Title: When Devils Cry

Author: Plaid Voodoo Doll

Chapter Rating: T

Pairing: None

Disclaimer: I can't say I own any of One Piece. I mean, I could say it, but then I'd get sued, and I wouldn't want that! And I think I own Hattori's story. Could I be wrong? I couldn't recall a spot where he actually talked about how he had found the little guy. Let me know if there is a real version.

Summary: Rob Lucci looks back on his life just before he goes into his coma and just after his defeat by Luffy. He wonders if what he did was really worth it. Or if he's some sort of monster.

A/N: I adore Rob Lucci. What can I say, sadists make me happy. So I wrote this for him. Poor baby. When he's a kitty I wanna pet him! O'course, I'd probably get eated.

He stared up at the ceiling. It ripped and swirled. He shook his head slightly. It didn't fix anything. Perhaps it made it worse. He couldn't really tell anymore. Soon his vision grew dim. Was it dim? Maybe he was closing his eyes. Right. That had to be it. There was no way that he could be going blind from such a little attack.

He willed his arms and legs to move. They didn't respond. Or, at least, he didn't think they did. Wait. Something was happening. He lifted a hand, he rolled over, trying to push himself up. It didn't work, he fell down, groaning quietly with the pain he felt from it. Perhaps it was time to give up. But, weakness was a crime. He should die for such a thing.

All of his body felt like lead. Everything hurt or was numb. Places he didn't even know he had burned while others he knew existed felt as if they had disappeared. Tears sprang up at the corners of his eyes. No. He couldn't cry. Not now. That would only cause his defeat to be that much more sinful. He was a man. Men did not cry.

And yet so many did. When he was younger, around thirteen, he had been sent to save a country which had been close to defeat. He had easily infiltrated the base, playing on a pirates need for power. In the end he had killed all the hostages. Why? Well, they were weak. They had let themselves be captures, had simply given up on everything. A real man would have fought until his death, ignoring all pain and hurt. A real man would not have cried the moment they found that the man who had come from the World Government to give them back their lives would save them in a completely different way. He would free them from their sinful bodies and send them to a place where they would learn to be real men.

Five hundred soldiers he had killed. The Captain of a Pirate fleet had been decapitated. And that wasn't even the beginning of it. Only his first acknowledged mission by the government. But he had never wanted to be famous, or hold a high position of power. He wanted to kill. Kill and never be arrested for it. It was easier. In reality he cared nothing for the "Absolute Justice" the Marines and the World Government strove so hard to abide by. What he followed was the smell of blood.

He felt something land lightly on his shoulder. Had he the energy to move to look he would have. But he already knew what it was. The fight had ended. Hattori came back. The pigeon now lightly pulled at his hair, rubbed its white head against his cheek. He wanted to reach up and comfort the pigeon in some way. He tried to open his lips to speak but only a soft whimper left his lips. He closed his mouth immediately. He didn't even have the energy to be mad at himself about such a sound.

This sound was enough to cause the pigeon to go into a frenzy. It flapped its wings, pulled a little harder at his dark hair. It would do no good. He wanted to smile but his face muscles hurt. When had he found Hattori? That's right...

He'd been about twenty-five at the time. He'd been sitting outside. In a park, if he recalled correctly. His memories felt so muddled and warped, like his vision. In that park there had been many birds flying around. They all avoided him, as if knowing from instinct he was a cat and as a cat he would love to eat them. He had watched them from afar, considering doing something subtle in order to cause the little birds to stir up, when suddenly something had dropped down in front of him. The first thing he had noticed was the smell of blood. The next was that the blood had been smeared over a little white bird. One of the wings were bent the wrong way and a huge gash had cut the bird down to its breastbone.

He bent down and lifted the little bird. It squawked and flapped pitifully in his hands. He moved one hand on top of it to keep it from moving. Beneath his fingers he could feel the bird breathing in short ragged, shaking, pained breathes. It shuddered with each labored intake of air. It closed wet eyes, actually looking as if it were crying. It had given its life up to the cat.

And the cat watched, fascinated as blood spilled sluggishly over his hands, down his arms, and onto the ground. In his hands he had a life. Not a life he had chosen to destroy. One that had flown to him for judgment. And he held the choice. He could save this pathetic bird. Or he could show it pity and kill it. The world around him slowed. All sounds faded as he considered this choice for the first time in his entire life... And we all know what he chose.

He had spent a long time, locked up in his room, doing his best to take care of the pigeon. He'd sewn up the chest wound, carefully reset the wing and splinted it. He'd tried his best to find foods the weak bird could eat. He'd actually done some research. In secret of course. He couldn't have people thinking him a softie.

It wasn't long before the bird started to really live again. It no longer flinched from Lucci's touch. Instead it sang upon his entrance into the room. Singing praises to his savior, like Lucci was some sort of god. That amused him for a short while until he had to quiet the bird down. There were many moments he had considered giving the bird a name. But he knew that in the end it would leave and there was no need to give a name to something that would leave. It would mean getting really attached. And being sad when the bird left.

On the day he was sure that the pigeon's wing had healed he'd taken off the splint and carried him outside. He lifted the bird out of the box and held out his hands. Immediately the beast was airborne. He flew on shaky wings, up into the sky, growing more sure with each movement. And, for yet another first time in his life, he felt his heart wrench. The bird would leave and never come back. Damn it all. He angry brushed away oncoming tears from his eyes and glared at the ground.

Something light landed on his shoulder. He turned to look and see what had fallen there. The pigeon stared curiously at him before rubbing it's head against his cheek. It then settled down. Lucci laughed. It felt strange to do so and it hurt his throat. He reached up and gently stroked the bird. "If you're going to stay," he had said, "I'll have to give you a name."

Was he really a "Worthless Kitten". Damn. Was he going to be blamed for the downfall of Enies Lobby. It had really been that idiot Spandam's fault. But then, Lucci had never thought he would be defeated either. Perhaps it was about time he went somewhere else. He would not be allowed to stay the World Government's puppet any longer, would he?

Was his heart beat slowing? Ha! He was going to die! He deserved to die. He had lost to someone like Strawhat Luffy. How could he ever show his face to the rest of the CP9? How could he ever look in a mirror again with out knowing he had lost to a scrawny kid who smiled too much? And then he had to wonder... What would the world be like in the future? If that boy could become the 'Pirate King' what would it be like? If he died here, where would he go? And even scarier, what if he lived? If the World Government came after him what would happen? If the others were dead, what would he do? Could he really live with the shame of his downfall? And everything he had ever done... had it been right? Or was he some sort of sick monster? "Ah. Baka. Stop thinking about such stupid things," he told himself. And that was his last coherent thought before everything inside of him fell asleep. His shell of a body lay motionless, except for the shallow raise and fall of his chest.