Once Upon a Prison Cell//Roronoa Zoro [COMPLETED]

HER FAVOURITE STORY TELLER: FINAL PART

A/N: It's a long chapter so I've not done proper proof reading. Please excuse me if there are errors.

Somewhere along all the vacations spent in Sabaody, all her visits and all the stories he told her of when he was in his prime, they had exchanged names- the girl addressing him as uncle and the man still calling her kid even as she grew older.

She no longer complained about getting left behind my her parents anymore. What was the point? Besides, she had a doting uncle and an ex pirate with his unending treasure trove of stories to brighten her days. That, and her 'gramma' of course.

"Do you think I could become a pirate?"

Rayleigh turned to the girl.

She had a blank look on her face, but a silent fierceness underneath it that seemed to dare him to say 'no'.

He pushed down the incoming chuckle. Was she in a rebellious phase?

He chose his words carefully. "You could be anything you want, kid."

She squinted at him

"Really?"

"Really."

____________

"Happy 13th birthday, Y/N-chan" her uncle's lips stretched into a lazy smile.

She grinned, "Thankyou!"

"Do you want me to take you anywhere? Or get you anything?"

Her eyes lit up. "Oh! I wanna go to the se-"

"Now, now,"  her Grandmother strode over carrying a pot of steaming curry.

"You always have her with you Ki-chan. Is it not enough that she lives with you? Give this old grandma a chance."

"What are you even going to do with her? Clean the house?" Her uncle teased.

She stifled a laughter to not betray her grandmother and silently enjoyed the exchange.

Her grandmother playfully glared at him. "Now, I may be old and my bones may not be the most active, but I will not hesitate to chase you around this kitchen with a ladle."

"Scary~" he cooed, not even bothering to hide the teasing glint in his eyes.

"And if you must know, I'm taking her to see the fireflies," she let out a decided hum.

"She has been coaxing me to take her there ever since I mentioned it once," she shook her head at her granddaughter fondly.

"And then I'm going to teach her how to pickle the plums, so that she," she flicked her forehead gently, "can stop bothering me about my secret recipe."

"Yes, Gramma."

"And you," she pointed at the admiral, "are not allowed to interfere in this grandmother-granddaughter time."

"How hurtful.. you would choose your granddaughter over your own son?" Despite his words, his face bore the usual placid expression

"You're not my son, " her grandmother playfully retorted, standing up to get seconds for them.

"You're just the brother of the girl my son chose to marry."