Smoker spilled a drop of stew onto his stomach when one of his drunken subordinates stumbled into his back as he left the serving line. He clutched his bowl tighter and righted himself as best he could on the icy dock. He turned to glare at his marine but found the idiot obliviously inhaling his food as he walked away. It was a disgusting display, but one that Smoker could forgive after the shit show of a day the G5 had. Seeing as they faced weapons of mass destruction, a traitorous Vice Admiral, and a goddamn mess of pirates, Smoker could forgive accidental moments of insubordination for the time being.
He resolved that there were exactly two things that had to happen before he would even consider giving a shit about small indiscretions again. He had to eat a hot meal and find a clean pair of dry socks. God help Trafalgar Law if his little stunt threw all of his clothing into the ocean. If not for his devil fruit, Smoker was convinced the snow would be sending him well on his way to a mild case of trench foot.
Goddamn was Smoker ever so sick and tired of snow. Even though he never truly felt cold after eating the Plume-Plume fruit, he remembered visiting winter islands during his years as an Ensign. More importantly, he remembered hating it. His hands always felt like they were freezing to his cigar every time he stepped out of command posts for a smoke break. The only silver lining to his current situation was that the blizzard that had plagued his marines since they arrived had finally died down. Now, if only he could get rid of the snow, the wet socks, and the pirates.
The Strawhats were just as confusing now as they were two years ago. He thought he had finally figured out why Strawhat saved him in Alabasta. He concluded it was a passing whim from a cocky rookie; however, that interpretation of Strawhat's actions didn't match the man before him now. Two years had changed him, and Smoker could see that the boy he thought Strawhat was could not have grown into the menace currently begging his cook for scraps.
"Sanji!" Strawhat whined, his rubbery arms winding up Blackleg's leg. "I just want seconds!"
"No! You shitty Captain!" Blackleg shouted back. His foot slamming down on Strawhat's head, pining his face to the ground. "You've had plenty!"
The amount of information Smoker gathered on the Strawhat Pirates in the last hour alone could fill a file cabinet. If not for Trafalgar's watchful eye, Smoker would have his intel boys halfway to headquarters by now. For the first time since their disappearance, the marines had new insight into not only Strawhat himself but also his notorious crew.
Smoker walked away from the serving line, clenching his bowl tightly in his hands. He made his way to the edge of the crowd before resting behind a storage crate someone had pulled from Caesar's barge. Sitting on the ground wasn't preferable, but at least it kept him out of the wind.
Smoker's eyes raked over his men from a distance, watching them drink and gamble with pirates. Of the ones he couldn't see, he used his haki. He could sense Tashigi somewhere on the barge with the Cat Burglar, and he could pinpoint the first shift of the G5 recovery team clearing rubble from the laboratory.
Smoker couldn't sense any present danger and turned his attention back to his stew. He hated relying on scum for food, but Trafalgar's destruction of his ship left Smoker and his marines with few options and even fewer resources. Even so, he couldn't deny the smell wafting from the bowl was making his mouth water. The smell alone soothed his aches from that shit storm of a battle. He could feel the lessening of the intense throbbing in his jaw from where Vergo had sucker-punched him, his wrists stopped stinging from cuts left from the sea prism stone cuffs, and his heartfelt more secure in his chest. The first bite was a godsend and better than anything he's eaten on a marine ship in the last decade, but he'd die before complimenting a pirate chef.
Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, Blackleg's voice cut through the air as he approached. Smoker peeked from behind the crate and saw Blackleg angrily stomping across the dock, his famed "black leg" wrapped in a stiff wooden splint and a wooden crutch shoved under his arm.
"You bastard, you ratted me out to Chopper." Blackleg hissed at someone behind him. He walked with little regard for the splint. His foot kicked up snow as he stomped along, and his crutch dug deeply into the slush making him hobble. Just over his shoulder, Smoker could see a flash of bright green.
"You're the one with weak bones, Twirly Brow." The Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro sniped back rounding Blackleg's shoulder and matching his pace. His arm was casually draped on the hilts of his swords as he followed his crewmate. Roronoa remained relaxed as he gracefully dodged his crew mate's attempt to smack him with the crutch. His bored expression didn't waver as he listened to his companion curse under his breath and shoot daggers at him from under his bangs. The pair paid no attention to Smoker as they passed, completely oblivious to their enemy sitting a few feet away. They were absorbed in their argument.
"I wasn't finished serving, Moss-head." Blackleg snarked as he struggled to light the cigarette clutched between his teeth. His hair whipped around as the wind blew his light out. Smoker could see irritation lines etch themselves across his forehead. With one hand occupied with the crutch, he was playing a fool's game.
"Brook said he'd take over, Shit-cook." Roronoa pursed his lips and replied calmly. Blackleg scoffed in irritation continuing to struggle with his lighter. The furious clicks of a lighter failing to ignite increased, and Roronoa rolled his eyes, pivoted in front of Blackleg, and forced him to stagger to a stop. Before Blackleg could protest, or go after him with the crutch again, Roronoa brought his hands up and cupped Blackleg's lighter and cigarette. His larger hands completely covered the cook's.
Blackleg's visible eyebrow raised slightly and Smoker could just barely see the slight upturn of his lips as he lit the cigarette. "Thanks, bastard." Blackleg said softly, and he took a deep drag.
Roronoa smiled back before leaning closer and gently grabbing Blackleg's hips. Blackleg responded by leaning against him and putting most of his weight on the swordsman. He laid his head against Roronoa and lazily blew smoke over his shoulder.
Smoker could feel his eyebrows raise to his hairline. Never in his life did he think that two of the Strawhats most notorious members were like that. Smoker had been on the seas for almost twenty years. He knew all about the things lonely men got up to on long voyages. The hushed and hurried movements in cargo holds and darkened bunk rooms. The knowing silence from bunkmates who wouldn't dare cast stones in glass houses. Fraternization was just a part of life as a sailor, but true same-sex relationships were a rarity. They were criminalized by the World Government hundreds of years ago. Even if Roronoa and Blackleg were already criminals, it was still a surprise. All reports said they hated each other.
Smoker didn't want to watch the unfolding scene of intimacy next to him, but his shock rooted him to the spot. He watches in stunned silence as Roronoa's hands moved to Blackleg's back before dipping down to rest on his ass. The swordsman pulled the cook even closer before putting his mouth right over Blackleg's ear and muttering, "Just doing my part and helping the invalids of the New World."
Almost instantaneously, Blackleg reared back in rage, dropped his crutch, and raised his injured leg to kick his crewmate. As his leg gained momentum, Roronoa crouched down, and in one clean motion, grabbed Blackleg around the waist and hoisted him over his shoulder. The move shook a shocked shout out of Blackleg as he squirmed in the swordsman's hold, and he made a move to knee Roronoa in the stomach. Roronoa's let out a pained groaned as he was hit but powered through the pain to wrap a strong arm across the cook's legs, pinning them to his chest.
In desperation, Blackleg pushed against Roronoa's back with his hands as his legs were completely incapacitated by the swordsman's tight grip. In retaliation to the hands digging into his shoulders, Roronoa tilted his head and harshly bit Blackleg on the ass, spurring a barrage of indignant swearing from the cook.
"Put me down, you fucking neanderthal!" Blackleg screamed still halfheartedly struggling. Roronoa laughed and turned around and started carrying Blackleg back to party on the far side of the dock. As Blackleg's face became visible again, Smoker could see him covered in a bright red blush from his hairline to his Adam's apple. His cigarette was still firmly clamped in his clenched jaw, and his hands were pressed deeply into Roronoa's muscular back to keep his torso supported.
"Chopper said to stay off that leg. So, doctor's orders." Roronoa said as Blackleg wiggled. "And Luffy said to listen to Chopper. So, captain orders, cook." Blackleg frowned in defeat and relaxed in the swordsman's hold. His restless legs stilled, his arms found a comfortable position, and he sighed as he let himself be carried away, once again calmly smoking in the embrace of his crewmate.
Before they were completely out of earshot, Smoker heard Blackleg quietly murmur "Marimo" in an exasperated tone.
"What?" Roronoa replied harshly.
"You're going the wrong way." Roronoa's spluttering denials were the last thing Smoker heard before the two were out of earshot. Smoker let out a relieved breath and banged his head on the crate behind him as soon as they were gone. Smoker could now fill two file cabinets with the information he's gathered about the Strawhats pirates in the last five minutes.
While typically, pirates being in same-sex relationships barely entered the Navy's radar, the relationships of high-profile pirates mattered a great deal. They affected pirate alliances, how the World Government dealt with their media coverage and generally impacted the strategies the Navy would employ to capture them. Using loved ones against pirates whether civilians or fellow pirates was a common practice under Akainu's command. It was cruel, but by god, if it wasn't efficient.
Smoker could see it now, a vision of a chained Roronoa Zoro or Blackleg Sanji on the scaffold surrounded by marines. He could hear the pained scream of their partner as the swords dropped on their exposed neck. He had heard the scream before, and he already knew how it would sound out of the mouths of Roronoa and Blackleg. Smoker had no love lost for pirates, but the scream was always animalistic and chilled him to his bones. It kept him up at night.
Smoker turned his attention back to Blackleg's stew in his hands, still miraculously warm despite the weather. As he watched chunks of carrots float by, his vision of execution shifted to a different scene. One from just a few months ago.
He remembers the bar on Grove 18 in the Sabaody Archipelago he visited on the first day of much-needed shore leave. It was nestled under a large root near the harbor. It wasn't his typical spot, but it was likely devoid of his subordinates. His men had long since dispersed across the more popular groves of the archipelago, meaning Smoker had the seedier groves practically to himself.
The saloon was dimly lit and a few people tensed in their seats when he walked in. No one made a move to leave, so he decided to roll with it and sat at the bar. He dug his fingernails into the polyurethane-covered hardwood as he waited for the bartender, and he listened to the giggling of two women a few tables away. When Smoker glanced at them out of the corner of his eye, he almost dropped his cigar.
Captain Tashigi sat there, unaware her commanding officer was watching, with a drink in her gloved hand and stunningly beautiful redheaded woman in her lap. The woman was playing with Tashigi's hair and fiddling with the buttons on her shirt. Tashigi was smiling into her neck.
Smoker slid off his seat and, as stealthily as he could, slipped out of the bar. Regulation demanded he report Tashigi immediately, and if he did she could be court-martialed, discharged, and imprisoned for a maximum of five years for what he had just witnessed. Smoker rubbed his hands through his hair and leaned against a root that let him look through the saloon's windows without being seen. Smoker lit another cigar and watched the bubbles rise around him. Through the window, he could see the redhead get up and lead Tashigi deeper into the bar. Tashigi all the while smiling a smile she typically reserved for rare swords. It made her whole face light up and she looked ten years younger.
As he stood outside that bar, he knew at that moment he would never file that report. It wasn't justice to take away Tashigi's smile.
The same feeling filled him as he watched a carrot and green bean dance around in the rich brown broth. He shook his head to clear the memory from his mind and brought the bowl to his lips. By the time the bowl was empty, he resolved the brass would not learn about the swordsman and the cook of the Strawhat pirates from him. He would let the secret be just another thing left behind in the snows of Punk Hazard.