🫧WanNe🫧

Spandam’s office was excessively large for the amount of work he accomplished in it, which was very little. Boasting a floor of imported tile, the finest leather couches his father could afford, and a whole wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Enies Lobby, Spandam’s perch upon the top of the Judicial Island served to be little more than a sparse lounge. 

That’s certainly the way it functioned when the members of CP9 gathered, each of them having trickled into the room one by one to wait for a meeting that the host hadn’t even bothered to come to yet. 

Lucci stood, looking out the window, hands in the pockets of his slacks. He’d spent a few seconds too long frowning at Spandam’s barren desk. A few confidential papers were left out in the open. There were more paperweights than pens, and a plate from whatever Spandam’s last meal was still sat in the space in front of his plush chair. Lucci stared into the horizon so as not to spare an eye roll. No, that would have been too much of a crack in his cold exterior. 

When the grand double doors finally swung open, it was almost half an hour past the meeting time. Spandam strolled across the floor, a wide grin on his lips, his face lit with the smug joy of a man who’d just conquered the world. He was already spouting something loudly. But it wasn’t his grand entrance that caused Lucci to swiftly turn around. 

Something in the air changed. A subtle scent snuck in with the breeze let in from the hallway. Lucci huffed two subtle inhales, his sharp instincts already sifting through the catalogs of smells he had stored in his memory. 

—“is our newest recruit. Fresh out of the Academy with top marks in environmental reconnaissance and a concentration in stealth infiltration, and most importantly, hand-selected by yours truly—” Spandam slapped down hands down to grasp both your shoulders. You didn’t flinch. “Please welcome your newest support agent.” 

A few chuckles erupted from the gathered agents as you offered a slight bow. The words, “I’m honored to be here. I’ll do my best to support the team,” left your lips softly to another round of roars. 

Lucci understood why they laughed. Your stature in and of itself was a joke, and training didn’t appear to have put an ounce of muscle on you. Unlike the rest of them, it didn’t appear like you had even gotten the standard-issue uniform tailored to you. It was far too big on your frame, draping over your body in a way that made you look more out of place than you already did. You looked far too young and small, and your cheeks still appeared to hold a bit of baby fat. 

Lucci inhaled again.

“A mouse,” he said flatly. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t meant to invite conversation. His scrutinous, golden eyes stared into yours. 

“Exactly!” Spandam exclaimed, delighted at his own casting. “Who better to slip through cracks? To crawl through walls, I mean, what a body.” Spandam’s hands slid from your shoulders, down your biceps, and to your elbows. “Altered by a devil fruit in such a way. Perfect for a support professional—”

Lucci’s eyes flattened. “We don’t need support. Especially from someone who the team can’t even take seriously.”

He didn’t take his eyes off yours, searching for any weakness in your small, quiet exterior. 

Spandam’s cackle bounced off the tall ceiling. “Support’s part of survival, Lucci. It doesn’t hurt to have a little help now and then,” he lectured pompously. His hands were back on your shoulders, giving them a few pats before his fingers began to rub and massage at the base of your neck. 

You didn’t flinch at the gesture, just simply bowed your head. And that was it. That was the important announcement Spandam had on the agenda. While the introduction of a new member to CP9 was most definitely a cause for the team to be pulled from trainings and actual work, the way Spandam swiftly whisked you off to show you Funkfreed— promptly ignoring the rest of the team thereafter—caused Lucci to simmer quietly. 

They had missions to execute and essential things to take care of, yet Spandam paused everything just to show off his latest pet. 

Lucci glanced over his shoulder as he quietly left the room, scowling as you clapped softly at the elephant trunk that emerged from Spandam’s saber. If he’d known that the team was going to be getting a new member from the academy, he would have preferred to pick them himself. Because around here, a prey animal such as yourself would only slow them down. 

***

Spandam had assigned you to wires. Just wires. All the wires in Enies Lobby. 

Lucci didn’t have a clue what that meant. Well, he did. He knew it was the most brain-dead excuse for busy work their fearless commander-in-chief could have given you for the sake of making you look somewhat busy. But when he saw you in one of the main control rooms, he wondered if you had any idea what your task meant. 

He could have been doing something else. By all means, he should have been doing something far more important than leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching as your shoe twitched every time you tugged at something in the tiny, cramped alcove of metal and wires you had crammed your upper half into. 

By all means, he should have stopped you from messing with whatever it was you were poking around in. And if Lucci cared anything about your well-being, he would have pulled you out on the very basis that you’d crawled into live machinery. But Lucci hardly cared about the well-being of most things, let alone Spandam’s latest incompetent pet—was that a fucking wire between your teeth?

You had tugged yourself out of the alcove, landing on the balls of your feet with a thick wire between your teeth, the rest of it leading into the tangle you’d just come from. 

Lucci moved forward without thinking, appearing behind you in an instant. He grabbed the back of your uniform like a scruff, yanking you back before you could do whatever the hell it was you were about to do. 

Then—

A tiny crunch.

Lucci froze, slowly leaning to look down at your face, holding the back of your uniform a bit higher. You had the two pieces of the cord in your palms, unblinking as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“It was corroded,” you said softly. “The insulation was brittle, and the break was causing a conduction failure. I rerouted the power and—” You held up the wire pieces as you turned your head to look at Lucci. —“I removed the compromised cable.”

The monitors attached to the metal shell that held the nest of hardware flickered momentarily before the comm array lit up green. 

Lucci stared, holding back a slow, simmering confusion that he refused to let show on his face. 

Wires. Your job was wires. Here you were, chewing through live cables in one of the most heavily guarded, classified buildings belonging to the Navy. Unorthodox, reckless, stupid, moronic move that… worked. 

Lucci looked back down at you, catching your gaze. You hadn’t moved, hovering in the air with your knees a few inches from the ground as he held your uniform in his still-tightened grip. 

“It should hold for weeks,” you continued (as if not explaining enough was the problem), “We’ll need a replacement assembly eventually. I should probably get to work organizing some things in there because the corrosion seems to have started deeper—”

“Next time,” Lucci interrupted, “Tell me before you put your teeth on military equipment.” 

He dropped you, letting your knees hit the floor below. Lucci heaved in a breath, walking a few steps toward the monitor. His eyes flickered over the screen. 

“So, um…” You started, picking yourself off the ground behind him. “You oversee wires?”

Lucci paused to take in a deep and steady breath. He closed his eyes, mentally crunching the outcomes of what would happen if he slashed your throat then and there. There were certainly a lot of pros, the most tempting of which was that he’d derive great enjoyment from it. He’d certainly killed for less in the past. But on the other hand, Lucci was a damn professional, the likes of whom shouldn’t be provoked by a mouse. 

“No,” Lucci responded, barely restraining himself. “I don’t oversee a ridiculous busy work task like wires. I oversee you… and whatever you decide to chew on.”

“Oh.” You nodded earnestly. “I thought Mr. Spandam oversaw me. You said to tell you next time, so I thought you oversaw them.”

Lucci’s eye twitched. You couldn’t possibly be this… obtuse. 

He stalked toward the door. If he stayed any longer, he’d destroy the entire room with you in it, for better or for worse. He needed something to cool off.

***

Lucci had growled unceremoniously for Kaku to meet him in the training dome as he passed. Kaku exchanged glances with Bluno and Kalifa before shrugging and turning to follow Lucci. 

Lucci spared no time, shedding his jacket and ripping his tucked shirt from his waistband, tossing both articles of clothing to the side. Kaku was far slower to prepare himself to spar, quiet eyes searching Lucci for a hint as to what was going on. But ultimately, Kaku joined him in the ring, rolling his sleeves up for a match. 

Lucci took a tight fighting stance, rolling the coiled muscles in his shoulders. 

Kaku frowned. “You seem unsettled today.”

“I’m fine,” Lucci grumbled, lunging forward for a swift strike. 

Kaku blocked it quickly, taking the opportunity to observe Lucci’s face up close. “We’ve barely started, and you’re already breathing like a bull.” 

Lucci’s nose twitched. “I’m. Fine.”

Kaku didn’t push. It was one of the reasons Lucci tolerated him. 

They clashed. Lucci’s movements were sweeping and fast. He didn’t hold anything back, no, not against Kaku. Lucci jabbed with the finger pistol over and over, before kicking and swiping. But Kaku was far less active. He pivoted, dodged, and blocked, stepping only two steps in concession before ducking to the side with a sharp pivot. 

“You’re faster when irritated,” he noted. 

Lucci struck harder. 

Kaku dodged, nearly stumbled as he leaned back. “May I inquire as to the cause?”

Lucci swept his leg in an attempt to take advantage of the stumble. Kaku leaped, avoiding Lucci’s leg just in time. “I’m not irritated. Now fight back.”

Lucci launched forward, his arm cocked to strike, only to be stopped by Kaku’s leg. Kaku spun into a kick, which Lucci avoided. 

“Is it the new recruit?” Kaku asked casually, sidestepping a blow meant for his head. “We worked together on the Yellow Shrine field recon a few days ago. I thought a short perimeter sweep with minimal cover would be a good sandbox for observation. I’ll eat my hat; I was surprised. Real efficient. Excellent data retrieval, the sectors were mapped quietly, and without oversight—”

Lucci’s jaw tightened. “Maybe you’re easily impressed, but I just watched our new recruit chew through a live wire like an animal.” 

The very words caused Kaku to falter for a moment. He blocked Lucci’s proceeding strike, somewhat lost in thought as he held the pressure at bay. “Half the team are animals, Lucci. Hate to say that includes both of us,” Kaku grunted, finally executing a counter strike. 

“That’s not the point,” Lucci growled. 

“Then what is the point?” Kaku asked. “I know you might not want to hear it, but I don’t think Spandam picked a bad one. Definitely not the worst by far. I think the selection’s rounded out the team if I’m speaking candidly.”

Lucci’s fist sailed through the air hard enough to whistle. His breath sharpened. “Think so?” he barked with an almost mocking edge. “Ever occur to you to use your teeth on military equipment? Or do you think it’s a new technique they’re teaching at the Academy these days?”

“A creative solution,” Kaku hummed. 

“A ridiculous one.”

“But it was a solution?” Kaku probed, deducting the answer to his question from the way Lucci’s finger pistol aimed straight for his face. 

“It’s not a solution when the methods are ridiculous.”

Kaku blocked the hit, the clash of opposing forces forcing the two of them back to stand at opposite sides of the ring once more. 

Lucci watched as Kaku paused, placing both fists on his hips. “Ah,” the giraffe-Zoan mused. 

Lucci hated that tone. It sounded like the tsk of a parent. Patronizing. “Don’t,” he grumbled. 

“That’s what’s troubling you, huh?” Kaku continued, almost conversationally, “You can’t reconcile that a docile, soft-spoken agent that Spandam brought in works.”

“I’m not bothered by Spandam’s pet,” Lucci spat, his lips pressed into a thin line. His face was still cold and hard as he stepped forward. 

“You’re not bothered,” Kaku repeated in thought. 

Lucci’s next hit had the full weight of his irritation behind it. Kaku allowed himself to be driven back. “I prefer knowing that my team is made up of competent, disciplined killers, not unpredictable feeder mice.” 

Kaku nodded, not quite as invested in the sparring match as before. “Understandable. I suppose you haven’t been on the field together to know what to expect. Although, objectively, I haven’t seen anything to the contrary regarding team standards. Perhaps it’s the disparity between expectation and result that unnerves you.”

Lucci stopped suddenly. For once, he stood still, feet planted, shoulders still, breath caught. He stepped back, his expression sharpening decisively.

“You’re right,” Lucci said, nodding once, “I should see it for myself.”

Kaku’s eyes immediately flickered to Lucci. “Lucci—” he called, his tone a warning, but Lucci was already headed out of the training hall. 

Kaku followed, barely hearing Lucci mutter, “That rat better be in the same place…”

“Lucci,” Kaku called again, “This isn’t necessary.”

But he didn’t respond, continuing to stride ferociously to the hall he’d left you in. Lucci didn’t know where you were exactly, but in his quiet, red-eyed rage, he’d tear apart every wall to find you. Kaku caught up somewhat with Lucci, following hot on his heels.

“Do this a different time,” Kaku tried to reason, “After crawling through wires all day, would you be up for a fight? After being all cramped and annoyed?”

“Sounds great to me.” Lucci grinned sadistically. “It’ll make the fight honest.” 

Kaku caught Lucci’s arm—a risky move, even for CP9’s second strongest agent. Lucci stopped in the middle of the hall, his figure rippling with cold anger. He turned slowly, his nose already scrunched up into a snarl. But Kaku didn’t let go.

“The sparring match, you mean,” Kaku corrected. “This doesn’t need to happen. You’re choosing this because you’re unsettled. You’re not being impartial.”

“I don’t need to be impartial,” Lucci said flatly. 

“You’re picking a fight with someone half your size.”

“Not my problem.” Lucci pulled his arms away with a jerk of his shoulder before continuing down the hall. “I’ll go easy if you’re so worried.”

Kaku huffed, breathing a steady sigh of exasperation before following after Lucci once more. “You will do no such thing. You’re incapable of going easy on anything.”

“Try stopping me.”

***

You were in the same place Lucci had left you, much to the relief of the structural integrity of Ennies Lobby. You still looked ridiculous with your little butt sticking out from a cable conduit. The entire bay smelled like toasted metal. You were muttering to yourself, your voice echoing in the cable box. Some of what you were saying was technical, and what parts weren’t completely inaudible were definitely you swearing in mouse. 

Lucci stopped short in the doorway, and Kaku just about crashed into his back as Lucci called your name. 

Your legs stiffened as you froze. A beat later, you backed out of the conduit, cheeks smudged subtly with some sort of chalky, black substance. A bundle of multicolored wires wrapped around your shoulder like a lasso. 

“I didn’t bite anything, Mr. Rob,” you reported, beaming like it was a triumph. 

Lucci resisted the urge to look up at the ceiling by closing his eyes for a moment. He breathed. 

“Do you ever take yourself seriously?” he scrutinized, gesturing with his hand. “Get up. We’re sparring.” 

Your ears twitched. “We’re… what?”

“We’re sparring,” Lucci repeated. “Five minutes. In the training hall.”

You glanced between Lucci and Kaku, desperately searching for a clue or an explanation. You wore your confusion and concern on your face, which only served to make Lucci scowl deeper. 

“Wait, why? I didn’t do anything this time,” you said, as if trying to argue your way out of a punishment without fully committing. 

“You did something last time.” Lucci glowered. “And the time before that.” 

You blinked before glancing sheepishly down at the cables wrapped around your shoulder. “I only bit the equipment the one time,” you muttered, holding up your index finger.

Lucci left before you even stopped talking. Kaku lingered, offering a polite look in lieu of an apology. “He’s in a mood,” Kaku excused. “He’s not usually this… motivated.”

Your gaze drifted back to the cable box. “Do you think fixing the signal issue made him want to fight me?”

Kaku crossed his arms over his chest, slowly lowering his chin. “I suspect it is not the wiring.”

Your forehead creased. “Oh,” you said, adjusting the lasso of cables on your shoulder before looking back at Kaku. “Is he mad?” 

Kaku paused at the question. Even the words you chose were small. “He’s…” Kaku searched for a polite word. “... focused.” 

Your ears perked up. “That sounds like a nice thing,” you said softly, coiling a few cables in your hands. Perhaps it was a nervous fidget. 

“Unfortunately, not in this context.”

You tossed a ring of newly coiled wires into a bin. “Am I allowed to say no?” you asked. “I don’t really want to fight him. He looks very fast and… his teeth look sharp.” You trailed off, looking at nothing in particular as you stared into the distance. “He looks at people like he’s counting their bones.”

Kaku’s lips pursed. “...He does do that,” Kaku admitted, “I think Lucci has already decided he wants to spar you.”

“So, I’m not allowed to say no?” 

“I think that you’ll fight whether you go to the training hall or not,” Kaku said gravely, his voice calm and level, “Fighting in the training hall means nothing gets broken.” 

“Broken?” you asked, genuinely puzzled. “It’s training.”

“Yes.” Kaku inhaled sharply. “And Lucci is… Lucci.” 

You were fidgeting with another set of cables. “Should I… Should I smile when I get there? Mr. Spandam keeps telling me I need to smile more, but Mr. Rob doesn’t seem like the kind of man who likes it when people smile at him.” 

Kaku exhaled a long and slow breath. “For your own safety,” he said quietly, “Do not smile.”

“Copy,” you replied. It was one of only a handful of times Kaku had really seen any of your Academy training shine through. The word sounded odd coming from your voice. 

“And also…” Kaku found himself saying quickly. Your ears twitched again, your brows raised in attention. Kaku stalled for a moment, wondering how much is too much to say. “If anything feels wrong, I would encourage you to… run. Don’t worry about being polite. And please stretch thoroughly. He will expect full contact.” 

Kaku swiftly excused himself as if dreading your reply. 

“Copy that,” you said smally. 

***

The team had already gathered before you’d even arrived. They hadn’t been called. No, they heard Lucci was sparring with you, and that was enough. They hulked over the sidelines, standing or sitting with an eagerness only the prospect of bloodshed could have brought on. Lucci hadn’t spoken to a single one of them, already standing in the ring with his head slightly bowed as he sniffed the air. 

When you arrived, Jabra mocked an applause, hooting and hollering for far too long as you approached the floor. You stepped carefully to the edge of the ring, seemingly unconcerned by the hungry gazes around you. 

Lucci waited in the center, tracking you with his feline eyes. He watched you breathe in, then out. You removed your standard-issue jacket, then your button-down shirt, and your slacks to reveal a dark compression suit—the same ones they use in basic training. You folded the discarded clothes, setting them at the edge of the arena, before stepping in. 

“This is going to be ugly,” someone whispered. 

Lucci didn’t look their way. He was watching you.

Only you.

You raised your hands. The stance looked goofy on you, like a mouse wearing boxing gloves. But fitting or not, your form was perfect. Tight. Balanced. You may have trained in Guanhao after all. 

Lucci didn’t announce the start of the match. He simply moved. 

Fast. 

He transformed into his man-beast form in an instant.

Kaku’s eyes widened from the sidelines. “Lucci!” 

You literally squeaked, diving aside as sharp claws slashed through the air where your neck had just been. Your eyes trailed Lucci’s paw, watching with clenched teeth as he closed the distance between you. Your gaze dropped down as Lucci landed on his front foot. 

You used your position to accelerate forward to sweep his back foot. Lucci’s body moved, stepping over your leg with little effort. It was a move he cataloged as rookie. He was much larger than you, and even if you’d made contact, Lucci doubted you’d be able to pull off the maneuver you were attempting. 

But then he blinked. 

He blinked, and you were gone. 

Lucci swiveled his head, his predatory eyes searching for you. This was not the flash step. He heard you before he saw you, his ears twitching at the light scratching noise from behind his ankle. 

You lunged, arm cocked as you transitioned from full, tiny mouse to your man-beast form that shaved a few inches off your already stout human height. You wanted a tap, a score to show you had something. You were quiet. You were fast, accelerating faster by the boost your transformation gave you.

And then Lucci caught your wrist in mid-air. 

And he threw. 

He threw you down hard, and you hit the mat with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. You skidded to the other side of the ring in your complete mouse form, ears and tail tucked. 

Neither of you noticed as Spandam hurried into the hall, distracted at first by the gathered team. He frowned at the sight of Kaku and the others who lined the perimeter of the training area. 

“…What’s—what’s happening here?” he asked, voice raised as he approached the ring. 

Spandam squinted. He saw Lucci. His eyes swept over the small crowd, mentally counting out all his agents. Spandam counted once, then twice. Surely everyone wasn’t here to watch Lucci shadowbox—

Spandam froze as he began to piece things together.

“Wait. Wait, wait, no!” He tried to run up to the ring. “Lucci! Stop this right now! You can’t—” 

Kaku blocked him with a sturdy arm, ignoring Spandam’s scowl. 

“You can’t stop this, and you know it,” Kaku said firmly, eyes cast somewhat down as his jaw tightened.

“Get out of my way!” Spandam gritted, his voice cracking. “That’s an order. I’m not about to let Lucci turn one of my agents into—”

“A capable agent of CP9 who can handle a sparring match,” Kaku interjected. He breathed in, lying steadily. Not even he could intervene in this. Spandam’s involvement would only make things worse than they already were. 

Spandam’s jaw clenched. “Not for this. Not against him.”

Kaku met Spandam’s eyes. “You trust your own selection, don’t you? Stepping in won’t save anyone. You know that.” 

In the ring, you pulled yourself to your feet, shifting back into your half-form. You were shaking, but you didn’t say a word as you ran forward. Quiet and steady. Lucci didn’t even square up, standing with his arms at his sides as he watched you. 

Just when you were close enough, you shrank down, scurrying around Lucci’s ankle before pivoting and launching an uppercut on his left. He blocked you without using Iron Body, sending you flying again. 

But this time, you landed on your feet, skidding as you reversed the momentum to rush forward again. You blipped in and out of Zoan forms, maneuvering around Lucci flexibly, switching to small when you dodged and large when you were striking. 

Big. Small. Big. Small. You catapulted around him, rolling over kill strikes. As you flipped over his head out of range of another swipe, you transformed into your half-form. Your shadow engulfed him, your leg extended as you used the momentum of your dodge to bring your foot down like an axe. 

Lucci swiftly dodged to the right, tracking the milliseconds as your form—SMACK!

Lucci’s instincts had pulled him back a hair, but it wasn’t enough to dodge the way your tail slashed across his face. It made a crisp, cracking sound right before you landed in front of him. The strike was nothing of true note. To Lucci, it was little more than a love tap. But if it had been a better angle, it would have hit Lucci’s eyes. 

Instinct kicked in. 

Predatory instinct. 

Lucci’s clawed hand immediately grabbed your throat and slammed you down onto the mat with a force no one foresaw. The impact cracked through the room, changing the air as a sharp, pained cry ripped from your lungs. It was the sort of impact that made even a few members of CP9 wince. 

You stared up at the distant lights on the high ceiling, white orbs of brightness that began to spin. The floor had become uneven, the impact of your body having broken something structurally under you. Your head rang, the words, “We’re done here—we’re done here—” echoing in your muffled ears. 

But you weren’t done. 

Lucci had already made it to the edge of the ring before you pulled yourself to your knees. You watched as he eyed you from his peripheral, stopping just short of leaving. Your knees wouldn’t stop shaking. You tried to rise, but your legs gave out under you. You steadied yourself, smacking a hand to the floor. 

Lucci watched as you breathed shallowly, pupils unfocused. His claws retracted halfway before extending again. It wasn’t conscious, but in his man-beast form, he was twitching at the sheer fact you were still moving. Lucci’s tail flicked once. Perhaps it was a sign of irritation. Or something darker. 

He turned around to advance toward you. 

Kaku leaped to the side of the ring, but before he could put a foot inside, Lucci growled. Kaku stopped, slowly taking a half step back. 

You tried to stand again. You made it to your feet this time, but you stood doubled over and swaying. 

Lucci stood over you, chest rising and falling in smooth, controlled breaths. He grabbed your chin, forcing your face upward to inspect your eyes. You squeaked, but still lifted your hands to guard. 

Your knees buckled, and you tipped forward, pressing into Lucci’s hold on your jaw as if his hand were the only sturdy thing left. You dragged yourself upright against his grip back into something like a stance. You tried to swing.

Lucci caught your fist in his palm. He held it there. More of your weight fell into Lucci’s hand. Your whole body quaked as you tried to pull free. Lucci could feel your heartbeat pulsing through your weak stance. 

Lucci leaned down to speak into your ear. “Stand down.” 

You shook your head, still breathing fast and heavy like a trapped animal. 

Lucci’s eyes narrowed. 

You lifted your leg up, perhaps to try to knee him, but your leg gave out halfway before you crumpled against his chest. Lucci didn’t move, just watching as your ears twitched between human and animal, barely transforming. 

No one had ever leaned into his touch before. No one had fallen against him like you had. He, the Massacre Weapon. You, the recon mouse. 

Only when you were too weak to even hold yourself against him did Lucci release you, letting you collapse onto the mat. And for a long moment, you didn’t move. 

Lucci slowly transformed back to his human form, staring down at you silently. Kaku moved to step into the ring again, but Lucci held out a hand. 

Your fingers twitched as Lucci crouched beside you. “Enough,” he said quietly. 

You planted your palms on the mat. Before you could even try to stand again, Lucci’s hand pressed on the base of your skull—an assertion of control. 

“Stay down.”

Your body went still. The fight was over. 

Lucci’s shoulders deflated, the tension slowly melting from him. But that same strain shifted, settling in the pit of his stomach like an iron ball. 

Spandam rushed forward. Kaku followed. Lucci hardly noticed, his gaze on the small, unconscious thing at his feet—the one whom he never expected to have to force down to end the match. 

Kaku had scooped you up to make for what Lucci assumed was the infirmary. Spandam was furious, speaking angrily, spit flying from his lip in Lucci’s face. Lucci didn’t notice. 

***

“Well… that was depressing.” 

“Tell me about it…”

“Great job picking on a helpless little mouse, Lucci,” Jabra cackled as he passed. “Feel like a big man yet?”

Lucci stayed in the training hall for a good long while, even after everyone else left. He didn’t acknowledge a soul as they went, remaining in the center of the ring. Lucci stared down at the broken arena, his eyes drawn to the point where the broken parts of the flood converged. The rubble grew smaller where your body had been slammed. Tiny prints and small scratches littered pieces of the flooring.

The memory of you didn’t settle like it was supposed to. Lucci was hardly one to dwell on things, but thoughts of your strikes and leaps didn’t appear to settle. Even so, the outcome should have been clear. Lucci absolutely crushed you, just like he knew he would—just like everyone else knew he would. It wouldn’t have mattered if no one in your position could ever have had a chance of beating him. The easy victory alone should have been enough to make the argument for once and for all that you were not cut out for CP9. 

He kept thinking about your small figure on the ground; the way your eyes fogged but still tracked him; the way you trembled as you tried to stand; the way your fingers clawed at the mat before he had to force your submission by holding you down. 

The predator inside him should have taken satisfaction in the way you finally stopped moving beneath him. He could still feel the warmth of your heated skin in his hand and how his fingers curved over the back of your skull. That should have been satisfactory enough. But Lucci was left unsettled, as if the match had also served to worsen things. Or maybe it didn’t change anything at all. 

He locked himself in the weight room for the rest of the day, jamming a bench bar through the double doors and bending the steel into a crooked knot—an unmistakable warning to leave him alone. Lucci drilled until he lost track of time entirely. He lifted, punched, and trailed until he’d confirmed to himself over and over that the uneasy sense that coiled in his chest wouldn’t disappear. 

He retreated to his quarters late in the evening. On his way, he hadn’t even meant to pass the medical bay. Lucci paused at the sight of the glass doors. The medical cross was engraved into them, and a tropical plant sat in a pot in a corner just past them. 

The thought of seeing you hadn’t occurred to him before then. Such a gesture wasn’t in his nature, and Lucci had no interest in watching you get patched up or standing around as Spandam undoubtably fawned all over you. 

But just for a second, he paused. His step faltered for a moment at the mouth of the corridor that led to medical.

Kaku turned a corner, passing out the glass doors, stopping just outside them as he noticed Lucci. Neither of them said a word. Lucci didn’t ask. Kaku didn’t inform. And when Kaku departed past Lucci, it wasn’t out of anger, but a quiet exasperation.

He didn’t have to say I told you so.

***

You recovered quicker than Lucci expected. You weren’t completely healed of your injury, but you were well enough to get back on your feet. And if Lucci had to deduce, he was more than certain that the idea to return to work so quickly was your own. 

You were in the server room again, appearing to be taking your job of wires very seriously. Lucci had found you there with Spandam and Kaku. You were standing on your own, your cheek bruised, and a few bandages littering small parts of your body. You carried yourself gingerly, even as Spandam seemed to corner you. 

“I thought you might need some protein. Maybe a little comfort? We all get band up on our first big mission. Or spar. Or… whatever that was!” Spandam said, holding a plate. Several types of cheeses were arranged on it in neat little slices. If anything, it was an excessive amount of cheese, a collection that Spandam held out earnestly to you. “This one’s smoked. This one’s been aged—”

“Sir, you’re talking to a grown adult agent, not a—”

Your ears twitched. “It does smell nice…” You whispered. 

That was about when Lucci rounded the corner. The sudden movement in the doorway made everyone instinctively turn toward him. 

Lucci took in the scene quickly, his eyes quickly darting from the cheese to how you were standing gingerly, still bruised and exhausted but still somehow trying your best to stay polite. Then, he turned and began to walk away. 

He hardly made it halfway down the hall before he heard footsteps pattering behind him, footsteps that were far too light and hesitant to be Kaku or Spandam. 

“Mr. Rob?” you called from behind him. 

Lucci could have continued on his way. If he really wanted to shake you, he could have easily flash-stepped away. In your condition, you had no chance of keeping up with him even if you wanted to. Everything concerning you ended with your sparring match. And yet, Lucci turned around. 

You stood a few steps away—a safe distance. You had certainly taken a beating. You didn’t even have shoes on; rather, you walked the halls of Enies Lobby in medical grippy socks that were a size too big on you. The cheese plate was still in your hands. 

“Mr. Rob?” you repeated, lifting the plate a little, “Do you want some cheese?”

Lucci stared at you. His eyes locked only on you—on your absurd gesture, at the very fact you were even standing on your own, not even two days after he’d slammed your head into the concrete. And for just a moment, something complicated flickered across Lucci’s flat eyes before he recentered his neutral expression.

“No,” he answered curtly, “I don’t want cheese.” 

“Oh,” you said faintly. “Mr. Spandam brought cheese. I’m not sure why.”

“Because he’s incompetent.” Lucci scowled. “And because you are a mouse.” 

You frowned, glancing over the assortment of cheeses. “I suppose that makes sense.” 

“You shouldn’t take gifts from superiors.” 

You nodded slowly. “I don’t usually,” you said, before pointing to one of the cubes. “But this one is smoked.” 

Lucci continued to stare, the memory of you dragging yourself upright over and over darting across his mind. He didn’t want to think about it. It was why he never visited you in the infirmary or asked Kaku for updates. He didn’t want to think about it—about you. Weakness was weakness. Sparring was sparring. The result was always going to be inevitable.

“You shouldn’t be walking around yet.”

“I didn’t want to stay in bed,” you replied. 

“Clearly.” 

A beat passed. You slowly lowered the place of cheese, glancing to the side under Lucci’s scrutinous gaze. Your lips parted, then closed. 

“I don’t know what I did to make you upset,” you breathed. 

Lucci rested his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He shifted, moving just an inch closer. Then, a moment passed. It was just the two of you in the corridor. Tile underfoot. Fluorescent bulbs overhead. 

Finally, Lucci tilted his chin back just slightly. He breathed in, then out. “You kept getting up.” 

You blinked at the words, visible confusion written on your face. “But… We were sparring,” you said. “Wasn’t I supposed to?”

“You don’t try getting up when it’s clear you can barely stand. If you’re hurt, you stay down.” Lucci exhaled, long and controlled, coiling his arms over his broad chest. 

The corner of your mouth dipped. 

“You’d never do that,” you asserted. Your tone wasn’t combative or angry, just an admission of fact. “I don’t know you well, but I can see that much.”

“That’s different,” Lucci spoke, an edge to his voice. 

“It is?” you asked, shaken by something resembling urgency, “I just wanted to try again.” 

Lucci let a low grumble resound in his chest. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “You were done. You should have stayed down. You should’ve stopped.” 

“I didn’t want to,” you said, small, but unintimidated. You didn’t defend yourself with any pride or defiance. All you were was honest, and somehow, that didn’t make things easier. “I do… take myself seriously…”

Lucci continued to watch you for a long moment, his fists clenching once as his jaw flexed, as if trying to physically bite back the words he wanted to say. 

“Next time,” he told you quietly, the two words strained with effort, “If you’re going to keep standing up, you’ll tell me beforehand.”

You scrunched your brow, lips slightly puckered as you sucked on the inside of your cheek. “I will?” 

“Yes, so I don’t break you in half.” 

“Oh.” You nodded a few times with a frown. “That’s fair.”

Lucci turned a foot to continue on his way. “Get some rest,” he said roughly, “And don’t eat that cheese.” 

He turned around fully to continue down the hall. This time, the pitter-patter of steps didn’t follow him. But just as he reached the end of the corridor. 

“Mr. Rob?” you called softly, your voice like a tether that drew him to a pause. “Will we spar again?”

A beat. 

“Yes,” Lucci said, his voice low. “We will.” 

***

Lucci found himself on a high floor atop Enies Lobby when he spied the lights on in the training hall late in the evening. He didn’t see them directly, but the subtle way that light cast onto the side of an adjacent building. No one without enhanced eyes could’ve caught such a minute detail, especially considering the island’s ever-present sun. 

The island’s climate was a direct contrast to the interior of the hall, especially the corner that Lucci found himself passing through. The lights were dimmed to more appropriately match the time. The atmosphere felt cold. 

He followed the subtle sounds of metal, which led him to the acrobatic course. The room was dark except for the diameter in which you’d apparently been training. 

You hung upside down on a suspended hoop, your knees hooked over the metal ring. Your hands were folded over your naval, and your eyes were closed as if you were meditating. You swung back and forth, your body still bruised and bandaged. 

Lucci didn’t walk into the light, stopping just short of it. 

“Why are you here.” It wasn’t a question.

Your eyes snapped open. You craned your neck to look at him as the hoop turned. 

“Oh. Hello, Mr. Rob.”

Lucci scowled. “I thought I told you to rest.”

“I did.” You nodded, closing your eyes again. “I also didn’t eat the cheese.”

“How long did you rest for?” Lucci gruffed. You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off. “Not long enough to begin training again.”

“I’m not training,” you said, extending your arms to make the hoop spin a bit more. “I’m thinking.”

Lucci stepped closer, still scrutinizing you and your patches of bandages. “Upside down.”

“It helps.” 

Lucci was quiet for a long time, watching as you gently spun in front of him, upside down, with your neck exposed to him. You let out a soft hum, something troubled crossing your otherwise peaceful expression. 

“Mr. Spandam said I’m being dispatched tomorrow,” you muttered. “So I wanted to be ready.”

You opened your eyes to find Lucci’s face just a short distance from yours. But you didn’t startle, not even as he reached a hand up to grip the hoop, stopping it from spinning. 

“You’re not ready.” Lucci’s jaw tightened. 

“No,” you admitted, “You’re not wrong.” 

And for a moment, Lucci stood there, close to you, with a hand still on the ring. Rob Lucci was an extremely tall man, even taller in his beast forms. But with you hanging from the ring, he reckoned this was the first time he’d ever been eye level with you. 

“Mr. Rob?” You stared at his mouth. Lucci didn’t know whether or not you were trying to be subtle. 

“What is it?” he asked, scanning your face silently.

“Are your teeth still sharp in your human form?” You moved to reach your hand out, but swiftly recoiled on second thought. “You always do that thing with your jaw.” 

Lucci’s harsh eyes honed in on yours, his expression completely blank. 

“What thing?”

“The way you flex your jaw. You seem like you hold a lot of pressure there. I didn’t know if it was because your devil fruit also affected your body,” you explained, only to be met with more silence. Your gaze didn’t flick away from his mouth. “They’re very pretty,” you said quietly. 

Lucci stared. No one had ever described any part of him as pretty, least of all his teeth.

You continued, “I’m sure you could bite through anything.”

Silence. 

“You’re shaking,” Lucci grumbled, his voice purring in his chest, low and dark. 

“Just a lot of blood rushing to my head.” You smiled weakly. 

Lucci’s scowl deepened. “You’re exhausted. Get down.” 

Your core flexed as you grabbed the bottom of the ring with your hand. “Trying,” you strained. 

Lucci’s eyes flicked over you, the way you held yourself all small and stubborn. And for just a moment, the training room felt a bit too small. 

“Let go,” he ordered. 

Your face scrunched slightly, but you didn’t ask questions. Without a word, you released your hand and unlooped your legs from the ring, and Lucci caught you in his arms. Then, quickly and unceremoniously, he bent to place your feet back on the floor. You swayed, a little dizzy, and neither of you seemed to notice the arm that Lucci kept behind you. 

You turned toward him, smiling. “Thank you.”

Lucci recoiled like you’d burned him. “Don’t make me do that again.” 

“Sorry, Mr. Rob,” you said quickly, despite the fact that Lucci had told you to let go in the first place. Your arms dropped to your sides, a reflex more than an apology. 

Lucci took a step back into the darkened part of the room, one foot a step down onto the concrete ground and one still up on the thick mats under the acrobatics course. 

“If you want to apologize, quit while you’re ahead,” Lucci snapped, glancing away. His jaw tightened. He was doing it again. 

You tilted your head, tentative words stalling on your lips. “Quit CP9?” you asked. “Or the mission tomorrow.” 

Lucci stepped completely to the ground. “Both,” he muttered. “You’re reckless if you think you’re cut out for either.”

Your face fell with a slow, small deflation that affected Lucci more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. You were practically standing on a step-stool, but you still didn’t reach eye level. Your lips parted as you hesitated again. “I… I can handle it,” you asserted. 

You glanced away to take a breath. You coiled your arms around yourself, almost like you were attempting to give yourself a hug. But you didn’t curl in on yourself like he expected. You didn’t grow smaller, even as Lucci watched something else melt off you.

“I belong here,” you said, your voice steadying. It was still soft and stubborn, but it wasn’t small. “You don’t get to tell me I don’t. I might not have been able to defeat you, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other things I can’t win.” 

You stepped to the edge of the mat, unflinching as you stared him down. A rare fire burned in your soft eyes. Even now, even in the face of your open defiance, you appeared as nothing compared to Lucci.

He bristled. His silence only served to darken his demeanor. 

“CP9 doesn’t have time or energy to entertain rats with something to prove,” he spoke coldly. “Unexperienced rookies who don’t take themselves seriously don’t make it on this team. Quit.”

You tried to maintain a brave expression, even as the rest of you seemed to only deflate. You pursed your lips, nodding to yourself. “I will prove it,” you insisted, “You’ll see. I’ll prove that I belong here. To everyone.”

You swiftly bolted off to your left, transforming in an instant before disappearing completely, leaving Lucci in the training room alone. The singular light continued to illuminate the acrobatic ring that continued to sway from the ceiling. 

***

The freighter ebbed beneath your feet. Being on the sea again was a welcome change after the time you spent on land. Perhaps it was something having to do with the vibrations or the steady rhythm of the sea that put you at better ease. 

You infiltrated the ship under the cover of night, having dropped in from above in your mouse-form. You began swift work as soon as your paws touched steel, quickly scurrying into a crawlspace. 

You pattered through the ventilation system. The infiltration part was easy, and the mapping of the ship was even easier. You pattered through the confined metal space, paws scratching as you rounded quickly through the ducts. 

The job hadn’t been a completely blind one, but the kingdom had been less than cooperative when it came to providing the Navy with any information about its exports—including the models of its ships. Some speculation could be made from the vessel’s make. You’d read up on all the information concerning like-models, but the inside was nothing like you’d ever seen before. 

Typically, the government wouldn’t concern itself when it came to lesser kingdoms, especially ones that not only didn’t attend the Reverie, but also only crowned a king within the last decade. However, that changed the moment the Navy heard word that the small island was running shipments to the Revolutionary Army, and the formal ledger had glaring inconsistencies. 

And so you went. Your whiskers twitched as you mentally mapped the interior, going off nothing but vibrations and minute echoes. You had the mind for such work, the visualization of the layout less than a picture or a vision, as much as it was a feeling. You could sense the very walls in your body. The air took on a different sensation to you, as if you’d scanned each section of the freighter with the latest tech from Vegapunk and injected it into your bones. 

The way you drilled yourself mentally as you went was second nature, replaying where you’d just gone and what you’d just seen until the picture came to you coherently in your mind. 

You didn’t have to search long for what you were sent in for. You were about to pass by another vent grate when you spotted the purser’s office. 

The small room was wedged between the loading bay and a four-way intersection. You could hear multiple pairs of boots clamoring from each end of the conjoining hallways, both coming and going. You backtracked a step, eyes tracking the two guards you spotted in the hall. 

You rose up on your hind legs, utilizing your enhanced front teeth to gnaw through the loose screw that held the grate closed. It produced an ugly sound, but the metal gave, causing the grate to tilt diagonally, the corner hitting the bottom of the duct. The passage was tight, but it was just wide enough for you to slip through, dropping down next to a series of boxes. 

Two sets of footsteps grew closer.

“... the slight issue with the cargo. That’s above my pay grade, that’s for sure.”

“Then go talk to the captain about it—”

One of the sailors grabbed the handle to the purser’s office, and when he pushed open the heavy door, you took the opportunity to scurry in behind his heel, disappearing into the periphery of the room.

“Huh? He’s not here.” 

“Let’s check the kitchen. He’s probably raiding the beer again.”

The door swiftly closed. You transformed back into your human form, scanning the room. A twinge of soreness came with the transformation, still a bit tender from your match with Lucci. A desk sat in the center with two large cabinets behind it to the right and left. Shelves of binders, folders, and notebooks lined the rest of the room. 

You made for the desk, crouching behind it as you heard footsteps come closer before they faded. You pulled open the first drawer, only to find a collection of hanging folders. Engine logs, safety inspection checklists, crew logs. Not what you needed. 

You tugged open the second drawer. Maps. Charters. Useless.

You glanced around at the library of paper that surrounded you. You didn’t have enough time to go through all the cabinets. There were far too many documents in the room to sift through. 

You pulled open the bottom drawer, and it was more of the same. As you mentally crunched your options, you rifled through the two skinny drawers on the left-hand side of the desk. Nothing. You hastily pulled open the large bottom unit, only to reveal a shallow container of spare bolts, wires, and—wait… shallow?

Your fingers traced where the tray insert met the edges of the drawer, and with a little effort, you pulled it out to reveal a false bottom. You made short work of that, slicing the perimeter with a claw before it popped open to reveal a safe. 

You nearly hissed in satisfaction. This mission was made for you. The crawling through ducts, chewing passages open, and most of all, cracking safes was little more than an amusing puzzle to you. You grabbed the dial, morphing into your man-beast form as you listened. 

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

The little safe door cracked open. You froze for a moment, steadying your breath as the ship continued to rock below you. You slipped your fingers under the door to open it. 

A neat little stack sat waiting for you—the ledger, the routing slips, a drive. Surely, it couldn’t have been… that easy. You took the ledger, flipping through it to confirm that it was real. 

“Crate 28B - pistol components → Deliver to Drop Point D-40,” it read, “Crate 22K - ballistic plates (unmarked) → Confirm with Contact. Crate 18J - transponder snails, encryption capable → high priority.” 

“Crew rotation must NOT include new hires during the next three cycles,” a note read on a different page. “Offload discreetly at Drop Point K-63—no Navy patrol after 0100.” 

All you were supposed to do was confirm that the ledgers didn’t match. All the government needed was your word before things were taken care of by the rest of the team. Your confirmation was little more than an excuse, a perfect, easy mission to hand to the new recruit. 

All you had to do was look and say yes or no.

But the evidence was here in your hands. And not only was it evidence, but these documents could have held any amount of other information. You were most interested in the data drive. If this ship were supplying the Revolutionary Army, they might even have the location of their island of operations. 

You looked down at the stack in your hands, remembering what Lucci said to you.

You let out a soft huff. You were a serious agent—as serious as the rest of them. 

You stored the routing slips and the drive into the internal pocket of your uniform, but the ledger was far too big. You had to carry it in your arms. Mouse form was impossible now. The moment you transformed, you’d drop everything. 

You had to move, making your way to the door, transforming into your man-beast form to press your ear against the metal. You didn’t move for a long moment. Silence. You slowly opened the door, swiftly slipping out into the hallway. 

You stepped briskly down the hallway, keeping your pace small and light in the way you always moved when you wanted to be overlooked. You held the ledger close, the weight causing light pressure on your forearm as you mentally retraced your steps from the map you pieced together from the vents. 

The corridor stretched. Harsh light hummed above, the bulbs partially flickering just enough to make the stobe offensive. 

A pair of sailors passed you going in the opposite direction. One glanced vaguely your way, his gaze sweeping over you almost absentmindedly. The other one didn’t look at all. You kept your shoulders squared as if you were a part of the ship itself and always had been. 

You walked closer to another crewman who was tinkering with something in a side compartment. An open toolbox sat on the ground next to his boot. He met your eye directly, and you offered a silent nod, one he returned absentmindedly before returning to his work. Not even a second glance. 

You breathed steadily, approaching another intersection of hallways. If you could get a few decks up—ideally to the roof of the bridge or the communication deck—you would be at a decent vantage point to skywalk away. But just as you were about to cross, someone rounded the corner, nearly crashing into you. You side-stepped at the last moment, your enhanced instincts taking over as you muttered a small apology. 

The sailor passed you, looking at you once… and then again.

“Hey!” he barked behind you as you turned sharply down the right-hand corridor. The sound of boots clammored behind you.

You sped up, not quite running yet, as you slipped through stacks of crates and miscellaneous equipment before hurrying up a set of stairs. The sailor who had turned to follow you had started calling to the others scattered around you, yelling for them to stop you. 

“Hey! Stop right there!”

At this point, you would have sifted. If transforming had been an option, you likely wouldn’t have found yourself in this situation in the first place. All you had to do was look. After all, one one-on-one confrontations had never been your strong suit, let alone a gauntlet. While all CP agents were well-rounded, you weren’t without your specialties. You worked best in close-quarters ambush attacks. But this, an open gauntlet, was your worst match. 

You ran, seeking the tightest spaces you could find as you advanced to your destination. The moment you were surrounded would be your loss, but if you could shift the situation into a game of agility… You had a chance. 

You ducked into a maintenance corridor, weaving and sliding around low-hanging pipes and machinery, using your size to your advantage. Your man-beast form was manageable, allowing you to track your pursuers with more precision as you calculated the best route out. 

A hand grazed your sleeve. You pivoted, sending a kick flying back, which resulted in a crisp crack. 

You reached into the pocket of your uniform, fishing out a transponder snail. You ducked under a swinging chain, finding a moment of pause behind a stack of crates. You looked down at the snail. One touch and Spandam would answer immediately. Back-up would arrive with the force of a tidal wave. Lucci would probably tear the entire freighter in two before the word “help” could escape you. 

Your thumb hovered as the sounds of shouting and clattering weapons grew closer. You raised the device to your mouth, then lowered it. You tucked the snail back into your pocket as you continued.

An alarm blared overhead, the clamor all around you growing louder as you went. You reached another winding stairwell, skidding around the corner only to stop short when a crewman blocked your path, pistol drawn. You instinctively backed down a step, only to find another sailor at the bottom of the stairwell. 

“Easy,” the one at the top said, stepping closer. “Let’s just see what you’ve got there.” 

You glanced to your left before quickly closing the space between you, striking the pistol out of his hand and slamming his head against the handle rail. The sailor at the bottom of the stairs fired off a shot as you leaped for the center pole. The first shot lit up the dim stairwell. The bullet ricocheted throughout the confined space. 

You’d already landed behind the crewman at the bottom of the steps, executing a flurry of quick strikes. He stumbled up the stairs, falling back as his ankle got snagged on the metal. The sailor cocked his pistol, firing again at point-blank range. 

You continued to advance even as the bullet grazed your cheek. Your tempest kick was powerful enough to break the staircase beneath him. You leaped over his falling body to the upper side of the stairwell, leaving him to crash into the floor below along with metal debris. 

But just as you made it to the landing, a hand grasped your ankle. You looked back as the crewman clung to you, forcing the back of your thigh to dig into the jagged edge of the step you just cut. Blood flowed freely from his mouth. You didn’t have to see the rest of him to know he’d been sliced open. You bit back a grunt, feeling a crude sharpness pierce your skin. 

“You little—” 

“Finger pistol!”

You went for the kill, his body still weighing you down as he finally fell for good, forcing your leg farther back against the crude metal.

“Ah!” you bit back a cry, bracing yourself as you pulled yourself free. 

You turned to continue up the steps, almost giving out the moment you put weight on your injured leg. A thin line of blood ran down the put of your knee, smudging somewhere around your calf as you continued. You held the handrail in a death grip, gasping with the ledger clutched close. The ship shook, causing you to fall against the wall, barking out another restrained cry as you hit an exposed bolt. 

Voices sounded from below, shots firing off as you ducked, clawing your way to the top of the stairwell. You could smell cold, salty air above, seeping into the stairwell. 

But when you stumbled onto the upper landing, two crewmen were already waiting. One held a pistol and the other held a knife. The pitch black void of night sat just behind them, beckoning to you. 

“Drop the book.” The one with the pistol frowned. But he didn’t even have the barrel pointed at you. The gun’s tip faced down, like he knew he might have to shoot, but didn’t see a danger in front of him to shoot at. 

The man with the knife slowly approached, his eyes locked onto the ledger. But the knife wasn’t even raised. Rather, his hand was extended as if to gingerly take a bag of chips from a runaway rat. 

You took the moment to wonder. You ruminated for a single fraction of a second on whether these two men would approach any other member of CP9 like a scared creature guarding a ball. The thought was fleeting because the answer came to you quickly. 

No. 

You sprang up, ignoring the screaming pain that shot through your body as you sprang up on your legs, shifting into your man-beast form mid-air. You ducked under the arm of the man with the knife, twisting to grab the collar of his shirt and his throat with your other hand. You remembered the way Lucci’s hand felt on the back of your neck. 

“Mouse-Mouse—!” Perhaps these men didn’t think you were a threat. Perhaps CP9 would never see you as a worthy addition to the team. But at the very least, in this moment, close-quarters, ambush attacks were yours. You let your momentum do the rest, bracing your muscles. —“Leopard Slam!”

You slammed him backward into the metal wall of the stairwell— exactly the way Lucci had slammed you. His head hit the edge of the stop stair with a sickening crack, and his knife dropped from his fingers. 

The man with the pistol fired, panicked. The bullet made contact; the speed at which you could instinctually call upon the Iron Body was slower due to a lack of field experience. But you couldn’t even feel it. 

High on adrenaline, you swept the knife up from the floor and hurled it, letting it slip from your fingers with precision. The blade sailed through the air, knocking the pistol out of the crewman’s hand. He screamed, holding his wrist as he stared with wide eyes at his maimed finger. 

More sailors began to swarm you from both sides of the weather deck, far too many of them than you could handle with your injuries. 

You made a run for it, leaping over the railing into the darkness of the night. 

***

Spandam was holding a mission briefing. Or rather, Lucci was holding a mission briefing. The team was carefully split according to the assignments, each unit more than capable of toppling governments and kingdoms alike. Because, unlike the mission you’d been sent on the night prior, the rest of CP9 had actual missions to execute. 

Lucci stood at the front of the meeting room, a projection of a map behind him. The projector screen glowed with enhanced regions and tactical notes that Spandam should have been reviewing. 

Instead, Spandam sat off to the side with a cup of something he pleaded Kalifa to make him (Kaku sent a grunt for a beverage before the altercation turned physical), as he held himself with as much composure as a damp napkin. 

Lucci clicked a remote, shifting maps and populating data with his other hand held formally behind his back.

“Now that we have that established, let’s move on to—”

The doors slowly slid open, cracking a small amount as if someone wanted to slide inside, as if late to a lecture. But instead of some low-level Marine coming back with a refill of Spandam’s drink, you appeared in the doorway.

The briefing ground to a halt as every head in the room turned. Lucci glanced toward the door, blinking once, then twice. 

You stood in the doorway, one hand still crutching the handle. Your clothes were torn, soaked with sweat, and caked with dried blood. Even in your human form, you appeared smaller than usual, exhaustion painted on your face. 

And for a moment, no one said anything.

You gasped out a breath, your dry lips parting. “I got shot,” you squeaked, just as your injured leg gave out under you. 

The entire room moved in an instant. In a room full of highly trained government professionals, your knees didn’t even hit the ground. Voices talked over each other, Spandam’s the loudest out of them all. But you didn’t hear him, not when Lucci appeared over you, wrapping an arm around your slumped torso to keep you from falling. 

You stood with buckled knees, eyes tired and drooping as you looked up at him. The thick ledger was still cradled in your arms. You looked like you’d held it in a death grip the entire time you’d been out.  

Lucci narrowed his gaze toward you, his neutral frown on his lips. 

“I thought you made it back to base last night,” he grumbled. 

Lucci had noticed your absence at this briefing, but assumed you were on rest, given the recon you were sent on the night before. He intended to press Spandam after the meeting about how things went. If he were any more forward about the issue, there was a chance that Lucci could appear invested—something he was most certainly not. 

You blinked at him slowly, as if needing a moment to process what he’d just said. 

“I…” Lucci could feel your diaphragm inflate. “I… hitched a ride… and then walked.” 

The entire room stilled around you as Lucci flexed his jaw. “What do you mean you hitched a ride?” 

His golden gaze narrowed at Spandam, who had appeared in front of you. Spandam crouched down, trying to talk to you at eye level. 

“You’re hurt! You should be in the infirmary—!”

But the low growl that erupted from Lucci’s chest gave Spandam pause. Spandam’s attention shot up to Lucci, who’d reinforced his grasp around your torso, drawing a sharp wince out of you. He’d nearly picked you entirely off the floor. 

“You weren’t extracted?” Lucci asked you, not taking his focus off Spandam, who slowly stood. 

Spandam’s lips morphed into a deep scowl. 

“Don’t you dare glare at me, Lucci—”

You shuffled in Lucci’s grasp, still spilling a few small drops of blood onto the floor. You were wrapped up in make-shift bandages, which weren’t nearly enough for your injuries. You tugged a few items from your pocket, shuffling them on top of the large book you held. Lucci had barely noticed you were holding it. You presented the ensemble, holding it out with shaky arms. 

Spandam squinted his eyes, his face scrunching up with ugly, confused scrutiny. But he wasn’t allowed to blink at the stack of documents for long, as Lucci took the collection in one hand, shoving it toward Spandam before Lucci turned and walked out the door. 

He lifted you fully into his arms like you weighed nothing, with one arm under your knees and the other braced behind your back. 

You stirred against him, dazed. “I… did it wrong, didn’t I?”

Lucci continued down the hall. The way he held you wasn’t gentle—no, Lucci had no concept of gentleness—but stable. His chest was firm and his arms were strong. The moment your body felt secure, your muscles melted against your will. 

You stirred again. This time, you tried to push him away and extend your leg to land on the ground. The action was half-hearted and no match against Lucci’s most miniscule of efforts. Lucci shifted you roughly in his arms.

“Stay still,” he grumbled. “You’re making a mess.” 

“I can walk—”

“No,” Lucci said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You can’t.”

You deflated against him, blinked up at him with tired eyes, confused by the lack of bite. Lucci didn’t meet your eye, but he clenched his teeth, continuing on his way. You glanced down, suddenly feeling sheepish.

“I didn’t mean to worry anyone,” you admitted softly.

“You didn’t,” Lucci gruffed. “You inconvenienced everyone.”

Your tired head rested against Lucci’s shoulder. You pressed a hand over your crudely bandaged gunshot wound. 

“You can put me down. I’m going to keep getting back up, you know,” you insisted quietly, only to be met with Lucci’s silence. “I didn’t want to make you do it again.” 

The corners of Lucci’s mouth turned slightly downward. “Again?” he repeated. You could feel the word rumble in his chest. 

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his jacket. “Earlier. On the training course. You had to—well, you didn’t have to, but you caught me, and you said—”

“Stop talking,” Lucci grumbled. 

You complied immediately. 

Lucci continued down the hallway, and for a while, there was nothing but the echo of Lucci’s shoes against the tile. For someone so aloof and cold, the heat that came off his skin was surprisingly warm. You hadn’t even realized you were drifting off until he spoke. 

“You weren’t supposed to retrieve anything,” Lucci finally said. He could hear your slow breath. “All we needed was a confirmation, but instead, you got yourself into a situation where you were compromised and injured.” 

He glanced down at the top of your head. “I strongly suspect you didn’t even call for help,” he muttered.

Lucci had half the mind to scoff and roll his eyes, but even that would have been too much of a crack in his already compromised exterior. Because after you’d been out all night—after you’d lugged evidence you hadn’t needed to all the way across the sea, only you would have the audacity to bleed all over his suit and promptly fall asleep in his arms. 

And yet, he still continued to speak.

“You… exceeded requirements.” His voice was quiet, almost as if he were muttering to himself. The words came out rough and begrudging, like an admission he was forced to admit. “It was… more than expected.” 

Your only answer was a soft exhale of sleep. 

Lucci looked forward again as he rounded the last corner before the infirmary. You remained asleep—trusting, unaware, and vulnerable in the arms of the government’s most lethal killer. 

It was the closest he could get to praise.

The closest he’d ever given anyone.

You never heard it. 

***

A week passed. During that time, you’d been cleared to resume light activities again. Enies Lobby was the same as it usually was—somewhat sterile, slightly stuffy, and just a bit outdated. You finally had time to get your uniform tailored, and the way people looked at you had shifted since you brought the ledger back.

“Hey! Mighty Mouse!” Jabra called from the other end of the corridor you were passing. 

He waved, laughing in the way friends did. You waved back, smiling the same smile you’d been practicing for a lifetime. 

It seemed like, to everyone else, something fundamental about you had changed. You could feel it in the way they spoke to you, like you were something resembling an equal rather than condescension. You were sure that the more missions you went on, the more CP9 would feel like home. 

But for you, nothing felt all that different. 

Lucci didn’t visit you in the infirmary, but he did find you once more in the training hall. The hoop in the center of the acrobatics course swung gently. You looked nearly the same as the last time he’d found you here—fingers intertwined, eyes closed, and a peaceful look on your face. 

He stopped at the edge where the floor turned into soft tumbling mats. Lucci watched you for a moment as you concentrated.

After a few moments had passed, you opened your eyes and smiled. “You came back,” you said with a grin. 

Lucci stepped onto the mat. “You still have 48 more hours of bed rest.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks. 

You let out a sheepish giggle. “So the thing is… I’m not very good at bed rest.”

Lucci took another step, finding himself face to face with you once more. He wore his usual, neutral frown. His eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned an inch forward. “I think you’ve more than demonstrated that you have no regard for your own boundaries.”

“Can I touch your teeth?” 

Lucci gritted behind his closed lips, now hyper-aware of the motion. 

“No,” he answered flatly. 

Your mouth formed an acute pout, though you didn’t appear hurt by the refusal. “Why not?”

“Because you don’t need to touch my teeth.”

“But Mr. Rob—”

“Lucci.” He cut you off flatly.

“Sorry.” Your voice went down a few notches in volume. “Lucci.”

The interruption seemed to have flustered you the slightest bit. You reached up to the ring, slowly pulling yourself up to sit on it, your feet still dangling down. The ring began to spin slowly, and Lucci stopped it with a hand when you were facing him again. 

“I… I just…” You gripped the sides of the hoop, glancing away. “It’s just… when I came back, when I brought the ledger back, you were…” You pursed your lips. “... doing that thing with your jaw again. And growling. And I thought maybe it was a devil fruit thing or—”

“It wasn’t,” Lucci cut, his eyes flat. 

“Oh,” you hummed, and just when Lucci thought that was the end of the conversation— “Do they feel… different to you? Like when they’re clenched together? Or maybe on your gums? I had to get used to my front teeth in my beast forms.”

“They’re teeth.” Lucci scowled. “Not a novelty.” 

“I think they’re novel.” You smiled, finally meeting his eyes again. He hadn’t taken them off you for a second. “So… can I see them?”

Lucci’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t answer at first. He didn’t move. But then, he exhaled through his nose, slowly growing taller as fur grew across his skin. His frame grew broader, and his pupils formed narrow slits. Even perched high on the hoop, Lucci’s head was now somewhat level with your stomach. 

Your breath caught as he slowly lowered his head, his muzzle resting gently on your knee. Gradually, Lucci opened his mouth to reveal large, sharp fangs. You gulped slightly. 

“I’ll be careful,” you breathed. “I promise.”

His whiskers twitched. A low rumble ruminated in his chest. 

You reached forward gingerly, your fingertips brushing against the edge of a canine, tracing the shape of it lightly. Lucci didn’t move, his eyes closed as he let you run a finger over his fangs. 

“They’re very pretty,” you whispered. Lucci purred out another low growl. “They’re nothing like what I imagined.” You pulled your finger from his mouth. Your hand rested on your knee. You could still feel Lucci’s fur against your knuckle. 

“And what were you imagining?” Lucci’s eyes opened, revealing a golden, predatory gaze. His voice was low and rough.

Your hand ghosted over your lips in absentminded thought. “Well,” you started. “My teeth are a lot less… sharp. Less pointy. I feel like in comparison to you, I seem… fragile.” 

Lucci roared out a laugh, one that would have shocked you off the ring if he wasn’t still holding it with one paw. He tilted his head slightly, his amused gaze flickering across his face. 

“You are far from fragile.” 

Lucci withdrew, shifting back into human form. He held your gaze, silence overtaking the training hall. He didn’t say anything back. And for the first time, he let you breathe, suspended in your own sort of victory. That night, Lucci stayed with you.