One Piece Fic: Cold Dish

[maldoror_gw]

Title: Cold Dish
Rating: PG13 for language, violence.
Pairing: None (a really strong imagination might perceive some SanZo, Lusopp and RobinxNami, but the intention here is gen)

Warning: Spoilers for Water 7 and Enies Lobby, alternate timeline fic after that.



AN: This fic was started over a year ago, right about the time I posted my first OP fics. Wow, that takes us back. The guys hadn't even fought their way through the Tower of Justice yet, hence some of the continuity errors (I fixed what I could). Consider it an alternate timeline where it wasn't Garp who showed up on Water 7 after Enies Lobby had been won...

This fic is grimmer than I usually write 'em, though it won't be obvious why until a quarter of the way through. That being said, before you wonder why I didn't put more warnings on this...remember the First Rule of One Piece!

Fic posted in two parts due to length; it's also cut up into chapters for reasons that make sense only to my brain, but it's all posted here, this is not a WIP.

Cold Dish

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I. Act of contrition

"Only the very best chef could aspire to become Lord Stone's personal cuisinier. To be honest, I'm not sure a mere mess-cook could fill this position, mister..." The steward's eyes dropped to a piece of paper in front of him, then he gave Sanji a long-toothed smile. "Mister Prince. My, what an interesting name. Yes-yes."

Sanji smiled ingratiatingly instead of kicking the steward through the wall. "I do have references. I've been working in the main kitchens for the past five months now, serving all the captains and commanders. Captain Ebens swears by my cooking."

"Yes-yes." Those little bursts of 'yes-yes' were one of Steward Manning's many, many tics. "But you'll have to concede that Captain Ebens is a sailor and a one-time pirate. Neither categories are renown for their goûts raffinés- that's, refined tastes."

"No, sir, but your tastes are exquisite," said Sanji with a nod at the steward's silken waistcoat and elaborate wig. With this perfumed git, overdoing was nigh on impossible. "You've occasionally eaten at Captain Eben's table these past few months and you complimented the cooking each time. I was quite honored-"

"Yes-yes." Steward Mannings joined his fingers together, solemn as a judge. "It was quite good, compared to our usual fare, but, mon bon ami - my dear fellow - just because you can make an acceptable stir fry does not mean you are capable of cooking for the educated palate of Lord Stone."

"I can do that." Sanji's teeth were grating in his smile. "Before coming to Rock Haunt, I worked in the kitchens of a royal palace."

That's what Sanji should have said right from the start. Steward Mannings was suddenly his best friend.

"Oooh, that's very interesting. Isn't that interesting, Commander Masu? Yes-yes, very interesting. Do you know the Lady Kladadorna of Monjoie, Mr. Prince? I was in her service for five years. No? Yes-yes, before that I was stewarding for the Pratts, of the Oberstein-Pratt family, and then-"

The steward prattled on, completely oblivious to the scathing looks from the well-armed ruffians who'd come in with Commander Masu.

Lord Stone, despite his adopted title, was a former pirate, and even as one of the Shichibukai he liked to surround himself with men of his ilk. Rock Haunt was filled with reformed pirates working for Stone, protecting the Grand Line citizens by attacking and pillaging their one-time brothers. Very rough around the edges. The steward was an anomaly in the fortress, a sign perhaps that Lord Stone was trying to become the Lord he'd arbitrarily dubbed himself. The steward was a sparkling cockatoo in a pit of vultures, universally mocked and reviled by Stone's cutthroats. It was a mystery why he stayed here; presumably Stone paid him ten times more than any impoverished nobleman could, and Mannings would never have the guts to hand Lord Stone his resignation anyway. He apparently survived the constant hostility and scorn by living in a world of delusions in which his respected opinion actually mattered in the running of Lord Stone's affairs. Unfortunately, when it came to choosing Stone's personal cook, he really did matter, and that's why Sanji kept nodding and making vaguely impressed noises.

His smile felt as fake as a bowl of wax fruit, but he had to keep it up. Not for the benefit of the steward, who was too busy detailing how well-connected he was, but for Commander Masu, the officer in charge of Lord Stone's guard, the man who could have Sanji drawn and quartered with just a flick of his finger. The commander had given Sanji one hard stare when they'd sat down, but was now reading through the contents of a folder. The only time he lifted his head was to give his surroundings a disgusted look. The interview was being held in Manning's quarters around a dainty mahogany table, in the midst of a room resembling the nest of a deranged magpie. Gilded clocks lined the mantel, gilded mirrors hung on the walls, gilded gewgaws covered every flat surface, and embroidered cushions and rugs touched it all off. In this glitter of fake gold, Masu's grey and black soldier's jerkin lent him the appearance of a battle crow, looking down the crooked beak of his nose at the folder's contents like it was a carcass he was about to peck at.

"My information says you worked for three years in the royal palace of Alabasta," he said abruptly, interrupting the steward mid-boast.

"Yes sir." Those references were foolproof, and the main reason Sanji had gotten this far into Rock Haunt in the first place. An unusually sad and stern Vivi had made personally sure that any question about Mr. Prince's past would be adequately fielded.

"That sounds like a cushy job." There was a question in Masu's statement.

"Too cushy," Sanji answered with a grim smile. "I didn't feel like working for twenty years to get no higher than sous-chef or head of pastries. I'd rather cook for a Shichibukai; a cut of plunder taken from pirates will get me more money than a salary. And since I think highly of myself, I aim to cook for the best. Plus, I had a fight with the bitch in charge of the kitchens back in Alabasta." Sanji's finer instincts recoiled at his own words, but he kept right on talking. "She didn't like my flirting with the scullery maids."

"I see." Masu's eyes, which seemed to be perpetually narrowed in suspicion, dropped back to the folder. "You arrived last November with Captain Ebens' crew. You've been cooking for the officer's mess for the past six months."

"That's right. I made that beef and beer torte for Captain Eben's birthday. You personally came into the kitchen to mention it, Commander, if you remember."

No warmth touched Masu's expression which said, yes, I do remember, I never forget a face. "Captain Ebens recommends you for this post."

"Oh, that's good to know, sir. Captain Ebens and I get along well. We have similar tastes; fine food, fine wine, fine women..." Captain Ebens used to sail with Shanks in their youth and owed the latter his life, though nobody in Rock Haunt knew about that and Ebens was anxious to keep it that way now that the debt was discharged. That was all for the best. What Masu didn't know, wouldn't hurt Sanji.

"Lord Stone is choosy about his immediate entourage," said Masu, after a long scrutiny.

Sanji interpreted 'choosy' as meaning 'Lord Stone is a paranoid bastard who thinks everyone is out to get him, and he's not far wrong at that'. Unfortunately, Lord Stone was a clever paranoid bastard with some formidable defenses; he had Commander Masu, he had a massive fleet and an impenetrable fortress full of vicious ex-pirates, he had The Brothers. And if all that failed, he still had his devil fruit powers, the bugger.

"You realize you'll be eating a portion of anything you set before Lord Stone, and nothing else?"

"Oh good, I like my cooking." Sanji had already scouted out Stone's security arrangements beforehand, so he wasn't surprised.

"You do know what happened to Lord Stone's previous cook, right?"

"It'd have been hard to miss," Sanji said dryly. "I was in the dining hall and had to duck as he hurtled over my head."

As far as Sanji could tell, Masu had yet to blink even once. Creepy bastard. All of Stone's immediate associates were freaks. "And that doesn't concern you, Prince?"

"I'll be sure Lord Stone has no reproach to make about my cooking."

Masu never smiled, but his voice was a well-oiled smirk. "You'll be very sure. When Lord Stone has a reproach, someone gets hurt. The Brothers aren't known for pulling punches."

"I'm aware of his bodyguards' commendable attachment to our employer. Don't worry, unlike Lord Stone's previous chef, I don't drink while I cook - a foul habit if there ever was one - and I know how to choose my ingredients, so I shouldn't end up in traction like Head Chef Hamato."

"You're ambitious," Masu said slowly.

Sanji smiled. "Oh yes."

The commander closed the folder. "Good. I didn't want the hassle of recruiting someone from the outside with all the extra background checks that'd imply. Try to stay intact, Prince. Mannings, unless you've got objections..." Masu stood up without even glancing at the steward.

"Yes-yes, Mr. Prince will do fine. Now, Mr. Prince, you understand that all your menus must be run by me personally. Lord Stone has an educated palate, and is aiming to maintain une bonne table - a distinguished table. I expect a high level of quality from someone who has cooked for - yes-yes - for the Nefertari royal family, no less. A good presentation is de rigueur - is a must, as is proper manners, oh yes-yes, manners, I will expect highly of your manners, there are so many malapris - rude fellows I mean - in this fortress."

Sanji nodded and promised himself that the next time the steward condescendingly translated a word for him, Sanji would show him a bit of collier kick and mouton mallet, and then translate that.

It was an empty promise, a promise broken before it was even made. He had a greater promise to keep, and only a month to keep it in.

He'd cut it close, but now he was in. Which left him with one single concern. Where the hell was the idiot swordsman...?

II. Self-flagellation

If Sanji had to choose a dinner companion for a tête-à-tête supper every night over a period of weeks, he'd have picked any number of beautiful women. Commander Masu, however, would not have figured anywhere on the list. Though it wasn't quite as excruciating as Sanji had feared. Masu wasn't a conversationalist, which was good; Sanji didn't particularly want to talk to him. And when the silence became too oppressive, Sanji could always tell himself he was lucky that Stone's food-taster was the dour Masu, rather than, say, Steward Mannings.

Masu put down his fork and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. He also used to be a pirate, Lord Stone's first mate when the latter still sailed the Grand Line as Captain Stone. It showed.

"Not bad, Prince."

"Thanks," Sanji murmured, a mite sardonically. Another good thing about Masu was that he didn't require Sanji to put on airs or pretend to be his buddy. Sailing with Ebens, back when Sanji was establishing his credentials, he'd witnessed one of Masu's battles against pirates. The man was tough, and fought with dispassionate brutality and efficiency that matched the bounty on his head before the government's whitewash job. But at least he wasn't a sycophant or a hypocrite. It was pretty much his only charm.

Masu clicked his fingers and one of The Brothers stepped forward to pick up the covered dishes the two men had sampled at random. Sanji dutifully followed the four courses trundled out on their trolley. When they reached the great hall, Masu went to sit with his men while Sanji navigated around the banquet tables and surveyed the hundreds of feasting former pirates, looking for anybody who might have some complaints about the food.

Stone's men were giving the word 'carousing' a good workout. A bunch of low-brow, aggressive, none-too-clean bastards, the lot of them, who thought this stream of food and grog was paradise, the extent of their microscopic imagination. It aggravated Sanji to be feeding these soused swine, but he'd learned to put up with so much this past year that his soul had callused, leaving everything beneath it numb.

"Oh, Mr. Prince? Yoo-hooo."

There was only one person in this fortress or indeed within a hundred nautical miles who would say Yoo-hooo, and the fact he'd say it in this hall packed full of bravos only one step removed from piracy was a testament to the solidity of the man's delusions. Fortunately for him, the steward's daft head was sacrosanct as long as he had Lord Stone's protection, so nothing worse than sneers were thrown his way.

"Yes, Steward Mannings, what can I do for you?" Sanji asked, fishing out his packet of cigarettes. The air in the great hall was thick enough to cut up and boil down for broth, a bit of smoke would make no difference. "Any problems with tonight's menu?"

"No-no, au contraire- on the contrary. Lord Stone asked me to summon you." Sanji's thumb missed the lighter's trigger in a moment of tension he quickly caught and strangled, not that Manning, fluttering and twitching, would have noticed. "He would like to compliment you on tonight's repast."

"That's certainly kind of him," Sanji murmured, flicking the lighter shut and lodging the cigarette in the band of his chef's hat. He told himself this was a good occasion to get a close look at Stone's security arrangements, just to avoid any surprises tomorrow. Twenty-four more hours. He could put up with the man's presence that long. He had a promise to keep.

The great hall rang to its high rafters with the tightly packed throng, but the far end was in splendid isolation, a dais surrounded by an empty space of twenty feet which nobody crossed without permission. It hosted a long table where Stone dined alone, unless he invited Masu or a particularly favored captain to join him. The Brothers had already gotten up from the table and stood at the four corners of the podium like spectacularly ugly Corinthian columns; they ate in succession and quickly, like lions horking down a meal, leaving the bits they didn't like for Sanji to clean up later and he couldn't even say or do anything about it. The fact that they did eat there, at the same table and from the same dishes as Stone, was a subtle message to the other diners. Stone was saying these weren't just his bodyguards, they were a part of him, his fists, he trusted them more than any of the curs here and they would crush any designated target and then go back to their supper without losing a beat.

Sanji felt curious gazes on him as he crossed the no-man's-land - curious and malicious, they all remembered Head Chef Hamato's flying feat across the great hall. All eyes were on him except Stone's. The lord of the domain was sitting back in his chair, examining the color of the wine like heart's blood in his crystal glass. The chair was typical of Stone, Sanji found himself thinking; big and ornate enough to be distinctive, but not so obviously a throne that it would tip over into the realm of overt arrogance and ridicule. Stone had a fine eye for symbols, and for power and presence. His whole demeanor said that this chair was the Boss's chair. It didn't need to look like a throne, but it was one when he sat in it.

"So, you're the chef who's been cooking for me these past few weeks. That was a good dinner, Prince. Exquisite choice of wine, too." Stone didn't sound complimentary, but that was his usual manner. He never shouted, he never laughed, he never joked with commander Masu, his friend of twenty years. His voice was always as even as the horizon around a barren lump of rock in the middle of a hungry ocean. Sanji let the feelings evoked get lost in the numbness inside.

He met his employer's eyes long enough to avoid giving signs of avoidance and then he bowed. "Thank you, Lord Stone, it gladdens a chef's heart to see his cooking appreciated. I'm thankful for the opportunity to put my food on this table, sir." And that, at least, was the cold-blooded truth, though not for reasons Stone would know about.

"Come up here, Prince. Stick around." Stone made a beckoning gesture. Physically he looked a little like a previous 'lord' that Sanji had crossed: he had Lord Crocodile's big, solid frame, strong features, rich dress, outwardly courteous manner. But Stone moved and spoke in a pared-down way which suggested that when push came to shove, he would not waste his time gloating or posing. Stone would not leave his enemies to die by inches in a room slowly filling with water while he walked away. No, Stone might leave his enemies in a room slowly filling with water, but he would make damn sure he'd put a bullet in their head first. The water would just be icing on the cake.

His invitation could not be avoided, should not be shunned. Sanji climbed the three steps to the dais, and the nearest Brother stepped back to make way. The four large bodyguards were never far from their master. Nobody - apart from Masu, presumably - knew the history behind that arrangement. Sanji didn't particularly care. Rumor in Rock Haunt had it that the four siblings had voluntarily cut out their own tongues to show their loyalty to their master and demonstrate that they would never betray his secrets. Sanji didn't care about that either.

"So, Prince." Stone was contemplating his wine again. "I heard you took over as quartermaster for our food supply, as well as cook for me."

Sanji slipped his hands beneath the belt of his chef's tunic. "Yes, I did. I can't cook if I don't have the right ingredients, and with all due respect to our previous quartermaster-"

"Don't bother with respect. It's hard to provision this place, and this past couple of weeks the food and wine have improved fourfold. You get the job done; I don't care how you obtained it."

That came with a flicker of a look darted at Sanji's face. It might only mean that Stone knew he'd bullied the former quartermaster out...or it could mean Stone had guessed that the former Head Chef Hamato's drinking problem and poor choice of ingredients might not have been entirely the poor guy's fault...Sanji didn't see how Stone could have guessed the latter, but he wouldn't put much past the bastard. Either way, it appeared that sticking a knife in someone's back was an acceptable path to promotion in Stone's world. No wonder there was this tension hovering like a miasma over Rock Haunt's denizens, and the boss himself was paranoid.

Stone opened his mouth to add something when he was interrupted by Masu hurrying over to the central table. The commander came up to the boss's chair and whispered a few words into his employer's ear, words that made Stone scowl, not a facial expression Sanji was used to seeing on the cold bastard.

"Let them come in," said Stone after a moment's thought. At his gesture, the Brothers stepped closer to him, one of them elbowing Sanji out of the way and nearly into the fireplace at the back of the dais. Sanji patted off his tunic and glared at the large back and shaven head in front of him. He wasn't even sure which one had shoved him and it hardly mattered anyway. The four of them were interchangeable, virtually indistinguishable, and if they had individual names, only Stone knew them. None of the Brothers noticed the glare from the nonentity behind them, their concentration on the large doors facing the dais across the length of the great hall.

"Men, we have guests," Stone said, raising his voice and stilling the room around him by stages.

Guests? Sanji moved a little to the left so he could prop himself up against the chimney's lintel and finally light his cigarette. More ex-pirates? Another Shichibukai? Probably not the Marines, they tended to avoid Rock Haunt. Which was a good thing, a few of them might recognize Sanji.

The far door opened, and Sanji's thoughts crumpled to a standstill.

A metallic rustle replaced the great hall's usual auditory fug of laughter, belches and swearing; it was the sound of two hundred men dropping their hands to their cutlasses. And then the silence spread like a riptide, rushing through the room and drowning all other noises.

The new arrivals moved forward in that silence, that fear. They owned it. Dracule Mihawk, the greatest swordsman in the world, and right behind him walked Roronoa Zoro.

In the sudden hush, Sanji could only hear his wobbly heartbeat thumping numbly in his ears, and the memory of the conversation six months ago...

"My references and my cooking skills are my ticket into Rock Haunt. Who'll suspect a chef, right? How about you, Zoro? How are you going to sneak in?"

"I'll be there."

"Yeah, but how? It's gotta be subtle, he mustn't figure out what we're up to. If you want my advice-"

"I'll be there. On the day."

In what far-flung reaches of the sea did that blades-for-brain think this entrance qualified as 'subtle'?! The inside of his head must have gone the same moldy-green color as the outside, Sanji internally ranted, staring at an empty spot on the flagstone floor because he shouldn't look, shouldn't be seen to recognize- no, wait a sec, that was stupid. Everybody else was staring, he'd look more at odds if he didn't. So he lifted his head, and, while the whole great hall stared uneasily at the lethal picture, Sanji drank it in. He hadn't seen Zoro in well over half a year. It should be illegal to miss someone that dumb so very, very much.

He looked fit. As fit as could be expected in the circumstances. The grim expression was pretty much what Sanji expected. Zoro hadn't changed much in the intervening months, though he had swapped his usual clothes for some dark material that managed to look both sober and expensive. And he was clean. That was certainly a change. Sanji had gotten used to seeing his nakama with washed-out bloodstains on his white shirt, holes in his ratty haramaki and haloes beneath his armpits from training like a maniac. This cleaned-up, shaved and neatly dressed Zoro was faintly disturbing. Sanji let his eyes rest with fleeting relief on the haramaki, a reassuring constant, before glancing at the bandana hiding most of the grass on top of that boneheaded dome. That didn't surprise Sanji in the least. Zoro was in hostile territory. But nattily dressed. It occurred to Sanji that this would be Mihawk's influence, and that idea might just be one of the most bizarre he'd ever had.

Sanji glanced down at his plain, inconspicuous kitchen smock (the kind of clothes Zeff had fought like a lion to get Sanji to wear back on the Baratie, in vain), stained here and there with splashes which Sanji didn't have the time or the care to wash out...Talk about a switch. Just when had the world turned upside down?

And then he remembered. It had been the day that had brought them here, one year ago tomorrow.

"Welcome to my domain, Mihawk. Interesting choice of guests," said Stone as his fellow Shichibukai stopped before the dais. Mihawk was dressed in red and black paisley with a long dark cape, much as Sanji remembered him from the Baratie so long ago. The set face and predator eyes hadn't changed either.

"He's not my guest," said Mihawk, without returning the greeting.

The Brothers tightened their formation around Stone.

"He's my armsman."

"I'd heard a rumor you two were traveling together, but I hadn't put any credence in it. How did that happen?" Stone asked slowly, which was what Sanji wanted to know too.

Mihawk shrugged, a dismissive gesture. "I defeated him. Twice. He's done the honorable thing and chosen to serve me."

Sanji felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. Fuck. Fuck...that stupid, self-destructive cabbage-head...He wondered how Zoro had persuaded Mihawk to go along with this, and even lie for his sake. Because Mihawk was lying. He had to be. If that rematch had taken place, one or both of these men would not be standing here.

But nobody else knew Zoro that well. Stone's soldiers were starting to relax. Murmurs hissed from every corner of the hall. People stared openly, some in amazement, others with scorn. There were even a few leers from those who'd need a dictionary to figure out what 'armsman' meant, and wouldn't be interested in reading one because it didn't have any dirty pictures.

Sanji found that he'd ground through the filter of his cigarette with his teeth. He spat it out into the fire and glared at Zoro from behind the shield of his forelock. Stupid shithead. Sanji could have come up with three or four different ways of getting Zoro into the fortress without this- this farce. Okay, the fact that the piece of seaweed had 120 million berry in bounty on his stupid head and his face on posters over half the Grand Line would have made it a challenge, but-

But when had Zoro ever done anything other than go his own damn way? In his personal philosophy, the easy path was for wimps.

Zoro didn't acknowledge the stares, didn't twitch at the whispers, didn't move. His eyes were steel rivets fastened on Stone. The Brothers hadn't budged either, and they had their massive paws on their weapons.

Mihawk looked back at Zoro as if a thought had just crossed his mind. "Does he make you uncomfortable, Stone? I can leave him outside." He could have been talking about his horse.

Sanji didn't have to look at Stone to know the latter hesitated for a heartbeat. That was the problem with Stone, compared to other enemies the Straw Hats had defeated. He was neither stupid nor overconfident. Zoro had gotten past two of Rock Haunt's defenses - the barren, heavily-guarded mountains and coast, and the fortress itself - by simply strolling in; that left only Stone's picked men in this hall, the Brothers and his own powers to defend him. More importantly, he had no idea what game Mihawk was playing, and when the greatest swordsman in the world showed up unexpectedly with an enemy in tow, it begged certain questions. In his peripheral vision, Sanji could see Stone's hands tighten on his chair's armrests and turn to stone like the marble hands of unfeeling statues. Rumor had it that Stone's chest, throat and back were always made of rock, however tiring that would be for a Logia user to keep up. Stone wasn't stupid, and he wasn't careless, either.

But then again, saying 'yeah, he scares me by looking at me funny, make him go away' would sound beyond weak in the middle of his own stronghold. Lord Stone had ambitions beyond Shichibukai, anybody who worked for him could tell, and he wouldn't get anywhere if he got a reputation as a scaredy-cat.

"Will he do anything stupid if he stays, Mihawk? I wouldn't want you embarrassed during your unexpected visit to my home."

"He won't do anything I disapprove of. What's left of his honor is at stake. As for my visit, you sent me an invitation."

"Yes. It had RSVP on it, if I remember right."

"I was busy."

The two Shichibukai stared at each other, a short visual fencing match, and then Stone said in a voice as amiable as dusty ruins, "I'm sorry, my manners are shocking. Please, Mihawk, have a seat. As you can see, we were having dinner. Would you care to join us? Prince, set an extra plate."

Sanji forced himself to move as if the only thing on his mind was the quantity of leftovers in the tureens and the supply of pepper.

"Just wine," said Mihawk, climbing the steps and making his way to the chair Stone had indicated. Everybody stiffened as he put his hand to his great black sword, but he only detached the scabbard from its halter and propped it against the table like a dining companion. Zoro took up a spot behind him, arms crossed, eyes front, ignoring everyone.

"Suit yourself," said Stone. "I do hope you'll join me for tomorrow's celebratory dinner, though. My chef is going to outdo himself."

"I wouldn't miss it."

"You won't regret it. Prince, pour the man some wine."

"Yes, Lord Stone," said Sanji. Hands that seemed to belong to somebody else picked up the bottle of Mariejoie vintage and a glass from the trolley. He did not look at Zoro as he put the glass in front of Mihawk. The latter's eyes passed over Sanji without betraying a flicker of recognition. Either Zoro had forewarned the Shichibukai of Sanji's presence, or Mihawk didn't remember him from the Baratie.

Mihawk glanced away from the bottle Sanji was showing him and looked around the room. "I didn't see many of your men on my way through the mountains. Are they all here, getting drunk?"

"These are only my picked forces. My troops and my armada are off hounding the pirates and chasing them back to their side of the Red Line. They keep making forays."

"Aren't you afraid they might send a strike force here?"

"I'd like to see them try. Nobody can attack me here." If Stone had ever mastered the art of emoting, that would certainly have come with a gloat. "The seas around my island are treacherous to those who do not have local fishmen on their side as I do, and Rock Haunt itself is impenetrable. Let them break their strength against it. It will make them easier to pick off. So far, even that idiotic whelp Fire Fist hasn't been dumb enough to try to attack me here."

Sanji's hands stayed steady as he poured Mihawk some wine.

"I heard that little bastard has sworn to put my head on a pike. Very 'old world' of him. Whitebeard's lot are antiquated. All pirates are." Stone's eyes flicked to Zoro, who could have been meditating on a mountaintop for all the attention he seemed to pay to Stone's words.

Mihawk reached for the glass. "Yes. They do have these old-fashion attachments to such things as family. And revenge."

"You sound like you approve of those pirates. Or do you disapprove of a Shichibukai doing his job?"

"I do neither. Your affairs are none of my concern."

"They might become so." Stone fingered his chin, calculating eyes on his guest. "You're a Shichibukai as well, and if you stay for the celebrations tomorrow...Fire Fist might take that personally and decide he wants your head on the pike next to mine."

Mihawk took a single sip of the blood red wine. "I doubt it. Ace Fire Fist is a very focused young man, and I am not the one who killed his brother."

"That's right, you're not," said Stone with a rare smirk.

And two silent wills echoed that sentiment. Yeah, it was you, Stone. It was you.

III. Two Sinners Meet on the Road to Golgotha

The kitchen staff disliked their new head chef. They wouldn't have liked the head chef whoever it was, since the kind of people Lord Stone attracted to his service automatically despised authority and would disobey it unless it came down on them hard. But Prince was a right bastard even by those standards, as unfriendly as all hell; he'd kick a guy's ass as soon as look at him. And a demanding prick to boot, always insisting they wash their hands before they touch the food. He never chatted with the under-cooks, he never got drunk with the scullions, never shared his smokes with the quartermaster or played poker with the guards...There was only one living thing he seemed to care about in the entirety of Rock Haunt, and that was that bloody tangerine tree he tended every evening like it was his only child or something.

...It was tempting to shove that bloody bush off its balcony, yet none of the kitchen apprentices or sauce makers or butcher's lads or busboys dared go through with it, even when they bore fresh prints of Prince's shoe on their backside. Prince gave them hell if they spilled stuff, broke dishes or overcooked the meat, but they all obscurely felt that if that bush was damaged, retribution would be sheer murder.

In that regard, they were right.

Sanji moved his cigarette from one corner to his mouth to the other with a roll of his tongue, and sprayed the leaf with a fine mist from the bottle before carefully wiping it off. The night was as black as an iron cauldron, the negligible light from the onion skin moon absorbed by the brooding black stones of Rock Haunt rising around him. The fortress was designed in three concentric pentagons of solid walls, each a barrier surrounding the main tower where Stone resided; ringed by mountains, the place was gloomy as all hell even under a blazing sun. Sanji's room was in the servant's quarters within the second set of walls. It was a low-ceilinged space beneath the eaves, with only one window and a thinly railed balcony jutting out of the roof's tiles to look at no better scenery than the nearby wall where it joined onto the building, forming a gloomy corner. These were in fact cushy quarters by the standard of Stone's staff; Sanji had only gotten them due to his position as chef and friend of Captain Ebens.

Sanji didn't need a candle, despite the nearby wall compounding the darkness at one in the morning; he knew the position and shape of every branch. He checked the bottom of the leaf for aphids with his fingers before moving on to the next one, the inspection punctuated by a puff of his cigarette. He'd performed this little ritual every night for the past five months. He'd sit like this for an hour after the kitchen fires were banked and the meats for next day set to marinate. The patrols on the walls were so used to seeing him on his balcony they would probably sound the alarm if he was missing. Tonight as every other night they would glance at the small speck of red light that was the head chef's cigarette and walk on, not noticing that a patch of darkness between the crenelation of the wall near 'Prince's' room was a little more substantial than usual.

"Are you hungry?" Sanji asked without looking up.

From the small silence that preceded a non-committal grunt, that wasn't the first question the shadow in the shadows had expected.

"No insult to your food intended," Zoro finally said, "but I won't eat at that man's table."

Sanji glanced around carefully. Zoro, with his usual approach to discretion, had spoken in his regular growl of a baritone. It sounded loud in the night, but there was no-one around, and from a distance the sound of voices would be less suspicious than conspiratorial whispers.

"I didn't see Stone offering you anything anyway," Sanji finally pointed out, "aside from baited insults."

"That's fine. I can swallow those for now."

"Here. This will be more palatable." Sanji reached into the tree and plucked one of the tangerines he knew was ripe. He tossed it at the lump he could make out in the sliver of moonlight. A hand reached out of the shadows to catch it. Zoro held the fruit cupped in his large palm for a few reverent seconds, then he nodded his thanks and peeled it carefully.

"So, how'd you get Mihawk on board?" Sanji asked, playing it flip but inwardly dying of curiosity.

"I asked."

Sanji gave the swordsman a drilling look that easily pierced the darkness and could pound its way through rock too. Zoro shrugged it off as he quartered the tangerine. "There's a price to his cooperation. It's nothing I can't pay."

"What do you mean?"

"It's between the two of us." That pronouncement sounded as final as the stubborn ox could make it, and Sanji knew he'd never get to the bottom of it.

"Did I mention you're an idiot?"

"Not for the past six months, no."

"I knew it was a bad idea to leave you to your own devices, shit-for-brains."

Zoro ate the tangerine without bothering to comment on that.

Sanji finished his cigarette and flicked the dying red speck over the rail of the balcony. "Have you heard from the others?"

"Yeah, a letter from Chopper reached me three months ago. Nami's doing better."

Sanji carefully wiped a leaf. "Better? What does 'better' mean?"

"I don't know, he didn't say. No news from Robin..."

"Usopp?"

In the near-darkness, Zoro tilted his chin in the direction of Rock Haunt's fortifications. "As planned. We both got your message."

"How's he holding up?"

"He'll be fine on the day."

"He better be; the day is tomorrow."

Zoro got up without a word and stepped down from the wall.

"Hey, marimo-" Sanji stumbled over the familiar pet insult, a remnant of better days.

Zoro stilled without turning around.

"Steer clear of the soup," was all Sanji said in the end.

"Roger."

IV. Cold Dish

"They use hit and run tactics. My armada can't seem to corner any of those rats." Stone cut his meat like he was dissecting it. "Doesn't that sound oddly organized to you, for a bunch of pirates?"

Mihawk shrugged. He'd barely touched his food, but was on his third glass of wine. "Whitebeard does have a strong hand over them, as does Shanks."

"Yes, but the pirate emperors normally spend more time on their internal squabbles than bother any of us, and they're not known for their ability to cooperate. It's as if they're gunning for me specifically."

"I can't imagine why," said Mihawk.

Stone smirked, a coldly calculated expression. "Let them. They'll be that much easier to dispose of. We have the might of the World Government at our fingertips. They're willing to put a lot of power in our hands to get rid of the pirates. And if a new King is crowned and crosses the Red Line, they'll be all the more desperate. The world is changing, Mihawk. It's shifting in my favor. I'm glad you decided to come today," Stone added, with an encompassing glance at the victory banners and burning torches decorating the great hall, and the feast his men were loudly enjoying. Pride of place was left to Stone's old Jolly Roger, the only flag nailed into the walls of Rock Haunt that wasn't shot full of holes or half burned. "None of the other Shichibukai seemed to want to celebrate my first year in their ranks, or the defeat of that Straw Hat scum."

That had been said with yet another cutting glance Zoro's way. Stone could have been chirping like a bird for all Zoro paid him any heed. He was sitting down this time; Stone had generously offered him a seat at his table next to Mihawk for the occasion. Zoro hadn't eaten anything. Sanji, hovering near the center table like a good head chef should on such an occasion, knew not to take it personally or feel too bad about all the food that was going to go to waste tonight. Sure, it nagged at him like well-remembered hunger pangs, but it was for a good cause.

The first course was finished. Stone's table had been served with a delicate consommé fit for a king, its heat kept in by a golden crust over each individual dish, this crust decorated with latticework shaped like a crown with small candied seeds in lieu of jewels. A masterpiece, if Sanji did say so himself. The lower tables had been served a clear mushroom soup with a touch of cognac, the subtlety of which was entirely lost in the flow of beer and rum all the ex-pirates were swilling. The second course of marinated mutton and beef had been served and most of it would go down the hatch before show-time. Only a few minutes away, at that. Sanji glanced around, noted how the celebrating soldiers were falling silent one table at a time, and looking queasy. He wandered over to one of the large fireplaces that punctuated the great hall, and pretended to warm his hands. The small packet fell from his sleeve when he brushed his fingers together. In a minute, high above them all, the smoke from the stack would take on an oddly pearlescent glow, visible from beyond the walls.

A minute after that, give or take the time for Usopp to get into position, and all hell was going to break loose. Sanji headed back to the main table.

"Prince!"

Sanji turned to face the man striding towards him. Masu. It figured.

"I've just had one of my sergeants report that three of his men are ill." Masu looked suspicious, but then again, he always looked suspicious. "They started throwing up and shivering right after they ate the soup."

"Really?" Sanji scratched the back of his head. "That's not much of a compliment to my cooking, is it."

"Act smart and I'll have you flogged all the way across this hall," Masu snapped in the manner of one who is used to handing out and acting on such threats daily. "Was there anything wrong with that dish? Didn't you taste it?"

"Hell no."

A rare expression of surprise crossed Masu's features. "You didn't? But you always taste everything," he said. Amazing, maybe he'd actually begun to trust Sanji...

"So kind of you to notice my dedication to my job." Sanji fished around his pocket for his pack of smokes. "I'm just as surprised as you are that those guys got sick. That wasn't supposed to happen."

A splitting scream ripped through the air, cutting off Masu's next words, and Sanji lifted a finger. "That's what was supposed to happen."

Masu spun around. One of his men, a tall bastard with one eye and only half his teeth, had jumped up from his seat and was batting at his chest and arms. Despite every appearance of a tough and vicious fighter, he was screaming about spiders as shrilly as a convent-raised schoolgirl. Instead of telling him there wasn't a single arachnid on him, his neighbor had fallen off his bench and was crawling away, eyes wide with terror. Then from the other side of the hall, someone else screamed. Masu opened his mouth - and right on cue, one of the high windows around the great hall shattered. Then another, then a third in such rapid succession that it looked simultaneous.

It rained glass and it rained fire. Green flames spattered the tables and the - regrettably now spoiled - food. Usopp and his little chemistry set had outdone themselves; the fire seemed alive, it splashed and ran like water down the gutters in the stone floors, it crawled up the wall and chewed on the tapestries and captured pirate flags, it danced and clawed at the panicking throngs.

And now everybody was screaming.

Masu spun back towards Sanji. "What did you do?" he asked, sword already in hand and pointing at the cook. "I know you did something. What?"

"I'm afraid I mixed a couple of mushrooms that really shouldn't be mixed," said Sanji as he lit his cigarette. "I might have also added some spices and a few fish bits to the soup that amplify the effect. The amount of alcohol those sods are drinking didn't help either. I know you keep a paranoid eye out for poisons in every provision shipped into Rock Haunt, Masu, but you'd be amazed at how many foods are toxic when you don't prepare them right."

"What-"

"Don't worry, nobody should die. Well, not from the food itself. They might kill each other under the effects of the hallucinations, but I think mostly they'll be too scared to use all those sharp, pointy things they like to carry around. And at least they'll be out of the way, so I won't have to kill them. These losers would make pitiful appetizers, and I don't want to spoil my appetite for the main course."

He wasn't even sure Masu heard him over the uproar. The green fire was crackling around the room, turning it into a scene from hell even without the benefit of some very dubious fungi, and most of the pirates who weren't screaming in hysterical panic were busy getting the hell out of there. Nobody noticed that the phosphorescent fire wasn't actually burning anything, but in the stampede, such fine details were bound to be overlooked.

"You know, Masu, I don't like you much..." Sanji puffed out a trickle of smoke; it curled around the point of Masu's sword which was hovering an inch from his throat. "But in the months I've been here, I've gotten to know you. You're a dedicated guy, honest in your way, and you appreciate good food. What I'm trying to say is, if you chose to run now, I won't stop you. I don't have anything against you, and I don't necessarily want to hurt you."

"I'm going to-"

Sanji ducked the sharp metal, letting it whistle past his neck, fell backwards, spun and kicked.

"I don't necessarily want to hurt you," he said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth as he landed back on his feet, "but I had the feeling you wouldn't leave me the option. Stay down, will you?"

Masu didn't answer beyond a 'thud' as he slid down the far wall and hit the floor.

The great hall cleared itself remarkably fast. From the sounds of it, those who hadn't eaten the soup - the kitchen staff, the busboys, a few guards, the cleaning personnel - were all evacuating under the effect of panic and the cries of 'fire!'. Sanji nodded to himself without feeling any actual satisfaction as he picked his way past spilled soup and broken tableware to where Stone was standing near the dais.

The lord of Rock Haunt had stopped his useless attempts to stem the exiting tide of his panicked men. "What in the depths of hell is going on here?!" he barked.

The question echoed in the now empty hall. It was answered by the scrape of a chair being pushed back.

"Interesting party, Stone." Mihawk settled the large sword over his shoulder and pushed back his cape. "I'll be taking my leave now."

Stone gave him a basilisk glare. "What is this...?"

"As I said yesterday: none of my concern. I have my own affairs to attend to."

Stone stared at Mihawk's retreating back and then at Zoro, who'd moved to stand next to Sanji, and it was obvious the Shichibukai had put two and two together. "You'll pay for this, Hawk Eyes."

Mihawk didn't even deign to respond as he strode out of the hall, scaring a few stragglers on the way out the door.

That left only Sanji, Zoro, Lord Stone and the Brothers. The time, it seemed, was Now. Sanji's eyes flitted towards the ornate grandfather clock that Steward Mannings - who'd hopefully run for his life by now - had installed on the dais. It'd been a year...

...A year and three hours exactly since that day when Sanji and Zoro had beaten the unworthy opponents they'd been tricked into pursuing through the streets of Water 7, and returned to find the brand new Thousand Sunny aflame in the harbor, fires of hell burning like those in the great hall in the present. Fortunately Adam wood was tough. Robin had already doused much of the blaze with the help of buckets and a multitude of hands, but there was only darkness in her eyes when she turned towards them. Sanji had been distracted by the sight of Chopper working frantically on a prone Nami, but Zoro had taken a headcount the moment he'd stepped aboard and he'd asked the question which had brought them here today.

Robin, where's Luffy?

"Prince." Stone spat the word out. "Are you one of Straw Hat's crew as well?"

A flicked cigarette stub was his only answer, but the question had been pretty much rhetorical anyway.

"What did you do to my men, Prince?"

"Doesn't matter." Sanji shrugged, eyeing the animal he'd been forced to feed these past few weeks. "You should worry about what I did to you."

"I feel fine," said the creature, but there was a catch of doubt in his voice.

"That won't last. I poisoned you too, Stone. It wasn't easy, but I worked on it. A pet project, if you will. The art of poisoning and the art of cooking aren't all that different in the end." This blasphemy didn't bother him anymore. When all their dreams had shattered, he'd found something useful in the shards, something that could cut.

"The crust covering the stew, the little jeweled bits that made up the crown. Cardamom. And tangerine seeds, provided by a friend. She wanted you to have them specially. I filled them with seastone powder. A very pure form of it. It can only be found in one place, high up in the sky on an island in the clouds. A pirate crew of our acquaintance had an interesting trip getting there, but they were kind enough to bring me back a good amount." He'd kept it in the tangerine pot, as a plain old layer of soil. Even Masu's paranoid poking around would never have found it. "Only small quantities are enough to affect a devil fruit user, yet hidden in the seeds, you didn't notice it going down. But you are now, aren't you...now that they've hit your stomach and started releasing their little payloads right into your bloodstream. You know, I bet that hurts..."

In the thick silence that followed, Sanji could follow Stone's thoughts as if they were crawling across his forehead like little maggots. The grey eyes turned inwards, widened. He'd probably tried to use his powers and failed, as well as felt a pinch, a tremble, a clench in his gut as the waves of poisonous weakness washed him. But then the eyes flickered towards his four towering bodyguards. The Brothers had each eaten a Zoan devil fruit; bull, ocelot, caribou and something that Sanji had never been able to figure out, but might be a panda. They fought with four massive harpoons as weapons, and they were powerful even without a Logia backing them up. Stone's eyes rested on them as they each morphed into their semi-animal forms, huge weapons at the ready.

"Pity, Mr. Prince. It seems you've failed. You may have incapacitated me temporarily, but the Brothers are unaffected."

Sanji rolled his eyes. "You still don't get it. Why do you think I said it was hard to poison you, Stone, when Masu and I can eat seastone by the bucketful and show no ill effects? No, the hard part was poisoning you and not poisoning those gits. Hell, the only reason I dosed you with seastone in the first place was so you couldn't slither through the rocks of Rock Haunt and run away like the cautious coward Zoro and I know you to be, deep down. But I made sure that I baked the seastone in the crust. I've been cooking for you for weeks now, and observing you and the Brothers for months. Your silent buddies don't eat hard pastry; they've always left them on the plate. Lack of tongue makes it hard to cope with, I guess. You don't know what you're missing, fellas; my butter-glazed torte is a dream." Sanji shook his head as he fished out his lighter. "We didn't want to poison your bodyguards. Zoro and I, we're not your kind, Stone, so we wanted to give you what Luffy did not have. A fair fight."

"You forgot the other reason, cook," said Zoro, speaking for the first time. His eyes hadn't left the Brothers, particularly the big bastard with bull horns. "The other reason Sanji didn't disable you guys is because we want to kill you four very badly, and we want to do it up close and personal."

"Yeah, that too." Sanji lit a new cigarette. "Gentlemen? Shall we?"

The Brothers loomed over them, huge weapons ready to strike. They outnumbered their attackers two to one. But maths didn't count when facing men who had nothing to lose. They couldn't have taken Sanji and Zoro down on a good day anyway, which was why Stone, who failed to be as dumb as some of the Straw Hats' previous enemies, had carefully distracted the two second-best fighters from Luffy's crew last year, and Franky and Robin as well for good measure. False information had sent the four of them chasing after some putative super-strong enemies who they'd been told were going to blow up Galley-La's newly rebuilt headquarters as retaliation for building the Thousand Sunny. Those same rumors said the strongest of the bunch would attack the ship directly, so Luffy had stayed right where he was with an expectant grin on his face.

Since Sanji had been running through the streets of Water 7, cursing a blue streak and wishing his opponent would stay still long enough for Sanji to kick him across the island, he'd not seen Luffy and Stone's confrontation on the docks. He'd imagined it a thousand times, though. Luffy, moving forward and smacking one fist into his palm, all gung-ho...and Stone evading him with his powers, slipping through the stones of the pier and leaving the Brothers to fight Luffy while he ordered his men to bombard the Sunny from a distance. If he'd hoped Luffy would be distracted by his concern for his crew, then he might have miscalculated: Luffy trusted his nakama to fend for themselves while he fought to the best of his ability. But when the Sunny was firebombed...Sanji hadn't been there, so he didn't know why Luffy had fallen that time, when he'd just survived Enies Lobby and all their other trials. Maybe his injuries from fighting Lucci were still too great. Or maybe the sight of their new ship going up in flames like the Merry had made Monkey D Luffy hesitate for the first time in his life...Well, no matter. It'd soon be over.

Weapons darted forward in Rock Haunt's great hall. Sanji leaned aside, not bothering to dodge more than the half-inch necessary, cutting it close but who cared about minor injuries now? His counterstrike broke an arm. A good beginning. Too bad he'd not been around to do this a year ago, when Luffy faced a Logia user and four large well-armed Zoans by himself with his ship on fire and his friends injured at his back...

Luffy had fought like he usually did, like nobody would believe that goofy rubber kid in a straw hat ever could. But one blow had gotten through. One. And Zoro hadn't been there to watch Luffy's back and parry it.

Having picked up worse injuries in his life, Luffy would have survived getting speared by a harpoon - though Usopp, grim and pale as he recounted the fight, had admitted there'd been 'a lot of blood'. But then Stone had punched Luffy and sent him falling from Water 7's high sea-walls and into the ocean. And Sanji hadn't been there to fish him out.

Sanji didn't hold back the blow that sent one of the Brothers crashing through the great hall's stone and out into the courtyard beyond. Sanji didn't kill people ordinarily, but today he was willing to make an exception. From the corner of his eye he saw a spray of blood like a crimson curtain falling over the final act. He didn't even consider that it might be Zoro's blood. Neither of them were allowed to die yet. Not until they finished this.

Sanji kicked and sent the heavy harpoon aimed at his chest sailing all the way up until it embedded into the ceiling. His downward swing caught his attacker in the head and sent the large man crunching through the floor's stone paving until he was half buried. It brought Sanji no pleasure, and that pissed him off a bit. A year planning this: sneaking into Rock Haunt, getting rid of potential distractions, and making sure Stone couldn't run. Sanji had never expected to enjoy it, but he'd hoped to garner a grim satisfaction out of it. No matter, he wasn't really doing this for his own sake. He was fighting for the others; for Nami, Chopper, Usopp, even Franky whom they'd not gotten to know too well and who'd ended up sailing his scorched Thousand Sunny back to the Blues like a funeral barge rather than off to the New World. Franky, a certain bounce now absent from his step, had gone back to Water 7 in a passenger ship once the crew - minus Robin - were safe. Robin...She'd vanished long before they'd left Water 7, the very night Luffy had fallen, she'd disappeared while her nakama were frantically caring for their injured. And the Marines who might have been tempted to arrest the surviving Straw Hats had all run after her. The Straw Hats hadn't seen her since, she'd melted back into the world of darkness and shadow she'd once inhabited, and that had left Sanji with such a bitter taste that today's victory felt like ashes in his mouth. Enies Lobby had been for nothing...Sure, Robin had left with a promise- that is, she'd left Nami with a promise, which Nami had told them about once she'd come to. But after a year- no, Robin would not keep that promise, that dream. All the dreams were broken.

And now was the time for payback.

Rock Haunt was still ringing with retribution. Blood pooled, running into remaining puddles of phosphorescent fire. The great hall looked like a disaster area, the banners fallen, the furniture destroyed, defeated pirate flags spattered with blood.

Stone had tried to run away a couple of times during the battle, but Zoro and Sanji had always managed to intercept him in the midst of their individual fights. Now he was at bay near the fireplace, holding a sword he was obviously not used to wielding, features pale and stretched. That might have been the sea stone, or it might have been fear. His glittering eyes went from Sanji to Zoro, and at least he wasn't dumb enough to try to bribe or threaten them off.

"So you're just going to kill me? While I'm helpless?" he sneered instead. He was also too smart to mention the word 'honor', but it was definitely there in the subtext.

A bad taste pervaded Sanji's mouth, and he spat out the half-smoked cigarette which had lasted longer than the Brothers. He wanted this bit to be over with already. He wanted to get the hell out of this place. "No. We're not going to kill you. We're not your type of insect, as you've guessed."

"We'd have gladly taken you down in a fair fight, like we did your buddies," Zoro said, jerking his thumb at one of the Brothers, pounded into a wall with blood pouring to the floor like a brilliant red tapestry. "But you'd never have stood your ground. Even if we'd somehow managed to corner you, beating up a Logia is next to useless. Your type get over within minutes anything we can dish out."

"But the seastone will take a couple of months to clear your system, according to a doctor acquaintance of ours," said Sanji. "You'll get over it eventually and use your powers to reconstitute yourself, but we'll see how you like spending that amount of time in a wheelchair, eating through a straw."

"With the thought that we might change our minds at any point during that time, and come back to finish what we started. A coward dies a thousand deaths," Zoro concluded, passing Kitetsu from his left hand to his right.

At that point Stone tried to run, which wasn't much of a surprise.

Zoro beat him to the side door. Stone threw up his hands and shouted- Kitetsu's hilt slammed into his face. He stumbled back, jaw smashed, and Sanji's vicious kick took him in the lower back, spilling him to the flagstones in a crunch of bones and torn ligaments.

"It's okay, I got this bit," Sanji muttered. Pulping even this miserable specimen while it was helpless would hurt Zoro in what little he had left, while Sanji had a vision of Nami as he'd seen her last in his head, ten long months ago, and felt absolutely nothing.

Stone hollered and gibbered through the swelling spreading up his lower face, trying to crawl away despite the pain nailing him to the ground. Sanji put his foot on the man's shoulder, to stop him from squirming away and prolonging this. This was meant to be over quickly. The two avengers didn't want to draw it out, they weren't particularly after pain and torture here; just revenge.

Stone was trying to say something. Sanji's weight shifted for a spin kick when the wet, muffled words caught his attention. He grabbed Stone by the collar, despite his long-held intention to never touch the slime with his hands, and hissed: "What?!"

The ragged, broken words were a bare whisper, but they changed everything.

---

On to part two.