Chapter Text
Spandam is a worthless man. He himself has bad taste. Jabra muses on those two facts as he washes off the gore from his latest mission, the cold river water refreshing against the sticky dried blood. It’s one thing if he’d fallen for someone who was already taken — he’ll wait until Gatherine dumps her boyfriend — but Spandam is, without a doubt, a kind of specimen that speaks to several horrible strokes of misfortune that snowballed into what it is today, in regards to his entire family line and Jabra’s fixation on him.
Five miles behind him is an alley with a dumpster that barely closes due to all the bodies it contains, set up to look like the results of rival gangs ambushing each other. Jabra dries his hands on his shirt.
It can’t be his looks — but then again, Gatherine. It can't be his status — but then again, Gatherine. Jabra turns the topic over in his hands. Spandam is familiar, easy to manipulate, and hard to get rid of. He’s one of the few constants and one of the people Jabra sees most in his life. He sees him before and after every mission for his briefing and debriefing. Spandam is the voice in his ear over the Den Den Mushi barking orders and acting snide, then turning into an overgrown brat in person, whining about how so-and-so got on his nerves that day. It’s as if he forgets Jabra is a world class assassin, able to kill him in a hundred different ways without arousing suspicion. But if that’s the case, then he remembers just as quickly, shoulders stiffening and voice squeaking at the slightest provocation. The constant push and pull is intriguing. He wonders how far he could push Spandam and how far Spandam can bend.
This obsession is an annoyance at best and a liability at worst. It adds on milliseconds worth of delay when he’s gathering intel, where he’ll see things and people that remind him of Spandam and not traces and weaknesses that targets leave behind.
He walks past a storefront advertising its newest lingerie selection. He wonders if Spandam has any. He doesn’t have anyone to wear them for, so he probably wears plain briefs instead. Unless he buys them for the thrill that no one will know he has them on—
Jabra mentally gives himself a shake and boards a discreet civilian-cover ship that will take him back to Enies Lobby. On the ship, to his delight, is Spandam.
“Your pick-up point was on the way to the Hot Spring islands,” Spandam explains. “I thought it best to process your mission reports and get it out of my way so I could enjoy my week off to the fullest.” He tosses his hair back for emphasis, limp lavender waves falling across his forehead. Its uselessly distinct color and impractical length for its lack of care symbolizes everything there is to know about him. Jabra wants to wrap it around his hand and tug. Spandam might go bald if he actually did that.
“Cutting it close, aren’t we?” Spandam gives a haughty sniff. “You were barely a day ahead of schedule! No matter, let’s start the debrief.”
I’ll de-brief you , Jabra thinks, and gives his mission report.
Fukurou lets news of Jabra’s crush “slip” one night, at the designated Cipher Pol 9 happy hour when Spandam’s still away on his vacation.
“Goddamn you, Fukurou!” He pulls Fukurou’s cheek and zips his mouth shut in a savage motion, cutting off his laugh before he even gets out a ‘cha-.’ When the hell did Fukurou even find out? Jabra was so sure he’d been careful not to let it show.
“I see,” says Kalifa, in a tone that says she doesn’t. She pushes her glasses further up her nose and tries to be discreet about staring at him in that specifically judgey, scrutinizing look that still somehow screams ‘I don’t care.’ Teenage girls are a fucking nightmare.
“Wow!” says Kaku. The new recruit visibly regrets his outburst, having only healed from Lucci’s most recent temperamental beating last week. He puts on an earnest face, feigning polite interest. “Why?” Teenagers are a fucking nightmare.
The only solace Jabra gets in this embarrassing mess is Blueno and Lucci politely pretending they heard nothing.
Actually, on second glance, Lucci has gone utterly still, arm paused in mid-air from bringing his brandy glass to his lips. Jabra is both delighted and insulted. He’s never seen Lucci so shocked before, that arrogant upstart. So what if he has unique tastes? He’ll make him regret having heard it at all.
“He’s weak, but he’s pretty hard to shake off or keep down, isn’t he? He’d make a good ride.”
Kaku’s cheery expression freezes. Kalifa’s own curdles, and she mimes retching for added effect.
“That’s sexual harassment,” she spits out, more out of reflex than anything else.
Out of sadism, Jabra makes a gesture with his hands to emphasize his point. Kaku flinches. Kalifa’s retching becomes significantly more sincere. Even Blueno outright frowns.
“Yoyoiiiii!” Kumadori thunders. “Jabra, you have no sha~a~ame!” He brandishes his staff and turns towards his audience. The bartender yelps in fear and clutches her shaker to her chest.
“I… I’ll commit seppuku to atone for your crimes! Tekkai!” The staff bounces off of Kumadori’s iron skin with a loud gong! “Why won’t I die~e!” he wails, throwing his head back. “Dear mother who art thou in heaven, is this your sign?“
At Kumadori’s usual theatrics, the horrified stupor breaks. Kaku and Kalifa scramble to the bar to each get another shot tray, and Lucci unfreezes to sip from his glass. Blueno grabs an entire bottle of cream liqueur from the bar’s shelf, the bartender flinching at the looming movement.
Jabra chuckles. It feels good to re-establish dominance.
The next day, Lucci considers what Jabra had blathered about during one of Spandam’s useless meetings. It’s an hour-long slog of everything everyone already knows. This could have been a Den Den Mushi call. Around the table, Kaku and Kalifa are clearly nursing hangovers. Blueno manages to almost conceal his.
Jabra had a point. Spandam is unique in his qualities of being utterly worthless in practice, but regarded, on paper, as highly as the most distinguished admiral. There’s a skill in clinging to such a dangerous post for years, even despite using all his powers of nepotism and pulling strings. And there’s more than one way to pull strings.
Hard to kill, easy to fuck. Lucci considers it.
Spandam wouldn’t have been fucked much, since he’s ugly. But the thought of thoroughly and intimately dominating such a pathetic, uppity man is… compelling. Spandam doesn’t mind his betters, but he has no qualms about ordering around Lucci, who’s clearly superior. Spandam is weaker than the average Marine grunt, but he lounges comfortably near the top of the command chain. The paradox has grated on Lucci ever since he started working in Cipher Pol 9 as a child, but now that the idea of putting Spandam in his place like that has come up…
Lucci considers everything he knows about seduction and sex. He knows how children are conceived, and vaguely remembers how lovers fumble at each other when his assassination targets had had one over. He’s only ever been trained for combat and murder.
Lucci considers everything he knows about Spandam. Putting aside his long list of faults, Spandam is obsessed with status and power. He scares easily, but not enough to stay away from the merits that being a Cipher Pol 9 director gets him. He’s clumsy, but oversees a group of world-class assassins. He’s bad at fighting his fear and retaining rationality, but his entire adult life has been a long balancing act. He’s selfish and needy, but as director, he finds well-paying missions and new training resources, because furthering his agents’ skills means furthering his own prestige.
Spandam is like prized cattle — being sent out and winning competitions, but always being used for its resources and under threat of being butchered. Lucci wasn’t trained to handle people delicately, but he has been trained in psychological warfare and herding opponents into advantageous positions.
He and Jabra are rivals, after all. How hard could Spandam be?