Hello dear readers, another fanfic from me (about time ;) ), and this time a little more serious one!
Please note that this story takes a look inside the head of a woman on the verge of losing her mind. So a bit dark themes ahead.
Please let me know if I should change the rating!
Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece. If I did, it wouldn't be nearly as awesome as it is (I mean, have you read chapter 550?).
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Horror Vacui
Kalifa idly flipped through the pages of a paper with meaningless news, while sitting at a table in a meaningless hotel on a meaningless island.
She just couldn't bring herself to reading anything in the paper. It didn't interest her, and she couldn't concentrate anyway.
Sighing, she started to look around in her small room.
It truly was nothing to write home about (not that she had a home..), but what better could you get with virtually no money? They had gotten into this hotel because Lucci was so good at...persuading people.
There was one window, one little cupboard (and a quite ugly one at that), a chair, and a bed. And on the bed some personal belongings and…
No, she shouldn't look at that.
But after about five minutes of determinately ignoring the things on her bed, she just couldn't help herself.
Only one look. Only one. For the sake of her mental health.
Carefully, she glanced over to the stack of wanted-posters sprawled out on her bed. She felt a pang of nostalgia and sadness, feelings of which she didn't know she even possessed.
Kaku had said she needed to stop collecting those posters, as it had nothing to do with them anymore.
She knew it to be true, but you couldn't kill old habits so easily.
It had always been her job to keep track of everything they did, to write everything down. She was the one that took care of the descriptions and wanted posters of their targets, as she was one of the few organized enough to actually not lose them. That's why she had gotten the part of playing the secretary back then in that wretched town…
She had felt so relieved when she could finally stop playing pretend and show her true colours: those of a highly skilled, elite assassin.
That job had been everything to her. And now…
She didn't even have a family she could go home to. Her father had told her, point blank, she was dead to him after she had been defeated.
Even though Kalifa didn't like to admit it, that was maybe even a harder blow than losing her job. She knew she shouldn't have gotten so attached to another human being, even if he was her father. Emotional bonds could only be abused by enemies. They made you weak.
That was one of the first things her father had taught her, besides the basics of fighting and defending yourself.
He wasn't what weak people would call 'a nice man'. He had always been very harsh on her and her mother, but Kalifa hadn't expected any different from him. Kindness got you nowhere in this world.
But the day he had asked the World Government if she could join CP9 and she was accepted, there had been something like pride in his eyes. Kalifa, still a little girl, had berated him immediately that he shouldn't show his emotions like that. He had hit her hard after that, calling her a '5-year old brat that doesn't know shit'. As it should be.
He hadn't trained her with a vicious routine, hit her when she got things wrong, made her kill without remorse, just to get all mushy when he had reached one of his goals; to get his daughter into CP9.
And now she was dead to her father; once a skilled assassin in CP9, well-known for his role in the Ohara-incident.
He had said he would capture her and execute her like the criminal that everybody thought she was, if he would ever run into her again. She expected no different from him.
Just as he would expect her to defend herself against him, and kill him if necessary.
She didn't need him in her life. He had gotten her in CP9, and that was the only thing that she could be close to thankful of in her life.
Because that had been the only thing she had really needed: her job.
And now she and her team were fired. The hard way.
Kalifa clenched her fists in anger as she thought back at the events that had caused her downfall. She couldn't be angry at her father for rejecting her, but she cóuld be angry at those measly pirates. They had taken everything from her.
They were pirates. Scum. Criminals. Lowlife. They didn't deserve to live.
Not only were they pirates, but they were also kids. How on earth could a troupe of elite assassins like hers be defeated by them? Plus they were the worst kind of childish pirates: the ones that talked about meaningless and stupid things like friendship or following dreams.
They needed to grow up, face reality.
In this world, there was no place for dreams or friendship. Both things were downright ridiculous, since both involved depending on things you couldn't rely on. Friendship meant you had to depend on other people, weakening yourself. That was absolutely unacceptable. And dreams were just something silly thing you should stop believing in when you were 5 years old. What use was it to believe in something that could turn out not to be true? Unreachable?
Clearly, these pirates weren't fit for this world. But still they had had the guts to declare war on the World Government, which immediately signed their fates. They needed to be annihilated.
But instead of accepting their fitting punishment, they went and defeated her.
Kalifa still couldn't fully grasp it.
CP9, a highly skilled secret team working for the World Government, trained to be killing machines, lost to bright and starry-eyed child-pirates.
It was unacceptable.
They had taken everything.
How was she supposed to live on? Her job had been her life!
Ever so slowly, it became clear what consequences the loss of her job would have.
It meant no more memorizing the faces and names of the most dangerous criminals on this planet. No more the pleasure of hunting them down, of seeing them beg for their lives, no more agonized cries of mercy...
Kalifa didn't even feel her hands go numb from clenching her fists so hard, didn't notice her knuckles getting alarmingly white.
And still, she couldn't stop thinking about the things she would have to miss without her job.
No more legal killing. She was a criminal on the run now, making every murder she committed from now on another crime that could be used against her.
So no more blood spilling from gaping wounds, no more satisfaction after seeing the life drain from murderers, plunderers, rapists, pirates, and knowing that you did a good thing. That you did it for the greater good, and that the World Government would compliment you for it. Those compliments and the approval were the best thing you could wish for, since it would mean that you did your job well and were competent.
And now something had happened she didn't think was possible: she started to doubt the World Government.
She started to doubt the people that had trained her to make her body a weapon on itself, that had taught her how to master the secrets of Rokushiki.
How could they call this justice?
CP9 had always done everything the Government said, for it knew what was just and what was unjust. And now that they were defeated some pirates, they were suddenly tossed aside, as if they were the criminals!
She had joined CP9 to rid the seas of those wretched pirates, to bring justice. But now, she wasn't sure anymore about what justice exactly was.
Was it everything the Government said? If someone had posed her this question just a couple of weeks ago, she would have said 'yes, of course', without a doubt.
But now… could the Government be wrong? Was that even possible?
A voice inside her head told her these were absolute blasphemous thoughts, that the decisions of the Government could not be questioned. She was merely a tool in their hands to keep the world peace, to rid it of dirt like those pirates.
But then again…After years of loyal service, no, a life long of absolute commitment; they had thrown her away.
Was that justice?
Part of her screamed no, part of her told her quietly that yes, it must be justice, since the Government had said so.
Within seconds, Kalifa's entire world seemed to collapse. It had all seemed so simple before: Government said something was wrong, and it really was wrong. She would quietly do her job, willingly do what she was told, and everything would be fine.
Now everything was different.
And where was she, while she was in Doubt, while she didn't know what was right and what was wrong anymore?
In this stupid hotel on this stupid island with a stupid name she never could recall. Kalifa clenched her teeth to the point she was afraid they might break. She didn't even see the red scratches on her legs she made with her own hands, constantly clenching and unclenching them.
It was maddening.
Absolutely maddening.
And she wasn't even alone. No, she was with them. She had never liked them, to be honest. And she knew they didn't like her, either. Their relationship had always been entirely professional.
But now that she was forced to be around them for days and days, now that she was on the run with them...
She had gotten soft.
There had been times she couldn't allow herself to be soft.
But now, she admitted to herself, she started to like them.
Stoic, murderous, dangerous Lucci; silly, serious Kaku; melodramatic, emotional Kumadori; hot-headed, arrogant Jyabura; quiet, down-to-earth Blueno; gossiping, talkative Fukurou...
She could hear their noisy bickering trough the thin walls of the hotel room, and instead of being terribly annoyed, like she used to do when they were fighting, she couldn't help but smile.
Smile?
How dared they to be so nice? Why did they make her so weak and powerless?
She could've left them ages ago, think about life and it's meaning on her own. She didn't need them, right?
But something inside her didn't want to abandon them. Was it the fact that they were the only things that were left of her old life? Or did she really like them?
She didn't know.
She didn't know anything anymore. Everything had changed.
Biting her lip hard, she wished they had never run into that demon woman that had started it all. Maybe then the world would still be alright, and she would still have her job. Somehow, a big, black hole started to grow inside her belly.
Brusquely, she got up from her chair, and started to pace up and down the room.
What was wrong with her? Why did she feel so sad?
Why did she feel? She wasn't supposed to feel anything. She was supposed to do her job without her emotions interfering.
But she didn't have her job anymore!
…So did that mean that it was okay to feel? But emotions made you weak, that was what she had learned all her life.
Was that true, then?
She didn't know.
And she didn't even know if she even possessed feelings.
But she did always feel kind of…euphoric after completing a mission, and she absolutely didn't like being ignored. And she had just established that she had started to like the rest of CP9. And she hated the boss, because he had betrayed them, and everything he did was sexual harassment.
Those were feelings?
How inconvenient. They clouded your brain, and made you do irrational things.
Kalifa adjusted her glasses. She could feel something pricking in the corner of her eyes.
Irritated, she tried to wipe it away. It felt wet.
Disbelieving, she stared at her finger; or rather, at the tiny drop of transparent liquid on it.
…What was that supposed to mean?
She had seen many people cry.
Often because they were about to be killed, and started to wail and beg for their lives. Sometimes people that unfortunately watched her doing her job started to cry. Sometimes the wife and children of the targets.
She could understand that.
These people were crying because they either had attached themselves to others, or were in mortal danger.
Kalifa wasn't in mortal danger, but the evidence of her weakening, of her crying, was sprawled out on her finger.
She didn't understand.
Kalifa just couldn't understand the world anymore.
Everything was different, everything was new.
Questions popped in her head that normally she never would have thought about.
Should she start a new life? But how? Did she have a purpose in life without her job? Should she just go to the nearest island and try to get a new one? Should she…marry and create offspring? And should she take them with her?
Sighing, and suddenly very, very tired, she stumbled over to the bed, and let herself fall on it.
She heard the protesting crunch of the wanted posters she was crushing by this movement, and thus turned her head to look at them.
There was the poster of Grace Read, the Silent Shadow, who had taken over a small kingdom a few days ago. Normally CP9 would've been sent there to restore the peace, and to put a king on the throne that was loyal to the World Government.
And over there was Jack Francis, the Angry Alligator, who was known for searching for the Uranon.
And on her other side was a piece of paper with a description of the criminal gang on the Weilân Islands, and a poster of Anne O'Malley….
Kalifa closed her eyes. She should stop looking at the posters. They were meaningless now.
Pirates didn't matter anymore. Criminals didn't matter. Overthrown kingdoms didn't matter.
Nothing mattered.
Nothing was sure.
Except for one thing. One thing was still sure, one thing did still matter.
Kalifa opened one of the drawers of the little cupboard next to her bed, and carefully picked a small pile of paper out of it. More wanted posters.
They looked just like the others, with bounties and photo's of wanted criminals on them.
But to Kalifa, these were special.
The pictures on them were of the people that had ruined her life, had put her in this mess, that had taken everything from her.
As she looked at them, carefully, as to not miss any of the details on the photo's, it was like the rest of the world disappeared. It was only her and the wanted posters in her hand. Only her and that one feeling that suddenly roared inside her, that raged like nothing ever before: fury, absolute fury.
The Straw Hat crew.
As she read their names, saw their wretched faces, she grew ice cold on the inside.
That was the one thing she still was sure of in this world: that she hated them. That she would kill them all, without remorse.
Suddenly, she felt the urge to smile. So she did. A wicked, manic smile appeared on her face.
Because now, she knew, she was allowed to feel something when she would stab them in their heart, pierce their eyes and rip open their bodies.
She was allowed to enjoy it. She was allowed to laugh in their faces as the life drained from their broken bodies, to feel satisfied when she could dump their corpses into the ocean.
She would still have to practice at letting her emotions run freely like that, but she was sure she would manage.
And then she reached the last poster of the little stack.
Suddenly gasping for air, her hands started to tremble viciously. Through her blurred vision, she could still make out the name on the poster. She stared at it for a while, reading it over and over.
Kalifa gulped, not used to the enormous tsunami of feelings that suddenly came over her. She was sure she could've handled the feelings that would show up as she would kill that crew, but this…
It was aching, hurting, gut-wrenching.
Him, she hated most of all. Everything about him.
The way he looked, the way he talked, the way he had fought her...
Kalifa bit her trembling lip hard as images started floating back to her mind. No, no, no, she didn't want to think about that!
Images of him walking into her room for the first time, of him gently telling her how she should make tea, images of him looking determined to get her key, images of her hands touching his body everywhere...
She quickly tried to block out the thoughts about the blonde boy, but as usual, she didn't succeed.
He was there. He was in her head, talking to her in that low, soothing voice of his, laughing at her, mocking her.
Kalifa covered her head with her hands, as if she wanted to protect herself from her own mind.
He was there, always. She hadn't slept one night without dreaming about those long legs, that broad back, those strong black shoes; ever since that dreaded day he had walked through her door.
Kalifa had fought many men.
Brave men, cowardly men.
She had killed them all without remorse, for they were weak and they were criminals.
But he was not like those men. He hadn't fought her seriously.
Not because he was arrogant and overestimated himself, he just couldn't. He couldn't hurt her, even though she was one of the people responsible for hurting one of his nakama. He had downright rufused to hurt her, and she would have killed him if that orange-haired wench hadn't saved him.
He had refused to hurt her, even though he was way stronger than her.
And he had looked absolutely terrified the moment she started her ultimate attack, the moment she needed to touch him everywhere to wash away his strength.
Not because he was afraid of her, or afraid of dying; he was afraid because he knew he couldn't do anything back.
Back then she had found him weak, spineless.
But after all the fights, after her defeat, it was different. She had regained consciousness amidst the rubble and the dust, lying next to a gaping hole in the wall. The wind was blowing hard, and she noticed she was half-naked. That little bitch had shredded all her clothes to get to her well-hidden key. Shivering, she had tried to get up, but the pain prevented her from moving too much. Her body was aching like never before. After a while, she could muster the strength to sit upright. And while she was sitting there in that big empty room, next to that enormous hole; dirty, cold, naked, defeated, she wished he was there. At the time it had seemed like a very natural thought, but afterwards it seemed so…insane. She had wanted him to be there, to comfort her, to put his jacket on her bare and cold shoulders. He would take her in his arms, and make the pain go away. And he would talk to her in his soft, soothing voice, to break that awful silence that was so deafening inside her, to fill up the emptiness that came with defeat.
And ever since that moment, he was in her head. Always there, always watching her every move, always whispering in her ear, always trying to drive her mad.
Kalifa rolled onto her stomach, resisting the urge to bury her head into the mattress and never get up again.
Why was she thinking like this about this boy? He couldn't be older than twenty, making him at least ten years younger. And not only was he young, but also was he a criminal. A pirate.
She didn't think he was spineless anymore. Somehow, he had crawled under her skin without her noticing. How did he do it? She was a grown woman, and an assassin, on top of that! She shouldn't be smitten so easily by a mere blue-eyed boy!
But somewhere very, very deep down, she knew why she had suddenly taken a liking in the young pirate.
He had such strong morals, and would rather die then go against them.
It made him strong in her eyes.
At least he knew what to do with his life. He could make his own rules, unlike her.
She always had to listen to somebody else's orders, and follow them without protest. And she was, well, with lack of a better word, happy with that life. It had all seemed to go perfectly well, until they decided to cast her away.
Now she didn't know who to turn to, who was going to tell her what she should do with the rest of her life?
But he, he made his own rules, and had the strength to stick to them. She wished he was here to teach her how you should live by yourself, figure out your own rules.
She wished she was as strong as he was.
Kalifa had always favoured strong men over weak ones. But she had never really showed any serious interest in the opposite sex, as it kept her from focusing on her work. Only on times she really needed to loosen up a bit, release tension, she would seek the company of men outside of her work.
But they never stayed, and she didn't want them to. It was complicating, and she heard that living with a man required having certain feelings for that person.
So she didn't need anyone but herself in her life.
Kalifa always thought she didn't want it any other way, until she met him.
He did watch her body with eyes that were a little too eager, but there was something else in his gaze.
At first sight, you only saw the clear annoyance and dislike of her, but when you looked closer, you saw something different.
Surrender. Admiration.
He saw her mostly as a woman, not a killing machine or a lust object.
And that was why he was different from all those other criminals and lowlife.
That's why he was on her mind every day, every minute, every second.
And she hated him for it.
She hated his stumbling blue eyes, his flowing blonde hair, his deep voice, his stylish clothes, his careless way of walking...
The Straw Hats had taken everything from her, that was true. And she hated them for it. But he had ruined her. He had ruined her the minute he walked through her door.
And that was why she hated him more than anything in this world.
Uncontrollably, Kalifa bit her lip.
He had made her weak.
This wasn't sexual harassment anymore, this was much worse. He had total control over her, and she couldn't resist. In an attempt to be more like him, to pretend she was just as strong as him, she had picked up smoking. Of course, at first, it was disgusting. She could feel how it stained her lungs, how it destroyed her perfectly healthy body.
But she went on with it, showing her stamina. She could see him, looking interested, wondering if she could go on with this.
She didn't stop. She could do it. She would show him.
And after a while, she discovered she couldn't do without anymore. It had become a daily routine, something consistent in her now tumultuous life and mind. And he would always be there, watching closely as she lit cigarette after cigarette with trembling hands.
She found that the smoke circling around her head was comforting; it shielded her body from the outside world, and then it was as if she was alone again. No blue eyes to stare at her, not the sound of his footsteps on the floor.
But on the other hand, the smoke reminded her of his scent. Sometimes she was sure the smoke took on his form, that it would stretch out it's hand and caress her cheeks.
And at those moments she wished he really was sitting next to her, that she could talk to him, that she could curse him, that he would be more than just some volatile smoke.
Kalifa turned over again, and stared at the ceiling. She hadn't been this tired since very, very long. Her vision became unfocused, and she could feel her eyes getting very heavy.
But she didn't want to fall asleep, Kalifa thought, panicking slightly.
He would be there. He would stand there, staring at her.
Kalifa quickly sat up. She had to stay awake. She didn't want to see him, ever again. She didn't want to be reminded of him anymore.
She wanted to tear his wanted poster in two, in four, in ten, in hundred tiny pieces. Step on them. Spit on them. Throw them out of the window.
But somehow she just knew she would collect every single piece of paper afterwards, and try to glue them together again.
There he was again, laughing at her pitiful state. He sat next to her on the bed, put his hand under her chin. He leaned in to her, and she closed her eyes. Then he suddenly disappeared again, leaving only his scent behind. A scent of cigarettes and spices.
She hated him.
She hated his wanted poster.
It looked nothing like him.
Where were his beautiful eyes, where was his handsome face?
And still she couldn't get herself to throw the ugly drawing away, for it was the only thing that reminded her of him.
And for that exact reason she wanted to set in on fire, see it disappear in front of her eyes.
She hoped the fire would erase him from her memory, so would never think of him again. But on the other hand she didn't him to go, she wanted him to be around.
Dear god, how she loathed this man. She would be happy to be the one to kill him. She would first kill the rest of his crew, preferably in front of his eyes. Then, when he was all broken inside, he would know what he had done to her.
She would look at that handsome face, so scarred and sad, and she would laugh. Then she would kiss him goodbye, and as he looked up at her; all helpless and broken, she would gauge out those blue eyes, tear out every single blonde hair, mutilate that handsome face. So that there was nothing recognizable anymore. Nothing to look at. Nothing to seduce her.
Then, maybe she would have her peace.
Maybe she would forget him.
Maybe he would stop appearing in her mind.
Maybe.
Maybe…she didn't want him to.
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Author's notes:
This story first started as a generic Kalifa-overthinks-her-fight-with-Sanji-fic, but it turned into much more.
I've been changing it for about two months. First, it was barely three pages, and by now, it's about eight. Especially after I read on the One Piece wiki that her father had been working under Spandine, I decided to rewrite it drastically.
Now it's more of a character study, and I most certainly like it better than the first version. :D
The title is Latin for 'fear of emptiness' or 'fear of empty spaces', a concept that's used a lot in (for example) Medieval art and art from the Greek Geometric Period. Every single millimetre of surface is used and filled with details and colour, nothing's left blank. Hence the 'fear of emptiness'.
I chose this title because I think it's very appropriate for the situation in which Kalifa is now. She has lost everything she cared for, the only thing that gave her life some colour, and isn't it pretty natural to fall into a big black hole after that? So she needs to think about her life, think about what's her purpose and everything. She's afraid of the emptiness that awaits after being fired, and I believe that's why she suddenly fell in love with our favourite cook. She thinks that he can fill up the void, just by being the strong personality that he is. She needs someone to guide her, as she hasn't done anything by herself in her life: she always had to follow orders, always had to listen to the World Government's opinion on what was good and what was bad. Without that structure, she feels hopelessly lost.
I hope I have made myself clear, because it's quite difficult to explain yourself in a foreign language ;) .
Please leave a review! :D