The Morning After

by LooLooTaroo

Smoker wakes up with a wanted criminal, and spends the morning considering the events that brought them together. A possible origin for the fabulous couple. *warnings* strong language and non-explicit sex

The Morning After

He could barely remember how it had started, wasn't sure how he'd gotten here, to this moment of depravity. A strong man, a good man, a navy man…Smoker snorted against the cigar in his mouth, letting his head fall back against the bed rest. Well… he was here now…His eyes drifted shut as he exhaled slowly into the stillness, completely floored by that fact. Smoker turned his head and regarded the sleeping form by him, then turned away again, feeling heat clench his gut, and crawl across his cheeks.

He groaned quietly, letting a heavy hand rest over his face. What had he done? How had this happened? How had he let this happen?

He turned again, looking back almost as quickly.

How had this all begun? When had his life fallen apart? He wasn't sure; he just knew he'd spent the night holding a criminal.

Memories are not always easily organized. Something abstract can be difficult to define and label. Looking back over the past year, Smoker found himself faced with this conundrum: the difficulty of correctly remembering something that was completely confounding. It was hard to perfectly pinpoint the point of no return, the moment when he had succumbed to a pirate. Was it his petulant face, pouting at Smoker from across a battlefield, somehow jealous and aggravated that the fight was no longer between just the two of them? Was it the day when Smoker had kicked down the door to his own office just to find that same petulant face smirking through the flutters of burnt papers as they glided through the air? Was it the kiss? The first burning, aching, confusing kiss?

Or did it start even before that? If he really thought back, he could remember the first meeting in Alabasta, when he'd first laid eyes on that stupid, god forsaken pirate. He could remember the heat of the day as he pushed through a saloon door to investigate the claims of a sudden death in the establishment, only to find a bare-skinned narcoleptic pirate finishing his meal instead. There he was, the only thing worse for Smoker's sanity than Monkey D. Luffy: his brother. And maybe that's where everything had gone wrong. Maybe this really all began the moment he'd tumbled headlong into Portgas D. Ace.

He'd recognized him right away of course, Ace Heatfist, division commander to none other than Edward Newgate, Whitebeard, the most powerful man on the sea. Ace Heatfist, wanted since he was seventeen, one of the New World's most famous upstarts. The only son of Gol D. Roger; the Pirate King's last connection to this world. This was the man who Smoker had been flung into (literally….) that miserably hot day in Alabasta…it was also the man he'd spent the night having sex with.

An audible smack sounded from Smoker's face as his hand made contact against it with this thought. Wasn't much skirting around that….now was there? Smoker glanced to his right, peering over his fingertips, as if perhaps, this tenth time, he'd see something other than Ace's tanned chest.

"Fuck." Smoker sighed again, bringing his fingertips to his temple. Who would have thought that it would come to this? He certainly hadn't, carefully, painfully, pushing himself up from the burning desert ground after he's been hurtled outside by the screeching rubber disaster he'd come to Alabasta searching for. He sure as hell wasn't thinking of intrigues, of lust, of amazing….that is….perfectly ordinary sex, as he'd staggered to his feet. No, no as he shook off the chunks of brick and coughed through the swirling sand and plaster, he'd turned his fiery gaze after the pirates with only one thing in mind. Ace had gotten up first, but Smoker flung him brutally to the ground, this man forgotten as his eyes locked onto his prey….or so he thought. Forgotten…heh….well, it seemed Ace hadn't find Smoker nearly as forgettable.

Smoker glanced awkwardly again to the naked man sharing his bed and swallowed hard.

It didn't seem like much really, one just casually observing may not consider those first few isolated incidents to be the beginning of this madness. Their banter in the bar, ended of course by the lunatic Strawhat flinging them both through a wall, their showdown in the streets of Nanohana….A move Smoker had thought was intended to protect Ace's young brother, although now he wasn't so sure…yes, maybe it had been there. Maybe he should have seen it, should have felt it, when he'd first stood down the arrogant pirate, cockily regarding him from his stool.

"Oh, I'm just lookin' around," he'd said, with that provocative, playful face, "for my kid brother."

Had that been it? The end of his life as he knew it? …..in retrospect, he should have killed him.

It would be almost a month later -after his nightmarish adventure in Alabasta with the Strawhats- that the visits started. The first was at six am, while Smoker was exercising. He started this fateful morning like any other; up at five thirty, choke down a protein pack and some black coffee, train, and then a shower….which he never made it to that morning.

Smoker felt the first prickle up his spine when he bent over to grab a dumbbell, and the second five minutes later, when he stood in the corner drinking. He paused then, and his hand tightened on the towel that hung carelessly over his shoulder. The first he'd excused as fatigue, but there was no denying his feelings this time….he was being watched. Smoker did nothing so dramatic as investigating the room, he didn't even glance about. Surely not even Tashigi would be so daft as to alert the spy of her awareness. Instead, he set down his bottle, turned back to his equipment, and casually took in his surroundings as he walked. His discretion, and the rapid processing in his mind, was wasted.

There, sitting right there upon a giant weight, was Portgaz D. Ace. His feet propped back and his palms casually supporting his weight, he cocked his head to the poleshocked Captain, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to react. Rather he'd stood, dumbfounded, mouth slightly ajar.

"Mornin' Captain." Portgas playfully kicked a smaller weight to roll towards Smoker. It stopped at his feet with a gentle tap to his boot.

"SMOKE SNAKE!"

Portgas leapt into the air, hand going to secure his hat as he flipped back and avoided the explosive barrage of smoke.

"Aw," he stuck out his lips in a pout, "and here I was looking forward to the show."

Smoker's second assault followed the first with shocking speed, and the ensuing scuffle had all but destroyed the training room before Portgas had wrapped himself in flame, and barreled through the wall. Smoker had leapt after him, but skidded to a stop when he found Portgas standing in the now flaming hallway. Fire was crawling up the walls, covering the doors, and even beginning to creep to the ceiling. He raised a hand to shield his face, then Portgas, smiling in the dead, burning center of the room, brought a fiery hand up.

"Looks like today wasn't good for you. Until next time then." He brought his palm to his mouth, then blew on the fire there. A blinding explosion of flame filled the room and flung the naval man out of the burning corridor and flat on his back in the training room.

Captain Smoker of the Navy lived life his own way. He barreled through glass ceilings, paying little attention to protocol or social expectations. He didn't care for niceties, he didn't care for kissing ass. What he did care for he fought for, fiercely, and the highest ideal on that list was justice. Justice, fairness, defense of those who could not defend themselves. He would not allow the strong to use their power against the weak, he would not allow innocent people to be hurt and he was not a man who abided by disorder. Chaotics and the unruly, like pirates, these were the greatest vexation to him: people who wandered the world without any sense of morality, or even purpose. They traipsed about the globe, stealing, burning, and ruining. No, no pirates who let their selfishness run loose upon the sea that he'd loved all his life, these were his enemies.

Smoker believed firmly in justice, but it was his own justice, a moral compass that only he held. He would not veer from it, not compromise right and wrong to please others, which left many of his comrades marveling that he'd become a captain at all….and left others who knew him better, such as his friend Captain Hina, understanding exactly why he remained only a captain. After all, she'd been there to witness his absolute refusal of a higher title, she'd seen him tell the admirals of the navy to shove their promotion elsewhere. He had no interest in pandering to those pathetic fools, so arrogant, so possessed in their image of self that they would try to glorify him at the cost of the Strawhats, the lunatic pirates who had fought with every inch of their might just to help their one little friend.

Yes, the Strawhats were a mystery to him now more than ever. He'd underestimated them, that was for sure, but he wouldn't make that mistake again. Brooding in his office he contemplated this new threat, one he would not take lightly. His office was as grim, strong, and unyielding as its purpose; a huge room filled always with smoke and work….that is when its owner was within which was certainly less often than his peers believed appropriate. The front wall, the one he spent his time staring at, had three small windows, and nestled between them was a giant board covered in data. At that time it was focused on the Straw Hat Pirates, although that was soon to change. There was a spartan bookshelf, a corner where he hung his jacket, and directly in the center of the room, a large wooden desk. Smoker sat quietly behind this desk, face an iron mask of focus.

"Sir…" Tashigi said meekly, "what does it matter now? The pirate is gone."

"Don't be a dolt, Tashigi," he did not peel his intense gaze from the space before him. "He wanted something, and if he didn't find it, he'll be back."

She sighed, then bit her lip. "Sir, the men have searched the base all day-"

"Then search again!"

"There's nothing to find, Sir!"

At this, Smoker finally turned, regarding Tashigi with the hard face she knew did not bode well, but she pushed on.

"Nothing was taken, and nothing was planted. Nothing has been moved, Sir, the pirate did nothing."

"Then he was stopped before he could! And I want to know why….Tashigi….no one would break in to this base for no reason….Especially not a pirate!"

"But-"

"He's not here to watch me bench press!" Slowly he sunk back into his chair, stare returning to his front wall. "Then why….what were you after, Portgas….and why were you in the gym? What did I stop you from?"

"Sir….your report….didn't you say he was sitting?"

"Yes he….he was on my weights.'

"….But….Sir, if he hadn't wanted you to find him…why would he…?"

Smoker held up his hand and she fell silent.

"Search again."

Her heels snapped together in a salute.

"Yes, Sir!"

After that day Smoker would become (justifiably, he might add) invested in news of Portgas. He made a thorough report to his commanders, warning them passionately about the dangers of this man's breach. He focused men on his case, trying to gather intel on this elusive rogue, and his picture appeared on Smoker's carefully displayed board. Although the incident passed from the minds of most within two weeks, Smoker wouldn't shake it. No, no what had happened that day resounded with him, and made him wary. He spent hours considering the break in…and more importantly its motive. Tashigi had been right (reason enough to be worried), the pirate had, in fact, done nothing upon his entry. According to surveillance he hadn't even gone anywhere but to find Smoker….so why him? Had he been a distraction? Was there a phase two? Had his crew been planning something? Smoker played it over again and again in his mind until he'd etched the incident into his memory like a burning brand.

It would be a month before they saw each other again, and this time it would be in the open field. Portgas had been spotted not twenty miles from their base, traveling with four of his Whitebeard shipmates. He'd been recognized by a young woman who'd seen some of Smoker's heavily circulated warnings and wanted posters. She'd called to the headquarters transponder snail, explaining that she'd seen three young men forcefully dragging a limp body out of the middle of the street….where apparently he'd laid down to take a nap. Smoker had flung himself into action, mobilizing his men in minutes as they surged out into the streets of Rogue Town. What he was doing here Smoker didn't know, but he would find out. As far as he knew the Whitebeards hadn't stepped foot off the Grandline in years….Until of course their headstrong officer had broken into Smoker's military base. Well, he was going to see an end to that!

The pirates were easy enough to spot, but they were heading back to the coast. From a hilltop vantage Smoker caught sight of the four men, one with a hideous purple tattoo across his back who was yawning and rubbing his neck. Smoker took off ahead of his platoon, tearing across the streets and barreling towards the diminishing figures of his prey. They were just making their way up a steep hill in the road when he bolted around a corner and spotted them.

"Heatfist!" He screamed, skidding to a stop twenty yards behind the man. The group stopped, and Portgas lazily slung his head over his shoulder to purvey the disturber. When he saw Smoker a smile broke out over his face and he swung himself around.

"Smoke!" He cried happily, for all the world looking to be delighted by an old friend. Smoker stood, chest heaving, hand clutching his jutte.

"You're not getting away from me again," he rasped

"There now, that's how a gentleman asks for a date." Portgas smacked one of his companions' chests with the back of his hand then began strutting downhill towards the other man. Smoker regarded Portgas calmly. He was outnumbered certainly, but not for long, and it didn't seem as if the others were interested in the fight….perhaps they didn't know his reinforcements were surrounding them? Seemed unlikely, but Smoker was always ready to handle pirates, and these delinquents would be no exception. In a second he had taken in his surroundings (a highly populated urban area, he'd have to watch for collateral) and his opponents. The other three hung back as Portgas approached, watching with some sort of demented amusement. One, a scraggly man with blue hair, elbowed one of the others and leaned over lazily to whisper something in his ear, eyeing Smoker with a strangely satisfied smile.

"You never answered for what you did at my base, and I've got some questions for you." Smoker growled, straightening up and pointing his jutte.

"That's all you had to say." Portgas drawled, a hand arrogantly hanging from his belt loops. "I'll answer 'em all for ya right here.

"You're coming with me Heatfist!"

A huge smile broke out over his face and his head jerked down in a little laugh. Then he brought a shining face back up to meet the intense gaze of the naval man and began running down towards him. Smoker's grip tightened on his weapon while his free hand rose preparing to unleash his powers as Portgas leapt into the air but he landed in a swirl of flames, his back to Smoker's, tattooed skin against leather.

"I'll tell you what Captain, I'm damn tempted to take you up on that…." His lips were at Smoker's shoulder, voice rumbling near his ear. "But I'm afraid I'm on business today. Sorry handsome, it's for Pops. Raincheck?"

"White out!" He shouted, billows of smoke exploding towards Portgas as Smoker whipped around and swung at the insolent pirate. Logically Smoker knew that the fight between them couldn't have been more than a few minutes, the time it took Tashigi and his squad to encircle them and come barreling down to his aid, but it had felt longer, more exhilarating. Portgas had run about him, a taunting grin on his face, flinging haphazard balls of fire that couldn't have been meant to really hurt him. He seemed delighted by the encounter, watching Smoker intently through the heat haze. Well, Smoker had no idea what it was he was looking for, but if he wasn't going to take this seriously, that was his mistake.

Smoker saw an opportunity, (it wasn't hard to find, was Portgas even trying to defend himself?) and began running for the pirate. Portgas saw him coming and flicked his hands, completely surrounding himself in a dome of fire, but Smoker didn't stop. Flinging his arm straight through the wall of flame, his fist closed like iron over his opponent. The flames encompassed his arm, burning through the fabric and searing his flesh, but he had the shocked Portgas in his grasp and flipped onto the ground. The pirate hit the earth with a lurch, flinging up his arms to defend himself, but his burst of flame died as Smoker slammed his jutte down over Portgas's throat. Portgas gasped, hands clawing at the baton around his neck, which only made him moan and drop them down.

"I wouldn't touch that, if I were you." Smoker snarled putting a heavy boot on Portgas's chest. Portgas gasped again under the pressure, then fixed his eyes on his attacker. Smoker remembered this moment most clearly of the whole day. Portgas's lips pulled into a soft half smile, his hands shakily reaching to drape over the steel tipped boot on his body, and his eyes pierced through Smoker's with a gentle, but somehow intensely engaging stare. It was the first time Smoker would see this intrigued face, but it wouldn't be the last. That stare caught his own as he looked triumphantly down at the squirming man and they remained that way, still, for a few moments. Smoker felt something tug inside him, a tiny thrill in his chest, and he took in a deep, swelling breath. At the time he thought it was the adrenaline, his pounding heart, his endorphins running from the battle and the primal satisfaction of surviving and pinning his opponent….now…well…he didn't want to think about what had been so rousing between them.

Then he heard Tashigi's shout, severing the strange moment as he jerked his head towards her.

"Bring me the cuffs!" He barked. Tashigi reached to her jacket, but it seemed Portgas's companions were at last interfering. They'd been tense since Smoker had pinned Portgas with the Seastone prism and now the blue haired man was speaking quickly to the others, eyes fixed on Portgas and his assailant. The three took off, one running down the center and the others to the right and left. Smoker drew back his burnt arm through the waves of pain that rolled down his body and spread out a huge wave of smoke to reach them all. All three leapt into the air, but it was the blue haired man who Smoker fixated on. As he barreled down towards them he began morphing before Smoker's eyes, rippling and twisting into grotesque shapes. Smoker readied, but then the pirate's body seemed to explode. He turned into a horrible, soft, buoyant substance, than completely disbanded. Chunks of the pirate went flying through the smoke screen and then snapped back together so that he landed in one strange, jelly like puddle before Smoker's feet. Quickly reforming into a human, the young man rose and struck Smoker with a punch that almost broke his jaw, and then kicked his baton from Portgas's throat.

"Sorry old man, but we've wasted all the time on you we can." The strange pirate smirked and then flung something from his pack. Smoker watched the small black incendiary flying through the air, but he wasn't its target. The combustible was hurdling towards his platoon, and his wide-eyed sergeant. Smoker saw Portgas coughing and scrambling to his feet with his companions, but with a muttered curse he turned to his men instead.

"Smoke Snake!" He barreled towards the bomb, completely cocooning it in smoke. The explosion that followed shook the area, knocking Tashigi to the ground and cracking windows from the force of air. When his smoke had disbanded, and he had Tashigi safely in his grasp, Smoker flung around to find, of course, that the four were gone.

"After them! Don't just stand there," he roared, "after them!" The soldiers took off and Smoker turned back to Tashigi.

"You alright, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir, I mean, of course sir, I'm fine!"

"Then get your sword!"

They tore down the streets after the Whitebeards, but Smoker knew even then it was an exercise in futility. Whitebeard wouldn't have sent just any agents out from his ship, and with fruit users as powerful as Portgas and his companions they were long gone and out of harm's way. Out of Smoker's reach. Out of justice's reach. His journey back to the base seemed infinite, he couldn't get that thought from his head, his failure to force these criminals to justice. How many would they hurt? How many had they almost hurt flinging bombs?

"Captain, Sir,"

"I let him get away….again."

"I know, Sir, but the-"

"He taunted me Tashigi. He stood there, and mocked me. Talked about dates, and rainchecks…I have to catch him Tashigi." His fingers tightened on the bar in his hands. "I have to."

She was silent, she knew him too well. When she answered it was with resignation.

"Yes Sir."

The two months that followed the battle would prove to be worthy of Tashigi's trepidation, and it started the moment Smoker stormed from the medic bay. His arm wrapped and slung he marched passionately across the hall and out to the training deck, where he shouted for Tashigi. She dropped her wooden training sword and ran beaming for her commander.

"Captain, Sir!" She saluted. "How's the arm, Sir?"

"Get your things, we're leaving."

"Oh-yes-I….yes, Sir, right away, Sir!" She frantically gathered her possessions and was hurrying beside him as he filed back into the main office and headed towards the stairs.

"So then you got them? The briefings?"

"The what?"

"The briefings? I just saw this morning, we've got new orders-"

"That's not where we're going."

"What? But Captain Smoker-"

"I've already got a case to handle, and we're heading out immediately."

"….but, sir, the commodore-"

"To hell with the commodore," he calmly took a cigar stub from his mouth and flung it aside. "I've got bigger fish to fry."

He took the stairs in choppy motions that jostled his arm, but he couldn't be bothered by the pain. Tashigi hurried after him, and though he kept his gaze straight ahead, he could tell she was looking at him with that sweet, worried look of hers.

"Um….yes, sir," she said at last.

He'd spend three days doing field work, leaving as soon as he got clearance and only reluctantly returning for reports. He scoured the villages, bars, even prostitute halls, searching for traces of Portgas or his comrades. When he did find a lead, it wasn't exactly hard to follow. It seemed most members of the Whitebeards did not put much effort into covering their tracks, and usually didn't even go by aliases when they were at port. Tashigi was at his side all the while, never questioning her ever driven commander. After the two had gathered enough information to discern Portgas's possible destination, they left in mad pursuit of the four pirates who'd escaped them on the streets. It seems they'd found what they were looking for, and were making their way back to the Grand Line.

And so they'd set sail, pursuing Portgas and his companions to the outskirts of the East Blue. Once docked it took Smoker two aggressive conversations to find where the pirates had gone….a restaurant. He should have known. As he pushed opened the doors to the bar and stepped through the arch his eyes scanned the room grimly and spotted the group in a corner table. A hush fell over the patrons and he was reminded of their first, fateful encounter. The Whitebeards didn't take long to notice him as he strode towards their table, stopping perhaps ten yards from the outlaws and drawing his weapon. One of Portgas's companions burst into laughter, another groaned playfully and covered his face with his hands, another began drinking more quickly- apparently more concerned about his meal being disturbed by forthcoming events than the possible repercussions of them.

Their de facto leader looked up from his food then glanced over his back to find the cause of the interruption.

"Well," Portgas cocked his head, unable to hide the delighted, almost boyish smile that broke out across his face. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Captain Smoker?"

"Portgas. D. Ace, you're under arrest. You're all under arrest! You can come with me quietly, or I can bring you in by force."

"Force, huh?" muttered one of the other pirates, rolling his eyes as he slugged back another mouthful of grog.

"These two are killing me," whispered another.

Portgas idly flicked his middle finger at his companions but never took his eyes off Smoker.

"Funny to run into you again, isn't it? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were following me."

"You gonna tell me that's a surprise? You're a criminal Portgas, and I won't rest until you and your whole demented family is behind bars." He stalked up to the table, pushing his way over to Portgas. In hindsight, he'd been awfully close to him….leaning right up in his face. "I'm locking you up, and then I'm settling things with your brother."

Portgas's face darkened, and he lashed out a long trail of flame with an angry snarl. There was a series of gasps and frightened cries from other diners as they ducked frantically. Smoker was knocked back, rocking off his feet and falling with a painful lurch onto his elbow. Portgas loomed over him, pointing a threatening finger.

"You stay away from Luffy."

And then Smoker felt it, the rush, the exhilaration… his heart was pounding, his blood roaring, he almost smiled as he snatched his jutte and flung an attack back at Portgas.

"So, the protective older brother wants to keep his criminal sibling from justice." He was back on his feet, sauntering over to the pirate who'd leapt up onto the bar to avoid his last barrage of smoke.

"This is between you and me-"

"This is between me and every man, woman, or child who flies your black flag." His face was set as he stared up at Portgas and he saw the same determination mirrored in the felon's face as he leapt down from the countertop. Their fight that day had been completely different. They both were focused on only one thing, each other. Portgas wasn't playful and mindless like before, he was intense, and hungry. The burning in his eyes only urged Smoker on as their battle tore the bar apart.

He flung out his baton, striking Portgas across the face and sending a spray of blood onto the floor. Portgas answered back with a flaming punch, trademark Smoker supposed, as he shouted in anguish.

"Fuck!" Smoker's gloved hand flew to his face, squelching the hot embers trying to settle there. He turned angrily to the pirate, who'd made a small cross with his fingers.

"Cross fire!" He shouted as a huge flaming cross surged at Smoker.

The naval man's eyes widened and he dissipated into smoker, disbanding around the pirate and rematerializing behind him.

"Smoke screen!"

Portgas gasped as a column of smoke struck him in the back and sent him flying into the bar across the room. Pushing back from the wood he whirled around and sent a trail of fire across the floor and rapidly encircled Smoker. The flames shot up into solid walls and Smoker winced against the heat. Protecting the edges of his body with smoke, he leapt through the burning screen and charged at Heatfist. The pirate widened his stance, and flung up his arms to meet Smoker's impact head on. They both lashed out, catching one another's hands in a deadlock.

Smoker snarled and pushed forward, but Portgas pushed his palms back into the other man's, resisting his advance. Their sweaty faces were inches from each other's as they locked in their grapple.

"You know you really had me that day in the village. That boot of yours has a mean tread." Portgas gritted, chest rising and falling heavily.

"Well don't you worry Heatfist," he growled, just as breathless. "I won't need it this time. You'll ride home in chains."

Even now Smoker indulged the thought of what might have happened that day, how their battle would of ended if it hadn't been so violently disbanded. As they stood there face to face, almost nose to nose, the doors had burst open behind them.

He didn't look, but Portgas had, his eyes widening. Taking advantage of the moment, Smoker overpowered him and struck him to the floor. Portgas hit the ground with a grunt and Smoker raised his jutte.

"Captain Smoker!" The shout brought him to a halt and he whirled around to see Tashigi clutching a limp body by the arm draped over her shoulder. In a millisecond he'd taken them both in, but he didn't recognize the woman she held, blood pouring off a gash in her neck down Tashigi and onto the floor.

"T-Tas…"

"Captain!" She screamed, an explosion firing off behind her and sending her hair flying around her face. "Captain the port is under attack!"

"You….can't be serious."

Another explosion rocked the building and what few terrified patrons had remained tucked into safe places during their fight screamed and began rushing to escape.

"Damn it…." He heard Portgas's quiet mutter as he staggered up to his feet, heard his companions shouting something to him through the chaos as men began breaking the windows and he saw a few people crawling from their hiding places to get to the door behind Tashigi.

Smoker ran to her, carefully taking the injured woman into his own arms.

"It's pirates, Sir! They're in the ports burning ships!"

"Of course it's fucking pirates," Smoker spat, ripping against the fabric of Tashigi's shirt. With her help they ripped the bottom layer of cloth free, carefully using it to cover the cut on the young woman. "Where are the rest of the men?"

"Fighting sir! We've got to get back-"

This time the canon fire had struck nearby, and having stopped her bleeding, Smoker gingerly laid the girl down

"You!" He shouted at the taverness. "Get a goddamn doctor in here! More will be coming!"

He and Tashigi leapt out into the streets, tearing down towards the dock.

"Who are they?"

"I don't know Sir, I didn't recognize their flag, but I think they're here looking for the Whitebeards! It was their ship they tried to destroy first!"

"Oh, of course they are." He snarled, the furious pounding of his feet propelling him towards his new enemies.

They'd fought in the streets, rescuing civilians and putting out fires, for almost a half an hour, and in the end he only apprehended half of the offending pirates. The others, abandoning their crew mates like the cowards they were, had cut their losses and sailed away. Smoker snorted as he angrily escorted the others to his ship. At least the White Hunter still intimidated SOME pirates…..

He'd returned to the bar, not because he'd expected that the criminals would be waiting patiently for their arrest, but to give the owner the required information to appeal to the government agencies for reparations. As he mindlessly scribbled on a piece of paper his eyes fell to the table where the Whitebeards had been sitting. It (like most of the bar) was charred and surrounded by splintered wood, but a splotch of color caught his eye. Smoker turned, sliding the piece of paper across the damaged bar as he walked over the shards of glass and overturned chairs to the table. Sitting on the surface near a splotch of spilled food was one of Portgas's bright red beads, weighing down a scrap of paper. Slowly Smoker took the trinket in his gloved hand and looked down at the note.

Looks like today wasn't good for you either. I'll have to work on my timing. One day, Hunter.

Portgas's escape, narrow though it may have been, was an insufferable blow. Especially since he seemed to have gotten away for good. There wasn't a trace of them anywhere in the East Blue, it seems they'd gotten whatever they'd come for and had returned to rendezvous with their leader. The White Hunter was reeling. First Strawhat….now his brother. And so, not a week after Tashigi had apprehensively submitted to her friend's new preoccupation, they were back to their station, and Smoker was back on the hunt. At the time he couldn't quite pinpoint why the pirate had gotten under his skin so, he was hardly the only fool Smoker had engaged in battle, and he couldn't be bothered to stop and analyze his interest….perhaps he should have. Perhaps it was because of Portgas's family ties; Gol. D Roger, Whitebeard, that horrible Strawhat. He certainly was a high profile. Or perhaps it was because he had done the unthinkable and entered the naval base….he didn't know, he only knew that there was just something about Portgas that antagonized him fiercely. Something had stirred in him, something powerful, and he felt the new drive propelling him forward towards this man.

His board, burgeoning with the wealth of new pictures, clippings, and pins, had to be reorganized to accommodate for Smoker's new fixation: the Whitebeard Pirates, and their god forsaken general. Not that Portgas was the only figure Smoker was analyzing, no, not after the fiasco with Portgas and his posse. Smoker's new mania had him gathering intel on every member of the crew he could, any photos, appearances, rumors….anything might help, might be the missing link. Any hint that could lead him closer to solving their plot. Taking down older wanted posters and memos he cleared some more room for these new threats, and began an even more aggressive campaign. He scoured old records, conducted yet more interviews with the men who'd been involved in either incident, carefully transcribing every word, looking for that one seemingly insignificant fact which would prove to be the crucial clue.

He thought back to the letter, the taunting, cryptic challenge.

One day….One day…It resonated in his mind and he could feel himself tense, feel his fists tighten.

Yes, Heatfist, one day….

A new document of interest would present itself to him very soon, however, and he wouldn't have to work very hard for it. In fact, it would be delivered to him in the mess hall. A letter arrived, addressed to him, and while he gave the courier a thoughtful look, it never occurred to him, as he opened the large yellow envelope and withdrew the contents, that he'd be opening a message from Portgas himself. His eyes widened, and he bolted up in his seat. Tashigi looked at him in surprise but his whisper cut her short of any planned inquisition.

"It's him….it's him!"

"What, Sir, what's-"

"It's from him, it must be! Look Tashigi!" He thrust the handful of papers at his Sergeant who blinked in confusion as she straightened her glasses to peer at the notes.

"Wha….What on earth? That…that's the Whitebeard mark….it is from Portgas!" She'd jostled in her chair too, staring in wonder at the crest. "There's eight different pieces, they're all cut up…What does it mean?"

"We'll find out."

They both leapt to their feet and Smoker cleared their places with a swipe of his arm and it was all a nearby officer could do to catch his own plate before it went flying to the floor. Smoker smacked the cards down and in a flurry of hands and mutters to each other they had slid them into an order.

"No, no Tashigi you're sliding it the wrong way."

"But sir I think the blue on the rim is supposed to frame-"

"No, no, the red is the frame!"

Their hands were flying across the table.

"But look! Sir, sir look these two pieces match up on the purple!"

"But the same pieces also have red!"

"Ok, ok, let's just start with one color and-"

"Oh! Sir, look!"

They stood together in the dining hall, muttering and flipping and completely ignoring the perplexed marines around them. At last, like a puzzle, they'd assembled the message and Tashigi began reading, "'You don't have to work so hard for my attention, you know. You could just come say-" she cocked her head and squinted , "what's on your…mind! Who knows, it might…' oh…one more, where's the last-"

"Here!"

"…'be the same as what's on mine.'" She finished breathlessly, then paused, turning up to her commander with a quizzical stare.

Locked in his office that evening, the two continued their scrutiny of the notes.

"Five angles, five complete pictures, each saying the same thing." Tashigi was sprawled back in a chair thoughtfully, her legs hanging over one of the arms. She pursed her lips before looking over at Smoker. "And kind of unnecessary….I mean…it's not like the trick with the paper ended up even being relevant to the message."

Smoker had an elbow propped on his desk, regarding one of the cards intently.

"Unless there's a clue in it…In the number, in the colors, something."

"Maybe you're over thinking it. Maybe he just did it randomly."

Smoker scowled.

"What is he, a bored child?"

"I don't know, Sir, but….but….but it does seem pointless."

"That's what's so bizarre about it…What on earth could it really mean?"

Tashigi reached to the desk and took a piece. She stared ruefully at the card in her hand and then she straightened and peered at her commander.

"A duel!"

"A what?"

"Maybe he's trying to engage you in combat, trying to challenge you to a duel!"

"Well it's clearly a trap!" He huffed, flicking his card down and picking up another. "How stupid would I have to be?"

"And he doesn't give you a location I suppose."

"No, then he'd have to be the idiot." Smoker continued examining the note in the silence that followed, than rubbed a hand on his stubbled chin. "Two sightings in Roguetown….one with his men, and one alone here in the base," he mused, sprawling back in his chair and idly puffing smoke.

"Now he's returned to the Grandline, but sent us a note, seemingly, to entice you into doing something."

"What's your game Portgas…." Smoker cocked his head, eyes going to the wanted poster that hung on his wall. He sighed heavily and sat up, grabbing a new cigar as he began gathering up the pieces of paper.

"I'll be submitting copies to the office tomorrow, I want it going in his file. At least we have some concrete evidence."

"Evidence of what, sir? Sending a letter is hardly a crime."

"Everything a pirate does is a crime." Smoker said, almost to himself as his hands shuffled around his desk.

"Well….should we reply?"

"How do you suggest we do that?"

"I don't know, but maybe the commodores will want to take action."

"The commodores couldn't find their asses in a room full of mirrors."

"The admirals?"

"They'll hear about it no doubt, hard to say how invested they'll be." Smoker paused a moment thoughtfully. "Perhaps they'll spread the word. We may not be the only platoon being singled out."

"Especially if their dividing their attention along bases that are far spread!" Tashigi sat up eyes going to a map on the wall. "Maybe some on the Grandline!"

"Well, it's not an isolated incident, that's for sure. Combine this with the break-ins…. That lunatic will try something again, and soon. We need to be ready."

Two weeks later said lunatic would, in fact, try again, and this time Tashigi would get the message first. Digging through their boxes she saw another large, yellow envelope and cried out in recognition. Dropping the rest of the papers she'd retrieved Tashigi snatched the little article and ran for Smoker. This second delivery confounded them even more. Inside the envelope had waited for them a photograph. The picture looked to have been taken from the deck of a ship, and showed only an endless, undisturbed view of a still ocean.

"Sea's getting pretty boring these days. Where's my Hunter when I need him?"

Tashigi listened as Smoker finished reading the inscription on the back of the photo then gave him a baffled face. "Sounds like a postcard."

Smoker regarded the picture grimly.

"Can you make anything out from it? Their location? Their hideout?"

"It's just open water, it appears they're out sailing."

She sat back in her chair thoughtfully.

"Do you suppose he's waiting for us to make a move? The message was inviting. Like he's trying to entice us into action, just like the last."

Smoker was pinning the photo up on his board. Tashigi looked at it a moment more, than her eyes drifted to the first.

"You know, out of context they're almost sweet." She rose from her chair and walked to Smoker's side, both staring at the enigmatic mailings. "Like something you'd send to your lover or an old friend."

"Well, I hardly think we qualify as his chums." Smoker said around the large cigars in his mouth.

Tashigi stared at the board a moment longer before adding thoughtfully,

"And you know Sir, I'm not so sure it's a 'we'."

He looked at her.

"These both seem directed just at you….and the envelopes were both in your name."

"Me?" Smoker snorted, one hand settling on his side, the other going to his cigar. "Well, what the hell does he want with me?"

As blatantly obvious as the answer seemed now, their demented game would go on for quite some time before he'd figure that one out. In fact between their accidental meeting and their…less accidental reunion this evening, Portgas would infiltrate Smoker's naval base a total of four times (which, even now after spending a long evening fucking him, made him seriously question the base's operation standards….) engage him on the field thrice, send him elaborate messages, and find him twice in transit to another location. Yet, despite this year of serendipitous and confounding interactions, it would take a long and shocking day for Smoker to finally consider what was really happening between him and the capricious rogue he'd somehow ensnared.

That morning had been after an encounter with the Moby Dick, perhaps that had been what had provoked….Smoker shook his head abruptly. No! Provoked indeed! That was unacceptable talk, implying that the offending party had in fact been justified in anyway in violating the laws that governed their land! As if he, Smoker, had brought this on himself by daring to be a man of the law.

Well….the incident that preceded this utterly unacceptable assault on yet another of hisnaval quarters had been his third encounter with the White Beard Pirates. He and Tashigi had been transferred to a new base on the Grandline, and it had allowed him new freedoms in his pursuit of criminals. New, much more powerful and much more dangerous opponents lurked around every corner and Smoker was not one to back away from a challenge…still, he was no fool, and had never intended to start a war with Edward Newgate, despite his growing obsession with the man's first mate. But on that warm summer morning he'd found his hands tied as the flagship of the Whitebeard's massive fleet had encountered his and Tashigi's. Their ships had crossed paths entirely by accident, (another encounter guided by whatever sick fate was thrusting Portgas into his life) and they were certainly unprepared to assault a fleet as large as this.

"Captain…." Tashigi's breathless whisper reached him as he craned up his neck to behold the staggering ship, and the even more imposing man aboard it. Even from a distance there was no missing him, the legendary Whitebeard.

The giant man had glanced casually over his shoulder and down at the grimacing naval officer. He purveyed them only a moment, then would have turned away but something stopped him. He paused, then regarded Smoker again, giant eyebrows furrowing slightly. He reached a massive hand up, and made a gesturing motion, calling out to someone on the ship. Then Smoker saw a broad bare chest and a mess of black hair come running to the edge of the deck, hands catching the railing as Portgas peered intently down at them. Spotting Smoker and Tashigi his face lit up and he slapped his hands down in excitement. He turned quickly and began waving his arms and talking animatedly to his crew mates. A few cast looks at the ship, (or….Smoker felt they really were all sizing him up, staring at him….personally….no, that was crazy….) others nodded, all looked a little amused.

The first cannon fire rocked their ship violently but Smoker didn't budge, he only shouted over the chaos for a counter fire, squinting up into the sun to see Portgas heading towards them. He took a running bound, flipping off the rail and spiraling down to their deck. He landed flatfooted, a hand on his hat, twelve or so of his men surrounding him. The pirates leapt to their feet, except for Portgas who rose with his usual obscene arrogance and a huge smile flashing from under his hat. His men spread quickly as the navy men charged them and Tashigi drew her sword and ran screaming into the horde. Smoker drew his baton eyes locked again with the pirate swaggering across the deck to him.

"So you came after all."

Smoker's hands tightened on his baton, watching Portgas warily.

"I've been waiting, knew I'd see you sooner or later…you being the famous pirate hunter…" He cocked his head, a smile sneaking across his face. For a moment he almost looked embarrassed. "…but I was sure hoping for sooner."

Whatever reaction Portgas was expecting, it seemed 'none' wasn't it. Smoker remained still, silent, watching the unpredictable man cautiously, and Portgas began a slow circle around him continuing his chatter.

"So then, why today?" Portgas leaned in, hands behind his back, peering up at the iron face of the marine. "Did 'ya miss me?"

Smoker lunged, but Portgas was a flame and dodging long before his attack could land. He whirled around, his arms morphing into two long columns of Smoke which struck Portgas onto his back. Smoker thundered over, leaping into the air and sending another punishing column down to crush Portgas's stomach. Again he dissolved into fire, on his feet and attacking before Smoker could land.

"Flame arrow!"

A long, burning shaft of fire came barreling at Smoker, but he dissolved it in a shield of smoke and closed the distance between him and Portgas. The pirate had no intention of wasting the space. He drew back his hands, fists alight, then launched himself onto his opponent. He barreled into Smoker and knocked him to the deck, burning hands clutching the other mans' biceps. Smoker felt the back of his head strike the wood, and his body lurch, but as he moved to rise, he was stopped by a weight settling over him. Portgas had straddled his hips, arms forcing Smoker's down as he tried to punch himself free. Smoker jerked again, but Portgas pushed back, obviously struggling but keeping the other at bay.

For a skinny bastard he's strong…

"Oh no you don't," he said softly, interrupting Smoker's thoughts and his attempt to break free. "I can't keep letting you get away from me."

Smoker was so floored by the statement he stilled, staring up in bewilderment at the man. Their eyes locked again for just a moment, as the warm breeze blew Portgas's messy black locks about his face.

"You're the one who's always running!" Smoker spat, jerking free with a powerful swing of his arms and jumping to his feet in a fluid motion. He threw a column of smoke out and clutched Portgas's body like a vice. Smoker flung him against the deck with all his strength, and as the pirate cried out in pain the smoke tightened around him. "Let's see," he said softly, "will they sink our boat with you onboard? I wonder." The smoke continued tightening, squeezing the writhing form before Smoker.

"Flame commandment!" Portgas cried, disbanding the smoke with a powerful wave of fire and freeing himself. When Portgas came swirling back down to the deck, he let his feet fall heavily and huge bursts of flame shot in every direction. One struck Smoker dead in the chest, a hot blast that flung him across the ship and beat his head into the steal behind him. With a groan he hit the ground as Portgas came barreling across the deck towards him.

"Fire fist!" he shouted, flinging back an arm and leaping into the air, but his was cut short with a loud shout as another figure came in between them. Smoker was wheezing, a hand on his knee to steady himself, but with a grimace he looked up to see Tashigi standing before him protectively. She was clutching her sword, and her face was fierce and determined, but it was Portgas's expression that caught his attention for a moment. His face was dark, and his lips a grim line. He looked furious, and the glare wasn't leveled at him, but Tashigi. At once Smoker shot a worried look at his Lieutenant and made sure that when he rose it was to her side, where he could extend his jutte out before her. Drawing together they faced the scowling pirate, who was slowly stepping back. The three stared each other down a long moment, before with a scream Tashigi raised her sword and charged forward, followed immediately by Smoker. She swung her blade down through the haze of protective fire from Portgas's flame mirror, even as Smoker shot a line of white swirling smoke towards him. Portgas's brought his arms up defensively, strengthening his shield and blocking the sword, but was knocked back by the trail of smoke. He lurched back onto the deck, into the billows of smoke subtly surrounding him.

"Flame Fence!"

"White out!" Smoker screamed in almost perfect unison with Portgas. Even as Smoker's hand tightened into a fist, and Portgas's arm swung around his body, the smoke and fire collided into each other in a tumultuous swirl. Through the haze of heat and the swirling elements Smoker watched the pirate turn to face him. His chest was rising and falling with his heavy breathes, sweat and grime shimmering off his skin. He stared quietly at Smoker from across the dissipating elements, then turned his back and began towards the edge of the ship. Smoker watched his departure silently, body tense.

"Captain…what is he…should we stop him?"

Smoker shook his head slightly, not taking his gaze from Portgas's back.

"We might be able to overpower him together, but we'd never take all of them. If he's going to withdraw we can use the time to help the me-" Smoker looked to Tashigi. Before he could finish he heard a sharp, piercing whistle and he winced against its whine. He jerked his head back to the Moby Dick, where he saw Portgas standing on the water side of the railing, one hand casually holding on to the boat, the other lowering the offending whistle from his mouth.

The pirates aboard Smoker's ship paused in their battling, glancing up towards his figure. Portgas took a deep breath and began shouting across the cacophony, and as Smoker and Tashigi whirled around they saw the attackers disbanding. Flinging aside their opponents or turning and running they all bolted away towards Portgas. Smoker and Tashigi brandished their weapons and tensed as the crowd of pirates ran towards them, but instead of attacking they abandoned the other vessel, returning to humongous ship before them.

Another canon fire struck and shook the naval boat fiercely.

"Man your stations!" Smoker barked, pulling his guarded stare from the retreating fighters.

With a last sulking glance, Portgas swung over the rail and turned his back on the navy ship below.

When Smoker returned he was in a fury. He was defeated, and worse, confused. What the hell was going on with these god forsaken pirates? The battle itself had confounded him, as it seemed primarily a defensive battle on both fronts….which….really made no sense. On the navy's side, it'd been a matter of survival. They were outnumbered, and their ship was no match. Yet, the pirates had hardly been aggressors either, firing at only half power and letting them escape with only the weakest pretense at stopping them. Tashigi had been overjoyed and madly relieved, but Smoker was not so naïve. Whitebeard could have had them, he could have destroyed them….but perhaps they'd been too far beneath him. And if that was the case, why did he send his agents to torment them? Why was one of the most powerful men on the sea wasting his resources keeping tabs on an obscure naval captain and his crew? And why on earth was Portgas so interested in him? Them…it must be 'them,' it couldn't be that he was just that interested in one random naval officer….there must be something they wanted from his platoon, but what?

Smoker ran to the board, now nothing but Portgas and the White Beard Pirates, and felt an angry arm strike the wall as he aggressively leaned in to peer at the scrawling display. It didn't take him long to get frustrated and push himself heatedly away. Then he was pacing, he remembered that clearly. He remembered pacing, stomping, up and down the length of his new office. Brows furrowed, mind racing, heart pounding, stomping circles around his office. At length he'd found himself back at his desk and had half flung himself into the chair behind it, flopping down with a deep scowl. Here he sat, stomach bubbling, then he took a deep breath and sunk back into his chair, glaring at the board on the wall. Smoker's hand opened a drawer, and haphazardly patted around until it closed over a cigar. He brought the giant thing to his lips, eyes still glued on the board, when a wave of hot air blasted across the room.

His head jerked to the door, but he could do nothing but stare in disbelief as a huge stream of flame came whirling into his room. The long trail of fire came speeding up to his desk, off shoots snaking their way up the legs of the desk….and even his own. The flame moved quickly, too quickly to burn him, but long enough that he could feel its heat caress his body before it all swelled to join at the center of his desk before him, twisting and swirling as it materialized into a horribly familiar form.

Smoker's heart was pounding, and his gut clenched as Portgas solidified, ending with his palms flat on Smoker's desk to steady the body draped so casually against it. He leaned in closer still, chin cocked and large eyes staring provocatively at the marine. Portgas brought a long finger with a tiny, dancing burst of fire to point at the tip of Smoker's cigar.

"Hey Captain," he purred, "need a light?"

Smoker let out a guttural shout, then swung out a fist. Portgas flung himself down to avoid the blow, his stomach going flat on the desk. Smoker brought his other fist crashing into the pirate, who couldn't avoid the second. Smoker grabbed the pirate's medallions, jerking them into a choke hold before Portgas's body could slither from his desk.

"Now now," he wheezed, hands scrabbling against Smoker's wrists as they brutally tightened the constraints on his neck.

"You little bastard," he gritted. "How the fuck did you get in here?" His grasped tightened cruelly, but then something cut through his rage and determination. Portgas was smiling. Before Smoker could register, could react, Portgas's hand had flown to his pocket and returned with a smooth metal disc. He clasped it around Smoker's wrists, shoving the navy man's broad chest with all his strength to push him back down into his chair. Smoker flung up his other hand to strike Portgas, but the strange metal bracelet wrapped around his right arm lashed out to clasp his other wrist as well. Smoker gasped as a terrible nausea swept his body, and in his moment of confusion Portgas grabbed his now bound hands and forced them up over his head, draping them over his chair and leaving Smoker's arms pinned above his head.

Smoker jerked in his bonds, but couldn't break them. Instead he felt another wave of agony.

"You…how did you….you shouldn't be able to touch these either! How'd you even carry them in here?!" His head was throbbing, his arms aching like they'd spent hours struggling against the restraints.

"I have my ways." Portgas smirked and took a step back to view his handiwork. "Besides, they're not Seastone. Don't take it personally, they feel awful on everyone, user or not…and they're unbreakable from the inside. Something a mate of mine made, a specialty of the Whitebeards you might say." He settled himself back on Smoker's desk then turned with an almost polite interest to the man struggling before him. "Sure is tricky getting you alone, Hunter."

"How did you find my headquarters. Did you….did you follow me here?" Smoker shuddered, feeling the acute drain of the strange handcuffs. He was breathing heavily, but couldn't conceal it as he would have liked to.

The corner of Portgas's lips twerked.

"If I did?"

"You idiotic pirate," Smoker growled. "If you don't get out-"

"Oh, c'mon Captain, I just got here!" Portgas dropped his feet with their clunky boots into Smoker's seat, one on each side of his legs, then he propped his elbows on his knees and leaned in, much, much too close. Smoker felt the heat starting to pool in his stomach, the burning rage that was only becoming stronger through this horrific game of cat and mouse. "It's not that easy getting in here, you know." He cocked his head, and Smoker found himself again turned onto his ear. His anger swirled as he heard the tone in which Portgas had said that….almost….just the tiniest bit of….scolding? As if he was reminding Smoker exactly whose fault it was he'd been so inconvenienced.

Smoker, almost shaking with incredulity, brought his gaze to the other man.

"What?" He managed in a strangled voice. "What?"

It was Portgas's look that finally pushed Smoker to snap. Portgas smiled just a bit, giving his captive a face that was kind, playful…knowing.

"What. Is. Wrong with you? What? What is it? Why do you keep doing this? Breaking in here, sending me your fucking stupid little riddles! Every time you come near me you're risking everything!"

Portgas seemed taken back, and watched him with a hesitant stare.

"What are you looking for? What do you want from me?" In the silence that followed, broken only by Smoker's heavy breathing, Portgas stared at him heavily, a face that now Smoker could now read as contemplative. He didn't recognize then the signs of Portgas thinking, considering, judging, he didn't know the other man's stomach was in knots too. All he knew was his head was spinning, and he felt horribly weak. Horribly vulnerable. Then, Portgas sighed and a hand reached towards Smoker. Smoker braced himself, but the hand stopped a few inches from his face, and fell to his neck instead.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm crazy about you." his voice had lowered, had lost a hint of its normal drawl…and suddenly Smoker felt on edge, eyes snapping to slits. He tensed and shied away from the touch as Portgas's hand set of spirals of heat through his skin. Ah, so that was his game? Burn him alive? Torture by flaming touch? He glared viciously at the pirate, glared right up into his lazy eyes.

"You seem to enjoy mocking me. Am I a joke to you, Heatfist?" The accusation seemed to surprise Portgas, who drew back at first, but then fixed on a cocky, if weaker, smile before reaching out to flick a lock of gray hair back from the seething face of his prisoner.

"Only this mane," he began, but Smoker jerked his face away and returned with another intense glare.

"Go ahead," he rumbled, "burn me, beat me, char my flesh away inch by inch but I warn you,"

"What? But I'm not using my-" Portgas cast a confused look at his hand.

Smoker's voice was scathing, spitting back defiance as he stared, unafraid, at the man on his desk, "it will take much more than you to kill me."

Portgas rocked back, palms on his knees and head cocked. He watched Smoker with an amused face, slipping back behind that egotistical nonchalance that drove Smoker mad. A slow smile pulled up the side of his face, and then his heavy lidded eyes dropped down….down….settling on Smoker's lap. His gaze stayed there much too long before his eyes began a long lazy journey back up, slowly taking in every single inch of the man before him. Smoker could feel the sweat forming on his back, under his hairline….in the creases of his elbows. Portgas inched closer, still eating him slowly with his stare, edging himself to the end of Smoker's desk. In retrospect….if Smoker had registered how very close Portgas was to sitting in his lap, he might have been sweating from a different kind of nerves.

"You're something else, you know that?" Portgas had that same, aggravating playfulness on his face, the same mocking interest in his eyes. As if Smoker was nothing more than a plaything to a spoiled child. The arrogant bastard laughed, running a condescending touch across Smoker's cheek, a mocking gesture the marine couldn't bear.

Hate you. The thought burst alive, like a screech within his mind. I hate you.

His face burned, his insides burned, everything burned as Portgas's long fingers trailed from his cheek and began a slow descent down his neck. Smoker's heart was pounding, he could feel the horrible anticipation as he waited for the pirate's attack. The finger settled at the collar of his jacket, and slowly drew its warmth through the sweat that beaded at the rim of the clothes. Smoker shuddered, and as his eyes squeezed shut he felt Portgas's hand still. When he opened them again the pirate was staring at him as if hypnotized, color creeping across his freckled cheeks.

"I will get you Heatfist…" He'd gritted out into the horrible silence, face red and twisted with a fury so intense it was like pain. "I will."

Portgas had laughed a little, his free hand going, of all places, to brush Smoker's hair from his face again.

"I swear…I swear it. I'll get my hands on you, and I will personally walk you to the gates of Justice." Without realizing it his voice had dropped, he was almost whispering.

"Put your hands on me now," Portgas whispered back, taunting him….taunting him. Smoker shuddered again…it must have been the cuffs.

"I'll get you Heatfist…" he repeated fervently. "I will find you! No matter what it takes! No matter how long! I will chase you to the ends of this earth!"

"Of course you will!" the torturer cried in delight. He put his palms flush against the back of the chair on either side of Smoker's head, then leaned in, inches from his ear. "Smoke will always follow fire, Captain."

Smoker had been stunned, he could certainly remember and understand that much, up to here the story still made sense. "Stunned" hardly covered it really, the sensation of all that boiling rage vanishing, fucking vanishing in just a second, to be replaced by the most profound and frightening feeling of astonishment he'd ever experienced in his life. All of a sudden the nature of this…interrogation had changed completely –or, he supposed, he had just suddenly understood it- and for the first time the terrifying notion, and the disbelief that immediately followed it, of why Portgas had come occurred to him. His gut turned, his breath stopped, and in his utter shock he'd turned towards the voice, mouth open incredulously. Unable to think, unable to do anything, he'd just stared, stared at Portgas's growing smile. The soft smile, the sultry face, the warm breath that puffed against his cheek…. and then Portgas was leaning closer….closer… closer….and Smoker couldn't stop staring and then….the crash.

They both started, but Portgas didn't dart, or turn to flame and zip away. Rather, after his startled jerk his hands flew to clutch Smoker's arms, a protective gesture that lasted only a moment, as the sound of running quickly communicated to Portgas the nature of the noise. He was disentangled from the navy man and kicking a huge boot through the nearest window even as the door to Smoker's office was brutally knocked open. Through the shattering glass and Tashigi's shouts Smoker was dimly aware of the world he'd once understood around him, and of the blood rushing to his face leaving his ears buzzing and his cheeks flushed.

Portgas came to a jerking halt at the window, whirling around in the frame.

"Sorry…Looks like I'm running away again." He took something from his pants and tossed it across the room before leaping. A small silver key landed on the ground with a 'clink!' and slid across the wooden floor.

"Captain! Captain Smoker, thank God!" Tashigi was flitting around him like some sort of lunatic as he slowly brought his distant gaze towards her and the soldiers who'd barged in with her began swarming after the escaping pirate. He didn't feel a surge of anger at his subordinate, of secret disappointment, didn't feel lost in secret longing…nothing so dramatic. No, no he could truly say up to that point he was still so fucking confused that he didn't quite understand Portgas's desires….or the way his eyes burned when they were close to each other. No, no it wouldn't be until much later that night, when he was laying wide awake in the dark, that he'd even consider that Portgas might not have been taunting him. Or that maybe it wasn't just hate that made his stomach so hot when Portgas was near him….

"My God these restraints! Oh, he was so close to you!" Dimly Smoker could process the stress in her voice, the distress on her face as she struggled against his bonds. "Thank God I got here when I did! Who knows what that horrible pirate might have done!"

Yes…. yes, he'd been wondering the same thing.

Smoker knew he had a problem on his hands two weeks later. He'd been staring into his food, mechanically chewing and swallowing occasionally as he wandered mentally down a frightening path.

It….is all a game of course….but….but what on earth sort of game!

What on earth did Heatfist want….? And why did he make it seem like….he wanted…. Smoker mentally shook himself down.

No! No don't even!

But….the last time…An unwanted imagine of Portgas's lips, only inches from his own….maybe less…

No...this is ridiculous. For God's sake, he's a pirate and a man! He jerked a little at that thought, feeling heat creep across his cheek as his face struck a grimace. Oh for god's sake…was he even thinking these things?

But when you asked…. He tried to stop the train of thought, but the memory of Portgas, sitting so close to him, almost in his lap…..

Isn't it obvious? His deep voice rumbled. I'm crazy about you.

His hand squeezed an unfortunate fork and he felt again his cheeks beginning to burn.

Enough! He straightened curtly in his seat, banishing all thoughts of that wretched pirate and his freckled nose. Then another unwelcome memory snaked into his consciousness. It was the two of them on the streets of Roguetown, staring at each other, and the feeling of exhilaration that had coursed through him. Portgas's's hands wrapped almost innocently around the boot grinding into his chest…

Forcefully moving away from his treacherous thoughts he considered instead another possibility.

Perhaps….he knows? Smoker's brows furrowed thoughtfully. He'd never made an overt secret of his sexuality, but he hadn't broadcasted it either. It seemed unlikely that a high officer of the Whitebeard Pirates could have discovered, or become invested in the fact that one of the thousand naval officers after his head was gay. Yet it might offer an explanation for the outlandish, provocative behaviors. Was he mocking Smoker? Trying to exploit his personal life?

No…that was ridiculous. Surely even pirates have more pressing things to do with their time. Portgas was surely after something. But what? If he was following orders they weren't any that Smoker could understand! He began rubbing his chin with his palm, lost again in the dark, dangerous thoughts that had been insidiously dancing through his mind since the sleepless night after Tashigi had driven Heatfist and his absurdly close lips away. It was absolutely ludicrous of course….but looking back on the past hellish year, so many of Portgas's behaviors could….if one wanted to….be perceived….in a way…that almost…was he flirting with Smoker?

Smoker turned from his plate in disgust. He couldn't be! He couldn't be!

"There now, that's how a gentleman asks for a date!"

Unless….he wanted something, and was hoping to use Smoker…but what? Something only Smoker could give him. Favors for a friend locked away? Smoker racked his brain, but couldn't think of any recent arrests that would have been connected to Portgas…An ally inside the government? Surely there were easier targets for corruption….A distraction! For his brother! Yes…yes he'd been awfully testy that day Smoker had mentioned Luffy! But Smoker wasn't the only person interested in catching Strawhat Luffy….so why him?

Smoker's palm went to his face again, rubbing once more at his poorly shaven skin. The break ins….the letters…the hands on his boots…Why was Portgas so obsessed with Smoker anyway? Why was he doing this?

It couldn't be….he couldn't actually….like me…? He let his fork drop as he tiredly set his frazzled, blushing face into his hand, covering his eyes and nose.

"Sir! Sir!"

He looked up from his meal, wondering if he could look half as old as he felt, to see Tashigi cutting across the mess hall, a paper clutched in her hands.

"Sir, sir, have you seen it? The paper? I've got another clipping for you! Look, it's the Whitebeard pirate sir, it's Portgas-"

"Lieutenant, I can sincerely say that I don't want to read anything about that-"

"Oh, sir you want to see this one." She was breathless as she held out the paper. Smoker reached out and straightened in his seat, keeping an eye on his comrade as he took her offering. He unrolled the paper and at once froze as distantly he heard Tashigi beginning her earnest babble, perhaps something about the incident being reported on….It seemed the infamous Heatfist had found his way to the front page, but Smoker never made it to the article. The front page photograph, showed Portgas from the thighs up with his back to the camera, naked save his hat and medallions. He was looking over his shoulder, framing a devilish smile with one arm extended, then bent at the elbow, pointing a finger to the sky. A flaming tendril wound from this finger and formed a picture that floated near the exhibitionist's handsome face….A flaming heart, surrounding an unmistakable "S."

Tashigi stared intently at the provocative photograph, brows furrowed deeply.

"What do you suppose it means, Sir?"

His cigar fell from his numb lips.

A month ago, (only four weeks….it felt like so much more) he'd opened his office door, and tiredly fallen into his chair. His eyes fell to his window as he let out a deep sigh. It had been…a long week. A week spent going literally, truly, insane. Days spent in an almost mindless exercise of shuffling around the motions of a regular day contemplating what exactly Tashigi had interrupted, and why he was spending so much time thinking about freckles and tattoos and messy hair.

He shuddered at the thought, and then shuddered again because he'd been shuddering for all the wrong reasons. He was starting to feel warmth creep into his cheeks again….and other places. He'd spent the last week running as hard and as fast as he could from a fact that stood, waiting, in the recesses of his willing consciousness. A fact that, in that moment alone in his office, he could admit, if only to himself, was going to remain there waiting. Staring out the window, he knew he'd spent the last week thinking about nothing, absolutely nothing, but Portgas, and that his mania wasn't, maybe had never been, anything else. He didn't care about the Whitebeards or their schemes, he didn't care about the Strawhats, he cared even less about the commodores and their orders than usual. It wasn't an obsession anymore, it was a need. To catch, to hold, to posses! To finally get his hands on that fucking pirate…..only what he wanted to do with those hands began changing….and that was…a problem.

His day had ended with an awkward dinner with his subordinate, who had at last gathered the courage to question her Captain. Tashigi had stared at him with her big trusting eyes, full of concern for the man she still believed was sane.

"Sir….are you…alright, Sir?"

"What!" He'd said too quickly. "Why? What are you asking for?"

"Well…I…" she looked uneasily at her food. "You just haven't seemed yourself lately."

There was nothing but silence, as he stared at her, lips tight. Himself? As if he even could remember who that was.

"You, um, you've looked a little…tired and, and tense. I mean, more than usual, Sir. And, um, well, especially in the last few days…You've been, jumpy. Sir." She said at last.

"Jumpy," he repeated, almost mindlessly.

"Yes. That is, you've seemed so on edge. Jumping at every sound, glancing around, rubbing your face all the time. And….guilty. You…" Her shoulders dropped just a little, timidly meeting Smoker's blank stare. "…you've just got this look about you all the time. Sir if…if something…look you know that…" she sputtered a few moments, then her lips tightened and she reached out to put a bracing grip over his hand. Tashigi stared at him openly, a warm current of reassurance and kindness flowing from her touch and her presence. "I'm here, Captain," she said firmly, "No matter what."

Smoker's felt a jerk in his chest, and in that insane moment he'd almost told her. Gain an ally, someone to help him sort through this madness. Perhaps saying it out loud, telling her he was being pursued by a half mad pirate who's inexplicable affection was driving him to distraction, perhaps that would be liberating! ….or….maybe it'd just be incriminating.

And really, what could he say?

"A world class criminal is in love with me, and I get some very confused feelings when I think about him!"

No….no perhaps this conversation wasn't going to alleviate his suffering. Perhaps, rather than giving him some healthy perspective and making the whole thing ridiculous, maybe what it would do instead is make the whole thing real. Maybe she'd feel very differently about the time she'd spent helping him pursue Portgas, especially if she called into question exactly why they'd been pursing him….or who exactly had been chasing who. Maybe she would recoil that sweet hand, maybe after almost ten years of friendship she would avoid him, see him as a pervert. And maybe she'd even find out that he had a picture of Portgas that wasn't up on his board, but stuffed inside a book, wrapped in a cloth, at the bottom of his deepest and most filled draw. A picture he'd cut out of a recent newspaper article.

"Of course," he'd said with a chalky, dry tongue and a mechanical motion, "of course, Lieutenant, I'm fine."

The following day caused him to call that statement (and perhaps some other things) into serious doubt. He walked through the hallway door, -recently repaired from Tashigi's barge in- and briskly down to his own. He grabbed the handle, and heard a sharp click. Smoker froze, looking down in confusion. He tried the door again, but it didn't move. His door was….locked? Smoker scowled and cast a confused look behind his shoulder, then back to the door handle, but then he stopped, and his throat went dry. He stared at the door as his blood began racing. He knew. He didn't know how, he didn't know how it could be, but he knew. He knew exactly why his office was locked, and who was in there waiting.

Smoker flung himself against the door, once, twice, then with a shout lashed out and kicked open the door to his own fucking office. He lurched inside, and purveyed, sure enough, the handiwork of Whitebeard's Second Division Commander.

His filing cabinets must have been rampaged, there was no other explanation for how many papers were scattered through the room. The floor was lined with loose sheets, pens, his transponder snail, his maps. In the center of the room his large chair laid turned over on its side, having been moved from behind his desk. His eyes stopped at said desk and traveled up it to find a familiar pair of boots planted on his work surface. There he was, standing on the table top, wearing one of Smoker's very own leather jackets. He was currently holding a handful of papers, which he was gleefully flinging up into the air with abandon, but when he saw Smoker he froze, flame withering from his fingers. His mouth was full of six or seven of Smoker's cigars, which tumbled, thankfully unlit, down to the desk when his lips pulled into a huge smile.

Smoker had been unable to react at first, just stood one hand on the door handle staring the chaos around him, unspeaking. Slowly he watched the slow, swirling descent of a charred paper as it came to land at his feet and then looked up into the lazy eyes that gleamed at him from under the rim of a large hat. Then, he was running. Darting into the room he let the door slam shut behind him as he flew across the office. Portgas's face lit up in delight and he leapt from the desk to begin his escape, thrilled at having engaged Smoker once again, having riled him up and preparing for another battle. Clearing his over turned chair, leaping through the whirling papers and the wisps of ash, Smoker pounded across the floor. Portgas must have sensed him, he'd looked back over his shoulder and his face was flush with exhilaration and surprise….hadn't counted on him being so close. His eyes locked on Smokers', the tiniest of pleased smiles inching across his face he turned more so he was running almost completely backwards as he began his transition. But he wouldn't finish, not this time. The flames had begun, his edges turning into wisps, when Smoker leapt. He barreled into the lunatic pirate, arms stretching out to clasp around what remained humanoid in Portgas's frame. As the two men hurdled through the air, Captain Smoker of the World Government Navy caught Portgas D. Ace midair, and covered the pirate's lips with his own. Ace's eyes widened, then immediately closed blissfully as two long muscled arms reappeared from the flames to wrap around the navy man's back.

Ace solidified and they hit the ground with a resounding thud and a flutter of papers, never breaking from their embrace or their kiss. There they had lain on the floor, Ace flat on his back, Smoker propped on one forearm, kissing and kissing, surrounded by the haphazard remains of Smoker's office. A few scraps of paper remained airborne, slowly making their way back down onto the floor, the over turned chair, the ajar drawers. Ace's hands had settled on Smoker's face, one palm on each haggard cheek, and were pulling him in, deeper and deeper into the waiting warmth. He lifted a leg to rest his foot flat on the floor, still keeping his soft (how strangely soft they'd felt) hands urging Smoker on. Smoker gently pried his lips away long enough to turn his head and kiss Ace from the other side. Smoker's free hand ran down Ace's side, settling on a hip.

How much time passed on the floor of his office that day he still wasn't sure. Time literally stopped the minute he'd felt their lips touch, and he remained in that strange limbo until they were again broken apart. The interruption this time came in the form of the alarm siren, and at the time Smoker didn't know what would have happened if something hadn't intervened… although, he supposed he could guess now. The earsplitting whine of the naval warning siren sliced through the air, screaming at soldiers everywhere to assemble for battle, and for their captain to come back to his senses. They'd stopped, eyes still closed, lips still touching, and slowly, slowly Smoker had pulled away and let his eyes open to look down at the breathless pirate. They stared at each other, just stared in silence as the siren wailed on.

Which of them would have been the first to speak, or even what they could have said, Smoker would never know, because just a few long, silent moments later the air was filled again with a sound he was starting to associate with his office: shattering glass. There, perched in what remained of his newly repaired window, was a tall man with a shock of blonde hair and large wings where his arms should have been. Smoker stared in bewilderment at the talons that clutched his windowsill, wondering idly if perhaps this might not all just be a terrible dream.

"Ace!" shouted the wild blonde, flinging out a winged arm. "Ace, c'mon!"

A frantic scream was heard, Smoker's otherwise useless men must have spotted more of the Whitebeards.

"Ace we have to go, now!" cried the other urgently.

Ace stared a long moment at this man, then turned earnestly back to Smoker. Their eyes locked and then Ace's face crumbled into an expression of distress. Biting his lip, he turned on his side and, letting his palms fall with an angry slap and a hissed curse, scrambled out from under the other man. Bounding across the room with just a few of his huge strides, he planted one boot on the window ledge then leapt out the broken frame into the waiting grasp of his accomplice. Clutching Ace's shoulders, Marco beat his wings and tore away from the base amidst the explosions aimed at them.

And then he was gone and Smoker was sitting alone in the remnants of ashy papers, broken glass, and a setting sun. Outside he could hear the chaos, the explosions, the screams. He wiped a shaking hand over his mouth, then brought his dazed stare to a certain wanted sign on his cluttered, haphazard board.

Two of the longest weeks that had ever, or would ever, exist followed. The first few days were merely a haze of misery; a long, confusing blur. Smoker wandered through something that resembled his daily routine, staggering about in a daze. Unclear when he woke up, or went back to bed, unsure what his food tasted like. The only certainty he felt in that week was breathing, and whenever someone nearby used a word that ended with "ce," he wasn't even sure he was doing that. The men were tense, Tashigi was in a panic, no one knew what to do about the Captain who was so lost in his thoughts he didn't seem aware of his surroundings.

After his time spent pole shocked and in denial came the anger. Seemingly unable to understand what had happened, he could feel the mounting shame and guilt of having let it happen at all. As for the other party, he'd vanished and this time it seemed he was staying gone. Not one word. Not one word, not a scrap of news, and what had he expected? Cards? Letters? Goddamn chocolates? No, no that pirate had already won this sick, twisted little game, and he wouldn't be back. He was never going to see that pirate again.

What had he expected? What had he expected? What had he been thinking? The kiss burned through his mind, darkening his every thought. He was appalled by what he'd done, and humiliated by how he'd relished it. How in those moments on the floor with Ace there hadn't been anything else in his world. He hadn't meant to, it hadn't been his plan when he broke down his own office door…but the minute his arms had wrapped around that dissipating body it was like he'd lost all control. And now where was he? Disgraced and pathetic, so ashamed of himself he knew he deserved the ridicule Ace would heap upon him. He could see it now, Ace sitting, surrounding by his comrades in arms and any other pirate looking for a laugh, telling the story of his great plot. The seduction of the weakest naval captain he'd ever met. Now he was sitting around, laughing and telling how he'd made a fool out of the White Hunter.

Or perhaps worse. Perhaps it had all been a ploy to cast dishonor on the navy. An attack from within! Maybe Ace would go public with the story, and denounce to the world what he'd done with the soon-to-be former Captain Smoker. And maybe no one would believe him, but there'd be reporters, there'd be a scandal and the commodores would certainly be on his back. And he'd played right into his hands….why? Why had he done it? He thought awkwardly of reports he used to read, of scandals between high ladies and rogues, or between old men and young girls, and he thought of how he'd scoff when he read them. How he'd heap judgement on those involved, condemning them as weak or as foolish. And what had he been? An officer of the navy rolling around the floor like a horny sixteen year old with one of the most high profile criminals of their day?

Day in and day out he was tormented by these thoughts, and the horrible memories of Ace's warm skin and soft hands. With his agony came a new found energy, returning him to a manic state, a need to move, to do, to work. Brutal training sessions, endless runs, hours spent swinging his baton with all his strength. He'd go until he was exhausted, and then he'd keep going. Finally, when all of his muscles ached, and his body could barely move, he would stalk to the showers and stand in burning water before Tashigi would timidly invite him to eat with her. There he'd stare at a dinner he didn't want, choke through a few bites, and then head to his chamber for a long sleepless night void of distractions from his embarrassment.

Two or so weeks of this unstable existence found him standing wrathfully in his evening shower. The water was scalding. The tiny burning droplets made his skin red, but he remained, glaring angrily at nothing. The turmoil that had been boiling inside him since the call of the emergency siren came to a head that night, as he stood trapped in excruciating thoughts of Ace. Smoker jerked his head, water flinging aside, face caught in a grimace as the torturous image flashed through his mind again and again. Ace, head flung back, laughing about him, laughing at him.

The shame, the embarrassment, the pain, it all came rushing out in a strained, guttural shout, and then there was a crack echoing through the showers. Whether it was the tiles on the wall, or the fingers he undoubtedly broke along with them he wasn't sure. As blood began pooling and falling from his abused knuckles he sadly closed his eyes. Smoker stood, chest heaving, clutching his bloody, throbbing fist, and feeling a terrible, empty ache in his stomach. The water swirled red around his feet and then down the drain as Smoker brought a miserable gaze down, biting his lip.

He was never going to see that pirate again…

At least until today…he'd been making slow progress up the steps; one hand holding his day's work, the other reaching to run a few gloved fingers idly across the wall. His gaze had been on his boots as he ascended, but when he brought it back up it was to the sight of a shirtless pirate standing across the hall before his door. Smoker froze in his tracks, face completely still.

Manipulation, lies, mockery, gloating, his freckled skin, oh he'd been ready for all of it, expecting it even as he tensed, and his eyes became angry darts….what he hadn't been ready for was the look of timidity, the way Ace had met his eyes. Ace saw him, his breath hitched, and he took two earnest steps forward. Then he stopped, a look of caution, of uncertainty, replacing the relief of moments before. His hand paused in the air, then drew back into his chest apologetically. He looked for that moment as lost and unsure as Smoker felt, just a tiny, tiny touch of vulnerability in his hesitation. And then Ace gently brought that stare, that stare that had first enticed Smoker on the streets of Rogue Town, up to meet him.

It was like watching complete strangers, replaying the events of the evening. Smoker marveled at the way he'd flung the files and the transponder snail to the ground and had run, run, to Ace, who barely had time to open his arms before being crushed against the officer's body. One gloved hand flung to his messy black hair, crushing their faces closer together, keeping Ace attached as Smoker turned. Never breaking their contact, his other hand was opening the door and they were stumbling through the archway together into the darkness.

He let out a great sigh; releasing billows of smoke, and who knows what else, as his eyes drifted shut again. Smoker rested this way a few minutes, eyes shut, back against his headboard, lost in these thoughts and memories and in the comforting silence of his room. It was really simple enough, when he looked at things right. He had been chasing that pirate for so long, with such intensity, he had just allowed himself to get confused. It was the thrill of the hunt, that was all. A momentary attack of impulse spurred by months of obsession and desire that had become inflamed in him to create a different desire. One that he had clearly satisfied now. Yes, that's the ticket! He had clearly gotten the virus out of his system, sweated it out. Now, he just needed to find this idiot's shoes, and his hat, sneak him out of the port, and the hell out of his life.

He sighed again, then opened his eyes in time to see Ace groggily open one. Smoker watched in complete silence as the one sleepy eye regarded him, closed again, and then both of those heavy lidded eyes opened and were staring right through him. Pierced by something he hadn't yet labeled, (or accepted) Smoker leaned forward, and took the other's chin gently in his callused hand. With his other, he pulled the cigar from his mouth, and tossed it to the floor before pressing his palm against the strong, bare back of his lover.

Smoker was certain he meant to toss him out, but Ace groaned against his lips, and he found himself tossing him down onto the mattress instead, rolling the criminal's naked body under his own.