Sanji grumbled unpleasantly around his cigarette as he climbed out of the taxi cab parked at the curb, dragging his suitcase with him. Seriously, was every cab driver in town a foreigner or a pervert? Jesus Christ, if Sanji'd had to listen to one more, "I totally fucked this hot chick" story, he'd have smashed his foot through the goddamn plexi-glass divider and pummeled the bastard all the way to hell.

"Oi, where's my tip!" the bastard cried, fisting the wad of cash the blonde had chucked at him.

The cook was tired, sore, and in no fucking mood for this. "Listen, asshole," he growled, leaning into the open passenger window, "a tip is something you earn, not something you expect. And since I find you a repulsive swine, I didn't think you deserved anything more. But if you want a tip so bad, I'll give you one." Dramatic pause as Sanji slowly blew a stream of smoke into the car, grinning as the man coughed. "The tip is: if we ever see each other again…run. 'Cuz I'll kick your ugly fucking face in, you misogynistic shithead!"

Then Sanji spat, his lit cigarette arching gracefully through the air, before landing in the cabbie's lap. The cook grabbed up his luggage and walked up the stoop to the front door, a lightness to his step and a nasty chuckle on his lips as he listened to the shrieks of the cab driver, and the occasional blare of a horn as the poor fucker squirmed and jerked and tried to find the burning stick. The day wasn't a total loss, after all.

He stumbled up the stairs a few times and got his feet caught in some fucking pizza box, but he was too tired to care, and really, basic pollution was not something new with this place. It was a good thing he was such a witty charmer of the ladies, because he would've been mortified to bring such beauty into a pathetic slop-heap like this. Of course, he didn't often end up at their places, either, but he was sure their defenses were weakening. Baby steps, that's all it was.

Sanji fit his key in the door to his apartment, and was once more unsurprised to find it already unlocked. He'd only told Luffy to lock it at night maybe three, four thousand times, tops. How could he ever have expected it to sink into that mushy head? Despairing at the tragedy that was his life, Sanji slid the door open with his foot, pushed the suitcase into the foyer, and slid the door closed again.

He made his way wearily into his room, kicking his suitcase into a corner. And then he simply stood there, glowering at his bed. He was tired, fucking exhausted, and he knew he should get to bed, knew he had to wake his ass up at seven and go to work, even if his flight got bumped up two days ahead of schedule, 'cuz fuck knew he was the only one bringing any money into this shit hole, and the blonde swore to god he'd cut his hand off if they had to beg the lovely Vivi for some extra cash one more time, and yet….he just didn't feel like sleeping. Which, given his current condition, seemed like a pretty stupid reason not to go to sleep, but there it was: he just didn't want to.

So, with a heavy sigh, Sanji changed into some sweats, and ambled back out into the apartment, heading for the kitchen. Nothing cured insomnia like getting buzzed. And if memory served, there should still be half a bottle of Ravenswood zinfandel in the wine rack. God knows Luffy won't touch the shit, being far too young for his tastes to have matured enough to appreciate such a cultured drink. Plus Sanji would kick his ass if he even tried. The high-end booze was reserved for the one who made any fucking money, and of course the lovely ladies.

Sanji shuffled carefully into the kitchen, not wanting to turn any lights on because his eyes were finally starting to adjust to the dark. But he never stumbled in his kitchen, anyway; it was his pride, his life, his soul. Sanji knew his kitchen better than he knew the lines of his own face, and he never faltered in his domain. Although he did trip a bit getting there, stubbing his toe on the metal table that served as both kitchen counter and breakfast buffet, cursing and hobbling as he went. He gimped his way towards the wine rack Usopp had built them a few years ago, reaching out for the single bottle on the bottom rung, and he would have gotten it without incident, if a loud, violently loud noise – possibly the most heinous snore in the history of snores – hadn't torn through the apartment just then, jarring Sanji out of his stupor.

The blonde whipped back around, eyes piercing hard through the dark, staring into the living room where the noise came from. It wasn't odd at all that Luffy might be sleeping on the couch. He often passed out after playing video games all night long, hands still wrapped tightly around the controller with the T.V. blaring. Sanji had come home from work late to find the boy with his legs draped over the couch, and his face smashed into the orange carpet many, many a time. It wasn't a strange occurrence at all for Luffy to be asleep in the living room.

Except that Luffy didn't snore.

He thought for a moment that it might be Ace, but dismissed that idea immediately. Ace always slept in Luffy's bed when he was in town, and besides, if he did snore, Ace didn't snore like that. In fact, Sanji was pretty sure he'd never heard anyone snore that unbelievably loud before in his life. It sounded like shrieking banshees having a wicked chain-saw fight, and the blonde was surprised that whoever the fuck it was hadn't woken himself up with that shitty-awful racket. But the mystery man's sleeping habits were not really of Sanji's concern. His main concern at the moment was kicking a hole in the intruder's head and throwing him out the goddamn window. Luffy may be inept, but no one was breaking into Sanji Blackleg's apartment and getting away with it!

Very cautiously, he slipped back around the table, moving soundlessly across the room towards the couch, where the horrific sound was coming from. Although doing so didn't make much sense, 'cuz the stranger hadn't woken up when Sanji had stubbed his toe and started swearing, but now the cook's fighting instincts were kicking in; he was the hunter, this bastard was his prey.

Light from a half-moon outside drenched the floor boards, casting long shadows across the apartment as Sanji carefully stalked forward, the noise growing louder the nearer he got. He could see the guy, not very clearly, but it was definitely a rather large man, sprawled across the couch, asleep, with what looked like a sack strapped across his midsection, no doubt full of pilfered valuables. Anger flared in Sanji's gut; this was his fucking apartment, and it'd be a cold day in hell before he let some asshole-homeless-robber make off with his shit. With a low growl, Sanji loomed over the intruder, glaring evilly as he slowly raised his leg above his head.

This fucker was gonna die…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There wasn't much of anything that could pull Zoro from the comfortable throws of deep sleep. He often ignored pokes, jabs, punches, threats of death, loud screeching sounds, hurricanes. Nothing short of the hand of God could rouse him when Zoro did not want to be roused.

The hand of God…and apparently one devilishly-well-placed kick.

Pain ripped through his stomach like a gunshot, not quite as sharp, but definitely as debilitating. Zoro grunted, disoriented for only a second, before rolling off the couch on to his feet to better defend himself from whoever-the-fuck, or he would have, if a certain dark-haired boy hadn't wrapped himself around the swordsman's waist in the middle of the night. His legs tangled, and Zoro hit the ground with another grunt, Luffy flopping uselessly beside him. What the fuck was going on, exactly? Was someone breaking in? Well, that wasn't gonna work; Zoro just moved in, it was way too annoying to get robbed so soon. So he figured he'd just take care of this asshole without messing around. No point in waking Luffy up.

A swift jerk disengaged the rubbery limbs from his lower half, and then he was on his feet, eyes hunting in the dark for his assailant, sensing out their position, ready for the fight – and then he got kicked in the jaw. Hard. As in "knocked-off-his-feet-and-sent-flying-across-the-room" hard.

Fuck, I think that one broke something, Zoro thought, idly rubbing his face that was quickly swelling. Rapid footsteps followed him, thumping over the hardwood floor, a powerful blow careening towards him, faster than anything he'd seen out of the underground arenas. But Zoro didn't go easy on anyone, especially cowardly fuckers who attack a man unawares.

He leapt into a crouch, forearm up and already blocking the bare foot that swooped in low for another head shot. Skin and muscle collided hard, jarring, and Zoro allowed half a second of surprise at just how tough this son-of-a-bitch was before surging upward, fist connecting punishingly with an angular jaw. The attacker flung through the air and landed with a bang on the hardwood floor, coughing and swearing violently, slower to get up than Zoro had been. Oh well. His loss was Zoro's gain. The swordsman wasted no time; he was on his feet in a heartbeat, pouncing on the bastard and wrestling him to the ground, landing blow after blow against his chest and the side of his head.

He can't take much more of this, Zoro thought evilly, chuckling darkly as thin fingers gripped mercilessly at the arm holding the robber down.

No one's held out this long…no one can…

That's what he thought anyway.

Before he was sent flipping over himself by powerful legs that he'd been stupid enough to ignore.

Back slamming on the floor hard enough to knock the air out of him, Zoro choked slightly, wondering who, exactly, this jackass was. This fight was nowhere near as easy as it should have been. He was getting weak; soft, even. He had to be. There was no way this guy was good enough to actually fuck with him.

And yet, Zoro mused as the heel of foot came hurtling down on him like a scythe, this asshole's doing a great fucking job of it…

…I really don't want to have to get my swords…

A split second before the hit could crack Zoro's head open, he rolled to the left, marveling slightly when he heard the tell-tale crunch of something breaking through wood, and the venomous hiss of, "Fucker!" that followed.

Rushing forward, Zoro grabbed both of the guy's ankles and yanked them straight out from under him, tossing him flat on his back once more. Without hesitating, he launched in for another pounce, only to be stopped by those fucking legs again, bowing out and spinning like blades in a goddamned blender, two quick, painful kicks barreling into the same spot already bruising on Zoro's jaw, and he swore he saw stars on that one.

He definitely recognized the oh-so-familiar tang of blood fill is mouth.

Been a while since I tasted that…

He spat out a gob of the stuff, feeling something displaced on the left side of his face, but no time to check, 'cuz another kick was careening towards him, and this fight was starting to get to him. As he stood there, blocking those savage blows, losing ground with every one, Zoro had to admit, it'd been a while since he fought someone this good. It was exhilarating, in a way. Kind of what he figured it'd be like to fight that man again. Much more difficult, yes, but he'd be stronger by then. He'd be ready. At the moment, however, there was a bastard raining hate-fueled carnage on him, and who just so happened to have given him an attractive opening…

Zoro swung his fist hard into an unprotected gut, following it up with a fierce elbow to the back of a neck. The guy collapsed to his knees, strangling out a breathless cough, and Zoro backed up a pace, waiting for the next onslaught. His attacker raised his head carefully, wincing at the pain he no doubt felt, and in the pale moonlight falling in from the large windows behind them, Zoro could clearly see a look of anger and total confusion written across that flushed face.

He merely smirked back in challenge.

The blonde-haired man – because he was blonde, Zoro now saw – blinked, a fucking weird-ass, curled eyebrow arching in question, but in the end, the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly too, and then he was on his feet, low growl and charging Zoro fearlessly, almost eagerly.

He didn't know when exactly it happened, but at some point during this fight, it had stopped being about attacking and defending – nothing to do with anger or hatred.

Now, it was a competition. A game. Zoro's kind of game.

And for once, he actually had someone to play it with him.

This was powerful. This was intense. This was electric and addicting and something totally new, and ─

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WHEN I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!!!???"

A fist came swinging out of nowhere, Zoro saw it headed straight for the back of the robber's head, and if the other's look of shock was anything to go by, he figured there was another one aiming at him. Sure enough, a solid punch landed at the back of his skull, rattling his brain, more strength than those skinny arms should allow, and just in case his head wasn't already damaged enough, both he and the robber were sent knocking into each other, foreheads cracking together with a sickening sound.

They both fell to the floor in a heap, clutching their heads and groaning.

"Luffy, what the fuck!?" they yelled in chorus.

Then they froze. And sloooooowly turned to look at each other.

A lamp flicked on suddenly, stinging Zoro's eyes and making his pummeled skull ache unpleasantly. Footsteps walked closer, and the unmistakable, jabbering voice of Luffy met his ears.

"What the hell was going on, anyway? You were making a crazy racket!"

"Luffy, this fucker broke into the apartment and tried to rob us, 'cuz you fucking forgot to lock the door again!" the guy-who-was-a-robber-maybe spat at the dark-haired boy, rubbing at his eyes.

Zoro was starting to focus again; Luffy stood before him, arms crossed, brow comically furrowed in confusion. He was looking at Zoro's attacker, who sat hunched over on the ground a few feet away, eyes still clenched tightly shut against the intrusion of light. Blonde bangs obscured his left eye, but the other was uncovered, and decorated with what Zoro had previously assumed was a trick of the shadows – but no, this weirdo really did have the most absurd, curlicue eyebrow the swordsman had ever seen in his life.

Luffy blinked just then, face going totally blank, before he grinned widely again.

"Oi Sanji! When did you get back? I though you weren't coming home for two more days!"

Sanji…wait, wasn't that the other guy who's supposed to live here? Well, shit…Zoro thought, feeling around in his mouth to check for damage.

The blonde called Sanji just sighed, pulling a carton of cigarettes and a lighter out of…out of his pajamas? Who the fuck carries that shit in their pajamas?

He lit up and took a deep draw before saying, "Negotiations went by faster than I figured. Didn't really feel like hanging around in Phoenix any longer than I had to, so I bit the bullet and got an earlier flight." He paused, letting out another stream of smoke. "I got back about a half hour ago, when I heard some awful fucking noise in the living room and figured someone broke in. I saw that asshole sleeping on the couch," and here he jabbed his cigarette at Zoro, who merely glared back, "and figured he was robbing us. So I kicked his ass."

"Like fuck you did," the swordsman grunted, pulling out a molar that got knocked loose. "You got some lucky pot shots in 'cuz you attack a man unawares. Don't pat yourself on the back for being a goddamned coward."

Red rage stained Sanji's pale cheeks. "…the fuck did you say, asshole?"

"You heard me," Zoro pressed, a bit surprised that he was baiting this guy all over again, actually hoping for another fight.

"I'll make you eat those words, you…you…who the fuck are you, anyway?" Sanji asked, frowning harder. "Why the hell are you here?"

Luffy cackled his little triumphant cackle, grinning like a loon, and Zoro was starting to realize that's how he pretty much always looked.

"He's our new nakama! He moved in this afternoon! His name's Zoro, isn't that awesome!?"

The look on Sanji's face was pretty damn funny, Zoro had to admit; almost like the idiot couldn't decide if he was relieved, skeptical, amused…but he eventually landed on pissed off.

The blonde reared up off the floor, catching Luffy's chin in a vicious kick.

"You let some strange fucker move in, and you didn't wait for me!? Fuck it, I live here too, Luffy!" he shouted, puffing in anger.

The boy whined slightly and rubbed the spot he'd been hit. "But Sanji~~~~~! Zoro's really cool! He has green hair!"

That asshole let me move in 'cuz of my hair color!?

But when Zoro watched the boy rock back and forth on his heels, pinky shoved up his nose as though he'd already forgotten what was going on, he figured he shouldn't really be surprised.

"And does Mr. Cool-Zoro have a fucking job? Can he help with the rent? Buy groceries? Fix shit around the apartment?"

"No, but…Sanji, he has GREEN HAIR! That's AWESOME!"

"You're a dumbass!" Sanji cried, roundhousing the younger man across the room. Then he suddenly rounded on Zoro. "How'd you find out about the empty room?"

The swordsman gave thought to just not answering the bastard, 'cuz he figured pissing him off would get him another fight, which he did want, but as he idly checked his skull for dents, he remembered how fucking tired he was, and he suddenly didn't feel like fucking around. More than fighting right now, Zoro just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Ad in The Village Voice," he said, standing up and cracking his neck.

If he thought Sanji'd been pissed a few minutes ago, it was nothing compared to the demonic glare he now leveled at Luffy.

"You put an ad…in The Village Voice?" he growled.

"Well yeah. I wanted people to know we had an empty room."

"What the hell has Nami-swan said about advertising in unrespectable publications!" the blonde screamed, kicking Luffy in the head again.

The boy pouted. "She said it'll only encourage the vagu…vaguer…vagaru…uhh…"

"Vagrants?" Zoro offered, since the boy seemed to be having problems.

"Yeah!" He smiled, pointing at Zoro. "That's what Nami said! No vagrants! But Zoro's not vague. I mean, he's got green hair after all ─"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT THE GREEN HAIR!"

Zoro sighed wearily, rubbing his tired, aching eyes. This argument probably wouldn't end anytime soon. Shit. He really wanted to sleep.

"Listen, blondie," he started, silencing the screaming match for a second, "yeah the kid probably should have waited to talk to you about it, but I'm gonna live here whether you like it or not. I can find a job easy, I can do minor maintenance shit around the apartment, so why don't you quit your bitching and we'll talk about it tomorrow?"

With that, Zoro ambled over to the kitchen counter, grabbed up his duffel and sword case, and marched into his new bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving a stunned Sanji to jabber furiously at the closed door.

"Hee hee! Isn't he great, Sanji?" Luffy asked, looking proud of something.

The cook gnawed his cigarette and muttered, "Shitty marimo-head," before mule-kicking Luffy across the apartment again, and heading to his own bed.

He had to work tomorrow, goddamnit.