"Oh and I don't have a show to say,
Yes, and I sin every single day,
We never change, do we?
We never learned to leave."
–Coldplay

It was an unusually busy Friday afternoon for the off-season, a surprise winter storm having waylaid a cruise ship for a day or so, and the Maison Bleu's wait staff was already understaffed for the regular crowd. The head chef had taken over a few tables, since his sous chef had insisted she had everything under control in the kitchen, and things had begun to calm down by the time the pretty redhead all but yanked him back into the kitchen with a cheery smile that lasted only as long as the visibility of the customers.

"Damn it, Sanji, this is the last time I'd better find you out on the floor flirting with any giggling bimbo you lay your eyes on! You stay in here and cook, that's what you're paid to do, am I clear?"

Even after all the years they'd known one another, Nami's ability to verbally gut someone like a fish could leave him impressed and somewhat cowed. He really wished she'd stop doing it in front of the staff quite so much, though.

"But Nami-san," was his almost petulant reply, "the money comes out of my paycheck-- I don't see why it matters how the food is payed for."

"It matters, Sanji-kun," the last word was emphasized in such a way that several of the eavesdropping chefs winced and thanked their deity of choice that they weren't the ones in his place, "because when you give free food away to people for no good reason, they tend to expect the same treatment when they come back. When there isn't a repeat performance they tend not to come back. It hurts business. It makes us look unprofessional. It keeps you from being in here doing your job. And worst of all, it costs me money. That's why it matters and that's why this is going to be the last time it happens, yes?"

The mention of the "m" word promptly sealed the fate of Sanji's end of the conflict and he sighed in resignation. "Yes, ma'am."

Relaxing only slightly, Nami turned and huffed her way back to the swinging doors leading out to the patrons, smoothing her already wrinkle-free skirt and brushing some stray hair away from her face as she did so. As co-owner of the restaurant, she spent most of her time flitting from table to table like a butterfly to make sure everyone was enjoying their meal and establishing a more personal connection with them-- laughing at their jokes, visiting, playing the hostess. It was a job that she felt was essential to engendering loyal customers and repeat business and one that Sanji had always felt was unnecessary; if they liked the food they'd come back, it was that simple. But it made her happy, so far be it from him to spoil it for her.

"Hey, Head Chef," called a voice from the cacophony of various cooking dishes, "if you're done standing around we could use a few more hands here." One of the tables had evidently ordered enough food for a week and it looked like things on the floor were slow enough for the waiters to keep up for a while without his help.

"Sure," he said, giving in to the second woman to berate him in as many minutes. Not that he really minded this time; Daisy was a good sous chef and knew her way around a kitchen like no one else, but she only had so many hands. "What do we need done?" he asked, striding over to take a look at the current orders.

"I've got a chicken with no Marsala sauce, a salmon that needs filleting, and about four orders of the lobster cakes, take your pick and go." Her pan was emptied onto a nearby plate and refilled with more boiled rice and assorted chopped vegetables with an expert rhythm that was only gained through extensive experience. Not for the first time did he mentally thank Nami for finding this woman– she was utterly invaluable in these situations, a total professional who kept her head in a rush and maintained her quality while beating the clock. "So," she said after a moment, the grin in her voice unmistakable, "I take it her dinner date didn't go well."

Sanji grunted in non-committal. Occasionally businessmen from other areas would come in for dinner and want to talk shop with the owner of the restaurant. Since Sanji was always needed in the kitchen and he had little interest in the financial affairs of his own restaurant, let alone anyone else's venue, Nami always wound up fielding them. She had never seemed to mind before now, but lately she'd been getting grumpier and grumpier with each date she went on.

"How many times is this that she's chewed you out in front of the staff?" Daisy went on, breaking him out of his mental tunnel vision.

"This week or in total?" The mixture of mushrooms, wine, chicken stock and butter in his pan simmered in front of him.

"This week."

"Four, I think." Shit he wanted a cigarette. Next to him, Daisy looked at him for the first time in their conversation, flashing a wicked grin in the process.

"Should we be expecting a fifth or have we hit your limit?"

He flashed his own grin in response. "How can I refuse a beautiful woman, especially one in distress?"

"From the check?"

"Even ladies with tastes that overreach their wallets," he corrected, dishing the reheated chicken from the pan and drizzling the chestnut-colored sauce in an aesthetic pattern over it.

Shaking her head, Daisy emptied her pan for the second time and grabbed a boning knife from a nearby drawer. "Well as long as you don't run us out of business I guess it's not my place to say anything. I don't see how you can afford it, though." Salmon bone was thrown in the trash and the fillet was seasoned and put in the oven before she joined him at the counter to get elbow-deep in shredded lobster.

"Don't worry, I could give away twice as many meals and we'd still make a profit. Nami-san just doesn't like parting with money she doesn't feel she has to." He topped a plate with a carefully placed garnish and handed off to a nearby waiter, who in turn handed him a new order. "Personally, it's never mattered much to me."

---

The busboys were turning the chairs up and sweeping the last of the grit from the floor when Sanji finally emerged from the kitchen that day. Tossing a good-natured wave to the rest of the exhausted employees cleaning up and counting their tips, he made his way over to the pimply-faced kid trying valiantly to get a marinara stain out of a tablecloth.

"Yo, Gary."

"Last I saw her she was in the office," the kid answered the forthcoming question without even looking up from his project. Of course, far be it from Nami to just buy a new tablecloth and save the lad some work, but Gary insisted that he didn't mind the menial little chores. Of course he didn't, Sanji couldn't help but grump inwardly– he was young, ambitious, enthusiastic, and would suck up desperately to Nami every time she was around. Liked to question Sanji's authority in front of the others, too, which was earning him some black marks in the head chef's book, but he had to hand it to the kid– he knew how to take a firm kick and get back up.

"Thanks. Don't stay too late with that."

"I won't." He could hear the smirk in the younger man's voice. "Don't let her give you too much grief."

Sanji just grunted in response and longed for a cigarette with every step he took down the hallway to the office. What the hell kind of a name was Gary, anyway? Kid sure didn't seem like a Gary to him. Must have come from stupid parents.

He didn't actually think Nami would still be there that late, but it never hurt to check anyway. Much to his surprise, he found her bent over the desk, her glasses on, pen in one hand, head resting on the other, pouring over the budget book with much the same air that she had her navigation maps once upon a time. For just an instant he could feel the floor rock in time with the ocean and his hand felt empty without a tray loaded with a special blended drink or some fancy dessert for her.

"You just going to hover in the doorway or are you coming in?" The floor stopped rocking and the only thing his hand itched for was a cigarette.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him in response to her indirect order, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"You've been here the whole time?"

She grunted in reply, still frowning intently at the numbers before her.

"There a problem?" That earned him a look. "With the books," he clarified, not wanting that frown pointed in his direction. If she'd been going over things for this long there must have been a doozy of an error in there, which might also explain her mood. Staring at numbers for hours on end wasn't a way he'd ever want to spend a Friday night either.

Bumping her glasses up slightly as she pinched the bridge of her nose and, squeezing her eyes closed, she nodded. "We're spending more on food than we should be but I can't figure out where it's all going. Even taking your free meal program into account," she punctuated that with a particularly stinky look, "the numbers don't add up. I just can't see the problem for some reason." Rubbing her eyes, she straightened up and stretched her neck, a slight grimace playing over her features. He didn't even want to think of how long she'd been sitting hunched over like that because of what was probably a minor discrepancy in the bookkeeping. Honestly, that woman was going to kill herself over money at this rate, and not very much money at that.

"Nami-san, you should go home and get some sleep. Maybe tomorrow you'll find the problem, but right now–" His sentence was cut off by a tiny noise from his business partner as she sat, attempting to massage her neck. She must have really been absorbed in it because she jolted when his fingers brushed her hair aside, despite the fact that he'd walked all the way around the desk to get to her in the first place.

"You have been doing this way too long," he admonished gently as she relaxed and submitted to his attention. She responded with a noise that was caught halfway in between a grunt of acknowledgment and a groan of pleasure and he did his best to ignore the sensation of swallowing around a tongue that seemed far too big for his mouth. He could remember a time not that many years distant where he wouldn't have dared try this without express permission first, but now it wasn't unusual. He'd long ago become accustomed to the idea of being firmly planted in the "Friend Zone", which allowed him the ability to give her a massage but the pricewas it would never be anything more than that.

"Mmmmm, down a bit," she murmured, arching her back a little under his administrations. "Over, over, over– there..." and she bit down on a lower moan when he hit the right spot. There was no longer enough saliva left in his mouth to swallow and he deliberately shifted his thoughts to the menu for the next day, going over recipes step-by-step and definitely not thinking of how smooth and cool her skin was nor was he noticing how her neck curved so elegantly with her hair parted over either side or those little noises she was making in the back of her throat. He did, however, notice how uncomfortably warm it was getting in there and how difficult it was to hear what she was saying with all that blood pounding in his ears...

"Sanji," her irritated tone cut through some of the fog in his head, "are you even listening to me?"

"Of course!" he responded automatically.

"I said you can stop now, it feels much better."

There was an uncomfortable pause as his brain attempted to process this and then as he removed his hands and tried his best not to look as sheepish as he felt. "Of course, Nami-san. Sorry."

She sighed, turning towards him with a smile on her face despite the exasperated noise. "Thank you. It really does feel better."

"Of course. Anytime." Her smile was lovely no matter how brief, and it had been far, far too long since he'd seen it pointed his way. "Well, I have to be going." He very reluctantly circled back around the desk and headed for the door, cursing that wonderful moment's lousy sense of timing as he went. "I have a date."

Startled, Nami's head whipped up from the book to look at him. "A date? I thought you weren't seeing Sophie anymore."

"I'm not," he replied nonchalantly, opening the door. He paused briefly on the other side to smile at her. "Goodnight, Nami-san." The door closed behind him and she heard his footsteps fade down the hall.

"Goodnight," she told the empty room.

---

Even the winter nights in Cocoyashi never got all that cold; the temperature might drop into the low seventies or so but it rarely got below mid-sixties. It was the rain and thunderstorms that tricked most of the tourists; storms would blow their way up from colder climates and, though not usually dangerous, they could certainly bring the temperature down in a hurry. At the moment it wasn't raining, but it was likely it would soon-- the sky was overcast all the way to the horizon, casting the normally bright turquoise ocean beneath it in matching gray. Which just made the nicotine taste all the sweeter, in his opinion.

Inhaling another drag, Sanji couldn't believe how long he'd managed to go without it; he just didn't feel complete without a cigarette in his mouth or his hand or at the very least in his pocket. Damn if this lapse wasn't going to make it harder to give it up again but at the moment all he cared about was that soothing, calming smoke flowing in and out of this chest. That is until he heard the door behind him close; then all he cared about was the fit he was going to be on the receiving end of as soon as Nami saw him.

To his immeasurable relief, it wasn't his partner he found standing behind him, but his assistant head chef, a look of surprise already halfway melted into displeasure and disappointment. He felt a sheepish and hopefully charming smile curl its way around both cigarettes held loosely at his lips as relief flooded him that he could continue his guilty pleasure a while longer.

"You going to rat me out?" he asked. Daisy pondered it for a moment, looking none too pleased in the interim, but finally she deflated.

"No," she shook her head rather sadly, "just don't make a habit out of this, okay? I don't want to lose my job over your lack of self control."

"She wouldn't fire you over this," he frowned, confused at how off-base that statement was and how unlike her it was to be so. Sure one of their newer waitresses had gotten fired recently, but it had had more to do with her being clumsy and short-tempered with customers than his lapses of judgement or self-control.

"Maybe." She eyed the two stubby cigarettes in his mouth with a cocked eyebrow. She'd only seen him sneak a cigarette twice before in the two years she'd worked with him, and they'd both been after particularly harrowing nights; the first of which involved repairing hurricane damage to the restaurant and his apartment above it, and the other had been after his girlfriend had left him. He'd chain-smoked so much after that she'd expected him to spew little flecks of ash when he spoke on the rare occasion he didn't have a cigarette in his mouth-- not even Nami had had the heart to get him to stop for three weeks. But not even then had she ever witnessed him smoking two at a time. "Was it that bad?"

Smoke curled comfortingly around his head and he exhaled heavily as he turned back to the view of the ocean. "You have no idea," he replied, gazing out at the expanse of water before him and not seeing it.

"Funny, she didn't seem that angry." He could tell she was fussing with her jacket behind him and he had to suppress the urge to offer to help her. Daisy wasn't an unattractive woman, in her late twenties with a light build and coloring to match– pale skin, pale hair, pale eyes– and an iron will unusual in someone her age that tended to give the illusion of an iron jaw to match. He liked her a great deal and had it not been for her possessive boyfriend, he most likely would have asked her out when they'd first started working together. Thankfully that hadn't happened and his little crush had mellowed out into a comfortable friendship that helped ease the tension of work at times. He'd also learned long ago that Daisy liked to tie her own coat and had once sported the black eye to prove it..

"You off somewhere?" she asked. He turned to see her motion to his takeout bag inquisitively. He always took leftovers home, and one table had wound up leaving practically half their order tonight. However, he rarely bothered to take so little in a bag since he lived over the restaurant, which probably meant he was headed out.

"Yeah," he finished both cigarettes and flicked them one by one off the landing where they plopped into the sea, "got a date." He picked up the bag and offered her an elbow. "Want me to walk you home?"

She shook her head and a gust of wind blew her dishwater hair a little. "No thanks. Have fun." A date after midnight meant he probably would.

Shrugging, he let his arm drop and skipped down the wooden stairs, tossing a 'good night' over his shoulder, and carefully skirted a large mud puddle at the bottom.

Daisy watched his retreating form and shook her head. "Idiot," she muttered to his back as he disappeared around a corner. A few scattered drops of rain spattered on the awning overhead to which she opened her umbrella, then she too set off into the evening.