Author's note: Sorry, I know it's been a while, guys, but I've been crazy busy with our new addition to the household! There's nothing quite like a baby to keep you on your toes, leave you feeling extremely sleep-deprived and totally disrupt every aspect of your life; lol, I love the little munchkin, but she's made finding the time to write pretty difficult these days.

xxx

"Good morning, Kenshi-san. I trust you enjoyed your watch last night?"

The green-haired swordsman struggles to maintain his stoic expression, and he succeeds rather well, but she's had years of practice studying enemies and allies alike for signs of weakness - a practice that's saved her skin on more than one occasion - and she notes the barely perceptible twitch before he steels himself and mumbles something about watch going just fine, thank you, even if it's none of her goddamn business.

"I haven't seen Sencho-san yet this morning."

Another twitch, which he immediately covers by reaching for the nearest empty mug and firing off a disgruntled retort about not being their captain's handler, so no, he doesn't fucking know where Luffy's gone at this hour, although he's probably in bed, considering that's where most of their crewmates are to be found at five in the bloody morning.

"An astute observation," Robin replies placidly as she watches Zoro paw roughly through the bottles of alcohol on the wine rack. She takes a delicate sip of coffee. "-especially considering how exhausted you both must be feeling. I'm surprised you haven't joined him."

To her delight, he actually fumbles the selection he's just made, curses as he nearly drops it.

"Lengthy late-night watches are often unpleasantly droll and rather tedious, at best."

Her unlikely nakama's glaring at her as he slides onto the opposite bench, silently fuming and accidentally sloshing liquor onto the tablecloth as he fills his cup. Robin has the good grace not to wince, although she's positive the cook will be quite incensed at the waste. If anything, the swordsman himself looks even more perturbed, scowling at the amber puddle until Robin's starting to wonder if he's seriously considering just leaning over and slurping the alcohol off the linen.

She knows he doesn't trust her; he made that abundantly clear following her appearance on the ship, and he's been watching her like the proverbial hawk ever since the others overrode his protests and welcomed her aboard.

It's extremely likely from what she's seen, in fact, that Roronoa-san doesn't trust ANYONE.

A faint smile tugs the corners of her mouth. Well, perhaps that's not quite true.

"I can't help wondering-" she muses, carefully replacing her own mug on the table beside her elbow so she can rest her chin on laced fingers.

He glances up, somehow managing to glower and cock an eyebrow simultaneously, which makes for one of the most interesting facial tableaux she's ever seen.

"-how long have you and Sencho-san been an item?"

To Zoro's credit, he doesn't explode or inadvertently spray himself and his immediate surroundings with his drink. Instead, he's studying her cautiously while feigning indifference. Feigning badly, but feigning none the less. "What the hell makes you think that?"

"Certain... noises."

He doesn't flinch, but he can't hide the color rising in his face.

She probably shouldn't antagonize him, but-

She can afford to amuse herself. She's skilled at reading people and situations, and she knows she's not mistaken. This man doesn't trust her and would just as soon dump her over the starboard side as continue holding a conversation with her, but he won't act without his captain's say so.

"Certain noises-" she says again, favoring him with a knowing smile. "-in unrestrained and rather loud familiar voices. You're not very discreet, you know."

He's gone from merely pink to a fascinating shade of scarlet. "I- He- We don't-"

"Such flexibility. Such stamina." She traces a fingertip suggestively around the rim of her coffee mug, her voice a low purr. "A most enjoyable performance."

Zoro's staring at her, horrified yet not quite comprehending, so she makes a brief gesture and an eye blinks into existence on the tabletop between them.

The way the color drains out of his face is almost alarming in its rapidity, and he makes a strangled sound of protest in the back of his throat, which is accompanied by an audible snapping as his fingers tighten forcefully enough to break the handle clean off his tankard.

"Oh, dear. I believe Cook-san's going to be rather distressed."