notes: Since Hina is 32 in the present series, and the flashbacks are set three years prior, she is 29 in them and Sanji is a sweet 16. Oh, the scandal. Italics denote flashback.

"Coffee and Cigarettes"

Sanji slipped into the galley, letting the door swing shut on the sounds of the party out on the deck. Nami had third watch tonight, and Sanji wanted to finish brewing her coffee before he turned in. He smiled wryly as he got the coffee tin down from a shelf. Sanji knew what Zoro would - and probably did - say about this little routine. "Soft-ass womanizer." "Whipped." Whatever. Let the asshole say what he wanted.

The truth was, Sanji liked doing things for Nami. Though she made a show of playing it cool - just a worldly vixen getting the adoration due to her - Sanji liked the way her face brightened when he approached with a snack, and the childish delight she took in having her commands enthusiastically obeyed. Knowing what he did about her (and Sanji would never let on that he knew much more about her than she about him), he used every act of seeming servitude, every thoughtless order as a reminder that Nami, contrary to appearances, was not used to being indulged.

This, to him, set her apart from all the other girls and women who'd stepped foot on the Baratie, all the coddled daddy's girls and petulant debutantes and officers' wives bored out of their privileged minds. He'd fawned and waxed romantic for them too, but it had been easier to do it as pure performance, back then. Anything to get the spoiled rich girls smiling and maybe order an extra dessert. Sanji kept it up with Nami because, well, that kind of behavior was as habit-forming as smoking. And anyway, he'd rather have died than admit he'd underestimated her that first day, had taken her for just another spoiled brat along for the ride, and then had kept on underestimating her until they were practically on top of the Grand Line.

Funny, though, Sanji thought as he set a pan of milk on the stove to warm. Hadn't he been in love with one of those brats, not so long ago? And wasn't he really doing this bit of song and dance with Nami, different as she was, so that he wouldn't...well, never mind. Sanji finally had a moment to himself. No harm in remembering the past while he waiting for the coffee to brew.

She came in with some officer. They were seated in the middle of the floor, a couple to be seen and admired. Sanji caught sight of her when the kitchen door swung open to let in an order. He stared as she lit a cigarette with a careless, practiced hand. She inhaled and blew out smoke in a smooth breath before taking the cigarette from her mouth to laugh at something the officer said. Sanji put down his knife and followed an order of orange duck out the kitchen and onto the restaurant floor. He snagged the sleeve of Jameson as the Maitre d' bustled by the rear of the restaurant.

"Who's that?" Sanji kept his voice low and nodded towards the woman.

Jameson smirked, following his gaze. "Captain Hina, you mean? Her father's some bigshot over at Marine Headquarters, so she plays at being officer. Not a bad-looking face though, eh? Not to mention that body. Almost makes you with more girls would get up in uniform."

The same thoughts had been running vaguely through Sanji's mind, but he flushed to hear them spoken out loud. In Jameson's mouth, they sounded vulgar and low, especially as the Captain Hina, with her cool posture and brisk, keen face, did not look like she was 'playing' at anything.

"Let me wait her table," Sanji said, not taking his eyes off her.

"No way." Jameson snorted and turned to go.

Sanji tightened his grip on Jameson's sleeve. "Come on. You're understaffed anyway."

The Maitre d' twitched his arm away from Sanji irritatedly. "Forget it, Sanji. Hate to break it to you, kid, but you're not the only one in this joint who likes waiting on a pretty lady. 'Sides," he added, not unkindly, "she's out of your league. Hina's high-class, old money stuff. Not the nouveau riche type we usually get. She's not gonna be interested in some wet-behind-the-ears punk like you, for all you're Assistant Chef." He patted Sanji's shoulder in a fatherly, just-looking-out-for-you sort of way. Sanji resisted the urge to bash him into the wall.

"The soup, then," he said instead through gritted teeth. "I'm doing soups today. Let me bring it to her. Compliments of the Assistant Chef."

Jameson waved him off. "All right, all right. The soup course's yours. If you can win her over with soup, you'll have my undying respect as a man."

Sanji didn't tell him what he could do with his undying respect. "Thanks," he said. He ambled back into the kitchen to make the soup.

She was tapping her cigarette against an ashtray with one hand when he brought the soup to her, and tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear with the other. She didn't bother to look up from her conversation when he set the bowl in front of her, and waved him away with a dismissive white hand.

"Is there anything else I can bring for you, Madam?" Sanji asked in his most sophisticated voice. He, in turn, did not bother to look at the officer as he set the bowl of soup in front of him. "Another glass of wine? A sampler? The cherries for today's tarts have just come in; would Madam care to taste one?"

"We'd like some peace and quiet," the officer snapped, and Sanji did not have to look to know that he was red with indignation.

"Nothing, thank you," Captain Hina raised an eyebrow at her companion, not Sanji.

Sanji pressed on smoothly, "Is Madam sure she does not require some trifle not currently at her disposal? I assure Madam that what I have is much bigger than what Sir can offer."

Hina's eyes lifted to him at last, a smile twitching at her lips. At Sanji's elbow, the officer was sputtering with rage. "Listen, you little upstart," he snarled. "I don't know what you're playing at -"

Sanji's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Why, Sir, I intend no offense. I refer, of course, to a flower bouquet. No lady's table should go unadorned." He finally risked a glance at Hina. Her face was openly amused now, her eyes traveling back and forth from the fuming officer to him. When she caught his eyes, her gaze was appraising and deliberately slow, and Sanji knew he'd won. He bowed and turned smartly on his heel to head back to the kitchen.

She stole up beside him as he was standing at the rail for a cigarette break. Without saying a word, she cupped his chin in her slim fingers and kissed him. Sanji kissed her back, earnestly and carefully, knowing he was being tested. When they broke apart, she said, "You're still a little boy, after all." Her voice was mocking, but the way she pressed her body against his was soft and coaxing. Sanji, intoxicated by her nearness and the way she invited him to want her without seeming to want him, could only nod dumbly.

She went on, "Inform the Maitre d' that I will come to the Baratie on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, precisely at noon, and that I expect a table ready and laid, with or without flowers. Furthermore, I expect you to be finished with your duties, whatever they may be, by no later than 2 o'clock. Is this understood?"

He nodded again. Hina ran the pad of her thumb over his lips. "If nothing else," she remarked, "I shall teach you how to smoke." Then she was gone, not to return again until Saturday.

That was how Sanji's affair with Black Cage Hina began.

Sanji could hear the party outside winding down as Usopp climbed up the rigging to take first watch. His crewmates, sleepily happy with drink, began coming into the galley to dump empty mugs on the table.

"Watch it," Sanji snapped as Zoro came to the sink and sloshed a half-full tankard precariously close to the coffee pot. "This coffee's for Nami and Robin."

Zoro snorted. "You're a real whipped dog, you know that?" Not waiting for a reply, the green-haired swordsman wandered out the door and down the stairs to the men's quarters. Nami followed him, talking sleepily with Robin, not seeming to notice the effort Sanji was putting in for her.

Sanji didn't particularly mind. Nami never did thank him for the coffee, either before or after she drank it. But in the mornings he always found her mug, stirring spoon, and coffee pot meticulously washed and set out to dry. Nami was, Sanji knew, basically selfish, just like Hina, but here was the thing. She was also basically kind.

He looked up to see Luffy and Chopper hovering somewhat unsteadily by the door. Neither of them, nor Usopp for that matter, could really hold their liquor. Sanji wondered briefly if it was strictly responsible to allow them unrestricted amounts of alcohol during these parties, then dismissed the thought. Who was he to go around regulating his captain's drink?

"You coming to bed, Sanji?" Luffy asked, smiling lopsidedly.

"Yup." He checked to make sure the coffee and milk were warming safely, then crossed the galley to the door in a few easy, long strides. Hoisting Chopper up in one arm - the reindeer protested half-heartedly before falling dead asleep - he slung the other around Luffy's shoulders. Sanji could count on the refridgerator not getting raided tonight, at least.

Together, the captain humming a silly little song to himself and the cook loping along in companionable silence, they headed down below deck to get a few hours' sleep.

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notes: Well, the story's finally starting to go somewhere. Obviously I invented a lot of stuff about the Baratie's clientele and about half of Hina's character. While I get the impression that the Baratie must serve/fight pirate crews pretty regularly, it also seems like the type of place that's really chic for rich people to dine at. Next chapter: more flashbacks (maybe?) The difference between Nami and Robin, and I'm not talking bust sizes.