Rosinante and Bell-mère's home reflected the blend of their contrasting personalities and shared experiences—a seamless fusion of elegance and warmth. The dining room was spacious, with high ceilings and soft lighting from an antique brass chandelier that cast a golden glow over the table. The polished mahogany dining table stretched long and sleek, its surface gleaming like glass. At its center sat a vase filled with freshly clipped lilies and orchids from Bell-mère's greenhouse, their fragrance subtle but sweet.
The walls were lined with framed maps and artifacts Rosinante had collected during his diplomatic travels: a carved wooden mask from West Africa, an intricately painted ceramic vase from Japan, and a set of worn leather-bound books in various languages stacked neatly on a sideboard. Opposite, a wall of family photos added a softer touch—Bell-mère laughing in a field of sunflowers, Nojiko holding a toddler Nami, and a candid shot of Rosinante crouching beside a grinning teenage Law.
This home held the memories of a lonely single father and a struggling mother of two who came together to build the life they had dreamed of for their children. Around this table, they shared warm meals, laughter, and the occasional tear. Its surface bore invisible etchings of birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, and countless other celebrations. It was a home full of joy—or so it seemed.
At the head of the table sat the patriarch of the Don Quixote-Mariné family, Rosinante Don Quixote. He was a towering man, just shy of 6'6", with a lean yet commanding presence that filled any room he entered. His shaggy golden-blonde hair was slightly unkempt, soft strands falling over his forehead despite his efforts to keep them neat. His pale skin carried a healthy tone from years of diplomatic travel, contrasting with his sharp, reddish-brown eyes that seemed to pierce through any conversation.
He wore a perfectly tailored gray suit that emphasized his tall frame, the top button of his crisp white shirt undone to hint at a casual side, though the rest of his demeanor screamed discipline. The faintest scent of a salty, aquatic cologne clung to him, paired with the occasional trace of tobacco from his rare indulgences. Though his movements were precise and measured, there was a distinct softness to his gaze when it lingered on his wife and children—a quiet reminder of the man behind the polished exterior. Tonight, he even wore a tie, though the fabric felt suffocating. Bell-mère assumed it was his way of preparing for a battle—a symbolic weapon against any man bold enough to enter their home as a suitor- or to Bell-mère- a challenger for Rosinante's throne.
To his right sat the challenger and the center of this evening's tension: Zoro Roronoa. Zoro cut an imposing figure, even seated. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his black button-down shirt, and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing veins that ran like rivers beneath his lightly tanned skin. His short, spiky green hair was wild yet deliberate, contrasting sharply with the formal setting. On his left ear, three small gold earrings glinted softly and jingled with his movements, a subtle but striking addition to his otherwise rugged appearance.
His black slacks, slightly wrinkled from the car ride, paired with heavy, polished leather boots, gave him a down-to-earth edge. He had tried on multiple outfits for the evening, earning teasing remarks from Nami. The banter escalated, leading to a minor wrestling match in her closet—wrinkling both their clothes in the process and making them arrive half an hour late.
The scar that slashed across his left eye added an air of mystery, though his remaining dark eye was sharp and observant. Zoro's calm, steady posture made the air feel heavier, his sheer presence enough to fill the room. He could feel Rosinante's gaze boring into him but resisted the urge to fidget. Nami had reassured him that her parents were no strangers to unconventional appearances. Still, Zoro knew he was here to prove something: that his relationship with Nami was far more than a fleeting fling.
At the opposite end of the table sat Bell-mère Mariné. She was a tall, slim woman with long, fuchsia-colored hair pulled into a ponytail that framed her angular face. Her piercing gray eyes sparkled with both sharp wit and playful mischief. Her signature Chelsea hawk—a modern, edgy mohawk style—added a rebellious charm to her otherwise casual appearance.
She wore a maroon blouse with rolled-up sleeves, faded jeans that hugged her lean, muscular frame, and a chunky silver necklace that twisted around her neck like vines—a favorite gift from Rosinante. An unlit cigarette rested loosely between her fingers, though tonight, she seemed more focused on the glass of wine in her other hand. Bell-mère's laughter was unfiltered and infectious, her bold personality a stark but complementary contrast to her husband's calculated reserve.
To Bell-mère's right sat her eldest daughter, Nojiko Don Quixote-Mariné. Nojiko was a slender, tanned young woman with light blue hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Her calm demeanor made her the family's anchor in moments of chaos, and her steady brown eyes gleamed with quiet mischief. A bold tattoo covered her right arm and part of her chest, a striking visual that only added to her calm confidence.
She wore a crisp white blouse tucked into high-waisted dark jeans paired with simple ankle boots. A delicate silver bracelet glinted on her wrist, a subtle nod to her bond with her sister, Nami. Nojiko leaned casually in her chair, her calm smile masking the sharp wit she often unleashed during family banter.
Beside Zoro sat Law Trafalgar Don Quixote-Mariné. Law was a tall, slim man with tan skin, short dark hair, and a small goatee that added a mature edge to his youthful features. His sharp gray eyes, framed by faint shadows, carried an air of quiet intensity. Tonight, he wore a fitted black turtleneck and dark slacks, his attire as precise as his demeanor.
Faint tattoos peeked out from beneath his sleeves, and his fingers bore the letters "DEATH" inked across them. A subtle smirk played on his lips as he watched the room, his dry humor never far behind. Tonight, however, Law seemed slightly more animated—leaning just enough on Zoro's side to irritate Rosinante, thanks to his solidified friendship with Zoro through his boyfriend, Luffy. Luffy and Zoro actually grew up together, but Nami and Zoro's paths didn't cross until their last 20s when both were well into their professional lives as young adults. However, it seemed Rosinante only viewed them Law, Nami, and Nojiko as small children. As well as any significant other they dared to bring home. Luffy was an exception, his goofiness easily breaking down the somewhat pretenses of his formal and aloof demeanor.
The camaraderie between Zoro and Law was subtle but present, and it was clear Law enjoyed being the unspoken buffer between his father and Zoro. Tonight seemed hard, especially when Zoro and Nami kept staring at each other like two lovesick teenagers instead of an aging MMA fighter and a triple-degree graduate student pursuing her doctorate in child psychology. Law tried to subtly tell her sister to ease up with the puppy dog eyes, but he was also happy for his baby sister, who indeed never brought anyone home... until now.
To Rosinate's left sat his youngest and the woman who had brought this whole evening to fruition, Nami. Nami Don Quixote-Mariné was a striking young woman with long, wavy orange hair tied back in a loose bun. A few rebellious strands framed her freckled face, adding a softness to her sharp brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence and amusement.
She wore a sleeveless emerald green blouse tucked into a high-waisted black skirt, her curvaceous figure perfectly accentuated by her effortless style. Around her neck was a delicate gold necklace with a wave pendant—a thoughtful gift from Zoro—and a gold bracelet from her sister adorned her wrist.
Though Nami tried to appear composed, her glances at her family betrayed her nerves. Her leg crossed over the other; she sat with one hand resting lightly on the table while the other occasionally gestured toward Zoro as if silently willing him to behave.
Nami had coordinated with her siblings for weeks, as they both had pretty busy schedules in the medical field. Nojiko was a Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist who also ran the family foundation, and Law was a heart surgeon currently dating and adventuring with his Brazilian celebrity boyfriend, Luffy. Eventually, she told her mom, who was supposed to subtly and slowly ease her father into the idea of Nami having a serious boyfriend. However, judging by his demeanor, he was not exactly thrilled at meeting Zoro this way.
The room was warm but tense; the air was charged with anticipation. The mingling scents of roasted chicken, freshly baked bread, and Bell-mère's lavender-scented candles wafted through the space. Outside the windows, string lights glowed softly over the garden, a serene backdrop to the growing storm brewing at the table.
The meal began with polite conversation, the kind that masked the undercurrent of tension vibrating through the room. Bell-mère was the first to break the silence, recounting a story about one of her greenhouse experiments gone awry. Nojiko chuckled, leaning in to add a quip, and even Rosinante cracked a small smile. For a moment, the atmosphere seemed light.
Then Rosinate turned to Zoro.
"So, Roronoa," he began, his voice calm but pointed, "what is it you do when you're not training to knock people unconscious?"
The table stilled. Nami's fork paused halfway to her mouth, and her sharp brown eyes darted toward her stepfather. Zoro, however, didn't flinch. He set his glass of water down deliberately and met Rosinante's gaze.
"Not much, sir," Zoro replied evenly. "Between training and competitions, my schedule doesn't leave a lot of time for hobbies."
Rosinate hummed thoughtfully, the faintest glimmer of disapproval flashing across his face. "No hobbies at all? Surely there's something you do to relax."
"He naps," Nami interjected, her tone dry but affectionate. "And he's surprisingly good at fixing things around the house. He fixed the leaky faucet in my kitchen when the landlord refused to send a plumber." She also did not want to admit there was one hobby he could manage all day, every day. A soft blush came to her cheeks at the thought.
Nojiko caught this and chuckled.
Zoro glanced at Nami, his expression also catching Nami's intention, and he tried his best not to be smug about it. So, instead, he went back to neutral. "Wasn't hard. Just needed a wrench and some patience."
Rosinante's brows rose as though mildly impressed despite himself, but his tone remained sharp. "I see. And what about education? Did you attend university?"
"No," Zoro answered simply, his voice steady. "I went straight into training after high school."
"That must've been… an interesting decision," Rosinante said, his words carefully chosen but no less cutting. "A career with an expiration date is a risky path, don't you think?"
"It's worked out for him," Law interjected, his voice calm but firm. "Zoro's ranked number one in his weight class - number one in the world so far. And if I remember correctly, Dad, you took plenty of risks in your marine days. Covert missions, wasn't it?"
Rosinante's eyes flicked to his son, a muscle in his jaw tightening. "That was different," he said curtly.
"Was it?" Law pressed, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If anything, I'd say Zoro's path is less risky. He's built a career on discipline and consistency. Not many people can say the same."
Bell-mère let out a low chuckle, swirling the wine in her glass. "You've got a point, Law," she said, leaning back in her chair. "And I like a man who can hold his own in a fight. It reminds me of someone." She shot Rosinante a sly look, her eyes glinting with mischief.
Rosinante exhaled slowly, his gaze returning to Zoro. "Discipline and consistency, you say. I assume those qualities came from your upbringing?"
Zoro nodded. "Yes, sir."
"And what do your parents do, Roronoa?" Rosinante asked, leaning forward slightly. His tone was casual, but there was a sharpness in his gaze.
Zoro didn't hesitate. "Like Nami and you all, I was adopted. My father is Mihawk Dracule. He's a retired Air Force commander who now runs a private security firm."
The name landed like a stone on the table. Rosinante's brow furrowed, his expression sharpening. "Your father is the man behind the Blackhawks? The elite private security firm brought into wars?"
Zoro nodded. "Yes, sir."
Rosinante's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible sneer. "I see. And what exactly is your plan for the future? Do you intend to follow in his footsteps?"
"No," Zoro replied, his tone unshaken. "I'm focused on my career for now. My sister, Perona, is the one with the business sense for it."
Rosinante opened his mouth to respond, but Nami cut in, her voice firm. "Dad, come on. You and Mom weren't exactly conventional when you were our age. Didn't you always say your marine days were about finding purpose, not following a set path?"
"Exactly," Bell-mère added with a grin. "And if I remember correctly, Corazon, you weren't exactly thrilled about covert missions either. Seasick, weren't you?"
Rosinante's jaw tightened again, but he didn't respond. Instead, Nojiko chimed in, her tone light and teasing. "Besides, Zoro seems to have his priorities straight. He's disciplined, he's good to Nami, and he fixed her faucet. Sounds like a catch to me."
"Such glowing reviews," Rosinante murmured, his voice laced with sarcasm. "But Nami is turning 28, and you, 30...don't fighters usually retire around 35 or 40? I mean, you cannot really do much when your brain is taking so many punches."
"It's funny you say that, sir, but I'm known to handle a punch, and I rarely let anyone get a hit in."
"Oh? You're just that good? Age comes for us all, boy." He said the last word with the full intention of pointing out that he considered Zoro a mere child.
Zoro clearly cleared his throat and smiled at Nami, who gave him a reassuring nod. "Well, I'm glad you asked because Nami really got me thinking about my other talents." He raised his hands, "And I'm really good with my hands!"
Zoro meant it sincerely, but Nojiko's snort made him realize what he was insinuating to his girlfriend's father. "I mean...I always had a talent for design and technical work. Nami has a couple of friends, Franky and Robin, who basically design and build...well, everything and anything."
Belle-mère perked up, "Oh, my gosh! I know them. We collaborated on some decor ideas that focused on greenery. They have a whole show!"
Zoro nodded, "Yes. I mean. I've been on TV, so that's not the big deal, but they are giving me an apprenticeship, and I'm excited to travel and learn-"
"Oh, so you're leaving then?" he retorted smugly, but the face Zoro made as he looked to Nami for some guidance suggested otherwise. More specifically, it told Rosinante that he was losing more than his pride.
"Travel to where?" Rosinante turned to Nami, who suddenly seemed preoccupied with her plate. He swallowed hard, not quite ready to have this conversation.
His gaze shifted back to Zoro, and he tried to move things. "And what about you? What do you think is your greatest strength?"
Zoro paused for a moment, considering the question. When he spoke, his voice was calm and resolute. "I'd say I can adapt. Life doesn't always go the way you plan, but you have to keep moving forward."
Bell-mère clapped her hands together, a wide grin spreading across her face. "Now that's a good answer," she said, raising her glass. "Cheers to that."
Rosinante leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. The interrogation had not gone as he'd expected. Each question, each calculated jab, had been met with calm, confident answers—and worse, the entire family seemed to be rallying behind Zoro.
For a brief moment, the table fell into silence; the only sounds were the clink of silverware and the soft hum of the chandelier above. And then, just as the tension seemed to settle, Nami's voice cut through the quiet.
"Daddy, can you pass me the salt?"
Nami froze as the words escaped her mouth without thinking. Somehow, she had meant to ease the tension, perhaps by focusing on her food—which, if Nojiko had assisted in cooking, always needed just a touch of salt. It was harmless—a simple question.
But as two hands reached for the salt shaker, her eyes grew wide with horror.
It all happened in slow motion for everyone at the table. Everyone watched as the two men were locked in what could only be described as a gladiatorial battle of wills.
Rosinante's hand gripped the salt shaker first, his long fingers curling around it with the precision of a man accustomed to control. His sharp brown eyes glinted as they darted to his opponent.
Zoro, unfazed, caught up a split second later. His large, calloused hand calmly enveloped the other side of the shaker, his scarred brow lifting slightly while his remaining dark eye narrowed. The expression was both unbothered and vaguely mocking, his body language exuding calm confidence.
The room held its breath.
"Wait, what's going on?" Bell-mère asked, glancing around the table, her red brows knitting together. She took a sip of her wine, her eyes darting between her husband and Zoro.
"Mom," Nojiko hissed, leaning closer to Bell-mère, her voice brimming with suppressed laughter. "She called him Daddy."
Bell-mère blinked. "What? I mean, of course, she called him Daddy. He is her stepfather—"
"No," Law interrupted, his tone deadpan as his gray eyes remained locked on the scene unfolding before them. "She said, Daddy, pass the salt."
Bell-mère frowned, still not catching on. "And?"
"And they both think she was talking to them," Nojiko explained, barely able to contain her laughter. "But our father thinks she meant him. But Zoro…"
Bell-mère stared at Nojiko blankly for a moment before realization dawned. Her eyes widened, and she slowly lowered her wine glass.
"Oh," she said softly, her lips twitching as if trying to suppress a grin. "Oh."
Law sighed, running a hand over his face. "This is going to get ugly," he muttered.
Meanwhile, Rosinante's knuckles turned white against the shaker, and the corners of his mouth twitched as though he were trying—and failing—to suppress a smile that looked dangerously like a sneer.
"Well," Rosinante said evenly, his voice calm but razor-sharp, "I wasn't aware this was a two-man job."
Zoro, calm as ever, gave a slight shrug, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on the salt shaker. "Didn't realize there were rules to passing salt," he said, his voice low and unruffled.
Nami, who was now as red as Bell-mère's hair, buried her face in her hands. "Oh no," she mumbled, her voice muffled. "This isn't happening."
"Oh, it's happening," Nojiko whispered gleefully, nudging Nami with her elbow.
Bell-mère, still processing the complete absurdity of the situation, tilted her head and grinned at Nami. "You know," she said teasingly, "if nothing else, at least we know he listens to you."
"Mom!" Nami groaned, her voice a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation.
Rosinante's gaze never wavered from Zoro. His fingers tightened around the salt shaker in a last-ditch effort to assert his dominance, but Zoro's grip didn't falter. Instead, it increased, his veins flexing ever so slightly as the shaker tilted toward him. For a brief moment, time seemed to still for Rosinante.
He had lived a full life—an extraordinary one, by any measure. From his humble beginnings in the Marine Corps to the years of covert missions that tested his resolve and nearly broke his body, he had risen through the ranks to become a trusted diplomat. He had sat at tables far more dangerous than this one, negotiating with world leaders, balancing on the razor's edge of conflict and peace. He had endured seasickness, sleepless nights, and scars, both physical and emotional, all for the sake of creating a better future.
But none of that compared to what he had built here, in this home.
He glanced briefly toward Bell-mère. She was laughing softly at some joke Nojiko had made, her eyes sparkling with the same rebellious fire that had captivated him all those years ago. She was a force of nature, the kind of woman who could turn chaos into joy and stubbornness into strength.
Then, his gaze shifted to his children.
Nami, his youngest, his brightest star. The one who always seemed to teeter on the edge of the world's chaos yet somehow found a way to thrive within it. Her orange hair, her sharp wit, the way she challenged him at every turn—they were all pieces of her mother, yet entirely her own.
Nojiko is steady and calm, which is the quiet strength of the family. She had always been the one to ease the storms, to step in when tempers flared. And Law—his sharp mind, his quiet resilience, his tendency to rebel just enough to make Rosinante proud, even when he wouldn't admit it.
They were his everything.
And he would do anything to protect them.
Yet, as he tightened his grip on the salt shaker, he couldn't help but see something familiar in Zoro's remaining eye. That fire, that unrelenting determination, that quiet, stubborn strength. It was the same fire Rosinante had seen in his reflection years ago, back when he was a younger man fighting for the people he loved, for a future he believed in.
This boy—no, this man—wasn't here to challenge Rosinante's authority, though he wouldn't shy away from it either. He was here for Nami. Not just as her boyfriend but also as someone who would stand by her, fight for her, and protect her in the way Rosinante had always promised to protect Bell-mère and their children.
It unsettled him. Not because he doubted Zoro's sincerity but because Rosinante wasn't ready to let go of the role he'd played for so long.
But this was how it began. The gradual handing over of the reins, the realization that one day, the people you love will choose someone else to stand beside them. It was a reminder of his humanity, his aging, his impermanence.
Rosinante's grip tightened further, though the salt shaker didn't budge. Zoro's hand remained firm, unflinching. And in that unspoken battle, Rosinante saw something he hadn't expected: respect.
The room around them blurred, the laughter and murmurs of his family fading into the background. For a moment, it was just the two of them—two men, two protectors, two forces of nature locked in a silent exchange.
And Rosinante found himself thinking, If nothing else, he's worthy of the fight. The power struggle was subtle—no clashing sounds or violent movements, just a steady, quiet shift as Zoro's calm strength overpowered Rosinante's.
A faint clink echoed as the salt shaker left Rosinante's hand entirely.
Zoro, composed as ever, passed the shaker to Nami, his movements steady and deliberate. He leaned back in his chair, his hand falling casually to his lap as if nothing had happened.
The room was silent.
Nojiko was the first to break, slapping her hand over her mouth as her muffled and uncontrollable laughter erupted. She practically fell against Bell-mère, who was already cackling openly, tears streaming down her face.
"Oh my God," Nojiko gasped between wheezes. "He—he actually—did you see—"
Bell-mère slammed her wineglass on the table, howling with laughter. "He passed it! He passed it!"
Nami, for her part, was bright red. Her mouth opened and closed, no sound escaping as her brain struggled to comprehend what had just happened.
Law, staring at the table like it had personally offended him, let out a low groan. "He's going to die...how am I going to tell Luffy?" he muttered, though even he couldn't hide the faint quirk of a smile at the corner of his lips.
Rosinante, meanwhile, was utterly still. His expression was unreadable, and his gaze focused entirely on Zoro, who remained seated, calm, and apparently unaffected by the chaos around him—a little too calm for his liking.
"So," Rosinante said finally, his voice deceptively steady as his fingers drummed once against the table furiously. "Roronoa. Care to explain why you felt the need to… intervene?"
Zoro's single eye shifted toward him, his scarred brow lifting slightly. "She asked for the salt," he replied simply.
"No, she asked Daddy for the salt," Nojiko corrected gleefully, leaning into Nami, who was now burying her face in her hands. "And Nami hasn't called our father Daddy since she was in high school."
Rosinante tried not to let the cruel reality of Nojiko's factual and practical statement sting him, but his wife seemed all the more overjoyed.
Bell-mère, still wheezing with laughter, slapped the table, causing all the dishes to jump. "Come on, Corazon, you have to admit—it was bold."
For a moment, Rosinante said nothing, his sharp gaze boring into Zoro as the younger man met his eyes with unwavering calm. Then, slowly, Rosinante leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.
"Bold," he said finally, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yes. Let's call it that."
Bell-mère snorted into her wineglass. "Oh, Nami," she said, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "You really are a woman of… particular needs, aren't you?"
"Mom!" Nami's voice cracked as she turned a deeper shade of crimson.
"And satisfied ones, it seems," Bell-mère added under her breath, the grin on her face only growing as Rosinante shot her a sharp look. "What? I'm just saying!"
Nojiko wiped tears from her eyes, shaking her head as she leaned back in her chair. "Best dinner ever," she declared.
Law sighed, leaning slightly toward Zoro and muttering under his breath, "I hope you know this means you're never living this down."
Zoro, unbothered, reached for his glass of water. "Worth it," he said calmly, his eye flicking toward Nami with the faintest hint of a smirk.
Rosinante stood out on the porch, listening to the wind filter through the orange grove as he snuck in a cigarette.
"Mama said you quit," came a teasing voice from behind him.
"Well, Mama's also the one who hid these back here," he replied, exhaling smoke into the crisp night air.
Nami looped her arms around her father's lanky arm, leaning her head against him. No matter how old she got, she always felt tiny next to him. But tonight, as she looked up at his face, she noticed the deeper creases etched by time. The soft light from the porch highlighted every line, and the familiar sight tugged at her heart.
"I'm sorry for being so hard on him," he said softly, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.
Nami shook her head. "If you weren't, you wouldn't be my dad."
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I know you're grown now and don't need me as much—"
"How could you say that, Dad?" Nami interrupted, frowning as she pinched his arm. "When have I ever stopped needing you, Mama, Traffy, or Nojiko? You're my family."
She fidgeted with the wave necklace Zoro had given her, tracing the delicate pendant with her fingers. "You'll always be my family."
Rosinante studied her face, seeing the same determined, slightly nervous look she'd had so many times before—boarding the school bus on her first day of middle school, leaving for sleepaway camp, or walking down the stairs in her prom dress. The same look. The same Nami.
He sighed. "And he's your family too, isn't he?"
A soft smile spread across her face. When she got the necklace, she, of course, thought it was because of their shared love of the sea - something she believed she inherited from her adoptive parents. Zoro, as he put the delicate chain around her neck, showed off the double meaning—Z for Zoro and N for Nami. No matter what way the world turns us, we're together.
A faint blush crossed her cheeks as she remembered that night…and the long evening after. "I'd like him to be."
Rosinante sighed again, pulling her into a hug and pressing a flurry of kisses onto her head. "Fine. I guess it can't be helped. Even if I think this is a bit rushed."
Nami pulled back, laughing. "Rushed? You proposed to Mama on your first date! Zoro's practically slow compared to you."
As much as the thought pricked his heart, her joy made him swallow his pride. This was just another one of those milestones—waving her off at the bus stop, watching her pack for camp, or letting some boy put a corsage on her wrist for prom. Only this time, he'd have to let someone else take care of her. And that someone, surprisingly, wasn't as bad as he'd feared.
"So, you're ending your program to travel?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Nami rolled her eyes and pinched him again. "You know me better than that. I'm not giving up my dreams for any man."
Her voice brightened as she continued. "Actually, I'm expanding them. Robin's running a global anthropological study on communities, and it's perfect for my thesis. Zoro's apprenticeship aligns with the foundation's mission. With Franky's guidance, Zoro'll design schools in every area we visit, and I can study the families and children there...and Nojiko's already helping us figure out logistics."
Rosinante tilted his head, his voice softening. "You've really thought this through."
Nami shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. "We trust each other. We'll make it work. Maybe we'll even get lucky with other donors to start our own brand and get worldwide traction for my thesis."
Rosinante chuckled, turning to admire the orange grove. The rows of trees their family had planted over the years were a testament to the love and effort they'd poured into their home. Inside, laughter spilled through the open window as Zoro helped Nojiko and Law clean the table and Bell-mère prepared for the family's infamous game night.
As Rosinante took a long drag from his cigarette, Nami coughed, waving the smoke away. "You know, you're gonna have to really quit when the baby's here."
The wind stopped.
The entire world stopped.
Rosinante froze, the cigarette trembling in his hand. His sharp reddish-brown eyes locked on his daughter, who was now sweating bullets, staring at the tiles beneath her feet as though they held the answers to undo the words that had just escaped her mouth.
His voice was dangerously low. "What. Baby."
"I—uh—well, um—" Nami stammered, but Rosinante's piercing gaze bore holes into her skull, rendering her utterly useless.
Before she could come up with an excuse, Rosinante dropped his cigarette and stormed inside. "I'M GONNA KILL HIM!"
Panic struck Nami like lightning. She clutched the porch railing, praying for forgiveness. She yelled as her father opened the door, "It's Usopp's!"
The chaos that erupted inside was instantaneous as Rosinante tried to process the mathematics of it all.
Nojiko's voice was the first to ring out, high-pitched and livid. "NAMI!"
Law, ever the calm one, immediately stepped between Nojiko and the door as she grabbed the nearest plate. "Nojiko, relax," he said, his voice low and soothing. "You're going to break the plates again."
They looked like a comic duo as Nojiko tried to move past her nearly 6' 4" brother, but it was reminiscent of one of their basketball games, which they had played since they were kids of the same height. What Nojiko lacked in height, she made up for in elbows and quickness.
"TRAFFY, MOVE!" Nojiko shrieked, trying to sidestep him as Law wanted to ensure he didn't end up on the floor as she usually hip-checked him into oblivion. "I'M GONNA KILL HER."
"Let's take a deep breath," Law suggested, his tone so calm it only seemed to irritate her further, though he panted through the quick movements he made of trying to block Nojiko's escape to murder their sister. "Technically, she didn't lie. You are pregnant, and we both know you were going to tell everyone eventually."
"NOT LIKE THIS!" Nojiko yelled, jabbing a finger in Law's chest. She did not want to admit that she was more sluggish than she usually was - perhaps due to the bundle of joy she was carrying. "I had a plan! A PLAN, LAW!"
"Plans change," Law replied evenly, holding his ground while trying to remove whatever projectile Nojiko's hands grasped. "Besides, you're only eight weeks along. Maybe they didn't need to know yet, but now they do. So, let's not add murder to the announcement. Usopp already took all his PTO for planning on how to tell Dad. Or to say his final goodbyes to his friends and family before Dad murders him."
Meanwhile, Rosinante had frozen mid-rampage, sidestepped his children's brawl, and moved like broken Jell-O into the house. "Eight weeks?" he croaked, turning to Bell-mère, who was already smirking. "They kept this from us for eight weeks?" But seeing his wife's shy smile, he almost cried again, "Did you know?"
"Of course I did," Bell-mère said breezily, her grin widening at his horrified expression. "A mother knows these things. Why did you think I only smoked outside now...though we will really have to quit if we're gonna babysit."
"BUT YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?" Rosinante bellowed, clutching his chest as if the betrayal might kill him. He was processing everything quickly but also not at all. Excitement, fear, anticipation. Oh, he would need to murder the foundation's cheeky IT guy soon. He always seemed like a squirrely little liar to Rosinante, but Nojiko appeared to take a liking to him from the second he interviewed. If I'm the one working with him day in and day out, he should at least make me laugh. That was Nojiko's logic, then.
Made her laugh a little much, Rosinante fumed mentally.
Bell-mère patted his arm as she practically read his mind. "I didn't tell you because you're dramatic, Corazon. Look at you now. Also, please do not kill the boy... he's already terrified of you. And then we'd need to put up the job posting again...and it took us forever to find him."
"Well, obviously, he wasn't scared enough to use protection!" Rosinante screamed to Nojiko, who was red-faced and redirecting her embarrassment into anger towards her little big-mouthed sister while Law tried to manage everyone's emotional reactions.
"And this is why I haven't accepted Luffy's proposal yet..." Law muttered, supposedly under his breath, but everyone seemed trained to read Law's lips since his shy phase as a child. As the clock ticked and everyone swallowed Law's confession, the house erupted in a collective "WHAT?!".
Zoro chose this moment to make his exit and also protect her. Slipping out onto the porch, he found Nami still frozen in place. He leaned casually against the railing, his calm demeanor a sharp contrast to the chaos inside.
"Well," he said, crossing his arms, "that could've gone worse."
Nami turned to him, wide-eyed. "Worse? WORSE? Nojiko's going to murder me, Usopp's probably going into hiding, and my dad hasn't even started processing the baby or the fact that we're leaving."
Zoro chuckled, "Well, at least we kept Luffy's proposal a secret. That should keep everyone busy."
He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. She buried her face in his chest and groaned as his laughter rumbled through him.
"Besides," he teased as he tucked a strand of hair behind her reddened ear. "I think we did okay. I mean, I basically told your entire family I'm handsy, and you use pet names in bed."
Mortified, Nami mocked a cry, shaking her head. The movement sent a shiver through Zoro, making him grin and encircle her more. "Nami, please. If you keep this up, I'll have to get handier."
She laughed despite herself, looking up at him. "Promise?"
He smirked, leaning down for a kiss. "Promise."
After this eventful evening, Zoro figured he would need to wait until at least after their travels before he informed Rosinante he was marrying Nami...but that didn't seem like a secret to anyone.
