236….237…

This was good.

...238…239…

The struggle. The strain. The warmth of muscles humming in exertion.

This was very good.

...240…241…

Only a few more weeks of it. Zoro was gonna miss this.

…242…243

The sudden sound of metal sliding against metal pulled his mind from the peaceful abyss only extreme exercise could achieve.

…244…245…

Hard-soled shoes klunking lightly on the wooden floor. Quiet rustle of expensive fabric. Distinct blend of cheap cologne, tobacco, and fire-grilled fine dining.

Sanji.

…246…247…

"Oi marimo, are you…what the fuck are you doing?"

…248…249…

"Training."

…250…251…

"Um…right." Brief pause.

…252…253…

Lanky shadow stretching over him. That stupid scent fucking with his concentration.

"The hell do you want, cook?"

…254…255…

"…When do you start work, again?"

…256…257…

"Next month."

The lanky shadow nodded.

…258…259…

The shadow moved then, and Zoro heard the scuffed dress shoes over the hard wood again, the sound of a jacket being draped over the arms of a chair, then cabinets opening in the kitchen.

…260…261…

Utensils clanked on the table. The refrigerator opened and closed. Pots knocked together, the stove turned on. The sounds of cooking rolled out into the foyer where Zoro kept steady count of his one-armed, inverted pushups, the noises blending with the beating of his heart and the measured breaths through his nose, lulling his mind back into its blank, steady nothingness. The calm void where he could feel his power growing, his determination sharpening to a fine edge. It was when he sank into this place that he truly knew he would be the best one day.

…278…279…

And he would be the best one day. He'd surpass that man if it killed him.

…280…281…

Nothing would get in his way. Nothing would hold him back.

…282…283…

Nothing.

"Oi dumbass, you keep glaring at the floor like that, you might set the damn wood on fire."

"Tch. Fuck off, curlicue. Leave me alone."

…284…285…

Nothing.

…286…287…

"Asshole."

…288…289…

Nothing.

…290…291…

Absolutely nothi –

….wait a minute…

"What the hell are you even doing home, shit-cook? Don't you work 'til five?"

Zoro had paused mid-pushup, head angled downward to glower questioningly at the upside-down image of the cook.

"Yeah. I usually do," he said, pouring milk into a mixing bowl, not bothering to look up.

"So what are you doing?"

"Practicing a new recipe I promised the lovely Nami."

"No, dumbass, I mean why are you back so earlier? It's not even one in the afternoon; doesn't this count as the lunch rush?"

The blonde sighed, a bit irritated, switching the stove off again, and leaning against the counter so the very top of his head was barely visible to the swordsman over the stainless steel table that separated them. A rustle then a click, and soon the scent of tobacco was sharper than before.

"Got into some trouble with the Head Chef. There was a homeless guy at the back door to the kitchen begging for scraps, and some shit-faced trainee was yelling and swinging a broom at him, telling him to beat it out of there. When I shoved him aside to give the poor guy some food, he starts picking a fight with me about giving handouts to free-loaders, so I kicked his ass into the dumpster across the alley," Sanji stopped to take another drag off his cigarette; the sound of a finger tapping agitatedly on the counter met Zoro's ears, "So then the shitty Old Man gets pissed and kicks me out into the alley too; told me to take the rest of the day off to cool down, or I'd wreck his business – tch. Just 'cuz that pansy started screaming. Not my fault the fucker couldn't take a hit."

"So what happened to the trainee?" Zoro asked, flipping out of his hand-stand, brushing his hands off on his sweat-soaked shirt before approaching the kitchen table.

"Shit-Geezer went out there and gave him a few more kicks for good measure. Then fired him."

"Sounds pretty harsh."

A single hard, blue eye leveled at him suddenly, and Zoro drew up short at the level of spite – and was that disappointment? – he saw reflected back at him. That look nailed him to the floor; his survival instincts were kicking in, and informed him that it'd be best if he didn't move any further into the blonde's space, unless he was spoiling for a fight.

Which, usually, he was.

But for some reason, a distant part of the swordsman's mind figured this wasn't something he should fuck with.

"I dunno what kind of life you've had before you moved here, jackass," Sanji started, his demeanor radiating calm danger, "but scraps of handouts are all some people manage to live on. And some poor bastards never even get that. Going hungry – fucking starving – ain't amusing at all. And the shitheads who deny those people any respite are no better than murderers, in my book. That fucking trainee got off easy."

With that Sanji jammed his cigarette back in his mouth, fuming smoke into the air in furious puffs.

Zoro wondered if the idiot chef knew just how much he'd revealed, and whether he'd actually meant to or not, but Zoro wasn't really sure what he ought to do with this situation.

Ever since the curlicue had walked in on his sword meditation a few weeks ago, things had been…sort of weird. Not bad, exactly, and definitely not good, either, just…different. It was almost uncomfortable; he sort of wished they could go back to the hatred, because anger was a pretty uncomplicated circumstance. But what with these shitty, unintentional revelations – that were less about words and feelings than they were just bare-bones facts – that seemed to crop up more often than Zoro really cared for…it was getting harder to just write the bastard off. Sanji knew shit. Now Zoro did too. And the truth of the matter was Zoro didn't really want to know shit. He didn't want to get buddy-buddy with the cook. He couldn't stand the fucker. He didn't want to know the asshole's sob story, and he certainly wasn't about to share any of his own less-than-cheerful tales. He wasn't looking for that sort of connection.

With anyone.

And especially not with Target-brow over there.

Because Zoro had a goal. A dream to achieve. He was gonna be the best, or die trying. And nothing – and no one – was going to get in the way of that. No strings to tie him down.

No connections.

"Look, Zoro…I --"

But Zoro didn't want to hear it. "Save it, love-cook," he said, holding up a hand to stop the blonde. "Everyone's got something they care about. I get it."

And he did. Which pissed him off.

Sanji seemed to get it too, 'cuz he nodded, chewing slightly on the filter of his cigarette.

"What do you want for dinner?" Sanji asked. He seemed to think better of the question after the look of utter shock and confusion that no doubt flashed across Zoro's face, because he quickly added, "Since, y'know, you're the only one here. Figure I'll cater to your brutish tastes for once."

Zoro blinked, feeling brain cells colliding violently with each other, dying horrible, painful deaths at the mere "what-the-fuckery" inherent in this weird situation. Was the cook serious? He never gave a shit what anyone wanted to eat, other than the girls.

This is getting too weird. Gotta stop this. Gotta piss him off, and reinstate that hatred. Yeah. That'll fix this…whatever-the-fuck is going on…

"Onigiri," was all that came out of the swordsman's mouth.

Sanji arched an eyebrow. "Onigiri?"

Damn!

"Yeah."

The blonde took a thoughtful drag on his nearly spent smoke, exhaling slow and deliberate as he tapped his scruffy chin.

"Okay," he said, and turned back to the stove.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Onigiri's pretty easy to make. I'll finish up this soufflé, and then get some white rice from the market. I used up the last batch on the sushi platter for Usopp's Job-Quitting-Party. Kinda weird reason for a party, eh? Wonder why he quit all of a sudden."

"His dream's to draw comics," Zoro said, ignoring the strange look the cook shot him as he moved forward finally, leaning his arms on the kitchen table and wondering why he wasn't following his own advice.

"But why'd he decide to quit now?"

Zoro shrugged. "Why bother putting off his dream any longer than he had to? The graphic arts job was getting in the way."

"Hmmm…"

The swordsman looked up, frowning at Sanji's back while the smaller man started mixing the ingredients. "What?"

"Nothing. Go get in the shower, asshole. Your sweat's fouling up my kitchen."

"Tch. Bastard," Zoro grunted. He should be angry. He should snarl and bite the skinny fucker's head off. Punch him in the face, at least.

Instead he turned away from the table and headed for the shower without another complaint.

And he hated it.

He hated it a whole fucking lot.