Hey! Sorry about the long wait, my brain died about three weeks ago, and I haven't even finished the seventeenth chapter because I'm a bad person and all that jazz! SO SORRY! Thanks again for all your readership and comments, I deeply appreciate it, and I hope the length of this chapter makes up for my fail! Unless its too long, in which case: SORRY FOR SUCH A LONG CHAPTER! I CAN'T HELP IT! THEY NEVER STOP TALKING! (Seriously, Microsoft Word clocked this bad-boy in at 41 pages. How f--up is that?) But I hope you enjoy!

Zoro was never really one for big parties, but considering the company he kept, he had no choice but to grudgingly get used to it. But this party was slightly different than other get-togethers his new companions had thrown, given that, for once, it wasn't being hosted at their apartment.

The location this time was, possibly, the weirdest-looking restaurant known to man; a seafood establishment at the South Street Seaport in Manhattan, standing apart from the rest of the historical attractions due to the large fish's head that protruded from the right side of the building, the fanned fin sticking out the left side, and the whole thing capped with a spiky, sea-blue dorsal fin.

The Baratie. The restaurant Sanji worked at.

For all its exterior absurdity, the interior was smartly decorated, and decidedly swank. Way too high-end for Zoro, and it didn't surprise him at all that this was his first time setting foot in the joint, and the only reason for that was because this was a special shin-dig that the owner himself was throwing for friends and associates, and all the food and drink was on the house. Zoro had no idea why, but Nami had shrewdly hinted at some sort of important announcement to be made later in the evening, and Zoro simply shrugged and left it at that.

Probably didn't concern him.

He'd just take advantage of the free meal while he could. And the food was damn near breathtaking. Sort of a shame he'd never eat here again, but he was pretty well consoled knowing he lived with the shit-cook, whose food was at least this good, if not better, and Zoro'd be dead before he ever admitted any of that out loud.

"It's a pretty nice place, ne?" Nami asked, sidling up to the swordsman, a glass of white wine held delicately in her hand. "They're pretty well-off, financially, even if the district keeps trying to close them down."

"Why?" Zoro asked, not entirely interested, but Nami could get down-right frightening if she wasn't humored when she wanted to be.

She snickered slightly, a mischievous look in her eye, and Zoro would never understand how Sanji confused this chick for a refined lady.

"The chefs here are kinda known for their violent tendencies. People round town call them the 'Fighting Cooks.' There's even rumors some of them are escaped convicts and cleaned-up druggies."

"Wouldn't the owner keep them under control? I hear Sanji talk about him like he's a goddamn drill sergeant."

Nami laughed outright at that, and Zoro kind of felt like decking her, but he refrained. "Who, Owner Zeff? He and Sanji are the worst of the lot! When those to go at each other things end up broken, and once or twice someone's had to go to the hospital."

"Volatile pair," he remarked dryly, boredom evident in his voice, and he was doing it on purpose.

Nami rolled her eyes. "Please. Those two make you and Sanji seem positively affectionate. I remember the first time I ever ate here – first time I ever met Owner Zeff – was about two years back, and that day Zeff came trudging up to Sanji while he was giving me a parfait, and started yelling. Apparently Sanji had set the temperature on the meat locker to 32.12°F instead of 32. When Sanji back talked him, Zeff kicked him straight into a table across the room. Then made Sanji pay for the broken table. It was definitely…unusual, to say the least."

Now that did get Zoro's eyebrow to quirk in interest. Someone could kick the shit out of the shit-cook? This was a man Zoro wanted very much to meet.

"Who is this Zeff guy, anyway?" the swordsman asked. "I hear about him doing all this crazy stuff. He must be one tough bastard."

"He is. See that guy with the peg leg? That's Zeff."

Zoro's gaze followed the girl's thin finger through the crowd, towards the back of the dining hall where a lone man stood, arms folded over a barrel chest and glowering at the rambunctious group Zoro had come with. The green-haired man was surprised, and yet not surprised that this was the infamous Zeff. A peg-legged man that could send Sanji flying across a room this size was nothing to turn a nose at, that was for damn sure. He looked like a mean son of a bitch, but there was an air of importance about him. Authority. It wasn't hard at all to see why he was in charge of this establishment. He looked like a man who could get shit done.

On the other hand, the man was fucking weird looking. If Zoro had thought Sanji's curly eyebrow was the most bizarre feature imaginable, it was nothing compared to this old man's get-up. He wore the standard chef's uniform, complete with a white jacket, blue sailor's handkerchief around his neck, and a toque about five feet tall. How it stayed on his head was a mystery Zoro didn't feel like contemplating. But perhaps the most bizarre characteristic was the long, absurdly long, braided mustache this man sported. If it hung limp, it would probably reach somewhere around the owner's waist; as it was, the mustache stuck straight out on either side of his face, as though copious amounts of gel and Aqua Net had been employed to keep it that way. Another mystery Zoro wasn't tempted to solve.

"Um," was all he said.

"Yep," Nami replied. "That's pretty much everyone's first reaction."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ace would never say he was an impulsive man. It's just that he was never one to turn down a good idea whenever one occurred to him. And they tended to occur a lot.

And very quickly.

What he would consider himself, though, was a fan of the dramatic entrance. When Ace walked in a room, he wanted to make sure everyone else knew for damn sure he was there. But simply walking through a door and screaming, "HEY I'M HEEEEEEEEERE!" was not really Ace's style. That was more Luffy's approach, and while that definitely got the job done, Ace preferred a little more…flare.

Or a lot more scandal.

So when he hopped from the car that dropped him off at the door of the Baratie, Ace's brain was working overtime, trying to devise the exact perfect way of arriving at this little party. He couldn't come busting through the window again; he'd already done it, for one, and for two, Sanji had literally kicked his spleen to the other side of his body, and then the freakishly-tall-chef's-hat-guy made him pay for, and install a new sheet of glass. After kicking his spleen back into position, and none too delicately.

So that was out.

He couldn't run in screaming about a bomb threat, because there was a chance he'd get arrested – he was pretty sure he heard somewhere that that was illegal – and as tempting as that prospect often was, he did actually have half a mind to attend this party, as opposed to playing bondage games all night.

Plus, again, the cooks would hand his ass to him on a silver platter, with all the trimmings.

That was out too.

Really, there wasn't much he could do that wouldn't result in his arrest or being hospitalized, and anything else he'd already tried before, and he was almost at the door now, he'd run out of time, and like hell was Ace gonna just waltz in a room all boring and shit, but what else could he –

Oh wait. Yes. That was very good.

A little different for him; more subtle than his usual production. But it had plenty of scandal, especially if he timed it right. The car should be parked by now, and it wasn't a long walk to the door.

Oh yes. This would be very, very good.

So for once, Ace slipped quietly through the door, into the large dining hall that was emptier than usual. He kept low, ducking behind tables, trying to avoid the gaze of anyone who'd recognize him. He couldn't afford his cover getting blown. Slowly, ever so slowly, he crept around a chair, edging closer to his target, who thankfully was turned the other way, and hopefully wouldn't be getting bored with that direction any time soon. Carefully he moved, quietly and stealthily. He was almost upon the target now. So close. Just a few more feet, and his master plan would be in action. A few more feet. Just a few more…

Perfect.

Ace launched off the ground, wrapping both arms and a leg around the tall man with the denim jacket and screaming, "Long time no see, sugar!" loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear.

He knew the green-haired stranger would come in handy for something.

A patient grunt jostled the shoulders he was clinging to. "Been a while, Ace. Or should I say, 'Diamond'?"

"Eh heh!" the freckled man laughed, a touch embarrassed. "So Luffy told you, eh?"

"Yep. Gotta admit, that's one of the weirder hobbies I've ever heard of."

"Yeah, well, passes the time…"

"Hey Ace!" a familiar voice shouted, and sure enough, Luffy bounded up to them just then, looking excited as always. "I was wondering if you were gonna show! Sanji said he only got your voice mail."

Ace just grinned at his younger brother. "You know me; I like to make an entrance!"

Luffy laughed, and Ace smiled wider, almost forgetting about the large, pleasingly-muscular figure he was draped over. "So, how're you liking the apartment…er…"

"Zoro," the man clarified, taking a sip of amber liquid from a nice crystal glass in his hand. "S'not bad. I've gotten used to Luffy and the shit-cook -- "

" – Yeah, they can be a handful --"

" – but that Chopper kid's easy to live with."

"Chopper?" Ace frowned. "Who's that?"

"He's a new guy that moved in with us too!" Luffy said, beaming happily. "He's really shy, and he freaks out all the time, but he's nice, and reeeeeeeally funny! He's studying to be a doctor!"

"Damn. That's ambitious. Where does he sleep, though? That dumps only got three rooms."

"The kid and I bunk together in the Long-nose's old room," Zoro said.

"The one next to mine," Luffy added.

Ace nodded. "Ah yeah, that was my old room."

"You lived there, too?" Ace's resting post asked.

"Yep. First it was just me and Luffy, and we rented the third room out to random people. Then I decided to split for Arizona, and Sanji moved in. I guess some time after, that Usopp kid took the third room."

"Apartment's seen a lot of people, seems like."

"Sure has," Ace said, grin turning evil just then as he hiked his other leg up and around the larger man's waist, a bit surprised that the guy's stance never even faltered under the added weight, "but what I want to know is why none of this," punctuated by a thin hiss in a thrice-pierced ear, "bothers you at all?"

A shrug nudged Ace up and down, and the man took another listless sip of booze. "Ain't much different than Luffy, honestly," and the boy cackled, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Plus my two best mates are gay, dating, and frequently molest me --"

" – Sounds like a party --"

" – and besides, I know you've got someone. So all this shit's meaningless, and there's not much reason to get pissed about it."

"True," the freckled man conceded. Then he smirked again. "But who's to say I'm faithful?"

"I'm pretty sure I have some say in all this," a deep gravelly rumble was heard from behind them, and Ace couldn't fight the devilish smirk that split his freckled face.

Right on time.

"Oh, hey baby!" Ace called brightly, tugging on the green-haired man's shoulders, who obediently turned around to face the solid figure of Ace's own personal police officer. The tall man was glaring right at him, but he didn't mind too much; it was really the only expression in the man's arsenal. He wouldn't be offended, because he knew what Ace was like, and knew there was always some form of delicious penitence following incidents of indiscretion, so there were no worries for Ace in the way of losing his boyfriend.

He just kinda wanted to stir things up a little.

"That your boyfriend, Ace?" Luffy asked with a pinkie shoved up his nose, curious and unsurprised.

"Yep! I've never introduced you guys, have I? Guess I'd always been a bit…preoccupied when I visited New York," he leered.

"Ha ha! Ew."

Ace rolled his eyes. "Anyway, yes, this is my boyfriend, Smo -- "

"How ya been, Roronoa?"

" – ker…what?"

That's when Ace realized that his police officer wasn't looking at him, but rather the man Ace was currently wrapped around. His brow furrowed, eyes trying to bore into the mind of his lover, to find out what was going on, exactly, and why he seemed to know a man who hadn't even been in the city longer than a few months. But, as always, the older man's expressions were a closed book.

"Officer Smoker," Zoro said, nodding his head like they were old acquaintances, and if Ace was crazy, he seemed just a tad bit nervous.

"Surprised to see you back in New York," Smoker drawled. "I figured you'd have skipped town for good after what happened three years ago."

Wait, wait, they've known each other? As in, for a long time!? Since when!? This wasn't part of the plan! What the hell is going on!?

Ace's brain hit a glitch, unable to process anything that was happening, and his grip on Zoro's shoulders tightened slightly to keep him from simply collapsing to the floor in a stunned stupor.

The green-haired man merely scoffed. "Please. You act like I killed someone."

"For all I know, you have. You wouldn't be the first scumbag to crawl out of that Underground a murderer."

"I've got my pride, unlike some."

"Oh yeah, getting caught by the local police in an illegal fighting ring is really something to be proud of," the taller of the two quipped.

"I don't see why you care."

"You evaded arrest, you little asshole!"

"Not my fault you couldn't keep up."

"EXCUSE ME!" Ace shouted suddenly, smoke practically pouring out his ears from brain-breakage, and fed up with being terminally confused and completely ignored. "I AM PASSIONATELY CLINGING TO SOME OTHER MAN'S HOT BOD! YOU COULD AT LEAST GIVE ME A BIT MORE ATTENTION THAN THAT!"

Smoker's dark eyes leveled on Ace just then, and the banked heat there silenced any further complaints he might have made. "Don't worry. I'll deal with you later."

Now that's what I like to hear, he mused, thinking of all the yummy things he'd have to do to "make this up" to him, and shivering slightly.

"All right, enough of this," Zoro muttered, no doubt feeling Ace's excitement, and roughly shrugging out of the slighter man's hold.

"Aw, you're no fun!"

"Whatever. That's what your flat-foot's for, ain't he?"

Smoker's brow twitched at that. "So, where you living these days, Roronoa?"

It seemed like an innocuous question, but the way he sneered, the heavy emphasis he put on the question; despite the fact that Ace was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that these two already knew each other, he couldn't help the weird feeling that his boyfriend was hinting at something. And whatever it was must have struck something in the green-haired man, because he glared and snarled so hatefully, it honestly sort of scared Ace.

"Fuck. You." Low and dangerous and filled with disgust and maybe a hint of something like surprise, and everything in the air around them suddenly seemed sort of wrong.

It didn't last. Zoro stormed off not a second later, disappearing into the crowd that hadn't even paid them any attention, dismissing it as "Ace's Antics" and not bothering to worry themselves. Only Ace hadn't meant for this to happen.

Luffy was dead silent, staring after his roommate for a moment, before looking blankly at Ace, then Smoker, and back to Ace before meandering off in a different direction.

He was pissed. Ace could tell.

Feeling angry and still incredibly confused, Ace rounded on his boyfriend, hissing, "What the fuck did you do? What was all that!"

Smoker sighed and, for the first time Ace had ever seen, looked kind of like he regretted something. Which was weird, because usually the police officer was so sure of himself.

"Probably shouldn't have done that," he grumbled, rubbing his face, then looked up to meet Ace's stunned, accusing eyes. "Go get us something to drink. I'll explain later."

Ace huffed, but turned to head towards the bar. Guy could such an ass sometim –

"Ace?"

He looked over his shoulder at Smoker.

"Make it a whiskey."

Well. That didn't sound promising.

So he went off to fetch him a whiskey, and maybe something for himself, wondering about what sort of connection his boyfriend and the green-haired man had, feeling bad that now Luffy was upset too, and wondering how exactly his plan had gone so horribly, horribly wrong.

It was shaping up to be a long night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zoro was pissed. More pissed than he'd been in years. So pissed, he realized that whatever pissed-offed-ness that Sanji had ever induced in him had been nothing but petty irritation by comparison. He'd forgotten, in the years he'd spent wandering around the general area of the East Coast, alone, that he could ever feel such fury. It had gripped him so easily in the past, that he barely even noticed. And it had evaporated so completely and steadily during his stint of isolation, he hadn't been aware of its absence. Barely a blip on the radar screen.

Now, he was so violently conscious of it, he sort of wanted to kill something. Or break something. Or drink himself into a stupor, or yell or train until his muscles burned and his hands fairly bled from his punishing grip. Had it always been this bad? How had he never noticed it before?

He was so angry, it practically hurt. And really, it shouldn't have. Really, he'd been pretty okay with all the things that had happened in his past. He'd never really thought about them. He'd never felt overly sensitive about it when people, as they invariably did, asked those certain questions that he couldn't actually answer. He'd always told them the truth, because he just didn't lie, and they always gave him that shitty look, and that had bothered him far more than the actual conversation ever had.

But this…it was a nasty shock, in more ways than one, and it just infuriated him, and boiled his blood, and stung in a weird, stupid way that it really shouldn't have; there was no reason to feel as though he'd been betrayed, even though it had been him, that chain-smoking asshole of a cop who had bitched at him all through high school, who had caught him in the Underground more times than he'd ever actually written up in his reports, who had been one of a very, very select group of people to really know anything, who had seemed to understand, in his own, stoic, dickish sort of way. And then to have this cop – this fucking bastard – know and understand, and then sneer at it all…it riled him and sent him in a rage so strong and blind, he could feel the wrath as a tangible thing, bubbling up uncontrollably in his chest like acidic bile.

Because he did feel betrayed. And he shouldn't have. Because feeling betrayed meant he had, at one time, felt trust. And trust denoted a connection that he had sworn to all things holy that he was never going to allow himself. Not again.

So he was pissed at the cop, but – he decided as he hunkered himself against the far wall, unable to leave because he would never find his way back to the apartment – in a way he was pissed at himself as well. For letting this happen, without his awareness, even after he'd vowed it wouldn't ever occur again.

And he decided he was more pissed at himself than he was at the cop, and that calmed his rage, to a good extent; helped him internalize it, mentally jot the notion down for future meditation, and it cleared his mind a bit. But his head was still pounding, he felt tired all of a sudden, and the whiskey wasn't really helping like it should have. He tipped his head back against the cool, paneled wall of the restaurant, thankful at least that the first course was over, and the guests were milling around distractedly; it afforded him the perfect opportunity to be ignored, which he rather felt like being at the moment. So he closed his eyes, sighing heavily, and let his mind drift off, too cluttered and weary to really think about all this mess just yet, and only able to follow the gently pulsing, rolling, lifting notes of an unfamiliar tune that subtly weaved its way through the dull din in the room. So subtle, he hadn't even noticed its presence until that one moment of numb stillness…

…Who was playing?

Slowly lifting his head, Zoro looked around for the source of the soothing music, and was unsurprised to find the tall, skinny figure of Brooke, sitting at a piano in a corner of the restaurant, his thin, bony fingers dancing languidly over the keys. Zoro didn't remember thinking to himself, "Hey, I think I'll go stand by Brooke," but soon enough he found his legs carrying him over to the musician who swayed on his piano bench, humming along in a low, smoky lilt. Zoro simply stood there, leaning his arm on the edge of the piano, watching in silent awe as those long digits spun a web of calm and comfort. The tight knot of anger and frustration and disgust in his stomach was starting to uncurl, and his head felt less full of infuriating thoughts.

He took a deep breath. Let it out. Things weren't so bad anymore.

"Music's an enchanting thing, isn't it?"

The murmur was unexpected, but not really surprising, and Zoro found himself just nodding and grunting in agreement. The tune flowed on, pulsing gently in time with his heart, and a distant memory of meditation and training and the lulling sounds of cooking came back to him, but it was gone the next second, followed by whatever other images the calming chords conjured up.

"Never really listened to music much before," the swordsman commented, after another peaceful moment. "S' nice."

"Yohohoho!" Brooke chuckled lowly. "Music is the food of the soul, they say. Unfortunately, music alone doesn't do much to fill the belly! I can't wait for the next course! Yohohohoho!"

Zoro smiled at the taller man, regarding him over the rim of his glass.

"Brooke?" he asked after another still moment.

"Hmm?"

"When did you first know you were a pianist?"

The steady, rolling song came to a sudden stop, breaking the spell it had cast over the green-haired man's senses, and he missed the sensation instantly. But he stared down at the man seated in front of him, worried now that maybe he'd said something wrong. He wasn't sure how, but maybe he'd offended the musician in some way.

The music picked back up just then, half a beat slower than before, almost contemplative, and the corner of Brooke's mouth was turned up just slightly.

"Forgive me. You surprised me, is all. People rarely ever ask the right question."

Zoro frowned, confused, but consoled slightly by the return of the piano's lyrical notes.

"What do you mean?"

"People always ask, 'When did you decide to become a pianist.' But as every artist knows, you don't decide on anything; you were born that way. It's all just a matter of when you finally wise up to things."

It was one of the truest things Zoro had ever heard, and he found himself nodding and grinning just slightly.

"Yeah. I know what you mean."

Brooke smiled up at him, brown eyes peering over the top of his expensive sunglasses, and he just seemed to know. Which was what Zoro seriously respected about the older man.

"I had a feeling you did, Mr. Roronoa."

"Zoro's fine."

Brooke smiled wider. "Zoro it is, then."

There was another comfortable silence between them as the song delicately twisted into a new, slightly livelier diddy, still smooth enough to be subtle, but it lifted Zoro's spirits like some sort of pleasant hypnosis that he was perfectly conscious of. It was nice. He'd have to make a note of when Brooke had gigs; he could listen to him play all night.

"Forgive my prying, but what with all the, um, affection that seems to be heaped on you, it does make one wonder: is there a special someone, Zoro?"

The swordsman actually laughed aloud at that, even though he probably should have been more flustered and embarrassed about the subject.

"Not at all. Never have, either."

"Out of principle?"

"More like general lack of interest. I've got dreams and ambitions that take precedence over pretty much everything in my life. People tend to find second place sort of unattractive."

"Yohohohohoho! I suppose so!" Brooke laughed.

"So what about you? Anyone special in your life?"

"Yes."

"Really?" Zoro couldn't help but be taken aback.

"Of course!" Brooke exclaimed. "And her name is 'Baby Grand'! Yohohohoho!"

Zoro snorted, taking a brief sip of whiskey. "Should've guessed."

"Ah yes. I too have yet to find that one special someone. I'm not really looking, either. I'm happy the way things are. All I really need are my ridiculously over-priced-European shades, my ridiculously over-priced-and-exremely-rare-European-cigarillos – neither of which I can afford at all, mind you – and this gorgeous instrument, and I'm in heaven."

"Well ain't you low-maintenance."

"Yohohohohoho!"

"Attention! Attention everyone!" a shout broke up Zoro and Brooke's easy banter. "Attention! HEY! SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU SHITTY MOLLUSKS!"

A sound of thwacks and anguished wails followed the outburst. Zoro looked up to see the tall, intimidating figure of Owner Zeff standing at the front of the restaurant, and the crumpled, decidedly-less-intimidating figures of Luffy and Usopp curled up on the floor in pathetic heaps, whimpering and clutching their wounded abdomens. Sanji stood near the owner, off to the side and slightly behind him.

"As I was saying," Zeff continued with a growl. "There is a reason for all you damn free-loaders being here tonight. We're celebrating a new addition to the Baratie line. Negotiations in have been finalized, and about this time next year, we'll be opening a new Baratie in Phoenix, Arizona."

Polite applause and loud, obnoxious cheering erupted around the dining hall. Zeff glared imperiously out at the small crowd of well-wishers, looking like he didn't give one good goddamn if these people were pleased for him or not, and honestly, Zoro didn't expect anything less from the grizzly old man. What did strike him as odd, however, was when his gaze slid slightly to the left, and he noticed that Sanji wasn't making eye contact with anyone. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't clapping. He wasn't even trying to take credit for being the one to finalize the deal in the first place. The blonde simply frowned, hard and thoughtful, at the polished wood floor and said nothing.

Weird. Figured the shit-cook would be at least happy; he's the Assistant Head Chef here, for shit's sake.

Following Owner Zeff's announcement, everyone gave another toast, which the owner walked out of after kicking Luffy away from him when the younger boy tried to give him a hug. He simply hobbled up the spiral staircase at the center of the room, heading to the kitchens. Sanji stayed where he was for a moment, since Luffy found him much more approachable, and he and Usopp and Chopper and Nami, and really everyone in their circle of friends minus Zoro and Brooke went up to congratulate him. He smiled at their praise.

Zoro could tell it was hollow. And tired. And that really didn't make much sense.

"Hey Brooke," he asked, when he realized the musician had once more started up the piano, "does Sanji seem sort of…off to you?"

"Hmm?" the lanky man lulled, afro swaying dangerously as he turned to look at the accosted cook. "He's probably just worn out from the party. It's a daunting task, making sure there's enough food for everyone. Especially Luffy; he eats like he has 72 small, starving boys inside of him! Yohohoho!"

Zoro frowned at that, regarding Brooke for a moment before turning back to Sanji. Was he serious? Did he actually think that was why the cook was acting so weird? How well did Brooke even know Sanji? That spindly asshole never got tired of feeding people, Luffy in particular. Yeah, the kid could be annoying as fuck about his persistent hunger, but Sanji had no problems providing for him. Honestly, Zoro suspected Sanji got a bigger kick out of feeding Luffy than he did his beloved women; Luffy never held back on the compliments, and he loved anything and everything Sanji made.

So that sure as shit wasn't the problem.

Then what was?

Watching as the blonde managed to drag himself away from his adoring friends, following the path his boss had taken up the staircase, Zoro decided he was gonna figure this out.

At least it'd take his mind off his own shit for a little while.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The upper level of the restaurant wasn't really as nice and expansive as Zoro had been anticipating. He'd sort of figured that he'd step off the stairs onto the landing and see another large, fully furnished dining hall. But instead, he climbed up to the second floor, only to find himself in a smallish storage room of sorts, with sacks of rice and grain and flour and sugar piled along the walls, and crates of bread and cooking wine and fresh vegetables soon to be moved to the freezer, and jars of olives and pickles and peaches and other weird, floating things that Zoro really couldn't identify were stacked haphazardly in the relatively small room. To his left was an open doorway that seemed to lead down a darkened hallway, and he could barely make out the frames of other doors lining the wall.

To his right was his ultimate goal: the kitchen. Heat and delicious scents wafted out of the oddly Western-style swinging doors, behind which he could hear sizzling and boiling and violent shouts and banging utensils. With three quick strides across the small space, Zoro pushed the door in slightly, looking over the top to see if he could spot the shit-cook. To his luck, he wasn't very difficult to find.

For one, Sanji was the only one who didn't wear the traditional chef's attire, making his blue, pin-striped dress shirt stick out like a sore thumb. Also, the stove he happened to be working at was no more than five feet away from the door where Zoro stood. For this, the swordsman was rather thankful, since he honestly didn't have a single clue how to properly navigate a kitchen, and was pretty sure he'd get lost irrevocably if he even tried.

"Hey," he said, moving over towards the blonde carefully, not wanting to catch him off guard. Sanji could get a little tunnel-visioned when he cooked, and interrupting him suddenly often ended with a shoe in the face.

Sanji didn't spare him a glance, that thoughtful frown still creasing his forehead, and only muttered, "The hell are you doing here, marimo?"

"You're acting weird. What's your problem?"

The cook snorted, not at all amused. "I could ask you the same thing, asshole, seeing as you've been sulking in the corner with Brooke for half the damn night."

Feeling a spike of annoyance and something that Zoro was refusing was hurt of any sort prick in his gut, the green-haired man had to swallow down a pissed growl, determined not to lose focus of his reason for coming up here, which was: to forget his own shit for a little while. It didn't really seem to be working.

"Look, you work here, right? I figured you'd be excited about your restaurant expanding, not all pouty and pissy."

"It's not my restaurant," was the acidic reply, and Sanji was looking at Zoro now, glaring through his blonde fringe so fitfully the swordsman would not have been surprised if the cook started breathing fire.

Zoro grunted, running a hand through his hair, trying not to be too much of an asshole despite how much he'd really like to punch the prissy bastard in the face for being so damn difficult.

"I'm just wondering what's wrong with you."

Sanji sighed, tired and obviously irritated, and Zoro figured the cook could just take his annoyance and shove it, for all the trouble it was worth.

The smaller man rested his hands heavily on the edge of the stove in front of him, and slowly turned his head to face Zoro fully, his expression weary but otherwise completely blank.

"It's. None. Of your fucking business," he said, slowly and deliberately, like Zoro was a goddamn moron, and he wanted to choke that asshole so badly. "Got it?"

He glared firmly at the cook, shocked that he almost felt more pissed at the bastard's shitty attitude than he had about anything else that entire evening.

Exhaling in sheer frustration, he stepped off the wall, throwing, "Shit, forget I even asked," over his shoulder before he stormed out of the kitchen, across the storage room, and barreling down the stairs, taking two at a time to put some distance between himself and the blonde bane of his existence.

He should have known better, anyway.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After watching that insensitive asshole disappear down the steps, Sanji turned back to the pot of sauce he'd been stirring on the stove, mixing its contents maybe a little fiercer than was really necessary.

"WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM, SHITTY EGGPLANT!?" came a sudden roar in Sanji's ear, and a fierce blow slammed into his side, sending him careening to the kitchen floor, and the feeling of that wooden leg was by now all too familiar.

But Sanji had gotten used to it, kind of, and he was quick to get back to his feet, if for no other reason than to figure out what the hell he'd done to piss off the Geezer off this time.

"The fuck is your problem, Shitty Old Man!? I'm tryin' to cook here!"

"Bah! You call that muck 'cookin'? I've seen blind quadriplegics put together better slop than you!"

"What did you say to me, asshole?!"

"I said your food sucks! What the hell are you gonna do about it, brat?" and with that, Zeff round-housed Sanji across the room, into a shelving unit, which promptly crashed to the floor and rained plates and other breakable things onto the floor where they met an untimely demise. "And what the hell are you gonna do about that green-haired shithead that was in here? AND WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT MY BROKEN DISHES!?"

Sanji rolled over – maybe not quite as quickly as last time, since that fucking peg leg caught him in the head that time, as well as a few mixing bowls – and glared up at his boss.

"My cooking does not suck, Shitty Geezer, it's just as good as yours and you fucking know it, I ain't paying for shit that you broke yourself, and what the hell do you mean, what am I gonna do about the marimo? I'm not doin' shit about that bastard, he can take his fucking pity elsewhere!"

"As if he'd ever pity you, moron! And you damn straight will pay to replace all that shit, since it ain't my fault your slow ass can't dodge a hit! AND YOU'RE A HUNDRED YEARS TOO EARLY TO SAY YOUR PIG SWILL'S EVEN A THIRD THE QUALITY OF MY COOKING, YOU SHITTY EGGPLANT BRAT!" Zeff swung his wooden leg down on Sanji, who managed to roll away fast enough this time to evade it.

"Why am I the moron!?" the young cook shouted. "Why don't you ever just say what you're trying to say, instead of pissing me off with shit that doesn't make sense?"

"IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE BECAUSE YOU'RE A MORON!"

The old man swung forward, slamming his over-large toque down on Sanji's head.

"Ow! Motherfucker!"

"You're a moron, moron, for thinking that moss-head was up here to pity you, no matter how much your stupid ass deserves it!"

Sanji frowned at that, his usual bluster draining in light of the immense confusion that slammed into him. "Wait, what?"

"I'm sayin', stupid brat, that Green Hair was up 'cuz he actually gave a damn about you." When he saw the alarm and disbelief that Sanji felt so intensely there was no way it hadn't translated on his face, the old man sighed in irritation, and went on. "Look, you can take my word for it, or you can ignore it, I really couldn't give less of a shit. But if you seriously think that guy has the time to go around pitying people, then you're even dumber than you look. Which is pretty fucking dumb, just so's ya know."

"Oi, fuck you, Old Man!" Sanji yelled, but his mind was already distracted by what his asshole of a boss had just implied.

For one, he was honestly surprised to hear that Zoro was…he didn't want to say concerned, because that seemed to be going a bit too far, but to hear that the marimo actually gave a damn about him was…well, a little hard to believe, at best. It wasn't like he…y'know, wanted Zoro to hate him, but to…and, again, he didn't really want to say it, but…to care about him was…weird. Really sort of weird. And way out of fucking left field, but ultimately it just caught him off guard. He didn't really know what he should do about any of it.

But, on the other hand, there was the slightly unrelated, yet entirely irritating fact that the Old Man, who'd only seen Zoro for the first time that night, had never even been introduced, hadn't spoken to or really even observed the bastard for more than a few seconds, already seemed to know the green-haired man better than Sanji did. And Sanji lived with this bastard. He'd shared meals with him, and fought with him, and listened to his insufferable snoring every single goddamn night, so one would think he'd pretty much have the swordsman pegged, and still. Still, some total stranger could manage to see all this stuff that Sanji should have already known. It really got on his nerves, and he didn't have a single clue why. But he was damn sure gonna fix this.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Stupid cook, Zoro fumed, rounding the final twist in the spiral staircase. Last time I ever try and be a decent fucking person to him. Just blows up in my goddamned face.

He didn't know why he was so pissed, other than that he'd been pissed for a good hour and a half now, and that really couldn't be healthy given his urge to destroy things hadn't abated much, had in fact doubled since his infuriating encounter with the curlicue dick-face.

But he really couldn't take too much more of this. Hopefully the rest of the evening would just pan by without anymore incident, and Zoro could just get back to the apartment, and sleep until he no longer felt homicidal.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sanji put the stove on low, and assigned some random trainee to watch the sauce pot while he darted through the kitchen doors, into the make-shift storage room, and leaping down the first four steps, trying to catch up to the swordsman. What he'd say when he got a hold of him, he really didn't know, since he didn't feel any remorse for being an ass so much as he just wanted to confirm what his boss had said. Maybe try and seem like a nice guy by asking why Zoro had been ticked in the first place, regardless of whether he gave a shit.

And he didn't, not really. It wasn't curiosity that drove him. He just really wanted to prove a point, to stick it to the Old Man and show him Sanji could figure things out about people too, even though the geezer had probably already forgotten about it. It didn't matter. Sanji felt it his duty to contradict the man, no matter what the stakes.

Even if he had to give the green-haired idiot the false impression that Sanji actually cared about his stupid ass.

Because he didn't. Not at all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Just get another whiskey, maybe sit in the corner near the music again, and wait 'til the shitty party is over, Zoro told himself in an attempt to soothe the rage that was simmering just under his collar. It can't take too much longer…even if it looked like they were cooking up another feast in there….shit.

But he shook his head, refusing to succumb to the weakness of undirected aggression. He'd trained that shit out of himself years ago, and he wasn't about to regress after all that hard work and start demolishing the fucking restaurant. Besides, he sort of figured Luffy would never speak to him again if he interrupted what would no doubt be a mind-numbingly excellent second course.

Whiskey, he thought. Get a whole damn bottle of the shit and sit in the corner. Calm down. Wait it out. It won't be hard. You can handle this.

Feeling himself getting a firmer grip on things, Zoro sighed slightly in acceptance as he stepped off the staircase, and it took a bit of the edge off. Okay. He could deal with this.

He could deal with this.

"Oi, Roronoa," a gruff voice rasped nearby.

He was absolutely fucked.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sanji had just rounded the last curve of the staircase, wondering whether the asshole would even want to talk to him, and why that was even a consideration, because usually taking Zoro's wants and feelings into account was definitely not on Sanji's list of things worth his time, when a voice he'd never heard and couldn't place suddenly rumbled from just below the stairs.

"Oi, Roronoa."

He heard a low growl in a much more identifiable form as a way of reply, and obviously the swordsman hadn't gotten far. But who was the person who'd intercepted him?

All right. So now, Sanji was curious.

He back-pedaled frantically, darting back up a few steps so as to be directly over the speaking duo. The blonde practically stretched out on the staircase, pressing his ear into the worn carpet to better hear their exchange, and feeling fairly positive that he had stopped doing this kind of shit back when he was eleven. Ah well.

"What the fuck do you want?" Zoro asked, his voice tinged with an unbelievable amount of anger. Sanji was pretty sure he'd never heard the swordsman's voice like that, which said volumes about the man's current mood, since Sanji tended to go out of his way to piss the marimo off on a daily basis.

"Look, I…" the stranger replied, sighing a bit, "I probably shouldn't have said what I did earlier. It was uncalled for."

"Damn straight it was, asshole."

"Oi, don't give me any fucking lip, brat. The only reason I snapped was because of your shitty attitude. I can see you haven't changed much."

"Neither have you. Still the same nagging, unbearable dick you've always been, Smoker."

Smoker?, Sanji thought, frowning. Who the hell is that? And how does Zoro know him?

"Hey, I saved your ass, kid. More times than I ever really wanted to."

"I don't recall ever asking for your help, old man."

"Would you have survived without it?"

Zoro paused, as though he was honestly thinking about the question. Sanji, for his part, was utterly dumbfounded that the proud, volatile swordsman allowed this strange guy to say such heinous stuff to him. The asshole tended to fly into a rage if the cook merely pointed out the simple fact that his hair was green – although his tone was another matter entirely, and usually mocking at that. But Sanji, he didn't take shit like that from anyone, except the Geezer…

…unless this guy was…well, was sort of like Zoro's…

"I'd probably have lived," he said. The lack of utter confidence made Sanji frown further. And wasn't the moss-head normally self-confident? Like, arrogantly so? Why was this conversation so damn weird?

The other man snorted, but didn't contest the marimo's statement. Then a silence followed that wasn't really awkward, just sort of charged with things left unsaid, things that didn't really need to be said, and the cook honestly didn't know how to feel about any of this. He guessed he felt sort of uneasy, like he really was intruding on something that should have been between just the two of them, as though he could sense that they both wanted it that way, but he still couldn't move. He refused to budge from his spot, determined, however guiltily, to figure out what this was all about, 'cuz like hell would he ever actually ask the swordsman anything, and he knew that, now more than ever.

Zoro was intensely private and had no intention of ever telling Sanji anything about him.

Asshole had made that abundantly clear by now.

And really, Sanji figured he shouldn't have been as irritated by that as he felt.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zoro sighed, rubbing his head where he was sure a vein was gonna explode.

"If you're blaming me for pissing you off, then why bother apologizing?" he asked, feeling very tired all of a sudden.

"I don't recall apologizing," Smoker said, expression less clouded than it had been a second ago, and Zoro took it as a cue that he was trying to make light of things, "I think all I said was, 'I shouldn't have said that.'"

And this man had infuriated him to astronomical measures that night, had caused violent, searing rage to bubble dangerously close to the surface, had sneered and jested at things that Zoro honestly didn't find amusing at all…and yet Smoker had always pissed him off. Just about every day of his high school life, and really, he'd sort of gotten over it by now.

That's just how things were. Smoker wasn't malicious, he was just an ass. Zoro knew that, perhaps had forgotten that fact recently, but he knew it in any event.

And he was more okay with it than he figured he would be.

So Zoro chuckled, dryly, wearily, but he chuckled regardless, and Smoker's face relaxed further, although he still looked like he was glaring.

"You're a real dick, Smoker. But I guess I'd been expecting that."

"Expecting it? You actually anticipated seeing me tonight?"

"Not tonight, no. But being back in New York, I had a kind of sneaking feeling I might cross paths with you at some point. I have shitty luck like that."

"Oh, I'd say you have better luck than most, seeing as you're still breathing."

The police officer gave him a pointed look, and Zoro just grinned devilishly, knowing exactly what the older man was driving at.

"I'd like to think I can take some credit for avoiding death this long," the swordsman scoffed, but still smirking slightly, and feeling more at ease with everything, which he realized was a pretty sudden turn about, but he didn't really care. He was too tired of being angry to give much of a shit anymore.

Smoker, however, seemed a bit more taken aback. He frowned further, looking more confused than anything.

"Hmm…" the cop lulled.

"What?" Zoro asked, feeling himself frown in return.

"Maybe you've changed more than I figured."

The swordsman's gaze narrowed suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

Smoker regarded him quietly for a second, grey eyes stern and steady in their scrutiny.

"You're a lot more…contained…than you were in high school."

"Um…" the green-haired man cocked an eyebrow. "Thank you?"

Smoker grunted. "I mean, you don't let yourself stay mad. You know how to calm the fuck down, and you don't just fly off the handle and start demolishing shit."

Zoro just shrugged, unconcerned. "You punch a hole in one brick wall, you've punched a hole in all brick walls."

"I'm pretty sure it was concrete, Roronoa."

"Brick, concrete, whatever," Zoro said, shoving a finger in his ear, unconcerned. "That was then. This is now. I don't do that shit anymore."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I don't do that shit anymore.

Sanji blinked slowly, head fairly buzzing from confusion and the dull ache where the bars of the hand rail pressed into his temples. The blonde had managed to squeeze his face partway through the small opening in an attempt to see the man who could turn the shit-swordsman into an oddly obedient child with just a few harsh, well-placed words, but now he was seriously regretting it.

He was seriously regretting even being there.

Because right now, he figured he'd just heard some stuff he wasn't supposed to. He was getting glimpses into Zoro's past that he thought he really didn't deserve. Especially now.

After all, here Sanji'd been ticked and insulted about how the asshole marimo refused to tell him anything about his life, refused to trust him with that information even a little, and now here Sanji was: betraying a trust that he'd been whining about not having. And it was no fucking wonder the moss-head didn't trust him; not when Sanji went around doing shit like this. And regardless of why the cook wanted to know about Zoro's life, he realized in that one moment of the swordsman's admittance of former weakness that this wasn't at all how he wanted to find this information out.

He wanted that trust, for whatever reason. And up until five minutes ago, he would have made a sound argument that he very much deserved that trust. But now, well…he figured he'd just ruined his chances of that.

And yet he wouldn't budge. His face was cold and sore from the metal bars pressed into the skin around his cheekbones, and his knees were creaking from his long time crouching on the stairs, and he honestly felt like maybe he'd done something wrong, and should leave…and there he remained. Because, damn it all, he'd already ruined any likelihood of getting the asshole's trust, but he still wanted to know stuff about the marimo, and since Zoro was never going to tell him anything, and Sanji was never going to ask, he figured he might as well just stay where he was, and continue eavesdropping.

…And on top of it all, it was around that time Sanji realized he hadn't even been looking at the mysterious stranger, which had been the reason for putting himself in this uncomfortable position in the first place. He'd just been staring at the back of Zoro's green head the whole time.

Sanji sighed, and decided he was damned and very, very stupid.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, where are you living, Roronoa?" Smoker asked, and he sounded legitimately curious, and maybe the vaguest bit concerned. But Zoro would never bother pointing it out, unless he wanted to piss the cop off. Which he may very well feel like doing later on. "Still living with those two weirdo's?"

Zoro just smirked, trying not to laugh, and said, "I'm staying in the apartment Ace used to share with Luffy. Staying in Ace's old room, as a matter of fact."

Smoker shook his head, taking a large draw off the cigar clenched in his teeth. "Former high school delinquent now lives in the old room of my current lover. Never figured New York would be such a small fucking world."

"It is a pretty weird set of coincidences, ain't it? I honestly never thought I'd come back to New York after you and that witch chased me outta the state."

"What are you doing back here?" the older man said, looking like he'd been wanting ask that for a while.

The swordsman grinned shark-like, lips hooking over teeth in a blood-thirsty gesture.

"Hawk," he said simply.

A vein twitched in Smoker's forehead. Grey fumes puffed more fiercely from between the man's tightly clenched jaw.

"Hawk?" he asked, gravelly voice low and threatening.

Zoro just nodded.

Smoker sighed, looking and sounding decidedly harassed, thin lips pressed in a thinner line.

He took a breath, no doubt to rant the smaller man out, and he was braced for the outrage, braced for the verbal abuse, braced for the shouting…

"What the fuck, Zoro?"

…braced for anything except the use of his given name. Zoro could feel his eyes widening, his mouth hanging open slightly, and the unshakable sensation of the universe having spasmed violently out of order.

"Wh--" he tried, and failed to speak, his tongue still stunned and sluggish. "Wh…what do you--"

"Why the hell can't you just get a regular job, Zoro?" Smoker asked, and there was that name again. "Why the hell can't you just have a normal career, get married, have some ugly brats like everyone else does?"

"I don't get what you--"

"You're throwing your damn life away, Zoro!"

The shout would have no doubt echoed through the room, if Luffy hadn't been singing at the top of his lungs, and if Franky and Usopp hadn't been engaged in an impromptu dance contest that involved a lot of screaming, and if Brooke hadn't upped the tempo of his piano to match all the random noise, and if he and Smoker weren't currently huddled under the narrow space below the stairs. As it was, the shout merely echoed through Zoro's head, reverberating in his ears painfully as he tried to contain his shock, and before he could even think of what to say in return, Smoker had already barreled on.

"You could have gone to university, or joined the police force, or hell, you could have taught a fucking martial arts class, but no! You're still as thick-skulled at you've always been! I'd hoped that maybe you would have grown out of all this stupid shit, but I can see that was a wasted prayer. You've been fighting in that goddamned Underground since you were fourteen –"

"—Thirteen –"

"-- and what the hell do you have to show for it? Loan payments hanging around from hospital bills you couldn't afford. A police record that's five folders thick. Oh, and let's not forget the time that asshole Pin Joker and his flunkies had you stuck in a bucket of cement and tried to kick you into the Hudson River. How'd you try and get out of that one, again?"

Zoro sighed, knowing this rant, like so many before it, would not end any time soon unless he played along.

"I tried to cut my feet off."

"How those ankles treating you, by the way?"

He glared. "They, healed, asshole. Just like everything does."

"But what happens when you don't get that chance to heal, Zoro?" Smoker still glared, but that flicker of concern was even more prominent, and it was apparent that he actually gave a shit about Zoro.

And the swordsman honestly didn't know how he felt about that.

The cop went on. "Tell me, Zoro. What happens when you take on more than you can handle? What happens when you push yourself too far? What happens when, for once, you don't get back up?"

They'd had this conversation more than once. Zoro remembered distinctly standing in an abandoned hallway of his high school wearing a long robe and a tasseled cap, mere moments before he and his classmates were due to file into the auditorium, when the permanently disgruntled police officer had pulled him aside, into the alcove where the payphone was, and demanded to know what the young man had intended to do with his life. He remembered the exact words he'd said then, and he was going to say them now.

Because in regards to his dreams, nothing had changed in all those years.

Not one thing.

"If I die before I meet him, then that's as far as I managed to get," Zoro said evenly, eyes narrowed, determination burning in his gut. "But I don't intend to roll over and die for whatever fucker happens to pose a threat. I fight to win. And I will."

Smoker looked at him intensely for a moment, an air of futility and barely contained frustration evident in his stare. He sighed again; he surrendered. He had back then at graduation, and he had just now, and every time in between. And it was always sort of a hollow victory for Zoro: sure, he got to waltz free and do whatever the hell he liked, but Smoker was one of very few people to ever really give a shit about what happened to him, and while the swordsman was frequently irate with Smoker, he never wanted to piss him off so much that the older man decided to wash his hands of him. Sure, he could be a pain in the ass, but Zoro found that sort of concern for his well-being kinda refreshing, and he really didn't feel like getting rid of that.

Even if it took him all of nine years to realize it.

Zoro sighed this time, before trying for a cheeky grin. "And hell, who knows? When I've finally achieved my dream, I probably will teach classes, or something."

Another vein twitched in Smoker's brow, and Zoro figured he wasn't the only one who'd been feeling a bit excessively enraged that evening.

"You'll always be a dumb fucking dreamer, won't you?" he groused.

"I'm planning on it," Zoro said, his grin widening, and no doubt pissing the cop off more.

"Hnn," the taller man grunted, pulling out a fresh cigar, biting the end off, and lighting it with the one already burning away. He pushed the old cigar to one corner of his lip before jamming the fresh one in the opposite side, so that his gritted teeth were completely bared to Zoro, in what was usually a pretty intimidating look. "Have you been to the Underground since coming back to New York?"

He didn't sound hopeful. The green-haired man just snickered.

"Nope. Not yet, anyway."

Smoker studied him again, eyes suspicious, grumbling in irritation and visibly clenching his fists.

"You've got something set up, don't you?"

Zoro grinned.

"And you're not gonna tell me when it is, are you?"

Zoro grinned wider.

Smoker groaned, rubbing his face firmly with a large, gloved hand.

"You're gonna give me an aneurism, I can feel it!"

Zoro laughed outright, and it felt pretty good, considering how tense and tight his chest had been since the start of the evening.

"Nah. I wouldn't do that, old man. I need someone keeping me on my toes."

"And the fact that I've saved your ass countless times has got nothing to do with it?"

"Like I said, I never asked for that help. You've just got a knack for showing up at the right place at the right time."

"Whatever, asshole. You wouldn't have feet right now if it weren't for me, and you know it."

"Yes, yes, and my feet thank you heartily. Happy now?"

The police officer growled low, but Zoro just kept on grinning. He felt sort of like a kid again, and for once, it wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation.

But, as had always been the case for Zoro, the feeling never lasted long. As he stood there, smirking at Smoker like the punk-ass he used to be, something suddenly collided with him heavily, nearly knocking him to floor, and reminding him that he was, in fact, in a public place, and that other people were there as well.

"What the fu--"

"That's my line, asshole!" A dark, curly mop of hair was shaken away to reveal freckles and pouting eyes.

Ace.

"What do you two think you're doing, getting all cozy together under here? I AM SICK OF BEING IGNORED!"

A look of disgust and horror passed between Smoker and Zoro, who both shuddered in unison.

"It's not like that, idiot," the older man grumbled, as Zoro wiggled an arm free from the slighter man that now clung to him in a manner very much like his younger brother, and rubbing his damaged ear.

"Well what the hell have you two been talking about all this time? You've been here for almost an hour!"

Has it been that long?, Zoro wondered, idly glancing around for a clock, and, not finding one, promptly stopped caring.

"What I do with my time isn't necessarily your concern, is it, Portgas?" the older man asked, leveling Ace with a pointed look.

His boyfriend merely arched a thin, unimpressed eyebrow. "Fair enough. I guess you'll be going home tonight alone then, eh?"

The fact that Smoker -- asshole-extraordinaire and all around tough guy -- the fact that he had just paled at that sort of threat actually made Zoro want to scrub his already-abused ear-drums with steel wool and never think ever again.

"I don't really need to hear this." He turned and glared down at the man still wrapped around his side. "Ace? Move. Now."

"Aw, but I just go he--"

"Fucking move!"

He simply huffed, rolling his eyes as he disentangled his limbs from Zoro's and taking a step back.

"You really are no fun," he pouted. But it only lasted a second. The next, his eyes were lit up with a gleam that the swordsman had by now learned to fear when it came from Luffy. He figured it could be no better coming from the older brother.

"I've just decided," Ace proclaimed, looking pompous and very pleased with himself. "I'm gonna make it my life's mission to get you laid!"

Smoker made an unpleasant choking sound, and Zoro could have sworn he heard an echo of it from just above him, but he was a bit more distracted with trying to control the urge to throttle the man now smiling that familiar, triumphant smile to notice too much.

Fucker looked like he'd just found the solution to world hunger.

But before he could voice his all-consuming wish to slice open the man's belly, Ace had already started talking again, his lack of attention span and segue something the swordsman was quickly deciding had to be genetic.

"Ah well," the freckled man said, shrugging off the anger that no doubt radiated from Zoro in waves. "Someone should probably go check on that kid, anyway."

Zoro blinked just then, embarrassed rage swiftly forgotten in wake of confusion, which seemed to happen with increasing frequency, lately.

"What kid?"

"The small one with the shaggy, brown hair."

"Chopper?" Zoro asked, feeling his chest tighten again. "Why? What happened?"

"Well, he was hanging out with Franky and Usopp at one of the tables after the first course was served," Ace said, and Zoro was gonna throttle him if he didn't get to the point fast. "And I dunno what they slipped him, but he was acting sort of loopy. They might have spiked his Coke as a gag, or something."

Zoro was fairly certain he felt something in his brain, round about where his sense of calm and rationality was stored, utterly and completely snap.

And this time, he was pretty sure someone was gonna end up dead.

"FRANKY!" he bellowed, making Ace jump slightly, and even Smoker seemed surprised, but he didn't care; he just charged into the thick of the crowd, hunting out where that big-armed fuck-head was hiding. When Zoro found him, he'd massacre his Hawaiian-shirt-wearing-ass.

Because Zoro had been far too angry that night, and beating the fuck out of someone in righteous retribution seemed like the ideal way to let off some steam.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sensing the impending bloodshed, Sanji leapt to his feet and tore down the rest of the steps, hoping to stop the marimo before he stained any of the table cloths, 'cuz God knows that shitty Geezer would have his ass if anything happened to the restaurant. As it was, he didn't get far.

A large, impossibly strong hand wrapped easily around his narrow shoulder the instant he stepped off the stairs, holding him back. And honestly, Sanji had forgotten about the strange man named Smoker who could verbally bitch-slap the swordsman like no other he'd ever seen, and intrigued he may be, but time he didn't have, not if he intended on damage control.

"I hope you enjoyed hearing all the juicy gossip," the man grumbled suddenly, making Sanji freeze, and he could have sworn, at one point in his life, that he'd had balls. They must have gone internal.

And he was starting to understand now why the moss-head had been so obedient.

Mother-fucker was scary looking.

He was taller than Zoro by about a head, give or take a few inches, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His slightly graying hair was slicked back, showing that same prominent forehead and angled brows that Zoro seemed to have. And damn, was this bastard good at glaring. He may very well have the swordsman beat in the realm of sheer irritation and pissed-offedness that could be communicated in a look, and Zoro had been one of the best Sanji'd ever seen. The effect was aided by the two cigars smoking away in his mouth, baring his teeth to the cook, and all around looking capable of murder.

He apparently did not approve of Sanji's eavesdropping. Neither did Sanji, really, as coincidence would have it, but he wasn't gonna say two words to this guy before he had his temperament pinned down.

Mostly because, at that very moment, Sanji happened to catch sight of the gun strapped in a holster at the man's side. Sanji most definitely did not swallow nervously.

"Oh, let him off, Smokey! He's a buddy of mine," Ace said, patting the older man's large chest calmingly and reminding Sanji that he was even still there.

Smoker's gaze, if possible, narrowed even further in dislike.

"I want a chat with him."

Ace pouted. "You've been talking all night! When are you gonna pay any attention to me? You know: the guy you're going out with!?"

His eyes finally shifted from the cook to his boyfriend, the anger letting up slightly, but not by much.

"I'll make it up to you later," he vowed, voice gravelly with something that Sanji wagered wasn't just from the cigar smoke, but he was ending his train of thought right there. "But I need to talk to this guy now."

Ace frowned, looking between the two of them, throwing a glance at the crowd where Zoro had disappeared in his search for Franky, and fidgeting slightly. He seemed unsure.

"Just don't kill him, okay?" the freckled man asked, biting his lip. "He's paying the rent on the apartment, and I don't want my lil' brother out on the streets."

Smoker nodded curtly, his glare softening a fraction as Ace gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before casting one last look at Sanji, as though saying, "God speed," before he turned and swaggered back to the party.

Now it was just the two of them.

Smoker and Sanji.

The cook kinda wanted to kick Ace through a wall.

"What exactly were you trying to pull?" the older man said, pulling out one of the cigars and tapping the ash off.

Sanji shifted from foot to foot. "Um…"

"Either give me a straight answer or I'll deck you across the goddamn room, Toothpick!"

Just like Zeff, Sanji thought. And that, in a bizarre way, was a comforting fact. He knew how to tread with someone like this.

"I'd actually been trying to catch up to the marimo," the cook said, pulling out a cigarette and lighter of his own, going for nonchalant and hoping he didn't end up dead for it. "Idiot came up to the kitchen to see how I…to see why I was so pissed earlier, and I snapped at him for it. Then my boss kicked my ass and made me follow the moss-head down here to talk, or something." He blew a line of smoke out, thankful for each passing second that he was still breathing. "And then he ran into you."

"I don't see how any of that justifies you crouching up there like a goddamn kindergartner and listening in on shit that doesn't concern you." The man's tone was sharp and cutting, and Sanji figured this guy cared a lot more about the swordsman than he'd originally let on. He was, without a doubt, immensely pissed about this.

For Zoro's sake.

And somehow, that just really stuck in Sanji's craw.

"Look, I know I did something stupid," the blonde groused around his cig. "I'm not proud of it, and I ain't pleased with myself for doing it. But living with a stranger isn't all that easy, to be honest."

"So then just ask him shit!" Smoker exclaimed, a vein pulsing in his neck slightly. "Jesus, the prick isn't gonna chop your head off for a little curiosity! He's an arrogant jackass, not a demon!"

"He'd kill me, I can guarantee it."

"The fuck makes you think that?"

Sanji glared at him, annoyed beyond measure that he actually had to say any of this. He thought about it plenty, and it never really bothered him, but to say the words…it made it seem real in a way that he wasn't all that comfortable with. It made him wish he was lying. But Sanji didn't lie, for the most part, and this guy would see through anything he tried to pull, anyway, so it really didn't pay to sugar coat any of this. And that just made it worse to say.

"Zoro hates me."

And Sanji kind of hated this old man.

Especially when said old man started laughing. Hard. Fucker had to take both his cigars out to keep from choking.

Sanji was also starting to understand why Zoro was so pissed earlier that evening. This unbelievable asshole had the uncanny ability to mock a man to his core. Not even Zeff had pissed the cook off so much by doing so little. So Sanji stood there, stewing in his anger, and waited for the dick to quit finding his problems so damn amusing.

It took a while. But, eventually, Smoker managed to calm down, and once he could finally breath properly, said, "You idiot!"

The blonde growled, teeth clenching hard enough to pinch the filter of his cigarette, which didn't help his mood much.

"The fuck did you call me?" he demanded, yanking out the now-useless cigarette and crushing it on the underside of his shoe, pocketing the crumbled remains.

"An idiot!" Smoker said again, glare swiftly returning. "Because you are one, idiot."

And that was pretty much all Sanji could take.

"Where the fuck do you get off saying that shit to me!" he yelled, not caring if anyone heard him. The distinct sound of Zoro shouting like a madman would no doubt distract the other part-goers from his outburst.

Asshole must have finally tracked down Franky, he thought, before shaking his head and returning to the situation at hand.

"I call it like I see it, Blondie," the older man growled, unimpressed by Sanji's attitude. "Roronoa's not exactly the nicest guy in the whole damn world, but he's better than some. And you'd probably do well to quit assuming the worst about him."

Sanji didn't like this. He really didn't like this. Sure, he knew Zoro was probably not the biggest asshole he'd ever met, and when he was feeling particularly generous -- which was rare -- he'd admit that the marimo might even be something sort of resembling, in a way, a fairly not-bad person. But to hear this stranger -- this bastard who didn't even know Sanji, or anything about him, or how he and Zoro even interacted -- to have to listen to this guy admonish him for misunderstanding the moss-head, and for unjustly disliking him, even when Zoro was nothing but a total dick to Sanji was pretty much the last thing he ever wanted to hear.

He wanted to know about Zoro.

Not because he didn't understand him, because really, Zoro was not all that hard to figure out.

He wanted to know about Zoro in the vague hope that those facts would prove everything he'd already come to know about the swordsman wrong.

He didn't want to admit that Zoro was, okay, fine, not that bad of a person. He didn't want to admit that the marimo was, in a weird way, oddly responsible, especially at keeping the kids in line. He didn't want to admit that he'd somehow learned to anticipate every single word that Zoro could possibly say, well before the idiot ever even opened his mouth. He didn't want to admit that he sort of admired the marimo and all his determination to fulfill his dream, and the fact that he let nothing stand in his way, and if Sanji was honest, he'd say he was even a little jealous of that dedication.

He didn't want to admit that, really, he didn't even hate the swordsman anymore. Because he didn't actually want to stop hating him. It seemed like too much to give up all of a sudden. Like a security blanket. What he was trying to secure himself from, he really didn't know, but it felt like something massive and upsetting and big would come plummeting down on him if he let go of this loathing.

He wanted to know things about Zoro to prove, at least to himself, that the swordsman was actually a really bad person not worthy of civil interaction, or even kindness. That's what he wanted, and that's what he was looking for.

But then Zoro, as only Zoro could do, had gone and messed up something as simple as hate. He'd actually been interested in knowing what was wrong with the blonde. Had sought him out for the sole purpose of checking up on him. Seemed to maybe, kind of, almost give a shit about him.

And Sanji figured he could maybe, kind of, almost give a shit about Zoro. And it wouldn't be so bad.

Hopefully.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chopper's hoodie was all soaked down the front and smelling strongly of soda and whiskey. His chin was damp from his failed attempts at drinking, and his breath was heavier than usual, panting through his mouth, which was hanging open. His eyes were red and glazed, his hair mussed, and the young boy swayed where he stood, alternating between giggle fits and uncomfortable groans.

Zoro was pretty sure this was a first.

He was almost certain he'd never been so pissed that he literally felt his heart pounding in his eyelids. His blood pressure was so fucked.

And so, ironically, was Franky.

"Heh heh!" the man, who was larger than Zoro, but seeming rather nervous in the wake of his rage, chuckled, hoping to show the swordsman how funny this all was.

Zoro wasn't buying it any time this century.

Usopp was standing slightly off to the side, trying to hold the inebriated Chopper up, and looking worriedly from the boy hanging limp in his arms to the two men squaring off. Zoro didn't blame Usopp. He knew whose idea it had been, and he was pretty sure Usopp hadn't really done more than enable. But Usopp was a good guy, and he wouldn't do anything to honestly hurt his nakama. He knew Franky wouldn't either.

But it had been Franky's idea. And of the three of them, Franky was the only one actually legal to drink, the long-nose only one year shy of the mark. Franky was supposed to be the responsible one. The one to look out for his younger companions.

And Franky was probably gonna die.

"Look, bro, I didn't mean any harm by it!"

Yeah. Zoro knew that too.

"It was just a little Jack in his Coke! He didn't even notice at first!"

Of course he wouldn't, Chopper barely drinks soda, much less whiskey.

"I mean, I was just tryin' to help the kid out!"

Okay. Zoro had officially maxed out his quota of bullshit for the night.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, 'HELP HIM OUT'?" the swordsman roared, making Usopp squeak and jerk back, hauling the near-unconscious boy with him. "HE CAN'T EVEN STAND UP! HOW IS THAT HELPING HIM!?"

Franky looked like he felt bad, but Franky was also a proud man, and no doubt didn't appreciate being lectured by a guy nearly a decade younger than him, and Zoro really couldn't have given less of a shit. He didn't hate Franky. He didn't even dislike him in any way.

But he was mad as fuck at him, and Franky kept saying shit that wasn't helping Zoro's temper at all.

"Well hell, Zoro, how was I supposed to know the kid was such a light-weight?"

Shit like that.

Zoro grunted harshly before reaching over, wrapping a hand in Chopper's damp hoodie, and carefully dragging the boy out of Usopp's grasp. He stumbled a bit, bumping into Zoro's chest with a quiet, "Oomph!" before dissolving into gurgling giggles, pawing slightly at the front of the green-haired man's shirt, as though trying to orient his new surroundings by touch. His eyes obviously weren't working too well, because when they did look up at Zoro, they kept darting around wobblingly, as though he was watching three different Zoro's float in a dizzying circle.

He was so fucking shit-faced it wasn't even funny.

None of it was funny. Not a damn thing about this amusing at all, and Zoro wasn't sure why it burned his gut so badly. But he knew Chopper wouldn't want this, would probably beat the shit out of himself when he finally came out of it, and that really bothered Zoro.

And he didn't really need to know why, he decided. He just wanted to take care of the kid.

"Chopper," he said slow and quiet, fingers clutching his chin firmly and giving it the barest shake, trying to get his eyes to center. "Chopper look at me."

The boy's droopy, brown eyes focused, just over Zoro's shoulder, and a lazy grin slid across his small face.

"Hi, Zoro!" he laughed. "I dunno which one of you I oughtta look at!" The boy snorted, his head suddenly too heavy to support, as it dropped forward against the larger man's chest.

Zoro huffed, petting the boy's head gently as he rocked slightly back and forth on his heels, but kept his head pressed against the swordsman, hands curled in the sides of his open denim jacket.

He sighed again. What the hell was he gonna do about this?

"Aw come on!" Franky said, grinning and trying to act like this wasn't the most infuriating thing that has ever happened in Zoro's life to date. "Little Doctor-Bro needs to learn how to loosen up, anyway!"

That. Was. It.

"HE DOES NOT NEED TO 'LOOSEN UP,' FRANKY!" Zoro ranted, his eye-sight tingeing red. "He's fucking seventeen! He's in fucking college and he has fucking class tomorrow, and he's gonna be FUCKING HUNG OVER! Do you have any idea how disappointed this kid's gonna be when he finds out what he did!? He won't blame you guys, he'll blame himself!"

Franky's stare was utterly blank, and slightly ashamed, and Usopp's mouth was hanging open in shock. Half the damn restaurant was probably watching him right now, and Zoro could not have cared less.

"And in case this isn't fucked up enough, that asshole with the cigars is a goddamned cop! What do you think will happen to this restaurant if he finds out a minor's been drinking? Do you think about any of this shit before you do something stupid!?"

"Zoro," Franky started, meeker than he had been a few minutes ago, "Look, man, I'm sorry, all right? I didn't think it'd hit him that much. I didn't mean for anything bad to happen. Honest."

"Yeah, me neither!" Usopp piped up, looking worried and utterly dejected.

And Zoro knew they hadn't meant it; they'd probably expected Chopper to spit the shit out the minute he tasted it. But as it was, the kid was fucking smashed, and Zoro was still pissed, dammit.

"I know you didn't do that shit on purpose, but for fuck's sake, the kid's never even tasted wine before! What the hell did you think whiskey would do to him!?" he continued to yell. "And don't fucking apologize to me, dumbasses, apologize to the kid! When he's sober!"

Both men looked down at their shoes, even Franky, and seemed sufficiently reprimanded.

"I don't wanna see him drinking again until he's twenty-one, go it?"

They nodded and mumbled some sheepish affirmatives, with Zoro's disapproving scowl still smoldering over them, but he knew they wouldn't pull shit like this again. They were good guys, in the end, and he knew that.

Suddenly, the hands that had simply clung to his jacket were now pulling weakly but insistently at his T-shirt. Zoro looked down into Chopper's upturned face.

And it wasn't a pretty sight. The poor kid was still droopy, but now his usually pale skin was tinted green, a trail of saliva steadily ran down his chin from his gaping mouth, and he was frowning in discomfort, and not a little bit of confusion.

"Zoro?" he asked, eyes crossed and grimace twisting his features. "Zoro? I don't feel so good…"

Shit. This just kept getting worse and worse.

Not hesitating a second, Zoro bent slightly and scooped Chopper up in his arms, muttering, "Don't worry, kiddo, it'll be okay," before turning on his heel and storming off, hoping to find someone who knew where a bathroom was.

To his luck, and so far the best thing that had happened that night, Sanji just happened to be standing near Smoker at the foot of the stairs, looking bewildered and deeply concerned.

"Hey," he started, "what the hell's -- "

" -- I need a bathroom, now!" Zoro cut him off.

The blonde took less than two seconds to look from his tense face, down to Chopper's shaking, whimpering form, and back again before he spun around, throwing a, "Follow me," over his shoulder, and tearing up the steps, Zoro hot on his heels.

Sanji led him to the top of the stairs, through the crowded storage room, and down the darkened hallway Zoro had seen earlier. The cook dove to the right, throwing open the first door he came to and flicking the light on. Zoro ducked in after him, relief washing over him at the sight of the bathroom, since Chopper had already started dry heaving on the way up, and without wasting another second, he kicked the toilet seat up, set the boy down as gently as possible, and pulled his shaggy bangs out of the way just in time for the first wave of nausea to finally hit home.

And damn, but that boy was sick.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zoro had blanked out when it became obvious that Chopper was hell-bent on relieving himself of anything he'd eaten in the last five years. He just stared at the back of the toilet, listening the unpleasant sounds of the small boy throwing up, and his gasps and cries and pleas for it to stop, and Zoro was fairly certain he'd have to recant his decision not to tear Franky's head from his oversized shoulders. The poor kid did not deserve this. He shouldn't have to deal with this sort of shit. He was only trying to fit in with the group, and be a part of the fun, and he gets screwed over like this. Zoro felt sick himself, for reasons that had nothing to do with the acrid scent of bile filling the room.

When the puking had pretty much stopped, and the kid's sobs had quieted into soft whimpers, and his body had started a slow and steady sag to the floor, Zoro heard familiar footsteps suddenly, walking into the bathroom from the hall.

He honestly hadn't realized the cook had left.

But regardless of when he'd left, he was back now, carrying a glass of water and a damp cloth, and looked strained and worried when Zoro thanked him with a tired nod of his head as he set the items on the floor beside the swordsman.

"When he's cleaned up, bring him two doors down on the right. He can lie down in there," Sanji murmured.

"Right. Thanks."

"That's the right side, okay? The one that's not left? The same side of the hall the bathroom's on?"

"I got it, cook, knock it off!"

But Sanji just grinned slightly before turning and leaving the room again, and Zoro was surprised that he hadn't yelled right back at him, and even more surprised that a similar sort of grin was working its way up his own face, and Zoro hadn't even been aware of it.

Ah well.

He took the washcloth and dabbed at Chopper's face, who had calmed down considerably, and was in fact barely conscious. He'd groan and frown slightly when Zoro had to shift his face for a new angle, but he never opened his eyes once. When all the sweat and grime was cleared away, Zoro threw the cloth into the sink beside him, and reached for the glass of water.

"Here, kid. Rinse your mouth out and drink some. It'll help the hangover tomorrow."

Chopper cracked one eye, groaned miserably again, and let his mouth fall open. Zoro tipped the glass, allowing a stream of water to trickle in slow enough not to choke the boy. Zoro then set the glass down, helping Chopper sit up over the toilet again.

"That's it," he muttered soothingly, petting the sweaty mop of hair, "nice and easy. Swish it around a bit."

It was a slow process, but Chopper eventually nodded, certain he'd rinsed his mouth fairly well. Zoro took the cue and pulled the kid's bangs back again so Chopper could spit the water out into the toilet. Zoro closed the lid then, hauling the boy back into his lap before flushing all of Chopper's bad experience down the drain.

"I'm gonna take you down the hall, okay?" Zoro asked, trying to keep the poor boy in the loop. "Sanji's got a spot made up where you can lie down."

Chopper nodded weakly, letting his head thump backwards on to the larger man's chest, before closing his eyes and surrendering.

Zoro sighed, grabbing the glass of water off the floor before picking the small boy up, and carrying him out into the hall. He was halfway to the kitchen before he figured he might have turned the wrong direction out of the bathroom, and he about-faced, heading back the way he'd come. He found the bathroom again, and successfully counted down two doors.

Said door was still propped open slightly, a light shining out into the hallway that was still darkened, and Zoro nudged his way into the room. What he found inside was not really what he'd expected. He'd expected to find another storage room, of sorts, with a sack of rice or flour and a blanket for the kid to lie on. He hadn't expected an entire bedroom, complete with a dresser, a desk, photos on the wall, and the small, simple bed set against the wall opposite the door. Did someone actually live here?

But the covers of the bed were pulled back, waiting, and Chopper was very nearly snoring, so Zoro just shrugged it off, moving across the tiny space in a matter of strides, and carefully let the boy down on the mattress.

"Hey, Chopper," he said, nudging the boy slightly. "Chopper. I want you to drink this glass of water, okay? Can you do that for me?"

The boy frowned, grumbling his disapproval with eyes barely open.

"I know, I know. Just drink this glass and you can go to sleep. Promise."

He seemed to think about it for a moment, but finally nodded, allowing Zoro to tip the glass towards his lips again. For however tired he was, Chopper certainly had been thirsty; the glass was empty before Zoro could even blink. The swordsman honestly wanted to get another glass for him; the more water the kid drank, the less fucked he'd feel in the morning. But Chopper was already falling asleep, water dribbling down the side of his chin, and Zoro decided everything else could wait. The poor kid deserved to sleep now. Wiping the boy's chin with the sleeve of his jacket, Zoro leaned him back against the pillow, slipped his shoes off gently, and pulled the covers up over him. He was unconscious within seconds.

Zoro sighed again, pushing clumps of brown hair out of the boy's face, before standing from the bed and heading out the door.

Or, he would have. If a row of framed photos along the dresser-top near the door hadn't caught his eye and curiosity. He was still wondering whose room this was. Picking up a random photo, he studied the image closely: a tall man, with an even taller chef's hat atop his head, and looking markedly younger, stood smirking at the camera, fist digging into the head of a small, scrawny, blonde-haired boy, his one blue eye glaring up at the man bullying him.

Sanji. It was utterly unmistakable. Mostly because he hadn't changed at all in however many years, except to grow significantly taller. Zoro wasn't sure what he thought he'd see in the picture; wasn't certain who he assumed lived here, except that Sanji was fairly close to the last person he would have guessed. Maybe because he knew, for a fact, that Sanji lived with him, and therefore couldn't possibly live here as well. Whatever.

He was surprised in any event.

"Hey, what the hell took you so long? You get lost?" that drawl voice rasped from near the door. Fucker kept sneaking up on him.

Zoro completely ignored the jeer, which said a lot about how very distracted he was by this whole room-thing, and simply held the photo up for Sanji to see, asking, "You live here?"

The cook's curly eyebrow ticked slightly. "Used to live here. I moved out years ago."

Zoro frowned. "But the room's still got all this stuff in here."

"Shitty Geezer's too lazy to clear it out, I guess," Sanji said, acting almost too indifferent. Kinda like he was forcing it. Zoro logged that away for future needling.

"But you lived here, right? So what's with the old man? Is he, like, your father or -- "

"—Foster father," Sanji said, and he seemed to be on a clarification kick tonight. He took the frame from Zoro's hands and spared it a brief glance before setting it back on the dresser top offhandedly. "Bastard found me wandering around the pier one night and dragged me into the restaurant. Gave me work to do and a place to stay. So I stuck around."

Zoro had the feeling he wasn't even getting half the story, but now didn't really seem like the time to try and figure it all out. So he just nodded, and left it off for the moment.

A brief mumble from behind him had Zoro turning around just in time to see Chopper frown in his sleep and roll over, bundling himself tightly in the blankets. The swordsman sighed, which he felt like he'd been doing a lot the last hour, and watched him a moment, unable to deny that he'd become sorta fond of the scruffy kid.

"He's got class tomorrow," Sanji said, sounding a bit hopeless.

"Yep," Zoro said, "he does."

Sanji sighed this time, a tired sigh that told Zoro the cook wanted this night to be over just as much as he did.

"I can stay here tonight, I guess," the slender man huffed. "Chopper will probably freak if he wakes up in a strange place with no one he knows around."

Zoro got the odd impression that Sanji didn't really want to stay over at the restaurant, and he wasn't actually clear on all the details, but the swordsman figured it was sort of similar to why he didn't want to live with Johnny and Yosaku again. There was just something about going back to the way things were that was really unappealing to both of them.

And so, without any forethought at all, the green-haired man found himself saying, "I can stay here, if you want."

He had the briefest notion that maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut, because Sanji turned to blink at him with the most indescribable look; his blue eyes wide, and looking a little stunned, but not blank and confused. More like he was thinking too many thoughts all at once to say or do anything. And Zoro didn't know when he got so good at interpreting the shit-cook's expressions, but it happened, he wasn't sure why, and the bastard was still just looking at him, and honestly, Zoro didn't know what the hell to do about it.

It didn't matter. Before anything really could be done, there was an almighty crash from just down the hall, and a sudden cry of, "OWNER ZEFF!"

And Zoro didn't have a clue what the hell was going on, only certain that he had never seen Sanji run faster in the few months he'd known the man. Those long legs bounded across the upper floor in just a few long leaps, and Zoro had to sprint to keep up. The blonde slammed through the swinging doors of the kitchen, shoving past the other cooks and hired hands that stood in a tight circle in the center of the room, yelling at everyone to get the fuck back. Zoro followed in his wake, trying to squeeze into the first ring of onlookers, but with some jostling forwards, and some jostling away, he couldn't get a good look at anything. All he managed to see was the old man laid out on his back, seizing, while Sanji fisted his white chef's jacket and shouted at him.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU BASTARD!?"

Everyone was murmuring shit, and Zoro couldn't catch all of it, but kept hearing things like "heart condition," and, "third time this month," and, "won't take his pills." He continued listening, straining to get a better idea of what the hell was happening, but then Sanji's voice was piercing through him again, and it became fairly obvious.

"DON'T YOU PULL THIS SHIT WITH ME, OLD MAN! DON'T YOU FUCKING DIE ON ME, YOU SHITTY GEEZER!!!"

And then, all of a sudden, the man stopped moving.

Zoro swallowed past the swelling dread he felt in his chest, and carefully backed out of the room. It was bad enough hearing Sanji scream like that.

He didn't actually need to see it.

Forty.........one.......pages.........How ever did you manage to read that? My apologies again for the delay. I'd like to say I'm gonna try and do better, but that's a lie, and I know it. I haven't made much progress since I last posted, and since I've recently developed another soul-crushing obsession with a different fandom, I'm busy combing through every fic and video ever produced on the comm on LJ. It's ridiculous. I'm not writing anything for it, I'm just spending all my free time reading about it, and not writing this. So yeah. A hiatus might be in order (as awful as that sounds). But I shall not abandon this story, so don't worry. It will get finished. But not for a while, at least. My bad. :( Don't hate me!