Archive of Our Own

In a certain room of a Federal Bureau of Investigations building in another country, Smoker is delivering a meeting brief.

“...So the recent development in technology has been causing a new problem in the community. Video rental establishments have been calling in about a concerning amount of increased pirated tapes now in circulation. Ever since VHSs became commercially available to the public, anyone can hit 'record' on any cheap blank tapes they have and redistribute them however they want.”

“With all due respect, Captain, is that really considered a priority for us right now?” one agent asks.

“I know it sounds like a non-issue, but there has been significant evidence that well-known gangs have been using the profit from poor-quality bootleg videos and amateur porn to fund their drug operations,” Smoker says. “I'm well aware that the higher-ups have been piling onto our workload, but this is just part of the job we all signed up for. I want you all to start finding leads, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” his team say in unison.

“Dismissed.”

After the meeting, Tashigi splits off from the departing group to return to her desk. Now at the end of the workday, she feels the cumulative ache of the past week weighed down on her shoulders, but there are still a few more reports she needs to complete before she can leave the workplace with a clear conscience.

She grabs a cheap polystyrene cup and pours herself the remainder of the coffee from the eternally-running coffee maker in the break room. She might regret drinking caffeine at this late hour, but needs the boost for tonight. She also had some pending chores at home that she has been putting off for too long.

At the adjacent cubicle, Tashigi sees Fullbody standing up from his desk, pulling on his coat.

“I'm off. I got a date soon,” he informs her, leaving behind his conspicuously unfinished stack of paperwork.

“But, those files–”

“Come on, Tashigi, give me a break. Everyone else has left for the weekend!” Fullbody says in exasperation. “The work can wait till Monday–”

She huffs. “How irresponsible.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, don't be jealous that I have a date and you don't.”

“That's not it–”

“You should try it sometime; I bet it'll do you some good.”

Tashigi gapes incredulously at the insinuation, but she only manages to stammer, “There just aren't any good men out there!”

“Sure,” Fullbody replies loftily while he leaves, “Maybe if you stopped focusing on the Most Wanted list and went outside once in a while, you'll think differently.”

By the time Tashigi leaves the office, it is starless night-drive back, though the passing city lights more than make up for it.

After parking in the streets of an old neighborhood, she enters the a red-brick mid-rise building that was her apartment complex, still holding her nearly-finished coffee in her hand. She usually sees a few of the other tenants returning home around this time, but the lobby today is noticeably quiet for a Friday night.

On the bright side, that means that the laundry room is most likely free right now. Then her mood dips when she realizes that also means that she's the only one without any social plans for the weekend. It's not that she isn't open to dating, but Fullbody was right to say that she gives much more priority to her job.

Turning the corner of the hallway, she spots the the only elevator in the building about to shut, so she makes a desperate sprint towards it while shouting at the lone rider to hold the door for her. She catches the silhouette of a sword on him right before she trips into the elevator.

Tashigi's downfall is prevented by a stiff hand briefly gripping at her shoulder. “Ah- thank you,” she says, as she looks up at him through her mussed bangs. The man in front of her is quite built, sporting short green hair and currently wearing a disarmed expression. Her eyes widen as well, when she sees her cup empty in front of her in her outstretched hand.

After haphazardly adjusting her glasses to scan for damages, she's relieved to see his other hand holding his sword high above him – it's sheath is thankfully still a dry, pristine white – but then she freaks out when she realizes that her spilled coffee is dripping down his neck, splotching the upper torso of his white graphic shirt with a dark stain. “Oh! I'm so sorry!”

She rummages for a spare napkin from her purse, using it to frantically blot at his collarbone and then his shirt, only stopping abruptly when she realizes that she's practically feeling up his firm chest.

“Sorry!” she squeaks again, retreating herself as far as the closed elevator space would allow, which ended up only being a couple inches away from him. She stammers, “I- if you give me your shirt, I'll wash it for you. I'm doing laundry today so...”

He looks at her for another moment, finally speaking. “Okay, here.”

He starts to take off his shirt.

“Wait, no!” Her face heats up in an instant.

It isn't that she's unfamiliar with the sight of a naked male body, but the suddenness of his shameless action, coupled with the dim light of the derelict elevator and the gold flicker from his three hanging earrings, makes for an unexpectedly intimate mood. Her eyes travels briefly down the large scar running across his muscular torso, before she averts her gaze on him completely.

“Huh? Make up your mind!” He's holding his shirt out between them with a furrowed brow, seemingly perplexed by her words rather than the context.

“I didn't expect you to– I didn't mean at this moment!”

“...But my shirt is wet right now?”

This must be some cruel fate, bottled in an exceptionally slow passage of travel, forcing her to languish in embarrassment in front of the first attractive guy she's seen in months. When the elevator doors creaks open to the third floor, she grabs the shirt from his hands roughly, ready to run from the mortifying situation.“Alright- just tell me your room number. I'll leave it at your door tomorrow, I promise. You, uh, don't need to follow me.”

He deadpans, “This is my floor too.”

“Ah...Right.” She says, lamely, finally at the front of her apartment. “Well, this is me.”

She expects him to continue walking onward, but he stops right beside her, taking out his own key to open the door across from hers. Her mouth parts in disbelief.

“Mhm,” he hums, seeing her expression. There's a barest curve to his mouth and a hint of amusement in his tone when he turns to leave. He might be holding back a laugh. “See you around, neighbor.”

But since when did she have a neighbor like him?

She stands in the hallway for a moment more after the door closes behind him, processing the whirlwind of emotions she just went through. In some ways, thanks to coffee rather than caffeine, she's feeling quite awake again. There's an odd jittery sensation that collects at the edge of her fingers when she reflects on his teasing farewell, his face, his sword; it's a feeling she hasn't felt in a long time. She shakes her head; she's not suppose to be acting like a hormonal teenager anymore.

Still, her burst of nervous energy lasts well into the night. She manages to wash up all her piled-up laundry, organize her clothes neatly, and hang her neighbor's now-clean shirt in a spare disposable bag on his doorknob before she drops dead onto her bed.

“Sir, please take a look at this.”

Tashigi enters Smoker's office to report her new findings about some specific VHS tapes the team had acquired from several different video stores during their investigation. “These tapes have been all been marked with a distinct icon at the corner of the label.” Tashigi points to a tiny image of a skull-and-crossbones wearing a straw hat and Smoker grits his teeth when he sees it, pulling out a cigar and lighter. Tashigi is too used to her superior's bad habit to comment, but she's thankful his office has an opened window.

“What's that, a calling card? Are these pirates getting bolder or something?”

“Well, possibly. But they're only digging their own graves by leaving such an obvious signature on their wares,” Tashigi says, “More interestingly though, there is the stark difference in the content of these tapes when compared to the others being circulated.”

“How so?”

“The ones that are marked are pirated copies of dubbed foreign movies that are rare in this country in the first place, rather than the usual blockbuster or blue films that are more popular and more profitable. I would have to do more research, but these foreign movies also seem to be uncensored and unedited, not up to governmental standards of approved entertainment.“

Smoker taps his cigar on his ashtray and nods. “That sounds like something worth looking in to. If we're able to gather information on how these films are being smuggled in through the black market, we might also be able to trace that operation back to the increase in the distribution of drugs.”

“Oh, but my theory is that this is a different group is completely unrelated to the other drug ring activities.”

“But they're still breaking the law, aren't they?” Smoker drawls.

“Well, yes,” Tashigi assents. “But I do have to wonder about what their motives are; I noticed that the sound and image of the tapes from this group are particularly high quality-”

“Don't compliment them, Sargent. This is just another problem we have to add to the list now.”

“Right,” Tashigi says, and mentally prepares herself for another long night at the office.

A few days later in the middle of a the week, Tashigi is returning from another day of overtime, so it's closer to nine o'clock at night when she finally arrives back in front of her own door. She spends a whole minute looking for her apartment key in her purse – she's thinking that she should really invest in a nice key ring – when she notices her neighbor exiting his own apartment.

“Hey.” He nods towards her in acknowledgment.

“Hello,” she says politely, hoping to wipe away the awkwardness of their first meeting. “...Um, heading out?”

“Uh, yea. Just to a bar down the street.”

“Ha ha, yes, a drink sounds great right now,” she says agreeably in accordance of making small talk, briefly entertaining the idea of grabbing a few cans of beer from the local liquor store herself, though she usually isn't one to imbibe on a workday.

“You wanna join me or what?” he asks, casually.

“Oh- I wasn't–” She's caught off-guard but she tries to sound unaffected by his invitation. “I mean, sure, but I'd want to change first –”

“I can wait,” he says.

“Ah- Okay. Yes.”

With her door now unlocked, with the unfounded worry that he might change his mind, she quickly shucks her blazer in a heap on her bed, untucks her blue blouse from her pencil skirt, and switches her shoes to sneakers. She almost trips once in her rush, just short of breathless at this other strange turn of event: spending her evening with a man she doesn't even know the name of. She checks the mirror one last time, combing through her short hair with her fingers, before she goes back to the hallway and sees him leaning against his door, still waiting for her.

“I suppose we haven't formally introduced ourselves yet,” she says by way of greeting. “My name's Tashigi.”

“Zoro,” he replies, strolling with his hands in his pocket towards the stairs. “Haven't I seen you before? Even before last week in the elevator, I mean.”

She blushes again at the vivid memory. It would have been nice if that wasn't his first impression of her. “Maybe?” She definitely would've remembered seeing him though, but she doesn't say that out loud. “I don't go out often, and I've been busy with overtime at work.”

“Another long day, then?”

“Yes, there's been quite a few deadlines. Lots of paperwork.” She couldn't exactly mention the details of what she's been working on, as it was an ongoing investigation. “I'm sure you know how it goes.”

“I guess. I don't exactly work in an office setting, though.”

“Ah.” She probably should have profiled that he didn't have a typical day job, with his dyed hair and piercings, but her cognitive abilities seem to slip up around him.“What do you do, then?” she asks.

“A bit of everything,” he says evasively, with a shrug. He had been leading her down towards the main road, when he stops in front of an unnumbered black door in between two closed shops. “Here we are.” She looks curiously at the old brick building, noting the lack of windows and storefront signs, while Zoro opens the painted metal door to let unexpected light spill onto the street.

Entering the speakeasy bar, Tashigi is intrigued by the unusually long and narrow layout, with the bar counter running from the nearly the entrance to the end of the bar, with a row of close-set seats running along the space. The walls were a deep maroon and orange pendant lights hung from the ceiling, and the subtle scratches of a record player added to the moody atmosphere. By habit, she notes that there's only one entrance and exit in this tight space, which normally might have concerned her, but there weren't any other customers so she stays relaxed for now. They slide into the seats at the closest edge of the corner, almost bumping knees.

“Looking from the outside, I wouldn't have guessed this was a bar,” Tashigi remarks.

“My friend knows the guy running this place,” Zoro says, nodding to the bartender in greeting. “It's quiet during the weekdays.”

He orders a bottle of sake, and she decides on a brand of cheap beer because she doesn't want to get tipsy.

When their order arrives, Zoro offers her a sip first. “You wanna try some?”

“No, thank you. I'm not sure if it'll be good to mix with beer.”

“You'd be surprised,” he says, but he doesn't pressure her, which she appreciates.

She's taking preemptive measures to prevent another embarrassing situation, afraid she might spill something else, so she drinks slowly to keep her wits about her. She meditates on the soft clinks of glass against wood, simply drinking and basking in the quiet din, though after a few minutes, Tashigi couldn't help but bring up the sword that she had seen on him, acknowledging that day again.

“Where did you get it?”

He pauses before answering, nursing his own drink in hand. “From an old friend.”

“Oh! Then I'm even more thankful that it didn't get ruined by coffee." She smiles. “Do you know the name of your sword?”

When he shakes his head, she continues.

“If I had to take a guess, it could be the Wado Ichimonji. It has a gold crossguard, right? And a lovely diamond pattern at the handle wrap.” She takes out her personal pocketbook about swords that she always has handy in her purse, flipping to the relevant article for him to compare. The page was full of her scribbled annotations on the margins. “I'll need to check the make of the steel, but I'm pretty sure it's a match. ”

“Huh.” Interest sparks in his eyes. “What else do you know about it?”

She talks to him about the Wado Ichimonji's sword grade and history. She then brings up her own sword, Shigure, which prompts him to mention his other two swords afterwards. “I should show them to you sometime,” he says, “so you can tell me their names too.” He catches how she softly gasps, how she straightens her posture in anticipation, and he grins. “So you're actually a maniac about swords, aren't you?”

“Hey, I prefer the term 'passionate'.”

“What about 'obsessed'?”

“That sounds like you're making fun of me,” she pouts.

“But I find that kind of obsession admirable,” he says with a laugh, and the warmth in the sound tides her over.

It's surprisingly easy to talk to him, when it turns out they have so much in common with each other. The conversation flows comfortably between them, like a slow winding river, as they exchange their experiences with dojos and kendo routines, profess dreams and debate philosophies, shifting steadily closer together.

With the excuse of the tight space, they don't acknowledge how their arms are pressed up against each other, even though the heat of him through her sleeve becomes more unbearable the more she drinks. She thinks she sees him glancing down at their point of contact once, but still, neither of them make to move away from each other.

A fizzing feeling brews in her, with the combination of the atmosphere and the beer and the easy laughter melting her stress away. It also helps that they avoided the topic of work altogether, though she postpones the guilt of it by vowing to work twice as hard the day after.

The hours pass, and it's closer to midnight when they start to head out. He offers, but she insists on paying for her own drink; even though she only had less than a pint of beer while he downed two large sake bottles, she wouldn't want to misconstrue this as a date if it wasn't suppose to be one. Zoro makes no further comment on it.

“You good taking the stairs?” he asks, when they return to the apartment complex. The elevator had actually broken down a few days ago, due to its aging mechanism. That explained why it was so slow previously before.

“I'm good,” she says brazenly, even though she stumbles on a step as soon as she starts climbing up. “I'm surprised you aren't drunk right now, considering.”

He looks amused again. “I only drank two bottles.”

“Most people I know would've knocked out after just one.”

“I guess I'm better than most people then.”

“Goodness, what an ego you have,” she says, dryly.

“Well, what can I say? I get my high tolerance through hard work and practice.”

“That's the kind of thing you practice for?” she chuckles, “That's not really worth bragging about.”

“Alright, what's it take to impress you, then?”

“I- uh, don't know,” she says blankly, unable to reply smoothly when she snags on the unexpectedly flirty nature of that line. But they've arrived now on their floor so she uses the opportunity to pivot. “Anyways, thanks for inviting me out, Zoro. I really had a good time today.” She hesitates again when she meets his gaze. Something in her alcohol-addled mind is reading too deep into the way he's looking at her. She almost entertains the possibility of staying a bit longer in his company, but she remembers her own promise about work tomorrow so she really shouldn't. She cuts off her vacillating thoughts with a firm “Good night!” and hurried departure.

“Right,” he says flatly. “See ya.”

Another night, sometime still within the same month, Tashigi is stuck outside in the hallway, rummaging through her purse again. One of her arm hurts from a fresh cut, her legs are sore with bruises, and her home key is nowhere to be found. Did she lose it somehow? Her day had been hectic since the early hours of the morning, when she had been relegated into a sudden field assignment for a particular culprit, and there is a possibility that she had dropped it somewhere in her rush. She sighs at her own carelessness, but there's no use in lamenting it now.

Perhaps she can make a call back to the station if there's still someone around to check, or else in the worst case scenario she would need to call a locksmith, but before all that, she needs access to a landline.

She looks across the hallway to her neighbor's apartment with some hesitation. She wonders if it's considered a bit too late in the night to be polite, but she can hear a faint group of voices from his side. He might be hanging out with some friends right now.

She takes a slow breath; for some reason, her heart starts beating the same rate as when she was chasing down that criminal while she's now thinking about Zoro. What exactly is she expecting? He's only a neighbor, after all. Still, she smooths down her blazer and pantsuit before she knocks on his door. She hears a clattering sound, a silent pause, and then some inaudible dialogue. Then she hears the lock slide open and sees Zoro appear when he opens the door halfway.

“Tashigi?”

“Um. Hi Zoro,” Tashigi stutters a bit. She almost forgot how handsome he looks. “Sorry to bother you. It's a bit embarrassing, but I accidentally lost my apartment key somewhere.”

“Oh. That... sucks.”

“Indeed,“ she says, “so I wanted to ask if I could borrow your landline and phone book to make a call.”

“Right–” Zoro fidgets, and Tashigi starts to wonder if there's some kind of awkwardness between them now. “I don't have a landline here, but I could grab a phone book for you–”

“Huh?” a blond man interjects incredulously, shoving the door wide open so he makes his appearance behind Zoro. The stranger is wearing a dress shirt and an apron at the same time. “You're just gonna leave a lady hanging outside? Whatever happened to your manners?”

“Ah,” Tashigi startles while Zoro shoots the other man a disparaging look. “That's not necessary–”

Her sentence is interrupted by a loud growl from her own stomach, triggered by a delicious scent that's currently wafting from the kitchen through the doorway. She colors reflexively; she had to forgo lunch today, as she had been too preoccupied during her field task. She only had time for a light snack afterwards too, when she had noticed her paperwork piling up.

There's a silent pause between the three of them after the sound.

“Why don't you stay for dinner?” the blond offers kindly, “I made more than enough for our crew so there's plenty to share.”

Tashigi looks back at Zoro. She senses a bit of stiffness from him, but when he notices her gaze, he only shrugs and motions her inside.

“T-Thank you for having me.”

When she steps inside, she sees that the layout of the place looks to be a mirror of hers: a one-bedroom apartment with a closed layout for the kitchen and dining room, sectioned by beige tiles and carpet, with the living room connecting to a bedroom and bathroom ahead. Turning left from the hallway into the dining room, Tashigi sees two other faces sitting at the table, a man and a woman, looking up at her in surprise.

“Who–”

“You guys should have said–”

They both start to hurriedly clear a stack of papers and some odd equipment from the fold-up dining table, packing them into their duffel bags out-of-sight.

“Please don't worry on my account!” Tashigi says just as hastily, but the woman reassures her with a wave of her hand.

“It's fine; we're done here for today, and we need to clear the space for food, anyways.”

When the blond returns to the kitchen, the rest of the group moves around to prepare the table settings and plates, using the time to trade introductions as well: Sanji, the cook, Usopp, the long-nosed man, and Nami, the red-haired woman. Tashigi introduces herself too, as Zoro's neighbor, but she's met with probing looks from both Usopp and Nami as if they were expecting a different answer.

“She lives across the hall,” Zoro says flatly, unamused at his friends' expressions.

“Ohh,” the two of them chorus in understanding.

Nami says in aside to Tashigi, “Zoro usually keeps to himself, so we're just surprised to find out that he's already on first-name basis with other people in this building.”

Tashigi vaguely wonders if that meant that Zoro hasn't told them yet about how they had initially met. She's partially glad he hasn't though, because that memory still causes her occasionally cringe with embarrassment. She hopes this time she can make a better first impression.

“Okay, dinner's ready!”

Sanji wasn't lying when he said he had made plenty of extra food, with the total amount of dishes almost spilling over the edges, bending the plastic table under the weight of them. “Our other friend isn't here right now, so we're saving the leftovers for him,” he explains to Tashigi, “but feel free to take whatever you want.”

“Thank you for the food!”

Tashigi had planned on being polite but she ends up too compelled by the combination of her hunger and the delicious meal to even try joining in the group's conversation; instead, she listens to their playful, comfortable banter as if she was watching an entertaining show.

Each person's differing personalities seems like they would clash with each other, but instead they bounce off each other in a chaotic harmony. Usopp tells a multitude of riveting stories, Nami shares her expert bargain-hunting advice, and Sanji acts generously almost to a fault. Zoro is silent for the most part, discounting his occasional sly commentary, but when he laughs the sound of it is pleasantly unrestrained among his friends. She observes that his demeanor is much more relaxed now. It makes her think that they all must be very close-knit group.

“How do you all know each other?” Tashigi finally asks, after her stomach has been satiated.

“We're- uh, working on a film project together,” Usopp says.

“That's fascinating! How's that going?”

“Ah... our boss – our director isn't here, so we were only trying to figure out some of the logistics.”

“Oh, so is this considered your job or a passion project?”

“More the latter,” Nami says quickly, while turning to her friends for agreement. “But we can't say too much about it right now.”

Tashigi nods, tacitly understanding the safety of confidentiality. She meets Zoro's gaze with a slight grin. “Well, I'm still impressed. I admire that sort of passion, you know,” Tashigi says, echoing a sentiment from back at the bar.

He returns an crooked smile from across the table.

After dinner, Zoro directs Tashigi to the only couch in his sparsely-furnished living room, gesturing for her to sit comfortably while he rummages for a phone book from a table-side cabinet. He sits down on the cushion next to her after he hands her the frayed phone book along with a scrap piece of paper and a pencil.

“Not sure if there's much else I can do for you,” he says, scratching the back of his head.

“This is helpful enough. Thank you, Zoro.” Tashigi thinks that if she needs to, she can always use the payphone down the street. She always carries some spare coins in her purse.

After a few moments watching her idly flip through the yellow pages, Zoro suddenly stands up again. “I'm gonna go help wash dishes and pack up the leftovers, but take your time. ”

“Okay.” She smiles at him as he leaves, though she acutely feels the absence of his weight besides her. Quietly shaking off the thought, she turns back to her task. She thinks she's becoming too conscious of him, too quickly, and that's slightly concerning in an unfamiliar way.

While she skims the through the phone book for locksmiths, she notices something strange in the phone numbers already circled on the pages. Once would be a coincidence, but thrice and more is a definite pattern. Each marked name and phone number corresponded with a video rental establishment that the FBI had been keeping tabs on.

Still, that didn't exactly mean anything suspect. After all, they had said that they were film-makers on the side, so it makes sense that Zoro would mark those types of places if the group rented a lot of movies for their research or something.

Also now knowing they're film-makers also explains the odd equipment that they had put away earlier– it looked like some kind of specialized recording device for film – though it was admittedly bit strange when they hid it quickly away from view, acting like the benign equipment was something illicit.

She then turns her head to look at his closed bedroom door; she knows she's only imagining it, but she thinks it looks ominous somehow: stark white against grainy wood panel walls, the unknown hiding just beyond it. Did he have any skeletons hiding in his closet? Her mind spirals.

She should run a background check on him.

No, that's a breach of privacy without probable cause.

But shouldn't she follow her instincts? She has the gut feeling that there's something more to him.

If she wants to date him –

Zoro steps back out of the kitchen to ask her something, breaking off her train of thought. “Hey, if your situation isn't resolved by tonight, where were you planning to stay?”

Tashigi shoots to her feet. “I'm going to my office – I probably left my key there. I should have checked before – why didn't I think of it sooner?” She practically sprints to the entrance door, passing by the group in the kitchen and waving a frantic goodbye. “Thank you again for dinner! Good night!”

She vanishes in yet another hurried departure, leaving Zoro staring after her blankly.

After Tashigi is long gone, Nami comes up behind Zoro and Sanji, smacking her hands sharply on both their backs in unison, wearing a peeved expression. “Earlier, you two could've given us a fair warning before you let her inside. What if she saw something that she shouldn't have?”

“Huh? But I wasn't the one that invited her in,” Zoro grouses, rubbing his shoulder to soothe the impact.

“Yea, but you didn't say no, either,” Sanji points out, doing the same with his. “Besides, you guys know I can't leave someone alone if they're hungry–”

“Right, like that's the only reason...” Usopp remarks dryly.

“You sure it's not because you're interested in her?” Nami adds.

Well, admittedly, something had flared in Zoro's instincts ever since he first saw her running towards him into his elevator. Tashigi had initially seemed put-together and uptight in her office outfit, but then he quickly saw how clumsy she was when she fell over him, and then how easily she flustered when he matched her bluff – when she asked for his shirt, and then when she wanted to have a drink with him.

Zoro had taken that opportunity to try and figure out what exactly her deal was, but their date had ultimately left him feeling unfulfilled when she cut the night short despite their apparent similarities to each other, close to being a kindred spirit. Maybe she didn't think the same way, when she runs as soon as he tries to reciprocate that same connection.

The whole puzzle of Tashigi is still frustratingly incomplete; something in her unpredictable demeanor keeps him fixated on her, but he's not sure why exactly that is yet.

Zoro exits the preoccupation of his mind to see all of his friends staring at him with raised brows.

“What?” he asks, swiveling his head to each of them.

“I was only joking around with Sanji,” Nami says, pretending shock with her hand at her mouth. “but it's weird to see you considering it so seriously, Zoro.”

“It's not that –” he states quickly. “It's more like... I'm curious about her.”

“Huh?” Usopp gives him a bemused look. “What's the difference?”

Zoro doesn't have an answer.

It's an hour to midnight, and Tashigi is now back at the office, back to work.

She heads to the file room to look for any prior records on Roronoa Zoro. She discovers nothing relevant to piracy, but she learns that he had a minor stint in a juvenile corrections facility; his charge had been for an illegal possession of a sharp weapon, and an assault with a deadly weapon.

She's not exactly surprised, only because when they were drinking together, Zoro had previously shared memories about several sword fights he had been involved in when he was younger, so this piece of information actually collaborated with his stories and brought a sense of legitimacy to his past.

Well, having that kind of history isn't exactly an unforgivable offense. Unconsciously, her mouth quirks up. She can understand being young and dumb once, especially in regards to using swords. She also notes that he had been released from the facility early, which most likely would've been due to upstanding behavior.

Afterwards, Tashigi decides to check the records of the his three friends as well for due diligence, but she realizes that she doesn't actually have any of their last names to work with. She looks to the clock, then to the rows of green metal filing cabinets, and takes a deep breath. It's not like she has anything better to do right now, so she decides to try brute forcing the search. She spends the rest of her night thoroughly combing through every name on file, but she ultimately finds out that none of them are even in the system.

With her last bit of energy, Tashigi checks the names on the records from the suspected video establishments that the FBI had collected earlier in the month, the ones that matched the circled numbers in Zoro's phone book, though there are no suspicious links to be found there, either.

She comes to the conclusion that she's arrived at another dead end in the case. Not for the first time, she wonders if she's been overthinking things.

Tashigi is just about to take well-deserved nap when Fullbody appears within her eyesight. He stops in his tracks when he sees her at her desk, catching the bags under her eyes and the cold cup of coffee she brewed a few hours ago.

“Don't tell me you stayed here all night working.” he says, incredulously.

She didn't realize it was already morning.

“I wasn't here all night,” she says, pettily. “I came back because I was locked out of my apartment and I couldn't find my key.”

Fullbody doesn't look at all convinced with her explanation.“So your first thought to that was to come back to work?” He shakes his head in disbelief and his brows slant together. “Tashigi, I know you don't want to hear this, but whatever you're doing here isn't good for you.”

Tashigi scans through the document in her hand for the third time, delaying her response. She's only trying to do her job right. She had the responsibility of following every lead, to always remain vigilant in her line of work, in her way of thinking. And usually, her instincts are pretty good. “It's just– I was working on a hunch...”

“Sure, alright. What did you figure out?”

"Not much." A sigh escapes her, an inadvertent admittance of defeat. Tashigi only had half-baked theories made up of circumstantial evidence, and with nothing solid or substantial to show for her overnight work, she tries to distract Fullbody with a change of subject instead. “How was your date, by the way?”

He smirks. “Invigorating.”

“Ugh.” She almost rolls her eyes.

“Look,” Fullbody exhales, with his tone turning unexpectedly serious. “When I joke about you needing to get laid, I actually mean it, only because I think it'll be good for you to take your mind off work for once.”

Tashigi, offended, turns to glare at him with disapproval, but she drops her guard when she sees his genuine expression of concern. She's also unable to respond when Smoker passes by on the way to his own office with his own mug of steaming coffee in hand, interjecting on their conversation with his own observation.

“Tashigi, you look like shit. Rough morning?”

“It's because she's been here working all night, sir,” Fullbody helpfully supplies.

“What the hell? Take the day off then.” Smoker looks at her sternly and cuts off the argument forming on her face when he adds, “That's an order. You're useless like this.”

In all honesty, Tashigi's too tired to argue.

Tashigi leaves for her home in the late morning, running mostly on fumes because she still has a few important errands to get done. She first calls for a locksmith, and then she goes to the local shop for a sandwich and a drink while she waits. She pauses while browsing the beverage aisle, deciding to pick up a bottle of sake also, strategizing on how she wanted confront this situation with her neighbor. There's no need for unnecessary accusations; she only wants to figure out if there's any real merit to her instincts, to put her vague suspicions to rest once and for all.

In the early afternoon, after she regains access to her apartment again, she freshens up after a nap and changes into casual wear – a short-sleeved loose blouse and cropped pants – before knocking on the door of his apartment just before sunset. He's mentioned mainly working night shifts, but she's hoping that he's currently home so she could have a resolution to this nerve-wracking issue without more delay. These past hours of waiting were already too much to bear. She unintentionally sighs with relief when his door opens after her second set of knocks.

“Hey, neighbor,” she says, before she notices his ruffled hair and bleary expression. “Oh. Were you just sleeping?”

“Nah,” he yawns, “what's up?”

“I ran out so suddenly yesterday that I forgot to thank you properly. And I thought I could return the favor for the drinks as well.” She holds out the blue sake bottle in display. “Um...Can I come in?”

Tashigi thinks she sees a guarded glint in his eyes, but that moment passes when he moves aside. “Sure. Can't say no to free booze.”

“Don't worry, I won't be staying for dinner this time,” she assures him in jest, casually scanning his space while she walks in. With more purpose today, she makes a point to observe the small details she might have missed yesterday. The place is quite devoid of any personal affects. His walls are without any hanging decor, and his furniture was made up of factory-manufactured pieces meant for temporary residences. In the living room, she sinks into his old couch again, the soft plushness now unsteady ground for her.

“Our friend ate the rest of it, anyways,” he says, while he grabs two shot glasses from his kitchen. “What kind of sake is that?”

“I don't actually know. It was whatever the shop had on hand.”

“To taking risks, then.” He pours a generous portion for the both of them. “Cheers.”

She knocks back a cup in exaggerated cheer, using her enthusiasm to mask another quick, furtive sweep around the room. She continues to match his pace with a few more shots, using the time to draw her final conclusions. He does have a VHS player and a small television, though that in itself isn't considered criminal. There are no suspicious stacks of VHS tapes either, blank or otherwise, though she's already observed that the day before. Nothing she sees suggest any probable cause for criminal activity, though she notices that his bedroom door is tightly shut again.

“You okay?” he asks, with a raised brow.

The sake is a lot stronger than her usual beer, but she says,“It's not bad.”

“Nah, I mean, it looked like you were looking around for something.”

She almost chokes. So she isn't as discreet as she thought she was; the alcohol must already be affecting her. “I was looking for– your swords,” she lies, and tries a lighthearted joke. “You know, since that was the only reason why I ran into your elevator that day.”

“That explains a lot,” he says, grinning slightly. “You looked so relieved even when you messed up my shirt.” He considers something, rubbing the back of his head. “Though your later reaction- if my scar freaked you out–”

“No, not at all! I just thought that you were really attractive–” Her mouth snaps shut. This is why she didn't want to get tipsy in front of him. Her lips are looser when she's tipsy.

Surprise flits across his face. He downs another cupful, the sake smoothing out his voice when he shifts closer to her and tilts his head. “Yea? What else did you think about me?”

Her mouth opens and closes without speech. What else does she think: that she's currently currently scoping him out as a suspect? Well, the reminder of the original purpose of her infiltration plan sobers her enough to focus on her mission.

“So! C-could I see them? Your swords.” At her obvious change in subject, something wry appears at the corner of his mouth, but he doesn't call her out on it.

“Ah... well, they're in my bedroom right now.”

“Oh, perfect,” she blurts, thinking that her desired opportunity came rather easily.

Zoro coughs.“...Okay then.”

He sets down his dry cup carefully and heads towards his bedroom door while she follows close behind him with some trepidation. What if she finds evidence that Zoro really was a criminal? Would she regret trying to see what was behind his door? Though, speaking as a federal officer, she had the duty to follow through regardless, despite how she feels about him. She braces herself for the worst.

She's not sure what she expected, but she's surprised anyways. His bedroom is exceptionally normal.

Moving past him in partial disbelief, she steps a foot into the room for a closer look at the bare space with a cream carpet flooring and a low ceiling fan, mirroring her apartment here as well. He has a beaten desk with polishing supplies, a plain bed with rumpled sheets, and some old photos pinned on the far wall – snapshots of blurry faces. Other than the three gorgeous swords leaning against it, there's no sign of anything particularly out of the ordinary.

She must have stayed questionably still for much too long, because Zoro's voice is a low, dangerous vibrato when he asks, “I thought you wanted to see my swords? Or was that just an excuse to get into my bedroom?”

“Ah, um –” She turns. His face is leaning so close to her now that she sees that his irises are dark gray rather than black. His gaze is steady, though she senses the coiled tension underneath his neutral expression.

Her body flinches when realization hits her; she's now completely aware of how her words and actions during this whole evening must have looked, what she overtly conveys to him by entering so willingly into his proverbial den. She feels her blush wash over her, heat prickling under her skin, unable to say anything, so she adjusts her glasses.

“What are you really here for?”

What was she really here for? Of course she couldn't admit that she thought that he was a suspect when he's done nothing wrong at all.

Disregarding her literal actions, she knows that she doesn't trust people easily, especially in her line of work, but that cultivated sense of paranoia seems to have bled into her romantic life without her realizing it; she's prone to imagining warning signs in the men she's been interested in, often shutting them out completely before they even have a chance to enter into her life.

Now that she thinks about this situation rationally, would a criminal really invite someone into their space so casually? She's somewhat ashamed of her unwarranted suspicions towards him, and by extension his friends, when he's really been nothing but neighborly towards her. Even if he did have something of a record, she had been acting unfairly towards him while she was trying to retroactively justify her actions. That isn't right at all. She should really should make up for that.

He waits for her answer, with his left arm resting across the door frame.

Tashigi's eyes flick to his mouth, before she blushes again and looks down, wringing her hands nervously and murmuring,“I'm not- usually like this... I truly didn't come here with that kind of intention in mind, al- although... if you're open to it –” She trails off when she looks at him to gauge his reaction, when the intensity of his stare stutters her rambling.

“What do you want, Tashigi?” he repeats.

“I would like to date you,” she answers in a faint breath.

“That's why you've been acting like this?” he asks, with his eyes slightly narrowing, focusing on her face.

“Look, it's been a while since I've been interested in someone, alright?” she grumbles, hiding her dismay. “But I don't want you to think that I'm only attracted to your body, because I also want to get to know you better as a person, Zoro, so it's fine if nothing happens–”

Tashigi loses the rest of her words in a gasp when his right hand curves around her hip, maneuvering her back against the ridge of the door frame while his body presses against hers, leaning into her. She can hear something like relief in in his exhale, though there's still a tension in his presence while he holds her close. She feels the cord of his muscles moving against her, when his breaths are measured with hers.

Her pulse had jumped at the firm force of his initial action, and it jumps once more when the same hand moves to splay on the small of her back. Her mouth stays parted in surprise, unable to form any sounds of admonishment, because she's not exactly displeased by his actions. Rather, a thrill runs down her spine. The swinging motion of his earrings draw her attention up, and the glimmer of his darkened eyes traps her when he tips his head towards her.

“So. You were interested in my body this whole time.”

“No,” Tashigi huffs, “I said that's not all –”

“Oh, okay. Then you don't want my shirt off this time?”

She groans, gripping at his collar. “You enjoy teasing me too much.”

“But apparently you like that about me too–”

She kisses him, shutting him up with a hard press to his lips, and then a drawn-out exploration of his mouth. His responding enthusiasm overpowers any of her remaining reservations, allowing her close her eyes and melt into the sensation of him, a sweet and devouring heat that reaches down to the tips of her toes. The weight of his hand leaves her back and runs against her side, sliding up her neck to rest at her jawline.

“Do you-” he gasps, “want this now?”

Tashigi hums her assent when her mouth meets his again, her hands moving down to the hem of his shirt to encourage him. She feels the rumbling of his muffled chuckle in his mouth, but she finds his smugness more endearing than annoying when she's able to elicit a soft moan from him with a soft bite.

Her arms wrap around his torso, and he returns the motion, guiding her now onto the edge of his bed. She manages to drag off his shirt over his head before she's supine on his covers, her fingertips reaching towards him and brushing over the rough edges of the scar on his chest in a careful caress. The deep contrast of it against his skin almost mesmerizes her, but her attention is quickly stolen away elsewhere when his tongue moves against a sensitive part of her throat.

Her nerves light up when his body is now a heavy pressure on her, when she feels the heat of his hip scrape past the cotton of her clothing. One knee moves to slot between her legs, one hand pins down her wrist while the other cups her nape, his fingers tangling in her hair while he kisses her, and the scope of his presence further envelopes and chokes the air around her as she grasps at his other forearm to stay grounded. Dazed and lightheaded, she meets his actions by instincts, ignoring the rational part of her brain for once.

She's familiar with the physicality of sparring, but it's a new feeling when she chooses to stay in surrender, even as he moves his hands down to linger purposefully on her curves, dragging shallow breaths out of her with his languid touch. It's a different sort of strain, when she's helplessly desperate for closer contact with him, more friction, more of his scent and warmth and bare skin.

She eventually ends up on top, straddling him so she can come up for air, so she could undo the top buttons of her blouse. She sees him watching the deft action of her fingers with a tight restraint, releasing a breath when she casts her shirt off. His hooded eyes travel down to the swell of her cleavage and then past her plain pink bra, swallowing thickly at the new sight of her, undeterred by the pale lines etched into her skin.

His eyes rake over the muscles of her abdomen appreciatively, idly remarking. “I thought you were stuck all day long at an office.”

“Mostly,” she says vaguely, not keen on explaining at the moment, “but I also keep up with personal training every other day.”

“We should do that together sometime,” Zoro says, and his words makes her heart giddy at the thought of another possible date with him.

She smiles shyly as his hands return to her bare waist. Her skin thrums in anticipation for more of him, and she bends her head down to kiss him again, sweetly–

A shrill sound chirps incessantly from his jeans.

“Shit.” Zoro scrambles to remove his pager from his pocket one-handed, and he squints at the displayed number. “I'm on call for work... My boss – You know, I didn't expect any of this today.”

“Yea, um... me neither,” she says, distracted by the weight of his other hand at her rib cage, his thumb stroking absentmindedly under the band of her bra. When she looks at his expression, she can tell that they share another similarity, that they have the same kind of priority towards their responsibilities. She wants to respect that, too. “You should go do what you have to.”

He lays still for a moment, not quite responding, before moving away from the bed, grabbing his shirt from the ground. “Right. Tomorrow – uh...” He starts, but then he blushes slightly when he briefly meets her eyes.

“Yes,” she replies immediately, her heart beating quick again. “When- when you're free – ”

“Let's talk.”

She nods; she has so much more she wants to say to him, after this. “That's a good idea.”

“Yea, we'll... figure this out.”

Zoro retrieves his shirt and grabs a heavy black backpack from his closet, while Tashigi busies herself putting on the shirt she tossed to the side, both of them moving in relatively unhurried steps until they're finally outside his apartment, hovering in the third-floor hallway. A thought comes to her while she sees him taking his keys out to lock his door behind them. “Are you sober enough to drive to work?”

“I said I got a high tolerance. But my friend's picking me up anyways, don't worry.” Zoro assures her, seeing her stern expression. He smirks, wiping the pout off her face when he gives her one last long kiss, with his grin promising much more in the future. “Bye, Tashigi.”

“Hurry up!” Nami says, when she sees him approaching her beat-up car. Zoro grumbles under his breath. He owns his own motorbike but she insisted on driving him ever since after the third time he had arrived late to a shipment site due to getting lost on the way. It wasn't his fault though; there were always extenuating circumstances, like construction work on the roads, or magical changing street signs.

He gets into her car, and they settle into their routine. Nami hangs an arm out the window and chatters idly when she drives, while Zoro usually reclines in her passenger seat and offers vague noises of affirmation. Today, his eyes are closed in contentment while he's caught up in his own thoughts.

That previously inexplicable itch in his subconscious had now been soothed; he had found the answer in Tashigi's reciprocated feelings. He's now wondering how he should navigate this burgeoning relationship with her – she should know the whole truth, but how does he even start to explain? – when he hears her name mentioned in the middle of Nami's one-sided conversation, halfway to their destination.

“...Since you were curious about her, I reached out to one of my contacts to look into her.”

“Ah- okay?”

She continues without pause. “And it turns out she's working for the FBI.”

Zoro blinks.

“Crazy, right? I guess your instincts were right.” Nami says, misreading his silence while she takes a screeching turn off the highway. “Good thing we're packing up and moving on soon, anyways.”

The next day, Tashigi arrives early to the morning meeting in the debriefing room. She takes a seat at the front while Smoker is setting up the projector and sipping at his coffee. As they both wait for the other officers to trickle in, her superior observes her unusually chipper deposition and comments on it casually. “You look well-rested. Did sending you home early actually do you some good?”

“The extra hours of sleep did help, thank you, sir,” she admits. Not only did she have the most peaceful sleep she's had in years, her serotonin is still coursing high in her bloodstream when she thinks of seeing Zoro again. Though she keeps that particular piece of her private life to herself, knowing that Smoker wouldn't appreciate that kind of talk during work hours.

“Good,” he says, and his tone turns serious with the rest of the team is now seated, “Because we just got a serious break in the case last night. Take a look at our new suspects.” He fiddles with the computer keyboard, bringing up a set of images.

Tashigi inhales a sharp breath and her veins stop cold when she sees the faces in the line-up.

A picture of Roronoa Zoro stares back at her.