*sznrrrk*
I shouldn't be up so late... *yawn*
Oh. Right. No yaoi. Sorry, ZoSan and SanZo fans.

"Dammit, marimo, stop dripping your shitty sweat all over the kitchen floor!"

"It's not my fault I actually work out and get stronger!"

"Are you implying something, shithead?"

"Maybe I am!"

Zoro and Sanji barely noticed the third person in the room, quietly watching their argument with some amusement. Robin slowly sipped her coffee as she watched the scene fold out like a movie she had seen many, many times before.

"DAMN SWIRLY BROW!"

"SHITTY MOLD-HEAD!"

The whole crew knew. They knew. Zoro and Sanji were like two opposite entities, constantly attempting to cancel the other out yet unable to completely eradicate one from each other's existence. If Zoro was gone, Sanji was gone. And vice-versa.

"GET OUTTA MY KITCHEN, SHITFACE!"

"NO!"

"YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME MAD, BASTARD?"

A sudden occurrence came to Robin. No matter how many blows were aimed for the chest, face, throat, back, leg, whatever, each attack was carefully aimed away from the hands. Everyone, even Zoro, knew how important hands were to the chef. Obviously enough, hands would be of equal importance to the swordsman.

Then again, Robin thought, he could still fight with one sword in his mouth should his arms be cut off.

Not that that would ever happen.

Perhaps.

"STOP CUTTING AT THE PANTRY, YOU BRAINDEAD MORON!"

"THEN STOP JUMPING ALL OVER THE PLACE LIKE A DAMN BALLERINA!"

Maybe that was where the mutual hidden respect grew from. The value of their hands.

Robin quietly moved to the sink to rinse out her mug. Zoro and Sanji were a blur, tearing at each other like two wild animals.

"YOUR SHITTY SWEAT IS MAKING THE KITCHEN SMELL LIKE SHIT!"

"TOO BAD! DEAL WITH IT!"

Or maybe Robin was just looking far too deep into the matter.