He washed his face repeatedly, splashing water all over the washbasin. Ignoring the mess he was making, Zoro wiped his face and staggered out of the small bathroom. His three katanas were secured on his haramaki, but for once his mind wasn't on them.

He thought of long legs, of white thin limbs, and of stubborn red lipstick that would not leave his imagination. Inwardly he cursed the owner of those three and her stupid, silly little dress. She had no business on wearing something like that on a ship full of men. Not that he didn't trust his nakama, but what if? A woman could get unwanted things done to her, and what if, what if she wasn't strong enough to fight back? C'mon, she wasn't an idiot, was she?

Zoro shook his head and chuckled bitterly.

"Man, oh man."

He closed both eyes. Now he realized it.

Unless that was her intention all along.

"Shit, shit. That woman—"

He took his opinion of her back.

She was an idiot.

- - - - - - -

Zoro found her on the deck, staring into the blank horizon, still in that goddamn dress. He thought he saw her back stiffened at his presence, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure either on how to start a conversation with this woman. He never learned about these kinds of things before. Fortunately for him, he was spared the torture.

"You ruined my dress, you know," she said without turning to face him.

Hearing her accusing tone, Zoro forgot his nervousness and scoffed. "The hell I did."

"Wanna know how much I bought it?" she asked again.

Actually Zoro did NOT want to know because he had a very good hunch on what she would say next. Images of empty pockets and flying Berry notes came to mind. To humor her, however, he said, "How much?"

She finally turned around and gave him a look. "An amount you can never pay."

"Look," he began, "forget the dress for a while, okay? There's something—"

"Easy for you to say. It is not yours," she snapped.

"Why are you so pissed anyway? Can't you just wash it?"

"It's lipstick!" she cried.

He really didn't understand her logic. "So what? It's just a little spot!"

Nami held her stained skirt to his face. He saw a wet, angry blotch of pink—an obvious failed attempt at cleaning. "See this? This happened because you are a sloppy jerk."

He flushed. The memory on how the lipstick stain had gotten onto her dress was still crystal clear. He had wiped the red paint off his lips with the pristine white cotton, but what Zoro really didn't want to dwell on was how the lipstick came to him in the first place.

"I liked this dress," she continued, "a lot."


"This is the first time I've worn it. And you just have to mess things up."

Zoro snorted. He refused to feel guilty. "Just because your dress got a stain on it, doesn't mean that the shitty cook won't notice you."

She stopped, stunned. "What did you say?"

"Look, face it. Why else would you wear it?"

She did not answer, but her stares hardened.

Zoro, thinking that he'd hit the right nerve, marched on. "If you want to kill the cook by nosebleed, go ahead. I don't care. But don't blame me for something little like a stain, because I know it doesn't matter."

He paused, and as an afterthought added, "So, I ain't paying."

That's it. Nami didn't know whether she should cry or laugh or both.

Without warning she grabbed the back of his head and brought their lips together. It was a rough kiss, but she never meant it to be anything but. She pressed on and after a breathless second or two, she let him go.

"You don't understand, do you? I am angry with you not because of this stupid stain. I'm angry because you wiped it off."


He stared and stared, his mind a puddle of confused goo. For some reason, his brain was not taking the overload of information well. His lungs was still struggling for air, his lips still tingled.

A split second later, however, she elbowed him hard on the face and sent his head backwards.


And left him on the deck, all alone, with a shiner the size of a saucer, and again, lipstick on his lips.