A/N: This fic is thanks to the awesome Krystal who commissioned it from me

The rain outside is so heavy that it almost hurts when it hits him, if Zoro was inclined in such ways he would think that the speed and force of it could suggest that he personally pissed God off. Of course the moment that he stepped out into the torrential rain he was as soaked as he was going to get and so he'd settled for miserably walking home. He has to get back, then he has to change out of his cold and wet clothes, make himself something to eat, shower and then fall face down on the bed and sleep. The same routine as every day.

He isn't even sure what it is about the place that makes him stop. It's a small narrow diner, sandwiched in between two larger buildings, a homeware shop on one side and a carbon copy coffee shop. It's not that it looks out of place or anything, but Zoro walks this route every day and he's never seen it before. It doesn't look new though, so it's not like it's just moved there. He pauses, the rain beating down on his head and sluicing down the back of his neck in unpleasantly lukewarm rivulets. His feet turn and before he knows it he's through the door without ever really deciding to go.

The inside of the diner isn't exactly narrow, it's not cramped, but it's far narrower than a restaurant would be. There would probably be more seating if almost half of the building wasn't taken up by an open kitchen. Zoro can see right into it and the only person working there is a blond man with an apron who is leant over talking softly to a man at a booth. Zoro can't see his face but the man straightens up, his hand on the other guy's shoulder as he turns around and walks back into the open kitchen. The blond looks at him with a smile on his face and leans against the cash register on the counter between the two of them. A moment of understanding flashes in Zoro's head and he looks up at the board above the guy's head, realising that it must be a menu.

'Today's special'

It reads in curly script.

'Just what you need, plus tip. $25.'

Zoro frowns. What the fuck does that mean? He looks back down at the blond who is grinning at him with this smile that suggests that this is the funniest thing in the world.

"Man, that never gets old." The blond laughs.

"Come here, let me see you." He says a little more gently, but he's still smiling and Zoro feels a little put off by it. He steps a little closer and the man holds out his hand like he's waiting for something.

"Your hand." The man prompts, beckoning him with his hand as if Zoro is exceptionally slow.

"You want my hand?" Zoro asks with a frown.

"Yeah. Why? You scared?" The guy asks, tilting his head and flashing a challenging look at Zoro. Zoro's stupid competitive nature slams into play and his hand is in the other man's before he can even get his brain into gear to answer.

The blond turns Zoro's palm face up and trails his fingers lightly over Zoro's palm, peers at his fingernails and gives his hand a poke. He lets Zoro's hand go, closes his eyes and hums thoughtfully.

"Alright," He says, opening up his eyes again. "Go sit down. I'll bring you your food."

"But I didn't even order!" Zoro says loudly as the man retreats further into his kitchen.

"I only serve the special here. If you want to eat then go sit your ass down." The guy says without even looking at him.

Zoro pauses, his mouth open in shock at this absolute fucking weirdo. But… he supposes that he did come into the place to eat. That was why he came here instead of going home, wasn't it? Well, he may as well eat. At the worst case this will make for an interesting story to tell his friends.

He glances around at the worn in leather seated booths and picks one at random, a few places back from the large plate glass window. He walks towards it, his smart dress shoes clicking on the polished marble floor which is completely at odds with the rest of the place. It's the kind of blue veined fancy stuff that they have on bank floors and he knows about that kind of thing.

"And take off your shitty coat before you get everything wet!" The blond shouts at him without so much as looking around at him from whatever he's doing at one of the kitchen stations. Zoro bristles at the insult but takes his coat off anyway, relocating it to a coatrack and removing his keys and his work Blackberry from the pockets out of habit.

He slides into the booth and settles on the soft leather of the booth seat. It feels well worn in, the soft way that leather goes after years and years of use. How has he never seen this place before if it's been here for as long as things like this suggest that it has? He reads the words on the plate glass window, though they're backwards now that he's on the inside of the diner.

'All Blue'

What kind of name was that? This whole place is weird.

He stares past the writing and out into the rain, it's still pelting hard out there and he really doesn't want to go back out, no matter how odd this place is. He's idly moving his Blackberry around, holding it by the face and the back between two fingers and letting it slip out until it bumps against the table top, he lets it rotate as he pulls it back again and he continues, flipping the phone 180 degrees each time. It's a mindless habit but he's got to have the thing on him all the time and so he's found all manner of ways to fiddle with the thing when he's bored, which is almost always.

He sighs and unlocks the thing and the unread email pings up to the top of his list. His prayers that it would just be spam or some office birthday message goes unanswered, maybe he should stop pissing off this non-existent God, perhaps that way his luck would turn around. Maybe not calling God non-existent might be a start.

The email is from a client who is actually important and though he sorely wants to put it off answering it until later, perhaps never might be a good time for him, he has to do it. He scans the email and types out a reply, giving the answers as best as he can from memory and promising to follow up with the figures required first thing in the morning when he gets to the office.

"Now that is the look of a man who hates his job." The blond says, sliding a large bowl down before him and then depositing cutlery at its side.

"I don't-" Zoro starts to protest but then the smell of the food hits him in the face.

He looks down. It's ramen, proper ramen soup, in a traditional style bowl. There are slices of chicken on the top, just slightly grilled a little on the skin. There are chives floating on the top of the soup and a perfectly cut slice of radish that looks like a cherry blossom. He hasn't seen this since he was a child and somehow it looks identical. The smell of the ramen floats up to him in a haze of steam and suddenly he's ten again, back at his dojo with Kuina at his side as his sensei sets the bowls down in front of them. Kuina has a cold and so it's comfort food for her, but the rest of them all have the same and Zoro's senses aren't clogged and so he can appreciate it. It's cold and wintery outside but inside with his little pseudo-family he's warm, safe and happy. Hardly realising what he's doing he takes a sip and it tastes exactly the same, just as if his sensei had made it himself.

He looks up at the blond in shock and this time instead of a cocky grin the man is actually smiling, a small warm and genuine little thing.

"How did you…" Zoro trails off in stunned shock. He didn't even ask for this, he hadn't even thought about it and yet here it is.

"Trade secret." The blond answers with a light laugh and drops into the seat on the opposite side of the booth.

"So, you hate your job then." The guy continues.

"I didn't say that, you said that." Zoro points out, putting down the spoon and picking up lacquered chopsticks. He frowns at the guy who seems to be the cook, cashier and waiter all in one.

"Sure." Sanji shrugs.

"Isn't that a bit of a personal thing to say to someone that you just met?" Zoro points out and eats some of the noodles, they're so perfect that it's mind blowing. He has no idea how it's the same, he never ever saw sensei follow a recipe.

"You're right, I'm Sanji. Now we know each other." He smiles, shoving his hand across the space in between them, clearly asking for a handshake.

"Zoro," He answers, shaking Sanji's hand because he wasn't brought up to rudely ignore that kind of thing. "but no, we don't."

"We should. What do you do, Zoro?" he asks and Zoro is left with the distinct feeling that there is no point in trying to avoid this conversation or get this weirdo to go away.

"I'm an investment banker." He answers flatly.

"And you sound so excited about it." Sanji says.

"You think I hate my job." Zoro responds and eats a little more.

"You do." The other man shrugs as if he has said the simplest and most obvious thing.

"I just had a bad day." Zoro answers. It's true, he has. Nami's on his ass about this one client which he lost some paperwork for, he had another one duck out on them and though they kept the retainer which isn't an insubstantial amount of money it still means he did a lot of work for no fucking reason. That and the whole new thing that he now has to do tomorrow morning thanks to that email. The guy who runs the little coffee franchise downstairs at his work was sick so the whole thing was closed, and that's about the one highlight break in Zoro's day and perhaps he's become acclimatised to an unhealthy amount of caffeine but suddenly going without it has given him a massive headache. Oh, and the sky is trying to drown him. Yeah, it's a bad day alright.

"Uh-uh. I believe the bad day part, it looks like a really bad day. But people who have had bad days look irritable and grumpy, you look like it's just insult to injury and you want to climb into bed and never come out and go back there again. You hate your job." Sanji tells him succinctly. Sanji takes a toothpick from the little jar on the table and starts chewing it and wrinkles his nose in displeasure.

"Problem?" Zoro questions, keen to get away from the subject of his own job.

"Nnnh, I'm trying to give up smoking. It's not going well." The other man sighs, pulling back the elbow of his chef's whites to show a nicotine patch on his skin. It clicks in Zoro's head that the toothpick is a substitute for something to do with his mouth instead of hold a cigarette.

"I was forced to give up coffee today, the one guy who runs the place was sick and I couldn't go out for any." Zoro responds miserably and Sanji laughs.

"How's that treating you?" Sanji asks in amusement.

"Shit, I have a headache the size of Manhattan." He says, rubbing his forehead. Although the headache is a little better now that he's eating the perfect replica of his sensei's food.

"Oh good, we can suffer together." The blond chuckles.

Suddenly Sanji's head perks up and his eyes widen a little in interest, but he's not looking at Zoro, he's looking at someone behind him. His eyes are stupidly blue, tropical ocean blue and though that's the dumbest thought he's had in a long while it's undeniably true.

"I gotta go, but here's the thing. The cost of this meal plus tip is $25. So here's the tip that you need, it's part of the meal so you gotta have to. You think about your job right now and then you think about what you wanted to do when you were younger. Think about where you wanted to be, the thing that made you excited to do. Then come tell me. That's part of the price. See you." Sanji says and walks off before Zoro can protest.

Zoro shuts his slack jaw and turns in his seat. Sanji is taking the plate of a middle aged man who was sitting further down the diner. He deposits them into the sink and returns to the register as the man hands over his money.

"I think you're right. I need to tell her." The man says sadly.

"You'll feel better for it." Sanji answers softly and opens the drawer.

"You think?" the customer asks hopefully.

"I know." The cook answers brightly. The middle aged man brightens considerably and he rummages in his pocket for something else. Zoro watches with a raised eyebrow as the man pulls out another twenty dollar bill.

"This is for you, a tip." The man says holding the note out. Sanji actually looks a little taken aback by the offer.

"The tip was for you, remember?" he says, pointing a long finger up at the stupid sign above his head.

"Still, take it." The other man says and presses it into Sanji's palm. The blond looks surprised for a moment but a warm smile blooms on his face.

Zoro stops staring and continues eating. Maybe it's the fact that this tastes just like how the food in his childhood home that his mind goes to the argument that Kuina had with her father, where he told her that she could never inherit the dojo. She would be a woman and women didn't do that kind of thing. Zoro had been pissed just as much as Kuina was. It was bullshit. He wanted her to own that dojo and he had wanted to own his own and he would compete with her to see who had the best and who could be the better ranking swordsman and therefore the better teacher.

His heart aches at the loss of her, even though he's twenty seven now and she died when he was twelve. It was over half a lifetime ago but she's still left her fingerprint on him and it'll probably be there forever. He hadn't been able to think of that dream for long after her and then when he was nineteen one of his friends desperately needed his help and so he'd taken this job to put a roof over their heads and help them out. Between him and Nami they made enough to save Usopp and keep the rest of their bunch of misfits secure. He didn't care about the job then, if his friends needed him then that was that, it didn't matter what he had to do. Eight years later and he's still there. Usopp is safe and happy in his own home now with Kaya as well, so he's in no financial trouble. Zoro isn't in any problem with money himself, the job does pay well, very well in fact.

As Zoro finishes the last of the bowl of ramen, every last drop of it in his belly now he finds Sanji's words rising to the surface of his mind. You hate your job.

Zoro looks at his Blackberry and grits his teeth. He stands up and shoves the thing into his pocket. He picks up the bowl and walks over to the counter. His smart black leather shoes clicking on the floor as he walks and the wool of his expensive suit that Nami made him buy is sticking to his skin wetly in places. Sanji is waiting at the register and watching him curiously. Zoro hands the bowl over to him and Sanji puts it on the counter behind himself.

"Well?" Sanji asks.

"You really want to know what I wanted to do when I was younger?" Zoro says incredulously and Sanji smiles like a cat who just got into a really large supply of cream.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know, would I?" the cook points out.

"I wanted to own my own dojo, I wanted it to be better than my friend's. But she's dead, so I can't." Zoro answers, anticipating the cook's 'why not?' that he's sure to ask.

"You could still open your own though." Sanji reasons and Zoro scowls.

"Here." He says instead of arguing against Sanji's stupid comment. He hands over the twenty five dollars.

"And did you come to any conclusion about your job?" the man asks, taking his money and depositing it in the cash drawer.

Zoro grits his teeth and turns to walk out of the diner, sliding his coat on as he does it. He pauses at the door, his hand on the raised metal handle.

"I hate it." He answers quietly.

He pulls the handle on the door back and steps outside. It's still raining just as hard and though he's protected right now from the awning he's going to have to go out into that again and undo whatever amount of dryness he gained in his clothes over his meal. He really wishes that he had an-

"Oi, grass hair." Sanji says from behind him. Zoro turns, having every intention of telling the cook to fuck off but he pauses when he spots what's in the other man's hand. A large yellow umbrella.

"See you." The man grins, pressing the handle into Zoro's hands and disappearing back inside the diner.

Zoro looks down at the umbrella in muted surprise. He turns back to the rainstorm and opens it. He steps out with the rain beating onto the top of it instead of on him. It's not that windy out so he's almost completely free of the damned rain. He starts to walk home and as he does so he looks up above him at the umbrella. It's got a black spiral on it, radiating out from the centre to the edge. It looks a little like the other man's stupid eyebrow. For no reason at all he twists it in his hand, setting the top of the umbrella spinning and blurring the swirl into a vortex. He finds himself smiling as he walks home.