This is the last chapter that is going to be posted here. Be warned: it is four chapters in one. It was previously posted on my profile, but I decided not to continue it. The only stories to be on this account is this one, as well as "Battle of Wills". Thank you for reading, and if you want to adopt a story, please PM me :)

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece.

Chapter One: Her Kind of Justice

"You've got to be shitting me." The feminine voice floated through the door crack effortlessly, causing the newly-appointed captain to pause for a moment. His closed fist hovered over the smooth mahogany wood, poised to knock. Only he didn't. Knock, that is.

"Dylan, I'm completely serious." A deeper voice, which Smoker recognized as that of Commodore Jones – the man he had initially come to see – told the first wearily.

He could hear a dull thud, most likely the sound of a boot making contact with the carpet below. "I won't accept it, Jones. I won't." the first voice – Dylan – declared fiercely.

It surprised Smoker thoroughly when the commodore merely sighed, as appose to lashing out at the blatant show of disrespect the so called Dylan had shown. "I understand where you're coming from," Jones started slowly, "but Hardy is a mere chore boy. How do you expect me to give him credit when he's so below the ranks?"

The curiosity too great, Smoker looked down the hallway furtively and, upon acknowledging no presence nearby, he craned his neck a bit, catching a glimpse of the other person in the room just as she gave the commodore before her a droll look. "You give it to him," she pointed out dryly, as if her statement were the most obvious thing in the world.

Smoker's first thought, upon catching sight of Dylan, was that she was remarkably young, though about the right age for a lieutenant commander, if the standard issue white jacket that hung casually over her shoulders was of any indication. His second thought happened to be that though she seemed eighteen or so, she was still rather short for her age.

Dylan had black hair, green eyes, and a button-like nose which only seemed to make her look younger than ever. Under her lieutenant commander cloak she wore black yoga pants and a green tank top. No weapons were in sight.

Jones laughed without humour, breaking Smoker from his study of Dylan. "Oh, yes, and that would go so well with the press." The commodore said sarcastically, in reply to the green-eyed woman's comment.

Dylan shook her head, crossing her arms defiantly. "I don't care about the press," she stated stubbornly, her stance screaming rebellious marine.

Jones regarded the young woman wearily. "Look, Dylan…I've known you ever since you were a little girl, so I'll be honest with you. I can't give Hardy the credit. We need an official figure to be our representative of the matter, and he was working under you at the time, so…" he trailed off, leaving the message unsaid.

In a fit of frustration, Dylan slammed the palm of her hand down hard on Jones' desk, causing the aging man to frown irately. "I don't care, Jones," she insisted, "I'm not going to become a captain just because some other guy played superhero! It's either Hardy gets the promotion or no one does." And with that, the black-haired young woman pivoted on the heel of her oversized brown combat boots, and stalked off towards the door.

Too late, Smoker realised that she was getting closer to his place behind the mahogany barrier with each thudding step she took, and could only look down at her coolly as she flung the door open with a little more force than deemed necessary. Dylan started, surprise shining clear in her eyes, overlapping the annoyance they previously held. Compared to Smoker, she was just over a head shorter than him, barely reaching his shoulders. She scowled once her composure was regained and, in what was probably the heat of the moment, pushed past the captain roughly.

"It's rude to listen to other's conversations, brat." she muttered on her way out, coat billowing dramatically behind her.

She didn't look back once.

Smoker knocked twice on the familiar mahogany door five days after the incident with Dylan, entering casually when Commodore Jones granted access. "You called, Commodore?" he asked smoothly, closing the door behind him when the older man waved his hand in recognition.

Jones signed another document before looking up wearily, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "Ah, yes, Smoker." He put his glasses back on. "There's something I have to inform you on, but we should wait until Dylanna gets here."

Smoker slid easily into one of the two armchairs on the other side of Jones's desk, raising an eyebrow. "Dylanna?"

"Dylan," the commodore corrected himself, looking over at Smoker a little guiltily. "Pardon me; my tongue slipped. Lieutenant Comma – I mean, Captain Sparks doesn't like being called by her full name." he paused, before smiling wryly to himself. "You'd best remember that."

Smoker frowned, millions of questions swirling in his head. He could only assume that 'Captain Sparks' was Dylan – whose real name was Dylanna – and that Jones had elevated her position from Lieutenant Commander to Captain despite her protests. Jones had also hinted that it would be wise not to call Dylan by her real name, which must've meant that Smoker would be seeing more of Dylan, for whatever reason.

He could only wonder what exactly Jones meant by that.

As Smoker contemplated this, a knock resounded at the door, and Jones put away his paperwork and called the person in. Dylan entered cautiously, her suspicious look only intensifying when she caught sight of Smoker in the room. Smoker noted that Dylan was still wearing her lieutenant commander cloak hanging on her shoulders despite her switch to captain status. Her own little way of rebellion, he supposed.

"Dylan, have a seat," Jones called out, gesturing to the armchair next to Smoker's.

"You're the man from last time," Dylan stated, voice neither accusative nor questioning. She was merely neutral.

Smoker inclined his head. "That's right. It's a pleasure, Captain Dylanna."

Dylan's eyes widened fractionally at the use of her real name and from across him, Smoker saw Jones shift uncomfortably. Dylan turned on the commodore. "You told him?" she asked, but otherwise showed no sign of her annoyance aside from the clenching of her fists.

"It slipped out?" Jones offered, his excuse sounding more like a question than anything.

Dylan ignored the commodore, shooting him a quick glare before rounding on Smoker. "Don't call me that," she warned him, who merely smirked in turn, giving her no insight on what he was thinking.

Jones cleared his throat before Smoker could respond. "Anyway, please sit, Dylan." His take-charge manner was back. "I have an important announcement to make, concerning the two of you." He paused, "And your island assignment."

Immediately, Smoker perked up, sitting a little straighter. Dylan, on the other hand, frowned. "First you make me captain against my will, then you force me to take charge of a navy headquarters by myself?" her voice was accusative, yet calm, as if she was merely looking for a fight.

"Ah," Jones cut in, "That's the thing. You won't be by yourself. You two will work together to keep Flora Island's headquarters working smoothly." Well, that was unexpected.

Smoker's eyes widened at the statement. He must've heard wrong. "I have to work with her?" he pointed to Dylan rather rudely in the heat of the moment, but Dylan herself looked too incensed to care.

"You want me to work with him?" Dylan added incredulously before Jones could respond. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Do you not trust me enough, Jones? Is that it?"

Jones held up his hands in an attempt to calm both captains, to no avail. Both were out of their seats, staring in identical looks of disbelief and anger. "It's not a matter of trust, Dylan. The higher ups and I have all decided that this is for the best. We have our reasons, and this is only temporary; for a few months, a year at most."

"A year?" Smoker and Dylan shouted in unison, before glaring at the other, as if it was their fault Jones had made the decision in the first place.

"That's right," Jones confirmed, "And I'm sorry, but you have no choice. Starting tomorrow, you'll both be in charge of Flora Island – and I fully expect you two to work together, as well."

Dylan stepped back, and her chair fell to the ground. She frowned, obviously displeased with the news. "But why?" she stressed, "I don't want to work with him! No offense," she added to Smoker fleetingly, "But I thought that as captain, I'd get my own island to rein over!"

"I've worked for this position too hard, Commodore Jones," Smoker agreed fiercely. And it was true. Over the years, Smoker had worked hard and trained hard. And now, his goal was being crushed in the blink of an eye, and all because of some woman who couldn't keep her trap shut. He wouldn't accept this. He couldn't. If only Jones could see that.

But the commodore looked like his mind was made up. "I'm sorry, but this is for the best. Both of you are newly appointed captains, and so, for your first assignment, you should be together. It makes logical sense."

"Logical shmogical." Dylan snapped, only growing more irritated when both Jones and Smoker glanced at her with eyebrows raised. "You know what I mean!"

Jones shrugged. "Nevertheless, there's nothing that'll change my mind. It's the perfect opportunity. Plus, maybe you two working together will cancel out each other's tempers." They both glared at him. Jones grinned at that. "It's official. You, Captain Dylan Sparks, and you, Captain Smoker, will both be in charge of Flora Island starting tomorrow."

Dylan's protests fell on deaf ears as Jones leaned over his desk to regard the duo seriously.

"Pack your bags, soldiers. You leave at seven sharp."

Chapter Two: Truce?

Dylan was, essentially, burning Smoker with her heated gaze. And contrary to what most of both their crews thought, it was of annoyance rather than want. Well, not pure, unadulterated annoyance per se, not by a long shot, but a more subdued case.

Dylan knew she was being unreasonable, dumping all the blame on Smoker like she was, but she couldn't help it. She reasoned that she could act like a child for just a while more, before she had to woman up and act more like a captain and less like a brat – no matter how much she wanted to.

As she stared Smoker down, she couldn't help but study him over. Smoker had gray hair that made him look older than he probably was. That, coupled with his stormy gray eyes, added to the intimidating effect. Only she wasn't about to be scared off any time soon.

From what she could see, Smoker carried no visible weapon, much like her. She wondered how he defended himself from enemies. But back to the present: she stared a bit more, and snapped her eyes back to her subordinates when Smoker turned his cool gaze and looked her head on, evidently unfazed by the dark waves she practically gave out in spades.

"Felix!" she called, refusing to look back at her partner, who was insistently drilling a hole in her back.

The wide-eyed chore boy scurried forward, tensing as he got closer. "Yes, Captain Sparks?"

Dylan's eye twitched at the title. Gah. Captain. She absolutely abhorred being called so, but the marines under her care were insistent to the point of being downright annoying. But it wouldn't do to get mad at them; she was in charge of their well-being and it would not be wise to have them hate her on the first day.

She took a deep breath. "Never mind," she managed a small smile, "Just…continue with what you were doing."

"Y-Yes ma'am," Felix bowed and quickly scuttled away.

Dylan clenched her teeth as she watched him leave, the muscle in the base of her jaw jumping in annoyance. It didn't help that she could still feel Smoker's gaze, the geezer, from the ship adjacent to hers. She took another cleansing breath, her eyes fluttering closed. When she next opened them, she felt relatively better.

It wasn't Smoker's fault, she reasoned, that she had to work alongside him in the care of Flora Island. In fact, he was probably as irritated as she was. They should be working together, not apart. Maybe she could turn this little assignment into an enjoyable one.

Oh, who was she kidding? Dylan had always been unreasonable, always been the stubborn mule that had her own views and rights. No one, not even her father, back when he was still alive, could take that away from her. She stood for what she believed in, and sometimes, when she knew she was in the wrong, it still took a lot to get an apology out of her. Her pride was important to her, but she still supposed it would make the whole disaster of Jones' more enjoyable if she didn't snap down everyone's throats each second.

Even though she had become a captain by technicality, she could still try her hardest to be a good one.

Though…frankly, she still couldn't believe she was a captain. She knew she wasn't nearly as strong as some of the captain's she'd met. She knew she didn't deserve to be one. But Jones had claimed he had no choice. Hardy, the young boy whom Dylan and Jones had been arguing about; the mere chore boy who was also currently a part of Dylan's newly formed crew – as she'd asked for him personally – was the one who should have gotten the recognition.

He was the one who had found out about the small group of bandits planning to steal the latest shipment of Devil Fruit's coming in. He was the one who'd warned the marines, and yet when no one had believed him, he had gone out himself to stop them. He was the one who had run to get Dylan, Devil Fruits clutched to his chest, bandits hot on his trail. All Dylan had done was knock the offenders out cold. Hardy was the one who deserved the promotion.

Unfortunately, no one else saw what she did.

The colour had mostly left Dylan's cheeks by now, the blotchy, angry red that didn't have much to do with Smoker and everything to do with frustration at herself receding down her neck. She glanced at Smoker at the ship over and was unsurprised to see him studying her intently. He didn't look away, even when Dylan caught his stormy gray eyes with her own, instead staring her down, willing her to back down first. Only Dylan didn't. Back down, that is.

She could never turn down a challenge.

Finally, Smoker tore his eyes from hers when his ensign, Petty, approached him with something or other. Feeling a little smug, Dylan turned her eyes to Petty instead.

She was a slim woman, and had pleasant features to look at. Brown hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her brown eyes were large, like a doe's. The only reason Petty had really caught Dylan's eye was because of her behaviour with her own ensign, Don.

Dylan shifted her gaze to her subordinate, in her own ship. Don had unusual spiky blue hair and black eyes, and a nice build.

Although she technically wasn't allowed, Dylan had checked both ensigns' backgrounds, and discovered that they had worked together on the same ship when they were mere chore boys and girls. Now, many years later, Dylan could practically see the affection they held for each other. It was in the way they would sneak glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking, or how Don would casually smile at Petty, then blush a little when she smiled back.

It was sickeningly cute, and Dylan loved every second of it.

Okay, so maybe she was a bit of a romantic. Not in her own love life, which was nonexistent, but in other's. She watched soap operas in private. She swooned whenever a proposal was made, or when a girl was asked out by the object of her affection. She was a romantic at heart, and wasn't afraid to admit it…to herself. No one else knew the little tidbit about her, aside from maybe Jones, but he was just too perceptive for his own good, so he didn't really count.

Plus, he was an old geezer. He didn't understand love.

Nevertheless, Dylan was determined to get the two ensign's together and acknowledging their undying affections. They could thank her later.

"Land ahoy!" Dylan snapped out of her musings and dragged her gaze from Don to Smoker. Her ship, The Hyperion, was smoothly sailing alongside Smoker's, The Cyclops. Squinting at the horizon, she could barely make out the beginnings of an island.

Flora Island, the place where she and Smoker would be taking over for the next few months. Wonderful.

Smoker didn't quite know how to feel, not really. Sure, he was mad. Annoyed. Ticked off. But he had long since accepted his fate. A small part of him wanted to lash out against his superior's decision. Dylan had. He certainly didn't believe in absolute justice, and so he didn't have to listen to every word the higher ups said. He wasn't obligated to.

He was his own person.

But he could be reasonable at times, and Smoker could see what Jones was getting at. Dylan, however, obviously couldn't see it and was bent on making her point. He admired that about her, as grudging as he was to admit it even to himself, but felt that under other circumstances, she could learn to agree and relent.

Nevertheless, she wasn't afraid to stand up for what she believed in. She was as stubborn as a mule, sure, but she knew exactly who she was, even at such a young age. On second thought, he didn't even know how old she was in the first place. He'd have to change that if they were to work together.

"Captain Dylan has accepted your request, sir, and is waiting in your office." Ensign Petty saluted Smoker respectfully.

"Thank you, Petty. Let's go, shall we?" Smoker turned on his heel, hearing his ensign follow suit. They walked the short way to Smoker's office, and he opened the door without much preamble. "Dylanna, let's get down to business."

Dylan scowled as if by reflex, before she took a calming breath and pursed her lips at Smoker. "Of course, Smokie," she replied sweetly, spinning once in Smoker's desk chair.

"Don't call me that," was Smoker's immediate response. Then, upon second thought, he pulled himself together in the presence of his and Dylan's ensigns. "Petty, you may leave now."

"W-Wait," Dylan called out hurriedly. Smoker raised an eyebrow at her, but she was looking at Dom with an unreadable expression on her face. "Dom, you should go with her. Make sure the marines are all doing okay and everything." Dom nodded, and once they were gone, she smiled to herself in satisfaction. Smoker studied her. Interesting…

"So Dylanna, are you going to stare at the door all day or what?" he drawled, bringing Dylan from wherever she'd been.

Dylan glared at him half-heartedly. Smoker smirked and sat in the chair opposite of his own, as it was currently being occupied by the feisty captain. Dylan eyed him suspiciously, before she folded her hands in her lap, looking suddenly bored.

"So, what did you call me here for, Smokie?"

Smoker took a page from her book and leaned back in his chair, adopting a nonchalant look. "Well, since we'll be working together, it would make sense if we knew the basics of the other, right?"

Dylan worried on her lip at that, slowly leaning forward. "I've been thinking that, too," she admitted. "I'm willing to be much more rational about this. It's neither of our faults that Jones did what he did, the geezer," she muttered the last name-calling under her breath, not that it stopped Smoker from hearing.

"Go on," Smoker decided to ignore the last part, genuinely intrigued.

Dylan pursed her lips and smacked them. "Anyway, if we actually work together for this, things would be so much easier. So, what do you say? Colleagues or whatever?"

"Colleagues." Smoker drawled. Dylan had pretty much said all that was on his mind. "Now that we've established this, though, we should know each other's strengths and weaknesses. There are bound to be some enemies that we'd have to personally take care of, and it would be better if we knew more about each other in that aspect."

It was as if he'd spoken the magic words.

Dylan's whole posture shifted, her eyes lighting up. Her cool and rough demeanor from earlier was gone in the blink of an eye, almost as if she were shedding more layers of herself, of her personality, for Smoker to see.

"I thought you'd never ask, Smokie," Dylan enthused, before going off on a long spiel about this and that.

The rest of the day passed by in similar fashion. Smoker learned that Dylan's talent was in the Capoeira fighting style, a type of leg-using style, which she'd learned from her father, a former marine. Dylan seemed really eager to know of Smoker's Devil Fruit, and it was then did she look more like a kid than ever.

"Feel free to leave whenever, Smokie," Dylan drawled after they'd finished talking. Smoker's eye ticked. She was kicking him out of his own office – how appalling and unprofessional was that?

"I should be saying the same to you, Dylanna." He replied coolly.

Dylan frowned. "Why you–"

Smoker grinned. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out, Sparks."

Chapter Three: Beast In The Woods

Dylan pursed her lips as Smoker gave out orders to the marine soldiers all gather out on the courtyard.

Technically, she was supposed to be helping out, but Smokie had claimed that she would only slow him down. Which was fine with her – at first, she'd only protested for the sake of her own pride, but when she stood back and thought about it, the whole thing really was a blessing in disguise.

Because honestly, why would she want to do the paperwork and whatnot in the first place? Smoker was only dragging himself down with all his claims that he could do everything by himself. He was such a perfectionist that it annoyed her to no end. He insisted on doing most of the work and taking most of the responsibility, and sometimes Dylan refused to just sit back and let him do all the work, but other times, she truly didn't care.

Let him do as he pleased.

Really, it was perfectly fine with Dylan. Let him work himself to death for all she cared. Well, maybe she didn't want him to keel over and die per se. His Devil Fruit – Logia type! – was too rare for it to just disappear off the face of the earth, even if it was Smoker who had the power. It could be much, much worse – an evil pirate could've gotten possession of the Fruit instead, which would have been horrible.

Smoker was an okay geezer; he was a marine, a good one at that, and the only thing Dylan had against him was that he was making her look bad with his perfectionist routine. Which was incredibly unreasonable of her, so scratch that. She didn't have much against him.

She yawned as Smoker continued to give out assignments: who would patrol when, yadda yadda yadda, until finally he dismissed them all and took out a cigar from the inside of that fancy shmancy jacket of his. He lit it up casually and inhaled.

Ugh. Cancer sticks.

Dylan nodded shortly to the marines she passed on their way out, before drawing her cloak tight around her shoulders – the air was a little chilly and she got cold really easily. Light on her feet, Dylan walked over to where Smoker was standing, smoking the lung dart of his.

"A word of advice," she called out nonchalantly, "Don't smoke near me, or when we're in the same room. The cancer sticks make me nauseous." She tried not to breathe in through her nose, but it only succeeded in making her cough from inhaling the smoke. Smooth, she reflected sarcastically.

"Cancer sticks?" Smoker confirmed dryly, unmoved by her claim and taking another lungful of smoke.

"Cancer sticks." Dylan repeated firmly, taking the cigar from between his lips and dropping it on the grass. She ground her heel on the end, stubbing it out.

Smoker gave her a look. "Dylanna, I believe you owe me another cigar."

Dylan rolled her eyes, though her hand twitched at the use of her real name. "I'm doing you a favour, Smokie. Do you want to die an early death? Besides, you have plenty of lung darts as it is." She gestured to the inside of his coat, which was lined with countless cigars, hence proving her point.

"I'm a Smoke man." Smoker replied with a small grin, "Do you really think that something like this will affect me?"

At the mention of Smoker's Devil Fruit, Dylan's eyes lit up. She didn't know why, but they fascinated her. Devil Fruits, that is. Each Fruit was unique, and each one so interesting. Though if she had the choice between a Fruit and never being able to swim again, Dylan had long since agreed that she would turn down the potential power. She loved swimming. Her mother had been a diver of sorts, and she guessed it just rubbed off on her.

"I guess not." Dylan said. "But still, not near me, okay?"

Smoker studied her for a few moments. She seemed really upset and opinionated about the subject. "Fine, yeah."

Dylan blinked, surprised. Then, she scratched her head awkwardly. She hadn't thought that he would agree to it so easily. "Um, thanks." She murmured.

Smoker, not wanting to feel any more uncomfortable than he already did, shuffled a hand over his hair and heaved a sigh. "Let's go over the patrol schedules and make sure everything's perfect."

"What? But you just gave out the schedules to everyone!" Dylan protested. "What if there's something wrong with it? Then we'd have to have this whole meeting again." Why did he have to be such a perfectionist?

"Exactly," Smoker said, "If they're wrong, then we have to take care of the matter as soon as possible."

Dylan huffed, still not that pleased, but had no retort ready on the tip of her tongue. "Whatever."

"You're being stupid. There isn't anything wrong with it!" Dylan shook her head and leaned over, pointing to a spot on the piece of parchment. "Look. Look here. It says that he gets three hours before lunch. And then this guy relieves him. That makes sense!"

"No, it–" Smoker stopped, looking over the information again.

Dylan beamed. "See? I was right," she laughed as Smoker's expression turned sour. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Yeah, me neither." Smoker muttered.

Dylan sent him a mock indignant look. "Excuse me? I'll have you know that I'm pretty smart. How did you think I got this far?" She paused. "Well, aside from the whole 'Devil Fruit' fiasco."

Smoker smirked, amused. "That was intruiging to watch. You berate Jones like that, I mean."

Dylan shrugged, nonchalant. "I've known Jones since I was a kid; he was best friend's with my father. But then again, even if it wasn't Jones I still would have lashed out," she mused.

Smoker noted that she always used past tense when talking about her father, but didn't comment on it. "So then, what are your views on 'Absolute Justice'?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Absolute rubbish," Dylan snorted immidiately, "You know what us Marines need? A good healthy dose of reality. We need to open our eyes and realise that not every pirate is evil, or that sometimes, we make mistakes too." She sighed wretchedly, slowly coming out of her daze.

"I agree," Smoker said slowly. "You're absolutely right."

Dylan was taken aback for only a second before she beamed at Smoker, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. "Well, it's how I see it."

Smoker sent Dylan a deadpan look. "I'm not just saying it because I've just been enlightened, Dylanna. I've thought this for a while too, it's not just you."

"Just get to work, Smokie." Dylan lamented.

"Aye, captain." Smoker quirked an eyebrow a tad playfully, and both captains relaxed in the confines of Smoker's private office.

Dylan leaned back in her chair, letting Smoker continue with his work for a moment. It had been a good few weeks since becoming captains of Flora Island, and so far, things were going surprisingly well. The Islanders were friendly and welcoming, and abided to the Marine's rules well enough. They'd finally got the hang of things in the schedule department, and it seemed the whole island were a well oiled machine.

There were litle disturbances so far, as well. Since the island was fair sized, a couple East Blue pirates with starting bounties had come in hopes they'd get lucky and aqquire more cargo, crew members, or treasure. They were out of luck, as once they'd discovered the island held a Marine base, it was already too late.

"By now, word should have gotten around that Flora Island has a Marine base, don't you think?" Dylan asked out of the blue, fiddling with a loose strand on her lieutenant commander cloak that she hadn't seen reason to throw away.

Smoker looked up from a thick wad of papers, regarding Dylan curiously. "Yes, I would assume so. Why?"

Dylan shrugged. "No reason."

The water was cool and refreshing in the crisp morning air. Dylan sighed happily before diving under, opening her eyes to the beautiful sight that was beheld. She'd woken up early today, before the night shift of marine patrol could go to bed, and had decided on a morning swim. She was glad she'd made the decision now.

Swimming idly, Dylan began to hum, and gradually, got louder in volume as she sung out the lyrics to a few popular Marine tunes. She got so caught up in the music and treading water lightly that before she knew it, the sun was getting higher and higher and her skin was being reduced to that of a prune.

She moved herself to the shore, still singing randomly, a big, happy smile on her face. When was the last time she had just let herself unwind like this? When was the last time she'd relaxed? Either way, it felt amazing.

"Dylan! Are you okay?"

She stopped singing abruptly at the sudden intrusion, her cheeks colouring pink when she caught sight of Smoker jogging towards her. Dylan's embarrassment faded away, however, when she saw the worried look on his face.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" She called, in answer to Smoker's previous question. What did he mean, was she okay?

Smoker stopped a few feet shy from Dylan's bathing suit clad form, confusion knotting his brows. "But…I was informed that some sort of beast was near the shore by frantic Islanders. They refused to let anyone else but me see to the matter, saying something about a legend…are you sure you're okay? You didn't hear anything strange while you were swimming? Like a banshee?"

Dylan began to shake her head, but stopped when his words sunk in. Beast? Legend? Banshee? She felt her cheeks fill with colour once more, and this time she was more mortified than anything. "Oh dear…"

"What? What is it?"

Dylan covered her face in her hands, mumbling, "Promise not to tell anyone what I'm about to tell you?"

"Dylanna, what are you…"

"Promise?" Dylan urged.

Smoker pursed his lips, nodding. "Of course. I won't tell a soul…unless it's harmful to you or the islanders," he amended.

Dylan nodded, feeling that it was a good compromise. It wasn't harmless, per say, at least, not really… "The thing that got the islanders so worked up about was probably just my…just my…" Dylan huffed, turning away. "It was my singing, okay, my singing. My dad always said I was tone deaf or whatever. I didn't think anyone would be able to hear me, though!"

There was a beat of silence, in which Dylan blushed even harder. She couldn't help but turn around to see Smoker's face a few moments later, and huffed indignantly when she caught sight of the amused grin on Smoker's face.

"Wait…so the noise…was you?" Smoker asked, just to clarify.

"Must you make me say it again?" Dylan cried, "Yes, okay? It was me, now make your fun. But be warned, I might be so inclined to break your neck in turn."

Smoker started laughing, something that Dylan had yet to see in the short time she'd known him. She had only ever seen him chuckle, or grin at most, but this? She would have been intruiged if the laughing wasn't at her expense. His eyes seemed to light up and shine with amusement as he tried to smother his chuckles, but his efforts were in vain. Dylan felt her face become hot, but despite that, she couldn't help but notice how much more…pleasant Smoker looked when he wasn't sporting a constant frown on his face.

The thought only caused her to blush harder.

Chapter Four: Project Girlfriend

The courtyard in the back of the Marine headquarters had not a hair out of place. The flowers bloomed, butterflies danced around, and marines practiced training with wooden swords and straw-filled dummies. In other words, all was normal; like it should be.

Well, sort of.

"Captain Dylanna… What are you doing?"

Dylan started, turning her head towards Smoker – who, for once, didn't have a cigar in his mouth – with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. "Nothing…" she replied meekly, slowly attempting to hide the pair of binoculars in her hands. The fact that he had called her by her real name went right over her head – unfortunately, she was a little too used to it by now.

Smoker raised an eyebrow at Dylan's response. "Oh, really?" he mused, "Then what's with you, hiding behind a tree, without your lieutenant commander jacket and with a pair of binoculars behind your back, hmm?"

Dylan scowled. Damn him for being so smart. She'd only been co-captains with him for, what, a month and a week, and he was already ruining her fun? She huffed petulantly. "Fine. If you must know, I'm… checking to see if Ensign Don and Petty are doing their jobs. Yes, that's right." She nodded to herself. That seemed like a viable reason.

Smoker raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And this has nothing to do with the fact that they're oh-so-obviously sneaking glances at each other when they think the other isn't looking?"

Dylan stared up at Smoker in slight disbelief. Whipping her binoculars out, she placed them to her eyes and zoomed in on the two marines. "Hey, you're right! Awww," she turned back to Smoker, remarking, "You're very observant."

Smoker coughed into a closed fist, a tad uncomfortably. "That's beside the point, Dylanna. The question is: what are you doing spying on your subordinates?"

Dylan glared half-heartedly at Smoker. "Well, when you put it that way…" she muttered. Suddenly, movement in her peripheral caught her attention and she inhaled sharply, reaching out and gripping the lapels of Smoker's jacket and tugging him quickly behind the tree. "Quiet!" she hissed when Smoker opened his mouth to protest. "They're looking this way!"

Smoker stared down at Dylan a little incredulously. Her back was to the tree trunk, her head looking to her right. One hand was clutching on to the binoculars and the other on the collar of his jacket, keeping him in an awkward semi-crouched position, hovering over her person. Both his arms had shot out and gripped the trunk on either side of her head in order to steady himself, and his breath tickled her bare shoulder.

Dylan took a deep breath, peering over Smoker's arm with her binoculars to check and see whether either Ensign Don or Petty were still looking her way. She sighed in relief when she saw that they weren't; rather, they were back to sneaking peeks at each other. It was all so romantic!

"Would you mind terribly and let me go, Captain Dylanna?" Smoker whispered – more like growled – in her ear, his breath ghosting over the side of her neck. Dylan instinctively raised her shoulder to close up the space bared to Smoker, shivering a bit at the ticklish feeling.

"Right. Sorry about that, Captain Smokie." Dylan let go of Smoker's jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles rather sheepishly as a light tint coloured her cheeks.

Smoker straightened himself, checking over his shoulder to see if anyone had seen. When he determined that no one had spotted him, he turned back to regard Dylan with a raised eyebrow. She was definitely acting weirdly. "Captain Dylanna," he started, sounding a little amused yet a tad annoyed for being manhandled so atrociously, "You wouldn't happen to be a… closet romantic, would you?"

Dylan froze.

She slowly raised her eyes from his chest – she wasn't staring – to his stormy-grey eyes, before pursing her lips in annoyance. "No…" she murmured weakly.

Smoker didn't look convinced.

Dylan huffed, glaring up at the older man. How did he even know, anyway? She wasn't that obvious. "So what if I am? And so help me Smokie, if you tell anyone about this I will–"

"I know, I know, you'll cut my head off, right?" Smoker drawled, looking highly amused. Dylan scowled and looked away, causing Smoker to chuckle lowly.

"Don't you have paperwork to do, Captain Dylanna?" Smoker asked her.

Dylan pouted rather childishly. "Paperwork, shmaperwork…" she muttered, eyeing Smoker suspiciously. "Why, have you finished your paperwork?"

Smoker rolled his eyes before he could catch himself. "Of course, what kind of a captain would I be if I didn't?"

"I heard that cleverly disguised insult, Smokie, and in my defense, I am doing something productive." She paused, gesturing behind the tree. "I'm conducting research."

"On your subordinates' private lives?" Smoker asked, amused.

Dylan glared, "Yes. Do you have a problem with that? It's so obvious that Don and Petty are madly in love. Y'know, I heard that they were on the same ship when they were mere Cabin Helpers."

"How delightful," Smoker replied dryly.

Dylan frowned. "Just because you don't know anything about romance, Captain, doesn't mean you have to go and make fun of it."

"And I suppose that you're implying that you know all about this so-called romance?" Smoker shot back disinterestedly.

"You're a bitter, bitter man, you know that?"

"Hn."

Suddenly, Dylan's face lit up and she jumped to her feet, grinning wildly at Smoker, who regarded her carefully. "Smokie, I've got an idea."

Smoker narrowed his eyes, letting the silence stretch before them for a while before answering. "And, pray tell, what is this idea of yours?" he asked carefully, a foreboding feeling starting to fester deep in his gut. He wasn't sure how to feel about this romantic Dylan. She just kept on surprising him day after day with each new thing he learned about her. Nevertheless, her idea could not be good…

Dylan merely smirked deviously. "I, Captain Dylan Sparks, am going to help you, Captain Smoker, in getting…a girlfriend."

Smoker could only stare in slight horror at the raven-haired woman before him as the words tumbled from her lips, before running a hand through his face and up into his hair in agitation. "That's quite alright, Dylanna. I don't need–"

"No objections," Dylan chided, "I'm going through with this. But, if you tell anyone what I'm doing to help you, I'll–"

Smoker sighed tiredly, cutting her off. "I know, I know, you'll cut my head off."

He really needed a smoke or two.

Maybe three.

Knock, knock.

Smoker looked up from his paperwork, or rather, Dylan's paperwork that he had, for reasons unknown to even him, taken on much to the delight of the raven-haired girl.

"Come in," he called gruffly.

Instantly, he regretted ever saying those two fateful words.

Dylan strolled in casually, looking around the office that she'd been in numerous times before. Her coat billowed behind her as the green-eyed woman took a seat across from Smoker, a clipboard in hand.

This could not be good.

"So, Smokie, I have a few questions for you–"

"No." Smoker glared at the woman before him. "I already told you, Dylanna, I'm not going to go out with any girls you pair me up with."

Dylan frowned. "But it would do you much good," she insisted, "Help you relax! Because you are way too high strung," she added under her breath, not that it stopped Smoker from hearing.

"Dylanna…get out."

"Smokie…no."

"Dylanna…"

Dylan ignored him and sat forward, cradling her chin in her hand, her elbow resting on Smoker's desk. "Hm…I'm going to go ahead and say your favourite colour is…" her eyes flickered to his jacket, "green, and that your favourite pastime is…" a glance at all the paperwork, "working – ew – and that you enjoy…" catching sight of the cigars lining the inside of his jacket, "destroying your lungs and dying an early death."

She sat back in satisfaction, smirking smugly at Smoker, whose eye ticked in annoyance. Finally, he sighed. "If I fill out the questionnaire, will you leave?"

"Yep!" Dylan said instantly, popping the 'p'. She handed the clipboard over to Smoker, who took it rather reluctantly. She stood from the chair, already halfway to the door. "I'll come pick it up in an hour."

And then, she was gone.

Smoker sighed and pushed his paperwork to the side, staring down at the clipboard in hand. He started off where Dylan had stopped.

Question Four: What do you look for in a woman?

Grumbling, the grey-haired man clicked the top of his pen and scrawled his answer on the paper half hazardously.

Women who aren't as annoying or childish as Dylanna Sparks.

Satisfied with his answer, he looked over the next one.

Question Five: Would you say you care more for appearance, or personality?

He didn't even have to blink before his answer was printed next to the question.

As long as she doesn't look anything like Dylanna Sparks, or acts anything like Dylanna Sparks, I'm fine.

His eyes traveled to the next question.

Question Six: Why are you taking this questionnaire in the first place?

Because Dylanna Sparks is a nosy woman who is secretly a closet romantic and wants to be the next cupid. She's taking it all out on me, unfortunately.

The rest of the questions were relatively similar, and most of Smoker's answers were unsurprisingly related to Dylan. Once he was done, he sighed, pushed the clipboard away, and got started on the paperwork once more.

About forty-five minutes later, a knock resounded at his door and before Smoker could grant access, Dylan casually walked in, her wet hair indicating that she had recently taken a shower, a bored expression on her face as she studied her nails – they were bare and unpainted, and kept short.

"Done the questionnaire?" she asked, plopping down into the soft armchair across from Smoker's own rolling-chair.

Smoker grunted, a little annoyed but strangely used to it (it being Dylan's constant questions), pointing to the clipboard at the edge of his desk without looking up. Dylan leaned forward, droplets of water dripping onto Smoker's paperwork.

Smoker growled at that, placing his pen down and grabbing hold of Dylan's shoulder, pushing her back into the chair. "Stop raining on the faxes. They're important." He took the questionnaire himself and handed it to her, this time keeping an eye on Dylan's face for her reactions to his answers.

As Dylan read over the piece of paper, her face contorted into many emotions – annoyed, angry, aggravated, embarrassed, and finally, reluctantly amused. She sighed regretfully. "I should have know you wouldn't ever take this seriously." Cradling her chin in a palm, she wondered idly, "Have you even had a girlfriend before? Ever?"

"Have you?" Smoker shot back just as quickly, signing another document.

"No," Dylan admitted without shame, "But that wasn't the question."

"Fine. No, I've never had a girlfriend or any other female counterpart, ever."

Dylan chuckled absently. "Oh. Well, that's okay. I'll still be on the lookout for power-hungry females on the island for you."

Smoker arched an eyebrow, finally looking up from his papers. "No thanks. Really, I'm fine with what I have."

Dylan didn't respond, instead changing the subject a moment later. "You need help with that?"

"Why? You want to help? I'm actually doing your share of paperwork, you know." Smoker looked up, surprised to see a guilty expression on Dylan's face.

"I'm sorry about that," she grumbled. "I'll do my own work from now on, okay? I was just being bratty like usual."

Smoker stared at Dylan for a while, before pushing a small stack of papers her way. He dropped a pen onto her lap. "Alright. Let's get to work."

Dylan ducked her head to hide her please little grin, getting started on the faxes a moment later. "Hmm, this actually isn't so bad. I thought it would be boring."

"I guess," Smoker shrugged uncaringly. Suddenly, a thought popped into his head. "How old are you, Dylanna?"

A bit taken aback at the abrupt change in subject, she answered, "Nineteen. Why? How old are you?"

Smoker nodded absently. Her age sounded just about right. She looked around nineteen, anyway. "Twenty-two," he replied, before smirking. "That makes me your superior by three years."

Dylan laughed, even though her first instinct had been to scowl. "Just because you're older doesn't mean you're a better captain that I am," she sing-songed.

Smoker immediately retaliated, though it was light-hearted. Neither of them realised, as they continued to exchange playful banter, that not once had they fought, argued or had a disagreement during their whole conversation.

Things were changing within the depths of Flora Island, no matter how slight.

The End

Thank you for reading :)