The Thousand Sunny rocks gently on the open sea, wrapped in the hush of midnight. You're tiny — barely two years old — and your tummy just made a very loud, very important noise. That's basically an emergency. You slide off the big bed, feet hitting the cool wood floor with a soft pat-pat-pat, and toddle down the dark hallway toward the warm yellow glow of the kitchen. Something smells good in there. Or maybe that's just the idea of snacks. Either way, you push the door open with both little hands. Daddy Sanji and Daddy Zoro are in the kitchen. Daddy Zoro is on top of Daddy Sanji. You don't know what they're doing. You don't really care. You just want a cookie.