Chapter Text
The sun sank low over Loguetown Bay.
Near the prow of the Going Merry, Sanji waited, and worried, and paced.
Zoro waited with him, at first, sporting two brand-new swords which for some reason the green-haired man refused to talk about. When pressed for details, the swordsman actually blushed.
That enigma provided a good temporary distraction, but eventually Sanji’s anxiety won out, and the pacing resumed. Zoro ultimately wandered off, declaring that the cook’s fidgeting “could make a damn statue nervous”.
Sanji needed a cigarette. He needed about ten cigarettes, truth be told, but he was wary of letting the odor seep into his shiny new suit before their mission. So instead he kept wearing a hole in the floorboards.
He was trying not to think about everything that could go wrong with this mission, but it remained a droning persistent hum in his mind. They could face some impenetrable obstacle like an unpickable lock or uncrackable safe. They could set off a silent alarm or raise suspicion amongst the guards and get caught. Or they might not even make it that far; they could get turned away at the door with that stolen invitation –
– And then Nami stepped into view, and Sanji forgot everything but that sight. He forgot to pace. He forgot to think. He forgot to breathe.
He had thought he would be prepared for this. He already knew she was the most beautiful woman in the world; he already dreamed about her every night. How much more smitten could he possibly get? True, he had never seen her with makeup on, but he had seen her cheeks flushed with desire and her eyes shining brightly at him. Surely no powder or paint could outdo that perfection.
And indeed, it wasn’t the makeup that was stealing his breath away. (Although he did note that he’d been wrong about its ability to enhance her natural beauty. With the addition of shadow and liner, her eyes looked even larger and could now probably be seen from the moon, even through the mask she would soon be wearing.)
It wasn’t even the elaborate hairdo that was affecting him so strongly . . . although he did long to caress the curls hanging in delicate tendrils on her neck.
No, what was stopping his breath and his heart and his mind was the dress. Simple and elegant, sleeveless with a curve-hugging bodice, a low back, and a long flowing skirt. Creamy satin almost as soft as her amply exposed skin, and the color –
Of course, Sanji was telling himself, she probably chose that color because it looks good on her; it contrasts well with her hair; she doesn’t mean anything by it, but –
But it was a white dress; she was walking down to meet him in a white dress, and Sanji had to stop himself from crying.
“Hey guys, she finally came out!” Usopp called from the kitchen window.
Zoro glanced up from the card game he’d been playing with Nicky and Luffy. (Usopp had flatly refused to play against Nicky again.) “Finally,” he said. “Now we can get to work.”
Zoro would never admit it out loud, of course, but he was curious what Nami looked like all dolled up. He ambled over to the window and saw . . .
. . . a beautiful young woman in a long white dress, walking down to meet an absolutely-smitten young man in a tuxedo.
The image was . . . familiar. Zoro felt a kick of amusement when he realized why.
How about that. All they need now is a ring and a priest.
Zoro briefly wondered if any of his crewmates would get the same idea when they looked out the window, but dismissed the thought. I’m the only one who heard the idiot cook’s drunken confession all those weeks ago. And he hasn’t mentioned it again, so nobody else would be thinking along those lines.
But there, Zoro was wrong. Usopp suddenly gasped. “Oh my gosh! Sanji and Nami look like they’re getting ma- OOF!”
“What?” Luffy asked. “Getting what?”
“Getting . . .” Usopp eyed Zoro nervously. “Getting . . . mad? That they’re waiting?”
“Right,” Zoro said gruffly. “I’ll be out in a minute. I just need a drink first.”
A few moments passed with no sound except the clinking of glassware.
Then - “Zoro?” Luffy asked, head tilted like a confused dog. “Why did you elbow Usopp in the stomach?”
“. . . Muscle spasm.”
From the corner where Nicky sat, Zoro heard an undignified snort.
“Muscle spasm?” Luffy sounded genuinely curious.
“From training. Happens all the time.”
“Oh, okay.” The captain nodded innocently. “As long as you’re not too sore from training to fight tonight. How do you feel?”
“Peachy,” the swordsman muttered, tossing his drink back.
“Good. You guys have a big night ahead of you, and Sanji’s already wounded.”
This was news. Zoro cocked an eyebrow.
“I walked in on him while he was getting dressed for the party,” Luffy explained. (Zoro could believe that; the captain didn’t seem to understand the concept of knocking). “And he had all these red marks all over him. Like, bites and scratches, almost?”
Zoro choked on his drink.
“Yeah, it was weird,” Luffy continued. “It kinda looked like he got attacked by a cat. But where would he have met a cat?”
Usopp’s face began turning red.
In the corner, Nicky’s shoulders were shaking.
Zoro was in too much pain to laugh; he had alcohol in his nasal passages.
Luffy went on, oblivious. “I asked him about it, but all he would say was that it was a kitchen accident. Do you think he fell on a cheese grater?”
Usopp closed his eyes and bit his lip.
Nicky lost the battle for self-control and fell to the floor, clutching his sides.
“. . . I have to go.” Zoro stomped towards the door.
“Okay. Good luck!” Luffy waved cheerfully.
“To everyone!” Nicky managed to gasp between giggles. “Including the cheese grater!”
Damn little gremlin.
“And the cat!” Usopp added, wheezing.
Two gremlins.
Zoro could only hope that the rest of the evening would prove less annoying than this.
Sanji snapped his fingers twice. “Fetch me a glass of Bordeaux, Mosshead, and a champagne for the lady.”
A supremely-annoyed Zoro threw him a glare that should, by all rights, have melted flesh from bone.
The glare bounced right off an impervious Sanji, who grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Well?” he drawled loudly. “Hop to it, valet, what do I pay you for, anyway?”
Zoro didn’t blink. If looks could kill, the cook would have fallen stone dead right there in the middle of the glitzy dining room.
Nami interceded. Stepping closer to the swordsman, she said, “Go get our drinks like a good boy.” In a much lower tone she added, “And while you’re commiserating with the other servants about how much of a bastard your boss is, pump them for information we can use. Sound like a good idea?”
The corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted in reluctant acknowledgement, and off he went.
Sanji beamed adoringly at Nami. “You are so marvelous at dealing with the help.”
“You’re enjoying this a little bit too much, you know.”
“How on earth could I not enjoy taking you out to a gala? Please allow me to tell you for the twenty-seventh time how gorgeous you are tonight.”
“I’m serious. He’s gonna punch you after this is all over.”
“Don’t worry, darling; he’s not as cranky as he pretends to be-”
“No, she’s right,” Zoro’s voice crackled over the miniature Den Den Mushi in their ears. “I’m definitely gonna punch you.”
“Worth it,” Sanji declared. “And stop listening in; this was a private conversation.”
“I have your voice in my ear, dumbass. I’m not happy about it either.”
“There’s a way to filter that out,” Nami said under her breath. “Which we need to do, so that we can focus on the conversations around us. I explained this to you on the way over, remember?”
“No,” the swordsman admitted.
Sanji was impressed with Nami’s ability to growl in frustration sotto voce.
While Nami explained the Den Den Mushi controls to Zoro – again – Sanji began his visual reconnaissance of the inside of the mansion.
‘Chaos’ was the first word that came to mind. The party was an assault on the senses. A kaleidoscopic array of ballgowns and ornate masks. The blinding light of three enormous chandeliers, reflected in a thousand crystal goblets and glittering gemstones. The redolent scent of flowers mingling with the aromas from the buffet, fragrant herbs and sharp spices and exotic sugary confections. The crushing din of hundreds of voices overlapping, drowning out the sprightly chamber music. And unfortunately, the claustrophobic feeling of being pressed in on all sides like cattle in a slaughterhouse.
Nami, once she finished haranguing Zoro, had a similar opinion. “This place is a zoo.”
“But that’s what you wanted, right? Easier for you to slip away unnoticed?”
“Yes, but . . .” Nami frowned. “I don’t have a good mental picture yet. How am I getting upstairs? Where are the security guys stationed? What’s the best exit route?” She huffed in frustration. “I can’t see anything through this damn crowd.”
“Well then, let’s move around until we CAN see something. This is a social event, after all. Let’s mingle.”
Mingling . . . did not work.
Or to be more precise, it worked a little too well. Quite without meaning to, Sanji and Nami had become the belle and beau of the ball. People kept stepping into their path to introduce themselves to the mysterious and beautiful couple. And since the two of them were trying not to raise suspicions about their ulterior motives, getting away proved tricky.
After one particularly difficult extrication, Nami huffed in exasperation. “It’s been an hour, and we’re still not even halfway across the room. At this rate I won’t make it to the second floor until morning!”
“Well, it’s all your fault, you know,” Sanji replied with a smile. “You are entirely too gorgeous. Of course there isn’t a man in this room who would let you slip by.”
“Oh, that’s rich, pinning it all on me,” Nami countered playfully. “When that tuxedo of yours is as much to blame. We lost twenty minutes to Dame Magdalena alone.”
Irritation slipped into her voice as she added, “You know, you could have shrugged her off of your arm at some point.”
(Out of the corner of his eye, Sanji saw a new person, a matronly woman, begin to approach them, but then she overheard Nami’s snappish comment and hastily retreated.
And it occurred to Sanji that that might have been intentional on Nami’s part.)
Oh ho. So that’s the game, is it? Very well, my brilliant goddess, I’ll play along. He raised his voice a bit. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous. What about you? What about that viscount whose eyes never left your chest?” As he spoke, he took a few steps forward, as if walking dismissively away from her.
Nami strode after him indignantly. “The viscount was only five feet tall; his eyes can’t go any higher than my chest! And at least I wasn’t letting him hang off of me like a vine!”
“I was offering her a steadying arm! It’s only common courtesy; Dame Magdalena had to be at least sixty!” The bickering pair were making rapid progress across the room now; people streamed out of their path.
“I’m not talking about Dame Magdalena; I meant the other one, the red-head, Carmilla-”
“Carmen,” Sanji corrected automatically.
“Oh, Carmen,” Nami said witheringly. “Forgive me; I’m so sorry; I would hate to insult your precious Carmen-”
The spat continued – and escalated – for a good five minutes, until they reached the entryway into the next room. Which, Sanji was relieved to see, was not crammed elbow-to-elbow full of people.
He turned to Nami (interrupting her mid-rant) and grasped her hands. “You’re a genius. That was amazing. I mean, not that I enjoy arguing with you; I don’t; but just look at your results.” Laughter snuck up on him. “Did you see the guy who tripped over his own chair to get out of our way?”
Instead of joining in on the laughter, Nami stared at Sanji in unnerving silence.
Finally she arched an appraising eyebrow at him. “You’re a hell of an actor. For a minute there, I thought you were actually jealous.”
Yes, well, there's a reason for that. I genuinely wanted to wring that damn viscount’s squat little neck.
But since Nami surely wouldn’t find his insecurity attractive, Sanji winked and replied, “Well, we are undercover agents, aren’t we? I had to make it look convincing. Hats off to you on that, by the way; I knew it was a ruse and I still feared for my life a couple of times.”
Nami grinned wryly. “Well, I guess I’m a hell of an actor too.”
“So shall we get back to recon?” he prodded.
“Absolutely,” she confirmed, snapping into focus. As her eyes swept the surrounding area, so did Sanji’s, and to his delight he realized they were in a ballroom.
He beamed. “I think it’s going to be extremely easy for us to surveil this room.”
“How do you figure? I can’t get a clear line of sight on the exits with all the dancers swooping by.”
Sanji extended his hand. “So let’s join them."
Why.
Nami had a number of questions warring for supremacy in her mind – When, Where, How, and What the fuck all came to mind – but the current frontleader was Why.
Nami had expected that Sanji would serve primarily as muscle if tonight’s mission went wrong, and eye candy if it didn’t. Instead he had spent the evening observing their surroundings, identifying hazards, and plotting stratagems like a natural-born spy. (He had even instigated a pretend argument, which she had totally been playing along with, because she absolutely did not have a real jealous conniption fit. Right.) And all the while, he seamlessly carried on conversations based on a fake identity.
Much as she was grateful to have a partner who could keep up with her mentally . . . Why was the cook suddenly a criminal mastermind?
When she thought about it, though, some of it made sense. She already knew that Sanji had a knack for lying. And a sharp wit. Becoming the best cook in the world no doubt took intelligence. And his years at the Baratie could explain some of the other skills he’d displayed tonight. Cooking in a high-volume kitchen – especially given Sanji’s elaborate style – would surely require observation, focus, multitasking, etc.
As for his uncanny ability to imitate aristocrats – well, that must come from his time spent observing rich people as a waiter.
But for the other talent Sanji had just revealed, Nami had no explanation at all.
“Something on your mind?” he interrupted her musings, eyebrow cocked slyly.
“Why in the hell do you know how to dance?” she burst out.
Sanji laughed aloud as he twirled her. "I surprised you, did I?"
"I believe 'stunned' might be a better word for it." She looked down at his feet, which moved adroitly as he led her across the floor. "Just . . . can't really see that coming in handy in the kitchen."
"Perhaps not, but very handy on a date. After all, dancing is the most intimate activity two people can do standing up." He gave her a sly, secretive glance. "Well. Almost."
Instantly Nami's mind flashed to their afternoon tryst in the changing room. Heat flooded through her. She was suddenly all too aware of Sanji's body against hers, the tingle of his palm pressing against the small of her back, the scent of his cologne . . .
. . . the perfect fit of my hand in his, the way being in his arms feels like coming home, the temptation to stay here forever . . .
Forever?
No. She was being ridiculous and insane again. Getting carried away, like this afternoon.
It's been one day. Keep it together, Nami.
"A date?" she replied, deflecting coyly. "I thought we were working."
"Why not both?" he replied with a grin. He began scanning the room as they spun about. "I count 3 security guards in this room."
Nami nodded absently. "But there may be more, not in uniform, mingling in with the crowd. We shouldn't make a move until we're sure." She cracked a smile. "I guess we'll have to dance a little longer."
"I love my job," he replied.
The song ended, and a new one began. Sanji's eyes lit up as he recognized it, and a moment later Nami was being swept away in three-quarter time.
"You waltz too?"
"Every civilized man on the planet knows how to waltz."
“I doubt any of our crewmates do.”
“There, you see, that proves it.” He smiled as he pivoted her dexterously past another couple. “I doubt Zoro could even spell ‘civilized’.”
Suddenly Sanji stood stock still, his face paling beneath his mask. “Zoro. He never came back.”
SHIT.
“Calm down,” Nami said. “Keep dancing. People are watching.” She lifted a hand to her ear – to observers, it would look like she was simply adjusting her mask – and tuned in her Den Den Mushi to Zoro’s frequency. Sanji did the same. “Zoro? Are you there?”
For sixty agonizing seconds, they waited. Kept dancing. Kept scanning the room. Nami began focusing on finding exits. Her eyes landed on the staircase upstairs – good for the mission, bad if they needed to make a quick getaway. What else? The south wall was filled with floor-length windows. All wired with alarms, but in a pinch . . .
Then – “What’s wrong?” a gruff but alert voice crackled in her ear.
Sanji exhaled heavily. “What’s wrong?” he hissed, letting anger cover his relief. “Oh, nothing, we’re just dying of thirst because we sent you to fetch drinks more than an hour ago! What happened, Mosshead, you get lost on the way to the bar?”
“Bite me, Blondie.” Which was somehow the most deeply reassuring thing he could say.
He really is okay. Nami smiled. “Hey Zoro, do you know how to waltz?”
“What? Is that how you two are wasting your time? Look, if you're not calling about the mission, I’m busy.”
Sanji, still annoyed that the swordsman had made him worry, snapped at him. "Busy? Doing what? All you ever do is bitch and drink!”
“Been doing both, actually. With my new best friend, the governor’s poor overworked, underpaid, pissed-off butler." Zoro chuckled. "The guy has a pretty loose tongue, once the booze starts flowing. Told me all about that funny-looking lock on the governor's room.”
Nami’s jaw dropped.
She looked up at Sanji. Who, she was amused to see, hadn’t bothered to cover up just how impressed he was, since the swordsman wasn’t there in person to see it.
“Well . . . lay it on us, then, Mosshead.”
“Yeah, I figured that would shut you up, Loverboy.” Nami could hear him smirking.
Sanji snorted. “Leave it to you to try to make binge drinking sound like a noble sacrifice. By all means, take your time telling us the news, not like we’re in a rush here or anything-”
“It’s a biometric lock.”
Nami’s veins filled with ice water.
Sanji must have seen the horror in her face. “I take it that’s bad.”
“Thumb or whole hand?” Her mind was racing. If it was only the thumb, she might still be able to salvage this. She could lift a print from a champagne glass, a doorknob – hell, she had once gotten a perfect thumbprint from a strategically-placed strip of tape on her bra. (Although that last one might be hard to explain to Sanji.)
“Retinal scan,” Zoro said flatly.
Well, fuck.
Nami dropped her arms to her sides. There was no point dancing any more, no reason to keep up appearances. Let them stare; it didn’t matter. The mission was over.
Sanji was smiling at her sadly. “It’s all right, Nami. Luffy will understand.”
“Don’t. Don’t pity me,” Nami warned, her voice tight.
“I’m not,” the blond replied, lifting his hands placatingly. “Neither will he.”
No, you’re right. Luffy wouldn’t pity me. He won’t feel sorry for me, that I wasn’t smart enough to figure this out, that I wasn’t clever enough to help him with his dream, that I wasn’t good enough to do the one fucking thing I’m supposed to be great at and steal for him.
It’s going to be so much worse than that.
He’s going to be disappointed.
Zoro cleared his throat. “There is another way. Into the governor’s bedroom.”
Nami’s ears pricked up. “What? How?”
There was silence on the line for a long moment. “You’re not gonna like it.”