as an echo of when steel-toe had struck shatteringly against the length of Wado…

It haunted his dreams and nagged at him throughout the day. The swordsman growled at the dance floor before returning to his drink…it was pissing him off. He wanted to understand it, why his mind was so wrapped up in recalling every damn detail it could of not really the fight, but of the cook himself. How he looked, how he moved…

/ But so far has not been fun
/ I should just stay home
/ If one thing really means one

Women did not particularly appeal to Zoro, if he ever bothered to let his mind linger on the concept. It wasn't often, but for some reason swam into his mind as he was sitting there. He was friends with two women, Nami and Robin. One was a mind-reading witch, the other was…well, in nice terms, a money-loving thief-witch with outrageous concepts of interest on owed debts. So his view of the "fairer sex" wasn't that high. Sure, they were good friends and sometimes a few were good in a fight…like her…but more often than not he found them to be shallow, greedy, and far too soft. Nothing in that appealed to him, not that he had the time to be troubled with things like that anyway. He had a promise to keep and he wasn't going to stop until he was the best.

But this…obsession. He couldn't find another word for it; for whatever reason, Zoro found himself clinging on to every detail he could about the meeting, the fight, the cook himself…and it both confused and pissed him off. What business did that asshole have being so prominent in his thoughts and making him come to the stupid club to wait around for him? The swordsman knew it was a completely irrational urge, but he couldn't fight it. He could either sit up all night at his house, restless and pacing, or come here and at least drink and try to figure it out. Not that he was getting anywhere with that…the shit-cook wasn't even there, not since the first night. And for some reason, that was pissing him off too.

/ This club will hopefully
/ Be closed in three weeks
/ That would be cool with me

One of the nights he'd pondered if the club was doing well enough to keep afloat. He vaguely recalled Franky complaining about the finances behind getting it going. Maybe it would last another few weeks, but for all Zoro cared for the trouble it'd caused him, it could go under and have to close and that'd be just fine with him. He could stop showing up to lurk under the stairs, watching the dance floor as if he was waiting for…

What was he waiting for, anyway? Was he really just coming to the club to see if the cook would show up? Why the hell would it matter if he did or didn't? He was just some woman-worshipping asshole who could go toe-to-toe against the swordsman while he was using his swords…did he want to fight him again? Was that it? Maybe…he was pretty good, the way he could leap and swing his legs and block the shining arc of a katana, contort his frame in ways he'd not thought possible…

/ Well I'm still imagining
/ A dark lit place
/ Or your place or my place

A few times he considered just going to the restaurant and confront the cook there. But either he wrote it off or just got partway to the damn place and found out that it had moved. That always annoyed him when the streets changed or whole buildings were gone altogether. So he'd given that up pretty fast…besides, he shouldn't have to track him down anyway. Zoro would just sit and wait…patiently impatient.

/ Well, I'm not paralyzed
/ But, I seem to be struck by you

It was a strong feeling, whatever it was. He was connected to the cook, like it or no. Sanji pissed him off to no end but he couldn't get the stupid blonde out of his thoughts or his dreams and it boiled his blood. The only way he could deal with that was to fight again…

/ I want to make you move
/ Because you're standing still

But fighting the cook again…wouldn't that only make the whole mess worse? Another fight could only sharpen the images, make them more vivid to the point that dreams would be so close to the real thing…was this what drugs were like? To become so hooked, that only more could ease the itch…only to make the need stronger, needing more to ease that heightened urge.

/ If your body matches
/ What your eyes can do

Sharp blue eyes flickered in the back of his mind and Zoro tried to drink them away. In the fight, he recalled glimpsing briefly the other of the cook's eyes that was usually hidden under of a curtain of blonde locks. Being able to see them both…so sharp and harsh like waves breaking on rock, full of concentration and resolve…he was almost amazed by how someone who was generally cool and smooth and an all-around lady killer could be riled up and keep pace against the swordsman.

If he wanted to be honest with himself, he wanted to see them again. See the lazy calm blue darken into a hurricane and lose himself in the storm, blades drawn and thrown against the other man as his own tornado of force. Almost immovable against one another…an opponent unlike any he'd ever fought before.

/ You'll probably move right through
/ Me on my way to you.

He'd nearly broken another glass how tight he was holding onto it, setting it down before he did with a disgruntled sigh. There was no chance of it happening anytime soon…especially if he wasn't even showing up at the club. Zoro was starving for more…even just a glimpse of the idiot would do. He would watch the floor and see just a flash of blue shirt or blonde hair, only to scowl at finding it was some woman or another man that wasn't the cook.

And even if he did show, Zoro would have to go out of his way to pick another fight. It's not like he could ask for another match, they weren't close friends; hell, seemed that whenever they were within speaking distance, they spat the worst words at each other that would make a nun faint. That worked for him, especially if it could lead to a real, physical fight…he wanted it so bad, he was starting to taste the leather of Wado on his tongue despite the burn of a long gulp of rum.

/ Well, I'm not paralyzed
/ But, I seem to be struck by you
/ I want to make you move
/ Because you're standing still

So wrapped up in his thoughts, he nearly fell out of chair when out of the corner of his eye he spotted the object of his obsessions making chatter with the tall, lanky bouncer at the door, Brook…Zoro was fond of the man, but the huge afro atop his head just seemed so odd to him. Not that he could talk much. He cursed at himself as he felt his heart skip a beat in his chest.

Sanji was dressed a bit different then last he'd seen the man, less like he'd just come from work and more like he intended to be at the club. Short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned slightly, untucked from his knee-length pants. The swordsman watched from his shadowy little table, tense and narrow-eyed; the tiger at last caught sight of the fox he'd been hunting.

/ If your body matches
/ What your eyes can do
/ You'll probably move right through
/ Me on my way to you

Before he could even start formulating any semblance of a plan, let along act on it, several girls seemed to pick up on the Prince's presence and were flocking over to him…Zoro couldn't help but feel his heart sink, yet another odd sensation he would have to kick the cook's ass because. Grumbling, he tore his gaze away to glare at his empty glass…where the hell was Robin, he needed another.

They would continue mobbing around the man until it was time to go. Hell, he would probably pick on of the cuter ones to take back to his apartment and…

"Ah, there you are Cook-san," Robin called from her perch at the bar, smiling with a demure little wave.

"Robin-chwan~" Zoro snorted as he heard the other man swoon and make his way over to the blue-eyed at the bar, lavishing praise upon her until Franky showed up to scold him trying to butter up his girlfriend.

But the swordsman watched with some mild interest as Robin leaned in to whisper something to the cook, which resulted in a perplexed look and a quite conversation went on. He couldn't help but be curious what was being said…

/ I'm not paralyzed
/ But, I seem to be struck by you
/ I want to make you move
/ Because you're standing still

What Zoro didn't realize was that it had been quite deliberate…Robin had knowingly drawn the cook away from the throng of girls, who had dejectedly returned to the dance floor after seeing their Prince go to speak with the sharp-eyed woman at the bar that they knew could always summon his attentions. The conversation was more a diversionary tactic on her part: as soon as enough time had passed in her opinion she gave the cook's cheek a pat and gestured for him to head on to the floor with a little knowing nod.

The cook casually headed toward the crowd, melting into it and soon had thrown himself into the music, moving his body and legs so passionately that Zoro almost couldn't stand watching…his hands closed into fists on the table and his teeth ground slightly. He wasn't a dancer…but hell if he didn't want to go out there then and…he shook his head, not even sure what it was he wanted to do. He couldn't fight here, obviously. But those twists and how easily he could swing his hips, the center of his power that rolled down along those long legs…something constricted the swordsman's heart and he glared back at his empty shot glass.

/ If your body matches
/ What your eyes can do
/ You'll probably move right through
/ Me on my way to you

He couldn't stay here. His chest was too tight, it was too hot and loud and his head was a throbbing mess. Time to get the hell out of here, Zoro decided as he stood from the table, swaying just a bit under the effect of the alcohol. Leaving his tip on the table under the glass, he started trying to pick his way carefully through the crowd to get to the door. It seemed way too far away and hardly visible above the jumping, squirming mass of people…did it move? Maybe it was behind him…to right more?

/ You'll probably move right through
/ Me on my way to you

No, this was definitely wrong. So very, very wrong and definitely not the way to the door. Somehow in his quest for the exit, Zoro had lost his way and ended up amongst the throng right in front of the dj's stage. His eyes almost swum from how loud the music was there and he was all the more determined to get out of damn club. But as fate would have it, as he turned to try to locate the elusive door, he came face-to-face with the somewhat red-faced and sweaty cook. Green eyes met blue for a moment and Zoro cursed as his heart stopped.

Nothing was said. It wasn't necessary. Despite the setting, the swordsman could see it: the hurricane, the turbulent ocean that raged in the cook's very soul. What was it called…something about blue. All Blue. That was it…Zoro could see it right there in Sanji's eyes when he was like this, when he moved his body all-out be it dancing or in a fight. A dream burning so close to the surface, he had to wonder if that's how he himself seemed to others when he was fighting, hands tight around loyal leather handles, katana shimmering in silver arcs…

"Oi…" the cook broke the awkward silence, the music throbbing around them…it had switched into a pulsing version of the song the club was named after, driving the crowd wild.

But Zoro moved, pushing past the blonde and was desperate to escape, to get the hell away from the music, the movement, the raging waves and passion he so wanted to be lost into…it was too much and he couldn't stand being denied what he wanted while it was right there in front of him.

/ You'll probably move right through
/ Me on my way to you

Time seemed to stand still as the swordsman felt cool fingers wrap around his wrist slowly before they tightened in a surprisingly tight grip…he couldn't remove it no more easily than if someone were to try wrenching one of his katana from his own hand. Zoro could feel every rough, callused part of the cook's hand…made sense, considering how much he used them to propel himself and used them in the kitchen.

As time returned to normal, Zoro turned to look at Sanji questioningly, too surprised at the moment to be angry about being restrained. He blinked, further dumbfounded as he found a coy grin pulling at the blonde's lips.

"Stay."

It was a simple request…no, more a command. One that Zoro didn't think he could disobey…didn't think he wanted to, either. So he gave in and let himself be swept up in the storm, let it paralyze him and drag him under.