Archive of Our Own

Arms full of papers stacked higher than your eyes, you feel around for the handle to the Vice Admiral’s office. The hardest part isn’t finding the doorknob without looking, no... What tests you is holding all that weight one-handed, without letting anything fall.

But you are no stranger to the task. As the chief librarian and archivist of Naval Base G-5, it falls to you to supply high-ranking officers with whatever documentation they require. Classified reports, intelligence dossiers, navigators’ journals, ship logs. The Vice Admiral Smoker is known to request them all.

"Here they are, sir, all the files you ask -aaah!"

The chair shouldn’t be there, but it’s the first thing your knees hit as the door swings open. As you trip over it, your arms struggle to hold onto the stack of papers.

The fall isn’t too painful; your palms take the worst of it. But what truly hurts is watching the endless sheets scatter and drift down like confetti around you. Hours of sorting and carefully organizing, gone in an instant.

“Miss! Are you okay?” You hear the Vice Admiral’s hurried footsteps drawing near.

“Y-yes sir! I… I’m very sorry,” you rise immediately, barely giving yourself a moment before you start frantically picking up the mess.

Ashamed and exhausted, you feel a sorrow in your chest that would bring tears if you were alone. In fact, it will make you cry as soon as you step through the door. But for now, you must hold it together. Vice Admiral Smoker is a stern and strict man, and expects nothing less than discipline from his subordinates. 

“It’s alright, leave it…” he says.

“No sir! I have to put them back in order! I have to…” you notice his military boots come to a stop beside you.

“Miss,” he insists, and you bite the inside of your cheeks to hold back the tears. “I’ll handle it. Go back to the library and rest.”

“But-”

His gray eyes lock onto yours, full of authority, but there's a flicker of concern where you usually find hardness.

“Rest.”

*********

You obey and return to your post, but not to rest.

After the recent frantic events, activity at the naval base has multiplied, and so has everyone’s workload. Captains, sergeants, and cadets, all seem overwhelmed. But while their work is visible and they’re granted breaks, yours remains in the shadows.

Locked away in the library and general archives, you spend your days organizing and sorting, barely noticed by anyone. It’s a lonely job. And it’s exhausting. Yet you don’t like to complain. After all, this is the job you always dreamed of. You fought hard to be recognized and to earn it. You have no right to complain.

Wiping away the tears you just shed after scolding yourself for your clumsiness in the Vice Admiral’s office, you glance over your schedule with a sigh. Looks like you won’t be eating today either.

Where were the texts to review? On the shelves to the right or to the left? Usually, you remember perfectly where everything is, but the workload is too much that your memory plays tricks on you.

That only makes you feel worse about yourself. It’s not enough. You need to keep going. Work harder and faster; you can’t let the naval base down...

Climbing the ladder, you run your hand along the spines of the files holding the ancient texts. They are organized alphabetically by mission name. A-B-C have already been reviewed. Your fingers stop at the first volume cataloged under D. At a glance, you see countless volumes under that letter alone.

Normally, you would have simply sighed and resigned yourself, but a heavy unease settles in your stomach. You don’t recognize yourself, and your eyes fill with tears again, falling down your dark circles uncontrollably.

“Miss?”

Your heart stops at the low rumble of the Vice Admiral’s voice. You hadn’t heard him enter. He can’t see you like this.

Quickly wiping away your tears, you almost hide your head among the volumes so he won’t notice. Maybe he’s here to scold you for your clumsy behavior in his office?

Though Smoker is known to be a strict man, he has always been kind to you. It’s not as if you’ve had much contact. You work in such different departments. But he’s the only one at the base who addresses you as ‘Miss,’ and not by your military rank. And every time he’s requested documents, you’ve received a kind response from him. A response muttered and muffled through his cigars... but kind nonetheless.

“I came to check if you were all right.”

All right, he’s not here to reprimand you. Yet instead of relief, you close your eyes, weighed down by sorrow and guilt.

“Thank you, sir, I’m feeling better now,” you say with your head still buried among the books.

With your small lie, you hope the man will leave. But to your dismay, he stays right there at the foot of the ladder.

“In that case, could you pass me the third volume of A?”

That volume is at head height, and your desire to please him is as strong as your wish to be left alone. So you raise your arm quickly. So fast that the hand holding the ladder slips and causes you to fall backward through the air. Fortunately, the ladder isn’t very tall, and strong arms catch you before you hit the ground.

“Woah! Got you,” he says, his voice as soft as his touch, holding you like you’re made of porcelain.

The moment your eyes meet his, a wild heat rise up your cheeks and ears. Smoker seems to notice too, because his gloved hands immediately set you down, carefully sliding around your waist. Then, with a somewhat awkward gesture, he averts his gaze from yours.

“You need to rest,” he rasps. “A little light and fresh air will do you good. So much work and hours locked away aren’t good for anyone.”

You want to tell him you don’t need it, but you know he’s right. If you keep going like this, you’ll collapse. You watch him approach one of your tables, frowning as he inspects your schedule. Your thoughts rush to find a reply, but he gets ahead of you.

“Come on, let’s take a walk,” he points at the door with his thumb. “A break would do me good too.”

Let’s? Too? Being as solitary as you are, a walk with a Vice Admiral isn’t exactly what you had in mind for rest and relaxation. Your instinct pushes you to take refuge in work again.

“But sir, those papers need to be sorted before 5 p.m. The captain of-”. 

“Those damn papers can wait a while,” he grumbles, swinging the library door open and motioning for you to come along. “And so can that captain.”

Your eyes flick from the Vice Admiral to your desk. "But-"

“Librarian,” he slips into his commanding tone as he crosses his arms with impatience, inadvertently crushing the cigars pinned to his jacket. “A walk. That’s an order.”

****************

The town where the naval base sits is small and far from charming. Sleek navy ships mingle haphazardly with the modest boats of local fishermen. But as the sea breeze and sunlight brush your skin, your whole body seems to relax. You really needed this brief escape from the base.

Smoker isn’t exactly the best company. Too serious and without saying a word, he keeps his disciplined gaze fixed straight ahead as he walks beside you, taking slow drags from his cigars. You have no idea if the walk has any particular destination. You don’t really care either. You just let yourself be carried along as the fresh, salty air fills your lungs and clears your mind.

One street leads to another. His stride is long, but despite your shorter legs, you keep up easily. After all, you’ve had military training too. As you pass through a local market, delicious smells reach you along with the vendors’ shouts. There are some food stalls where you’d like to stop and check out the displays, but Smoker doesn’t slow down, and you don’t want to bother him with such trivial things.

“Did you eat lunch?” he asks suddenly, barely looking at you. If it weren’t for the screeching seagulls fighting over some scraps, your stomach’s growl would’ve bee heard.

“No, sir.”

“Mmh,” he mutters, then he stops in the nearest street stall. 

Curious, you glance at the menu: skewers of vegetables with your choice of battered beef or hake. You're so hungry your mouth waters, but in your rushed exit from the library, you forgot your coin purse.

“Beef or fish?” Smoker asks.

“Oh… that’s not nec-”

“Beef,” the Vice Admiral tells the vendor, who hands you a pair of hot skewers with a smile.

“Thank you,” you say politely.

You would have actually preferred the fish, but you devour the skewers eagerly anyway. 

As you continue the walk, you can’t help but let out a silly little giggle, thinking that what you’re having is almost like a date. If you had known, you would have put on that pretty dress still hanging in your closet with the tag on. What nonsense, you tell yourself, blushing. When you look down, you miss the Vice Admiral’s sidelong glance.

With your belly full, the town looks different. Kinder and warmer. Some children run around playing near you, and you laugh when one of them bumps into you. Smoker remains mostly silent, and simply grumbles when he stops to light a new cigar.

When you reach the central square, people crowd on one side. Laughter and small excited shouts make you get ahead of the vice admiral’s steady steps. An ice skating rink, almost as big as your training area, has been set up for the locals’ enjoyment. Your eyes light up with excitement. You love skating! Before you can stop yourself, you’re at the edge of the rink, watching everyone glide on their skates with enthusiasm.

“Alright,” you hear Smoker say behind you.

When you turn around, his hand is already outstretched, holding just the right amount of berries to rent the skates. You don’t think he remembered the exact price from before - he probably just checked it. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve refused, but now...

“I’ll pay you back, sir.”

“Nonsense,” he mutters.

You know there’s no use asking him to skate with you. The answer will be a firm no, so you simply run to the skate rental stand, clutching the coins tightly in your hand.

The cold of the ice bites your cheeks, though the effort of skating round and round the rink brings a lovely flush to your face. You are no more than a child again .Free and laughing, unburdened by the weight of duty. Every now and then, you sneak glances at Smoker, who stands with his back to the rink, his gaze wandering elsewhere.

You try different rhythms, crossing your feet over one another, pushing off with your arms, and even taking a small jump. When you look back at the vice admiral, he’s watching you. 

The cigar smoke swirls lazily upward. He doesn’t notice the fur cuffs of his jacket getting damp from the ice on the railing. His face is hard to read, but the creases around his eyes seem to be from a smile. He’s a truly attractive man, you think to yourself. The cleanly shaved sides of his white hair suit him remarkably well.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the man skating in front of you until it’s too late. You collide and both tumble clumsily to the ground. It’s your third fall of the day, but this one ends in a nervous little laugh as you apologize. The stranger helps you up, steadying you by the waist. When you glance back at Smoker, his brow is furrowed. He’s a bit far, but you could swear the smoke rising around him isn’t exactly coming from his cigars. Maybe it’s time to head back, you tell yourself.

The sun begins to set as the two of you make your way up a small hill. It’s a path you don’t recognize - despite serving at this base for years, you barely know its surroundings. On either side, trees and thick vegetation rise to form a small but beautiful forest. At the top, a wooden bench faces an idyllic lookout. You both sit down, each at one end, and silently watch as the open sea stretches beyond the quaint houses of the fishing village. Deep, vast, and blue.

"I come here whenever I need to clear my head," Smoker says, keeping his eyes on the horizon as the last rays of sunlight bathe the view before fading away.

That’s true. He mentioned earlier that he needs a break too. You’ve never really thought about how exhausting his job must be. Always on the move, commanding a sometimes inept group of marines, constantly giving reports, and maintaining a reputation. You’ve heard rumors that he never wanted to rise above captain, and yet there he is, carrying a heavy, suffocating authority. Smoker doesn’t know what a quiet life is, or what it’s like to have a loving wife and a bunch of kids waiting at home.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, meaning the view, and the bench gives a soft creak as he turns slightly to look at you. His white hair looks more gray now in the twilight.

“You should get out more. It’s not healthy to spend so many hours locked away and alone in the library.” 

“Yes, sir,” you reply simply with a sad smile. 

He sighs and turns his gaze back to the horizon. His profile is refined, with that silver sideburn framing his cheek just right. Then he removes the cigar from his mouth to speak, a gesture he only does when he’s truly angry… or about to say something important.

“I understand if you’re upset with me. I failed to notice how overwhelmed you are. I’m sorry about that.” 

The poorly stitched scar running diagonally across his face pulls tight as he frowns. You react quickly, trying to stop the way his shoulders slump forward.

“No, Vice Admiral. Of course not. It’s not your fault. We’ve all been overwhelmed at the base lately… you included.”

He closes his eyes and rubs his temple. “But I’m responsible for you. It’s my job to protect you… I failed at that. And please… call me Smoker. Not Vice Admiral. Not here.”

And not you, you almost finish the words he leaves unspoken.

It hurts to see him like this, so even though it’s completely inappropriate, your hand finds his on the bench.

His gloves are thinner than you expected; the warmth of his skin seeps through. As your thumb brushes his in a shy gesture, Smoker glances down. Then, slowly, he turns his palm upward to hold yours. It only takes a second for you to realize how out of line this is. You ease your hand away, settling it quietly on your thigh. His eyes track the movement, but his own hand returns to the wooden seat. When a sudden chill from the approaching evening makes you shiver, he rises and steps behind the bench.

"Come on, it's getting late," he says, and just after, you feel the weight of his jacket settle over your shoulders.

******

Wearing Smoker’s jacket feels like he’s holding you close as you walk. Like his arms are draped protectively around your shoulders. Like he’s guiding you gently by the waist. The heavy coat is way too big on you, but it’s warm and smells like him. A mix of cigars and a spicy aftershave.

If this isn’t a date, then honestly, you don’t know what is.

Smoker walks back to the naval base just as silently as he did on the way there. He’s so serious that you start wondering if your behavior at the lookout was really appropriate. You never actually answered when he said it was his responsibility to protect you… And that hand gesture? Totally out of place. You blush again just thinking about it, unaware that he’s tilting his chin slightly, watching you.

By the time the moon adorns the darkened sky and the night shops begin to light up their signs, you reach the base entrance where you must go your separate ways.

“Thank you for everything, sir. It really helped me clear my head, and I had a great time,” you say, quickly folding his jacket before handing it back.

“It's alright,” he takes it somewhat reluctantly and throws it over one shoulder, “it helped me too.”

The Vice Admiral’s pupils carry such intensity that your heart starts pumping blood harder than usual. You think he’s going to say something else, but his lips remain sealed around his two smoking cigars. Not wanting to drag the moment out any longer, you give the usual bow meant for superior officers.

“Good night, sir.” 

“Good night,” he gives you a slight nod of courtesy. 

He’s barely finished the last word when you’ve already turned on your heels, walking away with feet that seem to trip over themselves.

“Miss,” he calls behind you, and you stop at once. His voice sounds more like a plea than a command. “Wait.”

You have to lift your chin to meet his eyes when he stops in front of you. He’s a man who towers over most of the G-5 base, and you’re no exception. 

"I..." he starts, but the way your bright eyes look at him disarms him in an instant. "Mmmh, listen, since I saw you like meat... earlier, the skewers you picked," -you didn’t really pick them, but you keep that to yourself- "I-I..." he stumbles, then runs his gloved hand over his face. "Damn."

You stay quiet, giving him a moment to collect himself, and he goes on. 

"Okay, there's a restaurant in town you might like. They serve all kinds of grilled meat. I've been a few times... for lunch or dinner... always alone," he quickly adds.

He’s giving you more explanations than you really need, and you struggle to hide the smile that is spreading across your face. It’s not easy. And neither is ignoring how white his knuckles are from gripping his jacket so tightly.

“I was thinking that tomorrow, if you don’t have anything better to do. Of course, you must have things to do, but maybe... I mean, if you don’t have anyone-”

“I don’t, sir, and I would be more than happy to accompany you to the restaurant.”

As he looks at you, there they are again. Those adorable creases around his sharp eyes. It’s a restrained smile, but somehow a lovely one, that makes you almost forget the scar splitting his face in two.

“Dinner?” he asks, and his posture already seems more relaxed.

“Sounds perfect, sir.”

He nods and his hand moves slightly forward, but he seems to think twice and slips it into his pocket instead. “Very well then. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

*********

Back in your room, you let yourself fall onto the bed, hugging yourself as you remember the feel of his jacket on your skin. You can almost smell his aftershave again…

Tomorrow you’ll have to work hard to make up for all the time you lost today. But the thought of having dinner with the Vice Admiral makes everything feel… completely different.

You close your eyes and think about those perfectly shaved sides. You mustn't forget to take the tag off the dress before going out. :)