Twenty years ago, if someone had told Mihawk that he'd be going on vacation to a seaside resort with his children, he would have scoffed to their face.
“So cute.” Perona twirled her parasol.
“Yeah, cute,” Zoro said sarcastically. “Can we check in already? I want to nap.”
Mihawk glanced at his two children – adults though they may be – and shook his head at fate's humor.
They crossed the well-appointed lobby of the resort to check in at the desk. The main hotel rose several stories around an open central courtyard, all pale stone, dark wood, and broad windows facing the water. Large arrangements of tropical flowers occupied the low tables between seating groups, and discreet signs pointed toward the restaurants, spa, fitness center, conference rooms, and private beach.
The reception desk stretched along one wall beneath a carved wooden map of the surrounding coastline. Several attendants worked behind it, dressed in cream uniforms with dark trim.
Beyond the open rear doors, Mihawk could see the rest of the property descending toward the sea. The resort sprawled along the coastline near Laugh Tale. Stone walkways and raised wooden promenades connected the central building to pools, restaurants, gardens, private lounges, and individual cabin-style suites scattered throughout the grounds. The cabins were spaced far enough apart to offer some privacy, with small verandas facing either the ocean or the landscaped gardens between them.
Mihawk had reserved one of those separate suites, with two bedrooms and a living area. Enough for the three of them. He did not mind sharing a room with Zoro, though the sofa did double as a bed.
Once they'd checked in, an attendant offered to have their luggage taken ahead while another directed them toward the private suites.
They headed down the boardwalk promenade beneath a series of canvas shades. On one side, the grounds opened toward the beach, where rows of padded loungers sat beneath wide umbrellas. Resort staff moved between them carrying drinks, towels, and trays from the nearby bar. On the other side, dense landscaping separated different sections of the property without blocking the ocean breeze.
They passed the main pool, a long stretch of crystal-blue water surrounded by pale stone decking. A smaller raised pool spilled into it from above, and shaded cabanas lined the far side with curtains tied back around cushioned seating. The bar beside it had stools built directly into one end of the pool, along with a dry counter beneath a broad roof for guests who preferred drinking without sitting waist-deep in chlorinated water.
Beyond the pool was a smaller building marked as the spa, with frosted glass doors and a quiet courtyard tucked behind a wall of greenery. A path branched toward the fitness center and tennis courts, while another sign pointed downhill toward watercraft rentals and a private marina.
The private suites began farther along the promenade. Each was its own low building with a deep veranda, dark wooden shutters, and enough space between neighboring cabins that Mihawk could understand why the resort charged what it did. Some had small plunge pools. Others opened directly onto stretches of beach reserved for the surrounding suites.
They passed a few other cabin suites and stopped in front of their number – which had a step up.
The trio paused. Mihawk's gaze darkened at the step. There was only one, perhaps six inches high, running between the walkway and the suite's veranda. It would have been insignificant under nearly any other circumstance. Here, after he'd specifically requested an accessible suite and confirmed it twice before their arrival, it was unacceptable. “I shall fix this immediately.”
“No,” Zoro said. “It's no big deal. I can handle one step.”
“It is not a matter of your abilities, but what I requested and paid for,” Mihawk said.
“I don't want to make a thing about it.”
“And I don't want you needlessly inconvenienced on our vacation.”
“I'll handle it,” Perona said, and pivoted on her platform heel. “I'll complain that it's not gloomy enough.”
She headed back toward the hotel, parasol resting against one shoulder.
Mihawk knew she might actually say that to reception, but she would also get their reservation corrected. Possibly make them weep and grovel at the same time.
Zoro cursed under his breath. “I don't want special treatment.”
“And I do not want to stay in a glorified pile of sticks on a beach, where sand will get into untoward places,” Mihawk said, turning his disdainful eye over the grounds. The cabin itself was objectively attractive. The veranda had two cushioned chairs, a small table, and sliding glass doors. Palms and flowering shrubs screened it from the neighboring suite, and a narrow path curved around the side toward what appeared to be an outdoor shower.
“Then why are we even here?”
“You ask me this when you know your sister.”
Zoro's scowl became a sigh, and he rubbed his hand over his face. “Shouldn't have let her watch Real Housewives of the Grand Line.”
“That you know where she got the idea speaks to your own viewing taste.”
In actuality, Mihawk and Perona had been discussing Zoro and his mood of late, and she'd suggested a change of scenery might do him good. He'd been cooped up at the estate since being discharged after the accident, and that was more than eight months ago. Mihawk had agreed, and they'd gone over many options before settling on this resort. It offered enough to keep Perona entertained, enough privacy that Mihawk wouldn't feel trapped among crowds, and, according to its accommodations department, accessible rooms and pathways throughout the property.
Zoro shot him a short, flat look before turning his attention to the step. “I can get up that,” he repeated.
“I know you can,” Mihawk said, “but you shouldn’t have to, based on my reservations.”
Zoro shifted slightly. “I don't like it when people treat me differently.”
“Basic accommodations are hardly differential treatment,” Mihawk said. “Accessibility was taken into account when booking.”
“Yeah, but now they're going to stare.”
“People already stare. It is human nature to stare and judge anything deemed outside the norm.”
“Gee, thanks,” Zoro said flatly.
Mihawk met his eye. “Your sister is wearing Medieval Gothic funeral attire with a full veil to a beach resort. I believe she may have won this contest you're having.”
Zoro huffed, and Mihawk knew he'd made a successful point. “You're one to talk. You look like a flaming vampire displeased to be out of your coffin.”
Mihawk hummed. “Hn. It is rather sunny. Remind me to put on sunscreen.”
“Wrong kind of flaming,” Zoro said drolly.
“I will let that comment pass, as you are tired and also homosexual, and thus the insult is not a condemnation of stereotypical sexuality.”
“You talk like a vampire, too – a very old one.”
Mihawk noticed Zoro had relaxed slightly, so he let that insult slide as well.
A pair of resort employees passed with a cart stacked with folded towels. Neither gave Zoro more than a brief glance before continuing down the promenade. A breeze came in from the water and shifted the edges of Mihawk's coat. Farther down the promenade, laughter drifted from near the pool.
Perona returned, twirling her parasol and looking smug. She held a new set of key cards in her hand. “We've been given complimentary meals, drinks, and access to all spa amenities for the duration of our stay. Our new suite is two doors down.”
Mihawk's lips twitched into an almost smile. “Thank you, Perona. Well done.”
“Free drinks include beer?” Zoro said, pushing off to wheel beside her.
“Yes, you lush,” Perona said. “Just charge it to our suite.”
“Nice.”
Their new cabin sat farther down the same row and had a ramp built into the approach rather than added afterward. The veranda was wider, with enough room for Zoro to turn his chair easily, and the sliding doors sat nearly flush with the floor.
Perona opened the door first. Inside, the suite held the same understated luxury as the rest of the resort. Pale stone tile ran throughout the main living area, broken up by woven rugs and dark wood furniture. A wide sofa and two chairs faced a low table, with another set of glass doors opening onto a private terrace at the back. Beyond them, the ocean filled most of the view.
A small dining area occupied one corner. There was also a wet bar, a stocked refrigerator, and a welcome tray holding fruit, bottled water, and a bottle of wine Mihawk suspected was considerably better than anything available by the pool.
Two bedrooms opened from opposite sides of the living room. Zoro's had a wide doorway and enough clearance around the bed for his chair. The attached bathroom had grab bars, a roll-in shower, and a sink with open space beneath it. Mihawk approved.
Zoro rolled toward the glass doors, looking out at the water.
“You still hate it?” Perona asked.
He stared through the glass for another second. “Nah.”
Mihawk was pleased to see Zoro seemed in a better mood already. He looked forward to seeing what sort of services the spa had available, too.
Their first meal at the resort was a late dinner at the resort's restaurant, All Blue. After an afternoon of unpacking and freshening up – and a nap in Zoro's case – they ventured out after the sun had set to eat.
The walk from their suite took them back along the promenade, now lit by low lamps set into the landscaping and strings of warm lights beneath the covered sections. The pool had emptied considerably since the afternoon, though the bar remained busy. Beyond it, the beach disappeared into darkness except where resort lights reached the sand and caught the edges of the water.
Perona had changed from Gothic funereal to Victorian mourning. Her long pink hair fell loose down her back, and the black dress was fitted through the bodice before falling in layers of lace and ruffles below her knees. The high collar and puffed sleeves gave it an old-fashioned severity, softened only by the ribbons at her cuffs. She'd paired it with platform shoes and carried a tiny black purse shaped like a coffin.
Zoro had made considerably less effort. He wore a dark T-shirt and loose cargo shorts, as the shorts were easy to get into and out of while seated. His green hair was still flattened on one side from his nap, and he hadn't bothered fixing it. Three gold earrings hung from his left ear. The scar over his permanently closed eye had long since healed.
The accident had cost him his left eye, left him with a head injury and extensive scarring, and required many surgeries for him to keep his feet. The fractures in his right ankle had taken months longer than expected to knit properly, keeping him from meaningful weight-bearing long after the left was ready and setting his rehabilitation back. He could stand and take a few steps with support during physical therapy, but he still couldn't walk safely on his own. His therapists remained optimistic that, if things continued as they were, he'd be walking with a walker outside therapy within another few months and could work toward forearm crutches from there.
It could have been worse. He could have lost both feet, or been paralyzed from the neck or waist down. He could have died – for several hours, the doctors hadn't been certain he wouldn't – and Mihawk would have lost his beautiful, quiet boy.
His chair was lightweight, matte black, and built for independent use rather than hospital transport. It had large rear wheels Zoro could push himself and a compact frame that fit close around his body. He'd refused anything bulky from the beginning. A small pouch hung beneath the seat for the things he insisted on carrying himself.
Mihawk had adopted him at age eight, nearly a year after he'd adopted Perona. Zoro'd had a line of failed foster placements for running away. His name had come up on the adoption roster when Mihawk had been looking for a potential sibling for Perona. The short bio had said Zoro was quiet, serious, and loved swords. Naturally, that caught Mihawk's attention as someone who also enjoyed swords.
It turned out Zoro had a terrible sense of direction and had never run away from any placement. He'd merely gotten lost. Mihawk gave him a phone and a tracker and was always able to find him when he got turned around.
Both children moved out after college but had returned since the accident. Though the circumstances were far from ideal, Mihawk couldn't say he was disappointed to have them home again. Still, he hoped this vacation away from the estate would help Zoro.
The All Blue occupied its own building farther down the shoreline from the main hotel. A covered walkway led to the entrance, and floor-to-ceiling windows showed the dark ocean beyond the dining room before they even stepped inside.
The restaurant perched at the edge of the water, surrounded on three sides by sea. Inside, portions of the floor were Plexiglas, allowing guests to see the artificial reef below, illuminated after dark by soft underwater lights. Schools of small fish moved between coral and rock beneath their feet while larger shadows occasionally crossed farther out.
The dining room was arranged across two levels connected by a shallow ramp. Round tables were spaced generously apart, dressed in white linen without much decoration beyond small lamps and simple glassware. Dark wood, pale stone, and muted blue upholstery carried through the room. Nothing competed with the view.
They were shown to a table near the windows by a hostess, who removed one chair without batting an eye and shifted another slightly to give Zoro more room. He backed into the open space and locked his wheels beneath the table.
Several nearby tables were occupied by couples or families with older children. Soft music played in the background beneath the low hum of conversation, the occasional clink of silverware, and the muted rush of the tide beyond the glass.
“They better have good beer,” Zoro said as he opened the menu.
And wine, Mihawk thought, picking up his own menu. It took but a moment for him to find a semi-respectable vintage by the glass.
“Shit,” Zoro muttered quietly.
Mihawk glanced up. Zoro was squinting at the menu, holding it farther away than Mihawk expected. His brow furrowed as he tried another distance, then he pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before looking down again.
“What's wrong?” Mihawk asked quietly.
Zoro had never been one to shy away from the truth. “Hard to read.”
“Want me to get your glasses?”
Zoro shook his head. “I got 'em. Won't help much.”
Mihawk frowned. “Explain.”
“Got one eye. What's there to explain?”
“I was aware of the problems with your depth perception. I did not know that it affected your reading.”
“Yeah, well, I don't tell you everything.”
“Zoro–”
“Just drop it. I don't want to talk about it.”
Mihawk let it drop.
He glanced at Perona. She was very skillfully pretending she wasn't listening while studying the menu. She would follow up on her own, perhaps get an answer. She and Zoro had a close relationship, different from Mihawk's relationship with Zoro. Even though they were adults now, that hadn't changed.
“Hey, assface, what do you want to eat?” Perona said with all the delicacy of a bull.
Zoro shot her a glare but still answered. “I don't know. Chicken, I guess.”
“One bowl of dog kibble, right.”
Her grin only widened when he flicked her off.
A waiter came to take their drink order and announce the specials. Zoro didn't notice the waiter until the man came around the front of the table.
Zoro ordered “non-shitty beer,” which made the waiter pause and Perona huff. She chose for him, and by his nod, he approved.
Mihawk ordered a glass of wine and questioned one of the specials. The waiter left to fill their drinks.
His two children bickered with familiarity – Perona sharp and teasing, Zoro flat and dry – pausing when the waiter returned. Their orders were placed, and Perona shifted into critiquing the decor while Zoro concentrated on his beer.
Mihawk's wine was good enough.
Dinner arrived, and it was much better than the wine. Perona made pleased sounds as she ate, and Zoro wolfed his down in a way that meant he liked it.
Mihawk was glad to see Zoro eating. There were days when he claimed a lack of hunger, and though pushing the chair and transferring himself had kept some muscle in his arms and shoulders, he'd lost a great deal of his old mass and become far too lean. His shirt hung more loosely across his chest than it once would have, and the thickness he'd carried through his neck, shoulders, and arms had diminished over the months. Despondency also played a role.
Mihawk hoped the fresh air, sunshine, and change in scenery would help, even a little.
Zoro finished long before him or Perona, and eventually he excused himself to use the restroom. He unlocked his wheels, backed away from the table, and turned toward the rear of the restaurant. He had developed a habit of turning his head farther left before crossing a room, compensating for the visual field he'd lost on that side. Mihawk still caught himself noticing it.
Zoro paused once near the split between the two dining levels, apparently checking the discreet signs mounted along the wall, then continued.
Mihawk addressed Perona as soon as enough distance separated them. “Do you know anything about his reading difficulties?”
Perona shook her head. “No. Though I haven't seen him reading much, and I wondered why since he's such a nerd. I'll try and find out. And if he doesn't talk, I'll read his journal.”
Mihawk lifted a brow. “That's a rather bold invasion of privacy.”
There were days Mihawk had wanted to read what Zoro wrote, especially when he was obviously struggling over the years. But Mihawk knew a boundary like that shouldn't be crossed.
Perona ignored any such boundaries. “I'm his sister. He should expect it by now.”
Mihawk hesitated before care won out over propriety. “Has he written anything of late I should concern myself with?”
“I haven't read it since the accident, though I have seen him writing in it consistently.” Perona appeared amused. “Before that, he had a crush on someone in his building for a while, but that fizzled out when he learned the guy was a douche-nozzle.”
“Tsk. Perona, language.”
“Zoro's words, not mine,” she said. “And I've met the man briefly in the elevator. The description was accurate.”
Mihawk pretended he wasn't amused. “And what of your own love life?”
Perona launched into a rather entertaining rant about dating in the modern age – “You wouldn't get it. You dated in ancient times, before the internet.” – as dessert came and went.
Zoro had yet to return.
Mihawk glanced toward the hallway he'd disappeared down. The restaurant wasn't exceptionally large, but between the two dining levels, the corridor toward the restrooms, and the service doors farther back, it offered Zoro more than enough opportunities to take a wrong turn.
Mihawk's hand was on his cell phone to check on his whereabouts when he wheeled into the dining room.
His ears were red, and a flush had spread across his cheeks. He kept his attention firmly ahead as he crossed the room, turned his chair into its previous place at the table, and locked the wheels.
Mihawk and Perona exchanged glances at the sight.
“Where'd you end up?” Perona asked, as they all knew a restroom trip wouldn’t have taken this long.
“Kitchen.” Zoro scowled. “Cook's kind of a dick.”
Mihawk's brow rose. “Need I have a word with them?”
“No,” Zoro said quickly – too quickly. “It's fine.”
The pink on his cheeks darkened.
Mihawk exchanged another glance with Perona. Zoro was slow to embarrass. Getting turned around wasn't something that would bother him. “What did they say?”
“Just something about staff-only signs and pretty mossballs and other dumbass shit.” Zoro rocked his wheels back. “Are we done here? I want to check out the bar at the beach.”
“We're done,” Mihawk said. He'd signed the check to the room earlier.
“I'll go with you,” Perona said, quickly getting to her feet.
“I'll see you both back at the suite,” Mihawk said.
Zoro pushed away from the table, and Perona fell into step beside him. They headed for the entrance, her black ruffles brushing her calves while Zoro steered around an approaching server without slowing.
Mihawk watched them go, then turned his attention toward the swinging kitchen door. He wouldn't talk to this cook, but he was intrigued by a person who would call his son pretty.
Zoro was still asleep when Mihawk got up the next morning. He slept more these days, which was both good and bad. Physical therapy wore him out, and Mihawk knew recovery still took a toll. But sometimes he worried Zoro was using sleep to avoid life.
Morning light filled the suite through the glass doors facing the ocean, bright enough that Mihawk drew one of the curtains partway before stepping outside. The private terrace wrapped around the back of the cabin, furnished with cushioned chairs, a low table, and two loungers positioned toward the water. Beyond the railing, the landscaped grounds gave way to the beach, where resort staff were already setting out towels and straightening umbrellas for the day.
Perona was already up and dressed in a seaside Gothic bathing costume that went down to her knees in black ruffles, with short puffed sleeves and pale trim at the collar and cuffs. A wide-brimmed black hat sat on the empty chair beside her. She'd apparently ordered coffee while Mihawk slept; a silver carafe, two cups, and a small plate of pastries occupied the table at her elbow.
Mihawk joined her, pouring himself a cup. Her eyes sparkled as she looked over at him.
“Zoro might like the cook,” she said with a grin.
Mihawk paused while adding sugar to his coffee. “I take it he talked to you last night.”
“Once he had a few beers in him,” Perona said. “His tolerance is crap now.”
“What did he say?”
“Only that the cook was dumb and good-looking. And dumb, and didn't hold his tongue because Zoro was in a chair. And dumb, and called him pretty.” Her grin widened. “And that he was dumb.”
Zoro's talents lay in the written word, not the spoken one.
Mihawk slowly stirred the sugar into his cup. “Interesting. Perhaps this is something that should be followed through on.”
Perona's grin only grew bigger. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Mihawk normally wouldn't interfere with his children's love lives unless they came to him first. But this was a good sign that perhaps Zoro was starting to recover more than just physically. He wasn't above giving the situation a nudge for Zoro's benefit. “What did you have in mind?”
They spent half an hour discussing ideas while the resort gradually came to life around them. A cart hummed along the service path behind the cabins. Waves lapped up the beach, with sandpipers darting in and out of the seafoam. The smell of coffee mixed with salt air drifting in from the water.
Perona had gotten the cook's name out of Zoro. Sanji – or, as Zoro had called him, Stupid Sanji Swirly Brows. Apparently, there was something unusual about his eyebrows.
She had called the front desk and asked about him. It turned out he was actually the head chef and owner of the All Blue on the resort property. They opted to attempt the easiest arrangement first by requesting to dine with the head chef. It wasn't an unheard-of practice. Usually, it was considered a compliment to the chef.
They also spoke about what Perona had learned by snooping through Zoro's journal, which he kept in the pouch beneath his wheelchair. She said he'd been left with trouble holding focus in his remaining eye after the head injury, on top of the farsightedness he'd already had. After a while the words blurred, and reading gave him headaches, especially when he was tired or the print was too small, as it had been on the menu the night before.
He'd also been struggling to find the motivation to do anything and questioning himself, which wasn't like Zoro. Zoro made a goal and focused on it with everything he had. For the past few years, that goal had been becoming an attorney.
Zoro had always been quiet and serious, better with the written word than the spoken one. Due to his series of foster placements, he'd been behind in school. Mihawk held him back more than once.
After a gap year, Zoro went to college and majored in history. His favorite classes were the historical law classes, and he took additional law electives. Mihawk encouraged him to pursue a Juris Doctor. Mihawk assured him there were other positions lawyers filled that didn't involve the courtroom.
After college, Zoro spent another year examining what he might want to do while filling menial jobs before deciding to apply to law school. He got in and was in his second year when the accident happened. He had yet to mention returning to school.
The accident had done more than temporarily set him back.
Mihawk cursed himself for accepting Zoro's silence too easily, for not asking more questions or showing more care. He hated the thought that Zoro was struggling. Mihawk had made himself available, but when Zoro didn't want to talk, he'd let the matter rest. Zoro wasn't a big talker, but he'd always been honest when asked.
The months after the accident had involved hospital stays, multiple surgeries, inpatient rehabilitation, and then continuing physical and occupational therapy. When Zoro was finally released home, his care was still largely physical – helping him dress, bathe, use the restroom, and get situated in the newly created bedroom on the main floor of the castle near the kitchen.
Mihawk had rearranged his own schedule so he could get Zoro to his appointments and simply be there instead of traveling. Zoro stubbornly tried to do more than he should. It wasn't necessarily a fault, but he'd pushed too hard too soon, damaged the repair in his right ankle, and ended up back in surgery.
Once he started being able to take care of his own needs, Mihawk had stepped back to allow him that independence, waiting for Zoro to request help when he needed it. Now he questioned that decision.
Perona's eyes showed worry, too, but she was also positive that a vacation fling was just what Zoro needed. Mihawk knew it wouldn't solve everything. But he hoped it might nudge Zoro in the right direction.
Mihawk made the arrangements himself for a meal with the chef. He decided mid-afternoon would be a good time – late enough to be past the lunch rush and early enough to be before dinner. He was cognizant of the effort it took to run a restaurant, especially one at a popular resort where expectations were high because guests wanted a perfect trip.
Zoro finally woke around ten, emerging from his room with his hair flattened on one side and his expression promising violence toward anyone excessively cheerful. Perona wheedled him into going to the spa with her.
They came back later with Zoro smelling faintly of eucalyptus and grumbling about facials, goop, and Perona talking him into the stupidest things. Perona looked delighted with herself and considerably shinier than when she'd left.
Mihawk informed him of their late lunch reservation, and Zoro wheeled off to take a shower.
It was on Mihawk's tongue to ask if he needed a hand. Instead of letting the thought pass, he followed through. “Do you need assistance?”
Zoro paused in the bathroom doorway. “Yeah. I could use a hand.”
The bathroom was fully accessible, with grab bars beside the toilet and along the shower walls, enough open floor space for Zoro to maneuver his chair, and a wide roll-in shower separated from the rest of the room by a low lip. A tiled bench ran along one wall beneath a handheld showerhead. It was why Mihawk had made specifications in his reservations.
Zoro didn’t actually need help – he was capable enough by now. Still, he’d accepted, and Mihawk was there.
Zoro drew off his T-shirt and wadded it up on the sink counter. Without it, the extent of what the accident had done to him was harder to ignore.
The largest scar ran diagonally from his left shoulder across his chest and down toward his right hip, broadest near the center before narrowing again. It had paled some over time, but smaller surgical scars interrupted it in places, along with shorter marks across his ribs and abdomen.
He'd also lost far more muscle than Mihawk had realized. Before the accident, Zoro had been thick through the chest and shoulders, with a broad back and dense muscle built from years of weight training. Some of that remained across his upper body, especially in his shoulders and arms from propelling the chair, but the difference was stark. His collarbones stood out more prominently. His ribs showed when he twisted. His chest had lost much of its old thickness, and his waist was leaner than Mihawk remembered it ever being.
The imbalance was more obvious below the waist. Zoro braced one hand on the chair’s arm while Mihawk helped him work off his wide slip-on sneakers, socks, and shorts. His thighs had lost much of their old size, and his calves were thinner still, the muscles diminished from months without normal walking. The right leg was slightly smaller than the left after a longer period without weight-bearing.
Surgical scars crossed both ankles and ran along his heels. Smaller round marks climbed his lower legs where pins from the external fixators had gone through the skin. The skin around several of the scars remained darker and uneven, especially near the right ankle.
Seeing all of it together hit harder than catching glimpses during appointments or at home. Mihawk's chest tightened, concern mixing with the relief that struck him once again at the simple fact that Zoro was still alive.
Mihawk steadied the chair while Zoro shifted forward, planted one hand on the grab bar, and pushed himself upright. He'd only recently been cleared to put his full weight through both legs, and they trembled almost immediately with the effort.
Mihawk put a hand beneath his arm without taking over. Zoro pivoted carefully and lowered himself onto the tiled seat. He made certain everything Zoro needed was within reach, then moved a bath towel to the bar on the shower door.
He turned to leave.
“Thanks, Dad,” Zoro said quietly.
Mihawk's chest tightened again, for a different reason entirely. “Always and anything, Zoro.”
Perona begged off the late luncheon, claiming the vapors. “I believe I’ll lie down for a while,” she said with a sigh, the back of her hand pressed against her forehead.
Mihawk thought her performance ridiculous, but Zoro believed the excuse because she was always this melodramatic.
“Sucks to be you,” Zoro said, wheeling from the room.
She winked broadly at Mihawk once Zoro’s back was turned. Mihawk heaved his own sigh and followed Zoro.
The All Blue in the afternoon held a different atmosphere. Sunlight brightened the dining area and glittered across the coated glass. Few patrons sat at the tables, most of them on the second tier enjoying the view. Mihawk gave his name to the hostess, and she nodded before taking them to a table near the one they’d occupied the night before. One chair was removed with professional grace, and she left them with menus and a word that she’d let the chef know they’d arrived.
“Chef?” Zoro said, locking his chair into place.
“Hn. Didn’t I mention – we’re dining with the head chef this afternoon,” Mihawk said blandly.
“Why?”
“Because it’s something one does.”
“You’re as bad as Perona,” Zoro muttered. “I think you two make shit up for the fun of it.”
Mihawk merely hummed in response. Zoro wasn’t completely wrong. He and Perona did have their fun outdoing each other with their knowledge of and favoritism toward Victorian fashion and aesthetics.
The swinging door to the kitchen opened, and a young man around Zoro’s age, wearing a fitted black suit with an orange shirt beneath it, strode into the dining area. His blond hair fell across his right eye in a curtain, and a neat royale goatee framed his mouth. Sharp blue eyes sat beneath eyebrows that appeared to swirl at the corners in opposite directions.
There was a slight pause in his step when his gaze landed on the table – specifically Zoro – and obvious, surprised delight colored his features for a moment before it slipped into a sly smirk.
Mihawk liked him immediately. Anyone who appeared that pleased to see his son received a stamp of approval.
The kitchen was to their left, and Zoro’s attention had been on the menu – glasses on, no pained squint this time – so he didn’t see Sanji’s approach.
“Good afternoon,” Sanji said when he’d reached the table.
Zoro’s chin shot up, and he immediately turned his face toward Sanji. His ears began to pink.
Mihawk was entertained. Perona had been right – he did like the ‘cook.’
“I’m Sanji, the head chef of All Blue,” Sanji went on. “The Chef’s Table has been prepared in the kitchen, if you’d care to follow me.”
“I thought you were a cook,” Zoro said.
“That’s what a chef is,” Sanji said, his smirk fixed on Zoro. “I see you’ve obtained glasses since we last met, to read the signs. Although today I’m inviting you into the kitchen.”
Zoro scowled. “Why would I want to go back into the kitchen?”
“Because a Chef’s Table has been requested, by you, sir, I believe,” Sanji said, turning his attention to Mihawk.
“Indeed.” Mihawk stood. “Come along, Zoro.”
“Yes, come along, Zoro,” Sanji echoed, the smirk returning. Not the most professional, but Mihawk let it slide because he was young, and Mihawk found the exchange entertaining.
Zoro removed his glasses, tucked them away, and unlocked his chair. “Better walk fast, or I’m going to run you over.”
The comment pleased Mihawk even more. Zoro didn’t joke about being in the chair. Yet here he was, doing just that.
Sanji collected the menus. “Better not scuff my shoes. These are Berlutis.”
“A man with taste,” Mihawk commented.
“I like to think so,” Sanji said, and he flicked a glance at Zoro before affixing a more benign smile to his face. “If you’d follow me.”
Mihawk gestured for Zoro to go first, mainly because he wanted to see if Zoro followed through on his threat. He didn’t, but the pink on his ears remained. Sanji held open the swinging door to the kitchen, allowing them both to pass through.
The kitchen was between services rather than empty. A few cooks worked at the prep stations, trimming vegetables, portioning fish, and restocking for dinner while dishwashers cleared the last of the lunch rush. Stainless-steel counters, ranges, ovens, and refrigerated stations filled the room in orderly rows, with racks of cookware overhead and shelves of ingredients along the walls. Their table had been set along one side of the kitchen, close enough to give them a clear view of the cooks at work without interfering with the stations themselves.
Sanji quickly removed one of the chairs, making space for Zoro, and set the menus on the table. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat?” he asked.
Mihawk waited for Zoro to lock into place before taking the seat opposite him. “I would not mind trying today’s special. Zoro?”
“The seafood medley.” Zoro eyed Sanji. “You going to cook it, cook?”
“I am,” Sanji said.
“Better not screw it up.”
Sanji winked at him. “Don’t you worry. Cooking is only one of the many excellent skills in my repertoire.”
A flush rose in Zoro’s cheeks. Mihawk hid his smile behind his hand.
Sanji fetched drinks for them both after asking what they’d like, then shed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and draped an apron over his shirt. As he began to explain what he’d cook first – Zoro’s dish – Mihawk surreptitiously drew his phone from his pocket and texted Perona.
Zoro didn’t notice. His eye was on Sanji.
Within a few seconds, Mihawk’s phone rang. Both of them looked at him as he answered. “Yes?”
“Business,” Perona grunted in a false deep voice.
“One moment.” Mihawk pressed the phone against his chest as he stood. “My apologies. I must take this call. Carry on, and if I don’t return, don’t concern yourself about my meal.”
Sanji inclined his head in acknowledgment. Zoro frowned, but Mihawk made his escape before he could question it.
Once past the swinging door, Mihawk put the phone to his ear again. “Would you care to meet me at the bar in the main hotel for lunch?”
“I’ll be there in five,” Perona said. “But tell me now, how cute is Sanji?”
“He is dressed in Tom Ford and Berlutis.”
Perona squealed in Mihawk’s ear, and he winced. “I can’t wait for more details!”
She disconnected, and Mihawk put his phone away. He glanced back at the kitchen door just before he reached the exit and allowed the smile to finally show on his face.
“The cook is annoying,” Zoro declared when he finally returned from lunch, hours later. He wheeled himself into the bedroom. “Don’t bother me. I’m taking a nap.”
He closed the door behind himself. The lock turned with a click.
Mihawk stared at the closed door for a long moment, then rose, set his newspaper aside, and went in search of Perona.
He found her poolside beneath a wide umbrella, a fruity drink at her elbow and a romance novel in hand. She wore a gauzy black cover-up and a wide-brimmed hat despite being in the shade. Evening was beginning to settle over the resort, the sun sinking closer to the ocean and turning the sky a hazy orange. The pool had grown quieter as families drifted off toward dinner, leaving only a handful of guests stretched out on loungers or lingering at the bar.
“I’m afraid we may have been mistaken,” Mihawk began without preamble.
Perona lowered her book. “What happened?”
“He came back, declared the chef to be an annoyance, and locked himself in the bedroom.”
“Maybe he’s… you know.” Perona made a crude masturbatory gesture.
Mihawk’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Perhaps. Though why deem him an annoyance?”
“I don’t know,” Perona said, nibbling her lower lip. “I’ll ply him with drinks later and find out.”
“Hn.” Mihawk looked in the direction of the All Blue, its upper windows catching the last of the evening light. “Perhaps I shall speak with Sanji, make my apologies about missing lunch, and learn more.”
“Let me know what you find out,” Perona said, and went back to her book.
Mihawk left her alone. It was not the best hour to want a word with the head chef of a restaurant, but he was also disinclined to wait.
The promenade had grown busier as guests headed out for dinner. Lamps had begun to glow along the paths, and music carried faintly from the pool bar behind him. By the time Mihawk reached the All Blue, the restaurant was in its evening service.
He spoke with the hostess upon arriving and waited off to one side of the foyer. The dining room beyond had begun to fill, though the entrance remained relatively quiet. He studied the framed photographs along the wall – schools of tropical fish, coral formations, and wide ocean views similar to those visible through the restaurant’s own windows.
Sanji appeared a short time later, buttoning his suit jacket as he approached. Concern was etched across his features. “You wished to see me, sir? Did something happen? Is Zoro all right?”
Immediately, some of Mihawk’s tension eased, though he didn’t let it show. Sanji’s first thought was about Zoro, and that said a great deal. “Should something be wrong with Zoro?” he asked instead.
“No.” Sanji frowned. “He didn’t mention any allergies, and the ingredients are fresh. But if he’s sick, I’ll recheck my stock and pull anything questionable from the menu tonight.”
Mihawk eased his mind quickly. “He’s physically fine. Though he did return claiming annoyance with you.”
Relief swept visibly over Sanji’s features, followed by a huff of laughter. “Ah, that’s because he lost the bet that I couldn’t come up with a dessert he’d like.”
Mihawk’s lips twitched. “Is that all?”
“Yeah.” Sanji grinned. “Made him post on the All Blue’s Instagram, too. Wasn’t too pleased about that, but he did it.”
Children, Mihawk thought with an inward sigh. “As long as my son was polite and comported himself accordingly, all is well. I merely wanted to apologize for my abrupt departure and ensure that feeding only Zoro did not inconvenience you.”
“Not at all, sir,” Sanji said. “Feeding Zoro was my pleasure. He’s welcome back in my kitchen any time. He could use some more meat on his bones.”
So Sanji had noticed, which Mihawk found interesting.
“Very well.” Mihawk inclined his head. “I thank you for your time. I’m certain you’re quite busy.”
Sanji nodded in acknowledgment. “Have a good night.”
He turned and headed back into the restaurant, where the staff moved briskly between the dining room and kitchen.
Mihawk watched him go, taking in his confident stride and kind nature. He’d also misread Zoro earlier. Zoro hadn’t been agitated. He’d been pouting because he’d lost a bet.
Mihawk turned to leave. He should inform Perona of his findings, and perhaps once Zoro emerged, let him know Sanji hoped to have him back in the kitchen.
He also needed Perona to show him how to find the Instagram thing.
“Zoro is an idiot,” Perona declared as she sat beside Mihawk at the table on the terrace the next morning.
Sunlight reached across the terrace in broad patches, though the overhang kept most of the table in shade. Beyond the railing, staff moved between the paths and beach with stacks of towels, trays, and folded umbrellas.
“You will have to be more specific,” Mihawk said. Zoro could be quite dense about certain things, usually due to his practical nature.
“He believes Sanji only hung out with him at the restaurant yesterday because you paid for the Chef’s Table, and therefore Sanji was obligated to do it.”
Mihawk lifted his coffee and looked out toward the water for a moment. He had seen Sanji’s face when he’d spotted Zoro when they first arrived. Yesterday, he’d also seen the concern and then heard the invitation himself for Zoro to come dine with him anytime. “You’re right. He’s an idiot.”
“We have to do something. Arrange another date.” Perona reached for one of the pastries left on the tray between them and broke off a piece.
Mihawk thought for a moment. “We do have access to the spa amenities. Perhaps there is something there.”
Perona’s smile grew. “I bet they have couples’ massages. That should put them in the same room together for an hour.”
“Hn. But how to convince the head chef of a busy restaurant to take time off and somehow take part in it.”
Getting Zoro there would be easy for Perona. She would simply tell him they were going to do something, and he’d go.
“I could write a note,” Perona said. “Pretend I’m Zoro. Just invite him.”
“I don’t believe Zoro will be quite as forgiving if Sanji is tricked using his name, even if it is for a good cause.”
“No, I suppose we either have to trick both of them or neither of them.” Perona tapped the table with her fingernail. “Perhaps I can speak with the front desk again. Arrange for Sanji to win something, or have an anonymous person gift him a spa treatment.”
“With a specific date and time helpfully arranged by staff when he is least busy.”
“Exactly. Then it’s just a matter of claiming a double booking to Zoro and telling him not to be a jerk and share the slot with Sanji.”
Perona could be diabolical when she put her mind to it. Mihawk approved, provided it was put to good use.
A golf cart passed beyond the cabins, followed by the brief sound of voices from the path. A seabird skimmed low over the waves along the beach.
“We should be careful,” Mihawk said. “I doubt Zoro wants a stranger seeing him undressed or touching him for a massage.”
“He was okay with the facial. We could just arrange for a scalp and face massage, maybe a manicure and hand massage. I’m sure Sanji would like both of those since he’s the type who wears Tom Ford and Berlutis.”
Mihawk nodded slowly. “I would agree with that.”
Perona smiled and reached for her phone. “Then I’ll get to arranging it. Horo-horo-horo-horo-horo.”
Perona worked her devil’s magic and arranged for Sanji to spend an hour at the spa that afternoon.
“The staff were happy to help,” she explained. “Apparently he lets everyone else enjoy the employee benefits but never uses them himself. This was the perfect excuse for them.”
Now Mihawk walked with Zoro toward the spa, listening to him complain. The afternoon had turned warm without becoming oppressive, and the resort paths were busier than they’d been that morning. Guests drifted between the pool, beach, and main hotel. The spa sat farther from the central traffic, where the landscaping thickened and the noise from the pool faded behind them.
“I don’t get why she’s making me do this again,” Zoro said. “She’s not even here.”
“I have learned not to question Perona’s motives,” Mihawk said.
“At least she’s making you do it, too.”
It was actually Mihawk who’d made the bookings once he’d gotten confirmation from Perona. One appointment for Zoro and Sanji, and one for himself. It appeared less suspicious than trying to send Zoro alone.
The spa occupied its own building on the resort grounds, set apart from the busier paths by dense landscaping and a low stone wall. A small courtyard sat just outside the entrance, shaded by palms and planted with broad-leafed greenery around a shallow fountain. The front was mostly pale stone and dark wood, with frosted glass doors that kept the interior private without making the building feel closed off.
Zoro triggered the automatic door and wheeled inside. Mihawk followed.
The interior was cool and softly lit, with pale stone floors, low music, and the faint scent of citrus and eucalyptus. A shallow water feature ran along one wall near reception, barely audible beneath the music. Shelves displayed lotions, bath salts, oils, and other products in neat rows. Mihawk deliberately dawdled there, studying labels he had little interest in while waiting for Sanji to arrive.
Luckily, Sanji was on time. He appeared two minutes later, dressed casually but neatly. His face brightened briefly when he saw Zoro before settling into that familiar teasing smirk. “I didn’t know they did plant care here.”
“Funny,” Zoro said flatly. “You finally going to wax those stupid curly brows?”
“Haven’t heard that one before,” Sanji drawled sarcastically.
Mihawk went to the desk as the two continued. “I have two bookings. One under Dracule, the other under Roronoa.”
The receptionist smiled. “I have both here. Is the other half of the couple present?”
Mihawk gestured toward Sanji. “Yes. And I wanted to verify that it is for restricted services.”
She checked the booking and nodded. “Facial and scalp massage, and a manicure with hand massage for both.”
“Excellent.”
Mihawk glanced toward Zoro again. He was fighting a grin as he spoke with Sanji, one hand resting loosely against the wheel of his chair. Sanji had leaned closer to hear whatever Zoro was muttering beneath the low music, his own smile threatening to break through the smirk.
Zoro had the wherewithal to refuse the session with Sanji if he so chose. But the time together was also on the table if he wanted it.
Mihawk turned back to the receptionist. “I’ll go back first, if my masseuse is ready.”
“She is. Follow me.”
Mihawk followed her beyond the partition, where the lighting dimmed further and the music softened into the background. He could still hear Zoro and Sanji behind him and listened to the rusty sound of his son’s laughter. He hadn’t heard it in a long while.
An hour later, Mihawk returned to reception with a bottle of water in hand, feeling relaxed and ready for a shower. The front area had grown quieter, with only one guest browsing the shelves and another speaking softly with a receptionist.
He glanced around. “Has my son, Roronoa Zoro, finished?”
The receptionist checked her bookings. “They came out and booked an immediate cupping session. Sanji declared his manliness was at stake. They’re in the cupping room now.”
“I see. What does cupping entail?”
She explained that heated glass cups were applied to the back to create suction. Mihawk couldn’t imagine Zoro volunteering for that. “And Zoro agreed to this?”
“The appointment is only for Sanji. Zoro is providing moral support.”
“I see.” Somehow, Mihawk believed another bet was involved. “If you would be so kind as to tell Zoro that I’ve gone ahead.”
“Of course, sir.”
Mihawk nodded and left.
The courtyard felt brighter after the dim interior. Water trickled softly from the fountain, and beyond the greenery, a resort cart passed along the path. Mihawk took out his phone and texted Perona. Zoro has extended his time here with Sanji.
Perona sent back a string of pictures he didn’t understand.
Children.
Zoro sat on the terrace writing in his journal when Mihawk returned from a walk on the beach. His glasses were on, and a beer sat on the table at his elbow. The late-afternoon sun had shifted far enough that most of the terrace lay in shade, though the ocean beyond still flashed bright between the palms and neighboring cabins. He glanced up as Mihawk joined him. “Hey, Dad.”
Mihawk didn’t try to peek at what he was writing. “Did you enjoy your time at the spa?”
“Yeah.” Zoro grinned. “The cook squealed like a pig. It was awesome.”
“That’s... good,” Mihawk said slowly. He didn’t think enjoying another person’s pain counted as a successful courtship outing, but both of his children liked to remind him that he was old. “I shall let you get back to your writing.”
“Do you want to grab a beer with me and Perona later?” Zoro asked before he could leave.
Mihawk’s chest warmed, and his lips twitched into a smile at the invitation. “I’ll be there.”
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Mihawk spent part of it attending to actual work from the suite, reviewing correspondence from the vineyard and several investment holdings he preferred not to leave unattended merely because he was on vacation.
By the time he closed the laptop, the light outside had softened and the resort was shifting toward evening. Guests were leaving the beach with towels over their shoulders, restaurant terraces were beginning to fill, and low lamps had come on along the paths between the cabins. Mihawk changed and joined his children.
The beachside bar was crowded with resort guests and off-duty staff alike. The broad bar stood open on all sides, accessible from both the beach and the resort promenade, with stools around the central counter and tables spread across the surrounding patio. Ceiling fans turned beneath the roof, moving the warm air coming off the sand, while servers threaded between tables with trays of drinks.
Live music played from a small stage near the beach, loud enough to carry without drowning out conversation. Beyond it, the last light sat low over the water, and strings of bulbs had begun to glow above the patio.
Mihawk, Perona, and Zoro sat at a round table on the resort-side patio. Zoro was working on his second beer while Perona sipped a fruity mixed drink. Mihawk opted for wine.
It was different, sitting with them as adults rather than simply as his children. Both were old enough to have families entirely of their own if they chose. Zoro would be thirty soon. Yet there were still moments when Mihawk saw the quiet little boy with the oversized forehead and crooked grin.
Zoro wore that grin now. His shoulders were loose, and every so often he knocked a light fist against Perona’s shoulder when she said something particularly irritating. Warmth mixed with relief at seeing him this way again. The vacation had been a good idea. Though Mihawk suspected the head chef had something to do with it, too.
“He could barely move to put his shirt back on,” Zoro was saying. He had his phone out and was showing them a picture of Sanji’s back. The circular marks left by the cupping made it appear that Sanji had lost a fight with a particularly determined cephalopod.
“I called him a wuss,” Zoro continued. “He said if I thought it was so easy, I should try it.”
“And did you?” Perona asked.
“Hell no, because–” Zoro paused briefly, then shook it off. “Anyway, he said revenge would be sweet, and knowing him, it’s probably going to be some god-awful chocolate thing I’m gonna be forced to eat.”
“So you plan to see him again,” Mihawk said.
“I mean, yeah, I guess. We gotta eat, don’t we?” Zoro said as he tucked his phone away.
Mihawk looked across the table at Perona. It was very obvious that Zoro liked Sanji. Whether it was romantic or some sort of competitive friendship Mihawk had heard younger people refer to as a ‘bro thing’ remained uncertain. But they wouldn’t leave it to chance.
“Fishing.” Zoro sat at the end of the walkway, looking toward the pier that extended ahead of them and the charter boat moored alongside it. The marina occupied a quieter edge of the resort, past the watercraft rentals and away from the main beach. White pilings rose between the slips, and the morning sun flashed against the water between the boats. “You want us to go fishing?”
“You like fishing.”
“I know I like fishing. I also currently can’t walk or swim.”
Mihawk hadn’t told Zoro where they were going when they left that morning, bright and early. He’d only told him to dress comfortably, use the restroom before they left, and bring a light jacket.
Mihawk had put together his own shoulder bag with anything Zoro might need for the day – sunscreen, a hat, sunglasses, wipes, water, and a few other small necessities.
The charter boat captain had assured him the vessel was accessible. In fact, a broad, smooth gangplank extended from the pier directly onto the main deck, wide enough for Zoro’s chair, and the larger boat appeared to have a restroom on the same level. The deck itself was open and uncluttered, with bench seating along one side and plenty of room to maneuver.
“You will do fine,” Mihawk said.
Before Zoro could open his mouth to argue further, a voice spoke up behind them.
“So, you ready to catch us some lunch?”
Sanji walked toward them dressed casually in cargo shorts and a fitted compression shirt. Without the tailored suits, Mihawk was surprised to see how much muscle had been hidden beneath them.
Zoro turned his head and blinked at him. “You’re coming, too?”
“Who do you think is going to cook the fish?” Sanji said. “That is, if you can catch anything.”
Sanji started toward the boat.
Zoro immediately wheeled after him. “I’m gonna catch more than you, shit-cook.”
“You probably don’t even know how to hold a rod.” Sanji laughed. “You might not even know what a rod is.”
“I’ll show you what a rod is.”
Sanji looked back over his shoulder. Zoro’s face turned crimson.
Mihawk smiled to himself before following behind them. He’d asked Sanji himself if he’d be willing to be the chef on the fishing charter with Zoro. Sanji said yes almost instantly. Mihawk himself wasn’t going fishing. Absolutely not. It was pointless and dirty. He preferred his fish grilled or served as sashimi.
Still, he’d considered staying aboard because Zoro had a point. He was in a wheelchair, and the boat was going out onto open water. But giving the two of them more time alone – even with the captain present – was probably better.
Mihawk carried the shoulder bag onto the deck once Zoro was safely aboard, greeted the captain, and set the bag down within easy reach. The boat rocked gently against the fenders while the captain checked the lines and equipment. Then he stepped back toward the gangplank.
Zoro looked over. “Where are you going?”
“I have other things I could do. Your friend is here, after all.”
Zoro glanced toward Sanji, who had ducked into the main cabin with his own bag, likely carrying cooking supplies, then looked back at Mihawk. “What if I need help?”
Mihawk studied him. “I will stay if you truly want me to.”
Zoro hesitated.
Sanji came back out of the cabin and clapped the captain on the shoulder before beginning to help secure several things on deck.
Zoro looked at him again, bit his lower lip, then shook his head. “Nah, you’re good. You don’t like fishing anyway.”
Mihawk inclined his head to Zoro and fully stepped back onto the dock. “Enjoy your day.”
He turned and headed toward the resort, planning to avail himself of the poolside lounges with a book, perhaps take a turn or two in the water.
But he found it surprisingly difficult not to glance back at the fishing charter as the engine started, devastating scenarios playing out in his head. He’d almost lost Zoro once. He didn’t wish to go through that again.
Perhaps he should re-invite himself. He could read his book on the boat while they fished. He didn’t actually have his book, but the captain might have something. Or he could take a page from Zoro’s book and nap in the main cabin.
Sanji pulled the fenders up over the rail as the charter boat got underway, too late for Mihawk to do anything.
“My son is in your hands,” Mihawk said under his breath. He hoped he’d made the right decision.
The remainder of the morning alternately dragged and sped by depending on how occupied Mihawk made himself. His poolside relaxation was quite unrelaxing, but a vigorous swim helped him to unwind. The pool deck was busy by then, with guests occupying most of the shaded loungers and attendants circulating with towels and drinks. He availed himself of a full bottle of wine – still courtesy of the resort for their blunder – and enjoyed a game of croquet with Perona. Appropriately dressed in vintage Victorian, of course.
They dined at the small outdoor café nearby, beneath a striped awning that shaded a handful of tables from the midday sun. Perona had been catching up on work herself and filled Mihawk in on her latest finds. She was a successful antique dealer and appraiser, naturally specializing in both Victorian and Medieval Gothic pieces. She traveled quite a bit.
Perona came into Mihawk's life under similar circumstances to Zoro. Mihawk had been seeking to adopt, and her bio indicated she wished to live in a haunted castle. Mihawk happened to live in a castle, though he had never seen evidence of ghosts. Still, he arranged a meeting, and when they met, she'd sniffed as only a preteen could, said, “You'll do,” and proceeded to list her expectations for the castle.
And if he happened to hire professional haunters to wire up the castle, he'd take that secret to his grave.
Her moving back home after the accident hadn’t hindered her career, though Mihawk had to remind her in the early days that it was all right to go on her buying trips. Once Zoro had become more capable of taking care of himself, Perona had returned the favor and Mihawk began traveling for business again.
Zoro returned by mid-afternoon, smiling, sunburned, and soaking wet. Sanji walked beside him in a similar state, though his shirt was drier, carrying both of their bags.
Mihawk stepped outside the moment he spotted them through the window. Not that he’d been watching for his son’s return. He simply happened to be working on his laptop beside the window, where he had the best light.
“Why are you wet?” Mihawk asked when they neared.
“We took a dip when we got back,” Zoro said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Didn’t have a towel.”
Mihawk stared incredulously for too long a moment, prompting Sanji to speak up.
“We used the pool lift,” he assured Mihawk. “Stayed sitting on the steps in the shallow end.”
Mihawk snapped out of it at Sanji’s misplaced concern. “It’s fine. I am merely surprised.”
Sanji slid Zoro's bag off his shoulder and offered it to Mihawk. “I should get going. I need to shower and change before dinner service starts.”
Zoro turned his wheelchair to face Sanji. “Don’t forget I won.”
Sanji’s nose wrinkled as he glowered at Zoro. “I’m well aware.”
Zoro grinned broadly.
“Tch.” Sanji turned away from Zoro and tipped his head to Mihawk. “Sir.”
He walked off, heading along the path toward the staff housing section of the resort.
“What did you win?” Mihawk asked Zoro curiously as the two watched him disappear around a bend.
“I caught the biggest fish,” Zoro said. “Now he’s gotta wear something stupid from the guest shop. He’s going to text me a picture.”
Mihawk would roll his eyes if he weren’t above that sort of thing. “Does this continual competition between you two have a point?”
“The point is to win and rub it in the cook’s face.” Zoro pushed his chair toward the door of the suite. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”
Mihawk watched him go, then looked again in the direction Sanji had gone. He shook his head. He still didn’t know if this was a romantic matchup or if Zoro had simply made a friend. Either way, seeing Zoro smiling easily was a win in Mihawk’s eyes.
Zoro turned the picture Sanji texted him into his lock screen image. I Got Lei’d at Laugh Tale – Sanji’s T-shirt read. He wore it under a smart rose-colored jacket, his lips curved into a smirk in the picture. Every time Zoro took out his phone, he laughed. The rust was fading from the sound, and Mihawk enjoyed it immensely.
Their vacation was nearing its conclusion, however, and Perona thought they needed one more arranged date before it was time to depart. “Maybe make Sanji’s T-shirt the truth.”
“What did you have in mind?” Mihawk asked, wondering how he might slip condoms to Zoro without being obvious. Perhaps tucking a few into his wallet before he arose. Not that Mihawk would ever arrange a sexual conquest for Zoro unless he specifically asked, but it was better to be proactive and safe.
Mihawk and Perona met on the terrace as usual for coffee. The morning had turned cooler than the previous few days, and a breeze stirred the palms beyond the terrace. The ocean reflected streaks of pink beneath the rising sun, while a bank of dark clouds gathered farther out over the water. Resort staff moved along the paths below as usual, though a few paused to check umbrellas and outdoor furnishings ahead of the storm predicted for later that night.
“The beach bar stays open later than the All Blue and Sanji has to have some free time after work,” Perona said. “I thought we could go there for lunch and I’ll simply ask him to join Zoro and me for drinks this evening, then make myself scarce after the first one.”
Mihawk approved. “A benign enough invitation.”
Perona nodded. “And since Zoro and Sanji have done several things together now, it won’t be suspicious.”
“Very good,” Mihawk said, picking up his coffee cup. He settled back in his chair and watched the distant clouds gather over the horizon. For once, their interference required very little actual interference.
It was remarkably easy to arrange. Sanji came out to greet them at their table without Mihawk even indicating to the staff that they’d like a word. Zoro showed him the lock screen with a smirk. Sanji’s expression went from surprise to something Mihawk found more interesting before it disappeared.
Perona extended the invitation to drinks, and Sanji readily agreed to meet them around ten. “As long as it’s not past Zoro’s bedtime.”
“I’m not the one who needs beauty sleep to fix my ugly mug,” Zoro said dryly.
“Yes, you’re very pretty, mossball,” Sanji said, patting him on the shoulder as Zoro flushed pink. “I’ll see you later. Enjoy your meal.”
Perona grinned at Zoro as Sanji headed back toward the kitchen. “Horo-horo-horo-horo-horo. Someone’s blushing.”
“Shut up,” he told her, grabbing his beer and taking a long drink.
Mihawk kept his amusement hidden behind a sip of wine.
The afternoon was spent as a family at the driving range, where Zoro and Perona vied to be the worst golfer. “At least I have an excuse,” he said as he whacked his ball, leaning far forward in his chair. “You just suck.”
“Oooh! You are so annoying!” Perona wound up and attempted to smack the ball as hard as she could. She whiffed hard enough to send herself stumbling sideways, nearly toppling over in her platforms.
Zoro sniggered at her distress.
Mihawk executed his drives perfectly, and each ball landed exactly where he wanted it.
The breeze had strengthened enough to stir the palms. Farther out, the ocean had darkened beneath the approaching clouds.
They capped off the afternoon sitting on the terrace with room service, discussing renovation ideas for the castle, many of which horrified Mihawk. “Why in the world would I wish to house baboons?”
“Mostly so I can see that look on your face,” Zoro said devilishly.
Mihawk was unamused.
Evening eventually settled in, bringing stronger gusts off the water and whitecaps farther out beyond the beach. Staff had begun securing unused umbrellas and loose furnishings, though the pool, bars, and other amenities remained open. A few shutters had been closed on the less-used exterior buildings as a precaution, but guests went about their vacation with little concern.
Perona and Zoro left around nine, heading toward the beach bar. Its lights glowed along the shoreline below, and from the number of people still gathered beneath them, the approaching weather hadn’t discouraged the evening crowd.
Mihawk chose to remain in with a brandy, a book, and a bath. He used the salts he’d purchased at the spa and settled in for a relaxing, quiet evening.
Nearly an hour had passed when the wind strengthened abruptly, rattling the windows hard enough to draw his attention. A few heavy drops struck the roof, followed within seconds by a steady downpour. The forecast had predicted the storm much later. It appeared the night at the beach bar would be cut short unless they moved into the hotel bar.
He extracted himself from the bath in case they returned shortly. Both would be soaked and would want to warm up with a shower, at least. He could also turn on the suite’s electric kettle.
Once dried and dressed in evening loungewear, he set about making tea and poured a cup for himself while he waited. The rain had grown louder by then, driven against the glass in sheets, and the wind pushed at the walls in intermittent gusts.
Twenty minutes later, he received a text from Perona.
We can’t find Zoro. He’s not answering his phone.
Mihawk’s stomach dropped.
The weather had deteriorated rapidly. Rain obscured most of the view beyond the windows, and the palms bent beneath the wind, their fronds whipping violently. Mihawk had presumed Perona and Zoro had gone into the hotel bar when they failed to return.
Mihawk opened the tracking app on his phone. The service was spotty due to the storm, and the screen took far too long to load.
A flash of lightning lit the room, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that shook the windows.
Finally, the app stopped cycling, and Mihawk tapped the only tracker saved. Zoro wore it in one of his earrings, having moved it there from the necklace he’d worn as a child.
It took just as terrifyingly long for the app to process as it had to open. Mihawk changed clothes while he glared at the screen, preparing himself to go out. He’d secured his hat on his head by the time the map finally resolved, Zoro’s dot a vivid blue against the green background. He took a screenshot and sent it to Perona before heading for the door.
His phone chimed with another text.
Sanji knows where that is. He’s already running for the door.
Mihawk stopped long enough to text her back. Are you at the hotel?
Yes.
Mihawk tapped a reply. Remain there.
Then he pocketed his phone and stepped out into the storm.
The tracking app showed Zoro closer to the hotel than the suite, but still outside on the grounds. Mihawk could easily imagine what had happened – Zoro had gone to use the restroom, gotten turned around, and ended up outside a locking exterior door. Since he disliked admitting his directional issues, he would have searched for another way in by himself before resorting to his phone. Something had prevented him from doing the latter.
The first gust nearly tore Mihawk’s hat from his head. He caught the brim with one hand and pushed forward through rain that stung his face and soaked his clothes within seconds. Water had already pooled across sections of the walkways, and runoff rushed over the lower paths in shallow streams. Small branches, leaves, and loose debris skittered across the pavement in the wind.
The noise made it difficult to hear anything beyond a few feet. Rain hammered against the roofs and pavement while the wind drove through the palms overhead. Mihawk kept moving toward Zoro’s last location.
He ducked beneath an overhang long enough to check his phone. The app showed Zoro still in the same spot.
Mihawk continued on, his heartbeat pounding from worry. He knew from the resort map that there was no substantial shelter where Zoro’s dot was located.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the grounds, followed closely by thunder. The lights along the walkway flickered once, steadied, then flickered again. Rain slipped beneath Mihawk’s collar and ran cold down his back, but he paid it little attention.
A heavy crash came from ahead. One of the smaller palms had fallen across part of a side path, its fronds thrashing in the wind. Mihawk turned off the main promenade toward the service paths behind the hotel, wading through another rush of muddy water that nearly knocked his footing loose. A garbage can lay overturned near the wall, its contents scattered across the pavement and caught against the landscaping.
His phone chimed with a text at the same time he saw a figure coming toward him through the rain. Two figures – one being carried by the other.
Relief hit first, followed immediately by renewed concern.
Mihawk ignored the text and closed the distance between them. Sanji carried Zoro on his back, Zoro’s arms wrapped around his neck, his head tucked against Sanji’s shoulder. Sanji had both arms hooked securely beneath Zoro’s knees. They were drenched, but Sanji kept moving with his head lowered against the rain.
Mihawk couldn’t withhold the worry from his tone. “Zoro–”
“M’okay,” Zoro said, lifting his head. “Got stuck in the mud. My hero here got me out.”
“Your hero would’ve preferred you getting stuck in a mud bath, not actual mud in a storm,” Sanji said, still walking. “Lucky your ass is light. Too light. Gonna have to fix that.”
“Hn, yeah.” Zoro rested his chin on Sanji’s shoulder.
Mihawk had to fight the temptation to take Zoro from Sanji and carry him himself. But Sanji had him securely, and Zoro seemed content in spite of the situation. Mihawk set the impulse aside for the time being and escorted them both back toward the hotel.
The lobby had become a temporary refuge by the time they arrived. Wet guests crowded near reception while staff handed out towels and directed people away from the exterior doors. Rainwater had been tracked across the stone floor despite mats spread near the entrance, and several employees were moving furniture farther from the windows.
Mihawk got them rooms for the night, including one for Sanji, who insisted he didn’t need him to do so.
“You went out to find Zoro without hesitation in a storm,” Mihawk said. “It is the least I can do.”
“Anyone would’ve done that,” Sanji said.
“No, I don’t believe they would.”
Reception managed to find them an accessible room in the hotel. Mihawk stayed with Zoro, while Perona and Sanji had rooms of their own. Without his chair, Zoro would need help moving around the room and getting safely between the bed and bathroom.
The hotel gift shop provided dry clothes, and the room had complimentary robes.
“Would you like my help?” Mihawk offered after sitting Zoro on the fold-down shower seat.
“Yeah.”
Mihawk helped Zoro out of his soaked clothes before leaving him to his shower and divesting himself of his own wet attire. He made decaf coffee from the in-room Keurig. Rain continued to drum against the windows, accompanied by the occasional rattle of wind against the glass. Once Zoro was warmed and dry again, having dressed himself in floral shorts, Mihawk transferred him to the bed. He pressed the second cup of coffee into Zoro’s hand, then couldn’t help brushing a damp tendril of hair away from his scarred face.
“You worried me,” he admitted quietly.
“Sorry,” Zoro said, and Mihawk could tell he meant it. “I wanted to call when I got stuck, but I dropped the phone. I tried to crawl for a while, but the stupid rain kept creating washes. Then I heard Sanji shouting, and...” He trailed off, and his face went pink. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you know the rest.”
Mihawk studied Zoro. “Sanji seems like a good man.”
“Yeah.” Zoro’s expression softened. “He’s all right.”
Mihawk heard volumes in his words. “I’m going to take a shower. Try to rest.”
“Okay.”
Mihawk left him with the remote close by and coffee in hand, then closed the bathroom door behind him. He looked at himself in the mirror above the sink – pale features, tightness still around the mouth, fear not quite hidden in his golden eyes.
“He’s okay,” he told his reflection. “He’s just fine.”
The room remained silent.
Mihawk turned on the shower and stepped beneath the hot spray, hoping the warmth would ease the fear that still hadn’t quite left him.
Resort staff located Zoro’s chair and belongings, including his phone, from the grounds the next morning. A hose removed the dried mud from the chair, and Zoro was good to go. His phone might need replacement, but they’d let it fully dry first. Zoro mentioned being glad he’d left his journal at the suite.
Mihawk, Zoro, and Perona returned to their suite after a hot breakfast at the hotel restaurant. Cleanup was already well underway across the grounds. Maintenance crews cleared fallen branches and hauled away damaged landscaping, while other staff swept mud and leaves from the walkways and reset tables that had been moved inside before the storm. A few shutters remained closed on the outer buildings, and one section of path had been roped off around a fallen palm, but most of the resort had reopened. Guests were back at the pool with towels and drinks, children had returned to the shallows, and the beach was filling again beneath newly raised umbrellas. Beyond them, the ocean had calmed considerably from the night before.
It was to be their last full day at the resort. They’d be departing tomorrow to return to Kuraigana. Mihawk dropped a word in Perona’s ear to hound Zoro into having a checkup when they got home after his misadventure.
A knock sounded on the suite’s door around eleven. Mihawk set the newspaper aside to answer it.
Sanji stood on the other side of the door, dressed in a bespoke suit the color of rich wine. He had one hand casually in his pocket, the other tucked behind his back. “Hello, sir. Is Zoro here?”
“Yes. He’s on the terrace in the back,” Mihawk told him.
“Thanks.” Sanji nodded to him, then followed the path around the suite.
Mihawk shut the door and immediately crossed to the opposite window. He could see Zoro sitting at the table, writing, glasses on his nose. The sea breeze ruffled his green hair. A half-drunk bottle of juice sat near his elbow.
Perona came out of her bedroom and spotted him. “What’re you doing?”
“Sanji is here.”
Sanji came around the corner, and Mihawk stepped back slightly so he wouldn’t be noticed. Perona scrambled over quickly to peek around his shoulder out the window. “He came over voluntarily?”
“Indeed.”
They watched as Zoro raised his head and a crooked smile graced his lips as he greeted Sanji. With the air-conditioning on, they couldn’t hear the exchange through the closed window.
Sanji withdrew his hand from behind his back, offering Zoro a small bouquet of all-green flowers.
Zoro threw his head back and laughed, though his ears pinked as he accepted them. Sanji pulled out the chair at the table and took a seat beside him.
“So cute!” Perona squealed quietly.
Mihawk hummed in subtle agreement. “We should allow them privacy.”
“Are you kidding? After all we went through to get to this point?”
“Perona.”
Perona sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’m going down to the pool. Did you want to come?”
Mihawk watched as Zoro reached out and brushed his fingers against the back of Sanji’s hand as they talked. He turned from the window. “I shall grab my book.”
They left the suite together. Whatever happened next would be up to Zoro and Sanji.
The trip home was uneventful, and life at the castle resumed without hiccups. Zoro got a new phone, went for a checkup, and attended his therapies. Perona left on a business trip, and Mihawk conferred with the managers of his winery. Soon, everything was back to its regular routine.
Except Zoro was on the phone a lot more.
Whatever Sanji was doing on the other end of those calls seemed to give him something to look forward to. The rest, though, Zoro started doing for himself.
He also obtained new glasses. Conferred with his neurologist about his vision. Started attending sessions with a psychologist. Created a goal calendar and displayed it on his wall. Learned how to cook nutrient dense meals with the phone propped on the kitchen counter and a lot of cursing from both ends of the video call. Slowly regained weight. Made steady progress toward walking.
He still slept a lot, had bad days and good, and needed help at times – Mihawk made sure to ask more often. But he was more involved in living his life again rather than simply getting through it.
Mihawk couldn’t have been more pleased by the progress. All he wanted for his children was for them to be safe, happy, and loved. And if a little matchmaking had helped bring someone good into Zoro’s life, Mihawk was fine with that.
“Zoro,” Mihawk began, standing in his son’s bedroom doorway. “Perona has complained to me about dating in the internet age. Perhaps we could do something about that...”
End