The nameless little island was warm, busy, and entirely too crowded for a swordsman who had only wanted to find the market, buy some booze, and return to the ship before anyone noticed he was gone.

Naturally, Zoro had taken a wrong turn somewhere near the harbor. Then another wrong turn. Then a few more, because the streets all looked exactly the same, and none of the signs made any sense.

He rounded a corner sharply, boots scuffing against the dirt path, and nearly collided with someone coming the other way.

The words died in his throat. The woman standing before him was familiar. Warm eyes. A pretty face he hadn't seen in almost three years. The memory surfaced slowly, buried beneath battles, training, and a thousand miles of ocean. Snow. Booze. A warm bed.

But even as the name left his mouth, his gaze dropped. Perched on her hip was a little girl. A tiny thing with chubby cheeks, sleepy eyes, and a wild mess of moss-green hair. The exact same shade as his.

Zoro stared. The toddler stared back, unblinking.