This chapter is dedicated to hamstercheese7 who said they love this fic on discord. Comments and kudos fuel my creative fire.
And thank you arcanebunny for amazing beta-work, as always!
Paris was beautiful.
Nami had always known this on an intellectual level; it is hard to grow up with Le Fableaux Destine d'Amélie Poulain and Anna Gavalda and the Paris Syndrome and Les Misérables and the Hideous Hunchbacked Creation of the Devil, either in literary or musical form, and somehow miss the City of Love.
She had done her fair share of backpacking and heard even more second-hand from her too-happy-go-lucky housemates than was sane or possibly legal. Above all, she knew how to work a city. London had an energetic vibe while Berlin was laid back and artistic. Madrid enjoyed food and Rome sampled wine mixed with a touch of history and additives now forbidden by the European Union. Stockholm's elegance overshadowed Prague's quirks while Brussels, Helsinki, Zagreb and Ljubljana were, for all their hidden delights and open secrets, left for the second round of holiday making, once you'd done the 'real' Europe.
But Paris was truly breath-taking.
Although the entire city centre had been remodelled in the 19th century by Baron von Hausmann, tearing down old paupers' quarters to make way for avenues and parks and the French modernists had done unspeakable horrors with the aid of sharp rulers and béton brut during the 20th century, the city exuded a certain charm, an unspecified je ne sais quoi.
The warm air belayed her as she skipped along the boulevard with Sanji, occasionally dragging him down to earth as his heart-propelled feet threatened to unmoor him completely. Tall trees shaded grand boulevards, the leaves painting rippling, dappled patterns on the ground. All details were just right, as though there was a proudness in keeping up the appearances, but on a national scale. It wouldn't do to let the collective image slip, now would it?
And it was almost ridiculous how well the people suited the city.
Well dressed and beautiful people crowded around them, smart black shoes clip-clopping across harsh pavement in a haste to get somewhere else. It didn't matter if they were stepping into a small shop on a side-street or stopping by Sanji's old man's place on Rue Mouffetard; the choreography around her hardly changed as picture-perfect people went about their day where she played a small, temporary part as backdrop filler, or just another face in the crowd.
It was almost like they were in an advertisement and at times Nami just about expected people to start singing about the amazing detergent they used or how they managed to charm their teeth so very blindingly white.
Narrow alleys hiding precious artisans abounded and although a sliver of sky was visible between houses high as the horizon, it was still not enough to cover the darkening sapphire dome above. Nami laughed out loud at Sanji's obvious discomfort in a lingerie shop and dragged him into the BDSM pavilion next door, just to make her point, but relented when he didn't know where to put his head and ended up hanging it in shame. The matron just smiled at them as they rushed out without buying anything, giggles hiding behind Nami's hand.
Although garbage never smells particularly nice, the city still managed to blend its own personal concoction of smells and scents, of tastes and impressions. Dry air mingled with sun-warmed concrete, touched by a hint of pre-spring grass and the inherent energy of nature in spring.
And yet, Paris was beautiful.
It would be even better if Nami didn't see Trafalgar everywhere.
From the scammer with his damned gold rings and matching almost golden eyes near the Seine to the tall, dark and broody artistes, all with a certain bohemian air. From random passers-by to servers at the restaurant Sanji finally took her to, she sees his tall stature everywhere and the glint of golden earrings sparkle in the dwindling light. She hears his gruff baritone in the welcome murmur of the maître d' who seemed to recognise Sanji on sight, ushering them deeper into the restaurant without a word of warning and when a dark-haired patron gives a wry smile, she cranes her neck and–
–and it drives her mad.
Why can't she stop thinking about him? He, who committed the most horrendous academic crime imaginable? He, who took one look at proper scientific conduct and laughed in its face? It's almost as bad as the controversy about spider behaviours – although her past self does acknowledge that stealing data is still better than outright fabrication. If it's stolen, it's still data, not a figment of some sod's imagination.
Nami has done her fair share of less savoury things in life, that is true. But when it comes to science she has always, always been prudent and diligent and conscientious.
It wouldn't do to be caught doing something wrong, now would it? Something that could put others in danger or endanger the whole operation?
She shivers at the recollection, the large peace lily behind her shivering in sympathy or possibly due to the opening door.
"–Nami?"
When she returned to the present, she met Sanji's worried eyes with a quick smile which she knew didn't hide her momentary absence, but she also knew Sanji wouldn't question her. A raised eyebrow of concern was met with a quick wave of her slender hand, and she knew she was off the hook for the moment as Sanji merely shook his head almost imperceptibly in silent defeat and placed their order without even glancing at the menu.
The restaurant was cosy and nice and perfectly up to all of Nami's non-stringent standards, but it was apparently lacking something in Sanji's opinion. However hard she tried, there was no napkin in the world wide enough to hide her grin as Sanji tried his best to suppress a shudder as a small bread basket appeared.
"Please accept my humblest apologies for this," he said with a grimace, dropping his napkin with a soft thump, the candle flickering in the draft.
Usopp might have the worst Shrödinger's self-esteem she had seen and Chopper went into a tizzy when someone got a splinter –not very constructive for someone who really wanted to be a doctor when he graduated– but few of her acquaintances were as fussy with their specialist subject as Sanji when it came to food.
Except probably for Luffy when it came to bugs. No-one at the Sunny would easily forget the time their living room had become an impromptu terrarium as the university's lab had some sort of malfunction and it was only Usopp's frenzied warnings about 'structural integrity' and 'mould' that kept him from turning it into a paludarium, pond and all included.
But all bugs, irritating postdocs and dreamy potential professors were far from her mind as the candle flickered and the mere presence of Paris engulfed them.
"Sanji, it's a restaurant you chose. It can't possibly be that bad," Nami reassured him.
The evening started off as nicely as the day had gone. The food was magnificent –as expected– and when Sanji suggested a follow-up at a local bar, Nami didn't think twice about it.
"–as long as you make true of your promise to buy me a drink. Or do you want a poor student like me to eat porridge for the rest of the term?" She fluttered her eyelashes dramatically.
"I am as much of a student as you," Sanji defended himself. "And don't you have that money you swiped from the scammer earlier?"
Nami's satisfied grin had a certain Cheshire quality to it and a small, old lady moved surprisingly quickly to the other side of the street as they exited the restaurant. "Fine, the first drink is on me."
Sanji merely sighed and shook his head good-naturedly. "And a pretty girl like you won't have any problems getting more of them wherever we go. You know how beautiful you are."
It was not so much a compliment as a statement. A factual utterance, based on openly available data.
They both knew it to be true.
Nami merely sighed, leaning on Sanji's arm where they walked, cobblestones slippery under her heels after a short evening shower. "Oh, yes. I've had fifteen marriage proposals, four of them this year alone. Although two of those came from you and one from Kid, so I'm not sure it counts."
"Let's see if you can't get a few more before the night is over," Sanji said with a wry smile, holding up a nondescript door in a nondescript wall in a nondescript alley.
The bar's anonymity really made it stand out, once you thought about it. Such a hidden place almost screamed 'look at me'.
You'd almost suspect that it was prominent on the main lists of 'hidden Parisian gems' or some other clickbaity site. The whole place reeked of dark wood and closeted air, dark windows hidden behind large potted plants. The air was thick with earthy tones of stone and clay, mingling with traces of wine and whisky and the murmur of intoxicated people as well as the occasional glassy clink from the bar. The crowd's curiosity flickered over them before deeming them an acceptable addition to the eclectic patronage, although Nami sensed a few pairs of eyes lingering at either her long legs or Sanji's curly brows.
A heavy-set bartender, one eye hidden behind a very pirate-y patch, regarded them with a neutral gaze that told them she only cared about what they could bring to her bar in terms of money and didn't care about any personal baggage.
Of course Nami wouldn't have such problems. No baggage, luggage or unexpected weight or expectation here, no siree nor madamee.
She was on top of both her physical and emotional game.
Completely.
A golden glint beneath dark locks made Nami turn away before she realised the man leaning against the bar was at least three decades too old to be Trafalgar.
She had to do something about this. She followed Sanji towards a corner table, easing into the seat and grasping her drink a bit too tightly.
If she squinted at the tall blond tucked away in the opposite corner, he almost reminded her of Doflamingo.
And if she turned her head slightly to the left, the shadows on the red-head over there looked like Kid.
The dim light turned the almond-shaped eyes of a woman leaning against the bar into almost the exact same shade as Vivi's and a boisterous laugh suddenly echoing through the place could just about be taken for a poor impersonation of Luffy–
And then everything went straight to Hell, without even stopping to redirect the post.
Three mirror images of Sanji, perfect copies in almost every detail from the narrow waist to the ease with which they carried themselves, stood in the doorway, crowding the already tiny space.
"Sanji?" she murmured, pleasant smile hiding her nerves.
"I'm so sorry," was all he managed before the mirror shattered and the arrivals turned their focus on them, and she saw how they were all decidedly not Sanji.
"Little brother!" the leader exclaimed, holding out his arms in greeting. His light suit was impeccable, a frilly cravat carelessly draped around his muscular neck and a belt, striped in dark green and mint, clashing rather fascinatingly with the norms of fashion, hanging on slim hips. The two men behind him were both clad in dark suits, impeccable in their attention to detail with their collars just so, hair on point and shoes perfectly coordinated and shining dark.
And then they crowded them, and the leader dropped his heavy frame next to Nami, completely ignoring Sanji opposite them.
"Sanji-chan," he said without turning his eyes to the blond now clenching his fist so hard his knuckles turned white, "you should have let us know you're in town. Horrible manners of you to ignore your family like that, especially with such charming company."
His eyes were a curious shade of green and Nami was already cataloguing the escape routes as he dropped a heavy arm around her shoulders.
"What do you say, sweetcheeks? Let's ditch this loser and I'll show you what a real royal can do for you."
"I'd rather gouge my eyes out and throw myself in the Seine," Nami said with a saccharine smile as she removed his arm, distancing herself as best she could in the confined space.
"Yonji," was all the slightly shorter Sanji-copy said, laying a hand on his shoulder. His red hair was a deep auburn in the dim light. To Nami's surprise, the man called Yonji didn't protest, merely grunted as he slid to the side, leaving her space.
Good. Still physically cornered, but not crowded anymore.
And Nami made her first revision of the evening.
It was the dark one that was the leader, red-rimmed spectacles flashing in the dim light. The green-haired creep still caging her would apparently easily do whatever his boss told him.
"Ichiji." The warning was clear in Sanji's voice. "How did you find us?"
"I do apologise for my little brother," the other man said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it and completely ignoring Sanji in the process. A nod and a smile disguised the shiver running down her spine at the uncouth gesture. His hand was warm in her, dark gloves smooth against her clammy skin. "He is such a disappointment at times."
"He does need some better pick-up lines." Nami fluttered her eyelashes and crossed her legs, noticing how he didn't care and tucking the knowledge away for later.
"Oh, I wasn't talking about Yonji." Ichiji's smile flashed sharp as he gestured the barkeep who apparently was apt at reading careless hand-waving and brought over three glasses of beer and another drink for her. None for Sanji, she noticed.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I've been introduced to any other brothers you could possibly be talking about," Nami said with a careless wave of her own.
Ichiji regarded her for a moment before his sharp smile appeared once more, this time as slow and purposeful as the ones swimming in great rivers with a million years of experience and the patience of the sun. "I like her," he stated to his entourage and both Yonji and the third man laughed. The last Sanji-copy smiled pleasantly, hands deep in his pockets. His light blue shirt was meticulously tucked into his straight-pressed trousers, tie done up just so.
Nami did notice how his casual stance just happened to put him straight in their exit lane.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Ichiji said. "I'm Ivan, but you can call me Ichiji. My brother Nicolaj," the third man, blue detailing just visible in the dim light, raised a lazy hand in greeting, "is more familiarly known as Niji and Fyodor here," he nodded towards the man in green, "is the youngest of the bunch. Also known as Yonji."
"And you didn't answer my question," Sanji cut in, fingers tapping away at his leg beside her. Nami could almost feel his irritation, cascading off him in iridescent waves. "How did you find us?"
"Don't you know it's rude to repeat questions?" the man called Niji drawled, rocking back on his heels. "They would've answered you if they wanted to."
"Maybe I just thought he didn't hear me, with his head so far up his arse," Sanji answered with a pleasant smile.
His brothers all tensed up at the uncouth words, but a raised hand from Ichiji settled their hackles. "You really should give up now," Ichiji sighed, not even bothering to turn around as he signalled the bartender once more. "Come home. Father–"
"Laisse tomber."
Nami hadn't heard such an edge to Sanji's voice before. It took all she had not to raise a questioning eyebrow at the storm clouds rolling over his face, arms tightly folded against his chest where he leaned back in his seat. She could almost see the physical manifestation of his smoking habit hovering over him as his fingers flexed in the fold of his arms, tucked neatly away.
She nudged him with her calf, a quick side-eye enough to convey her question. After a moment, Sanji's jaw unclenches as he took a calming breath, unfolding a bit. "Where did you leave Reiju?" he said, forced politeness weighing down his words.
"Rei-Rei? Dearest Ekaterina? She's somewhere with her third husband, I imagine," Yonji laughed, folding his hands behind his broad neck. Nami, however, kept her eyes trained on Ichiji –he is the most pressing danger– but could feel the green-eyed gaze roam over her, leaving her in dire need of a shower. "And speaking of husbands, Sweetcheeks here might be interested in–"
A sudden commotion snapped her head towards the third wheel and she saw the serving girl, a tiny little thing, looking up at Niji with fear in her eyes, surrounded by glass shards and a spreading puddle of red wine.
No-one should look like that, covering before a mere sneer.
No-one, who hadn't been in the position before.
"You utter idiot." The ice in his voice was sharp enough to cut the tension forming around them as Niji inspected his suit, looking for any signs of spilled drink. "How incompetent can you be, walking into me like that?"
"I- I'm sorry," the girl stammered, trying to gather the largest shards onto her tray. "You just turned so quickly and–"
"You need to read the room," Niji interrupted her, sneering as he stepped over the spilled wine, now inspecting his leather shoes for any stains. "But what can you expect from the places our dear little brother likes to hang around in…"
And if that would have been all the evening had to offer, Nami would have been happy. She would have berated Sanji for not telling them about his weird family and forced him to swear never to invite especially Yonji to visit, ever, and then given him a hug because urgh.
But during the exchange, someone else had entered the bar.
Silence had penetrated the murky interior and had finally found its way to their little corner of paradise, wrapping its tendrils around their table.
A tall man was towering over the bar, his shoulders and face shrouded by a fluffy scarf. He was flanked by a woman with a nasty-looking scar across her striking face, her dark coat well-cut and expensive.
And the man… Nami had seen eyes like those, but that was a long time ago and in a place far far away, and she had rather wanted to leave those times behind, please. They were hard eyes, used to command and obeyance. His whole stance signalled attention and tightly coiled power, barely held together with what amounted to spite and probably some sort of familiar pride.
But the most remarkable thing about the leader was his size.
He was huge.
Even Usopp's boss Franky would have difficulties looking the man in his beady eyes. As the burly man leaned over the table it let out a protesting groan and Nami could swear she saw splinters fall to the floor. There was also something off about his suit; it looked well made, but it still strained in unusual places, like his muscles hadn't stopped growing just because he put a suit on.
"Sasha," Ichiji greeted the giant coolly.
"Mama is tired of waiting for an answer," the man said in a surprisingly soft voice for someone so large, his words slightly muffled by his scarf. "You know she's not one for drawn out discussions."
There was a hint of an accent in his voice. Southern? Eastern? Northern? Western? Nami couldn't place it.
There weren't many things she never again wanted to experience in her life, and one of them was to be seated at a table with a criminal leaning over it, and by extension, her, as though he owned her. She had done that too many times in her short life.
Her smile hadn't faltered once since the entrance of Sanji's family and oh my, Sanji owed her so much for this.
"She has my number, she could have called at any time," Ichiji drawled, leaning back in his seat. "Are you here to threaten us, my dear Sasha? I'm sure that could have been done in a much more tasteful way."
"No, no, nothing of the kind. I'm just here to deliver a friendly message," the giant apparently called Sasha said, standing up straight and looking disgusted at his hands before procuring a handkerchief and wiping them clean. Nami saw a tattoo flash as his sleeve moved across a well-muscled forearm.
Although she couldn't really fault him; the tables were truly appalling.
And then, with surprising speed and a general sense of peace and calm, the man grabbed Nichiji around the neck and threw him through the table.
Before Nami could blink, much less scream, Ichiji, Sanji, and Yonji were up around her. Soft groaning from the floor ensured her that the state of the last brother was still alive, for a certain amount of 'alive'.
The large stranger hadn't so much as blinked through it all.
"The friendly message is this: get Mama an answer before the end of the month, or there will be threats. Much more tasteful, of course."
With that, he turned around and strode out from the bar, shadows detaching from the walls to follow in his wake. The striking woman was the last to leave, her piercing gaze lingering even after the door closed behind her.
It seemed this Sasha's only objective really had been to deliver a friendly message, for a certain value of 'friendly'.
The din in the bar had barely rippled at the scene; no-one seemed to have noticed anything amiss.
Nichiji's swearing increased in both volume and graphical detail as he dragged himself up from the floor, while Ichiji and Yonji looked at each other with grim expressions. The elder brother dug out his phone and started typing a message as Yonji went towards the barkeep.
"Let's go," Sanji murmured in Nami's ear and dragged her out before she had time to answer.
The freezing springtime air covered Nami like a blanket. A chattering noise filled the air and it took her a while to realise it was her teeth. Without a word Sanji wrapped his jacket around her shoulders, its warmth enveloping her like a hug. For a moment, they walked in silence, heading home through the dark streets of a sleeping Paris.
"So, not royalty, you said?" Nami suddenly asked, trying to keep her voice steady and thoughts from spiralling.
Sanji sighed, lighting a cigarette.
"You really want to know?"
Nami narrowed her eyes, arms folded as the turned towards him. "After this, yes. Yes, I do."
Sanji rubbed his brows before sighing deeply, looking up to the darkened sky.
"I don't identify as royal, no." He held up a hand as Nami started protesting. "But yes, I technically am, in a way. I was born into the Vinsmoke family, a bunch of old Russian aristocrats. So, by birth, I'm a prince, although that doesn't mean anything in today's world."
Sanji, a prince?
Nami scarcely believed her ears, but Sanji was apparently not done yet. "The Vinsmokes fled Russia when the revolution really got going over a century ago and have been living in France ever since. They've been marrying into most of the old families and several of the nouveau riches as well. My brother Ichiji will continue that fun family tradition, as he's engaged to the countess Emporkömmling, who has extensive properties in the wine-making districts of Germany. And as you heard, my sister has also gone down that road, although now that I think of it, I never asked what happened to her first two husbands. Dear old dad also tried to make me marry some baroness or something, but I think he just forgot I existed after a while of not getting any replies to his attempts to contact me."
Sanji took another drag of his cigarette. "And, as you saw today, they still keep some… business interests… alive in good old mother Russia." The disgust was palpable in his tone. "I apologise that you had to see that. I really wished you could just spend a nice weekend here before starting your term abroad."
"We are abroad," Nami huffed, wrapping his jacket around her, inhaling the comforting scent of Sanji, of home. Tobacco and seafood. Safety.
"That's true for you. But I'm also home here."
Nami nodded, trying to focus on her steps on the cobblestoned street, still wrapped in safety and warmth. The heels didn't make her progress any easier. Left and right and left and right…
"Are you really home?" she asked after a moment of silence, tinted by contemplation.
"It's where I come from," he shrugged, taking another drag. "And it's where I lived with Zeff after my good for nothing father kicked me out when I was ten."
The air filled with an unaccustomed buzz.
There were things Nami didn't know about her housemates and didn't ask about. She didn't know about Luffy's mum or Zoro's dad or Sanji's (apparently) fucked up family situation. Usopp's dead and/or absent parents were easy enough compared to Chopper's whole situation, but still…
Sanji had never shared any details about his upbringing, just enough to make it abundantly clear that it had not been a pleasant time and discouraged any further questioning. "Ten? How can someone be so cruel to a child?"
"Don't ask me how my biological father's twisted mind works." Sanji took a drag of his cigarette, the momentary flare-up glowing in the night. "I'm just happy Zeff took me in."
"So," Nami continued after another brief interlude of tense silence. "Who was that man?"
"That man was probably Alexander Karenin, if I understood Reiju right. Of all the things to share with such a thug, I have to share my name…" If Nami's heart didn't already ache for her friend, the self-deprecating wry smile that had the audacity to turn up at the corner of Sanji's mouth would have crushed it to a pulp. "He's one of the main dealers for the Charlottes, some old family friends. I think he's an… how would you translate it? An obshchak, or in charge of security. I know just enough through Reiju about what my family's up to, so I know who to avoid. It seems the latest dealings have gone sour, if that spectacle is something to judge by."
Nami could but stare. "You speak Russian? And your name is Alexander?"
"That's what you got from that?" Sanji said with half a laugh. "For all intents and purposes, I'm Sanji. Sasha never quite cut it as a nickname and being the third son…Sanji fits the theme. And about the Russian – kind of had to," Sanji said, blowing out a smoke ring. "That's all we spoke at home. Well, a mixture of French and Russian, to be honest, so don't come to me for interpretations of Dostoyevsky."
Nami shivered, wrapping herself more securely in Sanji's jacket. "Your family is… certainly something."
Sanji shrugged, the lit end of his cigarette the only light around. "They were close to the czar a hundred years ago and managed to pivot their business back somewhat. Based on what Reiju let slip once, I think they're also somewhat involved in mokroye delo– how would you translate that? Wet work?"
"They do construction development as well?"
"Not exactly." Sanji winced. "Although they do involve buildings sometimes in their dealings." He sighed, coming to a stop. They were passing over the Seine where he cut a beautifully tragic figure against the moon-drenched sky, his pale skin illuminated by the flickering old ironwork lamp above, the star-spangled river slowly meandering by.
"They are assassins. More or less. Amongst other things."
That was… certainly something. Nami took a moment to lean against the wrought iron balustrade, gazing out over the calm waters and admiring the reflection of the moon and trying to digest all she had seen, heard and learned tonight.
"Wow," she breathed after a moment. "You speak three languages? That's cool." She deemed her moon-gazing to be sufficient and their journey continued with slow steps, over shadowy crossings and under flickering streetlights. The tension bled out from Sanji's posture as she moved away from the sordid combined history of his past and his family, and he fell in step with her.
"More like seven," a grimace flitted over Sanji's face at her surprised expression. "Learned the basics of German and Italian in school and as my dear father reminded me on a daily basis, no-one can be called civilised without knowing Latin and Japanese." He took another drag of his fag, face pinched before smoothing out into another forced smile. "Grew up in continental Europe, remember?"
"How could I forget," Nami laughed, linking their arms and again steering the conversation to safer waters. "And here I was proud of speaking two-and-a-half, while you just prattle on in almost quadruple the amount. And, dear sir," she said, sticking her nose up in the air, her voice taking on a tint of old British TV-dramas and the whole upstairs-downstairs attitude prevalent therein. "I do kindly remind you that Sweden is a part of the European Union too, cast aside as we are in the far north."
"Of course, fair maiden," Sanji laughed, relieved that the weight of meeting his family and the events at the bar seemed to have vanished from the fiery redhead's shoulders. "We're all in this together, for better or for worse."
"And don't you forget it," Nami said, poking him in the ribs, ignoring his half-hearted protests. Her ire disappeared and expression softened as she wrapped an arm around his waist, squeezing. "We're always here for you, honey. No matter what."
Without a word, Sanji wrapped his arm tighter around her and they walked the remaining few blocks home in comfortable silence.
When in doubt, borrow names from Tolstoy.
A paludarium is "a type of vivarium that incorporates both terrestrial and aquatic elements" (Wikipedia).
For more information about scientific dishonesty and falsifying data, look up the Pruitt spider data scandal on or look up Dr. Angela Collier's great video about it on youtube.