Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. Or really much of anything, for that matter.

Zoro was not happy. He went back to the Sunny, an inflated and stuffed Luffy in tow, planning to make Sanji a cup of tea and then train until nightfall. But when he went into the galley, he found out it wasn't necessary to bring Sanji anything, because Sanji was already in the kitchen. Standing. And cooking, of all things.

"What the hell are you doing?" he insisted.

Sanji didn't even look up from the vegetables he was chopping. "I know you're a little slow, marimo, but I think it's pretty clear that I'm making dinner."

"I can see that," Zoro said. "But what I don't understand is why. You're injured. That means you should be laying down. Where's Chopper? Did he approve this?"

The cook winced. "Uh, no. I sort of lured him to the upper deck with some cotton candy and left him up there. He doesn't know."

Zoro turned, but Sanji stopped him, saying, "Please don't, it's almost ready, there's no point now. Besides," he narrowed his eyes at his crew mate. "Who are you to say I'm moving around too early? You train the next day with wounds that would kill a normal human being."

This statement made Zoro uncomfortable. He recalled what Sanji had asked him yesterday, asking if he really thought the cook was that weak. He didn't want to tread on the man's pride by holding him to a standard that he did not respect for himself. On the other hand, he wanted the cook healed as soon as possible. "That may be true, but you shouldn't follow my shitty example. Besides, it's not as if we all can't cook for ourselves. Even Luffy can roast meat on a spit."

Sanji sighed, flipping some stir fry that was in an oversized frying pan, the aroma of sizzling juices permeating the air of the room. "You make it sound like you guys don't even need me."

Zoro cursed. This was getting ridiculous. He pulled the three swords from his haramaki, sheaths and all, and dumped them on the table. Sanji watched him curiously, but did not move from his spot in front of the stove. With a purpose, the swordsman strode to the cook, steeled himself, and then with all his might shoved the cook up against the far wall, pinning him to it.

Sanji growled down at him. "You bastard, I'm cooking, it'll burn. And that fucking hurts."

"Yeah," Zoro grunted. "I'm sure it does, you happen to have a gash across your fucking back, you idiot cook. Now listen and stop being a bitchy little girl about it. This crew needs you Sanji, probably more than we need anybody else. Except for Nami, we didn't even know what scurvy was until you came aboard. If you think we'll survive without you, you're wrong."

He removed his hands that had been restraining the cook and set him down lightly on the floorboards, adding, "I know for sure I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't what?" the cook asked.

"Survive without you."

Sanji stared at him oddly again, the same look he'd been getting a lot lately - searching his face for hints of a lie, hints that he was just pulling Sanji's leg. But this time, perhaps for the first time since he came here, he felt as though Sanji was really seeing him. He stayed still as the cook's eyes left his face and lingered down his body and then back up again.

"Food's burning, cook," Zoro said smugly, trying to swallow his smile. The cook jumped and cursed, returning the stove to save the meal, which he managed. Feeling accomplished enough for the day, Zoro left the injured man to his own devices, fetching some weights and taking out his sexual frustration on all the other muscles in his body.

It was less than an hour later that the cook called him down to dinner, and he came, a sheen of sweat still on his skin, a faint panting hiding in his breath. As he sat down, he listened to the justified nagging of the doctor, who had discovered he had been duped, but remained silent. The rest of the crew joined them in short order, and after both Nami and Robin had been served, Zoro began to eat.

Although dinner was no different from the usual affair, Zoro couldn't help but notice the lingering gazes that fell on him from the cook. When Sanji set his plate in front of Zoro, he paused, his steady hand hovering for a moment by the swordsman's side. When he refilled his glass, he kept stealing looks at the green-haired man's meditative face. Unsure whether to find these signals disconcerting or encouraging, Zoro resolved to simply feel frustrated, since with Sanji's eyes directed at him far more often, Zoro was unable to steal furtive, less innocent glances himself.

After the crew finished their meals and the cook began cleaning up, Zoro remained where he was, picking up dishes behind the cook until Sanji shooed him away, saying he was doing it all wrong. Instead of leaving the galley, Zoro fetched the newspaper Nami had left on the table, and after a bit of fumbling through his things, he was able to procure the reading glasses he sometimes used, and began to read.

All in all, it was a show. Zoro barely understood the news of this world, and he could honestly care less about the news from New York Times, let alone the Grand Line Times. But he dutifully read on, flipping pages and glancing over the brim occasionally to see that the cook was doing the same, craning his neck over his shoulder as he scrubbed dishes half-heartedly.

Eventually, the cook snapped first, as Zoro knew he would. "Reading the newspaper, marimo, really? " he asked incredulously, breaking the tense silence.

"Well," Zoro said, flipping the page. "I'm not about to read a medical textbook or one of those monstrous tomes in Robin's library." He bit back a yawn that was threatening to rise in his throat. "Or one of the witch's navigation manuals."

"Oi," Sanji said, flicking a warning bit of soapy water at him. "Don't insult Nami-swan like that." He set another dish on the drying rack. "I just don't understand how you have no respect for women."

Zoro set the paper down, folding his hands on top of it. "We just have very different views of women, cook, it's not that I don't respect them."

Sanji turned off the water and faced Zoro, wiping his hands on his apron. "Really?" his tone was dripping with sarcasm. "Enlighten me."

The swordsman knew that Sanji would not understand, because it was something the two of them had never agreed on in all their years of knowing each other, but it didn't stop him from trying once and a while. "I view women as equals. I feel it would insult their abilities to treat them any differently than men, for better or for worse."

There it was, the faint hint of anger, already rising as the cook cracked his knuckles while clenching his fists. "But women should be treated differently," he insisted, "like the delicate flowers that they are, rare and precious -"

Zoro snorted. "I have yet to meet a women who is truly a delicate flower. As you know, both Nami and Robin can hold their own in battle."

Sanji stuttered. "O-of course, but still, it's a man's duty to protect a lady..."

"It's my duty to protect my nakama," Zoro said. "Man or woman or...reindeer. Or skeleton. Or cyborg."

The cook chuckled dryly. "Yeah, they make it complicated, don't they? Luffy doesn't pick up the most normal people." His anger seemed to have dissipated, which meant that the fight was avoided, and he had simply agreed to disagree with the swordsman. As he turned back to his dishes, he teased, "Still, I don't see you catching many women with that attitude, marimo-kun."

Zoro lowered his reading glasses to better glare at Sanji. "I've had my fair share," he said. "And I'm not adverse to the other type, either."

Here it was. Sanji's reaction to the first truth Zoro was prepared to drop at this point. As expected, the man dropped the plate he was washing in the soapy water, which splashed up all over his shirt. He frantically grabbed a towel to soak it up. Rubbing at the wet stain, he turned to Zoro and asked, "What?" It was clear he believed he hadn't head the swordsman properly, or perhaps had drawn the wrong conclusion from his words.

"I told you I treat men and women as equals," Zoro said, still looking at the cook over the brim of his reading glasses. "I mean that in every sense of equality."

"Y-y-you're..." Sanji's mouth tripped over the word. "You're gay?"

Zoro merely raised his eyebrows. "I prefer the term bisexual."

It was always interesting to watch the opposite party adjust to the news. First, the moment of shock that ran across their face, and then the blank expression as they realized how awful they must look. He watched as Sanji again looked for signs of a joke, and then when he found none, began to formulate the proper response, picking all the words in his head carefully, afraid to offend, afraid to entice unwanted actions, afraid of the situation going sour. Zoro waited patiently, glancing down at the newspaper's cover page for a moment, allowing the man some privacy in his thoughts, seeing as Sanji's facial expression were far too easy for him to read.

"I'm still kicking your ass when you disrespect the ladies," Sanji finally said.

Zoro laughed and quickly found Sanji laughing with him. The palpable tension in the room had been alleviated, much to the pirates' delight, and the camaraderie between them had survived the storm of controversial truths undamaged. Instead of returning to dishwashing, Sanji sat down on the opposite side of the table from Zoro, his laughter eventually tapering off to chuckles and then ending.

"Does anybody else know?" Sanji asked.

Zoro shrugged. "I never told anybody, never had a reason to. I'm sure Robin knows, since she seems to know everything. It's not meant to be a secret, though, or anything like that."

"Hm," Sanji said. "So you...came out to me?"

"Don't feel special, damn cook," Zoro snapped. "It's just because the topic came up."

"Do I know this where you come from, too?" Sanji asked.

Zoro felt tempted to say all kinds of perverted things in response, but he settled with a nod, not trusting himself to even open his mouth. After this, silence fell between them. It wasn't as long as before, but Zoro was terrified that this question would spark a new line of questions, like asking if he had a boyfriend, asking what his name was, and all sorts of things he couldn't bring himself to answer. So instead, he reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a folded up poster.

He flourished it open in front of the cook's face with a flick of the wrist. "So," he said, "I found this today."

The poster he was holding was immediately ripped from his hand and then torn in two. The pieces were already on the ground underneath Sanji's unrelenting loafers, beating the paper until it was shreds. It had been Sanji's wanted poster. "Bastard," Sanji cursed. "I don't want to see that bloody thing on this ship!"

Zoro grinned. "Why not?" he teased, and then motioned to the shredded papers. "But it was clever of them to name you Blackleg Sanji. A play on your last name, I'm guessing?"

Sanji looked up from his fuming over the poster. "What?"

"Your last name," Zoro repeated. "Noir. Sanji Noir. Noir means black in french, right?"

The cook just looked at Zoro, the cigarette in his hand completely forgotten. "How did you know that?"

"The french bit or the last name bit?"

The remark made the cook scoff, but it did also encourage him back into movement, as he went to the kitchen and fetched a broom, sweeping up the scraps of demolished wanted poster into a dustpan. "You know which one." He leaned on the broom, looking off into the distance. "I haven't heard that name in years."

"I'm sorry," Zoro said. "I know you always hated your last name, and I guess here, with the life of the pirate, you could leave it behind you. But in New York you have licenses and social security cards, so there was no way you could ditch it."

Sanji picked up the dustpan, still not meeting Zoro's eye, and casually tossed the collected pieces in the trash. "That sucks," he commented.

"Yeah," the swordsman agreed. "You always said you hated carrying the name of that man."

The cook relit his cigarette and stood in front of the piles of unwashed dishes, but made no move to pick one up. "So you know?" he asked softly.

Zoro nodded, although the man could not see him. "About your father? Yeah. I guess it's the same sad story here?"

Sanji's hands gripped the counter. He let out a heavy cloud of smoke. "Drunkard beat and raped my mom to death one night right before my eyes?" he asked in a dead voice. "That sad story?"

"Yeah."

The cook slammed his fist on the counter. "Fucking disgusting that his blood runs in my veins." He raised a hand and roughly massaged the bridge of his nose. "Because of him I still can't - I still can't -"

"Touch a women like that?" Zoro finished for him. "I know."

Sanji whipped around, his eyes wild with hurt. "How the fuck do you know all this?" he screamed, brandishing a fist at Zoro from across the room. Zoro did not rise from his seat to the challenge.

"You told me," he explained. "How else?"

"But why?" asked the cook. "I don't want anyone to know."

Zoro sighed, leaning back in his chair. He did not know why, but he felt slightly defeated. "I guess...you trusted me. You knew I'd care."

And then he knew why he felt defeated when he saw the cook's reaction. He was fuming, legs spread in fighting stance, hands gripping his wet stained dress shirt, eyebrows low and tightly twisted. "Finish the fucking dishes," he said, spit flying from his mouth as he talked. "And don't breath a word to anybody." He raised a knee threateningly. "Anybody, you got that?"

Once Zoro had nodded his consent, the cook ripped out of the galley much faster than his injury should have allowed, slamming the door shut behind him. Taking off his glasses, Zoro set them down gently atop the paper and moved to the sink, looking at all the dishes, before sinking his hands in the soapy water and beginning the tedious task.

As he washed, he thought, thinking about how well Sanji had taken to his sexuality, and how badly Sanji had reacted to Zoro's knowledge of his past. It made sense, since after all it had taken Sanji quite a long time into their relationship for him to reveal this painful side of his life, a truth he had never told anybody, not even his uncle Zeff. Actually, it had only come up because when they were planning their marriage and the things that came with it, Sanji had surprised Zoro by asking him if he could have his last name. He had said that he wanted to carry the name of a man he respected, and Zoro had conceded after hearing his tale.

He smiled gently as he recalled how often he teased the man, calling him Mrs. Roronoa until the blond was fit to burst with rage. But in recent months, the cook had devised the recipe for sweeter revenge than kicks and insults. He had stopped using this unfavored nickname the very first time Sanji had responded by swirling over to him with hearts in his eyes, asking what his dear marimo-chwan could desire from him. The bile that Zoro had to swallow that time, and at the memory of it, was enough to make him regret ever teasing his wily husband.

ZOSAN

It was early the next morning when Zoro left to head back to the town to see the tailor. Regardless of the time he left, he did not reach the street the tailor was on until afternoon, walking helplessly around the winding paths of the city, unsure of where he was or where exactly he was going, but trusting he would stumble upon his destination eventually, and he did.

As soon as Zoro entered the shop, the tailor's eyes appeared to brighten at the sight of him. "My desperate client!" he greeted.

"Oi," Zoro said. "I'm not desperate."

The tailor waved his hand dismissively. "Sure, sure," he murmured. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. I'll go get the shirt, I think you'll like it." He took off into a room in the back and Zoro waited with his hands on the hilts of his swords, glancing around the seedy shop nervously, as though he was afraid to be caught in here.

The man returned in due time, brandishing a beautiful blue dress shirt draped on a wooden hanger, perfectly crisp and cut. "Bring it into the light," Zoro ordered, coming closer to see it better. As the tailor complied, he studied the new hue of the material and smiled softly. It was a bright and vibrant blue, the exact shade of the cook's eyes, like both the sea and the sky. It was a color Zoro had come to associate with home.

"Perfect," he allowed himself to tell the tailor, who seemed pleased at this response.

"I thought so." He hung the shirt up on the rack next to him and leaned on the counter, pulling lightly on the measuring tape that was round his neck like a scarf. "So how is your little romance going, swordsman-san?"

"None of your business," Zoro growled, pulling the proper amount of bills from his pocket and slamming them on the table. "Stop asking question and just do your job, old man."

The tailor collected the money, completely unfazed by the anger gleaming in Zoro's eyes. "Have you thought of how you are going to break this suit in?"

"Eh?" Zoro raised an eyebrow.

Sighing, the tailor sat down and rubbed his temples. "Oh, kids nowadays," he murmured to himself, and then looking up, he said to Zoro, "You can't just buy a suit and give it to him with him having no occasion to wear it to. You have to break it in with a night on the town or something." He tapped the counter insistently. "It just wouldn't be special otherwise."

"I'm not taking him on a date!" Zoro barked.

"Then you must not want to get laid," the tailor said with a wry smile twisting the wrinkles on his face. Zoro cursed at him. Damn old man was right. The tailor noted Zoro's frustration with sick satisfaction. "But don't think I won't help a fellow man in need. Want some advice, kid?"

"No," Zoro said flatly. He made no move to leave the shop.

The man across from him laughed. "Tell him to join you for drinks," he suggested. "Then take him out to a place just around the block from here, it's called The Blue Bell, they have excellent service and quite the menu." He brushed his hand down the blue shirt he had just shown Zoro contemplatively. "I'm sure any man who appreciates fine tailoring will appreciate fine dining just the same."

Zoro considered it. He was sure he could talk the crew into insisting Sanji take a night off from cooking with his injury and treat him to dinner on the town, even pass it off as him trying to repay his debt for the injury Sanji took for him. Still... "It's way to forward," Zoro said aloud.

The tailor pointed at Zoro's three swords. "I've heard many things about you, Roronoa Zoro, but never did they say you were a coward."

"You knew who I was!" Zoro yelled. The tailor gave a deadpan look at his green hair and three swords strapped to his waist, which caused the swordsman to shrug. Okay, perhaps it was a given. "And I'm no fucking coward, old man, I don't need to prove it to you, though."

"Didn't expect you to," he replied. "But on top of that, you're a pirate. So do what pirates do."

"What's that?"

"Take what you want."

Zoro nodded at the tailor solemnly, removing his hands from their rest atop his swords, and bowed slightly to the older man before muttering, "Thank you for your advice," and taking his leave from the shop. As much as he detested the nosy tailor, he had been right about everything so far. And so what if it was too forward and daring? That was Zoro's style, and he also wouldn't want to give his Sanji anything less than the best treatment. After all, it was sort of nice to have a second chance to try to catch the blond the right way this time around.

His determination renewed, Zoro began to walk with a purpose back toward the ship, until a voice called out to him from the end of the street - "Oi, Zoro! Zoro!"

The swordsman turned to see their resident sniper waving at him, and the lanky man pointed the opposite way from the direction Zoro was heading. "If you're going back to the ship," Usopp called. "It's that way, man!"

"I knew that!" Zoro snapped, and took off in the direction Usopp indicated, ignoring the liar's jeering laughter that was coming from behind him. How they all survived in this world without GPS or navigation on their smart phones was beyond Zoro. Not that his state of the art navigation system had ever helped him much. It was why he stuck to the same routes as always in the city, and avoided the confusing subway lines like the plague.

When the swordsman eventually got back to the ship, it appeared that everybody was still out for the day, except for the shitty cook, who was actually doing what he was supposed to be doing and resting for the time being. After checking on the sleeping figure of the cook, allowing his eyes to study his peaceful for a second more than would be allowed regularly, Zoro headed up to the crow's nest and began to train. As he lifted weights, his mind cleared and his fears of Sanji's rejection dissapated. He would not allow himself to fail in a battle and he was not about to allow himself to loose this man.

Zoro was so enrapt in his training that his sensory abilities, completely relaxed in the safety of the ship, did not capture the sound of somebody entering the crow's nest behind him and slowly sliding until the intruder was within attacking range. Zoro continued to lift weights, sweat dripping down his bare back, as the intruder watched and planned their next more leisurely, the swordsman completely oblivious until a wild kick came raining down from above.

"Shit!" Zoro cursed, dropping his weights and grabbing his head, whipping around to see who had attacked him and caused such serious pain to be ringing through his skull at the moment. Sure enough, it was the cook, holding a full mug in one hand and a plate of snacks in the other. He wasn't grinning, but he wasn't scowling either.

"Figured you'd want a snack," the cook said, offering the food. In reality, Zoro saw right through the motion. It was an apology for his overreaction yesterday. The swordsman made eye contact with the blond so it was clear he understood the ramifications of his actions, taking both the food and the apology in stride.

"I'm glad you didn't come all the way up here just to kick me, shitty cook," Zoro said, taking a hearty gulp from the ale and biting into one of the appetizer-sized snacks. It was refreshing and delicious. Sometimes Zoro forgot how spoiled he was with this man's cooking.

"I can kick you whenever I want, marimo, don't put it past me." Sanji sat down on the bench and lit up a cigarette, watching the swordsman eat. As he continued eating, Zoro decided that perhaps training was done for the day, so he pulled his shirt back on, a button down striped t-shirt that he left open. But as the swordsman was cooling down, it appeared the cook was heating up, due to the humid air condensed in the small room. He took off his jacket and unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt, loosening his tie to hang lightly around his neck.

Trying his hardest not to stare lustily, Zoro concentrated on his meal, until he felt the odd sense of being watched wash over him. He looked up and found that the watcher was, in fact, the present cook in the room, his eyes again lingering over Zoro as they had done last night at dinner. Not just his face, but down his chest and abs, watching his arms as they lifted his glass to his lips. As slow realization dawned on the swordsman, he smiled to himself.

"Like what you see, love cook?" he teased.

Sanji nearly jumped out of his chair, and a violent and vivid blush rose immediately to his cheeks. "W-what the fuck, marimo? I'm not like you. Don't go getting thoughts in you head."

"Yeah," Zoro murmured huskily. He set down his mug of ale and stood up, taking a few slow-moving steps toward Sanji. He approached him as if trying to catch an animal, and Sanji sat still like a deer caught in the headlights as Zoro took another few steps closer to him. The swordsman distracted him with words, saying, "I know you weren't looking at me, cook, don't worry."

Once he had reached the blond, who was backing up against the wall but not moving from his seat, Zoro kneeled down on one knee in front of him, and slowly reached his hand up from below, never touching Sanji but allowing it to hover just inches above his skin so the man was alit with goosebumps. "Don't mind me," Zoro whispered, his fingers gently taking Sanji's cigarette in his hand. He took it from the cook's mouth and leaned forward. The cook leaned in as well, his lips still parted, his eyes wide and anxious.

The swordsman took the smoke and placed it between his own lips, taking a small drag. He exhaled in Sanji's expectant face, who blinked and teared up slightly at the wisps of smoke. "I just wanted a drag," Zoro said, placing the cigarette back between the man's lips, the tension between them strung to its sharpest point. The swordsman felt blood rushing toward his groin, begging him to incite his muscles into action, to pin the clearly willing man before him to the wall and take him like he had never taken him before.

But he ignored this desire. It was too soon, the cook would be swift to deny him, despite his curious stature at the moment. So with the acute pain of ripping oneself from temptation, Zoro pressed down on his one knee and rose to stand and leave the crow's nest, never glancing behind him, even though he could hear the out of pace breathing of the cook from behind him.

As he closed the door to the nest, Zoro listened before making his way down the mast and rigging. He heard a low, baritone groan of frustration. And then, in a broken voice that he felt guilty for eavesdropping on, he heard the cook chaste himself, saying, "I need to keep my hormones in check. I'm going fucking crazy, that shitty swordsman..."

Swallowing his laughter, Zoro began his descent to the deck below, leaving Sanji to his thoughts. He knew the man was frustrated with himself and his sexual desires that had likely gone unfulfilled for a while, but those hormones would prove Zoro's most useful ally, especially since he had learned over the years exactly how to break down the man defenses, one by one. He knew just what to say and just where to touch, and he was going to use every weapon in his arsenal when he got his chance.

A/N: Added some Sanji headcanon about his past. Hope you liked the latest installment, and I'll be getting on the next chapter as soon as possible. Take care and read and review.