Mochi Mochi

It was three days after the shitty Marimo's exquisite sister boarded the Thousand Sunny that she asked the unexpectedly withdrawn chef for a cooking lesson. It had been 27 years, countless burnt fish and the incessant complaining of a certain fire fisted pirate before the very stubborn woman made herself stay in one place long enough to learn.

They heard her before they saw her. "Runt?! Is that you?" Her laugh was hearty and as full as her well-endowed bosom. The sound was velvet to the Cook's wanting ears and the sight was breath-taking. The mysterious woman doubled over and wrapped tan arms around a muscled and conspicuously bare midriff. "It is! The bounty hunter turned Pirate. You've caused quite a stir out here, little brother." Her features sobered at the last assertion.

"I'm bigger than you, you can't call me runt anymore." Zoro's hands tightened on his beloved blade, his shoulders twitched, and he bordered on annoyed and disinterested. It seemed 10 years hadn't made the woman any more tolerable, and he doubted even the unwavering persistence of time could make him enjoy her company. The air shifted, as the swordsman expected the Chef's next move.

"Dumbass Moss-head! You can't talk to a beautiful, strong woman with such callous words!" A strong, deliberate hand stopped his usually foggy spins of love.

"No," was all the swordsman said. The dark energy radiating from the hand on Sanji's chest stopped him completely. To hide his discomfort, he grabbed a cigarette out of his pocket while he continued to study the woman in front of him.

Her hair was green, but it fluttered down her back and framed her face in soft waves. Blue eyes wore the same as her brother's and portrayed her many more years of experience. They glittered with warm humor and burned with an underlying passion that made her seem larger than life.

A slip of bright white fabric tied just over the round of her chest and a matching skirt hugged her form slowly, billowing in hot the breeze. Appropriately dressed for the hot and humid tropical island they inhabited, it just hugged her petite curves in all the right places.

"Oh. It's you." Luffy said as he uninterestedly picked his nose. "Why did you call Zoro your little brother?"

The first mate felt his eye twitch as he raked his gaze from the Captain to his sister, "What?"

She let out another deep laugh that pierced his brain and gave him a headache. A fist hit against her chest and her head bowed before she continued, "I had the honor of fighting by Luffy's side at Marineford." He felt his shoulders tighten again, and she looked up from her bow, "Portgas D. Ace was a dear traveling companion of mine. His absence hasn't been forgotten for a single second, Straw Hat."

The Captain just nodded.

"If you fought with Luffy and are supposedly Zoro's sister, how come we've never seen you before?" An orange-haired woman in similar regional garb, if slightly more glamorous, pushed forward through the crowd of pirates and interjected with an obvious tone of distrust and cynicism. The rest of the crew considered her words. "Are you a swordsman, too?"

Another head-splitting laugh, "I would never waste my time!"

"You're just mad because you're shit at it." Zoro spat back easily bracing for a familiar fist to the head. She caught him off guard by giving a small, introspective chuckle instead. No more than just off guard, it made him physically ill.

"There's too much adventure out there to sit in one place flapping a wooden stick at nothing, little brother. I'm happy to see you finally experiencing life."

"Whatever, reckless hag." He felt his head snap away in defiance with a sharp heat in his cheeks at her genuine display. "Where have you been this whole time anyway? Not that I care."

"Traveling, of course! I've been from South Blue to the New World and back. I've even seen the aftermath of your crew more than once. The already so legendary Straw Hat Pirates! I am honored to meet all of you and to stand once more in your presence, Captain." She bowed respectfully again, toward a smiling, if uncharacteristically silent, Luffy.

"That doesn't answer my question, why haven't we seen you before?" The orange headed woman, presumably Nami the thief, was pushy but it was a respectable quality to want to protect the ones you love.

"Stop my quest for this little man? I would rather take up the sword!" Zoro wondered if he slit her throat if he could stop the ringing her incessant laughing caused in his ears. Who laughed this much, anyway? "Honestly, today we just happened to cross paths while I was taking care of some business on the island."

"What kind of business?"

"What business does anyone have to visit the New World? I know this island is popular for the insects that light up in the glow of the sunset and its main export is a red berry, that dried and turned black, is said to create the perfect seasoning to any meal. I'm here to experience it all and write it down for those who cannot seek the pleasure of travel themselves!" Her face was sunlight the moment the question was asked. Sanji didn't even realize he was the one who asked it until he was roughly shoved again by a calloused hand.

"Shut up, stupid love-cook." The low, dark intensity made him pause again. He wasn't dumb, the don't-even-try-it murderous message was visible from a mile away. At the time he thought it was a warning for his sister's benefit.

Maybe it was to save him.

"Your pieces are so beautiful and even. Mine looks like I chopped it with one of the little runt's swords!" Her voice was so commanding and confident even when confessing her shortcomings. It was so matter-of-fact, she could have been saying the sky was red and you were an idiot if you disagreed. The chef chuckled a little at her sad pile of jagged and lop-sided onions and carrots.

"Psh, don't insult my swords, insulant woman." Zoro sat a short distance away tucked into the booth of the dining table. His presence was conspicuously noted, even if he tried to pretend to be napping. He hadn't been far from his sister since she boarded. Sanji wasn't sure if it was the protection of a brother or the mistrust of a first mate that kept his watchful eye on her.

"No one asked you, Pipsqueak. You don't even have to be here, you know. I promise I won't whisk your chef away," She chuckled at her own joke, full belly laughs never far from her eyes, and turned to face the aforementioned man. "Even if I would in a heartbeat." Her sparkling eye winked in his direction and he felt his heart momentarily stop as held himself back from his usual swoon. He just managed to keep it together when the flare of annoyance that wafted off the swordsman grounded him again.

"Years of practice and a lot of patience." Sanji managed to say with minor wavering, lighting a cigarette between his fingers to hide his well of emotion.

Since their meeting, he'd learned to maintain reserved politeness around the woman named Roronoa Miyu. He hadn't openly ogled her, even though she was painfully beautiful. Maybe not the attention-grabbing feminine splendor of his beloved Nami, or the reserved but womanly charm of his scholarly Nico Robin, but she burned with a fire that captivated anyone who stood close enough to feel its warmth. A woman like that demanded respect far above his normal exploits, even if the shitty swordsman hadn't chaperoned her every second aboard the ship.

"Ah, I've never had much patience, Black Leg." Her hand raised to rub the back of her head a bit squeamishly.

"No shit." Her brother remarked again with his eyes still closed, and this time a knife hit the wall beside his head in an instant. He didn't flinch, but Sanji felt his own muscles tense.

Her voice took on the most sinister tone he'd heard from her, far from her usual jovial demeanor, "Don't force me to disrespect the chef's kindness by making me kick your ass in his kitchen. You may be a big shot pirate now, but I've sailed the seas with Shichibukai and burned Naval bases to the ground with revolutionaries. Don't think I forgot our wager, little brother." Her previous moment of vulnerability with the cook was gone, replaced by a dangerous expression that sent little prickling warning signs that stopped Sanji's heart. He simply stood silent and observed his crew mate's response.

He expected the hard-headed man to match the woman's intensity being no stranger to the swordsman's murderous side, but he just closed his eyes and, if Sanji could believe it, looked almost relieved, "Tch, I don't have to be the world's greatest swordsman to crush you, tiny woman. You don't scare me."

The cook wasn't sure when he'd stopped breathing, but his lack of oxygen was painfully apparent as he stood between the pair. He braced for a blood bath, a massacre, spontaneous combustion maybe. The next sound almost made him shit his pants.

She laughed.

"You haven't changed a bit! You know, I had a good laugh when I found out my stick in the mud little brother was paired by fate with Monkey D. Luffy. I thought for sure he would have rubbed off on you by now. I see there really are some things even those incredible brothers can't do." A moment of reflection flickered over her features before the seated man huffed a whatever and left the kitchen. The confident smile returned to Miyu's features as she addressed the cook she'd almost forgotten in the interaction.

"I apologize for the damage to your kitchen, Chef." The woman bowed toward the recovering man who hadn't noticed the cigarette held tightly between his fingers and lips had burned out a while ago. "Please forgive me. I get a little carried away from time to time."

"Uh… Yeah… No, It's fine. Call me Sanji." He threw the butt into the trash can and hoped she hadn't noticed the shock in his features.

"Can we continue? I believe you were going to show me how to cook the… onions?" Her body turned toward the cutting board on the counter. His eyes studied her form as if looking at her one more time would somehow unravel the enigma.

The tank top she had donned since boarding ended just under her breasts and revealed the edges of a tattoo he couldn't quite make out. Reds and oranges licked the skin of her shoulder blade like fire. Her shorts stopped just above a strap where a dagger, currently stuck in the wall, usually rested. She didn't look like a Pirate or any kind of warrior, but one hell of an adventurer? To put it mildly.

Her whole physical being contradicted the soul inside her, almost like it had gotten mixed up on its descent into her body. She wasn't any taller than his shoulders, spry and lean. Her voice sounded like it came from a Viking woman, but her stature was almost unassuming. He did notice the age around her eyes sometimes when she thought no one was looking.

He uneasily slipped beside her and found comfort in the distraction of the familiar motions of cooking.

After finishing the meal Sanji took advantage of a moment of courage, "How does someone 'sail the seas with Shichibukai and burn Naval bases to the ground with revolutionaries' without learning how to cook basic meals?" He looked down at the woman scarfing down food the way he'd grown accustomed to on a Pirate ship. He almost expected an attack, but relaxed when she simply laughed with a wide-open mouth full of rice.

"I never had an interest, I guess."

"What changed your mind now?" He took a long draw on his new cigarette and took care to blow it away from the woman.

"Well, someone very close to me always gave me shit about it, and who better to learn from than a suggestion of Red Leg Zeff himself?"

He choked, "You know Zeff?"

"The owner of the world's only 5-star restaurant on the sea? You're damn right I had to see that! That crotchety old bastard was hard to pin down, but after three months of asking and about 1400 chores, he finally let me get it all down on paper! When he found out my little brother was on your crew, he insisted I find you and… What did he say?" She began a lackluster impersonation, "Get that worthless little freeloader to do something about the heinous trash you call cooking." They shared a laugh as she finished her plate and wiped her mouth. "Old man tried to teach me how to be a proper restaurant waitress, then a sous chef and then finally settled me on dish duty until I won him over. I think I may have set fire to the kitchen twice before he let me off the hook. Honestly, I think I owe you even more gratitude. I'd probably still be washing dishes if he hadn't had such a soft spot for you. Don't tell my idiot-brother he ever helped me out." Miyu winked before standing up and taking the dishes into the large ship sink.

"You don't have to do that; I'll take care of it." He moved to take the plates from her grasp, but she pulled back quickly.

"The one skill I've mastered in the kitchen is washing dishes. Let me repay my gratitude for the lesson and the story of a lifetime."

"Story?"

"The stubborn but valiant chore boy of a fancy dining cruise saved by the Pirate who pillaged it! The same pirate sacrificing the very leg that gave him his riches and fame to do it? Over a month on a desolate rock with hardly any food, then dedicating the rest of your life to repaying his debt?! It's the perfect story of suspense and adventure!"

His face fell a little. That old man hadn't told anyone their story, ever, and neither had he. What about this woman convinced that old codger to pour his guts out like some loose-lipped hairdresser? Had he gotten sentimental in his old age or just senile? Her own features fell to match his, "I'm sorry, I have done something wrong?"

"No, and that's exactly what happened." He paused and searched her blue-green eyes for anything to grab on to, "It's just that old geezer never told a soul about what happened before the Baratie. Not a single man on board over the years, not even the dumbass Patty. I haven't even told anyone on the ship that story." He felt his elbow rest against the counter behind him as he fumbled into the box for his 15th fucking cigarette that day. If he didn't calm down, he'd run out before the next island and the thought just made him more anxious.

"It's not my place to recount someone else's adventure without making sure it's told exactly the way they want, or not at all if that's their wish." She looked at him with fierce meaning.

"You said you put up with that senile old shit for three months for that story." Another pause as he searched her eyes.

She bowed completely over in front of him, "I will do the dishes in your kitchen for three years if it means your side of the story and your permission to share it!"

"Alright, alright. We'll see about that." He let himself think briefly over a few things she could do for h- "What else did that Bastard have to say?"

Miyu stood upright, pursed her lips, and looked at the ceiling as she recounted his exact words, "He said you were a perverted little shit that never listened to a goddamn thing he ever said and cost him millions of belis on your dumbass impulsive decisions." She looked back into his eyes before she spoke again, stepping a little closer and putting her hand on his arm. "He really loves you like his own son, you know?" Sanji hadn't noticed her walk toward the door of the kitchen while she spoke.

But then she was gone.

It wasn't until that night that they crossed paths again. The moon hung high in the clear sky. The stars twinkled as if they were putting on a show for the unfortunate few who found themselves without sleep. He fell into that group tonight, after the conversation they had, he found himself too restless to sleep.

When he saw the form hanging over the rail of the ship he stopped in his tracks, his leg twitching to life at the potential threat. Then the silhouette of her hair caught in the wind and he recognized the curve of her waist.

"Can't sleep?" His voice caused her to jump a little, but she didn't turn to face him.

"I'm used to sleeping as little as possible. You never know what you're going to miss in the world when you're not in it."

"I see." He tried his luck again, "So, what wager do you have with the moss-headed idiot?" He lit a cigarette.

"When we were little and I decided to write as much about our world as I could, he told me he'd only give me permission to write his story when he was the greatest swordsman in the world."

"That's fair, but what's the wager?"

"Ah, yes. He told me I had to write the adventure of a lifetime before I'd be good enough to tell his story. The arrogant little shit! He's exactly right."

Sanji felt himself light one more cigarette as he faced the glassy sea. The only waves caused by the sloshing of their ship through its waters. A pair of small, calloused fingers popped the stick out of his mouth and flicked it overboard before his eyebrows had the chance to raise. "Those things'll kill you, Chef, and you've smoked more than your fair share today."

He could only agree, it'd been impossible for him to be on his best behavior without the assistance of his favorite vice. "Ah, you're right."

"Stressed lately?"

You could say that again. He covered his thoughts with a quick cough and tried to hide the twitch between his legs by turning away from the woman and leaning against the railing beside her. The deck was empty, the night's watch had ended hours ago, and the sun threatened to rise with each passing breath.

"You asked me today how I could see so much of the world without acquiring a skill for cooking." She paused as her arm stretched over her shoulder absent-mindedly to thumb over the reds and yellows he couldn't see in her silhouette. "Why I chose now."

"You don't have to tell me."

"I think I do." They sat in a quiet stillness again, accompanied by the song of the piracy. Flapping sails above their heads, splashing water below their feet. The air rustled Nami's tangerine trees before the woman spoke again. "I met Fire Fist as I was getting thrown off Whitebeard's ship, the first or second time. I know, I know but who would have the adventure of a lifetime if it wasn't Whitebeard himself? If you think three months with Zeff was a long time, I stayed with the Whitebeard Pirates for two years. Well, one and a few months with the crew and the rest with just Ace." Her voice didn't waiver, but Sanji recognized the far-off look that overtook her features. He desperately wanted to pull another cigarette out of his pocket but instead opted to flip around and catch the first flutters of the morning sun as they warmed the horizon.

"I thought I was working toward getting Whitebeard's story." Her fingers dropped from her shoulder and into her lap as the reds and yellows danced in front of her now.

The chef couldn't imagine what was going through her mind, but he knew what love looked like. A pang hit his own chest that he didn't quite understand. If a ladies' man knew anything, it was that you can't compete with dead lovers. "Instead you found your own."

His words were soft introspections beside her ear, and she thought over it. Of course, it had been a grand adventure but, "No. I was just an observer who got too close and singed my fingers on the sun."

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her look small, but for the first time, her energy matched her appearance. He wanted nothing more than to grab her, wraps his arms around her and make her forget all her pain. How vain to think he was anywhere near capable of that?

"But that's a story for another time. It's about time to start breakfast, right? Let's get to it then!" Just like a spark taking to flame, she ignited from a small flicker into a forest fire faster than he could blink.

Yeah. It had definitely been to protect him.