#siegescript

“Shit, (Y/N), what the hell were you thinking?!” Law barked, flinging the medical bay door open and storming into the room. He made a beeline for the supplies he needed as Penguin and Shachi followed after him, bringing you in on a stretcher and transferring you over to the infirmary bed. You winced slightly and bit back a curse as they accidentally jostled you a bit, and Penguin grimaced sympathetically as a means of silent apology. You forced the best smile you could manage under the circumstances and directed it at the two of them to show your appreciation for their help, and they nodded at you in acknowledgment before darting out of the room and finding somewhere to make themselves scarce.

“Actually, you know what, no—don’t answer that question until I’ve calmed down,” Law growled, punctuating his sentence with the snap of bright blue rubber gloves against skin. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I don’t want to hear it right now.”

“Law, it just looks bad. I’m honestly fine,” you insisted, gingerly attempting to push yourself up into a sitting position.

“Stop—stay still, dammit, I told you not to move!” Law bolted across the room to grab your upper arms, counteracting your movement and carefully lowering your torso back down onto the bed. “I’m the doctor here; I’ll tell you whether or not you’re fine, not the other way around.”

“It was just—” The words died on your tongue as Law paused mid-Scan and swiveled his head to fix you with an intense, withering glare.

“It was just what, (Y/N)?! I’ll tell you what it was—that was stupid, reckless, crazy, irresponsible, stupid, dangerous, completely batshit insane, and did I mention stupid yet?”

“That makes three times you’ve mentioned stupid now, yes.”

“Good! I’ll mention it as many more times as I need to in order to get it through your impossibly thick skull: that was stupid, (Y/N). That was so stupid.”

The hardness in Law’s expression melted away as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath, struggling to hide how shaky his breathing sounded. He clutched the edge of the bed as he leaned over you, and if it hadn’t been for the medical gloves covering his hands, both of you would’ve been able to see his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip. He caught the edge of his stool with his foot and dragged it over to your bedside, all but collapsing onto it as he sat down next to you and took one of your hands in his. You couldn’t help but smile at your joined hands as he laced his fingers through yours and gently pressed his thumb into the center of your palm to ground himself.

“Fuck, (Y/N), that was beyond stupid. You could’ve died out there if you hadn’t gotten lucky,” Law said. “Look at the shape you’re in right now—this is what you getting lucky looks like, and you can barely even move. Don’t… (Y/N), don’t scare me like that.”

“I know I should’ve been more careful,” you sigh, turning your head slightly to look into his eyes. “Law, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I know you didn’t. I’m sorry, too, (Y/N), for all the shouting I did. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. I—”

“You freaked out because I scared the crap out of you, and I wouldn’t have scared the crap out of you if you didn’t care. I get it—you know I would’ve done the same thing if it had been the other way around.”

“Still, losing my cool and yelling at you wasn’t exactly the best practice, medically or romantically.” He managed a hint of his usual smirk as he added, “I’ll have to find a way to make it up to you once you’re all healed up.”

“Careful, I’ll hold you to that.”

“Oh, will you now?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“With the kind of painkillers you’re about to be on? Good luck remembering this conversation once that stuff has a chance to kick in.”

“You mean you plan on drugging me into a mindless stupor in an attempt to make me forget your promise?” You pouted playfully at him, forcing your face not to betray the grin that threatened to peek through. “Aw, but that’s cheating.”

“Don’t worry—I’ll remember it for the both of us.” Law leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple as he stood up. “Now, let’s get you medicated so that I can do my job.”

“Sounds like a plan. This shit hurts.”

“I know it does.”

Law crossed the room to open up a cabinet and grab some supplies for starting an IV line and preparing a dose of pain medication, bringing them over to your bedside. His hands moved with a practiced, methodical precision as he set up the IV and administered the painkillers. You continued to watch him work for a few more minutes until your eyelids began to droop and a pleasant fuzziness crept in at the edge of your senses and made its way into your bones, dulling the once-searing pain down to a distant ache.

Time seemed to slip through your fingers like water, and you floated on those waters in a dreamlike haze. Before you even realized he was done working, Law was shutting off the overhead lights in the infirmary so that they weren’t shining in your face, leaving a small table lamp on to illuminate the room enough to see by. Your eyes flickered open at the disturbance in your surroundings, although you weren’t quite sure when you’d fully closed them. You made a very weak attempt to sit up, but whatever Law had given you for the pain had made lifting up just one limb feel like an impossible task, let alone your entire torso. He resisted the urge to laugh at the almost-bewildered face you made when faced with the task of moving your body, but he did allow himself to crack a small smile as he leaned into your field of view to grab your attention.

“Oh, hey,” you mumbled groggily, eyes half-lidded.

“Hey there, you,” Law answered. “It’s almost time to eat. I’ll step out and grab us both a plate in a bit, okay?”

“M’kay. What’s for lunch?”

“Dinner, actually—you’ve been out for several hours now.”

“Oh…” You trailed off into silence before a confused frown formed on your face and you slurred, “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. I told you those painkillers are strong stuff—you got pretty banged up back there.”

“Look, it was a calculated risk, and—well, I… kinda miscalculated.”

“(Y/N), that was one hell of a miscalculation.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Okay, well, whenever you’re calculating risks in the future, how about you stick to the risks that involve calculations of the “basic arithmetic” variety instead of the “multivariable calculus” variety?”

“Ah, c’mon, babe, basic arithmetic’s boring—you’re not even gonna let me take a lil’ bit of trigonometry risk?”

“Absolutely not—I’ll let you get away with linear algebra, maybe, but that’s it.”

“What, no geometry risks either? Shapes’re forbidden now? M’not allowed to dabble in shapes?”

“Nope, the forbidden shapes are indeed forbidden; I am hereby forbidding them. No geometry risks for you.”

“Aw, but I like shapes. They’re fun.”

“You can enjoy all the shapes you want as long as they’re risk-free, you doofus.”

“Mmm… Guess that’s fair.”

“I’m glad we can agree, sweetheart. I’m going to go get us some food, and when I get back, I’ll help you sit up and eat.”

“Sounds good, thanks. Love you.”

Smoker once again found himself on the hunt—he wasn’t quite sure what he was hunting down yet, but he knew something was happening on the G-5 base and had made up his mind that he would get to the bottom of it. He supposed that meant he was hunting down information, at least for now. He stalked down the corridor that led from his office to the main area of the base and spotted Tashigi trying her damnedest to discreetly look around for something without drawing attention to herself. She reached up to fiddle anxiously with her glasses—he crossed the possibility that she was looking for those off of his mental checklist—as she mumbled something under her breath and reached into her uniform coat to root around in one of the pockets. Smoker took a drag (or rather, drags) from the two cigars that were ever-present in his mouth and exhaled the smoke with a long-suffering sigh. He caught up to her and cleared his throat loudly to get her attention, earning a startled yelp of alarm from her as her hands fumbled the object she’d pulled out of her pocket. She caught it and held it to her chest in a death grip in one hand as she spun on her heel to face her commanding officer and raised her other hand in a stiff salute.

“Vice Admiral Smoker, sir! Uh, I—I-I, uh, didn’t notice you c-coming this way,” Tashigi blurted, mentally swatting the nervous wobble out of her voice with a broom.

“Tashigi, put your hand down and spit out whatever’s bothering you before you choke on it,” Smoker said, the tone of his gruff voice leaving no room for argument.

“Well, sir, I assume you’ve likely noticed the street cats that regularly wander on and around the base—”

“I have, and I’ve repeatedly instructed personnel not to feed them because that will just give them an incentive to come back, and a Marine base is no place for stray animals to be wandering around. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that those instructions have not been followed—am I correct?”

“…Y-Yes, sir. I’ve reminded the men of your instructions whenever I’ve caught them doing it, but I can’t always catch them—my apologies, sir.”

“Don’t apologize, Tashigi; you’re their captain, not their mother. A group of grown men—navy men, no less—should be perfectly capable of following a simple order,” Smoker huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Just cut to the chase and tell me what the problem is.”

“Right. As you know, i-it was storming pretty heavily earlier, and when I arrived to report for duty this morning, w-well…” Tashigi (needlessly) readjusted her glasses with a grimace as she braced herself for Smoker’s reaction to what she was about to say next. “Um, l-let’s just say I was… followed into the building.”

“By a cat looking to escape the rain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which you haven’t been able to catch yet?”

“No, sir.”

“So there’s currently a soaking wet, homeless animal wandering around my Marine base, probably getting into who knows where and who knows what, and you’ve been searching the entire base for it by yourself since this morning?”

“No, sir, not exactly. I ran an errand to a local pet store and got some cat treats to lure him out with”—Tashigi revealed the bag of tuna-flavored cat treats she’d been reaching into her coat for when he caught her—“and I’ve instructed all off-duty Marines on base to keep an eye out and notify me if they spot him anywhere—”

“Wait a minute, ‘him’? Tashigi, you’re not seriously telling me you were able to get close enough to determine that without being able to catch him in the process.”

“Of course not, sir, I just recognized him from seeing him around outside! He took off immediately—he’s very fast and… very slippery, on account of being damp.”

Smoker wanted to say that a little bit of water was no excuse for a decorated Marine of her caliber and capability to be unable to catch a single stray cat, but he decided to take at least some pity on Tashigi and let the words die on his tongue instead—she clearly already shared the same sentiment, and making her feel worse wouldn’t do anything to rectify the situation. Another plume of cigar smoke billowed into the air as Smoker took a moment to collect himself and get a handle on his irritation.

“Alright, give me a description of the cat,” he growled.

“Short coat, solid white fur, and based on his size, I think he might actually still be a kitten, sir—he’s definitely too big to be a newborn, but he looks a little too small to be fully grown,” Tashigi answered.

“You said his fur is solid white—did you happen to catch a glimpse of what color his eyes are?”

“I’m not completely certain, but I believe they’re brown, sir.”

“Huh… and have you just been walking around shaking the treat bag to try and draw him out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is just a hunch that might not pay off, but try opening the bag.”

“Okay—may I ask why?”

“I came across something in a book once about how cats’ fur and eye colors are linked to their genes—some of the information was more technical than I knew what to do with, but one of the broad strokes I remember is that solid white cats with certain eye colors are more likely to be deaf. Not sure if brown is one of them, but it’s possible either way.”

“I see—so he might not be able to hear me shaking the bag, but if I open it, then he should be able to smell the treats inside. Great idea, sir, I’ll get on that right away!” Tashigi pulled open the bag of cat treats and scurried off to resume her search with renewed vigor, turning to look over her shoulder as she called out, “Thank you, Vice Admiral Smoker!”

“Yeah, yeah—don’t thank me, just catch the damn cat, Tashigi,” Smoker called back.

And that was how Smoker once again found himself on the hunt… for an ordinary street cat. He let out a wordless grumble of annoyance and told himself that it could be worse, attempting to find some degree of solace in the knowledge that at least a stray cat probably wouldn’t try any harder to kill him than the average pirate would—probably. He began mapping the layout of the building in his mind and comparing a list of all the hiding spots a cat would be likely to seek out against a list of all the places that a cat could possibly gain access to from where he would’ve entered the building along with Tashigi when she’d arrived that morning. The overlap between those two lists was manageable enough for one person to tackle and, much to his exasperation, contained a number of places that nobody else would be able to search as easily or efficiently as he would with his Devil Fruit abilities.

After half an hour of searching, Smoker was begrudgingly forced to concede that maybe Tashigi’s lack of success in tracking down this cat was understandable in hindsight. He had scoured just about every corner of the building and found no trace of his quarry—he’d even gone so far as to use the tip of his baton to push a ceiling tile out of the way and turn himself into a cloud of smoke to check up there. He used his detached hands to shift the ceiling tile back into place before returning his body to its solid form and let out yet another grumble of frustration, which seemed to him to be a recurring theme of the day. He stepped into his office to give Tashigi’s transponder snail a ring and ask her for an update, but a white blur frantically darting from the corner of the room to the space underneath his desk at the sound of the door opening caught his eye just as he’d paused briefly to light up his next cigar. Well, at least that answered the question of whether or not the cat could hear.

Smoker stuffed his lighter back in his pocket and quietly shut the door behind him, cutting off the cat’s escape route, before treading softly across the office to the opposite side of his desk. He moved his chair out of the way and found, pressed into the corner between the back of the desk and the side of the drawers, a stark white, slightly damp, shaking stray cat. The cat’s belly was lowered to the ground, his ears swiveled back and half-dry fur standing on end, and he bared a set of knife-sharp teeth in a warning hiss as he sized Smoker up. Smoker studied him in return and noted that Tashigi’s description had been unfailingly and unsurprisingly accurate, even down to the eye color she hadn’t been completely sure about—the copper brown of his irises all but swallowed the narrow slits of his pupils, and he couldn’t have been more than a year old. Smoker took a step back and crouched on the floor in an effort to demonstrate that he didn’t mean any harm.

“Hey. Take it easy, little guy—I won’t hurt you, you just can’t be in here,” Smoker murmured, slowly extending a hand palm-up in front of him. He stopped a little less than halfway between himself and the cat, not wanting to scare the already-frightened animal any further and risk provoking him into lashing out. A slight twitching of the cat’s whiskers and pale pink nose betrayed his curiosity as he scented the air, his eyes laser-focused on Smoker’s outstretched hand. Bit by cautious bit, he gradually lowered his defenses as Smoker patiently watched and waited for him to calm down.

If anyone were to ever ask him about it, he’d probably snap at them and claim that they were being utterly ridiculous, but Smoker had to admit to himself that he could understand why his men would be inclined to disobey a direct order against feeding stray animals like this one. The cat was undeniably cute and, Smoker noted with a certain amount of distress, considerably thinner than he should’ve been; his brow furrowed at the realization, and he found a strange combination of emotions bubbling up in his chest. His feelings of concern and compassion were completely understandable—he didn’t enjoy the idea of a defenseless, innocent animal going hungry, and he enjoyed seeing the evidence of that reality right in front of him even less. He might’ve been abrasive and intimidating, as a no-nonsense commanding officer in the Marines, but he wasn’t some heartless monster.

The mild indignation Smoker was feeling, however, caught him rather off-guard—these were Marines, dammit, and if they were going to defy orders from their commander and decide to feed stray cats anyway, then they should at least be perfectly capable of feeding them enough. Except… wasn’t that the opposite of what he wanted? Hadn’t that been exactly why he’d told personnel not to feed the strays to begin with? After all, G-5 was still a Marine base, not an animal shelter, and he was still firm in his resolution that having homeless animals wandering in from off the street was as unbecoming as it was impractical.

Smoker shelved that particular line of thought for later as he felt a soft brush of whiskers and something bumping against his hand—he glanced down and found that the cat had, slowly but surely, crept its way out of the corner of his desk and over to his hand to inspect it more closely. A series of soft little exhales from the cat’s nose puffed against the small area of exposed skin between his glove and the cuff of his jacket, and Smoker pondered for a second whether his unexpected feline visitor was trying to sniff out signs of foul play or signs of food. He concluded that the answer was likely both when a loud rumble sounded from the cat’s stomach, and two pairs of brown eyes met each other as the creature let out a soft, pleading mewl and gently headbutted his hand.

“Yeah, sorry Tashigi couldn’t be the one to catch you, buddy. She’s the one with the cat treats on hand, not me,” Smoker said as he shifted his hand to grab the cat, his thumb and middle finger catching him just behind his front legs as his index finger tucked itself underneath the cat’s chin. He let out a disgruntled yowl of protest as he was scooped up off of the floor and held in place against Smoker’s chest with one forearm, but he quickly realized, like many others had before him, that any attempts to escape the clutches of the famed White Hunter were ultimately futile. Smoker could feel the cat’s heartbeat speed up where his chest rested against his gloved palm and softly clicked his tongue against his teeth a few times in an effort to ease his anxiety.

“Easy, now,” Smoker reassured him. “I’m still not gonna hurt you, but like I said, you can’t be in here.” The cat let out a rumbling growl of righteous indignation at his predicament and took a swipe at Smoker, but he was baffled by the sight of his paw passing right through the rest of the man’s body while the hand around his ribcage remained infuriatingly solid. He forgot about his ire long enough to stare up at Smoker and let out a ‘mrrrp?’ of confusion, cocking his head to one side in a silent question. That earned him a raised eyebrow and a short bark of laughter from Smoker, who could practically feel the cat’s palpable disapproval radiating off of the stern expression on his furry face.

“Hate to break it to you, but unless those claws of yours are made out of sea prism stone, they won’t do you any good,” Smoker chuckled as he stood up. “You probably don’t know what a Devil Fruit is—hell, come to think of it, you probably don’t even know what I’m saying to begin with—but I ate something called a Devil Fruit that transformed my entire body into smoke I can control at will.”

“Vice Admiral Smoker,” Tashigi called out, announcing her presence outside with a knock on the office door.

“Enter, Tashigi.” At his response, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her, glancing around the room with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Sir, were you… talking to someone just now, before I arrived? I could’ve sworn I heard your voice from the hallway.”

“I found our unexpected guest hiding underneath my desk when I came in.” Smoker punctuated that sentence with a slight lift of his hand, raising the cat a little bit higher into the air for emphasis.

“Oh! That’s great news, sir—I was just about to give a status report on the search, but clearly, that’s no longer necessary.”

“I was just about to escort him out of the building. He was pretty spooked by the time I found him; something tells me he’s just as ready for this little adventure to end as we are.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s seen enough of this place to last him a lifetime—until it starts raining again, at least.”

As if on cue, a rumble of thunder sounded outside, and all three heads turned towards the window to watch the cloud-darkened sky as the pattering of raindrops against the ground could be heard increasing in both frequency and intensity. Tashigi allowed her head to hang in resigned frustration for a moment, and Smoker let out an exasperated sigh as the cat set aside his feelings about being manhandled and pressed his body against Smoker’s chest, fixing him with the most forlorn stare he could muster.

“If I was a more superstitious man, I’d say you jinxed that, Tashigi,” Smoker remarked dryly.

“And if you were to say I jinxed that, I would apologize, Smoker,” Tashigi retorted.

“Something tells me this guy would rather take his chances with an unfamiliar environment that’s nice and dry than a familiar environment that he knows is wet and unpleasant.”

“I agree—if we try to put him back outside in this weather, he’s most likely just going to wait for the next duty shift change and sneak right back in with somebody else, which would mean having to track him down and catch him all over again.”

“Either way, he’s definitely hungry at this point; I could hear his stomach growling earlier. Do you still have that bag of cat treats on you?”

“I do, but are you sure it’s a good idea to give him those? I thought you didn’t want to encourage the stray cats to wander on base.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but encouraging this stray cat to trust us will make the current situation a bit easier to handle.”

“I see your point, sir—besides, since we’re already making an exception for the rain so that he doesn’t come back inside the building again later, it seems unnecessarily cruel to not feed him while he’s here.”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Smoker gained an unexpected shadow after that day. His new feline friend would spend mornings sitting straight up outside the entrance door to the main building, stone-still except for the barest movements of his head as he watched various Marines pass by—the handful of men who he recognized from the occasional passing encounter whenever they left food out for him and his furry compatriots had earned themselves a twitch of his tail, and Tashigi, the cat had decided, was worthy of both a tail twitch and a single, slow blink of acknowledgment—and remaining virtually silent until he spotted a familiar bulky figure and a head of close-cropped white hair. Once he saw Smoker approach, the cat would let out a single meow of greeting to accompany his tail twitch and his slow blink. The first time this had happened, the day after the rain, Smoker had thought he was waiting to be let inside and peered over the rims of his sunglasses to shoot the cat an unamused look.

“Hey. I told you after I caught you in my office that buildings on the base are off-limits,” Smoker said. “Managing to sneak in was one thing, but I’m not letting you back inside and neither is anybody else.” The cat, of course, said nothing, but Smoker guessed that he seemed to understand, since he made no move to approach and seemingly paid no attention to the door as Smoker went inside. He simply sat and watched as Smoker walked into the building, and then he went back to surveying the comings and goings of other base personnel with relative disinterest.

Smoker almost didn’t notice that the cat hadn’t moved from his spot until later that day, when he stepped outside to head towards the training yard and noticed the cat stand up and stretch. He was quick to shut the door behind him, just in case the cat attempted to make a break for it and dart inside, but the cat surprised Smoker by moving away from the door and choosing to bound after him instead, falling into pace beside his boots as he walked. He let out a sigh and figured that this behavior would probably continue until the cat gave up on any hope of being allowed back inside, but he also figured that he really only had himself to blame for the situation—he had known Tashigi was right when she pointed out that giving him treats would send mixed signals and had decided that it was a reasonable course of action in the moment anyway, so the consequences of that decision fell squarely on his shoulders.

As much as Smoker disapproved of the idea of stray cats wandering around the premises of G-5, he also realized it wasn’t exactly fair or reasonable to blame cats for not understanding the nuances of human behavior; he told himself that if he continued to go about his business as he usually did, the cat would eventually lose interest in him and go back to doing whatever it was he used to do before his little rainy day adventure. Smoker drew his baton before shrugging his uniform jacket off of his shoulders and placing it down near the edge of the training yard where it wouldn’t be in the way, and the cat surprised him yet again by seeming to get the message that he should stay well out of the way. He sat down beside Smoker’s jacket, tail resting on his paws, and proceeded to watch as Smoker went about his usual routine of conditioning, sparring, and running drills.

After Smoker finished his workout, he began making the walk back to his office, and the cat once again followed behind him as he walked. Upon reaching the entrance to the building, the cat returned to his previous post beside the door, which had become pleasantly sun-warmed over the course of the day, and curled up in his spot on the ground for an afternoon nap. Smoker returned to his office and continued going about his usual duties until it was time for him to leave for the day—he left his office and made his way towards the exit, exchanging customary farewells with passersby on his way, and stepped outside into the pleasant evening air to find the cat, now awake, sitting in the same position that Smoker had found him in upon arriving that morning. He meowed at him once more as he left, and Smoker regarded the cat in silence as the door shut behind him and the cat once again showed apparently no interest in attempting to get back inside the base.

After about three days, the realization that this recent development was now a regular occurrence had earned a raised eyebrow and a puff of cigar smoke from Smoker and some idle gossip from Marines who’d taken notice of his four-legged follower, but that was about it—Smoker allowed people to assume that he was simply determined to not be the first to cave by going out of his way to chase the cat off, and the G-5 Marines arrived at the conclusion that, as long as the cat stayed out of everyone’s way, their vice admiral would simply tolerate his presence until he’d successfully waited him out. If anyone asked him, however, Smoker barked out that he was a Marine, dammit, he had nothing to prove to a stray cat and that it had nothing to do with waiting the animal out; he simply had more important things to do with his time than go out of his way to bother an animal that wasn’t bothering anybody else, so, yes, as long as the cat stayed out of the way, that was just fine with him.

After about a week, the cat’s consistent presence alongside Smoker as he went about his business around the base and faithful vigils beside the door as he waited for Smoker to enter and exit the building had earned him a name—Wisp—affectionately bestowed by the Marines of G-5 and (although he would never admit it if asked) secretly approved by their stoic vice admiral; as far as anyone was aware, Smoker didn’t even know about the name. However, his men had done a less-than-stellar job of being discreet about using it as they slipped Wisp some extra food and treats, and Smoker was far more observant than he chose to let on, which is how he also learned that Wisp had a preference for salmon-flavored cat treats, a disdain for chicken-flavored cat treats, and a positively lukewarm opinion of tuna-flavored cat treats like the ones Tashigi had procured to lure him out of hiding on that fateful rainy day.

The only other person on the base who realized that Smoker had found out about the name was Tashigi, who knew him better than most after spending as much time as she had serving under his command, but even if she realized that Smoker was actually fond of the name, she chose not to say anything about it. As luck would have it, she didn’t have to—she arrived on base one rainy morning, about a month after his initial escapade inside the building, and took a cursory look around to make sure nobody would notice her bending down to pat the top of Wisp’s head and scratch underneath his chin, only to stop in her tracks when she realized that Wisp was, shockingly, nowhere in sight. She cursed underneath her breath and quickly made her way inside the building to grab the bag of cat treats that she’d decided to keep stashed in her office just in case and set about trying to lure Wisp back outside before Smoker found out he’d snuck in. She found this to be considerably more difficult the second time around, seeing as Wisp had already disappeared by the time she arrived and she hadn’t seen which way he’d gone. She swept every corridor between her office and the main entrance methodically, checking to make sure the coast was clear before she began shaking the treat bag and making soft kissing noises in an attempt to coax him out of hiding.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty… Wisp, where’d you go, boy? Come on out, little buddy—it’s Captain Tashigi; I’ve got treats for you,” Tashigi whispered in a sing-song voice. “I know Vice Admiral Smoker’s your favorite, but he’s also in charge around here, which means he has to be strict—if he catches you in here again, he’s not going to be happy.”

“Tashigi, tell me you didn’t lose your glasses again,” Smoker said brusquely from behind her, once again catching her off-guard.

“Oh, f—Vice Admiral Smoker!” Tashigi stuffed the treat bag into her coat and whipped around to salute him quickly. “No, sir, I have my glasses on, as you can see.”

“Well, what are you looking for, then?”

“Um, sir, have you seen Wi—I mean, the cat—anywhere today? The one who usually sits outside and follows you around the base? He wasn’t outside when I arrived this morning, and with the weather being what it is, I assumed he might have snuck back inside.”

“Yeah, I know where Wisp is—he’s fine. Don’t worry about it, Tashigi. Just get back to work.”

“Sir, are you sure? It just seems a bit odd that he’s not in his usual spot all of a sudden.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I said don’t worry about it, so don’t worry about it.”

“Understood, sir, I’ll—”

Tashigi stopped abruptly at the sight of a little white paw darting out of the inside of Smoker’s jacket to tap his chest. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she glanced up to make eye contact with Smoker, who rolled his eyes and let out a short sigh of annoyance. He pulled the front of his jacket away from his torso to shoot a stern look down at Wisp, who was huddled securely inside one of his pockets.

“The deal was that you would stay hidden, you furry little traitor,” Smoker huffed.

“Sir, did you—” Tashigi’s shock gave way to giddy amusement and a grin started to make its way across her face as realization dawned on her. “…Wait a minute, you used his name.”

“Save it—it’s easier than just calling him ‘the cat’ when there’s more than one that wanders around the base, and I made the call that keeping Wisp in my office where I can monitor him until the weather lets up would be smarter than waiting for him to sneak in again and having to catch him a second time.”

“Mm-hm. I understand completely, sir. And the reason you’re carrying him around inside your uniform is because…?”

“Because I’m not currently in my office, and I can’t monitor him while I’m not in my office unless I bring him with me.”

“I see.”

“Tashigi, don’t go reading too far into this.”

“I’m not reading into anything, Smoker—I’m just making some observations, that’s all.”

“If that’s true, then wipe that look off your face.”

“Alright, sir, if you insist,” Tashigi replied, pressing her lips together tightly in order to suppress her smile as she held the bag of cat treats out to him. “Do you want to keep the tuna treats on hand just in case you need them?”

“Not necessary. Besides, he’s pretty indifferent to the tuna ones anyway.”

“Oh, is he?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t really mind them, but he likes the salmon flavor better. Don’t even bother trying to give him the chicken-flavored ones; I spotted one of the men trying to offer him a handful of those the other day, and I’m pretty sure it was the closest I’ve ever seen a cat get to looking at somebody like they insulted his mother.”

“Duly noted. Well, since Wisp is safely accounted for, I’ll resume my regular duties then, Vice Admiral.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Smoker arrived on base a few days after that to find Wisp waiting for him by the door as usual, but something was… off. Instead of sitting patiently in his usual spot, Wisp was frantically pacing back and forth, tail twitching anxiously as he dry-heaved in a failed attempt to dislodge something from his throat. He let out a series of hacking, sputtering coughs as Smoker rushed over to examine him.

“Wisp? Whoa, what’s wrong, little guy? Are you hurt or something?” Smoker muttered quietly, a nervous edge almost creeping into his voice. He took in the way Wisp’s abdomen heaved as he retched again, still fighting in vain to expel whatever had gotten stuck in his throat, and swore under his breath when he realized that Wisp’s gums looked like they were starting to turn pale. He scooped up his unlikely feline friend and hurried for the main entrance of the base, retracing his route to work until he spotted the sign for the nearby vet clinic he passed on his way in every morning—he let out a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he’d been holding when he saw the sign proclaiming that they were open around the clock and spotted people moving around inside. He burst through the front door with a crash, startling the life out of a receptionist, a civilian, and a very scraggly-looking little… dog? Smoker couldn’t be entirely sure, nor could he be bothered to care at the moment.

“Hey, I need some help here—he’s choking on something,” Smoker called out, grabbing the attention of several people in scrubs who sprang into action, swarming into the lobby to escort the two of them to an exam room. Rubber gloves were pulled on, and Wisp was taken carefully out of Smoker’s grasp so that the clinic staff could do their jobs. One of the people in scrubs, a woman of average height and a calm demeanor, gently herded Smoker out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her with one hand, holding a clipboard and pen in the other.

“Is he going to be okay?” Smoker asked her, his fingers itching to grab the doorknob and reopen it.

“He’ll be fine, sir, I promise—it’s a good thing you got him here as quickly as you did,” she reassured him with a kindhearted smile.

“Okay, that’s a relief. Thank you.”

“I just have a few questions to ask you about…?” She clicked her pen and raised her eyebrows, and Smoker realized she was prompting him for a name.

“Wisp—his name’s Wisp.”

“Okay,” she remarked, filling out the paperwork on her clipboard as she spoke, “I have a few questions for you about Wisp.”

“Go ahead.”

“Did you see what he swallowed?”

“No, I just found him like that and brought him here.”

“Okay, do you have any idea what he might have swallowed?”

“Not really—I’m… actually not really sure what he eats, now that I stop and think about it.”

“You—okay, sir, whose cat is this?”

“Mine,” Smoker answered without a second thought, before furrowing his brow and adding, “Well, mine now, I suppose—he’s coming home with me.”

“Okay, why don’t you back up a bit—” The vet tech let out a sigh as she stopped writing and clicked the end of her pen again. “—what does that sentence mean?”

Smoker gave her the gist of the story, starting with finding a then-nameless, wild-eyed, wet cat cowering underneath his desk on a random rainy day and ending with Wisp’s continuing companionship as he went about his business on base. He left out the part where he learned about Wisp’s hierarchy of cat treat flavor preferences—and the part where Tashigi caught him red-handed having let Wisp back inside to escape the rain for reasons that he’d swear up and down were purely logical, if anyone were to ask.

“Sounds to me like Wisp snuck his way into more than just your office, tough guy,” the vet tech chuckled, filling out the rest of Wisp’s paperwork. “Snuck his way into your heart while he was at it—cats have a way of doing that.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve gotta hand it to him—he’s pretty crafty,” Smoker replied with a laugh.

“Alright, well, we’ll run some tests and keep him overnight for observation, just to be completely safe, but we’ll get Wisp squared away and ready to go home with you tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

Smoker’s head shot up as the exam room door opened and one of the other vet techs gave a thumbs-up. He walked in to find Wisp curled up on top of the exam table, his airway unobstructed and his breathing returned to normal. He let out a quiet mrrrow as he stood up and meandered over to the edge of the table to headbutt Smoker’s hand, blinking slowly as Smoker gave him a little scratch between the ears.

“Hey, Wisp. Glad to see you back to normal, pal,” Smoker remarked.

“Let’s keep him that way from now on,” the vet interjected, turning to Wisp and adding, “That means no more bone-in fish for you, mister.”

“A fish bone—is that what he was choking on?”

“Yep, sure was.” One of the other technicians held up the offending fish bone in a gloved hand for emphasis as the vet continued. “It got lodged in his airway when he tried to swallow it. It’s scary the first time it happens, but we see it more often than you’d think—children think they’re giving cats a treat by feeding them big pieces of fish, not realizing that all those thin, little bones are a choking hazard.”

“Oh, I don’t have children,” Smoker growled with frustration, “I’m in charge of people who are far more difficult to put up with, and if you’ll excuse me, I now have to go give that bunch of idiots a talking-to about not accidentally killing animals.”

“Good luck with that—sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

“I thought I was very clear when I instructed all of you not to feed strays on base,” Smoker barked loudly, glaring down a crowd of terrified Marines as they stood in formation in the training yard. “I thought it should be plainly obvious to all of you that G-5 is a navy base, not a petting zoo and not a damn animal shelter—clearly, that order has not been followed. If you’re going to have the guts to disobey a direct order from a superior officer, then you’d better make sure you have the brains to do it right, which means somebody better have a damn good explanation for why I just had to rush Wisp to the vet this morning to remove a fish bone that was trapped in his airway!”

A hushed gasp of equal parts shock, horror, and concern just barely escaped the soldiers standing in front of him. Word of the strange cat who insisted on shadowing Smoker around the base had spread amongst the ranks, and even the Marines who’d never personally witnessed it themselves had heard enough to grow fond of him. Smoker could tell that every single one of his men was worried about Wisp—some of them even looked like they were trying not to cry—but he decided to let them stew in the suspense of the moment for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, just for good measure. He finally caved when he saw Tashigi bite her lower lip to stop it from trembling.

“He’s fine—they’ll be keeping him at the clinic overnight to monitor him, and I’m bringing him home tomorrow morning. It would seem that I am officially a cat owner now,” Smoker announced with an exasperated (yet undeniably fond) eye roll. A loud cheer erupted from the crowd of gathered Marines at the news, accompanied by the hugging of nearby comrades and the wiping of unshed tears from eyes. Smoker let out a loud, sharp whistle to quiet the crowd again and recapture their attention, and every last one of them snapped back to attention and faced him, completely silent.

“For future reference, it is not safe to feed cats large pieces of fish that might still contain bones—they’re very easy for cats to accidentally choke on,” Smoker shouted. “Alright, you’re dismissed. Get back to work.”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Aokiji stepped through Smoker’s front door and shut it behind him, turning around to look for his friend. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he found himself almost nose-to-nose with a white cat that was perched upon a shelf on the wall adjacent to the door. Wisp tilted his head to one side curiously as his sharp brown eyes studied the unfamiliar face, determining whether the stranger was a friend or a foe.

“Well, you certainly aren’t Smoker,” Aokiji remarked, “unless there’s some Devil Fruit user I don’t know about who’s running around turning people into cats.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if there was, but you’re a bit off the mark on that one, Aokiji,” Smoker laughed, walking down the hall towards his front door.

“Yeah, I suppose that wouldn’t surprise me either. So, are you going to introduce me to your new friend?”

“His name is Wisp, he managed to sneak into my office on base once when it was raining, he spent a couple weeks following me around G-5 after that, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“With a story like that, it’s a little hard to tell whether you adopted the stray or the stray adopted you, Smoker.”

“Well, whenever I figure out the answer to that riveting philosophical question, I’ll let you know, but in the meantime, I have a mission to go on—I need you to pop in and refill his automatic food and water dispenser every three days until I get back.”

“Alright, sounds simple enough.”

“I just refreshed his litter box, so that shouldn’t need to be changed before I get back—if it does, I’ll owe you a drink.”

“I’ll hold you to that, so you better not die out there.”

“Hey. Something on your mind?” a voice suddenly asked you, waving a hand in front of your face. You startled abruptly, narrowing your eyes in frustration at the offender and swatting the hand away. Blinking away the stinging burn of dry eyes that had begun to take hold—how long had it been since the last time you blinked?—you massaged your temples to ease away the dull ache that had begun to bloom there.

“Dammit, Buggy,” you snapped. “How many times have I told you not to shove your hand in my face like that?”

“Oh, c’mon, I did it normally this time, see? It’s not even detached,” the clown replied, holding up the offending hand to demonstrate that it was still connected at the wrist.

“That can be remedied if you don’t shut up, clown,” Mihawk remarked, shooting him a wicked glare from where he sat on the other side of the room.

“My bad, I’ll shut up—sorry.”

True to his word, Buggy fell silent with that comment and made a hasty retreat from the room not long after. You sighed softly and rested your chin on top of your folded arm as you went back to gazing out the window at the clouds outside. Mihawk took note of your pensive demeanor and crossed the room to sit down next to you. He allowed his knee to nudge against yours as he sat, grabbing your attention in a more subtle—and far more agreeable—manner. You turned to face him, raising your eyebrows curiously.

“Well, dear swan, is something on your mind? You seem distracted,” Mihawk noted.

“I’m okay, Hawk, just… a bit listless today, I suppose. I was pondering, that’s all,” you replied, shifting your body to lean into his shoulder.

“About anything in particular?”

“Not really.”

“Alright, as long as you’re sure it’s nothing that merits being addressed—I expect you’ll let me know if that changes, yes?”

“Of course, love.”

You grinned and returned your attention to the window, and Mihawk returned his attention to the book he’d been reading before Buggy’s intrusion. The weather outside was picturesque—pleasantly warm, not too hot, and with a nice breeze that wasn’t too chilly either. The coastline was visible from the window, and the calm waves could be heard collapsing softly against the shore before receding back into the sea’s embrace to begin the same dance all over again. It had been years since the last time you had walked along a beach, before you’d gained your Devil Fruit ability in exchange for losing your ability to experience the ocean.

Your eyes glazed over as you remembered the feeling of wet sand under bare feet, occasionally sticking to you in clumps for a brief moment before it was washed away by the tide that tugged gently at your ankles and left behind tingling bubbles of sea foam against your skin in the sand’s place. You wiggled your toes inside of your shoes at the mental image, so vivid that it almost threatened to give way to real sensation. Glancing over at you as you remained lost in thought, Mihawk studied you silently. He would’ve been loath to admit it to just about anyone else who asked (except for you, maybe) but he was forced to admit to himself that he wasn’t exactly content to have your focus stolen from him. In fact, one might have, albeit at their own peril, described his attitude on the matter as petulant.

He marked his place in his book and shut it; the sound of the hard cover thumping softly against the pages drew you out of your reverie, and you let out a short hum, inflecting it like a question—and it was a question, one that you didn’t need words to ask any more than he needed words to answer. Mihawk stood up and extended his free hand, and you took it, following him to your feet. The two of you began the walk back to your room for Mihawk to put the book away for later, and you found yourself removing your shoes and socks before wandering over to the closet, ocean waves still pulling at the edge of your mind as steadily and surely as they pulled at the edge of the land.

You slipped on a pair of flat sandals and inwardly smiled in satisfaction before rejoining Mihawk where he waited for you by the bedroom door. He offered you his arm, and you clasped a hand around it just above his elbow, fingers curling gently around the muscle there. The two of you resumed your aimless stroll, allowing your feet to lead the journey more so than your brains. Unsurprisingly, your feet found their way to the coast, and the two of you ended up sitting next to each other on top of a large, flat rock in the sand, staring out over the water from a safely respectable distance.

The path that your life had taken you on over the years may have led you away from the familiar shorelines of your home, but it had led you to something much more intimate in their place—the feeling of being completely known and completely loved by Mihawk, along with the privilege of being able to completely know and completely love him in return. The ocean may never forgive you for the sin of, quite literally, partaking in forbidden fruit, but your lover absolved you of all that and much more. Seaside strolls were a trivial loss by comparison; they were certainly a loss that you would look upon fondly whenever the feeling struck you, as it did now, but they were a loss you would never—could never—truly lament.

You pressed your cheek against Mihawk’s bicep, tilting your chin to look up at him. He turned his gaze to you immediately, and you watched with a fond grin as the mild ocean breeze lightly stirred his hair. He smiled back at you and inwardly preened, just a little bit, as he basked in the warmth of your attention having finally returned to him—some might say having been returned to its rightful owner—and you squeezed his arm gently.

“Welcome back, my starling,” Mihawk said.

“It’s good to be back,” you answered earnestly. “Truth be told, I’d started to get a bit lost inside my head.”

“Well, where did you go?”

“I went for a long walk on the beach—or at least, I remembered what it was like to take a long walk on the beach without feeling like I was actually running a marathon.”

“Mm, I see.”

“Avoiding all contact with the ocean is a considerable adjustment to make for someone who grew up near it, but it’s an adjustment I’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with.”

“And it’s an adjustment you’ve made quite well.”

“It’s certainly a less daunting reality now than it used to be, by far. More importantly, it’s a reality I wouldn’t trade for the world.”