Chapter Four

Clutching the sides of the sink, Zoro stares at himself in the mirror, knuckles white from the grip. Both eyes are already bruising, nose swollen. Dried blood cakes his neck and shirt, scabs already forming in his nostrils to stop the bleeding. That's the thing about broken noses – they bleed a shitload, worse than any other injury he's ever had. This one isn't his first and probably won't be his last.

He bends his head forward, closing his eyes, and tries to keep his breathing even. Fucked up. He fucked up again, keeps fucking up with that stupid piece of shit cook. Even in his drunkenness, he should have had the foresight to see what the little fucker was up to. He won't make that mistake again.

Unclenching his hold, he looks up and sighs heavily. His nose is healing crooked, needs to be reset.

Pulling aside the tan shower curtain, Zoro turns the faucet to let the water warm up. Undressing, he has slight trouble tugging off his t-shirt, the tacky blood making the collar stick to his skin. Completely disrobed, he absent-mindedly scratches his chest, fingers prodding the scar that runs across it. His body is littered with scars, his eye being his most noticeable but the chest scar is most prominent. Indenting his skin deeply, doctor's told him it won't fade, a constant reminder to him. Room turning steamy, he steps into the shower, searing water hitting his shoulders.

No point in washing off the blood until he gets his nose reset. Facing forward, he firms himself, making sure his stance is stable, just in case he blacks out. Creating a triangle with his fingers, he places his hands on either side of his nose and takes a deep breath. Jerking his hands forward and up, he can feel the crunching underneath his fingertips. Hot, white pain electrocutes through his eyes and surges down to his toes. Luckily, he stays conscious and once the pain subsides to an ache, he turns to face the water sprinkling from the showerhead. Blood streaming from his nose, he works on rinsing it away, scrubbing at the dried, sticky bits.

Zoro showers quickly, needing to tape his nose before it goes crooked again. Turning off the water, he pulls back the curtain and steps out, sopping wet. Can't waste time drying. Patting his face gently with his towel, he wipes away the last trickles of blood. Tape already set out on the counter, he tears off a piece, using his free hand to move his nose to the right position. Fitting it correctly, he tapes it off and starts drying the rest of his body. Finished, he throws his towel on the puddle of water his dripping created.

Not bothering to get dressed, Zoro turns off all the lights and climbs into bed, face throbbing and swelling. Cheap hit. Staring at the dark ceiling, he mentally re-watches the reel tape of that night so long ago, reminding himself exactly why all of this is worth it. Why he can't stop what he does, no matter what. With hardened resolve, he allows himself to sleep, the unspoken promise resting on his lips.

Darkness.

It surrounds him. Pitch black. Whether his eyes are opened or closed, it doesn't matter. No windows, no glow under the door, nothing. Why doesn't that bastard just leave the light on?

Running his tongue along his teeth, Sanji frowns, disgusted. Been days since he brushed them. Tongue isn't much better, either. Feels fuzzy, the taste of junk food and barbeque chips still resting on it from nights before.

Turning his head he winces, his neck sore from the night before. Even though he can't see himself, he's certain there are bruises speckling his skin. Most likely in the shape of two large hands. Anger, disappointment, defeat. He doesn't know what the fuck to feel anymore. He's just surviving, that's all he can focus on right now.

Reaching up with shackled hands, he scratches his hair, scalp itchy from dirt and grime. Rubbing his face, he feels the dried blood that splattered onto him from Green Bastard's nose. Given the amount of blood and the crack he heard, he definitely broke it. A small smile plays at his lips; at least he has one victory to be proud of.

Roronoa.

Sanji mouths it again, trying to taste each syllable. Thinks how to spell it, picturing the letters forming in front of his face. Writing's now a luxury, so he has to settle with imagining it. Weird name. Never heard it before, no idea what origin it could have. But it's forever ingrained in his head, etched directly on his brain. That motherfucker's name is Roronoa.

Coughing, he clenches his stomach, tender in the area he got punched. Bastard's got a mean hit. He anticipated taking a hard blow or two. That was part of the plan. Didn't expect to almost get choked to death but c'est la vie.

Footsteps thud above. Must be morning. More than anything, except maybe a hot shower, he wishes he had a clock. Some way to track the time he wastes lying on this crummy mattress. Could be doing a thousand things right now but he's stuck down here, wondering when his purpose will be served.

Mind wandering back to the restaurant, he worries about Zeff's place. Old man left Sanji in charge - Patty and Carne don't know what the hell they're doing. They might know what the place meant to Zeff but they don't know how to run it correctly. Are they looking for him? Are they concerned?

The Roronoa guy seems like an awful murderer, he hasn't succeeded at a single attempt at taking Sanji's life. Here's to the small chance he fucked up in some other way and Sanji will be found. It's his only hope; he can't conceivably power himself out of this.

Swing. Tap, tap, tap. The "descent" begins; that's what Sanji calls this series of noises. Pretty soon the door will unlock and push open. Moments later, as predicted, the bastard turns the lights on, relieving Sanji of his entrapment in the dark.

Not bothering to even look up, Sanji continues staring at the grey wall. Grey, black, doesn't matter. It's all the same. By now, he has every nook and cranny of this goddamn cellar memorized.

Feeling something plop onto the foot of his mattress, Sanji turns his head slightly towards his feet, curiosity getting to the best of him. A banana and a container of yogurt. Finally, authentic food.

Sitting up, he scoots to the edge of the bed and grabs his meal, happy to have real nutrients. It's Greek yogurt too, which means he gets some protein. Pulling off the top to his yogurt, he spots a plastic spoon that was dropped with the food and digs in. After last night's sad excuse for dinner, it feels like heaven on his tongue.

Green Bastard – Roronoa – stands at the workbench shuffling through papers, back turned to Sanji. Sanji savors his yogurt, noticing the man is dressed nicer than he's seen him before, charcoal dress pants and a white and grey pinstripe shirt. Sanji looks down at his own dirty pants, tinge of jealousy that the bastard gets to wear clean clothes.

Any inklings of jealousy are quickly dismissed when the man turns around sporting two black eyes and a swollen nose. Sanji wants to laugh but knows that would be a death sentence, settling with concentrating on his banana. Still, the corners of his mouth turn up in triumph. He may be stuck down here but that broken nose is evidence of his rebellion, evidence the world will have to see.

Seeming annoyed, Roronoa grabs a plastic grocery sack he has waiting on the counter before walking closer to Sanji, bag outreached.

"Trash."

Sanji tosses his banana peel, empty yogurt container, and plastic spoon into the bag. Locating the empty chip bag and water bottle from the night before, he tosses those in too. Green Bastard's eyes are on his neck, studying him. Must be true about the bruising. Moving to the edge of the mattress, he assumes it's time for the next part of their morning routine: the bathroom. Surprisingly, the man tosses the bag of trash aside and walks over to the hose on the wall, pulling a rag out of his pocket and wetting it.

Returning, he crouches in front of Sanji, wet cloth in hand. Sanji's unsure how to react, suspicious of the man's intentions. Swiftly, Green Bastard gives Sanji's face a good wipe, trying to remove as much dirt, blood, and grime as possible. His motions are rough, scratching hard on his skin. Cold, businesslike. But still, Sanji's glad to have the mess cleaned up.

Twenty minutes later, Sanji's full morning routine is completed and he's back in his bunk, lying down, facing the wall again. No words spoken between the two, the Green Bastard leaves him alone to go do whatever the hell he does all day. His skin tingles, still able to feel the force of the man's hand wiping his face.

Zoro grimaces at his reflection in his rearview mirror. The swelling went down enough to remove the tape but he has two black eyes. Mihawk's going to be pissed. Digging through his glove compartment, he locates a pair of sunglasses. Placing them gently on his nose, he's pleased to find they cover his bruising completely.

Climbing out of his Honda, he locks up and trudges across the parking lot, bag slung over his shoulder. Despite the ache in his nose, he keeps his head down, not wanting to draw too much attention to his face. His entrance in the building goes unnoticed; security busy with the bustling visitor area. Quietly he flashes his badge in front of the access scanner, hearing the beep of approval and the door unlatch.

Making his way down the hall to the back elevators, he stops dead in his tracks, spotting Mihawk himself coming out of the men's restroom, briefcase in hand. Fuck. There's no way the man didn't spot him. Zoro casually picks back up his pace, meeting him in front of the elevator doors.

They wait in silence as the light softly dings, signaling the arrival of the elevator. Zoro steps aside for Mihawk to enter first and then follows suit, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, staring straight ahead. Mihawk selects the fourth floor and their ascension begins.

"Roronoa."

Zoro continues staring straight ahead, only nodding slightly to indicate he heard his Sergeant.

"Take those blasted things off right now, you buffoon."

Sighing, Zoro reaches up and tears off the sunglasses, allowing Mihawk to view in full horror the state of his face.

Mihawk inhales sharply, his piercing eyes inspecting Zoro's broken nose incredulously. The elevator door opens at their stop but neither man moves, tension thick around them. Finally, the Sergeant clicks his tongue and shakes his head, walking off the elevator towards his office. Zoro steps out into the hall and winces, the slam of Mihawk's office door echoing across the laminate floor. Honestly, it went better than expected.

Entering his own office, Zoro's not surprised to see Law already at his desk. The man has no life. He's sipping coffee out of his red thermos, reading notes on his computer.

Zoro mutters hello and sets his bag down. Law spins around in his chair but stops abruptly as he catches sight of Zoro's face. This song and dance again.

"Not even going to ask," Law grumbles, turning back to his computer.

"Good," Zoro responds, digging his own laptop out of his bag and setting it up on his desk.

Mihawk walks into their office, eyeglasses sitting on the tip of his nose, looking over a case file in hand. "All right, Trafalgar, you're with me," he delivers a sharp look to Zoro, "Don't get comfortable. Go seek medical treatment, and psychiatric while you're at it."

"What the fuck, Mihawk?" Zoro rumbles, slamming his computer closed.

"You have the audacity to come to my office looking like you just got out of a bar fight and then dare question my orders?" Mihawk barks out, intensely glaring at Zoro.

Zoro crosses his arms and glances at Law, who is still staring at his computer screen, obviously not wanting to get involved.

"Doctor's note required. I will not have you compromising our work with your stupidity. With your face like that, how am I to trust you don't have a concussion or worse?"

"Fine," Zoro concedes, shoving his laptop back into his bag and shouldering it irritably.

Minutes later, he's whipping out of the parking lot, undoing the top buttons of his shirt. Fucking prick.

Cell phone in hand, he locates Chopper's number and calls, trying to keep his eyes on the traffic. Hopefully the kid isn't in class.

"Hello?"

"Need a doctor's note."

"I'm not a doctor!"

Zoro huffs, aggravated at the situation, "Need it for work."

"Have you ever thought about going to an actual doctor?"

"That's why I'm coming to you," Zoro smiles, squinting at the street signs. He thinks he needs to take a left at the next turn. Or maybe the one after. "You at home?"

Silence, followed by a small sigh, "Yeah, I'm home. Come on by."

Zoro ends the call and sets his phone in his cup holder, switching on his left blinker and turning down the next street, relieved to find he picked the correct one. Few miles up and he spots the entrance to the neighborhood, familiarity taking over his sense of direction. Right, left, left once more and he's pulled into the driveway of an expansive colonial home.

Tucking his phone into his pocket, he makes his way to the front door, rapping twice on the sturdy wood. A faint voice beckons him in and he lets himself inside, greeted in the foyer by an array of potted flowers.

Zoro's always found Robin's home a bit odd, kind of like her. Old, antiquated, but different from his country house. Outside it's pristine, white, and colonial. Inside updated, modernized, and yet still warm, inviting. Overstuffed with flowers and bookcases, almost every wall is covered in decadent paintings, maps, and sculptures. Mismatched, reflective of the shockingly different personalities that reside there. Steampunk models, framed blueprints of massive ships, an array of Coca-cola collectibles weave through the barrage of foliage, history, and classicism.

"Oh my."

Zoro looks towards the kitchen to find Robin leaning against the doorway, glass of iced tea in hand. He'd forgotten she recently cut her hair, her bangs reminiscent of when they first met. She's smiling her peculiar smile, eyes admiring his face.

"The doctor will be unhappy."

Zoro shrugs and makes his way towards the kitchen. Robin's house is like a second home; so much time is spent hanging out at her place. Especially in the summer, her large pool in the back an inviting feature. Zoro suspects she picked a pool home with Luffy and Chopper in mind, although Franky seems to enjoy it too. After Memorial Day, he spends most of his free time out on the deck in a Speedo.

Brushing past Robin, he opens a cabinet, grabbing a glass and filling it with tap water.

"There's bottles in the fridge," she offers, sitting down at her table where stacks of papers wait. An archeology professor at the local college, she always seems to be surrounded with papers and books. Early twenties spent active in the field, she began teaching a couple years back.

"This is fine," he replies, gulping down his drink and rinsing out the glass. "Where's Chopper?"

"His room, I believe."

Zoro nods, leaving her behind in the kitchen and jogging up the stairs, taking two at a time. Chopper stays with Robin and Franky while he's in medical school. Former roommate of Luffy and Usopp, he complained they were just too wild to handle during finals. That's when Robin offered him room and board, free of charge. She's got a soft spot for the little guy. Four-bedroom house and no children, they have plenty of space. Zoro's glad she's taken Chopper under her wing, the kid has no parents, just his ancient grandmother, who has her hands full at her low-income clinic.

Down the hall, door's open, Zoro peeks his head inside. Situated at a wood desk is Chopper, books piled high all around him. Short and thin, standing at about 5'4'', he's endlessly teased and coddled for his small stature. Zoro's never once been to a bar where they didn't have to wait at least twenty minutes for the bouncer to scrutinize every detail of the kid's license, complete disbelief that he's twenty-two.

All these years that they've known each other, their bond has deepened, even more familial than the ones he shares with Usopp or Nami. Chopper's like a little brother, someone he mentors and protects. Hard work is how Zoro's gotten to where he is today, in life and his career. No college education, he barely made it through high school. Constantly working to prove himself to those around him. Not Chopper. He's got brains, book smarts, and goddamn he'll be successful. Zoro's personally invested in it, to such a degree that he pays for part of Chopper's tuition.

"Hey there."

Chopper turns his head to greet him but the smile on his face is quickly replaced with look of shock and concern. Flying out of his seat, he grabs Zoro's arm and tugs him to the desk chair, Zoro allowing himself to be dragged across the room.

"Broken nose? Concussion? Neck injury? How did this happen? Car accident? Bar fight? Zoro, you better not have gotten into another fight…" Chopper starts panicking, a trait he's going to have to grow out of if he plans to be a pediatrician.

"Calm down. Blacked out drunk last night, dunno what happened."

Using the large bottle of hand sanitizer he has sitting on the desk, Chopper wipes down before he starts feeling Zoro's nose, his touch gentle but still causing the older man to flinch.

"Feels like a typical nasal fracture," Chopper concludes, pulling his hands away, "Trauma from below. Did you fall over and hit your face on anything? "

Zoro shrugs, "So can you give me a doctor's note? Mihawk's being a dick."

"You're lucky it isn't healing crooked, that could cause a deviated septum. Which means surgery," Chopper chides, reaching into the desk drawer and pulling out a small stack of doctor's notes he'd pilfered from his grandmother's clinic. They've had this deal for years; Chopper supplies notes as long as Zoro promises he goes to the E.R. when deemed necessary. Forgery at its finest.

"Thanks," Zoro accepts the paper, grateful to have something to give to his piece of shit boss.

Speak of the devil, his phone rings, probably Mihawk. Standing, he plucks his phone out of his pocket and checks the name on the screen. It's the other piece of shit.

"What?" he answers.

"Are you done with Tony? Need you back here," Law asks dryly, completely aware of Zoro's relationship with Chopper.

Beeping in his ear, Zoro looks at his phone and sees he has an incoming call. Mihawk.

"The hawk is calling," Zoro tells Law, using the office nickname for the Sergeant. Ending Law's call, he answers, "What?"

"Don't 'what' me, Roronoa. Have my note yet?"

"Yeah, got it right here." Zoro waves goodbye at Chopper, trudging down the hall to the stairs.

"Good. Come back to the office, we have things to discuss."

Mihawk hangs up on him before Zoro has the pleasure of doing the same.

Walking by the kitchen, Zoro pokes his head in, Robin still seated at the table grading papers. She smiles farewell before returning to her work. Zoro makes his way to the car, wondering what could be so important that both Law and Mihawk called him to return.

Back at the precinct, Zoro's surprised to discover his and Law's office empty. Moving a couple doors down, he glances in the entryway of Mihawk's office and finds Law seated in one of the chairs in front of the man's large desk.

Mihawk extends his hand out, snapping his fingers, beckoning him to pass over his doctor's note. Grumbling, Zoro digs the folded piece of paper out of his pocket and places it in the outstretched hand. After a quick glance, Mihawk seems satisfied with its contents, opening a desk drawer and tucking it away. With swift motion, he gestures for Zoro to take a seat in the chair next to Law.

Wordlessly, Zoro takes a seat, raising an eyebrow at Law, who looks irritated, his long legs crossed in front of him, foot swinging haphazardly. Then again, he always looks like that.

"I've volunteered you both to go assist on a case in Drum Municipality."

Zoro blinks. He knows the name. As a matter of fact, it's close to where Chopper's from, out in the Adirondacks.

"I don't expect you to be gone for more than a few days," Mihawk continues, "Should be an easy case, the local Sherriff's office just needs our expertise."

"When do we leave?" Zoro inquires, mind already sorting what he has to take care of at home. He has to figure something out with Sanji.

"I want you there by tomorrow morning."

Shit. That's cutting it close. Glancing at the wall clock, it's already after noon. If he had to guess, they're in for a four-hour drive and Law probably will want to get there before too late.

For some strange reason, Law is tense, his foot still swinging and his head lowered. There must be something he knows about the case that Zoro isn't aware of.

Mihawk notices this too and rolls his eyes, "Onto the smaller details, the Drum PD is willing to foot the bill for gas, a food per diem, and the hotel room. One hotel room."

Law cracks, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in his chair. "I'm not sharing a room."

Zoro agrees with the sentiment. Going out of town for work is already annoying but having to live in the same hotel room as Law would make it damn near intolerable.

"Calm down, you insufferable twat. Lieutenant Smoker is willing to pay for a second hotel room."

Tension melts from Law's stance; he looks so relieved that he doesn't even respond to Mihawk's insult. Jokes on him, Zoro would have paid for his own hotel room to get away from staying with that guy.

Mihawk hands each of them a case file, droning on about the specifics of their investigation. Zoro half listens, knowing that whatever Mihawk is saying is written down in the notes and can be read later. Keeping an eye on the clock, he mentally starts a checklist of everything he needs to do at home.

Sanji's awakened by creaking noises, blinking his eyes blearily at the Green Bastard as he walks through the door. It's strange - it doesn't feel like enough time has passed for him to be home. Usually Sanji gets two check-ins a day, morning and night. This feels midday. Even stranger, the man is hauling bags of stuff, a case of water, and oddly, a bucket.

The man leaves the door open and to Sanji's surprise, a cat peeks its head around the door, rubbing against it as it walks in. Black and white, too big to be a kitten and too small to be full-grown. It's surreal to be in the presence of another living creature besides the Green Bastard.

"Oni, what are you doin'?" Roronoa asks the cat, softness in his voice that's not been expressed before. Bending over, he pats the cat's head lightly, tender look on his face.

Sanji's honestly baffled, his demented captor, the Green Bastard, the murderous psychopath is fucking petting and talking to the cat like a gentle giant. And she loves it, rubbing against his legs, her purrs audible all the way where Sanji's sitting. Even from where he sits, Sanji can tell by the petite frame and anatomy that it's a girl.

Oni – or at least that's what Sanji thinks he heard - hops up from the floor to the workbench counter, where the man is unloading bags, food scattered across the counter like he's taking inventory.

Green Bastard hauls over the case of water, dropping it down at the foot of Sanji's bed. The bucket goes next to it. The cat jumps off the counter and follows the man across the room, stopping at the edge of Sanji's bed and tentatively sniffing the mattress. Sanji reaches his fingers out towards her but she turns away, chasing after Green Bastard as he gathers the food. The man gently scoots her out of the room with his foot and closes the door, apparently done with her distractions.

Sanji sits back, his disbelief unnoticed by Roronoa as he piles food against the wall by the head of Sanji's mattress. Sanji surveys the stack of provisions, nonperishable with the exception of some apples and bananas. Crackers, chips, nuts, peanut butter, granola. It's enough to last him a few days, a week tops. Between the food, the water, and the bucket, he can assume that the bastard's not going to be down for a while.

"You're going away."

Green Bastard ignores him, opting instead to return to the workbench and collect the bags he used to haul the food in. Sanji lies down, turning his back to the room, and closes his eyes. Sleep is the only thing he has to do. He hears the man unlock a drawer and search through it, shuffling through some papers before closing it again. Moments later, the door's slammed and locked, the sounds of his footsteps ascending, leaving Sanji completely alone once more.

Upstairs, Zoro finishes packing his duffle and workbag. Buried deep in the folds of his clothes are two case files, exact replicas of the originals housed back at the station. One for Crocodile, the other labeled Sanji Black. Time away means getting work done.

Oni lies on the bed, giving him grief for having to leave her. Cats always seem to know. Astute. Something Zoro appreciates. Reaching over, he tickles her chin apologetically, a small nip at his fingers indicating she's not quite ready to forgive him yet.

Bottomless food and water dispensers' set up in the kitchen, Zoro's got everything prepared for Oni. No one else has a key to his house but she'll be fine until he's returned. Bags slung over shoulder, he exits his home, making sure to lock the door before heading to his car.

Luggage shoved in the back, Zoro starts the engine and reverses out of the driveway, turning towards the city to pick up Law. They should be able to make it to the highway before rush hour traffic.

Half an hour or so and Zoro's parked in front of Law's apartment complex. He walks up two flights of stairs to the man's third floor unit and knocks. Door opens, Law already turned back to the space, leaving Zoro in the entryway. Entering, Zoro glances around, stacks of boxes full of case files, paperwork, and books are the only clutter in the empty space. A table with two chairs in the kitchen, a sofa in the living room, small TV. Following Law to the bedroom, he watches as the man pulls a jacket out of the closet and folds it neatly into his suitcase. Mattress on the floor, small dresser, and more piles of papers. Textbook definition of workaholic.

Zoro rattles the keys in his shorts pocket, having changed into something comfortable for their drive. Law's done the same, jeans and a black t-shirt, tattoos on full display, an uncommon occurrence for him since he's usually in work clothes. A white and black knit cap is on his head, fucking stupid considering it's June.

Law zips up his suitcase, nodding towards the door. Zoro walks to the living room, Law trailing behind, stopping to pick up his workbag from his table. Lights off and door locked, they're on their way down the stairs to Zoro's SUV. Bags loaded in the back, they climb in, Law immediately snatching Zoro's GPS to tap in the address.

"This," he says with a smirk, holding up the small gadget, "is the only reason I agreed to ride with you."

"Shut up," Zoro grumbles, leaving the apartment's parking lot and turning onto the main road.

"Should've went left," Law chastises.

"Not my fault. Streets don't make sense downtown."

Law hums in response, staring out the window as Zoro manages to u-turn and head in the correct direction. They drive in amicable silence, quickly making their way out of the city and onto the open road. The GPS reads a little under four hours until they reach their destination.

"What happened to your face?" Law breaks their peace.

"Dunno," Zoro shifts in his seat, only keeping his left hand on the wheel, right elbow leaning on the center console. "Too drunk to remember."

"You did drink a lot," Law agrees, "but what kind of idiot breaks their own nose while drunk?"

"Drunken stumbling is a thing. At least I didn't puke in the bushes."

"Must've ordered me a double when you went to the bar," Law accuses, crossing his arms.

"Probably was the Coke Zero. Shit's nasty, full of chemicals."

Law shrugs, ignoring the comment. "Can't believe he thought you'd get along with that freak."

Zoro smirks, giving Law a sidelong glance. Arms crossed, staring out the window, Zoro can tell he's still irritated by the night before. Doesn't surprise him, the guy's pretty good at holding grudges.

"Wasn't Luffy's fault, although he is a moron," Zoro comments, keeping focused straight ahead. There's no response so he continues, "Can't tell me you weren't proud of yourself for that little stunt."

This earns a small snort, "Really scared that guy off, huh?"

"He probably thought he was next. Would scare me off, too."

Law chuckles, "Heard Nami talking about some friend of hers. Keep your ears open for more dinner invitations."

Zoro groans, lifting his right hand to rub his scarred eye, "They should stop."

"Your friends are an odd bunch," Law states as if he's not friends with them all as well, "but they're good people."

Zoro nods, aware how weighty that comment is coming from Law. Mihawk warned him when he joined on as a detective that Law came from a hard background - gangs, betrayal, violence. He's noticed time and time again it's hard for the other man to connect with people. When he got close with Luffy, Zoro was happy for him, knowing firsthand the positive influence Luffy has on those around him.

Reaching over, Zoro turns on the radio, fumbling through the stations. Law pulls out his phone, tapping away on the screen. Content with what he's found, Zoro sits back and re-focuses on driving.

"Why do we have to listen to this old shit?" Law complains, still staring down at his phone.

"My car, my music."

Most of the ride is spent without conversation, only the radio and the periodic directions from the GPS filling the air. By the time they reach the small town of Drum Municipality, it's dark out and Zoro's stomach is growling.

Spotting a Subway sign in the distance, he turns to Law and jokes, "Wanna get sandwiches?"

Law lifts his head from his phone, face scrunched in disgust, "Fuck you."

Zoro laughs as they drive by the sub place, Law hitting him in the shoulder.

The hotel isn't hard to find, there's only a handful in the area. Parking in a spot out front, Zoro's glad to get out of the car and stretch. Gathering their luggage from the back, they walk into the hotel lobby, greeted by a bored-looking girl behind the counter.

Without lifting her head from the book lying on the counter, she asks, "Name?"

"Law Trafalgar."

Heavy sigh, she closes her book and looks at him expectantly.

"T-R-A-F-A-L-G-A-R."

"And your first?"

"Law. Like Law & Order. L-A-W."

Zoro raises an eyebrow at this. Typing into the computer, the girl finds his reservation, handing him a room key. Zoro hands her his driver's license to expedite the process. Swiftly checked in, they're debriefed about the hotel's free continental breakfast and haphazardly pointed in the direction of the elevators.

Muttering thanks, they make their way down the hall, both ignoring the elevators for the stairs. On the second floor they easily find their rooms, right across the hall from each other. Law says goodnight, assuring Zoro he's not hungry, before entering his hotel room, immediately pausing in the doorway to put the Do Not Disturb sign on his door.

Zoro shakes his head and enters his own room, flipping on the switch to fill the space with dim light. Everything is a burnt orange, the blankets, the curtains, the carpet. Small double bed, dresser, TV, and a desk – every hotel room is the same. Chucking his bags onto the bed, he pulls back the curtains, glancing out the window to see if he can find a corner store nearby. Spotting a small gas station within walking distance, he tucks his room key into his wallet and makes his way out into the night.

Twenty minutes later, he's back in his room, six-pack of beer and a bag of snacks in hand. Pouring out his bags, he locates his laptop and the two case files he'd hidden, setting them out on the desk. Beer opened, piece of jerky in mouth, he boots up his computer, fingers tapping on his case files as it loads. Looking between the two manila folders, he mentally debates which one to pick up first.

Tracing his thumb along the edge of the file, Zoro opens the front cover, crime scene photos right on top. Pushing those aside, he locates what he needed, a thin disk. Opening his computer drive, he slides the disk out of its case and places it in the drive, pushing it closed. Whirring sounds come from the computer before his video viewer pops up, play button ready to be pushed. Click of the mouse and the image comes to life.

Nighttime, apartment parking lot, not much activity. No cars bustling, no people walking, just lights glowing in the black and white exposure. A man appears, gangly, thin. Dark clothes, light hair, hands in pockets, shoulders shrugged. Turning towards the building, he disappears into the shadows. Fast-forwarding the video, Zoro returns to normal feedback after an hour passes on the recording. Same shrug, same walk, same man reappears from the building, stopping on the sidewalk to pull a cigarette out of his pocket. Two flicks, its lit. Raising his head to exhale, Sanji Black's grainy image completely visible, cloud of smoke trailing behind as he walks out of frame.

A/N: Thanks everyone for the support/feedback on this fic so far. I really appreciate (and try to respond to) every review. :)