Author's Note: Okay so if you know me by now, I'm Setkia and this is my second long story for One Piece. This story will have shorter chapters (probably) than Beautiful Disaster, this is like a teaser (?) I guess of my next story since so many asked for Speechless. For those who wanted other stories, I'll say this: I want to write each of the stories that are on the poll, it's just a matter of which will be written first. Like Beautiful Disaster, warnings will be at the beginning of each chapter to warn you if there's something unsettling in it. This story is being split up into parts and has no chapter names. It's mainly told by Sanji's point of view. Again, this is an AU because apparently, I'm very good at them. Also, I don't own One Piece. Please review, tell me if you like it! One more chapter left for Beautiful Disaster and then we're onto this one full time! I hope you're as excited as I am! I'm sorry, I just love putting these characters through hell, but this time they're both screwed up, no one really more screwed up than the other!

Speechless
By: Setkia

Full Summary

Sanji is a cook at the Baratie who, for a reason not fully understood by all the other cooks, has not spoken a word in three years. He goes through his life normally, communicating through paper and pen. He hasn't felt the urge to speak since he's decided he would never speak again. Things change though when one day, while taking out the trash, he accidentally runs into the "Demon the Streets".

Roronoa Zoro, the "Demon of the Streets" is a mystery but he's feared by everyone who hears his name. He's on the run from the police with a wanted poster and a big prize if he's found and captured. With an accidental wrong turn, he encounters a strange man with long legs and blond hair. Zoro learnt pretty early on that in his line of work, you don't get attached to people and yet somehow this cook is working his way through his barriers.

PART ONE: BATTLE SCARS

I

Taking out the trash had become his job.

It was never said, no one told him to bring the garbage to the back alleyway, he just did it. At closing time, like clockwork, he took the garbage bags and exited the back door to put them in the cans. No one was going to complain, it was one less chore for them.

"Oi, Sanji! Don't forget to close the lid!" yelled Patty.

Sanji rolled his eyes.

Taking off the top of the garbage can, the first thing that hit him was the smell. No matter how often he did it, he didn't seem able to prepare himself for the stench.

"Hey! Get back here, bastard!"

Sanji was used to the screaming; there were lots of bad people around the area. There was no reason for him to freak out, rather he just lit up his next cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs, not bating an eyelash in the direction of the sound.

"Roronoa!"

SLAM!

Sanji's back hit the brick wall, his grip on the bag in his hand loosened, the cigarette hanging limp between his lips. The wind knocked out of him, he found himself staring into dark, steel grey eyes. A tall body seemed to be towering over him, warmth emanating from the shadow that loomed over him.

"Shh," hissed a deep voice. From the close proximity, the blond could feel the man's chest rumble against his own. There was the sound of feet shuffling and Sanji watched as the man stiffened. "Shit." All too quickly, he disappeared from sight.

"Roronoa, where the fuck are you? You can't hide from us!"

Two police officers rounded the corner. Roronoa … That had to be the man's name, right? So who was he, that the cops knew of him? What had he done?

"Hey you! Blondie!"

Sanji's head jerked up.

"You see a man around here? About your height, green hair, ear piercings?" the smaller of the two asked. He was holding a taser from the looks of it and wearing his badge proudly, pinned to the middle of his chest which he puffed out in an attempt to look more intimidating no doubt.

Sanji shook his head. He hadn't acknowledged much about the man who had been towering over him, just that he had grey eyes and when he had backed away quickly, Sanji had been able to see his back. It wasn't the defined muscles that were visible underneath his white shirt that had caught Sanji's eye though, it had been the criss-crosses along his back. His scars.

"He's not here," the taller police man said. He was thin and frail from the looks of it.

"But I saw him—"

"Let it go. Not everyone can catch the Demon of the Streets, otherwise he wouldn't be a demon," he said.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," the other conceded. "But still, I don't want Smoker getting that promotion …"

The two left, grumbling to each other.

Sanji's eyes flickered towards the shadowy area of the alley, the blind spot. When "the Demon of the Streets" stepped out, Sanji realized they were right. He did have green hair. Strange.

"They're gone?" asked the moss-head, looking both left and right. Sanji didn't know why, hadn't he heard the men's retreating footsteps? He gave Sanji a once-over when he realized there was no immediate danger. "Thanks, I guess. I owe you one." Roronoa rubbed his neck sheepishly. "If you hadn't been quiet, they would've found me."

Sanji blinked.

"I uh … shouldn't have dragged you into this …" Roronoa said, his eyes looking a tad apologetic.

This was a demon?

Roronoa tilted his head to the side and made a face. "You don't talk much, do you?"

Oh, you don't even know the half of it. But of course, Sanji stayed silent and instead shrugged.

Roronoa nodded. "Strong and silent type, huh?" He clasped his hands together and nodded again. "I can see you're busy, I'll leave you to it then."

Sanji watched in silence as Roronoa started walking backwards, staring around the alleyway, roaming as though he didn't quite know where to look. When he bumped into the third trash can, he finally turned around and ran down the rest of the alley, taking a sharp turn to the left.

Weird man.

Sanji reentered the kitchen after disposing of the waste.

He had never seen that man before. There had been a black bandana attached to his left bicep. Roronoa they had called him. Demon of the Streets. What did you have to do in order to gain such a title?

He hadn't looked all that dangerous. Maybe at first, but when Sanji got a closer look, the height difference was only a centimetre and he was more awkward than intimidating.

"Oi, Sanji, you took out the trash?"

Sanji rolled his eyes.

Looking around the kitchen, he tapped a waiter who was about to go into the dining hall and took his notepad. He didn't do it very often, he wasn't often a "talker" so to speak, but right now his mind was reeling with questions. He grabbed the pen out of the confused waiter's hand. Obviously a new edition to the staff then. Sanji began to scribble quickly before showing it to the group before him.

Have you ever heard of a man named Roronoa?

A needle could be heard hitting the floor. The usually loud kitchen became silent in a matter of nanoseconds.

"The Demon of the Streets?" asked Carne. "How do you know that name?" he whispered in a quiet voice, something that was unusual for a man as loud as Carne.

Met him.

Sanji's grip on the pen loosened when Carne grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him furiously. He felt like a bobblehead as he swayed back and forth, letting Carne's force rack through his body until the cook finally calmed down and looked Sanji in the eyes.

"You met him?" demanded the cook.

It was clear from his expression Sanji didn't understand why Carne seemed so anxious and on edge.

He tightened his grip on his pen and wrote in rather hurried, rushed writing;

Do you know him?

"Who hasn't heard of him? Roronoa Zoro, the Demon of the Streets. They say he practices an ancient, abandoned form of kenjutsu. He has the Sandai Kitetsu, on top of it all. That blade's said to be cursed you know," Patty said. "Everyone's heard of him! How are you still alive?" The large cook was looking at Sanji with a mixture of confusion and wonder.

He was lost, Sanji wrote. Though the green-haired man had never verbalized it, his lack of awareness of his surroundings had been obvious and proof enough. Something told him that Roronoa was too prideful to ever allow himself to admit he was lost though.

While the entire kitchen went into a state of panic at the revelation that the "Cursed Demon Swordsman" was in the neighbourhood, Sanji couldn't help but reflect on his rather brief meeting with the moss-head.

He had scars. Sanji remembered them. They told a story, each and every one of them.

Sanji wasn't sure which he wanted to know more; the story of the scars, or the story of the "Demon of the Streets".