Mayor Cobra was running for reelection. Crocodile caught wind of this before anyone else and decided to show his support; Rain Dinners was going to host a party in the mayor's honor. The mayor would show up, give a speech and answer questions, and then the after party would begin to help raise interest, and donated funds, for his campaign. Crocodile chose to fund the entire thing himself.

Now Rocinante wasn't particularly interested in going. Though he could be social when he wanted to, larger parties tended to bother him and this one would probably be exceptionally intolerable. Knowing Rain Dinners in and out, he knew there would be loud music, way too many people, and of course, Crocodile himself. He wanted nothing more than to stay home and spend time with Law. But, as it always was, work came first. Law was going to spend the night with Bellemere, Nami, and Nojiko for an in-house Disney movie marathon.

Thankfully, the crocodile keepers weren't required to do anything work related; the heavy burden of working the floor was placed on the kitchen staff instead. Rocinante felt out of place all dressed up, however, as it had been an awfully long time since he last wore his nice suit. It didn't fit properly anymore, stretching tightly or sagging loosely in just the right way to make moving uncomfortable. He ended up tugging on it every few minutes and squirming awkwardly in his chair while Cobra gave his speech. Being in such tight clothes felt claustrophobic.

The business end of the night faded into the question and answer segment, which soon gave way to the party element. Crocodile had hired some live music to perform, and the guests quickly began to mingle about. Rocinante found a comfortable corner near the open bar to hide himself. It was still noisy and crowded, but it felt a little better.

Maybe...if he snuck away while everyone was distracted…

"Now what are you doing here all alone in the corner here, hmm?"

Rocinante flinched as Bon Clay approached him, looking quizzical. Rocinante smiled awkwardly at him. "Ah, well," Rocinante said. "I'm not really into parties all that much."

"Don't joke aroooound! You came out here, you might as well have a little fun, riiight?" Bon Clay said with a grin. Rocinante shrugged. "Why don't you go out and mingle a little? It can't be all that fun sitting here in the corner."

"Well, I…"

Before he could formulate a good excuse, Bon Clay grabbed his shoulder and led him away from the corner, giving him a confident shove toward the crowd. He looked back at Bon Clay nervously, but Bon simply gave him a thumbs up. With a sigh, he walked onward.

The majority of the people here were probably from Alabasta, and for that reason he didn't recognize any of them. The few coworkers he caught wandering around, laughing and joking-and drinking and stuffing their faces at the free buffet-didn't mean much to him in the way of conversation. He ignored them. Occasionally, he bumped into someone, or stumbled, or got a nasty look from the owner of a foot he stepped on. He was too clumsy for his own damn good.

Eventually he found an empty table to sit down at-or, at least, it was empty now; someone had left a small stack of plates on it, and there were wine stains on the white tablecloth. The people around him were talking and laughing to themselves. He ended up leaning on the table as he looked around the room. Cobra, along with his daughter, was seated toward the back of the room with Crocodile. Rocinante couldn't hear what they were saying, but judging by the way the mayor was smiling, the way Crocodile was smiling, and how bored Cobra's young daughter seemed, they were having a good time. There was also a decent collection of empty wine glasses at their table...

He shifted his gaze away to look out at the dance floor, which was filled to capacity with people. Rocinante would be lying if he said that he wasn't envious of them. But he told himself, and he knew deep down, that he would only embarrass himself by going out there. So many opportunities to hurt himself, to bump into other people some more, it wasn't worth it to even try. It really wasn't.

He twirled a bit of hair between his fingers while staring at the white linen tablecloth covering the table he was seated at. It was hard not to throw the occasional glance at the shuffling feet. Everyone was so coordinated. Balanced. Careful. Precise. Even with the physical therapy, the medication, all the help, Rocinante's usual gait was still a glorified drunken stumble and he was lucky if the carpet didn't catch his toes whenever he entered a room.

Spilled drinks, tipped plates, angry, yelling voices, inevitable injury. Something would surely go terribly wrong. No, he didn't want that. He was going to sit quietly and not participate. His eyes wandered back to the floor, again.

"Well?"

A hand touched his shoulder. Rocinante turned to his right; Robin was hovering over him, a drink in her hand. How long had she been there, watching him? She was too quiet for her own good.

"No one is stopping you from going out there," Robin said with her ever-confident smile.

Rocinante looked at her for a long moment. "It's better that I don't. I'll only make a fool of myself," he said.

"Fufufu…Perhaps what you need is a steady guide, then." The comment took Rocinante by surprise. She offered a hand to him. "May I have this dance, Mr. Beans ?" she said, managing to suppress a peal of laughter.

Rocinante took her hand. "Of course, Ms. Sunday."

Robin lead him out onto the cramped dance floor with ease. They made their way slowly through the crowd, eventually finding a spot toward the back where there was a decent amount of space for them to work with. Then, she put one hand on his shoulder and another on his hip. Rocinante looked at it.

"You've danced before, haven't you?" she asked him.

"Yes, ah, but it's...it's been a while," Rocinante admitted. "To be honest, I don't really remember when the last time was."

"Oh? Then follow along after me."

She placed her hands on Rocinante and carefully guided him along to the beat of the music. It took him a moment, but soon he found his feet. Robin was fairly tall on her own, but the heels she was wearing raised her up enough that it made the height difference between her and Rocinante seem a little less extreme. They weren't at eye level, but Rocinante didn't have to strain his neck.

"Ack!" Rocinante yelped as he took a wrong step and nearly stumbled over. Robin's grip on his side prevented him from doing so, however. She looked at him curiously. "I'm...I'm alright," he said. "Just a little unsteady…"

Which turned out to be an understatement; as they continued to move around the floor, Rocinante managed to stumble over his own feet, step on several people including Robin, and nearly pull both of them to the ground. But Robin's grip was strong enough that they didn't, and it surprised him. She didn't seem bothered by his inherent clumsiness.

"Fufufu…" Robin chuckled with a smile she was only barely hiding. "Your style of dance certainly is...unique."

"I told you," Rocinante said, smiling right on back. "I have no idea what I'm doing." He averted his gaze. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," she said. "This isn't the first time I've danced with someone who had two left feet."

The night went on, the music changed, and Rocinante continued to glance toward the doors leading out of the room. Bon Clay had since gone off somewhere, nobody else seemed to be watching him. It would be a good time to slip away if he could excuse himself from Robin. But that would be...rude, wouldn't it? She seemed to be enjoying herself. He didn't want to spoil that.

"You don't want to be here, do you?" Robin spoke up, though her voice was quiet.

Rocinante shook his head. "Don't take it personally. I was thinking of leaving before you found me," he said. "If I can sneak away while everyone's distracted…I might-"

"Unfortunately, not everyone is distracted," Robin said. "You would have been discovered and caught almost immediately. And now...it would be much worse if you left now."

"What are you talking about?" Rocinante asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"The hell do you think you're doing?"

Rocinante froze and turned. Crocodile was glaring at them, though he couldn't tell exactly who it was that he'd addressed. Robin smirked, seeming unconcerned about her boss' temper.

"Hello Crocodile," Robin said. "Is something the matter?"

Crocodile said nothing, but he was still glaring at them. He looked down, at Robin's hand on Rocinante's hip as if this gesture bothered him. He swayed a little as he stood, seeming a bit off balance and out of it. Rocinante just gave him a weird look and tried to laugh awkwardly.

"I think he's had one too many drinks tonight," he said, eyeing the empty glasses that were neatly clustered together at the table where Crocodile had been sitting. "It might be a good idea to get him home before something else happens." A few other workers chuckled to themselves as they took notice of the drunken host. "There's a couch in his office, I can take him up there."

Rocinante broke away from Robin and approached Crocodile, who seemed only slightly less aggressive now. He put a hand on Crocodile's shoulder and guided him away from the dance floor gently. Surprisingly, Crocodile didn't have any complaints.

"Careful," Robin said as they left. "He's even more nasty when he's drunk." She chuckled to herself. "Fufufu...It's also important to note how crocodiles, though solitary in nature, aren't opposed to the idea of returning to old mates…"

"Shut up," Crocodile snapped. "Mind your own damn business, Sunday."

While Rocinante was curious as to what Robin meant by that, he focused instead on taking Crocodile out of the room. Before they reached the door, Crocodile became unsteady on his feet and he ended up grabbing Rocinante's shoulder for support. Rocinante had to do his damnedest not to stumble and fall.

With Crocodile's heavy body leaning into him, Rocinante had to walk slower to keep steady on his feet. Crocodile didn't seem to care, as he said nothing while they walked. They made their way down the hall, passed a few snickering employees, and made it to the elevator. Luckily for them, there was an elevator close to Crocodile's office, which made the trip that much easier.

Upon reaching the door, Crocodile fumbled with the office key, hands shaking and eyes squinting to see the tiny keyhole. Rocinante ended up opening it for him.

"I could have done it myself," Crocodile grumbled.

Rocinante took him over to the couch and set him down. Crocodile leaned up against the back and sighed, putting a hand to his forehead.

"Is there anything you need?" Rocinante asked. "Water?" Crocodile shot him an annoyed look and Rocinante put up his hands. "Just thought I'd ask. You did have a lot to drink. If you'd like to lay down..."

"I'm not sleeping on this couch," Crocodile said. "And fuck off with the nice guy routine. It's irritating." Rocinante shot him a look of surprise, as if the statement wasn't at all true and he was indeed being genuine. Crocodile didn't seem to care one way or the other. "Make yourself useful and call my chauffeur."

Rocinante nodded slowly and went to Crocodile's desk. He found the cordless phone, paused for a moment when he realized that he didn't have the number, but soon discovered Crocodile's little address and phone number book sitting out on the desk. Popping it open, he found a seemingly endless supply of numbers written down in Crocodile's fancy scrawl. The majority of names and numbers matched casino related contacts, businesses in the area, and also Mayor Cobra's...personal number. Rocinante paged through; Daz's number, Robin's work phone, several other Rain Dinners employees, and also his own number, which was circled and starred with an asterisk.

On the third page was his current driver, listed under two other crossed out names as simply "Mr. 3". But before he dialed, he turned the page. There were three more pages of numbers. Some had no name, instead just a number and a code word which was a bit shady. He glanced at Crocodile, who wasn't paying any attention to him. He carefully took a piece of paper from Crocodile's little notepad, scribbled down seven phone numbers while he quickly dialed the chauffeur's number to cover himself.

The driver was surprised to hear someone other than Crocodile using the number, but listened to Rocinante as he gave him the necessary details. The call was fairly prompt and to the point, moments later Rocinante hung up. But when he looked back over at Crocodile, Rocinante saw him lying over the couch, head on a little throw pillow, eyes closed. Rocinante huffed and smiled; so much for not sleeping on the couch. He approached Crocodile slowly and gently tapped his shoulder.

"I called your chauffeur," Rocinante said. Crocodile opened an eye. "He should be here with your ride home in around half an hour."

"Not soon enough," Crocodile said roughly. "Why didn't you tell him to get here immediately?" Rocinante flinched. "Can't do a damn thing right…"

"Do you want me to leave?" Rocinante inquired.

Crocodile's forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, as if the decision was actually difficult. Rocinante's only response was silence, which he decided was probably confirmation. It probably wasn't the best idea to leave Crocodile alone while he was that drunk, but he didn't really care all that much. If the crusty old reptile drowned in his own vomit, it was no skin off his back. He headed for the door.

"...Wait."

His hand hovered over the doorknob. He looked back at Crocodile, who had a strange look on his face. Rocinante let his hand drop to his side.

"Yes?"

"Stay," Crocodile said, gesturing for him to sit down on the floor near to him.

He did so, albeit awkwardly as he was still shocked that Crocodile had openly invited him to stay. The room was quiet enough to hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. Rocinante would occasionally glance at Crocodile, who seemed to be studying him once again. Then, Rocinante flinched. Crocodile's hand was in his hair, stroking it

"Your hair is soft," Crocodile said as if it was the first time he'd noticed.

Rocinante laughed. "You're drunk," he said.

Though it was a bit uncomfortable, Rocinante decided to forgo telling him off about it. Discussions about personal space were probably lost on him anyway. The petting continued for a couple more minutes until it finally ceased. After another minutes of waiting to be sure, Rocinante turned. Crocodile had passed out and was now sleeping soundly. Rocinante breathed a sigh of relief and got up from where he was sitting, rubbed his back, and started for the door.

But before he opened the door, he paused to look back at Crocodile. The usually grumpy, sarcastic, unfriendly man seemed so peaceful when he was asleep, so harmless. Something within Rocinante stirred a little and directed him to Crocodile's coat rack. The usual tacky green fur coat was hanging there. He took it off of the hook. Gently, he draped it over Crocodile's sleeping figure. Crocodile didn't react.

The entire walk back to the party, Rocinante's thoughts were conflicted and uncertain. Absentmindedly, he felt the paper in his pocket. Sengoku would surely want this information as soon as possible. He couldn't bother himself with other thoughts.