Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zenigata wasn’t sure why he decided to come. Not sure why he paid for this flight with his own money, why he took this trip as three vacation days. He could easily have said this was for business. After all, he was going to see Lupin. He could have brought his cuffs and a small army, and taken this flight for free.

But it had been a year since the last calling card. It was a wedding invitation, which boldly stated Lupin's intent to “steal the heart of Fujiko Mine.” Which wasn’t exactly a heist under Zenigata's jurisdiction. At the wedding, when Zenigata had briefly gotten him into handcuffs, Lupin claimed to be retiring. So they struck a deal. 

If Lupin was really through, then Zenigata would let him be. And granted, the Inspector had had doubts as to Lupin's sincerity. But a year was a long time. And since then, things had been quiet. It wasn't Lupin's longest hiatus, but admittedly, all of them were getting older. 

He was starting to suspect that this time, Lupin really meant it.

Fujiko was always what he’d been aiming for, it all made plenty of sense. The thief had more wealth and infamy than any one man needed, and Zenigata had seen with his own eyes the things Lupin would do for Fujiko. If she told him to do it, he would. So maybe this time, instead of asking for a jewel heist, she asked Lupin to settle down. It made enough sense.

Even if Zenigata had trouble admitting it to himself, this was what he had always hoped for. Lupin to straighten out and live a normal life. Sure, he would have preferred for Lupin to get a normal job and return all his ill-gotten gains, to make a full apology. Instead, the ex-criminal was living a quiet life of leisure, in some swanky apartment in downtown Milan, on stolen funds. But in his heart Zenigata knew most of the people Lupin robbed were cold, evil bastards who didn’t need the money either.

Or maybe, what he had hoped for was the two of them to go out in a final match of wits, leaving him standing victorious, returning to the ICPO with a defeated, cuffed Lupin. Breaking that ego over his knee. The inspector's sheer force of will winning out over his arch-nemesis, leaving the now-contrite Lupin to confess to each one of his many crimes. Watching Lupin stare out into a sea of photo bulbs and news cameras, witnessing to the public at large that the only man who could best him, who HAD bested him, was Inspector Zenigata.

He had to shake off that train of thought. It was making him both surprisingly sad, and a little too excited. Before he had even decided to come, Zenigata had done a lot of his usual legwork. He checked the address out via satellite before he got on the plane, and the area looked really nice. If the real estate websites were right, he spent more than Zenigata’s yearly salary on a few months of rent. He did his research, he never came unprepared when it came to information. 

Emotionally? That was a different story.

Thankfully, the captain’s voice announced over the intercom that they were beginning their descent into Italy, and that distracted him from further introspection.

He folded a still-pristine book of crossword puzzles, and waded through the drudgery of disembarking, heading into customs for what had to be his thousandth time. Waiting at the baggage carousel, he spotted a very familiar and ostentatious figure. 

Goemon Ishikawa XIII stood rigid in his usual traditional simple kimono attire, probably waiting to be reunited with his beloved sword. He always looked like a figure out of time, a historical relic with a face so stern that anyone would feel wary asking him what the costume was for. Children pointed and adults tugged them along. Zenigata's Italian was a bit rusty, but he could guess what they might be saying.

Goemon's gaze locked back onto Zenigata's, without a trace of surprise. Goemon had already spotted him. Zenigata felt a bit embarrassed that he hadn’t been vigilant enough to notice Goemon and get the jump on him. Not that he was looking to make a scene while he was off duty, but he liked to think of himself as ready for anything. Maybe the year off had dulled his Lupin senses more than he thought.

Zenigata took the initiative and walked over to greet him. Even without Zantetsuken, the samurai had an air of danger to most people, but Zenigata had long ago learned a few of the subtleties of his emotional range. Right now, Goemon’s face was creased from feeling awkward and shy, not angry or defensive. He never did particularly well in large crowds, unless of course it was a large crowd of armed men trying to kill him.

On the rare occasion they did have something to say to each other, he and Goemon always spoke in Japanese.

“Goemon. How was your flight?”

“Inspector. It was adequate.”

Warm but lumbering, Zenigata's laugh was exaggerated, like a truck on a bumpy road, trying to break tension in spite of it all. “Geheheh! But the food sure wasn’t. I’m starving!”

“Hm.”

Not much of a conversationalist, this guy. It helped to have Lupin around to keep things lively. He gritted his teeth a bit. Just push through.

“I think there’s a good ramen restaurant. If you’re hungry, too.”

Goemon’s expressions rarely showed more than a minor shift, but his eyes had a glint of excitement at the mention of ramen. It was cuter than Zenigata had ever pictured Goemon being capable of. He'd rarely gotten close to the man before, and even when he managed to, the expression he saw most often was the hardened, determined stare of a man about to slice his cruiser in half. Granted, the Samurai did always have a hint of roguish glee in his eyes when he sliced things apart, but this was different. It felt… more like innocent delight than mischievous pleasure.

“I would not mind. After all, our appointment is not for a few more hours.”

Goemon did not elaborate, or comment on their upcoming meeting. There was a long silence, and as it stretched out before them, Zenigata felt more and more desperate to fill it. But he was at a loss. Everything that came to mind had a snowball's chance in hell at getting more than three words out of the samurai. And all he wanted to talk about was Lupin.

He let the quiet hang, and checked his phone a few times. Poked at a few junk emails. Deleted them. Double-checked the address of the ramen place. Triple-checked to make sure it was still open. It didn't accomplish much, but it at least killed time.

Once Goemon was reunited with his blade, the pair shared a taxi. Zenigata graciously offered to cover the bill for it, but with all the speed and grace of drawing Zantstsuken itself, Goemon was faster to unsheath his own wallet. 

He heaped the insult higher by tipping very generously. 

The two stepped out and Zenigata began to realize how much unwanted attention standing next to a guy dressed like this in the middle of a city attracted.

He wasn’t looking to get recognized. In fact, this was a foolhardy and thoughtless move he hadn’t even anticipated. How did Lupin stand all this staring, hanging around a guy in costume all the time? Stupid question. The thief craved attention.

Zenigata grumbled at his own brief lapse in competence. But it put him off, imagining someone seeing this. Him standing around with a known criminal associate of Lupin, just having dinner. Anyone could pop out from behind a corner. With his luck, the moment Zenigata looked up, the next person to cross his field of view would be the one to start interrogating him. He hadn't thought this through.

Goemon took the lead and got two seats at the bar, leaving Zenigata to follow, attention wandering. 

He found his mind scrambling, forming excuses. He could claim this was information gathering. He was well aware of what the samurai was up to at the moment, and as it wasn’t a heist, Zenigata didn’t have to arrest him right now. This was strategic. Completely above board. Perfectly routine, to have a friendly meet up with criminals you’re sworn to hunt down during your paid vacation time.

Goemon cleared his throat, sharp and insistent, trying to direct Zenigata’s attention to the waitress who was already asking him for his order.

Zenigata managed a clunky bit of Italian. “Errrr... This please.” 

He lifted the menu high enough for the waitress to see it, and tapped his finger to the first ramen listed on the menu. He'd never been picky, even less so when it came to ramen. But still, he wished he'd had a little more time to think over his choice.

The waitress smiled and nodded, taking the menu off his hands. Attention back in the real world, Zenigata turned to look at Goemon. He checked his expression, looking for annoyance, trying to gauge his own rudeness via the Samurai's reaction. 

It was a fruitless endeavor. Goemon’s expression was completely flat. Bereft of clues, Zenigata decided an apology was the safe bet. After that, there'd be time to set the matter aside, and try to relax.

“How long has it been since you last saw him?”

Well, that wasn’t exactly an apology. 

Why was Lupin still all he could talk about even after a year? Zenigata was starting to wonder if he was even capable of conversations that didn't involve that bastard.

“I have not seen him since the wedding.”

Zenigata raised an eyebrow. He was expecting that Lupin would still at least occasionally see his gang. Were they really not as close as they seemed to be? He'd always assumed they were friends, but maybe it was more complicated than it looked. Goemon and Fujiko did seem to spend a bit more time together outside the group. He could swear he might have seen them huddled close together once or twice, sometimes even closer than she stood to Lupin. Maybe there was more to their relationship? Had it gotten awkward after Lupin married her?

This line of inquiry struck him as pretty invasive. It was one thing to speculate on the inner workings of Lupin's group when it was part of an investigation. But now, it felt uncomfortably like nosing into personal gossip. How odd, to think even for a moment that Lupin deserved to hide anything away from the eyes of the law.

Or to think that Goemon, at this moment, knew exactly as much about Lupin's goings-on as he did. 

Which is to say; Nothing.

Zenigata’s voice betrayed his unease. “Ahhh... I’m a bit surprised... what have you been up to?”

“Training.”

The reply was curt, and it made the inspector nervous that he may have angered the guy. Goemon’s temper was legendarily touchy, and the results of a wrong move could be painful.

Talk about something else. Don’t talk about Lupin. Don’t talk about Lupin. Surely this time, he could pretend to have something on his mind other than the thief he’d built his whole life around.

“You know... I don’t think I’ve eaten ramen as much now that I’m spending more time in Japan. When I leave the country it’s all I can think about... but as soon as I’m home I end up eating everything but that!”

Zenigata ended his observation with a rumbling chuckle, hoping to break some tension.

“I’m afraid I cannot relate. I have noodles often. And the broth is always best in a real ramen restaurant in Japan where they’ve been doing it for decades and have perfected their craft properly. Practiced skill and artistry come through in the taste.”

“Mmm...” 

Zenigata bit his lip. This stuff was tricky. Each of Goemon's responses just made him feel bizarrely self conscious. Had he been enjoying ramen wrong all this time? For Zenigata, it was a comforting thought that he could always pack a few instant ones in his suitcase. Sure, he loved fresh when he could stop in a city and take the time, but he rarely could. And even if the instant packs got used up, tons of stores all over the world had them now.

Their warm, salty embrace could always be waiting for him, even after a humiliating defeat at the hands of Lupin’s gang. Every bowl had unique charm, but as long as he had been traveling, it was helpful to have at least one familiar face. Something to come home to. A rush of steam to clear his nostrils and renewed resolve for marching back to it day after day. Year after year.

“I guess you’re right. Kinda funny to leave Japan, and head to Italy for your ramen.” 

Zenigata shrugged off absurdity. With Lupin you had to learn there were always absurdities, no sense in cleaving purely to logic when emotions, instincts and whims were just as important to tracking him down effectively. Two large bowls arrived in front of them, ending the need for further discussion. Zenigata’s chopsticks made quick work of the contents. He had a bad habit of eating quickly, and he was starving after the long flight. He knew they had several more hours of alertness ahead of them, and the anticipation had started to churn in his stomach.

They were going to see Lupin.

Zenigata finished first, and while sipping the broth, he thought again about what he would say to the man. On the flight, he'd played the fantasy out in his head, again and again, endless variations, trying to predict what Lupin would be like now. What he'd do.

Some plans were as simple as a hug, others as elaborate as a swarm of cops surrounding the whole block, blue and red lights shining off his cuffs. But all those plans would doubtless come to nothing. When eye-to-eye with that monkey face, Zenigata would be bound to do what he always did: barrel in on first impulse.

“Please allow me to cover dinner, Inspector.”

He hadn't even seen Goemon reach for it, and Zenigata’s pride was starting to feel the sting. Goemon’s wallet must be considerably fatter than his. Of course it was! How could he forget? This was a dinner on stolen funds. Lupin’s accomplices were a gang of thieves, and he had to guess that Goemon still was one.

Goemon took the bill, and folded the tip into a small origami flower. A startling, but charming gesture. It was cute. He wondered if Goemon always did things like that. Had he just never had the chance to have a leisurely meal with him? 

As they got up to leave, he could hear another customer give a very crass attempt at the waitress’s attention.

“Hey cutie, what time does your shift end?”

She frowned slightly and pretended not to hear. Zenigata’s mind went immediately to Lupin, and his frequent habit of saying rude things to women. He couldn’t help but speak up loudly, angry at the very concept of Lupin. And, of course, the man in front of him, too.

“Sir, it’s rude to make passes at women while they’re working!”

“What? Are you a cop?”

Oh no. He wasn’t supposed to be drawing attention to himself precisely because he WAS a cop. An off duty one, who was about to have a get together with the criminals he was assigned to capture.

He didn’t use it frequently, but he did have quite a large, imposing figure. 

He narrowed his eyes sternly, looming over him. “It doesn’t matter if I am, you should behave yourself.” 

The guy tried to act flippant, but he had clearly been cowed and backed away.

“Whatever.” 

Zenigata knew defeat when he saw it. And with that, he left the restaurant, still fuming.

“The nerve of that guy! Work requires concentration and focus, doesn’t he understand that? You can’t have people flirting with you, winking at you while they run away! How’s someone supposed to get their job done with that kinda distraction!”

“Indeed.” Goemon replied quietly.

The two stood on the sidewalk, side by side. Silent. He glanced over at Zenigata. Expecting something? What in the world would he be looking for from him?

“Should I call a car?” Zenigata ventured to say with slight trepidation.

“Yes, please do,” the swordsman said with an affirmative nod.

He realized that Goemon hadn’t shown any sign of having a cellphone since they met up. Did he even have one? It seemed awfully inconvenient, but so was flying around the world with a samurai sword in a kimono. It tracked.

He called a ride. The one that would take them to Lupin's apartment. He was starting to feel his nerves kicking in. The closer the little car icon moved on the app, he could feel his shoulder tension increasing.

“Goemon. Can I ask your opinion?”

“If you wish. But I will not hold back.”

“It’s better if you don’t,” he scowled slightly, he knew the right answer to the question he was about to ask, and yet he still wanted validation for making the wrong one.

“Do you think I shouldn’t have come?”

The question hung in the air of the noisy city streets. Groups of people passed, scattered laughter, chatter, the buzz and rush of occasional traffic. It felt like a long silence, but the small car icon hadn’t moved much.

“I think Lupin wants you to.”

“I suppose you’re right. I think he does.” 

The inspector glanced down at his feet, feeling embarrassed that he asked. Feeling even more embarrassed by the answer. What did it really matter if it was the right thing to do, when what he really wanted was....

“Zenigata. When Lupin sends you an invitation, have you ever failed to show up?”

“Not that I remember.”

“You see. It’s as I said. He expects you.”

Zenigata’s face was warm. Was he angry? It must have been that. The idea. Lupin thinking of him as at his personal beck and call! That must be it. He was angry. Lupin had better be ready for a talking-to.

He and Goemon sat together in the back seat of the car. Another prolonged silence. Another chance to run through what he was going to say. Play it cool? Just say hello and be nice? He had so much he wished he could say, but all of it was ill advised, humiliating, or rage inducing.

When they got up to the door, Goemon didn’t hesitate, and gave the doorbell a firm press. Both of them were very meticulous, and together, almost exactly on time.

The door swung open with a familiar gusto. Zenigata recognized that fluidity, that motion, those hands, seconds before the voice greeted them. Seconds which would once have been the difference between failure and victory. The tension on the airplane, in the cab, it was nothing compared to the eternity it took for Zenigata's gaze to turn, to land upon that face. The itch to reach for cuffs he didn't even bring. The effort it took not to leap forward.

“Goemon and Pops! Sharing a cab?! Wow, have you been having fun already without us?”

“Lupin. Good to see you.” Goemon there, so cool and collected.

The grin hit him like a truck. The moment Lupin revealed himself was always a line drawn in the sand. Other people marked their lives through minutes, seasons, holidays. For Zenigata, though, there was only Preparation, and Lupin. And here he stood. The master thief in the flesh. Zenigata wasn't preparing or worrying any longer. Life could start again. He could feel his heart in his ears. And all his tension boiled over as anger. 

Lupin's eyes widened. He seemed equally as surprised to see Zenigata. Did his heart beat faster too? Was he fighting his own instincts? Was he struggling not to pick up those lanky legs, to flee before Zenigata clamped down the cuffs?

“Whoa, Pops! Settle down! The night is young." Lupin started to giggle. "I know you want to tie me up, but can’t we at least have a few drinks first?”

His teeth remained gritted, but Zenigata did his best to force the words out through them. 

“It’s nice to see you Lupin. Nice... place you have.”

Frustrating. Why did Lupin always make him feel embarrassed? As though, somehow, Zenigata was the one doing something wrong. He wasn't the criminal. If Zenigata had been doing his actual JOB, he SHOULD have been tying the bastard up. Why did the grubby weasel have to make something perfectly normal sound strange?

Lupin always made things so much more complicated.

Fujiko was at the top of the stairs, peering down. She looked exactly the same as Zenigata remembered her: with a dangerous smile, one that lured you closer, made you hope to find out what was hidden behind those eyes.

And she was somehow always convincing you, each time, that it might be something new. It was an incredible talent, one he had yet to even begin to unravel. He wondered idly if even Lupin had a grasp on what she was planning or thinking. As a detective, Fujiko always vexed him.

He lifted an awkward hand to wave to her.

“Fujiko, how have you been?”

“Good." And before he could object, she flashed that smile again. "Honest, Pops. We’ve been being very good. But I bet you already knew that, right?”

Lupin grinned and patted a hand against his back, “Yeah I bet Pops didn’t even need us to send him the address. You’re always stalking me, aren’t ya?”

Zenigata blushed at being called out. Sure he had checked in a few times, but that was only logical. Lupin was his responsibility. If he was leaving Lupin to fly free as a bird, then the thief better not be breaking their deal. 

Being in this company was too off-putting. Zenigata reminded himself that there was no need to act so civil and shy: he was the one in the right after all. Why shouldn't he have his suspicions? He stumbled onwards, up the thin, well-decorated staircase.

The apartment's interior was lavish, but in impeccably good taste. Lupin had a keen eye for art and Fujiko loved finery. Unsurprising that they would settle down to the finer things. Zenigata turned a suspicious eye toward the hallway, his gut warning him that more than a few of the paintings there might be originals. A quick peek left him frustrated, unable to verify his suspicions.

Fujiko led him into a large living room space, comfortably filled with a sofa, recliner, huge TV, and a full wet bar. The walls gave way to floor-to ceiling windows. The view stretched out around him, a cityscape drenched in a steadily setting sun. The red light fell on his wide eyes, and Zenigata’s heart ached.

Their breathtaking home was funded by a career full of Zenigata's personal failures.

He could feel a biting breeze stirring, whipped up from his memory and around his cheeks, as he recalled Lupin, a precious emerald in his greedy little hand, waving down at him. Clutching the end of a rope ladder as the noisy helicopter was ascending. He could see Lupin blowing a kiss as he faded from view, leaving Zenigata to curse and scream in the middle of a highway with 20 crashed police cars.

He pounded a heavy fist down on the wet bar. It was sturdy, solid, and more real than any of his memories. But of course it was. Not like the cheap bargain furniture he’d had to fill his own apartment with. It made his hand throb.

A second fist hit the bar, close to his own, and Zenigata looked up, back into a face that hadn't lost a sliver of mirth.

“Ooh, someone is eager to get started! Yeah! Fujicakes! Drinks drinks drinks!” Lupin playfully chanted, continuing to pound both of his own fists on the bar as well. 

He hopped into the swiveling stool on the end, leaning his cackling head back, and letting the stool spin. Childish. But the way he was laughing filled the room. Made it feel a lot more cozy and less stiff. Zenigata had rarely been on the inside of that laughter. Usually it was at his expense. This was his first invitation into a world that he had always only seen from a distance. He felt warmth in his cheeks and moved to sit down.

Fujiko rolled her eyes, but it was exaggerated. He could tell she was enjoying that smile just as much as he was.

Just as much...? Probably more, right? They were married after all.

“You’re the better bartender, Lupin. Why don’t you mix him something." Fujiko took a seat next to Zenigata, and touched Goemon’s shoulder softly. "And, we were warming some sake for you.”

The samurai’s face eased into a small smile. Lupin hopped into action, his well-manicured hands a flurry of activity. Though the inventory was neatly tucked away, the back of the bar must have been impressively stocked. Lupin pulled out fancy bottle after fancy bottle, uncorking things, tossing and catching ice cubes, pouring, shaking.

“At your service! Zenigata, how about a Manhattan, am I right?" Lupin sang out the words as he mixed. Still showy as ever. 

Lupin skewered three dark red cherries, and plopped them into a thick, crystal glass of amber liquid, before sliding it neatly down in front of Zenigata. He paused a moment, long enough for Zenigata to wonder if Lupin was waiting for a tip. Something bright in his eyes, waiting for something.

Oh, right.

Zenigata nodded a little too deeply, barking out a professional, "Thank you!"

Lupin's eyes lit up. His mouth was still curled in that annoying smirk, but there was no follow-up joke. No hit to Zenigata's pride. Just a second of that look, eyeing Zenigata as he lifted his drink.

And then Lupin was off again, pulling out more bottles, attention fixed on his wife.

"And for my Goddess, I’ll try to make something half as sweet as you!”

An idiot grin on his face, Lupin shook ice, spirits, and his own hips, before flipping open his cocktail shaker, pouring something peach colored into a tall, tulip shaped glass, and passing it across the bar. As she took a short sip, Fujiko's shoulders relaxed. Closed her eyes and took in flavor. Zenigata wondered what fruit it tasted like. 

He turned to his Manhattan to take a sip, not too shocked that Lupin knew one of his drink preferences. The cherries were on some kind of fancy little metal toothpick, swirled end and all. Everything here felt like some kind of apartment he might see on an American TV show. Something with a team of designers, and an unrealistically extensive budget.

The doorbell rang, a pleasant but cloying sound. Lupin's gaze sprung immediately to attention. Zenigata had watched a friend's dog once. She always popped up, excited by the doorbell. Lupin moved the exact same way she had when his friend came home. 

“Oh! That must be Jigen-chan! Always gotta be fashionably late." He was on his way out of the room with a wink before anyone could object. "Be right back! Don’t start spin the bottle without me, okay?!”

Goemon’s eyes followed Lupin as he left. The room went quiet. Empty again, without Lupin to fill it up. Zenigata watched the others from behind his glass, and noted the light huff of a sigh from Fujiko.

Zenigata looked over her expression. It was hard to read the subtleties of Goemon’s face, but Fujiko was a completely different story. Others could read only what she wanted them to see. Her features were still the same as when he'd met her, skin soft, eyes doey, lips prim, but full.

How much effort did it take her to maintain that? The men in her gang could toss disguises on and off as they wished, looking as odd or ugly as they pleased. Constantly changing. But Fujiko was like a fixed point in time. Maybe it was effortless. Was that why Lupin had decided to stay with her? To hide away with someone who never changed, whose beauty never faded? Never having to surrender anything to the passage of time?

He'd been in the middle of eating a cherry, but Fujiko's eyes found his staring, and Zenigata coughed out a, “Thanks very much for having us.”

He had stopped treating Fujiko like any other woman, not that his relationship with her was similar to any other woman in the first place. But it seemed like the thing you were supposed to say.

Fujiko laughed. It was hard to tell what that meant. But she didn’t seem angry. She tilted her throat back, earrings gleaming in the cushion of her auburn hair, and took another sip of the pink liquid in her glass. He could see the muscles in her throat clench as she swallowed it.

“Just don’t get too riled up, okay?” She looked back again, and smiled. "It'll spoil our little party if you cart my husband off to jail."

“Oh! I...” 

He looked away from her, down at his drink. She wasn't wrong. He had already reached twice for handcuffs that weren’t there. That itch. It was all Lupin's fault.

“It’s a habit.” Zenigata finally ventured. "Sorry."

Under Fujiko's eyes, wanting to arrest Lupin made him feel guilty. But under the watchful eye of his ancestors, NOT arresting Lupin was making him feel guilty. He wanted to shut them all up. He took a large swig of his drink.

Her lips curled into a casual smile. “It's all right. A Lupin habit is quite a hard one to kick.”

Was she mocking him? For the life of him, he couldn't tell.

Goemon spoke up. “You mentioned hot sake?” 

Was that a hint of excitement in Goemon's tone? Zenigata sympathized. Hot sake was always a real comfort after a long day of failing to capture Lupin. Or a long day dealing with a distraught police Inspector. There'd been a lot of both of them.

“Oh Goemon, sorry, I forgot. It’s in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.” 

And just like that, it was again down to just Goemon and Zenigata. Zenigata drained the rest of his glass. If it was empty, maybe he could ask after that sake, too...

That could make for a fine conversation. 

He turned to Goemon. “What’s your favorite kind of sake?”

“Any brewers who use traditional methods. Ones which take time. One can always taste when brewers are taking shortcuts. It is the same as with ramen. With anything. It is a matter of craftsmanship.”

Zenigata nodded. That was the sort of answer he'd expected.

“I like nigori. Looks nice and goes down well with curry.”

“Hmmm. I agree."

“Do you want some of this too, Zenigata?” Fujiko’s voice preceded her return to the room. 

She had a tall open jar, an oven mitt, and a stack of few short traditional sakazuki dishes. Goemon got to his feet to help her, setting the dishes on the bar in front of the three of them. Fujiko moved to pour the warm liquid into each, and sitting between them, gave a smile as warm as the sake.

She raised the shallow dish to her lips. “Shall we?”

Zenigata quickly followed, lifting his. Goemon pulled his towards his nose first, gently inhaling, a serene smile on his face.

“To your good health.” Zenigata finally said by way of a toast to the current company.

“Likewise, as long as you keep your hands to yourself.” Fujiko winked at him.

“Kanpai,” Goemon offered right before he tipped up and finished the dish.

The other two did the same, the warm sweet sensation still lingering in his mouth. Fancy cocktail drinks were fine, but this was more Zenigata's speed. Conversation began to flow more freely.

It had been so many years since he had friends on the force. People usually found him a nightmare to work with. Granted, he deliberately drove people off the case, and actively sabotaged the partnerships his superiors forced on him in the past. He wanted Lupin all to himself. He wanted to CATCH Lupin himself. On his own terms. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it if someone else brought him down. Especially considering how many times he had to beg local police departments not to shoot at the man... even then it was a constant issue.

A lot of rich people had a grudge against Lupin, and it wasn’t too hard for those rich people to make the rules and laws suit their own whims in a lot of countries. Zenigata had to work and research to keep the details of Lupin’s exploits clearly logged and not let them get away with claiming they could kill him on sight for some crime he was being framed for. It was a constant responsibility and it made him furious when people tried to shove their hands into it, when they didn’t understand what he had put into this case.

Ultimately though, it all meant he had been a loner for some time. He had recently been assigned a new partner that hadn’t been chased off as of yet. But they still weren’t close. He hadn’t shared his Lupin files with the kid, that’s for sure.

Fujiko and Zenigata were laughing at a joke Goemon had said (at least, Zenigata hoped it was a joke. He was going to feel lousy if he'd just joined in on Fujiko's bullying), when Lupin and Jigen entered the room.

Jigen Daisuke might've been long and lanky. But he slouched over like a dripping candle, body running all over whatever chair had the misfortune to seat him. His suits might have been designer. But he brought none of the presence that world leaders or tech billionaires would have, hands stuffed into pockets or thumbs shoved through belt loops. He wore them without poise or grace. Seemed that the simple act of existing was a huge favor the world had asked of Jigen. And he let everyone know what an obnoxious favor it was, in every movement and sigh.

Lupin's partner - no, Zenigata corrected himself - Lupin's ex-partner. What was he doing now? Jigen was a crack shot, and had skulked through the underworld, protecting or taking whichever lives had the highest payout. As with Goemon, Zenigata's attention had often passed over Lupin's associates. Ever fixated on his goal. And why not? Where Jigen's flame barely flickered, Lupin was always alight like a torch. Lupin playfully tried to sling an arm over Jigen's shoulder, but the sullen man sloughed it off. The brim of his hat was already shading his eyes, but he tugged at it, fingers worrying the brim.

The gunman eyed Zenigata, and from his current seated position, for once, Zenigata could easily see the eyes tucked away under the brim of that hat. Jigen wasn't too far in age from Zenigata, and he showed every day of those years. Bags under sunken eyes, gaze flitting around the room. He was easier to read than the rest of them. He pulled the brim down again, hiding any hint of what his emotions might be.

There was no cigarette between his teeth at the moment, but Jigen's voice was unmistakably that of a smoker. “Hey, you even invited Pops.”

“Yeah, it didn’t feel right not having everyone for the party. Right, Fujiko?” 

Lupin shot her a smile, and it looked a little too broad. Too much tension in the eyes. Nerves?

She didn’t reply. Maybe she just didn’t have the chance, because the silence was quickly interrupted by a dispassionate,

“Ah yeah. Happy anniversary to you.”

Jigen’s hollow congratulations got Fujiko to her feet. Lupin's smile was indeed tense now, but Fujiko had that same slow, predator's smirk. With a gesture of her hand, she offered her seat to Jigen and Jigen slumped down into the chair without any hesitation. Fujiko padded over to Lupin, tracing her fingers along his sleeve, and wrapping him from behind in a casual embrace.

“Thanks for coming, Jigen. How long has it been?”

She pressed a cheek against Lupin's, and the tension drained from his face, a goofy grin spreading in its place.

Jigen leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “A while.”

Lupin spun around, reaching over Jigen’s shoulder. His hand brushed Jigen's suit jacket as Lupin rescued Fujiko’s cute peach drink. Zenigata couldn't look. Lupin was so inconsiderate. Always wiggling his way around, never mindful of the little promises those brushes make you feel. But Jigen didn't seem to notice. The grubby little bastard was lucky it was Jigen he'd done it to, and not Zenigata.

Lupin snuggled close to Fujko, nearly spilling her drink. “How’s the sake, Goemon? I got the right stuff, right?”

Goemon gave a rare vote of commendation. “Indeed. It’s excellent.”

It was actually very good. The last time he had sake like that? Probably when he had caught Lupin briefly a few years ago. Maybe it was a decade, now that he considered it. Time really flew.

Jigen's tone was flat. “Let’s have another round, then.”

Dishes were set, filled, and emptied into happy mouths. Several times. Zenigata found it harder and harder to keep up with the conversation.

Lupin took a seat on the edge of the wet bar, swinging his legs back and forth, looking down at the rest of them. “Well, I want to hear about all your adventures! How about you, Pops? Tell me you haven't been too lonely without me!”

His head was beginning to float on his shoulders, but Zenigata did his best to respond. “Err... well... I’ve been keepin’ an eye on you, of course. But after a few months it just didn’t feel right havin’ the ICPO payin’ for me to do nothin’. So I asked to be taken off the Lupin case.”

Sake went down the wrong pipe, and Lupin coughed. “Oh-hoh y-yeah? Well that’s great news! Now I can get back to things without any trouble!”

Zenigata's next drink did not make it to his mouth, as for the second time this evening, his fist slammed down on the bar. “I’m still watchin’ you! We made a deal!”

Lupin chortled out a careless laugh. “Ghu-huhuhuuu! I know Pops, I’m only kidding.”

Words were springing too easily from Zenigata's mouth. The liquor was running fast and free, and there was no feeling of limitation here, just a warm room and an endless night sky billowing out over the lights sparkling from the beautiful city below. It was all too tempting to open up. But he couldn't share it with these people. God knows Zenigata didn't want to talk about how he’d been FEELING this year. 

He steeled himself. Stick to the events, Zenigata.

“Got me a newbie to babysit. Heh. He looks up to me, I guess. He’s a bit naive. Decent enough kid, though.”

Yatagarasu Goro. The newbie was a change of pace. Zenigata had worked with people before, but oftentimes he was assigned partners to spy on him, or keep him away from places powerful people didn’t want cops sniffing around. And if the spying excuses for partners weren’t there just to sabotage him, they usually asked to be reassigned. Zenigata was almost always “on the job.” Which meant any partner he had would have to deal with the same absurd hours and travel schedule.

Not to mention the biggest issue: they had to deal with Zenigata. Not many people on earth were cut out to catch Lupin the Third. That’s just how it is. It was his duty, and his destiny. Lupin was his. His to catch. Or his to let go…

Zenigata shook his head. Yata hadn't been too bad, seemed sincere at least. And since lately he hadn’t had Lupin to chase, there was no risk. Having the company was nice.

“Well... they put me on a few major smuggling cases. I had to be out in the woods for a couple weeks in a bear costume." The others snickered, but Zenigata clenched his jaw, and pushed through.

“Had to rough it. Camped out for two whole months. This organization had quite the operation, and even when I did meet back up with my men, we were outmanned. The scum thought they had me figured out, I was in a ditch dodgin’ artillery shells. Had to pull the old dummy corpse trick to throw 'em off.”

“You win some, you lose some." Jigen offered in consolation. "At least you’re still alive and kickin’."

“Oh, I got ‘em. Took down the whole ring. Which, of course, didn’t improve my popularity back at the office. A few upper management guys were hopin’ this would be the one that finally did me in. 'Cuz it turns out they were involved in some of the permits and thought it might be a convenient place to end my career.”

In fact, to take this little vacation, he was missing some kinda accommodation ceremony. Or maybe it was an inquiry testimony thing? It was all a blur. He’d sat through too many officials talking for far too long. The only thing he ever wanted to celebrate was Lupin’s capture.

Lupin laughed, full-throated, joyful. “You sure love painting a target on your back! Even more than I do, huh, Pops?”

Zenigata couldn’t help but smile a bit back at him, “They’re findin’ out slowly what you already know. I’m hard to get rid of.”

“Admirably persistent.” Goemon said from his side.

“And harder to kill than a damn cockroach.” Jigen begrudgingly admitted.

High on the company and another empty glass that once held a Manhattan, Zenigata laughed. “Heh heh heh, don’t you criminals ever forget it!”

Lupin beamed back at him. Zenigata's cheeks were red from drink, but such a fond look was more than enough to redden them further.

Fujiko spoke up.

“Lupin, you should make your good friend Zenigata another drink.”

“We’re not friends!” Zenigata’s objections were automated by this point. If he was angry at the accusation, he wasn't sure why. This was where he wanted to be more than anywhere else.

“Awww, come on now Pops, can’t you just say we’re not friends! That’s why you’re here isn’t it? Aren’t you all my friends?”

Lupin mugged, lips pursing into an exaggerated pout. But as he looked from face to face, none responded, and the question hung in the air.

Zenigata wasn’t sure who was supposed to speak first. Someone ought to respond. The longer they all waited, the less Lupin's goofy pose could keep things light.

But it couldn’t be Zenigata's responsibility, right? He couldn't be Lupin's friend. They were rivals. It would be a lie for him to speak up. And it would be out of turn. The others deserved this chance to speak up and bond with their old pal. What was their deal? He assumed they all were friends. They were more than coworkers, weren't they? Perhaps Goemon was too soft spoken. But why wasn't Jigen speaking up?

He thought back to the wedding. There wasn't much of a wedding party, or guests. It had been done in secret. Zenigata had asked dozens of questions. Why the couple had chosen blue roses. Whether this was official. Who, exactly, Fujiko's Maid of Honor was. 

But as Lupin, dressed in a crisp but comparatively understated tux, affixed a boutonniere to Zenigata's coat, Zenigata asked one more question. Why Jigen wasn’t Lupin's best man.

 Lupin laughed that question off. Made some joke, said words that didn't stick in Zenigata's mind. He finished attaching the fragrant flower, his soft fingers lingering on Zenigata's lapel. That moment was etched in stone. Then he walked off and down the aisle.

And sure enough, sitting at the bar, Lupin laughed this off too.

“So cold. So cold! And I even got you guys the expensive alcohol! So how about you, Goemon! Any new techniques? You must have gotten something good done in all that training time.”

If Goemon had noticed any awkwardness, he didn't show it. “I have been focused on a difficult technique. A way of moving that allows a man to slip between two opponents and disarm them.”

“Sounds pretty useful,” Lupin chimed back.

“Oh it was,” Jigen returned.

“Goemon and I did a few...” Zenigata could tell Jigen’s gaze now rested on him. Probably gonna avoid any details on this. But the Inspector was listening carefully.

“Weeks. In meditation. In the mountains. Right Goemon?” Jigen said, as he gave Goemon a gentle shoulder nudge.

Goemon looked down at his sake, taking another sip, before replying with a quiet, “Yes.”

Fujiko refilled Goemon's cup. “Come on, now. What did you really do? Zenigata’s not gonna do anything to you, you’re not Lupin.”

Jigen pulled out a pack of cigarettes, retrieved one, and began to chew on it. A smile curled around his lips. “Thank god.”

Lupin peered, indignant, over his sake. His mouth got so big, so wide, when he was upset. “You guys are just jealous that Pops only has eyes for me. And that I’m married to the prettiest woman on earth, and I’m the world’s greatest thief." He lifted his dish, punctuating the end of his brag. "I’m Lupin III!”

Zenigata nearly fell off his seat. “What is THAT supposed to mean?!” 

Where did that monkey-faced villain get off saying things like that?! It was his JOB to catch Lupin! Sure, Zenigata might think and talk about him constantly. Sure he might always be wondering what he’s doing at the back of his mind. But that’s the only way a person could catch a man like him! Maybe he had slight tunnel vision. Maybe this year had been destroying him just a little bit. 

Maybe not seeing him made it distressingly clear how he felt, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself.

His grip on his self control was slipping. He thought of the months he’d spent cooking nightly for Lupin while he was in prison. Spending every night hoping he would just try to escape so he could chase him again. The times they had long emotional conversations because they both had nothing better to do. Alone together on that island... and the last few weeks where he had to watch that idiot practically starve himself to death.

Feeling such profound grief, sure that he’d actually died and that not one of his friends had come to rescue him. Maybe Lupin had good reason to be unsure if they were his friends.

And yet somehow this whole retirement was hurting Zenigata even more. At least when it looked like Lupin died, he felt like it had meant something! It was a tragic but fitting end to the story, befitting of a criminal! But with this marriage it was as if the thefts, the endless chase, as though none of it had ever mattered at all… it was just gone all in one day.

Zenigata huffed and puffed to try to calm himself down. A firm grip wrapped around his shoulder, and gave him a solid clap on the back. Jigen. The touch startled him but... it was friendly. Maybe Jigen’s version of gentle. Zenigata's breathing started to slow.

Jigen's eyes were anyone's guess, but the mouth was smiling. “If you promise not to be a narc, Pops, I’ll tell you.”

“No promises.” It was gruff, but Zenigata got the words out.

“Well. Some guy hired Goemon and me to protect a vault. I know, right? That was wild. Some days we had these huge groups of guys trying to break in, and then some days it was nothing. We got bored half the time. And then creative the other half.”

He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, gesturing with it. “And then he tried to stiff us, so we took all of the jewels in there at the end. You should’ve seen Goemon’s face.”

Fujiko leaned over the bar. Her shirt was low, and Zenigata tried to keep his eyes up. “Gonna share any of that score with us, Jigen?"

Jigen's laugh was high pitched, and sounded like a dry cough. “Why the hell not? You and Lupin were always the ones with good fencing contacts. I just have a big pile of rubies back at my place. Whatdya say." With Jigen's arm still around his shoulder, he could see Jigen’s toothy grin, the rest obscured under the brim of his hat. "70/30? That was your usual shtick right?”

Zenigata wasn’t going to sit here and let them mock him like this. He shook Jigen off, “That’s enough of that! No illegal activities at this party!”

“It’s MY party, Pops! It seems like I should get to make the rules.” The smug little grin on Lupin’s face was enough to make him want to slug the grimy jerk.

“And right now I wanna drink!”

Goemon stared dead ahead. “I did not know it was illegal to drink in Italy.”

Was Goemon... telling a joke? Or maybe he was just easy misunderstanding the situation.

Fujiko had made it back behind the bar, and pulled out a glass. She held it up to the light, examining it. Her tongue gave a soft cluck of disapproval.

“Sorry, this glass is a little dirty.”

Lupin scooped it up. “It’s fine."

One of her fingers crooked under Lupin's chin, tilting it up. “What can I fill it with?”

Zenigata shifted, uncomfortable. He couldn't look away from the intensity between them. Even a married couple shouldn't flirt so shamelessly, right?

“You can pick, I know I’ll like whatever you choose, Fujicakes.”

Jigen cut through, rapping his knuckles on the bar.

“What about what I like? Lupin, you're bragging about the booze, but this stuff is all shit. Cheap whiskey. Cruddy bourbon. Do you even have a bottle of rum? What kind of bar doesn't have the bare essentials?”

Lupin broke away from Fujiko, rolling his eyes at Jigen. “Can't drink in a comfy little bar? Do you even like rum?"

Jigen shrugged. "Maybe I'm in the mood for it. Or a half-dozen of the other things you don't have."

"So picky Jigen-chan. FINE. There’s a liquor store two blocks up.”

Lupin hopped around the bar, and grinned at Fujiko.

“Do you have to go?” She pouted at him.

“Keep that cute face right there, I’ll be back for the drink before you can miss me!”

He planted a kiss on her cheek and headed for the door.

“I miss you already.” She said with a smile.

“Oh, in that case!”

He hustled back over and kissed her again, before scampering out.

Zenigata's eyes were wide, fixed on Lupin. So... weirdly domestic. It reminded him of days with his ex-wife. Of a time filled with those flirting reminders that another person was focused on you. Fingers lightly gripping shoulders, brief, tiny affirmations. A mundane, easy sweetness that didn't belong in the hands of thieves. A gentle quiet that had no place in the mouth of a spy. His head swam, and his eyes felt like they're burning.

He blinked, and reassured himself that the wetness there was just because he was staring too hard. He took another sip of...whatever he was drinking, by this point. The alcohol burn in his throat balanced out the one in his eyes, and he decided that was the same as feeling better.

Goemon’s voice perked up. “More sake please.”

Fujiko poured him another small dish full. Zenigata put down his...glass? Yes. More whiskey. How much had he had? The ramen felt like hours ago. A full belly could suck up the alcohol, but that buffer was long gone. This whole scenario was a bit dreamlike to begin with, but it had become harder and harder to tell exactly what was going on.

Goemon and Jigen didn't make a sound, at ease with each other’s company. Quietly drinking side by side seemed to be something they had a lot of practice with. Fujiko was still drinking, too, but there was a distance between them and her.

“Hey Fujiko," Jigen waved a flippant hand, "sorry I made him go out.”

Her tone was chilly. “It was his choice."

Jigen paused. Maybe he was just talking to himself. If Zenigata hadn’t been sitting right next to him, he wasn't sure he would’ve heard it.

“It was,” Jigen mused softly.

“We all know nothing can change his mind once Lupin has made a decision,” Goemon said.

He was right about that, and they all seemed to know it.

“He’s that kinda idiot...” Zenigata chuckled. 

It was endearing in its own way. When Lupin said he would, he would, even if it was stupid, or there was an easier way. Zenigata had used that to his advantage more than once. And more than once Lupin had faced the impossible, and made it all the more humiliating for Zenigata when he succeeded.

“I miss chasing him.”

He put a hand to his head. His cheeks were burning. He hadn't meant to get this drunk.

Fujiko's laugh was grace itself. “I know what you mean.”

Jigen nudged Zenigata, his bony elbows making it perhaps sharper than intended, and gave a wry grin. “Can't speak for our idiot pal, but I missed you, ya big lug.”

“Wuh, really?”

Oh no, here came the tears. Zenigata was going to hate himself when he sobered up.

Jigen looked up at Zenigata, brim pulling up to reveal a pair of shockingly earnest eyes.

“Yeah, of course. You can come chase me around any time, if it helps.”

Zenigata could have hugged the smirking gunman.

“I would rather you did not chase me.” Goemon added.

“Agreed." Fujiko was in the middle of mixing vodka and cranberry juice, though Zenigata couldn't, in the moment, remember what that drink was called. "I would prefer to do all my dirty deeds without getting caught."

“I can’t say I’m that exciting to chase. Not nearly as exciting as Lupin.” Jigen admitted, tossing a fresh cigarette into his mouth and flicking his lighter.

“You could probably just walk from bar to bar 'til you find him.” Fujiko gave a cool laugh.

“Harsh but fair.” Jigen chuckled back, too gruffly. He pulled the brim of his hat down again, but not before Zenigata could see tightness in the lines on his face.

Jigen chewed on his cigarette. The lit cherry bobbed up and down.

"But if you wanna know where to find Fujiko Mine, you can always-"

In a blur of kimono fabric, Zantetsuken was drawn, and Jigen lost the end of his cigarette.

Everyone panicked about the same amount as Zenigata, which is to say, both he and Fujiko moved behind Jigen for safety. Jigen's magnum was already in his hand. If someone asked Zenigata which was faster on the draw, he couldn't have told them, even while sober.

“Easy there! What’s happening, Goemon?”

Goemon didn’t move, but a red tinge spread across his own face. Mortified, drunk, or both?

He bowed his head. “I apologize. It is nothing.”

Jigen laughed hard, a high pitched, cooing laugh, and coughed his broken cigarette out onto the bar. “Scared the hell out of me, man!”

Fujiko glared and shoved an ashtray closer to him. “I’m cutting you both off on the sake if you even THINK of pointing those at me!”

“I am truly sorry.”

The weapons were sheathed, and they all settled back in, covering nerves with more laughter. 

Zenigata’s brain stumbled through the drunken haze, his heart still pounding. He could barely follow Jigen and Fujiko teasing Goemon. He let one of the ice cubes in his nearly empty glass slip onto his tongue and slowly melt. 

His Lupin senses were tingling. Something burning in his gut. He’d learned to trust this feeling over the years, no matter how crazy it made him sound. It allowed him to show up early to heists, giving him preparation time long before Lupin sent his little calling card. There had been false alarms, but in the end, it was worth listening to. It had been well over a year since Zenigata had last felt this, and he worried that it was just wishful, drunken thinking.

Maybe Lupin was robbing the liquor store right now. Bullshit. Why would he be doing something so pointless and stupid?

Unless maybe this was all a setup. He'd invited Zenigata, knowing that he’d sense it and come running. That he’d be close enough to catch him in the act and chase him all over this damn city. Zenigata wished he had brought the cuffs, now more than ever. And he also wished he hadn’t had this many drinks. It would be hard to run after that little bastard. Lupin was still sober, wasn't he?

It was a trap, this whole time this was all some elaborate distraction. To what? Steal alcohol? No! Hell no! To get back into the game! He could have done it with more flair, certainly. But! This would be a perfect way to make sure he would find him and chase him. And that’s what mattered. That’s ALL that mattered.

Zenigata stretched out his foot, trying to reach the ground. It was tricky work. “I’m startin’ to worry about Lupin.”

“Oh. Starting.” Fujiko rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, like he hasn’t been thinking about him the entire damn time.” Jigen added, jeering.

Zenigata officially revoked Jigen's hug privileges. What an asshole. These horrible criminals just didn't understand his motives. They were entirely pure! It was his DESTINY to drag a cuffed Lupin into the ICPO office groveling in apology.

Okay... not entirely pure, but it was a very high and substantial percentage pure.

He wobbled his way toward the door a little too fast for his current sense of balance. Everything was moving more than it should, the floor inconsistent. He glared at the floor, thinking about how he might be about to become far more well acquainted with it. And it was being kind enough to make the first move all on its own, rushing up to deliver a very personal hello-

“Wow Pops, you are really getting into this party, huh? Maybe we should cut you off!”

Feet scrambled, bags were tossed aside, and a pair of wiry arms swooped nimbly under his shoulder to prop him up.

Oh. There he was.

Zenigata felt his knees weakening, leaning on him even harder. His mind reeled back to a time when Lupin had carried him out of a burning building. It was rare, the majority of their chases Lupin didn't mind dropping him out of an airplane or off of a bridge, or leaving him on a train careening out of control. But every so often, when the stakes warranted it, Lupin didn't leave him to die.

It reminded him of how painfully abandoned he’d felt this year. He thought their chase had meant more to him. Zenigata had made the deal at the wedding, ostensibly because the point of all of this was to make sure Lupin wasn’t out there committing any more crimes. That was his job, even if he had done it unconventionally.

But that wasn’t what he wanted. Not deep down. He wanted to test his wits against the greatest thief on earth. He wanted to give everything he had, all his energy, all his strength and all of his heart, and to finally best him. To have him admit that this time, Zenigata was the winner. To prove to him that he was a worthy opponent.

He felt nauseous, his whole weight slumped against the smaller man’s body. Apparently their rivalry was something Lupin could move on from. Zenigata was just an amusing obstacle that he’d overcome long ago. A puzzle he already solved. Put it back in the box. 

Forget all about it.

“Got your rum, Jigen. In the bag.”

Goemon came over and retrieved the heavy bags. Lupin’s grinning face next to his, their cheeks close enough to brush, made Zenigata want to cry again.

Lupin helped guide him back into his seat at the bar, while Jigen riffled through the bag. He grabbed what looked like a random bottle, uncapped it, and took a swig straight from it.

“Guhuhuhu Pops, I can tell you missed me!” Lupin teased, slipping out from under his arm and into the seat next him.

“I didn’t miss you.” He mumbled, sinking back down into the chair. Humiliating. This was all absolutely humiliating. Why did he come here?

“Too bad Zenigata, Fujiko’s got him.” Jigen said, patting his shoulder, “Here, this’ll help sober you up, old man.”

Jigen lifted a cigarette to Zenigata’s lips and lit it before he could object. Zenigata had quit smoking years and years ago. Had to keep up with Lupin.

But he didn't have to worry about that now, did he? He took a drag. 

Ah. 

Yeah. That WAS pretty relaxing.

“You too, Goemon. No more randomly trying to kill us okay?” Jigen ruffled his hair. 

Zenigata didn't think Goemon would put up with that kinda thing, but he seemed to.

“I’ll do my best.” Goemon had a half smile on his face as Jigen lit another cigarette, this time for Goemon.

“You want that drink now, sweetheart?” Fujiko stood behind the bar, and poked Lupin in the nose with a stirring stick.

“Don’t mind if I do, thanks Fujicakes! And one more for Pops!”

“I really don’t know if I should....” Zenigata hesitated. But when Lupin held the glass out, he took it. It would help him relax, right? This was all getting too heavy. 

Fujiko finished stirring Lupin’s drink, the soft clink of metal on thick glassware was soothing in a way. She handed it to him and he smiled appreciatively at her.

He looked at Lupin. Lupin was happy. Zenigata needed to be happy for him. His own failures shouldn’t make him resentful of Lupin’s success.

Zenigata tapped his glass to Lupin’s, the way he wished he could just lean over and do with his lips. 

Oh God no. Don’t go there. Focus.

He swung an arm around Lupin’s shoulder. He could feel his mouth about to open up and say all kinds of things he might regret. 

But he couldn't stop himself. “A toast to you and Fujiko. You know... I wasn’t ever a good husband myself. But I’m proud of you. You’re... doing it right. Anyone who looks at you can see. You're meant to be together. Everything that came first? That made you into the people you are now. People who belong together. Every single day. And Lupin? Maybe you belong in a jail cell. But you belong in this cell more. I...I mean! Because you're not living for crime, anymore. You’re living for each other, right?”

It wasn't the most deft or charismatic speech he'd given. But he hoped they could tell.

Lupin smiled softly at him. Clinked their glasses again. “Yeah. To us.”

Lupin took a sip and shut his eyes. He leaned his elbows on the bar and looked at Fujiko intently. But she turned her back.

“I’m gonna go get some snacks from the kitchen. You want anything?” Fujiko smiled.

“Ooh, get those cinnamon pecans!” Lupin said, overly enthusiastic for something so dull. She headed for the hallway and Zenigata stood up as well. Swaying a bit.

“Which way is your bathroom?” He needed to go to the bathroom anyhow. Maybe he could check to see if those paintings in the hall were stolen. He might even find something more exciting, snooping around just a bit. He didn't know why he didn’t think of it before. At the very least he could have a few fresh Lupin crimes to write up when he got back to the office.

“Up the hallway and to the right!” Lupin chimed back.

Zenigata tried to walk straight. He was still unstable, but moving more slowly this time. He put a hand to the lovely wallpaper, fingers bumping along it as he made his way down the hall. Textured. Classy.

He wondered if they picked it out together.

His hands brushed over a picture frame. He stared at the image behind the glass, squinting. It was a nice painting, ships on the ocean, he wasn't sure if he'd seen this somewhere before. Was it a famous painting? Had he seen it in the files? He was usually so focused on Lupin that he didn't always focus on the item he was protecting. Leave art appreciation to the art historians.

But that sure wasn’t helping him right now. If this was a real painting or a fake painting, how was he supposed to know? Was there some kind of app? God damn it. If the painting could... stop being so damn blurry maybe he could see what he needed to.

He moved on to the next painting, and gave it a long stare. It was a vase with yellow flowers. Kinda ugly. He sighed and tried his best to remember. It was probably some kinda fine art. He didn't really understand it. It just didn't interest him, he liked more physical arts. Like sports. Or dancing.

It’s been a long time since he danced. Maybe he would never dance again. Who the hell would he dance with?

This painting thing was going nowhere. He walked down the hall- still as slowly as he could- to the bathroom, keeping his eyes open for anything else. 

Then he saw it, the best chance he possibly had. 

An office right next to the bathroom door with a large desk inside. 

Don’t mind if I do.

Breaking open the desk drawer would be trivial, but he realized they weren't even locked. Hah. Take that, Lupin. He was getting soft if even a drunken police inspector could get through his defenses. Zenigata riffled through the top one. Pens, little tools, knick knacks, seemed like Lupin was still tinkering around making little gadgets. That was nice at least. But nothing Zenigata could work with.

However, the second drawer down gave him exactly what he was looking for. The mother lode. 

A drawer full of planner notebooks. 

Lupin took a lot of notes and planned his heists in them. The way they were written, and how vain he was, Zenigata had always guessed it was for being able to write a memoir someday. Zenigata had only ever gotten his hands on one, rescued from a hideout that they had hastily abandoned. It was his deepest, most personal insight into Lupin. He’d never shared it with anyone.

He scooped an armful out, digging around, checking date after date. His hands seized upon the notebook that came after his, chronologically. He’d always been curious about it. With a greedy grab, he pulled it open, diving into it as quickly as possible. Trying to make sure to set it firm in his mind.

Each page of the planner spelled out a week. The Thursday in question was marked with a large star and the words:

Marine Tower. Diamond auction. Take is roughly 70M EUR. 

A couple days were marked out for casing, or his associate's arrivals. But the rest of the page was, by and large, filled with a wild mess of plans, notes, and comments. Increasingly shoved together, little clusters of text pressed in on each other, as the week went on, and Lupin ran out of space.

Defenses: Alarms, visibility, huge height, was neatly printed in blue ink, but a hasty note added in black ink next to it read: electrified floors and ceilings! Thanks, Fujicakes! She showed up in her ugliest disguise yet! There were rough sketches of a somewhat familiar elevator interior, a time schedule that had been revised over and over, rough math from splitting the take three ways next to a cryptic, I said no this time, an excited Knew Goemon could catch me but he was so worried for me! And, crammed into the margins: steal Jigen the best damn doll ever made. Pink satin dress a MUST.

It was a haphazard notetaking system, and nigh illegible, but it wasn't Zenigata's first time attempting to decode it. It was the evolution of a plan, as different ideas shot up and were scratched out. No proper ledger or expense lists, but comment after gleeful comment of tiny memories and personal touches. Something Zenigata had tried, for years, to impress upon anyone who would listen. The excitement, the stories, the memories.

Lupin's real treasures. Who he was as a person rather than who he was as a mythical figure in news stories and carefully cultivated bouts of public showmanship and spectacle.

Zenigata snatched up another notebook, the one from last year.

Honeymoon Ideas: Fujiko likes- Gelato, surprises, diamonds! Lots of diamonds! Massages, fancy hotels, breakfast in bed, place with lots of sun?

Underneath in blue ink were dozens of cities, destinations, crossed out, rated for their suitability, with ideas, pros, cons next to them. At the spiraling end of Lupin's thought train one was circled, with some notes for surprises en route.

The bottom half of the page was substantially more lewd. Zenigata's collar felt somewhat tight as he read the words, Scenes we should try. But his eyes felt glued to the words. Lupin had put the same care and enthusiasm for casing a building, if not more so, in the section labeled ways she likes to be touched.

Zenigata devoured page after page, dates planned meticulously, restaurants, home cooked meals with ingredients listed, flowers suggested by the dozen, jewelry delivery, trips planned to locations all over the world, plans for the house decor. 

She always loved that Van Gogh.

Damnit, he knew that painting was stolen.

But white spaces were slowly spreading between the notes. The entries became more and more sparse. Ideas began to be reused. More notes were scratched out. He turned to pages with more scribbles and strikeouts than unadulterated words. Increasingly frustrated notes next to them.

No reaction? Change to blue roses!

Didn’t make her smile! Need something better!

Bored her. Not exciting enough.

Still nothing.

He turned over more sparse pages, until his fingers caught on a corner. It felt thick and rough, heavy. The page for this week.

 1Yr Anniversary Ideas

It was covered with several heavy layers of white out. Small swirls of ink leeched and blotted through, as each successive attempt to cover up his mistakes ran together. The page was barely intact from all the abuse. Nothing was legible, even to Zenigata's keen insight. There was, however, a post-it note atop the whole mess.

Invite the guys.

Zenigata too??? was written underneath. In a second color, the question marks had a strike through them, and his name was circled, with a Why the hell not, for good measure.

Design calling card??? was scratched out so hard, the post-it note was ripped, with flakes of white-out clinging to the torn edge.

Zenigata set the planner back down in the drawer. He could hear voices coming from down the hall. He dumped the notebooks back in, fumbled the drawer shut, and finally retreated to the bathroom. 

The small bathroom was dominated by an intimidatingly large mirror behind the sink. Zenigata looked up from washing his hands. The lines on his face seemed carved more deeply, and his eyes were bloodshot from the drinking.  There was a little ink on his hands, from the notebooks. Sweaty, trembling fingers must have pressed too hard. He scrubbed more vigorously with their fancy smelling soap, and it all came right off. His secret now safe and sound. Nobody needed to know he'd looked. He could ignore everything he'd read, and walk back over to the party. Lupin's secret safe and sound, too. It would be so easy not to say anything.

But it wouldn't be right.

By the time he made it back to the bar, he found only Jigen and Lupin, exchanging a hard glance at one another.

Lupin’s face warmed into a teasing grin the moment he saw Zenigata. “Pops! Hope you didn’t wreck my toilet, you took forever.” 

“Err... sorry.” He said, “Actually I want to talk to you about something.”

Jigen eyed him suspiciously. He had the same large bottle of liquor in his grip, and took another swig from it.

Lupin tilted his head, uncertain. “Sure...?”

Asking to talk about something always had that kind of emotional weight. It put people on edge. But Zenigata couldn’t think of a more elegant way to say it.

Someone had to say something about it. Right? Maybe it wasn’t his place to say it anyhow. His motives sure as hell weren’t only in Lupin’s best interest. He wanted this to end. Maybe it was all just jealousy and he was only imagining it. Plus, why was it his place to get to tell Lupin what to do with his own life?

Goemon returned to the room before he could say anything further.

“Jigen, Zenigata. It’s getting quite late. Perhaps we should not overstay our welcome.”

Lupin’s hands moved into a placating gesture. “Oh come on Goemon! It’s not even midnight, it’s no big deal.”

Goemon hardened his gaze on Jigen, who rose out of his chair, giving Lupin a casual smirk. “It’s late for those of us who’ve still got jobs to do. Unlike you, slacker.”

Lupin stood up, petulant energy rising. He opened his mouth, and Zenigata could almost hear the angry whining, the cajoling and arguing. But then Lupin seemed to deflate. Sullen, he dropped back into his seat.

“Yeah. It was nice to see you all. I’ll tell Fujiko you said goodbye.”

This wasn't what Lupin wanted. Fujiko hadn't come back, and it would be odd to say goodbye without her there. Something had clearly happened while he was gone. Something was off. But Goemon's resolve was too much for his still-swimming head to push back against.

The gunman and samurai both worked to help Zenigata safely down the stairs. Thoughts of gratitude were lost amidst more pressing concerns. There was still so much he wanted to say. Lupin stood at the top of the stairs, calling down at them. Trying to crack jokes. But he looked too sad for Zenigata to take the bait and fight back.

 Was it wishful thinking to imagine Lupin had been bored as he was? That he wanted it all back, but just couldn’t say it? Maybe he hoped Zenigata would’ve brought the handcuffs. Brought a whole squad. Planned an ambush with 30 cars.

Jigen guided him to the front door, “We’ll get Pops to bed with something for his hangover. Don’t worry about it. Bye Lupin!”

“Give my regards to Fujiko.” Goemon finished gracefully.

Jigen was much more curt. “Same.”

Lupin waved from the top of the stairs. “Will do.”

Zenigata huffed. “I can do that myself. I’ve done it lots of times.”

They moved out of the door and back out into the well lit city street. Zenigata turned to say goodbye, but the door was already closed tight.

Jigen laughed at him. Responding to what Zenigata had said. As though they hadn't just left. As though walking away from Lupin's known location was normal, instead of an unnatural, wrong thing.

Goemon and Jigen moved him along with them just by the momentum, moving up the street as a trio. The fresh night air held a little chill. It cleared his head a little, but Zenigata didn't want a better look at anything in there.

Once they reached the corner, Jigen’s posture relaxed slightly. The smokes were out again, and he sucked down half a cigarette in one long drag. Zenigata’s eyes followed the hot ash as it fell near his feet.

“Is he okay?” Zenigata can’t stop himself from asking.

Jigen shrugged. “You’re the detective. Should be able to investigate that yourself.”

Zenigata sneered. “I have my own theories, I just wanted to hear testimony from his best friends. What do you think?”

“It’s none of your damn business is what I think.”

Goemon was quiet, but he also sounded less than pleased. “I think that Lupin isn’t the only one to worry about here.”

“I’m fine!” Jigen and Zenigata snapped back at him at roughly the same time. 

Zenigata coughed. Jigen's gaze locked down at the sidewalk. He swung a leather-clad foot, kicking at a chunk of gravel.

“I see.” Goemon replied, still frowning.

They shared silent unease. Together, but alone in their thoughts. Goemon was the first to speak.

“Goodnight.”
And with that, he walked off into the darkness.

Zenigata squinted, as the samurai disappeared into the city. “Does he really just... walk everywhere?”

“Sure. He says it’s very good for calming your mind." Jigen tossed his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk, and ground it with his heel. "If it were early enough for a sunset I’d walk off into it too.”

That mental image was dramatic enough to make Zenigata chuckle, but the sound came out dry and hoarse.

Jigen smirked in response, but with his brim low, Zenigata couldn’t tell if it was warm, or humorless. Goemon’s silence, Jigen’s hat brim, Fujiko’s coy smiles, Lupin’s laughter.

 Zenigata knew they all had more beneath the surface.

Sometimes he was convinced the whole damn group was telepathic. They could switch plans on the fly, discuss and enact the most daring escapes, all without words. He wasn’t used to these fine emotional details in his investigation. He was used to reading the road map ahead. Prediction. Telling where they would all end up next.

There was more to this night, his gut was sure of it. Something major had happened, but he couldn't make it out under a shadow of alcohol and nerves.
“You good to get home on your own?” Jigen asked, though it seemed like he really was hoping for yes rather than a no.
“Been a lot drunker than this.”
“Great.” Jigen gave a small wave and crossed the street away from him, disappearing into a hotel just up the block. 

Well, he sure was staying close.

Alone, Zenigata loosened his tie, and undid the top button of his collar. He probably looked sloshed to the gills. Between the tears and the countless drinks, he needed to get home and get some water in his system, or tomorrow's hangover would be one for the books.

And then...what? Back to expense reports? Back to smiling and lying about how exciting his caseload was? Lying to himself that he was okay? That Lupin was okay, too?

That itch. It nagged at him.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, and texted Yata.

Pull my Lupin files from storage. I've got a hunch.

He stared at his screen as the message went through. Some unnamed emotion bubbling up in his stomach. He saw that Yata was typing a response, but Zenigata put the phone back in his pocket, and headed for his hotel room. Tonight had been terrible. He'd kept it together as well as it could. But he could only stretch so far.

And as far as drunk texts went, at least that wasn’t the worst one he’d ever sent.

Chapter Text

Goemon noticed Zenigata as soon as they boarded the plane. He hadn’t known that the Inspector had been spending time in Japan, but assumed it was a likely enough place for him to be. The Inspector worked for Tokyo’s police department, in a no doubt quieter time, back before Lupin had crashed onto the scene.

And it was a dim recollection, but Zenigata had a family, did he not? Goemon tried to imagine what Zenigata’s family might look like. He was, however, very bad at being imaginative. He knew this, and it saddened him. He shifted slightly in his airplane seat. He could spend hours meditating on uncomfortable rocks, or sitting seiza. But this seatbelt band was troublesome.

Goemon missed his own family. Their lives had been a flurry of adapting to changes of scenery, but what had occurred last year was bigger than any of them could have expected. Jigen was not handling it well. Maybe Goemon was not handling it well, either. It distracted him from training. The distraction wormed its way up in his mind, and he could not find a root, could not seize upon it and drag it away. 

Zantetsuken was usually there to endure these discomforts alongside him, but currently his sword was in the luggage, and that only added to his distress. Once he was again on the surface of the earth, he could hold it again. He could be truly grounded.

He returned his mind to diligent pursuits: meditating to pass the time. Focus did not come easily. The roar of the plane engines, his ears sore from the air pressure, a child crying and this nagging feeling of loss that he had been having to chase away. He reminded himself that all of it was temporary.

Everything was temporary.

Your family, your friends, your pain, the crying child, your very life, all can fall away. And it passed the time to focus on letting it go. But the annoying, pointless drive to hold on was always waiting at the edges.

He occasionally opened one eye to check on Zenigata. The man was also distracted by something. Too much to notice Goemon’s presence, several rows back. It was a small but warm consolation: Goemon would never let himself get into such a distracted state. Never so dulled that he wouldn’t realize an enemy treading so close behind.

When he disembarked, Goemon made sure to keep some distance between Zenigata and himself. Better to observe and keep his advantage. And while Zenigata was not much of a threat, watching shortened the wait. He hated the bustle of most airports. Everywhere you looked there were people in some kind of mixture of urgency and boredom. The intercom systems had a harsh quality that gave him a headache. 

His fingers twitched, empty.

The luggage return chugged a slow pace, like a rotating sushi bar with the most bland and unappetizing fare. Zenigata’s malaise must have equalled Goemon’s, as his head turned up, finally noticing his unseen viewer. They met eyes, and Goemon held his gaze for a moment, long enough to communicate that he had seen Zenigata first, that he was not surprised to see him.

Zenigata quickly made his way over. A giant of a man, his stride was twice that of Goemon’s. Had he not the experience of years of police chases, Goemon might have been intimidated by the Inspector’s forceful lumber. But it would be a lesser disciple to become nervous, without his weapon by his side. Goemon would never admit such weakness.

Feel it, perhaps. Admit it? Never.

Thankfully, Zenigata produced neither cuff, nor threat of incarceration.

“Goemon. How was your flight?”

Such a mundane conversation topic. He was tempted to state the plain truth: his flight had been remarkably similar to Zenigata’s. Because it was the very same flight. But he decided against it. People tended to misunderstand when he tried to communicate his true thoughts. Instead, he chose a more delicate and nuanced move, responding with the answer that was expected of such questions.

“Inspector. It was adequate.”

Zenigata laughed. Why? What was funny about what Goemon had said? Goemon banished the confusion as soon as it began to creep into his mind. It did no good to attempt to ascertain the truth of such fleeting things.

Zenigata spoke as he finished his laugh. “Geheheh but the food sure wasn’t. I’m starving!”

“Hm,” Goemon made a noise in his throat to make sure Zenigata knew he had heard him. 

However, he did not know what he was meant to say about the rest of it. Goemon had not tried the in-flight food. He had packed his own bento and had eaten a sufficient amount. 

For what move did this situation call? Again, Goemon could be neither blunt, nor fully honest. Zenigata had mentioned a problem. If Goemon did not address it, the man might feel as though Goemon wasn’t listening. Was his utterance of acknowledgement not enough?

Zenigata’s tone showed frustration. Indeed, there must have been something he missed.

Zenigata gestured with his hands. “I think there’s a good ramen restaurant. If you’re hungry, too.”

Oh. It was an invitation. And Zenigata had picked something they both liked. He was saying he was hungry to make it easier to say they should go out to eat. Goemon felt his face soften slightly. He wasn’t exactly hungry, but people did not usually invite him anywhere. Zenigata was a man he respected, and despite it all, they shared a lot of history. He could appreciate his company.

“I would not mind. After all, our appointment is not for a few more hours.”

They stood next to each other, and Goemon found it easier to let his disquieting thoughts slip away. Meditation was always the most pleasant under the shade of a sturdy tree. The noise of the airport did not abate, but the wait was significantly more manageable.

When he spotted the familiar shape of a well-bound case inching its way along the luggage belt, he took swift initiative through the crowd of other passengers. He picked Zantetsuken up with a gentle sigh. He knew the weight well, it was safely inside. As though enveloped by a thick cloud of incense, relief overtook him, and he relaxed his shoulders.

At one time, his luggage had been sent along to the wrong airport. Goemon was certain that he had taken the setback with grace and poise, but still, Jigen had described him as “inconsolable,” and Lupin mugged and called him “a moody meiji baby.” Still, the others postponed their heist. Jigen bought new plane tickets for them all, Lupin distracted him on the plane playing cards, and they flew across an ocean overnight just to make sure Zantetsuken would be returned to his hands as rapidly as possible.

Goemon could tell at the time that they both were exhausted by the end. It had been far too much trouble to ask anyone to go through just for him. He would have gone alone to get his sword. It was his own sworn responsibility. He would not have asked. But they had done it without him asking for anything. They understood it was important, and what he needed.

He would always cherish that memory.

Goemon followed Zenigata into a taxi. Jigen and Lupin usually took care of those things. Most of that was done using phones now, and the device did not sit well in the palm of a samurai. And even if it did, he would have to learn how to use it. Fumbling and drawing the mockery of those to whom technological prowess came as naturally as moving. 

He refused to look like a fool for someone else’s connivence. And thus, Goemon Ishikawa the Thirteenth would not purchase a “ cellular phone .”

He let Zenigata take the lead on the address and details. Speaking up was tiring, and when he attempted to jump in first, Goemon was invariably talked over. And then forced to repeat himself. How obnoxious. It was best to wait quietly, until someone had their full attention, wanting and waiting to hear one’s words. In those cases a man will always know he is being listened to.

He was well aware of Zenigata’s meager salary, and Goemon, with years of savings and little extravagance, had more than enough for many lifetimes. It seemed only fair for him to cover the fare. He readied his folded cloth wallet discreetly, and was swift to cover the cost as they exited the taxi. Zenigata had tried to offer, but Goemon had left him stammering, his own worn leather wallet in hand.

Zenigata was occupied with staring around at the neighborhood and scenery, so Goemon decided to speed up the process and led the way inside. He got them the only empty spaces, up at the bar. The decor was... not very traditional.

He did not like the mix of modern things with traditional flair, it felt inauthentic and most of all worried him that they might not take the ramen making process seriously enough. That it might be what they call “a modern twist on an old classic.” He attempted to temporarily suspend his judgment. He chose the ramen that sounded the most traditional: a shio ramen.

The waitress who took their order had a sweet smile and elegant black hair, and Goemon couldn’t help but let a small smile creep across his face. 

Stop , his brain chided him, do not allow those thoughts to distract you.  

Don’t be like Lupin. 

He took in a nice, slow breath, steadying his mind. Or trying to.

The waitress’ attention turned to Goemon.  “Hi, what can I get for you?” 

Her eyes were enchanting. 

A lesser man might have gotten motion sickness, but Goemon was able to endure the rapid shift as he bounced his gaze away from the waitress, down to his menu.

“Water, please. And the shio ramen.”

She then turned her warm smile to Zenigata. Her long, soft-looking hair fell over her notepad.  “And for you?”

When Zenigata didn’t reply in turn, Goemon sought to get his attention. He cleared his throat and nudged him lightly.

Zenigata did not move, very distracted indeed. He must have been very concerned about this evening. Zenigata had accepted the invitation, which meant that he was shirking his duty, his sworn duty to catch Lupin. Goemon wondered what he might decide to do in a similar situation. He liked to confront his problems head on, and this method... well he could NOT call it head on.

But Goemon could understand. Lupin had that effect on people. Even on him, and he had decidedly more clarity of mind. Yet he still had relented multiple times to Lupin’s sometimes humiliating requests. 

One will make some concessions for the people he cares for, he supposed.

Zenigata pointed to one of the items on the menu. The plastic bent under the force of Zenigata’s thick finger. Goemon could respect decisive confidence like that.

The waitress smiled and nodded. While taking the menus, one of her slender hands brushed against his, scattering his thoughts.

The sudden sound of Zenigata’s voice refocused them.

“How long has it been since you last saw him?”

That was a bit of a sore topic. Lupin was the sort to take any personal pledge or oath extremely seriously. He had, in the past, committed to months long stints in jail just to test himself, and walked directly into challenges even if it was obviously a trap.

This was something Goemon could respect, in concept, but it did hurt to be out of contact with both Lupin and Fujiko for so long. Goemon had grown accustomed to spending time with them. Taking time away when he needed, but with the comforting knowledge that he would always be able to rejoin them afterwards. Not to mention Jigen, and his particularly troubling reaction.

Hadn’t they all been family? That was what made him willing to get so close to them. To depend on them. Had Goemon misunderstood their relationships? He’d tried to content himself with the assumption that he’d misread something along the line, and left it at that.

“I have not seen him since the wedding.” It was best to be honest. Even if he did not like the truth in this case.

“Ahhh... I’m a bit surprised... what have you been up to?”

Goemon felt his skin prickle at that reaction. Even Zenigata had assumed that they were closer. Had Lupin and Fujiko really thrown away their family so easily? Then again, it was marriage, wasn’t it? Duty first, Goemon reminded himself. If Lupin couldn’t honor his vows, he was no man at all.

“Training.” 

It was a rote reply, laced with his own frustration, but not a lie. He had done other things in that time, but all of life was training for the future. Each moment could yield lessons, and every situation could be a teacher.

Zenigata gave an abrasive laugh.  “You know… now that I’m spending more time in Japan, I don’t think I’ve eaten ramen as much. When I leave the country it’s all I can think about... but as soon as I’m home I end up eatin’ everything but that!”

“I’m afraid I cannot relate. I have noodles often. And the broth is always best in a real ramen restaurant. Where they’ve been doing it for many years, and have perfected their craft properly. Practiced skill and artistry come through in the taste.”

And this, of course, was true. The rest of the gang would tease him at times for his picky eating. He could suffer through a meal he did not like, but oftentimes he preferred the pain of going hungry over the discomfort of a meal he did not enjoy.

Rice was easy to find in almost all countries, and he ate it often. He tried to avoid inconvenience by bringing his own food. But when he was in Japan he had carefully vetted dozens of places near his favorite training grounds. Ones where he knew the owners, where he had sat and listened to their processes and their passion for the work.

Lately, with less reason to travel, he had spent time with one of these friends, who was an expert at making soba. Goemon helped with the prep work, a minor sort of apprenticeship, during which he had even helped roll and cut the noodles several times with his own blade. Perhaps this was not absolutely necessary training, but turning mere flour into something he could eat held plenty of value for him.

Zenigata made a noise as if he understood. Goemon was grateful to be heard and, after a few quiet moments of thought, Zenigata seemed to concede his point. Something his usual company would have rarely done, even when Goemon was objectively correct.

“I guess you’re right. Kinda funny to leave Japan, and head to Italy for your ramen.”

Zenigata laughed again, but this time it was not as loud. It was more calming, and Goemon was not worried that this one was at his expense.

The waitress returned carrying a tray with two steaming bowls. Her arm muscles strained slightly under the weight. Goemon found his eyes in all the wrong places. He put them back onto Zenigata and then, onto the bowl placed in front of him by her slender, elegant fingers.

Goemon was determined to turn his admiration to the food. To contemplate the glossy orange egg yolk, against the forest green scallions. The chopsticks were plastic and irksomely slippery, wrong in his hands. But he made due. He ate his fish cake first, snatching it from the broth with his chopsticks. He appreciated each ingredient individually, and chased them down one at a time, forming a perfectly sized space to skim through the soup.

Before Goemon could finish his meticulous work, Zenigata hoisted his bowl and chugged the broth down. The Inspector could really eat. Goemon barely finished half of his own. Though he left no pork behind.

“Please allow me to cover dinner, Inspector.” 

Goemon offered this politely, but his motives were not nearly as well-meant as they were in the taxi. The waitress. He felt a deep urge to apologize to her for staring. He paid and withdrew an extremely generous tip, folding it into a modest flower.

As they got up to leave, he heard Zenigata’s voice raise, to a full Lupin-scolding decibel.

“Sir, it’s rude to make passes at women while they’re working!”

Goemon froze. His cheeks flushed, this was extremely embarrassing, but it was true. He could not believe that after only a few months on his own, he was feeling so lonely that he would act like this. It was shameful. He was tempted to excuse himself from this evening altogether and return to training immediately. He prepared to take his well-deserved admonishment.

But another voice responded to Zenigata. “What? Are you a cop?”

Ah. Zenigata’s large frame was menacing some sleazy looking fellow. He’d been talking to someone else. But still. Goemon was equally deserving of such an accusation. It did not soothe his guilt much. 

“It doesn’t matter if I am, you should behave yourself.”

“Whatever.” 

The man was clearly defeated before the fight had even begun. Goemon could see it in his body language.

Zenigata was still animated with a righteous passion as they left the restaurant. He did not even notice the grateful glance the waitress gave him as they parted.

“The nerve of that guy! Work requires concentration and focus, doesn’t he understand that? You can’t have people flirting with you, winking at you while they run away, how’s someone supposed to get their job done with that kinda distraction!”

Zenigata’s anger was understandable. It must be a sore subject, considering how often Lupin teased him. Goemon knew this form of teasing well, though rarely was it used on him while he was working.

“Indeed.” Goemon replied, trying to show him both empathy and humility. 

Zenigata was justified to be upset and Goemon felt just as guilty of it, in some way he appreciated the scolding. Lupin and Fujiko had a policy against mentioning guilt or regret. It led to a frustrating lack of self reflection. Jigen seemed to be the only one who ever felt conflicted in past actions. Though his way of processing those things was usually not very productive.

The pair waited on the sidewalk. Goemon knew the address of the apartment and if need be, he would start walking, but as he assumed, Zenigata ordered them a car to be sure they were on time.

“Goemon. Can I ask your opinion?” Zenigata’s voice shook slightly, from what Goemon decided were nerves. He could empathize.

“If you wish. But I will not hold back.” 

Being honest was the only way he liked to handle questions like this. When he lied, or tried to lie, people did not believe him anyway. At least if he spoke honestly, people did not doubt his statements.

People would sometimes want to hear a certain response, regardless of the truth. But Goemon tried to make it clear from the beginning that he was NOT the one to whom to look for that. If one was looking for sweet words and gracious lies, Fujiko was the one speaking with the most grace, and the sweetest lips by far.

“It’s better if you don’t...” the inspector sounded frustrated. His hands were balled into tight fists, and when he spoke, they squeezed tighter. “...Do you think I shouldn’t have come?”

Goemon took a few moments to contemplate the answer. Is this a temptation Zenigata should have resisted? Perhaps. It was dangerous in a sense, this party, and yet, when one received a summons from Lupin, it drew you in. If you knew Lupin, you knew that you were never invited unless he wanted you to be there. There. A simple, clear answer.

“I think Lupin wants you to.”

“I suppose you’re right. I think he does.”

Zenigata was looking down at his phone. Maybe he had not fully understood his point. But Goemon could not imagine Zenigata ever having said no in the first place.

“Zenigata. When Lupin sends you an invitation, have you ever failed to show up?”

“Not that I remember.” Zenigata returned quickly.

“You see. It’s as I said. He expects you.”

The car ride was uneventful. They passed a park, and as they did, Goemon thought about that handful of trees, rooted in the soil that hid underneath all this soulless concrete.

How he longed to root himself back into stable soil. A family that held fast, one that did not erode and scatter. How wrong of them to leave without a timeframe of when they would return. Even if the answer might be never.

These were selfish thoughts. But he still had them.

When they arrived, he approached the door with confidence, even excitement. All of them together again, even if it was only for a single night. Goemon put one of his hands down to touch the hilt of Zantetsuken. Grounding himself. Large emotional reactions were unbecoming. He must keep his face stony and tranquil.

That particular rule was one of many Lupin had ceaselessly evaded. And when he opened the door, his bright tone greeted both of them. “Goemon and Pops! Sharing a cab?! Wow, have you been having fun already without us?”

Clad in a blue blazer and a smile so big that even Goemon couldn’t miss it, Lupin’s exuberance and volume drowned out the city street behind them. The sheer size of his personality was like a mountain. Impassible when an obstacle, shaping and defining the landscape around him.

Those who fought against Lupin were sure to misjudge him, to fail and perish. But those who lived with him, who understood his ways, knew that he brought life. That energy came off him in waves, it revitalized and nourished the spirits of all who lived in harmony with him.

That didn’t, however, make Lupin’s teasing any easier to bear.

Maybe it would have been best if they had arrived separately. Goemon would likely have to hear this joke multiple times in multiple ways. It was not that it troubled him to hear, it was simply that it was not the correct reading of the situation. 

And correcting Lupin would not help the matter. 

He shut one eye. He was frustrated but tried again to find his center.

“Lupin. Good to see you.”

Out of the corner of his open eye, Goemon saw the large body beside him shifting into attack mode.  Goemon’s hand flew to Zantetsuken’s hilt, and his eyes locked on, waiting to meet any flashes of metal in kind.

He would slice the cuffs before Zenigata could take Lupin with him.

But just as suddenly, Lupin smoothed things with a quick joke. Zenigata’s anger seemed to funnel away quickly. Goemon’s stance loosened and he let his fingers slip from Zantetsuken. Goemon had always admired that Lupin’s wit kept the master thief from most unnecessary confrontations. With years of studying him, Goemon was still nowhere near his level. It was another one of Lupin’s thoughtless cruelties, abandoning his pupil while there was still so much to learn.

His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet step. The muted, uncharacteristically soft sound of heels on wood. A practiced move, from a body attempting to present itself as gentle, unassuming. He looked up.

Fujiko was at the top of the stairway. 

Her smile arrested him in place for a moment. He hoped that she had missed him too. As she met his eyes, he found his own looking back down. The wedding rushed to his mind. The last time he had seen her.

Fujiko was a natural beauty, and the works she crafted from eyeliner and lipstick day after day elevated her looks to the realm of the sublime. On the morning of her wedding, Goemon had been called into her room, and was not shocked to see her once again handling her own makeup. He’d wondered, before that moment, what Fujiko stood to gain from this wedding. What score of Lupin’s she’d had her eye on. How long it would be before Jigen’s phone rang, and a petulant, heartbroken voice would whine out for a rescue from whatever debauched position she had left him in. 

But the soft contour of her eyeshadow. The prim divet of her cupid’s bow, atop lush red lips. Long, thick eyelashes. A face painted so deftly, in turns subtle and daring. A look made to appeal to Lupin. A look made in pride, highlighting what Fujiko liked about herself. Goemon did not need to see eyes shimmering or a smile beaming. Fujiko’s adoration of Lupin was plain on her face.

Fujiko had popped her veil right onto Goemon’s head, and they chatted as she, somehow still not finished, completed her makeup. Her friend Gretchen sat nearby, a stocky woman with curled brown hair that he thought he recognized. He blushed as Fujiko turned her tools to him, powdered his own cheeks, telling him he would want to look nice for the photos. Gretchen hugged her and giggled, warned her not to make Goemon look too pretty. He wouldn’t want to outshine the bride.

As though that were possible.

Nevertheless, he remembered her smiling. She had teased him about his lack of cellphone preventing her from sending them after making them stand around staring into the sun for multiple group shots. He still had the memory all the same. What did a phone matter?

In the present, Lupin fussed over Zenigata. Goemon’s feet moved on their own, past Lupin, up the stairs. She had always been so lovely, but the effect was stronger the longer she stayed away from him.

“Goemon, it’s been too long.”

Too long... How long is too long? What does it mean? Was it too long the moment you missed the other person’s company? Or did it have some other threshold? Some other signifier he had yet to discern? He tried to look at her clothing, her face, tried to read intent in any of them, but he was lost in her presence.

He lacked the grace to hold back, and spoke from the heart. “It is good to see you, Fujiko.”

She led him in. Looking around, the place lacked personal touches, their hallmarks of being. Lupin always had clutter around for building his next disguise or gadgetry. Fujiko left hair ties all over the tables and floor. You always knew when she had been staying with them for awhile because Jigen started collecting them up and using them for target practice. Firing the hard rubber straps at all of them off of a well aimed thumb and index finger.

This place felt brand new. Nothing was worn in, as if they had never lived inside of it. Goemon liked things to be clean, but he had a deep grudge against the new. He liked old things, things that had proved themselves resilient against time. Something that you haven’t used before was like a stranger who might betray you at any moment. Something you’d used for years was reliable, loyal, steadfast.

His preference was a temple, hundreds of years of tradition worn into the structure. But even a single year can form a shape of comfortable familiarity into a place.

There was no such form here. This place was as disconnected from his friends as when one of them put on a disguise and went into another man’s office, pretending to be him.

Fujiko led them to a room with massive windows. It was an impressive view. He could see the appeal of it, looking down on the landscape, contemplating your place in the world.

But he was doubtful that they ever took the time. They weren’t the type to meditate on their own smallness very often. Or ever.

Zenigata’s fist hit the bar hard, causing glasses to rattle in the aftershocks of the painful noise. It startled Goemon, and he gripped the handle of Zantetsuken. Zenigata had waited until Goemon’s guard had been lowered! He had bided his time, until he was deep within the walls of Lupin’s fortress! It was now that he would strike!

Until Lupin joined in, hammering his fists on the bar, chanting, laughing as he did. There was no danger. Just very loud associates. Lupin hopped onto a stool and spun, his light feet offering surprising lift. Goemon watched him spin, laughing an irritating laugh, gripping the stool with hands Goemon remembered for their incredible dexterity.

Goemon’s grasp on Zantetsuken once again relaxed. Lupin was still quite hard to keep up with.

Goemon quietly positioned himself in the seat at the end of the bar. In situations like these, his preference was to let the louder personalities carry the energy of the room. He let their words wash over him. Sometimes, especially when the group was on good terms, he did not even listen to what was being said, he just liked to soak in the din of positive feelings. He would be grateful simply to be in the same room.

Fujiko, however, was the sort to take precisely what she wanted. And it seemed to be the empty seat next to Goemon. She rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. He had told her once many years ago, that if she wanted his attention, a tap on the shoulder would do. But even now, she knew how to pack her touches with enough sentiment to make any man shudder.

“We were warming some sake for you.”

Goemon’s lips curled into a tiny grin, and he accepted. When someone took time and energy specifically for you, that made it much more special. He thought about Lupin and Fujiko picking out the sake for him. One hand, then the other, turning bottles over, appraising them, musing upon memories of their favorite warrior. Talking about him. Fujiko, perhaps, murmuring something soft and fond. Lupin’s voice hopefully, gleefully anticipating Goemon’s approval.

Lupin began to show off, mixing drinks, and Goemon recalled the sweet taste of mimosas in Maui, while they waited for some paperwork to go through for a particularly complex scheme. Goemon had not paid attention to those details; they were entrusted to Lupin. He remained focused on his part: the potential need to slice something or someone apart at the right time.

But the time was pleasantly spent, the sun on the beach as they lounged, easy to drift off, to rest his thoughts, at home with the others. A family in all their dysfunction and complexity, trading off cooking and sharing meals. They made sure he was taken care of even if he had not spoken to them all day.

The memory receded, and with it came a chill. When he left, tonight, he would again be alone in the world.

Who might call him companion? Certainly no one in this room. Would Lupin still call him a rival? Now that he was retired, Goemon assumed he had won by default. Not an honor he could boast much about.

Goemon scolded himself for the vanity of these sorts of thoughts. In the end it would always be about Zantetsuken and himself. It was selfish of him to expect anyone to tolerate his absence whenever he decided to leave and for them to always be waiting when he returned.

The sound of the doorbell startled him out of his thoughts. It was likely Jigen, late as usual. He took things at his own pace, especially when he was- as he would be tonight- dealing with Fujiko. Those two did not get along, for reasons Goemon could understand well enough. Fujiko had double crossed them and put them in harm’s way multiple times. But that was merely Jigen’s public excuse. After all, Goemon had drawn his sword against Lupin and Jigen in the past, as well. Even during times when it shamed him to do so.

But Jigen’s true grudge was obvious, even to a man like Goemon, one not particularly observant of other people’s feelings. If Goemon had blushed once at Lupin’s words, Jigen’s meek smile had blossomed a hundred times. If Goemon had found himself in need of Lupin’s approval, Jigen’s desire had been desperate. Goemon would come home to Lupin after travelling, but Jigen had driven stakes down and settled in. Shared cigarettes, glances under the brim of his hat, inside jokes and harmless bickering, safehouse after safehouse filled with the Westerns both men loved, drunken cuddling on the couch and other sounds at one in the morning, voices they’d thought Goemon couldn’t hear.

And still, Jigen wouldn’t admit to any of it.

Daisuke Jigen was admirable. He was loyal to his friends, staunchly followed his personal code, a skilled shot, and usually very thoughtful towards others. Very protective and rarely selfish. He would, and had, taken a bullet for others, even for Fujiko. An admirable man. But deeply flawed. And Goemon could not bring himself to hope that those flaws would not make an appearance tonight.

“Oh that must be Jigen-chan! Be right back! Don’t start spin the bottle without me okay?!”

Lupin hopped up to get the door. He sounded excited to see him. Goemon watched him, wondering if Lupin had reacted that way when Goemon was at the door. Lupin never seemed to fully let on how he felt about them. He had spoken freely, at length, of his feelings for Fujiko. But between them he was evasive. 

Not that Goemon found himself much better at being direct about his own feelings.

Goemon’s eyes followed Lupin as he left and then passed over to Fujiko. She sighed. It was the one she used whenever something wasn’t going her way. She, too, knew that things were likely about to get worse. Jigen could be abrasive, especially towards her, and it was highly doubtful that a year of her being married to Lupin would’ve improved their relationship. Goemon could hardly blame her for not wanting to see him.

It was her party, her home, they were guests. Goemon made a mental note to keep an eye out for her tonight. He would make sure Jigen was on his best behavior.

Zenigata coughed, Goemon surmised he was choking on a cherry pit as he saw the stem on the side of the glass. 

“Thanks very much for having us.”

Fujiko laughed and took a drink. A drink sounded very nice. She had mentioned sake, had she not?

“Just don’t get too riled up, okay? It'll spoil our little party if you cart my husband off to jail."

“Oh! I... It’s a habit. Sorry.”

Zenigata seemed strangely embarrassed. This was by far the weakest position to take. One with conviction for their task, which Zenigata had, need not apologize for that. An apology implied he was not convinced of the action he spent well over a decade pursuing. Which is a very shameful place to be. If he was unsure, he needed only to stop at any time.

Instead, Zenigata took a large drink.

Fujiko was patient, warm toward him, sympathetic, “It's all right. A Lupin habit is quite a hard one to kick.”

But a real man resisted, or at least tried to… though as Goemon thought that, he was reminded of the many times he had failed in similar ways.

He could use that sake by this point.

“You mentioned hot sake?”

“Oh Goemon, sorry, I forgot. It’s in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

Fujiko sounded genuinely apologetic for forgetting, and she slipped out of her seat, brushing against him as she did. A clumsy move on her part. Usually her movements were more planned out than that; that if she touched Goemon, she meant to ensnare him. A situation which could not be the goal tonight. Was she as distracted as he was this evening? Or was something else at play?

He’d never been able to follow those complex webs of emotional reaction, not in the way that she did. Fujiko had tried, on occasion, to explain her machinations to him, and at those times he was able to follow them. But without a preview of what to look for and when, he was always left to exist in the moment, reacting to challenges as they arose and took up weapons against him.

Zenigata was still drinking the cocktail Lupin made for him. He turned toward Goemon. “What’s your favorite kind of sake?”

Goemon had never been picky about sake, but once again, the bold-faced truth made for a poor answer, and risked ending the conversation. Goemon took a moment to think of what he liked about sake. His favorite was always seeing people with passion and adherence to hard work. Efforts one could see, or better still, taste. Dedication.

He relayed that answer to Zenigata, somewhat proud to have parried that particular social puzzle.

Zenigata shifted in his seat, thinking of something.

“I like nigori. Looks nice and goes down well with curry.”

“Hmmm. I agree."

The delicious scene washed over his senses, the picture of a rainy evening spent over a warm stove with a large pot of curry bubbling, sipping sweet sake. Curry was always best in a group, otherwise one was left with too many leftovers, and curry didn’t travel well.

Fujiko responded from the hallway, hearing their conversation, “Do you want some of this too, Zenigata?”

She entered the room carrying a heated bottle and a stack of sakazuki dishes. Goemon stood up to help. As he took them from her, he noticed that they were the ones he had given to them as a wedding present. He had tried his best to find dishes that had history, antique, but still might suit stylish people. Their taste still eluded him. 

He wondered if this was the first time they were using them.

Goemon set out the shallow dishes, and added one on the end, noting that there were more people than chairs. He wondered if he might do the polite thing and stand when Lupin returned, to be sure no one else was left without a place to sit. But at present there were enough chairs, so he settled back into the comfortable space next to Fujiko, as she finished filling their cups.

“Shall we?” 

She raised the dish to rosy, pink lips, her sparkling eyes on him. Her nails were a subtle hue, more demure than he’d seen before, but still stylishly painted. The length they added made her fingers taper so marvelously. Long fingers skilled with the piano, and with other-

Goemon moved his eyes down to his own dish.

She was married. He really needed to get it together.

Goemon pulled his sake toward his nose, smelt it, hoping to move his mind to a calmer place. It was strong enough that he could smile, and he focused on only the scent and taste.

“To your good health.” Zenigata said, tone somewhat sad.

Fujiko gave a little wink, and her tone teased. “Likewise, as long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Kanpai,” Goemon said, no longer wishing to wait. He tipped the warm liquid down his throat.

“How is it?” Fujiko asked, expectantly.

It was as calming as green tea, but invigorated as only alcohol could. Through the window, the last dregs of light reflected off the city. The imposing shadows stretched long into the distance.

“It is exquisite.” Goemon was not sure if it was the best he’d had, but it was at least close. “And the sunset from this window is beautiful.”

“Are you wondering what it might look like from the roof?” Fujiko’s reply was draped with her usual playfulness.

“I was not, but it sounds very good. Perhaps I shall climb up one day.”

Fujiko and Zenigata both laughed at this. Goemon was not being intentionally funny, but in the moment, he did not mind. It was only a bad thing when he wanted to be taken seriously. 

Lupin rejoined them, and as expected, Jigen had arrived. Goemon stared at the late arrival, doing his best to rapidly appraise his condition, before being spotted.

Jigen Daisuke had not been well. But if Goemon could strike from his mind thoughts of airport noise or cute waitresses, then his mind would work twice as hard to split, to deflect, to destroy any of the images that were surfacing now. He would not think about the Jigen of the past year. He would not think about the state he had been in. He would not.

The Jigen before him seemed to have eaten in the past day. The smell of whiskey was strong enough to make it past the sake in Goemon’s hand, but it was not muddled with month-old sweat. Jigen’s shoes were even polished. From this angle he could see his eyes were swollen and red, but if Jigen had had the energy to cry before arriving, then he had the energy to make it through the evening.

It was better than the last time Goemon had seen him. And beyond that, Jigen was making an effort. It would be patronizing to say so in front of the others. But Goemon was proud. 

Not that it would be easy to tell him, even when alone. They both had trouble talking about what was on their mind. Jigen was defensive, and Goemon was not a good communicator. To draw out their feelings about this year, to leave them both feeling vulnerable? It was not something they had practiced, so at best, it was stilted and imperfect.

Jigen remarked upon Zenigata’s attendance, and when he addressed Fujiko, Goemon noticed something strange in her face that he tried unsuccessfully to parse.

“Ah yeah. Happy anniversary to you.”

Jigen’s tone was flat, but Goemon thought he could hear sincerity. Was this all that Jigen could muster in his current state of mind? Or was it the bitter first jab of the evening? Fujiko seemed to take it as the latter, because she stood up, and slid her arms around Lupin. The overtly seductive gesture wasn’t a new trick. She’d used it in the past to tease plenty of men, Lupin key among them. Goemon had lost count of the number of covers Lupin had nearly broken, fuming as Fujiko clung to various unworthy targets.

It had made Goemon fume in the past, as well. He knew how Fujiko really felt about sex. And how degrading it must have been, to play airy and stupid, luring targets in by making them think they’d outsmarted you. That they’d won something precious, the right to take something from you. 

But the action looked different when Lupin was the recipient. Whatever Lupin had been talking about, the words fled his lips, and the thoughts drained out of his mind. Fujiko didn’t need to play stupid, when Lupin could bring out enough real stupidity for everyone. Lupin’s body stayed upright enough to support them both, but his empty head tilted back against her chest. Such a lustful expression should have been disgusting, but here, it bordered on innocence itself. Lupin was defanged in Fujiko’s arms. For all his big talk, for all his promises to launch himself into Fujiko’s bed, the real nature of their bedroom dynamic had been spread out, by Fujiko, in front of them all.

Lupin, harmless, sweet, and devoted, in Fujiko’s smirking arms.

Goemon gulped. He was not sure if wife or husband was luckier, but he was sure that he could drown out this fresh set of impure thoughts by reaching for the sake bottle and quietly pouring himself another small dish full.

Jigen sank down in Fujiko’s former place next to him. Fujiko’s trick might have set Goemon’s heart racing, but it had clearly had the opposite reaction for Lupin’s other former lover.

“Thanks for coming, Jigen. How long has it been?” Fujiko’s words were perfectly innocent, but the hands circling Lupin’s shoulders were not. She planted a light kiss on the side of Lupin’s head. One that Goemon might have described as ‘chaste,’ were it not for Fujiko’s entire demeanor.

Jigen showed defeat by his stance, turning away from the happy couple, lowering his elbows onto the countertop. Goemon could read the resignation in his voice. Jigen wasn’t planning to pick a fight.

“A while.”

When Lupin dutifully returned Fujiko’s drink, he took the chance to rub himself closer, and brushed his cheek up against hers.

Lupin's voice sounded dreamy as he turned at least some of his attention to Goemon. “How’s the sake, Goemon? I got the right stuff, right?”

Goemon did not like to repeat himself, but it was only fair to share the praise between them both. And he did feel a spark of joy. Lupin had taken the time to think of him.

“Indeed. It is excellent.”

Jigen raised his hand, a supposedly casual gesture that doubtless took all his energy. “Let’s have another round, then.” 

Jigen was probably doing his best. Maybe he would have enough restraint to just enjoy the night with them as best he could.

They shared multiple rounds, finally all together again. Lupin carried the room with his charm, and talked about a trip he and Fujiko had taken. Fujiko backed him up, added to the story, and Jigen even managed a few half-hearted replies. Goemon absorbed the warmth of companionship just the same as the warm sake. He could feel the tingling blur hazing the sharp edges of his thoughts.

Even as Lupin started to tease Zenigata and argue with him, the atmosphere all felt so familiar, like a bout of deja vu consuming him. Lupin sat on the bartop. They all fit the space so well. The room had five human shaped holes that the group were finally pressed neatly into.

He could recall countless drunken evenings, ones where he, Jigen and Lupin celebrated a tidy score. Nights where they acted irresponsibly, getting expensive food delivered, making the delivery person join them for a bit, and then rewarding them with an absolutely absurd gratuity. They stayed up late playing cards and gambling. Lupin always won, unless Jigen pulled out a new cheat for the occasion. Jigen didn’t have Lupin’s natural flair for cheating at cards, but when he pulled one over on the master thief, Jigen’s loud guffaw and knee-slapping were a symphony. They’d carry on, half awake, into the morning when they might collapse in a tired heap all in the same room...

It took some time for Goemon to feel comfortable being physically close to them, but Lupin was the sort of man whose sincerity and earnest affection could melt even the firmest heart. They never really called it anything, just a lot of adrenaline and a heaping helping of near death emotional bonding. They were close, that was all he would call it.

Though sometimes he wished he did know what to call it.

Zenigata started to tell them about his recent exploits. How he’d taken himself off the Lupin case, and was working on something about smuggling.

Goemon found laws, borders and things of that nature to be almost universally not worth learning about or caring about. Everyone in the gang generally shared this sentiment. These sorts of rules were a method of stifling freedom and holding people back. The gang followed personal codes and made judgment calls, and overall, only held others to their own personal standards of what was right and wrong.

Zenigata’s world operated on something far more complex. Not superior, but certainly voluminous. Goemon scoffed to imagine taking a single step over a fake boundary, moving from one country to another, and having to perform a whole new set of procedures just because you were on one side of an imaginary line and not on another. A baffling waste of time, but he imagined that Zenigata must spend countless hours within that labyrinth, trying to navigate it just right, in order to end his duel with Lupin on his own terms.

Or at least, that was once the case. Now he was using these skills to go after something else. Smugglers, apparently.

“I was in a ditch dodgin’ artillery shells. Had to pull the old dummy corpse trick to throw 'em off.”

“You win some, you lose some." Jigen was charitable about failure. Though only in others. They all shared that quality, too. None of them would deem to accept failure gracefully in themselves...

“At least you’re still alive and kickin’."

Zenigata’s pride was evident in his reply, “Oh, I got ‘em. Took down the whole ring. Which of course didn’t improve my popularity back at the office. A few upper management guys were hopin’ this would be the one that finally did me in. 'Cuz it turns out they were involved in some of the permits. Thought it might be a convenient place to end my career.”

Goemon could admire this sort of courage. It was still much better to be committed to the rules you claim to follow, even if they were disagreeable, rather than demanding them of others when you ignored them for yourself.

Lupin laughed very enthusiastically at this, “You sure love painting a target on your back! Even more than I do, huh, Pops?”

Zenigata sounded very pleased with himself, “They’re findin’ out slowly what you already know. I’m hard to get rid of.”

“Admirably persistent.” Goemon did not mind complimenting this particular aspect of the Inspector. He had faced down many of the same dangers as the rest of them had, been shot at, thrown from incredible heights, bombed, starved, and more. Zenigata certainly had the ability to bend with the breeze. Or even the hurricane.
 

“And harder to kill than a damn cockroach,” Jigen added with a surprising amount of affection.

Zenigata laughed. “Heh heh heh, don’t you criminals ever forget it!”

Rude, but it was token by this point. Even though Lupin was far more kind-hearted than many who operated within the law, Zenigata seemed obsessed with vilifying him. The Inspector should have been grateful. It was at Lupin’s behest that Goemon and Jigen worked with less lethal methods. When they worked without him, they were much more likely to leave a corpse, rather than a future enemy.

“Lupin, you should make your good friend Zenigata another drink,” Fujiko was quite an attentive host. Goemon had not even noticed Zenigata’s empty glass.

Zenigata bristled. “We’re not friends!” 

Zenigata was as defensive as Jigen. What was it about labels? There are some things he would never deem to be called in relation to Lupin. But ally, friend, companion? None of those would bother Goemon. Lupin only called one person his partner, and it certainly was not him.

Not that Goemon was demanding it...
 

“Awww, come on now Pops, can’t you just say we’re friends?! That’s why you’re here isn’t it? Aren’t you all my friends?”

Lupin’s whining grew in volume. The pleading tone was a disguise. These weren’t pleas, they were a threat of an imminent tantrum, if someone didn’t concede and agree. It wouldn’t take much to stave it and save this evening, but something about it left a sour taste in Goemon’s mouth. He didn’t want to indulge Lupin on this today.

What sort of friends were they, when Goemon might be left behind at any moment? Only summoned when someone needed a sharp blade. And if he was the only man for a job, Goemon could bear that. It meant something to be the best. But had they not needed him for anything? Even just to talk? How could Lupin speak of friendship, when to him, Goemon was nothing more than a knife shoved in the back of the kitchen drawer and forgotten?

He glanced at Fujiko. She was watching Lupin with what he assumed must be pity. It was a harsh silence, but Lupin had earned it.

“So cold. So cold! And I even got you guys the expensive alcohol!” Lupin brushed it off, and directed a happy tone at Goemon. “So how about you, Goemon! Any new techniques? You must have gotten something good done in all that training time.”

Goemon felt a bit guilty now that he could hear the pain. To bully Lupin sometimes felt like fighting a child. You could win but you never felt good about it.

“I have been focused on a difficult technique. A way of moving that allows a man to slip between two opponents and disarm them.”

He had been focused on it, somewhat. Not nearly as focused as he would like. He made the most progress when he had real, skilled opponents that actually intended to harm him. And even more progress when his mind was not distracted by emotional distress.

“Sounds pretty useful,” Lupin's voice was bright and cheery.

Goemon was jealous of anyone who could even pretend to be in a good mood after being insulted. He could rarely manage to do much beyond controlling his urge to draw his blade in that circumstance.

“Oh it was,” Jigen seemed to be in better spirits. “Goemon and I did a few... weeks. In meditation. In the mountains.”

Several months ago, Goemon’s patience with Jigen had snapped. During a routine phone call, his comrade’s speech was so slurred, it lapsed into incoherence. They all had irresponsible streaks, but Jigen was getting far too old to be acting like that. Despite his best attempts to remain unflappable, Goemon’s heart ached at the thought of him dying so ignobly. Something had to be done, and so Goemon invited Jigen to come train with him.

Jigen came when he asked him to. Goemon had expected complaints, and sharp remarks. But Jigen acquiesced almost immediately, and took the next flight. 

The mess that showed up on Goemon’s doorstep was less man, and more creature that disturbingly resembled a close friend. His hair was matted and long under his fedora. His irises were human, but the sclera were bloodshot, and bags hung heavy underneath them. Jigen had always been a languid man, but he moved as though through water, sluggish, his thoughts trailing even farther behind. 

And of course, the ripe odor of drink permeated yards away from the poor man.

Mysterious monsters and curses were a fact of life for Goemon, and for the first few days, his mind strayed to the most obscure legends he knew, wondering if any of them might be a diagnosis for Jigen’s current condition. Tales of men spirited away to undersea or ethereal domains, who aged rapidly, who faded into nothing, when parted from their supernal captors. Had Jigen been cursed in this manner?

But he had not needed to think on it so hard. The curse was a common one, however difficult it was to break.

Goemon took him out camping near a waterfall, and they spent some days mostly in silence. They spoke only in short sentences, communicating only what was necessary. Jigen would lay around in the grass. But little by little, he began to fish. To cook dinner. Goemon could admit it was beneficial having someone else do the cooking and minor upkeep. He could stay focused even longer. As much as he did not wish to tell anyone, it was also helpful for his focus knowing Jigen was safe.

Those weeks were his most productive.

Jigen nudged Goemon from his reverie. “Right, Goemon?”
 

Goemon looked down at his sake, and replied in the affirmative. Yes. They had.

Fujiko was quick to refill Goemon's drink. She seemed eager to dislodge some added detail that she knew he was keeping. 

“Come on, now. What did you really do? Zenigata’s not gonna do anything to you, you’re not Lupin.”

Zenigata was not the reason for his silence.

His hesitation to share came from a later portion of this visit. Jigen had brought some cigarettes that were filled with marijuana instead of their usual tobacco, and he convinced Goemon to join him. The two spent several hours doing things that he really was not interested in sharing with anyone else. Jigen had dared him to use Zantetsuken for things not worthy of the blade in the slightest. And yet he had willingly, enthusiastically done them.

But... he had to concede, there was something valuable in the experience. Jigen’s calming grin and the ease of his laughter, not being dragged around by the regrets he constantly seemed to dwell on, felt like warm sunshine. For once, Jigen’s guard was down enough to lower his head and lean on Goemon’s shoulder. How wide the sky felt above them, the rustling of the leaves in the wind was mesmerizing.

With his face close, Goemon had wrapped an arm around to bring him closer. Both of them blanketed with the syrupy overlay of a pleasant high, they held each other for what felt like days. They fell back on the mossy ground, Jigen’s lazy head rested on his chest, and Goemon kept one arm over the lanky gunman. It felt incredible and his mind, and even his mouth, was free to think and talk about things he’d never thought to before.

Of how Zantetsuken sometimes felt so deeply part of him that he worried if he lost the sword he might be a completely different person. Jigen said he could understand that, that his magnum was like that as well. 

They talked about their past, about becoming assassins. How much they appreciated each other’s company. They talked about their fears. Goemon even admitted his irrational fear of hot water, how he still could not shake his childhood terror of watching the story of his namesake, play after play and tale after all, each an inexorable, immutable march toward the grisly end, where he was boiled alive.

He’d always preferred cold showers.

They both laughed. Jigen told him that he wasn’t afraid of anything anymore. That the thing he feared most had already happened. Lupin finally got bored of him. Now he was immune to all fear. They both knew this was a lie but the curse seemed lifted. Or if not lifted, then abated, for now. Far away. Jigen laughed until he cried. And then cried more.

It was not an experience he regretted. But it was for the better if Fujiko never heard it. She would abuse the knowledge. Lupin might too. This memory was not theirs to sully.

A pointless argument had popped up around Goemon, but Jigen finally seemed to have calmed the group down, “If you promise not to be a narc, Pops, I’ll tell you.”

What? Jigen couldn’t be about to-
 

“Well. Some guy hired Goemon and me to protect a vault.”

Goemon let out a sigh of relief. Ah yes. That. He had almost forgotten they had done other things. He felt a pang of guilt for having doubted Jigen’s discretion.

“That was wild. Some days we had these huge groups of guys trying to break in, and then some days it was nothing. We got bored half the time. And then creative the other half.”

Creative was an interesting way to word it. It lacked the intimacy of the mountains, but having a job was good for Goemon’s health, and the final step towards normalcy that Jigen needed. When they were bored, they played cards, or had fancy dinners at the whim of their very rich employer.

There were a few nights that Jigen slunk off to see the man, a petty warlord type with ambitions to rule a country. He seemed to favor Jigen’s company. Both probably assumed Goemon hadn’t noticed. Jigen did not want to talk about it. So they did not talk about it.

Jigen gestured with his cigarette, “And then he tried to stiff us, so we took all of the jewels in there at the end. You should’ve seen Goemon’s face.”

It seemed like something people would have learned not to do, but greedy people always pushed their luck. Why, they must have thought, pay for a job at all? Dead men didn’t require a salary nor did they come calling later.

It was a lesson that he had taught before, and would no doubt have to teach other employers in the future: you pay, because they are not yet dead. And underestimating them in such a manner would be a grave, grave miscalculation. Goemon would have been content to just give a show of strength and take what they were owed, but Jigen skipped negotiations, and took the shot. Goemon was startled, but not in the least remorseful. The world would not miss a man like that, there were plenty like him.

“Gonna share any of that score with us, Jigen?" Fujiko teased. 

Or maybe she was not joking? Fujiko was always very direct about wanting a cut. It mattered not whether she had helped them, or actively hindered them. She always helped herself to whatever was there.

To Goemon’s great shock, Jigen laughed. “Why the hell not? You and Lupin were always the ones with good fencing contacts.”

Lupin’s mouth sputtered out a barely audible, “Uhhhhhhhh..?”

Jigen’s teeth flashed, a broad view under the brim of his hat. “I just have a big pile of rubies back at my place. Whatdya say. 70/30? That was your usual shtick right?”

And Fujiko remained silent, her expression indecipherable to him.

As though suddenly remembering something, Jigen snapped his fingers. “Shoot, I forgot! You’re outta the business now, aren’t you?”

Fujiko did not have time to reply, mostly because Zenigata got there first. Speaking over and not even listening to Jigen, he began to shout.

“That’s enough of that! No illegal activities at this party!”

Lupin’s sly and prideful tone dripped in every word, “It’s MY party, Pops! It seems like I should get to make the rules. And right now I wanna drink!”

Goemon agreed. He also wanted to drink. He attempted a joke, perhaps to get Zenigata to stop being so obsessed with pointless rules. 

“I did not know it was illegal to drink in Italy.”
 

No one laughed.

Fujiko retrieved a fresh glass and handed it to Lupin, flirting with him as she set one out for Jigen and Goemon.

“What can I fill it with?” She murmured.

“You can pick, I know I’ll like whatever you choose, Fujicakes.”
 

Jigen broke in. He rolled his knuckles on the bar making a pleasant rhythmic noise.
 

“What about what I like? Lupin, you're bragging about the booze, but this stuff is all shit. Cheap whiskey. Cruddy bourbon. Do you even have a bottle of rum? What kind of bar doesn't have the bare essentials?”

Lupin gave an exasperated sigh, but couldn’t hide a grin on the end of it, like a man pretending to be annoyed by something charming. He and Jigen interacted that way often. Or at least they used to.

“Can't drink in a comfy little bar? Do you even like rum?"

Jigen gave him a dismissive half-laugh, half-cough. “Maybe I'm in the mood for it. Or a half-dozen of the other things you don't have."

"So picky Jigen-chan. FINE. There’s a liquor store two blocks up.”
 

It was unlike Lupin to be under-prepared. It was more like him to be extravagantly over-prepared, never satisfied to have less than the most elaborate setup. Had he grown complacent in his retirement?

Lupin stood up, delighted at the excuse to be on his feet. He never did like to sit still for very long.

“Do you have to go?” Fujiko used her baby voice, but Goemon thought he heard a hint of sincerity.

“Keep that cute face right there, I’ll be back for the drink before you can miss me!” He kissed her and headed for the door.

“I miss you already.” Still that cutesy tone in her voice. Goemon must admit it had sometimes worked on him, too. 

But on Lupin, it rarely failed.
 

“Oh, in that case!” He returned to her side to steal a second kiss. And just like that, Lupin’s excursion out was over before it started-

A quick peck on the cheek, then he wriggled out of her arms, and sprang out the door. Lupin hadn’t given an excuse or so much as a wave, neatly escaping from Fujiko.

There was something in her expression as she watched him leave. Goemon wished he could comfort her, to let her turn those flirting words over to him instead, but remembered with a pang that it would be improper to overstep his boundaries.

“More sake, please,” he said as he lifted his dish. He was unsure that this was the best way to handle it, but it was better than nothing.

Fujiko’s mood seemed to right itself. There were no affectionate words, but her eyes locked onto his. She poured Goemon another small dish full and he tipped it into his mouth, trying a small smile back. However, he did not enjoy looking people in the eye for too long, so after a brief moment of eye contact with her lovely brown eyes, he stared at the glossy bartop again with heat in his cheeks.

They all drank a bit more in the quiet moment. Goemon was at ease in this, but he knew many people were not. He was thankful to have the time for contemplation. He wondered what Fujiko was thinking right now. 

“Hey Fujiko,” Jigen began, with about as much grace as his clunky voice could manage, “sorry I made him go out.”

“It was his choice." She spoke quickly, and experience taught him this was how she sounded when she was angry.

Jigen stared at his sake dish. His eyes were hidden, and his tone was so quiet, Goemon nearly didn’t hear him speak. Comprehension seemed to dawn on him.

“It was.”
 

“We all know nothing can change his mind once Lupin has made a decision.” Goemon ventured, he hoped to help them make peace with the situation.

“He’s that kinda idiot...” Zenigata chuckled, fondness in his gruff voice. 

Goemon looked over at him. Zenigata’s cheeks were flushed, maybe only from excessive drink. But he spoke warmly, tenderly.

It is not as if Lupin and Jigen had not joked about it. But they joked about a lot of things. For the first time, Goemon wondered if maybe it was true. Goemon was the last to realize things like this, and if he said it aloud, the rest of them would just say something about how obvious it had been all along. Goemon scrunched his nose in frustration at the thought.

So. Even Zenigata was not immune to Lupin’s charm. All this chasing, it was not just for dedication to a job. It was also dedication to a person he wanted to get close to. And in that moment, he pitied Zenigata.

“I miss chasing him.”

Goemon tensed as he heard it. The words that none of them were allowed to say. What would be accomplished by admitting it? That Goemon wanted the return of their old ways? That Jigen wanted Lupin’s companionship back? How could he be so selfish to say that, right in front of Fujiko? The weakness, the arrogance!

However, Goemon’s admiration for Zenigata filled his chest, and he could not understand why.

Fujiko replied calmly, with a laugh mixed into the words. “I know what you mean,” 

But that was Fujiko. Gentle and gracious.

“Can't speak for our idiot pal, but I missed you, ya big lug.”

Jigen was leaning close to Zenigata. Was this him flirting with Zenigata? Anything was possible tonight, and Goemon was running out of energy for surprises.

“Wuh, really?” Zenigata’s reactions were always very large, but he sounded as if he was about to start crying.

“Yeah, of course. You can come chase me around any time, if it helps.”

Jigen’s tone was as earnest as he ever got. Goemon could tell he meant that. He imagined Zenigata chasing down just Jigen, or Jigen and himself. It was not challenging to conjure, they had been chased by Zenigata many times before. 

Though it was very hard to picture Zenigata having the same zeal for it if he was not shouting Lupin’s name loudly.

After some consideration, Goemon responded. “I would rather you did not chase me. I find your chases to be somewhat irritating.”

“Agreed. I would prefer to do all my dirty deeds without getting caught."

Fujiko had a wonderfully devious smile when she said it, and Goemon felt himself grin in response.

Goemon could hear the click of the lighter and the sound of Jigen speaking from the side of his mouth. “I can’t say I’m that exciting to chase. Not nearly as exciting as Lupin.” 

He might be nervous. He was cautious with affection and often lit a cigarette to calm down. Thus, he smoked many cigarettes.

Fukijo took a moment, settling in on the bar with a drink of her own. One of her arms was pulled in close to her chest, and she looked coiled up, like a viper, waiting to strike.

And then, she did, speaking coolly. “You could probably just walk from bar to bar 'til you find him.” 

Goemon did his best to keep up. Had Fujiko been more upset about Lupin leaving than he’d thought?

Jigen laughed. “Harsh but fair.”

He was...fine? No, Jigen paused to reposition his cigarette, and as his head tilted up, there was an ugly sneer on his face. “But if you wanna know where to find Fujiko Mine, you can always-"

There it was. Jigen’s behavior had been remarkably good all evening. But any man can only bend so far, and Jigen was brittle stone around Fujiko. It was inevitable that he would snap, but the fallout was not a foregone conclusion.

These social moves Goemon could read in advance. This was a sparring match he’d seen countless times, and it would end in Jigen leaving early. But without a Lupin to return to, Goemon could not be sure what would happen to Jigen afterward.

And though Fujiko acted like his words never phased her, Jigen was better than he knew at hurting her feelings. This is where Lupin would jump in. He would balance these two forces. He would set things right?

Goemon looked over to Lupin’s empty chair. Absent as he had been all year. Goemon was starting to get used to managing without.

He did what came to his mind the fastest. He drew Zantetsuken and with a click, was on his feet in an instant. The sword always knew what to do, Jigen’s cigarette was no match for a cut too fast for their eyes. The fallen tip still burned, leaving a dusting of ash on the bartop.

It was not Goemon’s best idea ever, but he could not be too hard on himself. He had done well with what he had.

Until he looked up. Zenigata, Jigen, and even Fujiko, were staring back, confused and at least slightly frightened.

He could not blame them, he had tried at least once to kill each of them, but it still felt slightly hurtful. There was a time, long in the past, where he had prided himself on the fact that he would be able to. He had hoped that time would stay in the past, they were companions, ones who needed each other, like they had a duty to each other. But when that connection crumbled away with distance and time, he wondered if there might be a time he was asked to kill one of them and he would say yes.

Jigen had drawn his magnum, and he could not help but notice how Jigen put himself in the way. He was protective, even to strangers. Even to Fujiko when she had just betrayed them, or made him angry. He would take a lethal blow for anyone in danger.

Lupin once, when he was quite angry, said that maybe, Jigen was just hoping for a chance to.

“Easy there! What’s happening, Goemon?” Jigen’s voice cut through his memory.

He bowed his head to show he was sorry for the ill-advised solution, “I apologize. It is nothing.”

Jigen was obviously over it in an instant, the sign of a man who had had weapons drawn on him many times. His ridiculous yet familiar laugh was calming.

“Scared the hell out of me, man!”

Fujiko’s tone was curt and loud. She was still shaken. “I’m cutting you both off if you even THINK of pointing those at me!”

Goemon bowed his head low. “I am truly sorry.”

And yet, as he sheathed the blade, he thought that maybe, he was not that sorry. Everyone laughed. Jigen and Fujiko began teaming up to insult him, which meant they would not be insulting each other. It seemed to have achieved the desired effect. Time passed in a distorted stream. Fujiko did not make good on her threat to cut them off.

Zenigata eventually stood up, wobbling slightly as he did, “I’m startin’ to worry about Lupin.”

“Oh. Starting.” Fujiko mocked.

“Yeah, like he hasn’t been thinking about him the entire damn time.”

Jigen remained in step with her, and Goemon wondered how long Zenigata would last without shouting if he was the one drawing their dual mockery. They were ruthless on the rare occasions where they aligned goals.

“I’ll prove it to you...” Zenigata muttered to himself, and swayed dangerously on his way across the room.

Five large steps, and one missed step, and the drunkard was on his way to the floor.

Goemon was in no position to catch Zenigata, but Lupin returned just in time to. Lupin hefted the bags full of alcohol to Goemon, and Goemon’s hands obeyed the wordless command, scooping them up. It felt very natural to be in sync again.

Zenigata must not have been an easy man to catch, but Lupin covered up any difficulty with new jokes, and helped Zenigata back into his seat.

Lupin spoke with pep, and motioned toward the bottles. “Got your rum, Jigen. In the bag.” 

Maybe helping Zenigata had cheered him up. Such a nick-of-time rescue was in his idiom. Goemon could hardly blame him. Nothing was more exciting than waiting until the very last moment.

Jigen dug into the bag and retrieved a cheap looking bottle of rum, uncapped it and drank straight from the bottle. Goemon shut one eye. This was slightly embarrassing to watch. But he did not want to be called a “buzzkill.” He didn’t exactly know what the word meant, which made it still more humiliating to be called it.

Lupin took a seat next to Zenigata. “Geheheh Pops, I can tell you missed me!”
 

Zenigata tried to deny, as though the rest of the group hadn’t heard his words earlier. “I didn’t miss you.”

“Too bad Zenigata, Fujiko’s got him.” Jigen patted his back. “Here, this’ll help sober you up, old man.”

Jigen popped a cigarette into his mouth. Before Zenigata could pull it away, Jigen’s lighter was already there. Zenigata huffed in two practiced breaths, and the smoke flowed freely.

Jigen turned his attention to Goemon, another cigarette in hand. “You too Goemon. No more randomly trying to kill us okay?”

Jigen mussed his hair. The sensation was unpleasant, but Goemon could put up with it, for the intention. He’d deciphered this gesture long ago. Jigen was saying he had noticed him. Jigen wanted to touch him without being too ostentatious.

“I’ll do my best.”

Goemon was embarrassed that the focus was on him. He was smiling in spite of himself, and probably red in the cheeks. He drew back, attempting to recenter himself. But even as he did, Jigen slipped the cigarette into his mouth.

Jigen had to get close to light Goemon’s cigarette, and Goemon could see under his brim. Jigen’s face was thin, cheekbones jutting out of the sides of his weary face, beard a tangle all the way up to his ears. Everything sharp angles and masculine ridges. But his eyes were soft, with an effeminate touch that Goemon knew Jigen hated. Lupin’s eyes might have been the most wildly expressive of the bunch, but Jigen’s always spoke to a depth of emotion. Whatever expression they held, they were followed by several asterisks.

Jigen might be glad. But at the same time tired.

Jigen might be relieved. But at the same time anxious.

Jigen might be exasperated with Lupin’s antics. But at the same time, longing to reach his arms around the man.

Goemon had no difficulty reading those eyes. And if they were that clear to him, then they must have been an open book to people like Fujiko. Jigen needed the hat. A bulletproof vest might protect his physical heart, but the real one needed more metaphorical armor.

And as Jigen lit his cigarette, Goemon saw something smug, something triumphant in them. A hope that hadn’t been there in months.

Then he looked up. Their eyes met for just a moment. Jigen hated eye contact as much as Goemon did, and so neither would hold it long, out of both personal preference, and respect for the other. But in that moment, the lighter flame flickered in Jigen’s eyes, and Goemon could have sworn he was smelling a heavier leaf than tobacco.

That was the only other time he’d seen that same grateful, trusting look in Jigen’s eyes. Jigen was here tonight because of Goemon. This year could have swallowed Jigen whole. Perhaps Jigen had been hoping it would. But no more. Life was returning to the man. 

The curse was lifted.

Jigen sat back in his chair, and Goemon sucked in. It was a filthy habit, but that didn’t seem to matter much right now. He’d inhaled mountain air with less purity of spirit.

It hurt to realize he might not regain what he used to have with his friends, but they still wanted his company.

Things changed. It was the way of the world.

But Goemon Ishikawa the Thirteenth could hold onto what was important. Like his traditional clothes, he might be mocked for them but it was his decision to put them on when he got up in the morning. He was not powerless in the process.

He breathed out a haze of smoke, Fujiko was flirting gently with Lupin, and he was, of course, flirting back.

Some things never changed.

Zenigata gave a lengthy toast. It reminded him of the wedding, where he quietly sat holding Zantetsuken with his arms folded around it protectively after Lupin joked about using it to cut the cake. Lupin danced madly with Fujiko, swooping around, his energy at a manic high as he cheered on Goemon to give them a toast.

Goemon looked over at him now, he was grinning broadly, Zenigata’s arm was around Lupin’s shoulder and Lupin was looking intently at Fujiko. But she had turned away from him, gazing out the enormous windows. He could not see her expression in the reflection.

Fujiko offered to go get some snacks, and Lupin chipped out an assent. She nodded, and headed into the hallway, without any other words.

Something seemed off.

Zenigata rose from his chair yet again, still uneasy on his feet. It seemed to Goemon to be quite the accomplishment that he was still upright at all.

“Which way is your bathroom?”

The Inspector seemed pleased with himself, maybe he was planning something. This tone was similar to one when he was about to reveal some kind of twist in his plan. It was hard to tell, because Zenigata did not seem well equipped to handle a complex scheme at this moment.

Lupin sang out a careless response. “Up the hallway and to the right!” Obviously he was not much concerned about it.

“I will keep an eye on him.”

This was...not a falsehood. But Goemon had noticed Fujiko’s move to leave. And while he couldn’t be sure, he had a hunch, he had to check.

He followed Zenigata’s lumbering steps into the hallway. He did not have to be very careful. Zenigata in this state was lucky to be able to see objects directly in front of him. He stopped to stare at the paintings in the hallway. The drunken inspector posed no real threat, and Lupin was surely not stupid enough to leave anything important or incriminating just laying in the open.

Goemon’s whisper-silent movements were, as with all his talents, wasted on a worthless opponent. He slipped past the detective and into the kitchen on the opposite side of the hallway.

The kitchen was larger than that of most restaurants. Fujiko was a strangely small figure, alone, sitting on the granite kitchen countertop. She had removed her shoes, and kicked her bare feet idly, smoking a cigarette. Hers were a different brand than Jigen’s, and held memories of their own.

Years ago, he had spent a few days with her after a stressful job. She had shown up without warning and dragged him off to a ryokan up north. The weather was cold, and the hot springs made him somewhat anxious. She spent the weekend wearing only a kimono. She tied it very poorly, and it gave him trouble with where his eyes went.

When the two of them were lying next to each other on the futon, committing the terrible disrespect of smoking, she had mentioned how tired she was. Tired of feeling like she could never trust anyone. This struck him as odd at the time, since she seemed to always be actively working to break any trust that people gave her. He questioned her about why. He had told her that trusting someone was a personal choice, it was internal, not external. She had responded by turning over and pinning him to the soft mattress, making him lose focus on the conversation entirely.

She flicked her cigarette into the sink when he came in, voice syrupy, and smug.

“Goemon, there’s no more sake in here, especially if you’re going to pull out weapons in the middle of the house. You should know better.”

“Mmm.” Goemon replied, quite sure that this was some kind of diversion.

“Fujiko. Is something wrong?”

She didn’t say anything for a few moments. Pulling a knee to her ample chest, she shook her head.

“Nothing.”

Goemon eyed her, suspicions piqued. He was fairly certain that there was something wrong. Was it to be another guessing game? Lupin and Jigen could be left to their own macho ideas of stony emotional silence. If something was frustrating them, they would explode, and all would be made clear.

But Fujiko would stew. Worries slipped through Lupin’s head. But they rotted in hers. It might be overstepping, but Goemon could take the silence between them no longer.

He pushed.

“You seem angry.”

“It’s fine.”

“So you ARE angry but it’s fine?” He tried for clarification.

“No. Everything is fine. Jigen and Zenigata are behaving, Lupin is happy with his party, everything is fine.”

“It is your party as well. Are you unhappy with some aspect of it?”

Some of her frustration escaped her emotional seal. She didn’t yell, but her tone was sharp.

“I said I was fine .”

Goemon shut one eye. “I apologize for assuming.” He did not intend to sound sarcastic, but his apology was too forced to ring true.

With most people, he would have stopped long ago. Especially with a lady. When a woman says no, any honorable man will cease attempting to converse with them.

But Fujiko was a friend. And friends have a set of rules that do not apply to anyone else. Friends have exceptions. Expectations. And Fujiko expected to be chased. Fujiko would not open up without effort. She said “no” when she sometimes meant “further, you coward,” and sometimes “yes,” when she meant “you disgust me.”

It was dangerous, so dangerous, and Goemon could not take much of it from her, not before his own frustrations boiled over. He wanted her to speak plainly, so that he could give her what she wanted. But her weapon was her words and this maze of intentions, and this was where she kept herself hidden and safe.

He had to continue. He had to risk hurting her feelings, and his own. If he walked away now, there would be nothing between them for who knew how long, another year of silence, a forever without talking.

He took a steady breath in. “I am sure that you can handle anything by yourself. You do not need me. But I wanted to offer.”

“You idiot.” 

She clicked her tongue, chided him, brushed him off.

“My apologies.” He said it curtly. Still not meaning it.

She said nothing. He said nothing.

Her legs swung gently back and forth and he shut his eyes. He had more than enough to say to her. But he had to try to shape it right. Had to push on further.

But Fujiko spoke first, her cold words flaring up with sudden, unmasked spite.

“Why didn’t you get a cellphone?”

He opened his eyes, looked around for a moment, wondered if this was some kind of joke he did not understand. He was lost, and his expression showed it.

“A cellphone?”

“Yes!” She leaned back on the stone countertop, her head resting against the wall, evident frustration in her voice. “I told you to get a cellphone so I could send you the wedding photos!”

“I apologize.” And this time, he meant it. “I had assumed you did not care about enough to be upset about it a year later.”

She had only mentioned it once or twice. And never very seriously. He was baffled to find this somehow being a point of contention. He would never, could never have guessed this was a source of anger for her.

“It was the last thing I said to you because I couldn’t talk to you otherwise, because you don’t have a fucking cellphone! Why are you so stubborn!?”

Goemon narrowed his eyes. Stubborn? They were all stubborn. How was that fair criticism, when she was just as stubborn?

“Aughhh nevermind. Forget it.” She huffed and pouted her lips.

Goemon paused, attempting to parse this new information, trying to fit it into the evening. He knew this could not possibly be what had drawn her into the kitchen. He was no closer to knowing what had.

But she had opened up. She had put her defenses and pride aside. If he could not do the same, he was no man.

He stepped forward, and risked putting a hand on her knee.

“I will get a cellphone.”

She stared him down, and Goemon did his best to hold her gaze. He felt, rather than saw, her hand approaching his. Fingertips slowly resting upon the back of his palm.

Then she rolled her eyes.

“It’s a bit late for that,” she said, sending a puff of air through gritted teeth.

Goemon heaved a sigh. He was on his way to losing this battle. His voice lacked any of the restraint he had worked so hard to craft. 

“I honestly do not understand. Can you not just tell me... what it is you are so upset about?”

She burst into laughter. “Hahahaha! Goemon you really crack me up.” 

She smiled fondly, but it offered no relief to him. Her laugh felt too harsh and the smile was more of the same obfuscation.

Goemon steeled himself. One last attack. Words had not worked. And so.

He lifted himself up onto the counter next to her. This forced her to scoot to make room in the small space. Their sides leaned together. Goemon tried to hold back embarrassment. This was not impropriety. This was two friends. He stayed in place, pressed close. Just one man trying to assist an old friend.

“I insist that you try.” Goemon attempted to speak commandingly. This felt wrong. But Fujiko had different rules. “I will not take no for an answer.”

She stared back at him. He wasn’t sure how much more eye contact he could take. But a giggle bubbled up out of her. Then another.

“Okay, tough guy.”

Her posture slouched. She pulled a knee up. Goemon had not realized he had been holding his breath, but he let it out.

This was what Fujiko looked like when she let her defenses down. Her shoulders rolled forward, and her buttons didn’t strain so heavily against her chest. As she settled, her gut pushed out a little. No, it wasn’t pushed out, but it was no longer held sucked in.

The careful, walking mannequin illusion was discarded, and a living person was sitting next to him.

“It’s just... Jigen.”

“I can concede he is often not very civil when he speaks to you, but I felt he was rather well behaved this evening.”

Goemon did not like to make too many excuses for Lupin or for Jigen. But tonight Jigen had performed admirably, hadn’t he?

“That’s what’s driving me crazy. He hasn’t done anything tonight!” She blew a stray lock out of her face, and gestured, bewildered. “I was prepared for him to make a huge scene! I’ve been waiting for it since the proposal! I was ready for anything, even for him to pull out his little overcompensator and unload six rounds right at me! But he’s...he’s so much more subtle than that! It’s been months since he and Lupin spoke, but even now they have this thing! It makes me feel like they’re speaking in code!”

Goemon gave a slow nod, his deep acknowledgement that he empathized. “I understand. I feel that way often around them. They have jokes I do not understand because I was not there.”

She shook her head, but did not seem to be disagreeing with him.

“Maybe I just can’t do it.”

Goemon watched her. “Do...what?”

She laughed. Then hopped off the counter, squeezing his hand as she pulled away. Her soft fingers made him shiver as they slipped by. She turned to face him, took both his hands in front of him, held them in her warm palms and smiled again. Her perfect proportions were back.

“You always make me remember why I lie, and it’s so cute how much you don’t. If it was you, I wonder if I would be able to trust you,” she looked at him fondly. Too intensely. He dropped his eyes to his knees, face flushed.

“If it was me?”

What exactly did she mean...?

She pulled out a drawer next to his legs and removed a pen. Cupping his wrist in her hand, she wrote a phone number on it.

“Here. Now you better put it in your contacts when you get it.”

Goemon waited, dutiful as a stone as she wrote. When she seemed to be taking too long, he looked down, to see that she’d snaked a trail of loopy doodles up his arm. He roughly pulled his hand away, balling it into a fist.

“Fujiko, please. I am trying to talk to you about this.”

“Well I don’t want to talk about it,” she stuck out her tongue at him, playful.

“You are very annoying,” he said, unsure if he meant it.

“So what? Are you going to cut me half like you do to anything else that annoys you?”

She reached for Zantetsuken, and he yanked it closer to himself to be sure she could not snatch it.

“No. I will simply ignore you.”

“I’m sure I’ll notice a big difference then,” she sounded bitter as she said it.

He looked down at her, eyes going from the woman to the number on his wrist. And he felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

The year-long silence between them. It was just as much his fault as hers. Perhaps moreso.

He turned his face and softened his gaze on her, “Fujiko...”

“Don’t.” She said this with her firm, bold tone, bright as if joking, but her voice quivered as if she was on the verge of tears. “Honestly, I want to have some dignity left at the end of this, okay?”

He slid off the countertop and pulled her into an embrace without thinking. Things would be different now. He could fix this. They wouldn’t-

She pulled herself free from his arms and turned away, busying herself with something inside the refrigerator.

“It’s getting late isn’t it?” Goemon could not ascertain anything in her voice. “Maybe you all should go home.”

He had overstepped. Jigen’s insults hadn’t ruined things, Zenigata hadn’t tried to arrest Lupin, even Lupin hadn’t done anything wild or dangerous.

Goemon had overstepped. He was the one who’d ruined the night.

He nodded, not that she could hear the gesture, but it felt wrong to make any sound. He slipped quietly out of the kitchen and headed back for the bar, where Zenigata had rejoined Lupin and Jigen. He paid no mind to whatever they were talking about. He was intent on fulfilling Fujiko’s request.

“Jigen, Zenigata. It’s getting quite late. Perhaps we should not overstay our welcome.”
 

Lupin was quick to try to stop him, as he expected. “Oh come on Goemon! It’s not even midnight, it’s no big deal.”

Goemon knew it was fruitless to try to reason with Lupin, so he gave a meaningful stare to Jigen.

Their eyes met.

Jigen stood up and smirked at Lupin. “It’s late for those of us who’ve still got jobs to do. Unlike you, slacker.”

Lupin almost stood up, a complaint on his lips, ready to push things further, to get his way, as he always did.

Then let himself sink back down into his chair.
 

“Yeah. It was nice to see you all. I’ll tell Fujiko you said goodbye.” He put on his best smile, but it wasn’t in his voice.

Goemon could not lift Zenigata, but pushed his willpower forward. One could control an opponent’s movements with the right body language, and a drunken man was not very hard to anticipate. He maneuvered Zenigata to the hallway and down the stairs with little protest. Lupin followed behind them, cracking his usual jokes. The ghost of the party they should have been having. 

Jigen had a hand on the crook of Zenigata’s arm, leading him carefully to the door. He turned back to give Lupin a tidy wave goodbye. 

“We’ll get Pops to bed with something for his hangover. Don’t worry about it. Bye, Lupin!”
 

“Give my regards to Fujiko.” Goemon did his best to sound polite. He wished she would see them off. He frowned at the thought of how long it might be until he saw her again. Saw any of them again.

“Will do.” Lupin responded.

It was one thing to hear Lupin be willfully sullen. Sullen with, what Goemon had learned, was comedic self-awareness. This was genuine, and it stung.

Zenigata, indignant and ignorant to the world around him, tried to push Jigen off. “I can do that myself. I’ve done it lots of times.”

As the trio stepped out, the air outside was chilly. It blew through Goemon’s open sleeves and gave him goosebumps. The warmth of the party was gone.

Goemon shut the door firmly behind him.
 

“You know, that doesn’t make you sound good, that you’re good at going home drunk,” Jigen laughed in Zenigata’s face. Then seemed to reflect upon it, conceding, “I mean, same here. But. Maybe don’t brag about that.”

They walked together, each step along the street helped Goemon remember to ground himself.

Temporary.

All things are temporary.

He gritted his teeth. He was always excellent at reminding himself of this. Usually it made this painful feeling of nostalgia fly away.

But it did not.

They stopped on the corner, and Jigen took out a cigarette. He lit it, and Goemon could feel the small burst of heat from his lighter. It went out, and Jigen exhaled. A breeze snatched up the aroma before it could reach Goemon. Goemon felt his heart thud, and want nearly overtook him, his chest a raw, bitter moan for the taste of tobacco and intimacy. 

But he steeled himself. Indulgence had been his failing tonight, not his virtue. It had made him and those around him vulnerable.  He would need to spend the next month training, if he wanted to make up for it.

“Is he okay?” Zenigata sounded unsure of himself.
 

“You’re the detective.” Jigen quipped for the both of them. “Should be able to investigate that yourself.”

One would think Zenigata would know by now that Goemon and Jigen would never break Lupin’s trust. They both had the scars to prove it.

Zenigata should have expected that response, but still sounded annoyed. “I have my own theories! I just wanted to hear testimony from his best friends. What do you think?”

Jigen blew a heavy plume of smoke through his mouth and nostrils. “It’s none of your damn business what I think.”
 

They were only talking about Lupin. He wondered if they had even considered the other person they had come to see. 

“I think that Lupin isn’t the only one to worry about here.”
 

Two liquor-soaked men barked out a suspiciously defensive:

“I’m fine!”

Goemon frowned, disappointed. “I see.” 

Selfish. The pair of them.
 

“Goodnight,” Goemon said with added curtness.

He would rather not stay and scold either of them about it. He was ready to spend some time alone with his thoughts. He left them to deal with their own.

It was unfair to Fujiko. It really was. It made him unhappy to think how invisible it must make her feel that neither of them had considered her feelings in the matter. It was perhaps not surprising. Fujiko’s maze of social intentions was so difficult, Goemon could barely last five minutes inside. Zenigata seemed like he could forcefully barrel his way through anything. But he would not do it for Fujiko. And perhaps Jigen could disarm her defenses, but he rarely had a reason to.

Fujiko deliberately pushed everyone away, then hid the fact that she had feelings at all as best she could. She had a hand in it, too.

But still. He wished that the others could care the way he did.

Moving at a steady paced walk, he found his way to the park they had passed on the way there. He put his back against a tree that was decently sized and sunk to the ground, crossed his legs and gripped Zantetusken close in his lap. He worried about Fujiko. As insincere as she could be, he knew deep down she was quite a sensitive person.

He looked at the pen marks on his hand. It was no difficulty to commit that number to memory. But using it would be a much greater challenge.

Tomorrow he will buy a cellular phone. Fujiko had asked for only one thing. Told Goemon that he was missed. He was committed to doing the same. Goemon was imperfect, and full of worry. But he had a path, and tomorrow, he would follow it.

He exhaled his worries into the chill night air. That night, he found meditation easier than it had been in months.

Chapter Text

He was outside their door, teeth clamped around a cigarette. A lazy curl of smoke drifted up, past overtired eyes.

He was half an hour early.

He hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d been in town for over a week, but of course he hadn’t told Lupin. Jigen hadn’t dared show his face until tonight. Whenever the gunman had been tempted to contact him, that last text stared back at him.

you probably shouldn’t stop by

at least for awhile, you know??

That sure as hell kept Jigen from doing anything too rash.

The pain of losing casual ease stuck in his throat. When they lived together, it was just easy. But Fujiko always made things difficult. 

Jigen just couldn’t understand what the hell the appeal was. She was a mean, selfish, vain person. And that was just the start of it. She was also withholding, secretive and provocative. She was constantly stirring up the people around her for her own amusement or personal gain.

Jigen looked at the doorbell. A half hour early was fine. He’d been waiting months. Who was going to fault him for a handful of minutes? Lupin wouldn’t mind. He’d trust that it wasn’t a big deal.

Trust. That was another thing wrong with her: Love required trust, and Fujiko was completely untrustable. There was probably nothing on earth she could say that he could believe at face value. She was never satisfied with a reasonable deal. There was always a twist of the knife at the end, often just for kicks.

She asked for so much and gave so little in return. What kind of love could she possibly give?

His cigarette was a smoldering filter. He spat it out and crushed it with a spin of his heel, applying slightly more force than necessary. 

Acting like he was any kind of expert on love? Pathetic.

Jigen headed up the block, back to his conspicuously close hotel. 

Everyone he’d ever loved had died, betrayed him, or left him behind. And in any case, Jigen hadn’t found a way to put his feelings into words. He was blunt about loyalty, and he acted on his devotion. What else could it fucking mean when someone would die for you? When he would kill for you? When he would do anything for you? When he would forgive you over and over…?

But he was never the type to speak up. He could barely stand to look at his own feelings. The idea of ripping them out of his chest, just to get them laughed at? Jigen shoved his hands in his pockets. No way he had the guts for that. 

So why was he always so shocked when they ran off with someone else who was willing to actually say it? Someone brave enough to face the greatest pain he could imagine? 

He had no business lecturing anyone about love.

Lupin loved her, so it didn’t matter if Jigen understood or not. Lupin had always been a broken record where Fujiko was concerned. And he did it all. The way he constantly planned out gifts for her, or endlessly forgave her for dropping him into life and death situations. Hell, just the way he would cook extravagant meals for her birthday, even when she rarely bothered to show up.

It made Jigen fucking sick. Watching Lupin fretting for hours, whining that she might’ve gotten hurt or lost along the way. Jigen couldn’t tell which was worse: how viscerally dopey it made the master thief look, or how much Lupin’s heart genuinely seemed to hurt from getting stood up. To sit with him those days, it made Jigen nauseous, like he could barely breathe. Eating a romantic meal for two as reheated leftovers. Meanwhile, Lupin would try to pretend the whole thing was a lark, and not a wound on his fragile ego.

Jigen stood outside his hotel and lit another smoke. Chicken shit behavior, he admitted. Standing here, where he knew he was visible from Lupin’s home. He imagined Lupin spying him on the street, noting the hotel, and maybe even taking the time to figure out which room he was in. Thinking about it made his head swim even further into the most lavish and unrealistic fantasies.

He flicked the cigarette into a trash can and ducked inside.

Hotel bars usually weren’t worth it, especially downtown ones. They were full of the sort of fakey fancy shit that always bugged Jigen. The lie was such an insult to everyone involved, like dressing up a bum in a fancy suit. But what he wanted right now was a drink or two to take the edge off this shitshow evening before it started attempting to take a cut out of him. He sure as hell didn’t need a good bar for that.

If he had any kind of self-respect, he wouldn’t even show up. Maybe if he stood firm, and didn’t come the second he was called like a spineless dog, then maybe he would have Lupin chasing after him for once. 

But if he could say no to Lupin and really mean it, Daisuke Jigen would be an entirely different man.

There was always a pit of fear inside him; horrified that if he ever said no, Lupin wouldn’t bother to ask again. If he walked away, Lupin wouldn’t follow. Maybe Lupin would think of that as respecting Jigen, rather than crushing him.

The humiliation Jigen put himself through for no damn reason. He wondered idly why it was he always fell for the world’s biggest assholes.

‘You’re fucked up, Jigen. And you have terrible taste,’ his mind retorted quickly. That was all he could be sure of.

When was it he fell in love with this particular asshole? Well over a decade ago, but it happened distressingly and shamefully fast. Maybe Jigen was just so starved for attention back then, that anyone who smiled at him like that would have done it. When he went from having no home, no job, no money, to ‘partners’ with a guy like that.

He wondered bitterly if he ever had an ounce of self-respect. Can you say you have self-respect if you’ve let multiple people put a gun to your head even when you could have stopped them? He remembered a particularly painful instance. A shootout where, in the middle, he’d completely given up.

That day, he had stood there, not bothering to draw. But the shot never came. Something always got in the middle. Something kept him alive, even just by chance. Others died that day. Better people. He hadn’t done anything to deserve to live, but something in him plodded forward. Was it self-preservation, or just habit? He didn’t know. It was probably just being too messed up for there to be a word for it.

He smacked a palm down on the bar, catching the bartender’s attention.

“What’s your specialty here?”

“We have a rum cocktail that’s-“

Jigen cursed internally. Damn world mocks me everywhere I go.

“No rum. Forget it. Just bourbon and ice.” Jigen grumbled out the words politely as he could, but he probably still sounded as appealing as jumping out of a car window onto a gravel road.

“Yes, sir.”

The bartender got to it.

But all Jigen could think about was cheap rum. He stared at the counter, but couldn’t see it, lost in thought. Thinking of one giant plastic bottle of Bacardi as big as his forearm, shared between two young men who just almost got killed by half a damn army. Hiding away in some basement. Joking around to cover up their fear. And drinking way too much.

But as Jigen passed the bottle back to Lupin, sweat-covered fingers slipped, and they nearly dropped it.

Both men scrambled to catch it, nearly knocking each other over in the process. Lupin was grabbing Jigen’s lapels in an attempt not to fall over. Jigen had grabbed Lupin around the waist to steady him and ended up standing like they were about to do a ballroom dance.

Jigen’s breath caught, momentarily terrified that Lupin’s reaction would shatter the hazy, good-natured celebration. But Lupin was the first to let out an alcohol-vapor wheeze of laughter, and Jigen followed suit. Soon, Lupin was leaning into him for support, his mussed hair against Jigen’s cheek.

Jigen couldn’t tell who kissed who first, but each small, messy press felt the same on his lips as a laugh. It was too good to hold back from. Another indulgence, like the booze, and if they were going to help themselves to anything and everything, why the hell shouldn’t they? 

Soon enough they were wrestling into intense kisses, grabbing at each other fiercely, as if the world was going to end. The way the abandoned house above them creaked with the sound of bombs, maybe at any second, it would.

The years caught up with that happy memory, and Jigen’s stomach churned. What the hell had he been thinking? Being with Lupin was somehow the only stable time he’d ever lived in. But his younger self was drunk and in love and bad at denying himself when he was either of those.

Plus Lupin was handsy when he had a few drinks in him, so in retrospect it was only a matter of time before Jigen stopped pushing away exactly what he wanted.

It was just the two of them, and to be fair, they were both laughing about it. With the right distraction they managed to ignore blood, sweat, and the sounds of scattered gunfire outside.

Or perhaps not ignoring, perhaps the gunfire was the point. Drove home the need for this. The electric spark of a first time, amplified by how ephemeral it all was. Exploring and discovering. It was a spotty memory, but the flickers of it were more treasure to him than a hundred bank heists.

He held his head in his calloused hands.

Only an idiot was head over heels for someone utterly disinterested. He hated himself for being so wantonly needy. He was supposed to be preparing to handle this night with some damn grace and proper restraint. But one drink was gone before he even noticed it was in his hand. Compulsive. The drinks, and the cigarettes. He found it easier not to question it. At least it made him feel better.

Maybe not BETTER exactly, but it made it harder to think so much about how bad he felt.

He ordered another and made quick work of it. Or so he thought. He took a glance down at his watch, and the time was unexpectedly late. Was that worse than being early?  Would it make him look like a coward?

He dropped a large bill down onto the bar, and took off. The barkeep deserved all the change. It took a lot of restraint to not come buzzing around asking questions when a place was that empty.

As Jigen approached their front door for the second time, his movements were sluggish. He waited outside the door. Stared at it.

The daunting task of pressing the doorbell presented itself once more. He knew it was going to be painful, what was there to wait for? He glanced down at his watch again, and saw the time. He was only getting later, and more awkward.

More inconvenient. 

He felt his stomach knot. Fuck.

Lupin had never taken this long before. Jigen never cared about the short flings. Okay, he CARED, he always cared, but not THAT much... It would be a few weeks. A few weeks of drinking, smoking, annoyance and anxiety. Usually less. And then the world’s greatest thief would be calling Jigen to plan the next heist.

Lupin had intense feelings for a lot of people. Jigen never doubted they were real, but they were nearly always short-lived. He was even sure he knew why they were brief no matter how real they felt.

Once, when they were young and four glasses of empty scotch sat between them, Jigen asked him why he was always chasing someone new.

Lupin turned to him with a chuckle, and a wave of his lithe hand to punctuate, ‘Jigen, confessions of love, they’re like a bouquet of flowers... so beautiful, and the more flowers in there, the better! But you hold on too long? Then all you’ve got is a vase fulla wilted garbage. Nobody wants that.’

Jigen made a face, and so Lupin tried again. ‘Okay, how ‘bout this: Love is a home cooked meal! First it’s delicious, then it’s the leftovers in the fridge that nobody wants. You eat it too many times, they taste boring, you’re so tired of them, you let them mold and don’t even finish ‘em.’

It was the glint in his eyes, that casual grin, that Jigen couldn’t forget. It haunted him, laying awake next to a man he was desperately longing to communicate with. Jigen remembered that face and he had stayed quiet nearly a decade by now. The feeling put a knife to his throat any time he even thought for a second about… telling him.

It was the worst fate he could possibly imagine. Getting all the excitement he was hoping for, all the returned affection. Seeing delight in his eyes, kissing madly and passionately, maybe even hearing him say it back... But knowing that it started a clock. One that would end with Jigen being wilted garbage. Something too old and disgusting to even feed to the dog.

But Fujiko had found a way around that. She had Lupin wrapped around her finger, always withholding that crucial reassurance. She could say ‘I love you’ in a way that left you guessing. And it had worked for many frustration-laden misadventures. Just butter Lupin up, make him think he’s about to get what he wants, then cut and run with the loot. Leave Lupin scrambling to keep up. Make the thief want to do even better the next time.

Jigen didn’t care about how many people Fujiko slept with, not at all. He had done his fair share of sleeping around. But he never lied to them about his feelings. He wasn’t out there manipulating people’s emotions to rob them. That was what made her whole act so upsetting. There was this pit in his stomach when he imagined someone saying they loved him, and them turning around and robbing him. He could picture it vividly. 

Probably because it had happened to him a few times. It tore him up even now. How could Lupin just get over that feeling all the time? It didn’t make sense. But Jigen had figured it out when he asked himself one question: 

What the hell business did Fujiko have marrying Lupin, anyway?

What item or information would she be getting out of this, that she couldn’t have gotten just as easily by taking it? Lupin would give it to her freely, whatever she asked. Even on the rare occasion Lupin was stubborn, he was still flexible enough for Fujiko. So she couldn’t want anything material out of it. It wasn’t a ploy or a scam. What was left?

The stark reality that she really had feelings for Lupin. Ones that weren’t based on his fame or what he owned. And that was the realization that had hit Jigen the hardest this year.

He had always been able to assure himself that he loved Lupin properly, with pure dedication and no ulterior motivation. A selfish part of him had thought he was the only one who loved Lupin that way. That made him better than Fujiko. He liked fancy things, sure, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass about money, not really. And he never wanted an ounce of the fame or attention.

Admittedly, Fujiko didn’t seem to care much about that either. But she was always in it for the payout. The treasure came first, and Lupin second. Jigen had comforted himself with that feeling. She was always pulling a scam, or setting up for the next big score. And Lupin was just a useful pawn to her.

That was what Jigen wanted to believe, and he had managed to for a decade. He had plenty of evidence to prove it, too. But ultimately he was just refusing to see what it really was. It was Fujiko and Lupin, playing together. Knowing what the other one needed. Two people who really understood each other and loved each other.

It had ripped through him like a bullet in slow motion. He resented her for years on this assumption that she took from Lupin without giving anything back. Jigen hated her double crosses, her lies, he hated the way she led them into danger. Lupin had been tossed in harm’s way to protect her countless times.

Jigen still didn’t understand how these things were love. But somehow they were. And Lupin had seen that all along. Jigen had been the one who was fooled by Mine Fujiko.

And nothing could make him more angry.

His hand shook as he raised it to the buzzer. He hadn’t expected this to be easy, but he hadn’t thought it would leave him weak in the knees. He dropped his hands back into his pockets without pressing it, and fished out a fresh cigarette and his lighter.

He flicked the lid open and the flame faltered as he stared at it. Like the candles on the table at the wedding. Remembering the day was hard... and not just emotionally. He drank so much that night, he didn’t even remember leaving. He must have left though, because he woke up alone on the floor in his hotel room in the same suit he was wearing the day before.

If someone else had taken him upstairs, they at least would have left him in the bed.

He did remember the glasses. Lupin had put effort into every detail long before the day; he had shown Jigen the drink glasses from a catalog, the table cloths, the appetizer menu, the flowers, even the damn light fixtures.

He remembered that glass feeling heavy in his hand as he lifted it to his mouth. The feel of running thin, anxious fingers over thick, ridged, crystal drinkware. Glasses with patterned bottoms, that he hardly ever saw because his kept filling up before he had time to.

It wasn’t him filling up his glass, though. Every time he looked back, his glass was topped up, or replaced with a pour of some fresh, stunning 60-year-old vintage.

He recalled whispers between two waiters, one saying that maybe they should cut him off, and the other saying that the groom had given specific instructions not to. Every pour was a ten-thousand dollar bribe. Lupin hadn’t needed to. Nobody could put a price on Jigen’s silence.

But Jigen’s wedding gift was keeping his mouth shut.

Jigen finally pressed the doorbell, half the cigarette falling to ashes at his feet. Hopefully this would be another night he could shut up and forget. Forget what it was he wanted and forget that he’d never have it.

No one came to the door.

After all that waffling, did he have the wrong place? He felt like laughing. He’d passed it a dozen times this week and he KNEW it was Lupin’s apartment. Maybe Lupin had moved away?

Maybe he’d moved away, to ensure that Jigen could never screw up his life again.

The panic of his possible error was beginning to overwhelm him, when the door swung open, and a pair of warm arms enveloped him.

“Jigen!”

Jigen’s heart sunk all the way to his feet. He bet even ol’ Pops had never wanted to grab Lupin this badly. His knotted stomach would untwist itself if he could just push his face into Lupin’s shoulder and breathe him in. To let himself draw comfort from being so close to his anchor.

He remembered so many nights draping an arm over Lupin’s sleeping body and drawing him closer. Lupin was a heavy sleeper. Jigen let his insomniac anxious energy ebb away when he pressed against the soft body of the man he loved, and inhaled deeply.

But Jigen held his arms rigidly at his sides. He tightly gripped the reigns of his body and emotions, fought every urge in himself. If he gave in even slightly, he wouldn’t be able to hold anything back at all. This left him completely frozen, as unyielding as a stone.

Lupin’s arms dropped away, swinging down as if they had never been there. The thief pulled back slowly to search Jigen’s face. He was trying not to show it, but Jigen could still see hurt in Lupin’s eyes, poorly masked by his bright smile.

Jigen tugged the brim of his hat down further. He couldn’t look at those eyes.

“You’re late, Jigen-chan! Did you have something better to do?” Lupin teased. He leaned his head sideways, worming his goofy face under the angle of the brim. Trying to lock Jigen’s eyes in his own captivating gaze. Jigen darted his eyes to the side, like he was dodging a bullet, and in a way, he was.

It was retaliation for not returning the hug. But that didn’t make it hurt less. He gritted his teeth and tried to form a proper response.

“Maybe I did,” he muttered.

Lying. Lupin probably even knew Jigen had been here all week. He always had his ways of finding out things like that.

“Ah,” Lupin replied coolly, “well, I’m sorry to interrupt, then.”

Lupin withdrew further through the door, leaning away, artfully aloof. It was all bullshit: Lupin’s arms were crossed a little too tightly, his mouth just barely failing to hide a vain little pout.

Lupin was vain, and Jigen had just snubbed his affection. Of course, it would be nice if he didn’t always swipe back so hard that it made Jigen wince. Jigen was an excellent shot with a gun, but with the people he was close to, Lupin had even more devastating accuracy with words.

Jigen took a deep breath. He was suddenly even more grateful for the cigarette in his teeth as he tried to pull air into lungs that felt all too empty.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jigen breathed out a slow stream of smoke.

“Yup. Don’t blame me if you end up regretting it.”

Jigen couldn’t help himself, he looked at Lupin. He saw him wink and move aside to reveal the stairs behind him. Jigen’s palm itched to brush against him. Just to run his hand across, to trace the fabric of his suit, to hook a finger through a buttonhole and tug him close. Grab him tight, beg him for things to go back to the way they were.

But he managed to pass by without reaching out. Jigen shuffled his polished leather shoes up stair after stair, his mood hungry and dark, like a black hole.

He felt upsettingly sober.

He had been here before. Lupin had invited him several times, and, despite his misgivings about it all, Jigen would show up every time he got the invitation.

They drank at Lupin’s home bar, one seat apart. Fujiko was nowhere to be seen, but her concept floated like a ghostly presence in the distance between them. They would have a pleasant, but vaguely awkward vibe. Chatting, reminiscing and joking until the night ended.

But the last time, their conversation finally slammed into the elephant in the room. He’d kept his silence for an evening, and then weeks, months. But that little wedding gift was, it seemed, too much for his budget after all.

Emotionally overdrawn, he let the wrong words slip, and began the worst fight they ever had. Jigen hoped Lupin regretted his part in it even half as much as Jigen did. But Lupin would never apologize for something like that anyway.

In the present, Jigen reached the top of the stairs and made his way down the hall. He could see the bar. The words he heard when he walked out that night were left echoing in his head.

‘Sheesh! Look at THAT!’ Lupin had motioned toward a bandage around Jigen’s hand. ‘That one should be in a splint!’

‘Thanks, Doc, but my new health plan doesn’t cover accidents on the clock.’

Grim little jokes had never been out of bounds, but Lupin faltered a little. There was a hint of something like guilt in his eyes. But Lupin affected a quick little smile. Good. He knew better than to piss Jigen off by patronizing him.

‘Another one of those and you’ll be hobbling about! Y’know, it’s wild that you outlasted me. Showoff. You should just take the win and retire, Grandpa.’

Okay, maybe the asshole really DIDN’T know better.

Jigen had slammed his magnum down in front of Lupin. She rested right there on the bartop, old and worn against the factory-new surface. Jigen hoped he’d left a mark on it. Everything in this apartment was too damn clean.

‘Here. Put me out to pasture like a lame horse. Retire me.’

Lupin pushed the gun back in front of Jigen. ‘You’re exhausting, man.’

Jigen slid her back. ‘What? You forget how to fire a gun?’

Lupin pushed her back, red in the face from trying to keep up with Jigen’s drinking. ‘No! I just don’t think it’s a good joke!’

Jigen grabbed ahold of the magnum. Lupin hadn’t let go yet, but he pushed her back all the same. ‘Lupin, if I’m a joke, I’d better be a friggin RIOT! Guy walks into a bar and his ex-partner puts one right between-’

With a great swing of his arm, Lupin picked up the magnum, and threw her on the floor, like he was trying to break her in half.

‘Do whatever the hell you want with your life! I don’t care! Just leave me out of it!’

Jigen looked up, staring Lupin right in the eyes.

He’d never seen him so angry.

Jigen looked back down, shading his eyes.

‘Maybe I will.’ 

Jigen walked over, and picked up his magnum. She wasn’t hurt. A little toss like that wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

Jigen was already halfway to the door, when Lupin’s angry words trailed after him. 

‘I’m not going to follow you!’

‘Good.’ Jigen mumbled, walking out the door, and out of Lupin’s life for good.

And it was true. Lupin didn’t follow him. They fought, Jigen left, and he hadn’t seen him since. Even as low as he was that night, as it all fell apart, even being so drunk, he shouldn’t have pushed him like that. Lupin was right to let him go. He deserved it, and he reminded himself of it often. Usually on the second drink.

Jigen was the one that was acting so immature about it. He was the one who was making it awkward. He was the one that was jealous, the one selfishly demanding validation.

Sure, he was a bad guy, but Lupin was, too. That’s what made their relationship work. These kinds of fights with dramatic declarations, petty sniping and brutal insults usually only lasted a few days, a week at most. They were both too stubborn to really apologize, but they both hated missing each other. Neither liked sleeping alone for too long anyway.

Lupin wasn’t alone this time, so they hadn’t spoken. Just that fucking text. Fujiko was there, so what would he need Jigen for? She was sexier and smarter. Probably less of an asshole too, as much as he was loath to admit that.

With her still around months later, who would pick a drunk old man over Fujiko? There must have been some time in the past where he felt like he was worth it. Somewhere inside him, deep deep down, there was still the memory of a bold young man with nothing in his pocket but a gun and confidence. But even the vague connections to that man had escaped him after months of depression and binge drinking.

He saw her sitting at the bar, sipping her drink. Goemon was already there, the samurai looked calm, his most common and practiced expression. Fujiko having stuck around was the biggest surprise to him, but he was still a little shocked to see Zenigata sitting at the bar.

Jigen felt the sudden weight of Lupin trying to put an arm around his shoulder and he shrugged it off. His eyes stung. He pulled down on his hat. He promised himself that no one was going to catch him tearing up like a jilted chick, and he would be damned if he broke that promise ten minutes after arriving.

In his attempt to avoid Lupin, his eyes met Zenigata’s for a brief moment. But he was even more loath to let Zenigata see his pain than Lupin. Because Lupin probably already knew, no matter how well he hid his face. Lupin had read that book enough times to have it memorized.

“Hey, you even invited Pops.” Jigen tried to look excited. He tried to FEEL excited. Easier said than done.

“Yeah, it didn’t feel right not having everyone for the party. Right, Fujiko?” 

Lupin said that in a certain tone. It was the way he said something when HE had gotten his way after an argument. After he had to fight for it, sure, but you relented, and now he was going to politely remind you that you agreed to go along with it. That you had made a deal, now you were stuck with it. His annoying little victory march.

Jigen had to guess that, probably, Zenigata wasn’t the one they had a disagreement about inviting. He knew he should break the tension and say it. Show some sign of truce; that he was going to try to live with it. Play nice, even if he wasn’t happy. After all he HAD been living with it, hadn’t he?

Barely. But this far into withdrawal, he was willing to admit to himself that maybe scraps of Lupin were better than no Lupin at all.

“Ah yeah. Happy anniversary to you.”

Fujiko was swift to react, she got out of her seat next to Goemon and directed Jigen to take her spot. Jigen moved forward, trying his best not to see the way Fujiko’s fingers brushed against the tiny patch of stubble on Lupin’s chin. But he was unable to fully disengage himself. He watched Lupin melting into a soft pliable puddle.

Yes, he wanted to be in her place, desperately. He wanted to live with Lupin, it was the only thing that soothed all the hundreds of little aches and pains. It was the only place that felt right. But what the hell would it accomplish to tell the truth after they were already married?

Lupin didn’t want him there, and Jigen couldn’t ask. He saw as well as anyone how happy Lupin was with her. There was nothing worth saying. Not if he wanted to be a good friend to Lupin.

And he’d rather be a friend than a stranger.

Jigen tightly squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying his best to refocus on this effort. Tonight he was going to be on his best behavior, even if it killed him. He glanced at Goemon, he at least owed it to HIM, after everything.

Jigen looked at Fujiko. Her lips were a tidy little rose of a smile, but her eyes were sharp and cruel. She was mocking him. He probably deserved it. He would’ve taken any wager for any amount of money to say that this marriage wouldn’t last more than a couple months. In fact, she probably heard him loudly grumbling that exact sentence to Goemon when Lupin was planning the damn thing.

He had to give it to her: she’d earned that smugness. She won. if the roles had been reversed, he’d be giving her that exact same smug look.

“Thanks for coming, Jigen. How long’s it been?”

“A while.”

As if she didn’t know it had been eight months. Of course she knew... she was as detail oriented as they came. 

God. Eight months, but it felt like seven. June had been lost in a whirlwind tour of scotch and old boyfriends.

Fujiko leaned over for a kiss from Lupin, and Jigen sank down on the bartop. He could stay quiet, but he couldn’t look at that. 

Maybe if he just aimed for another month like June he would forget all about this.

That was the sort of self-obliteration he aspired to, and he was pretty satisfied with how well that first month went. He probably could have rode that wave a lot longer. Remove himself from his own life, forget all about Jigen and his stupid, mopey problems for awhile.

But Goemon took it badly when he found out Jigen was off the deep end. Goemon invited him out to Japan. He remembered finally agreeing to come when Goemon said something about his condition being “unbecoming of a man of your skill”.

Pretty humiliating, getting babysat by a man a decade younger than you. But hey. At least Jigen could tell he cared. Maybe Goemon wasn’t great with passionate words. But even if his face didn’t show it, his actions always did. He was more considerate than any of the rest of them. Conventional, in his own unconventional way.

The time in Japan hadn’t been too bad. Goemon worried about him, would make space for him, and even set aside precious time for him. He would probably have let him stick around for months. Jigen frowned deeply. That should be enough for him, so why didn’t it make him feel better?

Goemon was a lot like him, they both had blood on their hands. They both had settled in stride with a man who was constantly larger than life, who defied expectation. For Goemon it seemed that quality was attractive because he always had something new to learn from Lupin.

And for Jigen, Lupin was a person who reminded him that it was possible to just enjoy being alive. Completely infectious glee while they pulled off a getaway plan together with a thing someone else didn’t want them to have. Laughing when they fumbled, to shake off the frustration of screwing up. It felt right, it felt easy.

With Goemon their shared history made them close, near death experiences forged a strong bond. And honestly, Jigen would be there for Goemon for anything, if he ever asked. But naturally, Goemon never asked. And Jigen understood why, because he wasn’t able to ask either.

Jigen was convinced that, just like everyone else, Goemon didn’t really need him. He was willing to believe the other man liked him. He could even entertain the idea that Goemon enjoyed his company, to some degree. That his quiet closeness meant he was fond of him, that Goemon cared for him. But it wasn’t enough to feed his gnawing hunger for affection.

What was enough? Eight long months was enough. Enough to convince him yet again, that no matter how many times he gained some small ounce of confidence that perhaps he was important to a certain master thief, that perhaps he had some role that couldn’t be filled by anyone else... He had to accept, Lupin didn’t need him.

No one really needed Daisuke Jigen.

“How’s the sake, Goemon? I got the right stuff, right?” Lupin cut through Jigen’s self-loathing thoughts with a fond warble in his voice.

“Indeed. It is excellent.” Goemon replied. He seemed relaxed, it was easy to tell he was glad to see them all again, even if he only showed that in his little Goemon way. It made Jigen’s heart thaw seeing his little mannerisms. It reminded him what he missed about being with them both. Jigen rededicated himself to keep this a pleasant night, for Goemon at least, even if it wasn’t pleasant for Jigen.

Jigen gestured to the glass, another drink would help, probably. He wasn’t nearly pacified from the two he had earlier.

“Let’s have another round, then.” He hoped that sounded enthusiastic enough. It was hard to tell.

Lupin beamed and poured more for him.

“Oh I HAVE to tell you all about our trip to Hawaii. So we get off the plane and they lost my suitcase of clothes, so we only have Fujicakes’ stuff.”

Fujiko smiled and ruffled his hair. “Of course I was planning for it to be warm, so I really didn’t have much to cover him up with.”

“But it was a blast, when we got to the hotel we both shaved and made up elaborate backstories the whole time!” Lupin laughed gleefully.

“You were always trying to make me laugh and break character.” Fujiko pinched his cheek, but she seemed like she was actually in a good mood remembering this.

“So we were making up details, different stories for everyone and having to keep them consistent for all the couples we met!” Lupin was getting more excited, as he usually did when trying to tell people how clever he was.

“You kept the same name every time though I bet, you were always terrible at on the spot names.” Jigen had downed his sake dish twice, and something inside him was settled. Domesticated. Watching Lupin work himself up, it was like being home for the first time in months, and he just wanted to pretend for the moment that it wasn’t going to be a short-lived return.

Fujiko started to laugh, “He is! Remember Daisuke Ishikawa?”

Jigen let out a honk of a laugh. You’d think Lupin had no creative bones in his body. Jigen lifted his eyes from under the brim of the hat to see Lupin get a bit red in the face. That tinge of teasing always drew out more energy from the thief.

Lupin would work even harder now to pull the group back into his charismatic grasp. A little tag team game Jigen and Fujiko had played many times to rile him up. It felt like riding a bike again, a little rusty at first, but it comes back to you.

Jigen smiled softly, just the smallest, slightest curve in his lip. “Melted that genius brain of yours with all your drinking and hedonism.”

Jigen felt the best way to punctuate a very hypocritical statement was to really sell it. He sipped the drink in his hand.

Lupin pouted. He must be feeling insecure today if he felt the need to correct Jigen.

“Jigen you’re even more of a hedonist than I am! Or at least, we’re on the same level! How many times have people tried to shoot us and you wouldn’t even dare to put down your drink!”

“People shoot at us a lot, so why waste perfectly good alcohol? If anything I call that economical.” Jigen said with a catty smirk, his playful smile returned from prolonged hiatus. The way he could pull a smile out of anyone, in spite of themselves... that was the Lupin Effect.

Lupin was seductive. Not seductive like a handsome stranger, no... he was seductive like the seductive urge to press snooze on your early morning alarm and sleep in. Seductive like the urge to miss work, to lay warm and contented in the comforter. Hell, to quit work completely, fuck everything else, to just live in that cozy bed until the day you die.

And Jigen was sure he wasn’t the only one at this party who felt that way.

It made this whole getting married thing even more infuriating, ultimately. What an inconsiderate little bastard, to make you want to give up everything for him, and then leave you in the dust. Jigen glanced over at Zenigata, who was eagerly downing more sake.

‘Sorry old man, we learned the hard way that Lupin only keeps the spoken promises .’ Jigen looked back down at the bartop ruefully. There was a magnum barrel dent in it.

Lupin finally moved away from Fujiko long enough to hop up and sit on the bar near Zenigata. The thief looked genuinely glad to see them.

It was the fond kind of look you could expect from him when he was in the middle of pretending something would never actually end. Lupin could live in the moment a little TOO well sometimes. But Jigen was very eager to share that particular fantasy tonight.

“Well, I want to hear about all your adventures! How about you Pops? Tell me you haven't been too lonely without me!”

“Err... well... I’ve been keepin’ an eye on you, of course. But after a few months it just didn’t feel right havin’ the ICPO payin’ for me to do nothin’. So I asked to be taken off the Lupin case.”

Taken himself off the case? It had to be bullshit, even if he did it “officially,” there wasn’t a chance he had kept his mind off it. Even a few times when Lupin appeared to the world to be dead, Zenigata never really “took himself off the case”…

Lupin’s eyebrows furrowed, befuddled. A rude awakening for an egotistical guy who always looked over his shoulder to check that Zenigata was right behind them.

He had a certain look on his face when Zenigata showed up to a scene. His presence was the kind of frustration that pleased a puzzle solver type. Lupin wanted something with an ungodly number of pieces and probably no picture on the box. That was a chief difference between them, Jigen would be fine with a 12-piece puzzle and then a good nap.

Early in their partnership, Jigen had asked him why he hadn’t gotten Zenigata out of the way permanently. Not that Jigen relished in shooting a guy like that, but he was tenacious enough to be troublesome, so why keep an over-ambitious cop on their tail?

Lupin laughed it off and told him Zenigata ‘was convenient.’ When you know the behavior of someone who will be on the scene, you could use them in all sorts of ways.

Lupin certainly had used Zenigata to his advantage many times. But Jigen knew better than to take that at face value. It was obvious Zenigata wasn’t just a pawn to him. And Zenigata had gotten the jump on them more than once. He was sand in the gears at least.

Jigen wasn’t sure if Lupin loved Zenigata. It was hard to tell if Lupin loved any person, because he was loath to say things like that. Even to Fujiko. He loved freedom, he loved having fun, he loved sex. But did he love all of them like that? Were any of them irreplaceable? Hard to say. Even for a gunman who hung on his every move for years.

As for Zenigata though, there was no question. He loved Lupin. Obsessively, devotedly, slavishly. No one and NOTHING could replace Lupin in his life. That was obvious to everyone. It must be excruciating.

Jigen could sympathize.

“Well... they put me on a few major smuggling cases. I had to be out in the woods for a couple weeks in a bear costume." Zenigata sounded very serious but Jigen couldn’t help but laugh to himself imagining it.

“Had to rough it. Camped out for two whole months. This organization had quite the operation, and even when I did meet back up with my men, we were outmanned. The scum thought they had me figured out, I was in a ditch dodgin’ artillery shells. Had to pull the old dummy corpse trick to throw 'em off.” Zenigata paused with his usual hardboiled grit.

“You win some, you lose some. At least you’re still alive and kickin’." Jigen offered supportively. He didn’t care much about taking down organizations, it seemed to him that the moment you did, another rushed to fill the void.

“Oh, I got ‘em. Took down the whole ring. Which of course didn’t improve my popularity back at the office. A few upper management guys were hopin’ this would be the one that finally did me in. 'Cuz it turns out they were involved in some of the permits. Thought it might be a convenient place to end my career.”

Lupin was delighted, and the glint in his eyes held just the smallest hint of envy. Jigen had to guess Lupin wasn’t loving this retirement nearly as much as it seemed from the outside.

“You sure love painting a target on your back! Even more than I do, huh, Pops?” Lupin said with a laugh.

“They’re findin’ out slowly what you already know. I’m hard to get rid of,” Zenigata smiled back at him, probably unintentionally encouraging the thief to think all the more about what he could be up to right now if he wasn’t lounging around this apartment.

“Admirably persistent.” Goemon noted respectfully.

“And harder to kill than a damn cockroach.” Jigen added with a smirk of admiration. He was always relieved when he saw Zenigata still clinging to the back of a speeding train, or whatever crazy thing he leapt onto. The whole gang would have missed him if he kicked the bucket.

Zenigata puffed up with pride, “Heh heh heh, don’t you criminals ever forget it!”

The way Lupin and Zenigata were looking at each other right now, so fondly, that was why it was so hard to tell if Lupin loved him, or if he just liked what he meant to him. Not many criminals out there have a dedicated task force. It was prestigious. Zenigata sure knew how to feed his damn ego…

“Lupin, you should make your good friend Zenigata another drink.” Fujiko interrupted their romantic tension with a playful tone, but Jigen knew the subtle difference by now. Fujiko used that innocent tone when she was starting shit. No doubt about it. Hell if he could tell WHY.

    “We’re not friends!” Zenigata barked. To say Zenigata was uptight about his feelings for Lupin was the understatement of the century. Zenigata would probably deny it even if his life depended on it. Jigen hoped he wasn’t THAT bad. At least he and Lupin had slept together.

“Awww, come on now Pops, can’t you just say we’re friends?! That’s why you’re here isn’t it?”

Jigen rolled his eyes. It wasn’t why Jigen was here. Friends…? Bullshit. It pissed him off just to be called that. Called THAT after everything.

“Aren’t you all my friends?” Lupin was acting big, exaggerated, hammy. But Jigen was fine tuned to him, like their synchronized watches. Lupin wasn’t wearing his, but Jigen’s still hung around his wrist like the handcuff Zenigata wished he had locked to Lupin. He knew his rhythm down to a fraction of a second.

Jigen looked down at it, and remembered being in time with a man who made him feel alive. Lupin was the first person in so many years that had made him consider that time might be a good thing, rather than just a slow march to an inevitable conclusion.

Jigen’s eyes flitted to Fujiko, to Goemon, even Zenigata, they were like shut doors. Lupin was in the middle of a trust-fall, and not one of them was there to catch him. He was about to hit bare pavement. No surprise parachute tucked away for this one.

The quiet room was brutal, deliberate, like watching a man get cut open. Though he would wager Lupin would have preferred a knife in his gut to that silence.

She wasn’t protecting him.

No lines to smooth over the moment. No affirmations of love. Not even a coy joke at his expense. Lupin never minded being the butt of a joke, so long as the punchline was good. But there she was, silently letting him bomb.

Jigen flicked his eyes over to Fujiko again, and tried not to let his face show the glee rising in his chest. This kinda shit? This was it. He knew it well from years of her coming and going. This was the way these two acted a day or two before Fujiko was about to split.

Jigen tried to deflate his expectations. He couldn’t be certain, not with just this, he would need more time. But something about the moment unknotted his stomach, and he felt lighter for the first time in months.

“So cold…” Lupin mugged. “So cold! And I even got you guys the expensive alcohol!”

Lupin set his teeth, frustrated, always masked with a joke. Jigen couldn’t just be imagining this, could he? Lupin was trying to shake it off, but the vibe in the air was tight as a guitar string.

Lupin and Fujiko were fighting, without a doubt. Had Jigen been this stuck up in his own head whining? Had it really taken this long to notice all the little signs? It was wrong, taking so much pleasure in being right. Jigen should feel guilty.

But he didn’t .

Lupin always was swift to cover weakness. Anyone who knew him well would probably notice that this was a forced smile on his face, but he was pretty good at faking it. 

“So how about you, Goemon! Any new techniques? You must have gotten something good done in all that training time.”

“I have been focused on a difficult technique. A way of moving that allows a man to slip between two opponents and disarm them.”

“Sounds pretty useful,” Lupin grinned as if this was all fine and dandy. It made Jigen want to test his theory about Lupin and Fujiko’s current state.

“Oh it was,” Jigen interrupted, deliberately vague, “Goemon and I did a few... weeks. In meditation. In the mountains.”

Jigen smirked. Goemon was probably embarrassed about the time they had spent together. But considering the new evidence, he figured it really couldn’t hurt his cause to remind Lupin how much fun they were having without him. Maybe it was spiteful, but the faster Lupin realized he wanted his old life back, the better it would be for everyone. Even for Fujiko.

As for the meditation, he was teasing Goemon a bit, since Goemon would probably not share the details of what they actually had done in the mountains.

Jigen always had at least one joint rolled up in his pack of cigarettes. It was helpful on those days where he needed a lift, or some entertainment. It always cheered him up a bit, but he used it sparingly, mainly because it was a pain in the ass to travel with and you never really knew when your day off might get interrupted by gunfire.

But when you were with Goemon, you were safe. Even drunk, or with his arms practically chopped off, Goemon could kick anyone’s ass. It made even a guy who was as on edge as Jigen willing to let down his guard.

Goemon had forbidden the possession of any alcohol while they were training. It was a huge drag, and if anyone else had made a disgusting little rule like that, Jigen would’ve laughed in their face. But Goemon had seen what Jigen looked like in June. And perhaps a bottle or twenty might have contributed to it.

And the steely concern in Goemon’s eye won Jigen over. Stopping cold like that wasn’t exactly healthy either, but it wasn’t forever, and Goemon had all kinds of weird, archaic treatments to ease the transition for Jigen’s body.

Though there was something about a sunny day in rural Japan, it was secluded enough to inspire him when he went to light his cigarette. He looked at the joint and saw an opportunity. Open up to Goemon about this Lupin thing. It might be healthy or something, right? It was too difficult when the both of them were stiffly sober.

With light pressuring, and being sufficiently hidden from the public eye, it wasn’t as hard as one might think to get Goemon to indulge. Goemon, deep down, could be as wild as Lupin himself. Goemon loved romance, he had wild whims, he was passionate, even if he wasn’t great at communicating that. He loved a stiff drink, and had the kind of mind that was only kept in check with all the training he did to reign it in.

When he was in a mood to talk about it, which was NOT often, he would say things about how he couldn’t be lax, he couldn’t get too distracted, or Zantetsuken might be the death of him. Whatever that meant, Jigen believed him. Goemon had a dark sense of humor, but he didn’t seem like he was joking.

In the present, at Lupin’s party, Jigen pressed a shoulder against Goemon. He was trying to egg him on a bit. Jigen knew he wasn’t going to be able to sell this little story without some corroboration, “Right, Goemon?”

“Yes…” Goemon muttered shyly.

Just as embarrassed as the samurai was that day in Japan when Jigen lit the joint and handed it to him. The gunman had shockingly managed to convince Goemon to take a day off.

When the high first overtook them, Goemon was overwhelming, both men energetic and egging each other on. The two of them were on their feet, enthusiastically taking turns reenacting scenes from their favorite movies.

He cheered Goemon on as he played out some Kurosawa bits, and he did some John Wayne. Reciting lines back and forth to each other like a pair of schoolkids who just watched a movie for the eighteenth time. They mimicked lines and played out the best lightsaber fights in Star Wars.

Both men loved movies, and even the occasional videogame. Though neither of them liked to let that be known to anyone outside the gang. For both of them it clearly didn’t suit their aesthetic, so it nearly always had to be done with a certain amount of secrecy attached.

Goemon had frequently gotten deeply obsessed with some game. Then, after spending a week or two extremely focused on besting it, thrown the whole thing away and carried on about ‘needing to destroy the temptation.’

Jigen simply appreciated that cellphones made it far easier to still look like a dour professional hitman even while you played a game on your phone in public.

Unlike Goemon, he was awful at resisting temptations and he sometimes let them completely run his life. In a way he assured himself that he either ‘wasn’t worth changing for’ OR another big one, ‘what was the point in letting go of the thing that was making you happy.’

A lot of people would be baffled how a guy could manage to rake in millions of dollars on a job and be broke by the next month. But Jigen had a talent for it. One minute you’re a bit drunk and looking for some excitement and the next minute you’re pawning the gun again.

When Jigen didn’t have a firm anchor, he was completely unmoored, floating aimlessly. The tide seemed to lead him to a lot of less than desirable places. But laying next to Goemon looking up at the sky wasn’t the worst place to end up for a drifter. He could admit THAT at least.

Goemon just wasn’t the firm leadership type. Probably why the guy wasn’t keen to take over a dojo or anything like that. Goemon liked to be in charge of himself and no one else. Jigen was with him on that. Being in charge of yourself was more than enough to deal with…

At the bar, Fujiko leaned over to refill Goemon's drink.  “Come on, now. What did you really do? Zenigata’s not gonna do anything to you, you’re not Lupin.”

She knew how to get information out of Goemon. He was pretty malleable, though only with the people he could be convinced to feel duty towards.

Jigen found that sort of charming, in its own way, but he was gonna take this one off Goemon’s shoulders. Who knows how Goemon would tell it. He needed to make this sound exciting, enticing. Make sure these two love birds had a good reminder of what they were giving up on while they played house.

Jigen pulled out his pack of cigarettes, and slipped one between his teeth, he grinned teasingly at Lupin, “Thank god.”

Lupin took the hit about as well as Jigen expected with his ego already wounded.

“You guys are just jealous that Pops only has eyes for me. And that I’m married to the prettiest woman on earth, and I’m the world’s greatest thief,” Lupin insisted loudly. "I’m Lupin III!”

As Lupin’s insecurity grew, so did Jigen’s grin. This was going to be shooting fish in a barrel.

“What is THAT supposed to mean?!” Zenigata sputtered.

Jigen’s smile softened a bit, it was something of a relief, seeing someone in more denial than himself was a comfort.

It didn’t take a genius to see Zenigata’s distress. Jigen took mercy on the old man and grabbed him cordially by the shoulder, patting twice to settle him down. Jigen had to pity the guy sometimes.

“If you promise not to be a narc, Pops, I’ll tell you.”

“No promises,” Zenigata growled.

“Well.” 

Jigen was undeterred, Zenigata was obviously posturing. He flicked open his lighter and lit up for dramatic effect.

“Some guy hired Goemon and me to protect a vault. I know, right? That was wild. A few days we had these huge groups of guys trying to break in, and other days it was nothing. We got bored half the time. And then creative the other half.”

The “some guy” was an ex-lover who’d found his way into a high position in a small dictatorship. It was the type of job Lupin would’ve loved, so long as he was on the side of the ones looking to rob the bastard. But Jigen and Goemon were on the other side, assassin henchmen hired to kill the would-be Lupins.

It was all painfully ironic really... or maybe not ironic in the slightest. He and Goemon were pretty ruthless when Lupin wasn’t holding their leash.

Jigen pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, gesturing with it. “And then he tried to stiff us, so we took all of the jewels in there at the end. You should’ve seen Goemon’s face.”

The sharp, inevitable stab of betrayal from a former friend. He had barely felt it this time, mostly because he didn’t care about the payout in the first place.

He had lost count of how many it was. Jigen was probably starting to grow numb from all those past scars. Sure, the guy was a massive asshole, and Jigen was horribly ashamed about the rushed, rough, emotionally devoid sex they had. But he kept imagining there would more be honor between thieves. The sort of delusion you got when you worked with Lupin the Third for too long.

He really knew how to pick ‘em. Check that one off the list. Admittedly the world was probably better off without the guy.

Who would he be a year from now? If his hunch was right, he’d be looking over Lupin’s shoulder at blueprints for his next big plan. But if he was wrong? Well that numbness was something he’d seen in the eyes of a lot of his former friends.

Men with faces as fixed in place as the faces of the people they had been contracted to gun down. The type of man he would have already been, if not for a certain thief’s intervention.

Best not to dwell too much on that potential future. If he stayed focused, played his cards right, his problem would be solved before it came to pass.

“Gonna share any of that score with us, Jigen?" Fujiko moved her body lower, close to the bar, so that her breasts were completely visible down her shirt. A pretty common move for her when she was asking for something, but she seemed to have forgotten who she was talking to. Jigen didn’t mind, it just meant she was on the line, taking his bait.

He couldn’t help it, he laughed. Hook, line, and sinker. Fujiko missed the jewel heists. She wanted to be holding those gems in her hands. If she didn’t, why would she even be asking?

“Why the hell not?” Jigen kept his arm slung around Zenigata and smiled big. Casual, cordial, intimate. Something in her eyes told him she must be missing it all, maybe even Jigen himself, at least a little bit.

“You and Lupin were always the ones with good fencing contacts. I just have a big pile of rubies back at my place. Whatdya say. 70/30? That was your usual shtick right?”

Jigen paused for a moment, pretending to only now realize, “Shoot I forgot! You're outta the business now, aren't you?”

Zenigata shrugged his arm off roughly and interrupted Jigen’s amazing setup with his standard shitty cop routine. “That’s enough of that! No illegal activities at this party!”

No wonder they never invited him anywhere. The guy didn’t know how to relax.

“It’s MY party, Pops! It seems like I should get to make the rules. And right now I want to drink!”

The way Lupin’s voice was tinged with the whine of a complaint, rather than self-assurance. Obviously, he was grappling for control.

More than enough proof that he was tempted. Jigen gave a satisfied grin. There were practically jewels reflecting in Lupin’s eyes. He looked lustful, the way Lupin would lust for anything or anyone he wanted.

He wanted to be back. Back to work.

Jigen could take or leave the work, after so many years, but the working arrangement was indispensable. He’d work until he couldn’t work any more, if that’s what he had to do to keep the man he loved.

Would he rather have a stable retirement plan? Maybe. It felt like something a proper man should do. But if it wasn’t with Lupin? He was a lot less motivated to get old enough to retire in the first place.

He’d gathered enough evidence for even HIS pessimistic attitude to be shaken. A shock, but not an unwelcome one. A toothy smile found itself fixed on his face. The rest of the night was going to be a breeze.

Something had set Fujiko off. Maybe she’d noticed how eager Lupin was to go off hunting diamonds rather than stick around. She examined a glass disapprovingly.

“Sorry, this glass is a little dirty.”

Lupin snatched the glass from her hands, his reply curt, without his signature charm. “It’s fine."

Big slip, Buddy.

Fujiko looked at him intently, she even tilted up his chin, forcing him to make eye contact with her. That sort of stuff would usually drive him wild, on a normal day. But he clearly wasn’t happy. Whatever they were saying silently, Lupin didn’t enjoy the conversation.

Her tone was sensual, sweet. “What can I fill it with?”

Jigen wasn’t fooled.

“You can pick, I know I’ll like whatever you choose, Fujicakes.” Lupin sounded obliging, the words a plea for leniency.

Jigen wasn’t going to leave him dangling like that, at Fujiko’s mercy. Jigen’d already seen Lupin bomb once. And if nobody was coming to help, then Lupin needed his partner to rescue him. 

Jigen’s specialty. 

Jigen took swift inventory of the bottles and knocked hard on the surface of the bar to catch their attention. It did, and they both looked at him.

“What about what I like? Lupin, you're bragging about the booze, but this stuff is all shit. Cheap whiskey. Cruddy bourbon. Do you even have a bottle of rum? What kind of bar doesn't have the bare essentials?”

Jigen watched Lupin’s pupils move, ever so slightly. His brow nearly scrunched, and then a light blazed in his gaze.

That big smile was like the sun.

Lupin slid out of Fujiko’s gaze, and gave Jigen his full attention. For the first time in awhile .

“Can't drink in a comfy little bar? Do you even like rum?" 

There was a difference between a real fight, and playful bickering. Nobody else needed to hear it, but Jigen could feel it. The energy was right in a way it hadn’t been since the wedding. Jigen shuffled his shoulders, trying to act offended. A two man comedy group couldn’t work without the insults flowing.

He tapped his finger on the bar and crossed one leg over the other. “Maybe I'm in the mood for it. Or a half-dozen of the other things you don't have."

"So picky, Jigen-chan.” Lupin’s words complained, but his tone was sing-songy. He was delighted. “FINE. There’s a liquor store two blocks up.”

Lupin bounded to his feet, as if he had been WAITING for someone to ask him to leave. 

Well, Jigen DID want him to leave. Leave this whole concept of marrying Fujiko behind.

But Fujiko wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Fujiko made a pouty face, cutesy and crass. “Do you have to go?” 

Jigen understood, it was a pride thing. Lupin’s devotion was always something she loved testing. Probably just for the ego boost. Jigen had to scoff. Fujiko and Lupin had egos like black holes.

“Keep that cute face right there, I’ll be back for the drink before you can miss me!” He kissed her cheek sweetly, a kiss like that could be an apology or a brush off, only Fujiko would know how it felt.

“I miss you already.” 

She had a little smile on her lips, but it felt like more was behind those eyes.

“Oh, in that case!” Lupin was part of the way to the door, but he rushed back to her side… only to lean in for a short peck.

On the cheek.

Jigen watched. He probably even had tilted his face up too high, and let his eyes show. He was staring, in some degree of disbelief.

She had sad eyes, even if there wasn’t much passion in the plea, she had told him she wanted him to stay close. Even insincere, Fujiko rarely said things like that to anyone.

Sounding needy, Jigen hated that too. Even if he was needy, like hell he was going to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing it.

It was guilt twisting in his stomach now. He felt the need to apologize. Even as much as he longed to split them apart, he wasn’t the type of guy to intervene. He wanted Lupin to choose to be with him, not be forced to be with him. Not to mention, he had a hard time seeing a woman be upset. Even Fujiko.

“Hey Fujiko," Jigen started, unsure what he wanted to say. He flipped his hand and pulled down his hat, "sorry I made him go out.”

“It was his choice." Fujiko’s brow was just barely furrowed. She sounded aloof, but aloof meant a lot of things with Fujiko.

Jigen paused to consider and muttered softly, repeating it to let it sink in.

 “It was…”

Maybe Lupin had his own reason for wanting to go, maybe Jigen had only provided the convenient excuse. But Lupin had pretty willfully resisted Fujiko’s romantic gesture. Maybe for Jigen?

Hard to believe it though. Jigen rested his chin on his hands. Maybe he wasn’t just imagining this.

“We all know nothing can change his mind once Lupin has made a decision.” Goemon said with a nod. It was comforting, Goemon knew how to remind you of certain truths. If Lupin made up his mind, that was that.

“He’s that kinda idiot...” Zenigata joined in with a short fond, nostalgic laugh, “I miss chasing him.”

His cheeks were flushed. Pops must’ve managed to get drunk faster than Jigen. Zenigata’s big hand covered his face with some embarrassment for being the first one to crack and be emotionally vulnerable.

Jigen couldn’t stop the small smile that creased his lips. There were things to admire about Zenigata. The persistence of course, the dedication, but this was one too. They all missed him, but Zenigata had stumbled and opened the door they all wished had been open earlier.

Fujiko laughed gently, as far as he could tell, it was genuine, “I know what you mean.”

The vibe that had been so strained, lost tension like letting go after clenching a fist. 

Jigen felt a warmth for Zenigata that made him want to get a bit more physical with him in ways he usually reserved for his friends. They were kind of friends, Jigen knew the guy wouldn’t say as much, but that didn’t change anything. He nudged the inspector’s side and grinned. “Can't speak for our idiot pal, but I missed you, ya big lug.”

“Wuh, really?” Zenigata’s eyes welled with tears, and Jigen felt even more sympathetic, seeing how the small sentiment touched him. He must be lonely too.

Jigen pulled up his hat brim to look at him and make sure he knew he was serious, “Yeah, of course. You can come chase me around any time, if it helps.”

Zenigata looked like he was about to pounce, or something like that. Jigen had seen him make that kind of teary and intense face when he looked at Lupin.

“I would rather you did not chase me.” Goemon said with his usual earnestness.

“Agreed. I would prefer to do all my dirty deeds without getting caught." Fujiko was glib, pouring herself a vodka cranberry. Jigen considered asking for one, but he knew better than to push his luck.

A cigarette would have to do. He lit up and muttered while holding it in place in his teeth, “I can’t say I’m that exciting to chase. Not nearly as exciting as Lupin.”

“You could probably just walk from bar to bar 'til you find him.” Fujiko laughed.

“Harsh but fair.” Jigen forced a stiff laugh, he pulled his hat down, trying not to give her the satisfaction of seeing his grimace. Jigen was trying to pull punches, but if she wanted to tango, then who was he to keep her waiting? 

"But if you wanna know where to find Fujiko Mine, you can always-"

Goemon sliced the cigarette from his mouth and Jigen reacted on instinct. He drew his magnum nearly as fast as Goemon had drawn Zantetsuken.

Fujiko had an automatic reaction of her own, and jumped to hide behind Jigen. Even with their feuding, she implicitly trusted him to protect her. She wasn’t wrong. But it was a strange reminder of their bond. Jigen tried to approach it calmly. Goemon was really unpredictable sometimes.

    “Easy there! What’s happening, Goemon?” Jigen tried to both scold and pacify. Goemon was pretty susceptible to shame. So it was worth a try.

He was cowed quickly, lowering his head. “I apologize. It is nothing.”

Jigen’s grip on the magnum loosened and he couldn’t hold back his laughter at the way Goemon folded so fast. He spit his halved cigarette out. “Scared the hell out of me, man!”

Fujiko’s mood was not improved by the whole thing, and she pushed an ashtray in front of Jigen with a pointed stare.

“I’m cutting you both off on the sake if you even THINK of pointing those at me!” Fujiko was chiding Goemon rather than him, and she seemed more shaken than actually angry.

“I am truly sorry.” Goemon sheathed Zantetsuken without any argument and Jigen followed suit by tucking the magnum back behind his jacket.

“Most people just sing awkwardly when they get drunk ya know, Samurai.” Jigen teased.

“He’s probably going to sing poorly either way.” Fujiko prodded at him.

“I don’t sing.” Goemon replied with stony insistence.

Jigen raised an eye, “So who was singing ABBA with Lupin last time we did karaoke?”

“I can not recall,” the swordsman huffed and folded his arms.

“I feel like I remember a certain children’s entertainer who sung some amazing nursery rhymes.” Fujiko smirked, she seemed like she was trying to get Goemon as red in the face as possible.

Jigen looked down at the remaining bit of amber liquid in his glass. He hadn’t ever seen Goemon pretend to be a clown, but it sounded hilarious.

Fujiko refilled Jigen’s glass while he was looking at it and he glanced up at her as she did. They met eyes for a moment, and they were both surprised to see a bit of empathy in the other’s face.

Then Fujiko moved past him to pour a bit more for Goemon and Zenigata. But it was a good moment, it made his stomach hurt a lot less.

 It was light conversation punctuated mostly by quiet drinking. Zenigata had been through the most rounds, and he showed it when he shakily got to his feet.

“I’m startin’ to worry about Lupin.” Zenigata grumbled.

   

 “Oh. Starting.” Fujiko laughed and raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

    

Jigen had to swallow his drink quickly to follow up, “Yeah, like he hasn’t been thinking about him the entire damn time.”

Fujiko and Jigen both turned on Zenigata, all grins. Meanwhile, the old man stumbled his way toward the door with his usual misguided determination.

“I’ll prove it to you...” Zenigata mumbled, and just like the slippery curse he was, Lupin appeared in the doorway. Zenigata stumbled right into him and Lupin managed to get the bigger man back to his feet.

Goemon sprung into action and got the bottles to safety. The two of them had unreal dexterity, Jigen was grateful that kind of stuff wasn’t expected of him most of the time. He was quick on the draw but he wasn’t in any shape to be making graceful rescues.

Lupin spoke with pep, and motioned toward the bottles. “Got your rum, Jigen. In the bag.” 

Jigen folded open the top of the paper bag and saw it. In the middle of several other bottles:

One crappy plastic bottle of Bacardi.

He bit his lip. Just a little longer. Jigen had to hold himself in check just a few more hours. But he could feel his eyes burning with a threat of tears.

Jigen had spent the night second guessing everything. Trying to ignore any signs as coincidences. But Jigen couldn’t ignore it all anymore. 

Lupin didn’t do anything without thinking. He just wanted people to believe he did. There was nothing cool or theatrical or sexy about the hours you spent in dress rehearsal. Lupin wanted people to forget all about the part where you had to work hard. He wanted them to only think of the momentary dazzling spectacle at the end.

And even though he had watched Lupin practice tricks for hours, watched him go meticulously over his plans and blueprints to make it look easy to everyone else, right now, Jigen was dazzled.

Lupin could’ve handed Jigen a thirty page love poem, and still it couldn’t have communicated as much as a shitty bottom shelf bottle of rum.

Jigen grabbed it out of the bag and wrenched the cap off, just to take a sip straight from the bottle. He shut his eyes and the sting in his throat made him feel as if he was back in Lupin’s arms, home and contented. A warm, nostalgic sentiment covered up the stinging, cheap burn.

And Jigen knew, as long as he played it cool and waited, he would be golden. This was over, no matter if they were willing to admit that or not. Every move between Fujiko and Lupin right now was forced.

They weren’t happy. And between the two of them, two very selfish people, they wouldn’t leave it that way for long.

They were stubborn, sure, but they both liked being happy, and he couldn’t blame them for that. Even if he wasn’t as brave about chasing it, he wanted to be happy, too. He was about to get the best chance he ever had. Maybe things would go his way, against all odds.

He just had to keep it together, a few more days at most. He was so sure of it now. He could just keep going and he’d be the turtle who wins the race against the hare.

Lupin seemed significantly cheered up after getting some fresh air. He easily helped the large detective back into his chair. It was something to see, the way his cheek pressed close to Zenigata, teasing him a bit, it was mean. Maybe. Or generous, Jigen couldn’t decide.

Jigen watched with some impatience for intimacy of his own as Lupin settled in next to Zenigata.

“Geheheh Pops, I can tell you missed me!”

“I didn’t miss you.” Zenigata grumbled.

Total liar. But Jigen really couldn’t blame him, nothing sucked more than Lupin’s self satisfied little grin when you told him exactly what he wanted to hear.

Actually, it was enough to remind him how annoyed this whole marriage thing made him in the first place. He had told Lupin, a dozen, a HUNDRED fucking times. This wasn’t going to work and he had known from the start. And Lupin sure as hell wasn’t going to concede that he was wrong.

“Too bad Zenigata, Fujiko’s got him.” Jigen knew in his heart this wasn’t the most mature way to handle his feelings. But he wasn’t keen to act like the bigger man all the sudden. He was going to blow off some steam. He had low expectations to fulfill. And he still needed to remind Lupin that if he wanted this relationship back, he was going to have to do more than just buy some cheap rum. Remind that monkey faced bastard what he was really missing…

Jigen put on his biggest smile and patted Zenigata’s back with affectionate camaraderie, “Here, this’ll help sober you up, old man.”

Jigen deftly slid a cigarette out of the pack and planted it between Zenigata’s lips. He flicked out his lighter, a flame sparked almost instantly with a very practiced gesture of his thumb.

That there was Jigen’s best slight of hand. Sure he couldn’t pull out flags or flowers or whatever, but lighters and cigarettes? He was an expert at that.

Zenigata did little to protest, he even seemed to relax a bit. So Jigen turned his attention to Goemon planning to give him the same. Least he could do after he’d teased him. And after everything else.

“You too Goemon. No more randomly trying to kill us okay?”

Jigen ruffled a hand through Goemon’s hair. He tried not to do it too much, but he wasn’t great with words. Nothing really got his feelings across as well as a bit of a touch. So, sometimes Jigen couldn’t help himself. He hoped Goemon would be able to feel that it was lovingly, not mockingly.


“I’ll do my best.” Goemon replied shyly, but he was smiling and it made it easy to place a cigarette into Goemon’s mouth too.

Jigen let his eyes find Goemon’s and rest there. Jigen didn’t want to give away too much, Goemon was bound to take it the wrong way if he said he was excited that Lupin and Fujiko were about to split up. 

But he didn’t want Goemon to have to worry anymore, so he tried to express that he was at peace.

The lighter flame faltered just a little, before the steady orange glow reflected in Goemon’s dark eyes.

He looked at ease. Even if his arms were crossed. Goemon rarely smoked but he clearly enjoyed it. That guy denied himself way too much, it was nice to see him indulging in something for once.

Jigen leaned back and snuck a fleeting glance at Lupin. His face was strained.

Heh. Looks like someone was thinking cigarette privileges were just for him. Jigen rested an arm on Goemon’s shoulder with a smug grin.

Felt good to be so wanted.

Fujiko wasn’t slow on the draw, she prodded Lupin’s nose to recapture his attention. “You want that drink now, sweetheart?”

Lupin turned his gaze back to her. He smiled performatively and responded in a chipper tone, “Don’t mind if I do, thanks, Fujicakes!”

Zenigata was looking more relaxed, the cigarette seemed to be doing the trick. So of course Lupin had to rile the guy back up.

“And one more for Pops!”

“I really don’t know if I should....” Zenigata seemed to pause, but he took it nevertheless.

Fujiko mixed Lupin something complicated. At least 5 bottles of something or other. Jigen knew plenty about alcohol, but not much about cocktails. He wasn’t a cocktail guy.

Lupin took the glass from her with his charmer grin. She smiled back. Hard to say if it was a real smile, but it was kind of nice to see she was still willing to indulge him, even if this whole thing was going to shit.

Zenigata raised his already half-empty glass. Hard to imagine what kind of toast to give. Here’s to a smooth divorce. Clink. Jigen lifted his own glass and took a sip.

“A toast to you and Fujiko. You know... I wasn’t ever a good husband myself. But I’m proud of you. You’re... doing it right. Anyone who looks at you can see. You're meant to be together. Everything that came first? That made you into the people you are now. People who belong together. Every single day. And Lupin? Maybe you belong in a jail cell. But you belong in this cell more. I...I mean! Because you're not living for crime, anymore. You’re living for each other, right?”

Jigen tried not to let out a laugh. He lifted his drink to his mouth quickly to cover his expression and said nothing.

Pops probably meant well with that whole thing, and Lupin humored him with his own glass raised, he was not going to make a scene about it right in front of Fujiko. They were probably going to not acknowledge this thing was over until, one day, poof, it was gone, and neither of them would talk about it ever again. Like it never happened. 

Jigen was fine with that, personally.

But he still had to hold back his amusement. Zenigata could really make a career as “Detective steps in shit without realizing it” for expertly bumbling that whole thing.

“I’m gonna go get some snacks from the kitchen. You want anything?” Fujiko had on a thin smile. But a Fujiko smile was anyone’s guess.

Jigen assumed that speech hit a nerve or two. It would if he were her. But he wasn’t interested in rubbing salt in the wound. He said nothing.

“Ooh, get those cinnamon pecans!” From the excited way Lupin said it, those must be some incredible pecans.

Zenigata made a pretty convincing drunken act of asking for the bathroom. It seemed equally likely that the guy would call in a squad of fifty cops, or just go take a piss. That fact didn’t seem to be lost on Goemon, who stood up just after Zenigata stumbled his way down the hallway.

“I will keep an eye on him,” the stoic samurai informed him.

“Thanks, Goemon!” Lupin grinned.

Goemon really wasn’t asking for permission nor would he have cared if Lupin had told him there was no need. It wasn’t easy to dissuade him if he got it in his mind to do something.

Lupin, drooped a bit after Fujiko, Goemon and Zenigata left the room.

“Do you really have anything hidden in this place?” Jigen smirked.

“Nah, it’s all junk.” He sighed.

Jigen snorted through his nose, “I’ll say.”

Lupin gave a chuckle, it seemed like it eased a weight off his chest. He leaned back in his chair like he could finally breathe.

“I’m glad you came, Jigen.” Lupin said quietly. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I wasn’t sure I would, either.” Jigen replied coolly.

“Lousy partner if you won’t even show up when I call.” Lupin rearmed himself with his defensive arrogance.

“You’re an asshole.” Jigen glanced down at his drink and sipped it. So he was suddenly his partner again? With such convenient timing, too.

“Sure I am. Ask Pops, he’ll shout that til he’s out of breath. I never said I was nice.”

“Mmm.” Jigen made a dismissive noise. He wasn’t gracing this little temper tantrum with his usual concern for Lupin’s feelings. But he did feel a pang of wanting to reassure him. Just a little bit.

He wanted to say that they were all still his friends. He wanted to tell him he would be there for him. He wanted to tell him he wouldn’t leave that hotel up the block for at least a few weeks, was going to be right there waiting. He wanted to say a thousand things. He wanted to say he loved him.

He said nothing.

The silence lingered and hung in the air like heavy smoke. He tried to convince his mouth to open. But he already knew, right? Lupin must have known how long he was in town already, he probably already knew everything he would have said.

And even if he didn’t, with that helpful excuse, it was a lot easier to not speak up. Speaking up now, with something like that, would be to rip out his heart and lay it right on the sidewalk. Where it felt inevitable that someone would step on it. He had his doubts that Lupin would cradle it in his hands, and treat it like a soft, vulnerable organ rather than kick it across the street for a short term ego boost. Jigen couldn’t do it right now, so he kept his mouth shut.

But he picked up the bottle of Bacardi, and looked at Lupin, pointedly. He angled his face up and Lupin could see under the hat. He met Lupin’s eyes deliberately, and remembered suddenly how much it tightened his chest to look into them. Those gorgeous eyes.

He wasn’t able to say things very clearly. But hoped his own eyes would be saying something to Lupin that maybe he wasn’t sure how to say with his mouth. He had to count on the fact that he could see what he wanted him to know.

They were staring into each other’s eyes, and Lupin looked like he was going to finally say something, but Zenigata’s heavy footfalls telegraphed his return to the room.

Lupin broke the gaze and perked up, “Pops! Hope you didn’t wreck my toilet, you took forever.”

Teasing Zenigata did really cheer him up. Or maybe he favored avoidance just as much as Jigen did.

“Err... sorry.” He said, “Actually, I want to talk to you about something.”

Zenigata looked guilty, and he didn’t fight back the way Jigen would have expected. Something about him felt off. Maybe he was drunk enough that he was about to spill his guts?

And by that he meant telling Lupin how he felt and not puking all over the floor. Either way, that would be something to see…

Jigen took a small drink from the very large rum bottle he was holding. He watched Zenigata intently.

Lupin seemed just as confused at where this was going.

“Sure...?” The thief replied, tentatively.

Jigen felt his stomach drop a bit when he heard the hint of desperation in Lupin’s voice. It was unfair that after so long of hurting because he felt unwanted, now it hurt to feel wanted, too. Zenigata appeared to be deep in thought, and the pause was too long. But even as it was, Goemon interrupted him tersely when he reentered the room.

“Jigen, Zenigata. It’s getting quite late. Perhaps we should not overstay our welcome.”

“Oh come on Goemon! It’s not even midnight, it’s no big deal.”

Jigen could see Goemon was trying to give him a glance, which was a rare occasion. So he let his hat tilt back a bit to see his face. 

Goemon had dead-set determination in his eyes. He obviously had a reason that he was asking for this. And even if Jigen didn’t want to leave Lupin, he knew it wouldn’t be too much longer until he saw him again.

Leave them wanting more. Make a graceful exit while they’re still hungry. That’s what Lupin always told him. It was the secret to never having people get tired of you. Couldn’t hurt to try, even if it wasn’t Jigen’s natural inclination.

His natural inclination would be to move into the apartment underneath this one and lay on the couch until this Jenga tower came crashing down.

But waiting about a block away was probably just as good.



Jigen rose to his feet and smirked, “It’s late for those of us who’ve still got jobs to do. Unlike you, slacker.”

Lupin straightened his back and set his jaw. He was about to fight. He was going to demand they stay. Jigen would have relished hearing him show that much. Remind all three of these men that he wanted them here.

Yet that fire left him quickly. Lupin slunk down into his chair. Maybe he was trying to salvage his dignity. Maybe he wasn’t ready to put his heart on the sidewalk either. Jigen understood.

“Yeah. It was nice to see you all. I’ll tell Fujiko you said goodbye.” He had a smile on, one of his most charming and sweet, the kind that distinctly gave Jigen’s body a feeling like melted ice cream. But warmth and joy didn’t come through in his tone.

Jigen helped Goemon wrangle the very large and very inebriated Inspector toward the stairs. As they ascended, Lupin prodded verbally, probably knowing that Zenigata was the most likely to cave and turn around.

“Pops, are you going to write a report about getting drunk at my anniversary?”

Zenigata didn’t make much of a noise, but Jigen was close enough to hear the low level groan he made. Jigen was just grateful that he wasn’t screaming about it.

“Don’t leave out the part where you admitted how right I was, okay?” Lupin chuckled to himself as he hopped his way down the stairs after them.

Jigen prepared himself to have to tighten his grip on Zenigata’s arm, but he barely reacted. He must be a hell of a lot more drunk than he seemed. Lupin was usually his starter pistol, it had fired and yet the guy was just dazed, letting Jigen guide him out the door.

Jigen turned to give Lupin a small wave. He had to stick to the ‘leave Lupin wanting more’ thing. He had to trust Lupin wasn’t going to be too stubborn to come ask for it.

“We’ll get Pops to bed with something for his hangover. Don’t worry about it. Bye, Lupin!”

“Give my regards to Fujiko.” Goemon added with a stern frown.

Odd she hadn’t come back. Though there could be a good number of reasons why and Jigen couldn't begin to narrow it down. The way he said it made Jigen think Goemon probably knew them. But Jigen didn’t really care to know the gory details. It was only going to make him feel guilty about something that probably wasn’t his fault to begin with.

“Same.” Jigen added and smirked to himself a bit at his own additional thought, 

‘Tell her I hope her rebound guy is rich AND hot.’

“Will do.” Lupin responded hollowly, but there was still a smile plastered on there. Jigen briefly wondered who exactly he was acting for, why they were all making a show of how nothing was up. Must be for Zenigata. Though they might have been just as fake if he wasn’t there. Lupin wasn’t much for talking about his real feelings. Maybe this was just a show for Lupin, by Lupin, performing for his most important audience.

“I can do that myself. I’ve done it lots of times.” The big inspector tried to shove him off, but Jigen still had some of his instincts to dodge even when he wasn’t sober. That was why he was still alive after this long. He laughed to himself that he had managed to roll with the movements so smoothly.

“You know, that doesn’t make you sound good, that you’re good at going home drunk. I mean, same here. But. Maybe don’t brag about that.”

It was strange what they took their pride in. Being able to find your way home and get into bed even when you were too drunk to remember much of it was a pretty low bar, but sometimes that was what you told yourself. You walk by the guy that’s passed out in the alley and you say, ‘Well, I’m better than he is at least.’

The three of them walked up the block, the air was cold, and the city was relatively quiet. Quiet enough for the echoing sounds of cars that you couldn’t see. Great time for a smoke, actually. It always warmed him up. Maybe it was just the psychosomatic effect of the smoldering tip of it, red glow, keeping his cheeks less pink.


“Is he…. Okay?” Zenigata was tentative.

He wasn’t wrong to ask. Lupin was absolutely not okay. Ten points for noticing. But Jigen had sworn to Lupin, more years ago than he would be able to guess confidently, that Jigen would never tell a soul a damn thing about him.

‘If you did I’d kill you.’ 

Lupin had sneered as he said it. He clearly didn’t take Jigen’s word for it.

They were far younger men then. Lupin was, when he was young, an even more of a callous asshole, but he was still just as charming, an upgrade on Jigen’s previous misguided crushes. And that was more than enough for him, at the time.

‘Knock yourself out.’ Jigen had shrugged. It was a time when casual death threats were more of a common fixture in his life.

Lupin probably didn’t believe him until the first time someone tried to torture him for information. Though, that was definitely NOT the first time someone had tortured him for information, it was just the first time someone had tortured him for information about LUPIN specifically.

He showed up to rescue him promptly enough, and he apologized for it about a hundred times. Jigen wasn’t mad about it. Stuff like that happens sometimes. That was also the first time he ever saw Lupin cry.

So even if Zenigata meant well enough, Jigen had evasive responses down to reflex.   

“You’re the detective. Should be able to investigate that yourself.”

Goemon wasn’t going to disagree. They had similar feelings on the idea of loyalty. It was one of many reasons they got along so well.

Zenigata sounded impatient with that. Cops usually expect direct answers. And Zenigata was stubbornly insistent on his way of doing things. “I have my own theories! I just wanted to hear testimony from his best friends. What do you think?”

Jigen was more than happy to keep stonewalling him through a hazy exhale. “It’s none of your damn business what I think.”

“I think that Lupin isn’t the only one to worry about here.” Goemon added insistently.

Jigen narrowed his eyes, and found himself speaking in tandem with Zenigata as he asserted. “I’m fine!”

He was, honestly. He was doing great. And it really made his palms itch when people started demanding him to admit he wasn’t. Shit was going well. And if it wasn’t what good was there in talking about it?

“I see,” Goemon said curtly.

He was rarely the type to show much more than a flicker of what he was feeling. But Jigen had known him long enough to know, Goemon was upset. 

“Goodnight,” Goemon said simply, as he turned to walk away from Jigen and Zenigata.

Well, whatever it was, he didn’t seem to want to talk about it. The samurai slowly disappeared down the street.

Zenigata was far less accustomed to Goemon’s eccentricities. He seemed a bit confused, “Does he really just... walk everywhere?”

“Sure. He says it’s very good for calming your mind." Jigen dropped the cigarette. It had stopped tasting so good. Thinking of Goemon taking such good care of himself. And the way Goemon looked with slight worry when Jigen overdid it.

"If it were early enough for a sunset I’d walk off into it too.”

That one made Zenigata laugh, and Jigen felt himself smile. Even if the whole thing wasn’t exactly conventional, they’d known the guy a long time. And unlike a lot of people that Jigen had known a long time, Zenigata had never actively tried to kill him. That put him in the top ten at least.

“You good to get home on your own?” Jigen ventured causally, he wasn’t going to tell him about Lupin’s business, but he wasn’t against throwing the guy a little company. Jigen was feeling confident enough that he might even be really good company tonight. And soon enough he would be spending a lot of nights with Lupin, so he wouldn’t have time for anything else.

“Been a lot drunker than this.” Zenigata said defensively. Jigen had pity for him, sometimes being stubborn leaves you lonely. But he wasn’t going to play therapist. He’d be happy soon enough with Lupin to chase. That’s the favor he’d be doing for the inspector, even if he didn’t know yet.

“Great.” Jigen waved goodbye and headed across the street to the hotel. He didn’t bother to cover his tracks. It wasn’t like Zenigata was going to arrest him.

He breezed past the bar, he was more than drunk enough on just the feeling of confidence building up in him. He was whistling as he pressed the elevator button, he felt like he wanted a hot shower and to lay in his hotel bed and just bask in this feeling like it was a sunny day on a beach in Mexico.

He started making some travel plans, looking up upcoming events around the world. Art shows they might have fun robbing, something intriguing, but not too hard to warm up with.

From past experience he knew who would be leaving whom. Lupin WAS going to need him. He was going to need distractions, and lots of excitement. Better to start planning as soon as possible to comfort him.

It was only a matter of time before that idiot showed up in his doorway wanting to pretend this all never happened. And Jigen was just fine with that. Maybe they’d rent a room in France.

He laid out with both arms spread as wide as he could, and his mind felt like parted clouds. By morning, there would be sunshine.

Chapter Text

Lupin found himself pacing behind the bar, looking at the bottles one by one, as if some had betrayed him and he was trying to figure out which.

A lilting voice carried from the doorframe. “These glasses didn’t get clean enough. I told you, you have to put in the extra squeeze of detergent.”

“I did, darling~” his voice replied gently, but his judgmental scowl remained fixed on the bar. That bottle of rye. It had to be the thing that was bothering him. The flavor wasn’t rich enough. He should have gotten a better one.

Fujiko came into the bar room carrying a heavy glass. Deceptively simple, the base was heavy, and intricately patterned. The set from the wedding reception. He loved it. Very tasteful, vintage feel with a modern flair.

At least THOSE he had picked perfectly.

“But look.” She held the glass up to the light, tone accusatory. “They’re completely clouded. Maybe I should just hand wash them...“

“They’re fine, they’re clean.” Lupin said, failing to keep a snap of coldness out of his tone.

She closed off, jaw set, warm tone gone. "I’ll go get the rest of them, then.”

Lupin frowned. He wasn’t pleased with himself for that. Being adversarial used to be the best night he could imagine. Trading quips while dangling over a cliff, certain death below and Fujiko perched above, a little smirk on her face. But these days, his imagination was unable to spin the thought into a grand adventure. It waddled away into a far too real fight about something stupid. There wouldn’t even be any fun angry sex at the end. Being adversarial wasn’t going to make for a good night. Not anymore. 

Lupin had promised her this was going to be a fun night with dear friends. He promised her he would have everyone on their best behavior. They needed a reminder of the old times, that was definitely what they had been missing. The spark, the magic, the whole dynamic. It was lacking. But a night like this, it would be like it used to. Maybe even more fun, since he’d taken the liberty of inviting Zenigata. That could really spice things up, especially if Pops brought along the handcuffs.

Spread out behind the bar was a huge bay window, with a sweeping view of Milan spread out beneath them. Lupin pictured himself crashing out of it, using the wire and hook in his belt to catch himself on the way down. He let his eyes trace a path down to the street, calculating the trajectory of his imaginary escape route.

The sidewalk was peppered with pedestrians, and he altered his idle plans: wouldn’t want to land on any of them. But amidst the ants was a familiar slouching figure. Down amongst the strangers, he saw Jigen pass by again, smoking.

He was early for the party. Or rather, he was still early. Because this wasn’t the first time this week. Or even today. If Jigen was trying to give Lupin a message, it had been received.

‘I’m here. Just a block away and you know it. And I know that you know.’

Lupin hadn’t told Fujiko about disguising himself as front desk staff to look up Jigen’s room number. It wasn’t FOR anything. It was just a fun little challenge to keep himself sharp. Like a crossword puzzle. You fill it out and then you’re done and you can toss the paper aside and forget all about 15 Down being Bogota and 10 Up being room 532.

Lupin’s eyes refocused on the present, and he scowled at his reflection in the window glass. His eyes had looked frustrated yet resigned, like he WANTED something he couldn’t quite have. It wasn’t charming, and it didn’t suit the face of Lupin the Third.

Lupin the Third already HAD everything he wanted.

Fujiko came back into the room carrying eight of the stupid glasses.

She said nothing this time, a classic cold shoulder. Lupin felt his frustration exhale through his nose. He should’ve just offered to hand wash them himself if it was going to make her this upset. But it was so stupid and trivial and why was she making more work for him when they were so close to the guests arriving?

It was harder and harder to be charitable when he felt spread so thin on the recognition he wanted. If he did wash them, would she smile and thank him? Likely all he would have gotten in return was her insistence that he ‘didn’t have to.’ And maybe they would argue about THAT, too. 

His silhouette in the window, in his blue suit jacket, cut just the same figure as he used to. But he used to feel like a damn good thief in it. And now he felt like a damn ungrateful man in it. How many times did she get him to climb a mountain just to get a little glimpse at her in the nude? And now they could fuck every single night. And all he could do with it was find ways to have lose-lose conversations about dishwashers.

There was thick glass between the two of them. It was hardly visible, yet very tangible. Maybe it was dense, it built up for awhile, but it certainly wasn’t impenetrable. But it hurt to smash through glass. You have to be ready to feel pain, and you just have to hope there’s someone on the other side ready to catch you. To patch you up after you get up. To meet you halfway. It wasn’t that he couldn’t. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

And if she was so keen to have him close, maybe she should be the one jumping through glass for once.

She’d started cleaning, and the chiming of her nails on the glasses made the room even more stiflingly silent. Lupin leaned on the bar. He should’ve been excited for tonight, but fatigue was already settling into his shoulders, exhausted by the things they weren’t saying. 

Ultimately, the whole marriage was a shout in this silence: trying to satisfy unspoken feelings.

When Lupin married Rebecca, it wasn’t something he took seriously, and he hadn’t assumed anyone else would. Maybe irrational, worrisome Jigen would, and that’s why Lupin had cut him in on the planning. But if anyone was bound to spot a scam, it should have been Fujiko. She called it all bullshit the moment she found out, so he’d thought she’d gotten the picture.

But then she started doing things to get a rise out of him. Declaring she “broke up” with him, after years of them avoiding labels like THAT to begin with. It was the kind of game he had a lot less fun playing. He liked it much more theatrical and grand. Breaking up was so... mundane. He preferred blowing up.

He wasn’t serious about Rebecca. He’d planned the divorce before the certificate. He had been so sure that the moment he stole that crown, Rebecca would be kicking his ass to the curb. Lupin could be the bad guy, and she would get loads of public sympathy. Probably great publicity for her next business. It could’ve been neat and tidy and profitable for everyone! But it wasn’t.

And Fujiko's behavior changed so drastically afterward.

It could only mean one thing, something so unlikely that it took him months to parse. It was nothing but an odd little paperwork distinction, but Fujiko actually cared about it.

“Well you don’t usually get legal marriage papers for your short term flings.” Fujiko teased and sipping her martini.

“Are you seriously jealous? She was…” Lupin laughed, and pouted his lip. “…a counterfeit of you. Anything I liked about her was really just a craving for the real thing…”

“Oh yeah?” She sipped again, peering over the drink.

“Yes! I’m craving you, that body, those lips, and those unbelievable tits. Fujiko PLEASE, just give me 20 minutes, I will prove my devotion… I’ll be your very good boy. Just-“

She put a finger to his lips and he stopped.

“I don’t want 20 minutes. I want longer.”

“Longer?” He could’ve climbed over the table. He was already knocking silverware out of the way. “Oh HELL yeah! I will go until I pass out! Or you do? Let’s-“ 

Lupin had a finger pressed on his lips again.

“I bet you wouldn’t be able to stay married to anyone for very long. So don’t promise that.”

“Fujiko!” He bristled, riled by the unpleasant turn the conversation had taken, “You don't want to be married to me anyway. How many times have you turned me down? I’m not asking it again, just so you can say no.” 

He wasn’t keen to subject himself to rejection just for her satisfaction. He had feelings, too. Even if he didn’t want to talk about them.

But as Lupin attempted to steer the conversation back into saucy pillow talk, Fujiko wasn’t about to turn down her own challenge. Things naturally escalated from there, like a series of dares. 

You could never settle down and stop stealing.

You couldn’t handle getting married for real.

You would get bored doing all that stuff normal couples do. 

Punctuated with jabs back and forth that the other one was the one who would never be able to do it.

You wouldn’t last a week.

I know you would bail first.

They should probably have had this important conversation while they weren’t being competitive and performative. And while fully clothed. Unfortunately, the best sex was when you were in fierce competition, rolling back and forth verbally and physically. Breathlessly trying to impress some unseen cosmic force.

Maybe that force was just two of the world’s biggest egos. Two daredevils focused on having a good fuck and then winning this strange bet with themselves. That they could do this thing, because they, of course, could do anything. Provided they wanted to.

God forbid someone told them they couldn’t. God forbid either one of them failed at something so simple. Something as trivial as living consistently with a person you loved.

Millions of average slobs out there in the world could do it, so what could possibly be so hard? Stealing the crown jewels was hard. Staying married to the most beautiful girl in all of creation had to be easy. 

Especially if she was working hand in hand with him on the job. Half the troubles in his life could be chalked up to Fujiko sabotage. Being freed from that burden was the last real challenge to the capabilities of the great Lupin the Third. With Fujiko as a partner, the wedding, honeymoon, and settling down were a fuji-cakewalk.

He hardly knew what to do with it.

He felt like a dog who finally caught up to the car. Or, more aptly, a Lupin III, who finally got his hands on the treasure. And now the fun part was over.

He looked at himself in his blue suit, he felt like he wasn’t quite worthy of it. It was hanging wrong off his shoulders. Something wasn’t sitting right. Missing the gun holster. Or maybe missing the dauntless smile?

He looked across the room. Her clothing was modest, but there was a time he would have killed for unrestricted access to ogle her ass for minutes on end. And maybe if she caught him looking, there would have been the briefest flicker of her eyes up and down his frame. A wonton look if she wanted to drive him so wild with anticipation that he forgot his plans. A slight grimace if, despite herself, she liked what she saw. But right now, she wasn’t even turning to catch him looking. Would she care if he was staring?

Fujiko… Do you think I look good?

He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Insecurity wasn't becoming. He had to be sure in himself. He thumbed the cuff of the blazer as frustration built up. Damn. It hadn’t met its full potential. It didn’t deserve to sit unused in the back of his closet.

Usually he knew when he was done with a jacket. He glanced over at Fujiko. He didn’t need to ask her that, because he knew he wasn’t done. Giving up was not something Lupin did. He would only push forward, single-minded to the goal.

Maybe he lost sight of the goal, and that was the problem.

The doorbell rang.

He had heard it so few times that it felt ominous. But Lupin put on his best grin and hurried down the stairs at an inhuman pace. Fujiko watched him scale down, but remained at the top of the stairs, detached. She looked tired already.

But he knew if he played it all right, she would warm up.

Lupin rubbed his hands together. The goal TONIGHT was easy: have a nice party. Absolutely nothing compared to stealing the Statue of Liberty. He was a magician and this merely needed the barest application of his personal magic for it to be one hell of a show that delighted all in attendance. And the attendees already adored him! As always, life was fixed firmly in Lupin’s favor.

Lupin took the stairs two at a time. It had to be Jigen, it only made sense; the guy had finished circling the block and finally dug up the courage to ring.

Lupin giggled to himself, resolving not to bully the guy too hard over it. Just a little light prodding, and Jigen would scoff and threaten to leave, and then Lupin could make a big show of whining for Jigen to stay. Then, Jigen would finally feel like he’d gotten a little of his dignity back, and they could settle in all comfy and everything would be-

He swung the door open, already beaming.

But right away he made out an outline that he had trained himself to spot quickly. Because it meant the difference between a successful escape after a heist, and another frustrating little tally on Zenigata’s arrest records.

Lupin held his goofy grin, though his body felt tense like a loaded spring. “Goemon and Pops! Sharing a cab?! Wow, have you been having fun already without us?”

It was nice to see them both. Happiness was like that; if you could fake it for a crucial instant, life would hand you a real reason, and then it wasn’t a lie anymore. Jigen would show up later. But now, Goemon was more than enough reason to smile. Zenigata was a world of joy in his own right. Having either of them here would be more fun than he’d had in weeks. Together, his smile remained genuinely in place. He didn’t have to push it.

“Lupin. Good to see you.” Goemon spoke warmly, and Lupin could tell he meant it. Simple sentiment with a lot of weight.

Before he could reply, he saw Zenigata’s weight shift, and a firey rage in his eyes. It made Lupin shiver with excitement. He’d forgotten how much he missed the adrenaline tingling though to his fingertips. Each danger had a different draw. But the thrill of Zenigata on his heels was an undiluted shot of the best of the old vice. What was life without knowing someone was there to challenge you. To make you work harder?

Maybe it was just his upbringing, echoing across the walls of time, into his present. 

You have to prove yourself, to Pops. To Granddad, to Fujiko. Even to Goemon and Jigen, really. You could never rest on your laurels if you really wanted to be Lupin the Third. To be worthy of the title.

The feeling of being tested twisted in his chest like an ignition key. He grinned larger with determination and a gleeful laugh tore out of him; the sound of his engine starting. Aroused with excitement.

Zenigata’s tall frame gave him a long reach, and an even bigger attack radius. Lupin was well within both of them, and the pleasure of it was so delicious, he could hardly believe he hadn’t already started to move. Zenigata’s glare was fixed on Lupin, and as he stepped forward, Zenigata’s eyes followed him, pupils boring down, gaze pawing over every inch of his body. Was he upset that Lupin was wearing this blazer? Did it make him look too much like a thief? The poor guy was barely keeping himself under control, so Lupin figured he’d have a little mercy.

Just one outburst. Get it all out of Zenigata’s system. Pinpoint the moment when his control’s about to burst, then hit him with the zinger. One pounce. He’d even let Zenigata pin him. Bear down on him with nearly seven feet of manic Lupin-catching zeal, bellowing and grabbing.

Lupin would laugh and laugh like a dog owner dealing with an over-enthusiastic husky, and then Zenigata would get chastised by the others, and the evening would proceed. 

Lupin swallowed back his eagerness, then struck. "Whoa, Pops! Settle down! The night is young. I know you want to tie me up, but can’t we at least have a few drinks first?”

Lupin paused, living in the tantalizing seconds of anticipation.

But nothing followed. Only the groan of Zenigata’s frustration being held in. “It’s nice to see you Lupin. Nice... place you have.”

Lupin wasn’t giving up. If pissing off Zenigata was an Olympic sport, Lupin was a gold medalist. And even after taking a year off, he should at least be able to pull off a bronze. He opened his mouth-

But Zenigata’s gaze moved past him, up the stairs, to Fujiko. He couldn’t blame him. Before all this, Lupin could rarely take his eyes off her.

Lately though, he just had trouble with it. If she noticed him gazing too long, Lupin felt guilty. Something in her face seemed to expect more than he was currently giving. If she caught his gaze and wondered what he was planning he immediately had to start planning something. He had to look away and start thinking of something to satisfy her curiosity. It’s what a lady like her deserved, a show of delight and mystery around every corner.

“Fujiko, how have you been?” The big oaf waved awkwardly. You would think he would be immune by now. But Lupin sure wasn’t. She just had that effect on people. Lupin only knew one person immune to Fujiko's incredible abilities to captivate, and he wasn't here yet.

Over the past year, Lupin had almost counted himself a close second. But to look at her now was to be enraptured. This wasn’t the same woman who’d been grimacing over perfectly clean glasses a half hour ago. Her outfit really was simple; she wasn’t dressed to impress anyone. But Lupin wanted to be that shirt; abused to the point of rupturing by that fantastic chest.

She was smiling, and it made Lupin melt to look at her. It had been awhile since he’d seen that smile. And that alone was worthy of celebration! He knew this party was a great idea! She'd even missed Zenigata, too. Lupin congratulated himself, it was all going perfectly.

“Honest, Pops. We’ve been being very good.” Fujiko smiled wryly. “But I bet you already knew that, right?” 

It was nice to have Fujiko tag in. Teasing the Inspector was a favorite pastime and getting a blush out of him gave Lupin that rush of validation that was hard to get anywhere else. Nobody, not even Jigen, was as obsessed with him as his own personal Inspector. The old one-man-Lupin task-force, a 24/7 Lupin-focused machine.

Lupin had many police come after him over the years, but they couldn't even remotely keep up. Outwitting some dull security guards stirred nothing. When Zenigata burst into his life he knew he had found a perfect fit. Lupin had always been creating these scenes, but Zenigata was the lighting. Everyone could see it now, and it made every heist all the more intense and impactful.

Zenigata really saw the vision. He understood deep in his gut the role he needed to play to make the moment complete. Zenigata would leap onto the back of a speeding train, he would drive a speed boat off a waterfall! No one else could chase him like that. Lupin couldn't ask for a better man to hold the spotlight. 

Zenigata was about to start vibrating with rage, huge hands balled into fists at his sides, lumbering shoulders still somehow holding themselves back from bearing down and charging into Lupin. It was a shame he was so up his own ass about "the rules.” Lupin would've been happy to throw the guy a bone or two.

Well, if Zenigata wasn’t going to close the distance, Lupin would have to pick up the slack. He strode out, pulling Zenigata into a one-armed embrace, clapping him on the back. He kept his hands aboveboard and above the trenchcoat. No groping of valuables, documentation, or valuables. He was a married man, on the straight and narrow! Just a quick squeeze to show all was well.

His hand lingered on Zenigata’s shoulder, fingers and palm alight with the familiar fabric texture. The point where bony shoulder gave forth to muscle. Lupin had spent years fabricating all of it, but there was no mistaking that slight tremble.

"Yeah I bet Pops didn’t even need us to send him the address. You’re always stalking me, aren’t ya?”

Zenigata was embarrassed, his cheeks flushed. If he’d really known better, Pops would’ve been plain mortified, because Lupin had spotted him every time. Lurking about, finding nothing but Lupin and Fujiko in the midst of the least interesting little game of house.

They’d done too good a job throwing him off the trail. From the worst and most pathetic corner of Lupin's mind, behind a thick safe door, a muffled voice admitted disappointment that Zenigata had stopped too soon.

But the booming voice of ol’ Granddad rang out over any nagging mental doubts, scoffing that the only disappointment was how easily Zenigata gave up. He had thought Zenigata was a stubborn dog, with jaws clamped down that would never release him. But even that old bulldog was through with Lupin the Third.

Or perhaps there was nothing left to shine the spotlight on, and the man standing in this blue suit was not-

Lupin slammed the door shut behind them and rushed up the stairs after Goemon and Zenigata. This was fun! He got to show off the house to his guests! Who said domestic pleasures were dull? He puffed out his chest as they commented on the decor. Would Zenigata notice all the originals in the hallway? Probably not. The man was not an art connoisseur.

Lupin recalled a conversation between them, through cell bars, while Zenigata maintained a 24/7 vigil. It wouldn't keep Lupin from escaping, but it slowed his current attempt to a crawl. Nothing much to do but pass the time until Zenigata got tired.

'So, Pops? You enjoy that close-up view of the Mona Lisa you got before you logged it into evidence? Lotta guys would kill for private time with such a famous lady.'

'I handed it off to the French embassy!’ Zenigata barked, and Lupin imagined Zenigata chucking Miss Joconde over his shoulder as he sprinted toward the prison, ‘I have to be keepin' an eye on YOU. I don't have time to be focusin' on paper you know.'

'Paper...?' Lupin put a hand to his forehead, 'All this time around me and you haven't been taking advantage of the worldwide museum tours I've been giving you?'

Zenigata shot him a harsh glare, 'That's not funny.' 

Lupin frowned. Some people really didn't know how to enjoy the flowers on the path. 'Pops, what are you even going to DO anyway if I stay in this cell?'

Zenigata ground his teeth, 'Whatdya mean IF! You're stayin' in there!'

'Better start planning for retirement then. Maybe you should take up painting!' Lupin laughed.

Retirement was a word that made his own gut clench nowadays. It was technically true that he was retired. But god forbid the word come out of anyone's mouth. When someone asked, casually at a coffee shop, what he did, Lupin answered with a grin:

'I'm between jobs.'

What exactly did that mean? He hadn't taken the time to question it. It was just what slipped out. He had no interest in digging down.

It really made his damn face itchy...

As they arrived at their destination, he tried to look at the big, beautiful bar through the eyes of Goemon and Zenigata. Lupin’s architectural knowledge was specialized in breaking and entering, but Fujiko had spent just as many jobs infiltrating and living in those same magnificent homes. Her taste was superb, and while Lupin had planned the wedding and honeymoon, Fujiko had overseen the remodeling and decorating of their new home.

There were decorators with more money than sense, and there were idiots who needed gold-plated anything. But this bar was tasteful in its simplicity, and Lupin was lucky to be leaving behind all the hole-in-the-wall pubs worldwide, and trading up to such a fine home.

Or so Fujiko kept telling him.

Lupin knew Goemon wasn't the type to be very impressed by a fancy room, but he hoped at least Zenigata could appreciate it. But Zenigata's jaw tightened. Something in here was setting him off. Maybe he DID notice the originals in the hallway...

Zenigata slammed a large fist down onto the bartop. Lupin's eyes widened. This threatened to go south fast. He’d sworn to Fujiko that Zenigata could handle a night without calling the cops and forcing them to leave the wainscoting behind. Her “I told you so” would come through a bitter pout: you could take a woman’s dresses and diamonds, but if you gave her a bathroom with heated floors, you don’t so much as imply that she’d ever have to leave.

So, Lupin hit the bar too.

Repeatedly, loudly, each smack like a carjack between the molars, cracking his smile ever wider. What they needed was a mood reset. Redirect, slight of hand by slightly hurting your hands.

“Ooh, someone is eager to get started!” Lupin pounded on the bar, ignoring the pain, chanting with increased intensity, “Yeah! Fujicakes! Drinks drinks drinks!” 

Lupin hopped onto a barstool. He impulsively gave the chair a shove into a fast swirl.

He’d bought these chairs. Most of the stuff in this room was Fujiko's choice, but Lupin wanted a certain style of barstool. Low back, red leather, swivels really smooth. Had them imported, actually. Shame, they really hadn't had any guests.

They definitely LOOKED good, though.

Lupin found himself laughing. He could tell Zenigata was staring now, it was nice to feel at the center of attention again. The feeling of the Inspector's undistracted gaze kept the laughter flowing from him, bubbling like a shaken soda. Even Fujiko flashed a small smile at him. It tingled.

Fujiko complimented him as his spinning came to a stop. “You’re the better bartender, Lupin. Why don’t you mix him something." She moved from behind the bar to give him space to work.

She knew he'd been looking forward to this, and it made him excited to show off his excellent alcohol picks. He WAS a really good bartender. It was a cover that had never failed him.

Fujiko informed Goemon about the sake in the kitchen. That one had sparked a spirited debate. It was fun to have a disagreement that ended with them laughing, rather than not speaking. And he felt sure it was the right sake. He had even put the heat on just right too. He was going to be watching when Goemon took that first sip.

Zenigata hadn’t made a drink order, but Lupin didn’t need to hear it. He started plucking the supplies, and once they were lined up, made his intentions known. "At your service! Zenigata, how about a Manhattan, am I right?"

Zenigata had a lot of meetings in bars. And Lupin had impersonated Zenigata during a lot of meetings, in bars.

Knowing Zenigata's drink ahead of time meant he had just bought new cherries, which he stacked three to a single toothpick to drop flashily into the glass. He pushed the finished drink to the Inspector, a trade-in for all the gratis Manhattans he’d stolen while wearing the Inspector’s face. This one glass was probably of equal monetary value, too.

Lupin was almost amused seeing Zenigata shooting him a harsh stare. No manners whatsoever. Or maybe- Lupin bounced on his heels- Pops was just too keyed up being this close. Still time to launch over the bar, Inspector! The visceral feeling of it brought a smile to his face and he continued to stare at Zenigata, grinning.

"Thank you!" The big doofus said it so loud, and overly formal. Must be getting underneath his skin to be forced to be civil to his object of obsession.

It gave him the warm fuzzies. Good old Pops, never let you down.

With that, he turned his friendly smile to Fujiko. He hoped some positivity would make her forget about whatever wasn’t wrong with the glasses. "And for my Goddess, I’ll try to make something half as sweet as you!”

He knew being silly could make her smile, so he went all in and let his body sway and shake alongside the drink he was mixing. He aimed for something sweet, with a nice acidic finish. Peach, just like her gorgeous soft juicy curves... 

He put it in front of her, eager for feedback.

She sipped slowly and didn't say anything, but she closed her eyes and loosened her muscles. A sure sign of a happier Fujiko. He walked his fingers across the countertop, one tip resting along the back of her wrist. He caught her eye, and gave it the smallest rub.

Before all this, hours of begging and pleading, offers of the most creative and acrobatic sex acts would be turned down in one toss of her auburn curls. But just a brush here, and a little look, and she knew the hand massage he was offering, and how he could work his way up her forearm, her shoulders, the spots on her back and sides that made her sigh. He’d learned where she liked to be touched, and how she liked to keep his mouth occupied, and the things she liked to say and-

The doorbell rang. He hopped from behind the bar, trying not to look too eager. 

“Oh! That must be Jigen-chan! Always gotta be fashionably late." Or maybe just wanting to be cool. He always had to look aloof and cool. "Be right back! Don’t start spin the bottle without me, okay?!”

The sound of the doorbell still echoing in his mind, Lupin took the stairs at double speed, three at a stride. This time it was definitely Jigen. He reached the door, grasped the handle, and paused.

Why was he late?

The shut door stood before him. It didn’t feel like anyone should be on the other side of the cold wood. 

Lupin adamantly refused to think about the past. Lupin the Third didn’t dwell in the dead time. Grand-père's voice filled his head. 

‘Regrets are for the unexceptional folk. ’

That was some of his actually GOOD advice, because a life was precious, and only a fool wasted their future sniveling over the past. 

But they hadn’t parted on great terms. That was nothing new. Lupin drove Jigen away all the time. Sometimes on purpose. But it was always a temporary measure. Jigen could take care of himself; the big grump just needed to unload a few rounds of lead and a head full of steam and then he was good to go. That bit wasn’t Lupin’s business. That sort of general maintenance wasn't what you wanted to show another person. The same way that there were things Lupin didn’t need to bother Fujiko with. When someone was at their worst, you gave them their space to sort it out. You spare them the humiliation and embarrassment of being seen failing.

But Jigen hadn’t come back this time.

Not on his own at least. Maybe Jigen had gotten tired of saving Lupin from harebrained schemes and diabolical traps. Or maybe he was refusing to make the first move, he was demanding Lupin leave to hunt him down and apologize. And that wasn’t happening.

And if Lupin opened the door and the guy had chickened out again, then the creeping doubt would bubble up. That Jigen wasn’t coming back at all. But he opened the door with renewed enthusiasm. Appreciate this night. Lupin lives for today and Jigen would be standing right on that stoop.

He almost completely believed it.

So it wasn’t a shock to see the lanky figure right there in front of him.

“Jigen!”

Lupin bounded out of the door, wrapping his arms around the rickety bastard. His presence enveloped Lupin in a Marlboro haze, suit permeated with years of chain-smoking. There was bourbon on his breath -of course there was- and the body between his arms was thinner. That was bad… when Jigen was happy, he ate quite freely and delighted in fine food, but when he was miserable, he starved by inches, and it was all Lupin could do to ply him with beer.

Hard liquor wasn’t even a carb.

But thin or not, Jigen was here. And if Jigen was here, Lupin could fix it. And it just felt so damn good to hold him, you know? It’d been a year since Lupin had had a damn cigarette, and even the heavy tobacco smell of his horrible cowboy sticks was a delight. He could’ve blown the smoke in Lupin’s mouth, and Lupin would’ve thanked the guy for it.

Lupin had planned to follow Jigen’s lead on this reunion; if the guy was aloof, Lupin would’ve responded with twice the aloofness. But of course now that they were together again, bygones were bygones, and Lupin figured that the sentiment would be too much for Jigen to stand, so he needed to take it a touch too far; to turn it into a joke and give Jigen an opportunity to clobber him and grouse about Lupin’s thoughtlessness, which would allow Lupin the grace of appearing like he hadn’t been agonizing over this for months and months. Lupin prepped to deliver la bise squarely to either side of Jigen’s cheeks.

Then he stopped dead, as several seconds of information caught up with his exuberant mental constructions.

Jigen had not, in fact, moved to hug him back. There had been no grin, no hiss of laughter. There hadn’t even been a groan of annoyance or a shove. No ‘Damn it, Lupin, I’m not a tube of toothpaste, quit squeezin’ so hard!’

There was just nothing. It felt like hugging a stone pillar.

Lupin stepped back, dropping his own arms to his sides. His brain rushed to paper over everything he’d just felt. He’d just wanted to look like a gracious host! He was a nice guy who never held a grudge, and he knew that Jigen was choosing to be cold, but Lupin the Third always treated his friends with warmth and dignity!

He plastered a smile back on, but it wasn’t sticking; some crack in his stomach was opening up, a sinkhole that threatened to swallow up his entire abdomen.

His face ached from what his cheeks were doing. He leaned back to look Jigen over.

The smile twitched.

Lupin’s hopes hadn’t been high for Jigen to be in a great mood. There’d been empty bottles by Jigen's hotel room door when he strolled by to check. And from afar, Jigen’s slouch was pronounced and his clothing unkempt. This wasn’t the cool, casual way Jigen liked to lounge and mope. If anything, he was more energetic than usual.

Tense and strained in a way that resembled Zenigata, if all of Zenigata’s bulk had been boiled off over the stove, and the resulting dry mess poured into a full-body Jigen disguise. Deflated, unable to stay upright, but doing its damndest to do so. His suit hadn’t been ironed, and his beard had been recently trimmed, but wrong.

One side was a little too short, and his cheeks were covered with stubble. One small mistake and the whole venture had been axed; enough energy to make the attempt, but too depressed and wretched to overcome the single setback. His face was dehydrated, and though booze wasn’t a great source, Jigen kept the tank full. What happened? Lupin tried to peer under the hat. Had Jigen been cryi-

Jigen pulled his brim down tight. If he pulled any harder, he’d tuck his beard in with it.

What the hell?! Surely Jigen missed him, there was no question about that. Why be stubborn when Lupin was offering an olive branch? Lupin tried to smile, to let him know it was okay, but if Jigen wouldn’t look at him, how were they supposed to make up? This was a gift! Did Jigen think forgiveness was cheap to him?

Well if that's how he wanted to play, Lupin would take the new rules and run with them, and win. 

Losers aren't Lupins.

It was easy to find his smile once it was part of a one-two punch. "You’re late, Jigen-chan! Did you have something better to do?” 

Lupin knew he didn't. He'd been in town all week. Jigen always came when called, then hung around like a sad little puppy. Reminding him of that would piss Jigen off, but that was good. He’d glare daggers at Lupin, and whether their eyes connected, or it was just Jigen’s knuckles connecting with Lupin’s jaw, Lupin knew he had to get under that brim. Jigen couldn't stay strong if he got caught in Lupin's gaze.

Hat stayed down.

"Maybe I did," Jigen mumbled unconvincingly.

Liar. Goddamn liar . Did he think Lupin was stupid? Worse, did he think Lupin was out of practice?

Jigen had become a much better actor than the first time they met. Due solely to Lupin's extensive hands-on instruction, of course. Now they were two men performing as casual acquaintances with no concern about what the other had been up to in their brief hiatus. Neither was convinced, but both were very appropriately disappointed. Lupin would give the performance a solid six out of ten.

"Ah, well, I’m sorry to interrupt, then." Lupin couldn't even pretend to believe it. They both knew . And Jigen would know by his tone how plausible he thought this lie was. 

Come on. Get mad! Give up the pointless aloof act!

Jigen was still pretending not to care too much either way, unencumbered as the smoke that drifted out of his mouth and into the wind, “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

That wasn’t his usual grumbling. He usually made a big show that he was doing Lupin a  tedious favor when all the while he was exactly where he wanted to be.

For the first time, it genuinely sounded like he didn’t want to help Lupin.

Lupin’s smile cracked in half, and something ugly emerged. “Yup. Don’t blame me if you end up regretting it.” 

Lupin shoved his benevolent host smile back into place, and walked back into the house. The fleeting idea to slam the door on Jigen was supplanted by another one, bubbling up from the sinkhole in his gut. If Jigen was going to be petty and sullen all night, then he could get ready for his worst nightmare.

Lupin was going to have a spectacular evening with his wife and friends, and if that was going to eat Jigen up inside, then so be it. Lupin looked back up and finally caught Jigen's bloodshot, desperate eyes.

Jigen always avoided staring at people. Eye contact was too strong for his soft heart, and his soulful eyes were incapable of masking. His curse was that his eyes could never lie. But his blessing was that they communicated everything with dreadful accuracy.

Lupin didn’t know what had happened to Jigen this last year. But Lupin did know what it had done to him.

So he winked. Another rewrite. Wallpaper over plaster over paint over wall after all. Masks over masks until even Lupin couldn’t recognize his own heart. It was all a joke! All the bitterness! Him, be mad at that face? Never! They were playing roles, but the wink was the sign. What a fun little play, wink, but we both know who we are backstage.

See? Bygones! This was exactly the bygones being bygone!

Lupin let him in. Jigen seemed to mechanically plod up the stairs and Lupin watched the world’s thinnest, heaviest legs rise and fall. He knew those footfalls, he had memorized their sound so it never startled him when he heard Jigen coming.

He didn't have to be on edge when he heard those steps. If he didn't recognize the spacing or the weight, he would ready his Walther. But Jigen's steps meant he was allowed to relax. It wasn’t fair, the empty way those steps echoed in his sterile home. The sound was wrong, so he couldn’t relax. They needed to be thudding in a hotel stair, or a shitty apartment, some abandoned blown up city block in the sewer. Somewhere with the right acoustics.

Lupin caught up to Jigen, and attempted to re-engage. He slung an arm over Jigen's shoulder. Jigen would want that, right? It was important to walk through the door arm in arm, thick as- well, never mind that, but in high spirits. It was weirder for things to be so off, and Jigen would want that cover, right?

Jigen immediately slipped away, which felt like another slap in the face. What the hell was his problem anyhow? He was the one who was leaving Lupin wanting for something to grab onto in a sea of not knowing where he stood any longer. He was the one threatening to leave forever. He was the one being a big fucking baby about it.

“Hey, you even invited Pops.” Jigen stepped into the room, like the whole thing was so mundane. 

Terrific. He could do it on his own. Fine. So could Lupin. Lupin would show him mundane. He was about to be so fucking nonchalant, so gracious a host. So goddamn smooth.

 "Yeah, it didn’t feel right not having everyone for the party. Right, Fujiko?” Lupin gave Fujiko a glance. 

Lupin had cajoled Fujiko for weeks to allow him to invite Jigen. When was the last time Lupin the Third had been ‘not allowed’ to do anything? When was the last time he’d cared? Stealing Jigen from boneheaded gangsters and plopping him into his Fiat had been a heist worthy of six headlines, and here he was, mucking it all up.

Fujiko had stood in the kitchen, blending seven different vegetables into her morning smoothie.

Her diet was so boring. Would it kill her to eat bacon and toast like a normal person once in a while?

'It's fine to have Goemon, or even Zenigata.” The blender screamed, but her tone was level. Annoyed, but level. “Zenigata might make a scene but at least he's not going to be an asshole to me on my own anniversary.'

'Please give him a chance, Fujicakes!’ Lupin was having oatmeal. The pantry had thirty-eight different flavors of opened oatmeal. One of them had to be good. He just hadn’t found one yet. ‘We can't have everyone here without him. He'll be fine!'

'He's not fine,’ Fujiko said, powering down the blender and unhooking the top. It was neatly full of noxious green goo, and she twisted a cap onto it. She’d take it with her on her morning run.

'It's been super long. He should have cooled off by now.' Lupin tried to reassure her, maybe also himself.

Jigen didn’t get over things. He held onto things forever, stuffing them into waistbands and wearing them in his head and never, ever changing. Not like Lupin. Lupin scooped up another bite of oatmeal.

Nope. Didn’t like it with plums, either. He lifted the bowl, and poured the contents into the trash can. 

Fujiko grimaced. Lupin gave her a winning smile. But the judges were not on his side, and so Fujiko opened her mouth, and delivered the bombshell.

'Do you think he's magically stopped being in love with you?'

Lupin had forgotten what it felt like to panic. 'He's....We're... look. I know him better than you. He'll be good.' 

Fujiko narrowed her eyes.

‘He won't…look. Things are different now. You know that, and so does he. He’s not in the habit of sabotage, right?’

Her eyes flashed. He won the argument, and Jigen was cleared for the party. 

He’d clearly lost a point or two with Fujiko, of course. But when you were married, you could always win points back. That’s what happily ever after and unconditional love meant. The night was going to be smooth as butter, everyone will have missed him, of course, and they'd talk about whatever they'd been keeping busy with, they'd drink and smoke and laugh and it would all be easy. How could it go wrong with Lupin keeping the train neatly on the tracks.

But now the evening was here, and already Jigen was setting Lupin up to boil, strain, and eat his words with a light carbonara.

Jigen slouched his way to the bar. He didn’t lift his head, but vaguely angled himself toward Fujiko. “Ah yeah. Happy anniversary to you.” He stared, like he expected her to get up from the bar and give him her seat.

He almost spat the words out. If Lupin hadn’t spent over 10 years taking Jigenese, he’d never have heard the effort. But he was trying. This was him doing his best to resist saying something rude or snarky. Lupin was right afterall, Jigen was going to be good. Lupin had a strained smile at this less than ideal victory. He hoped that Fujiko would relax knowing that.

To his delight, Fujiko came close and granted his wish. She started at his arm, delicate fingers encircling his wrist. Then, her chest was generously pressed against his back, arms wrapping about his pecs, and he might as well have been falling backwards. Lips pecked a casual kiss at the top of Lupin’s ear, but the sound that came with it had the smallest, tiniest lilt of a sigh.

This was a hug. 

Fujiko was good in bed, you know?

Yeah, you want to know, don’t you?

Fujiko radiated sex appeal, but in the end, she could usually take or leave the actual act. But she loooooooved the power it gave her over men, loved to drink it all in, loved that with her, pillow talk and pre-orgasm promises were binding legal contracts. You thought the mind games played out mid-heist were intense? That stuff was nothing.

A man simply had not lived until he had no idea where things would end in the bedroom. If you ended up a pile of jelly while her fingers stroked you, reading off a list of Christmas demands while your climax was hostage, that was Thursday.

If she ended up underneath you, red faced and finally screaming from pleasure that you were her one and only, brown eyes laid bare and helpless with affection? That was Tuesday. The one made the other all the more decadent and debauched. The other made the one all the sweeter and more triumphant. And if a glancing caress to wrist or ear could rub it all in, then those were the sweet little secrets to be held in domestic bliss.

Of course, that sort of sex really belonged in the realm of thievery. There were only so many ways you could trick one another into giving up something before you ran out of things.

After all, they were married; Lupin and Fujiko had already promised everything to each other. How could Fujiko extort anything else from him when he’d handed her his bank account number in the same block of paperwork as their homeowner insurance?

Married life was for lovely-dovey missionary sex. And if “I love you, darling” got a little stale after the thirtieth lovemaking session, then the answer was to love her more. It was not at all to tap back into the wild and weird sex, rolling diamonds across her rosy nipples and hearing her coo “call me Mommy again” into Lupin’s sweaty neck.

Nope! Wholesome married sex all the way! There had to be some way to make it feel just as good as it used to, even if he hadn’t pinpointed that just yet.

But as she delivered the chaste domestic squeeze, her breath on his ear allowed his mind to sink into the dozens of honeymoon evenings when she’d been allowed to toy with him as much as she’d wanted, and he’d been able to embrace her again and again, not once waking up alone with his wallet and hotel safe ransacked. He leaned against her soft, massive chest: he didn’t get slapped for it, and she didn’t hide from him that she was doing it on purpose. She pressed her silky cheek to his, and he was gone.

Forget the others. Even if just for a moment. This was his anniversary. One year. They’d done it. An oasis amidst this high tension evening, and no matter how the other relationships tonight went, it was til death do us part with this wonderful woman. Her mouth was moving and it took him a moment to process. 

Titties made everything better.

Her lips pressed to his forehead and he heard Jigen say something like "Awhile."

Lupin nodded a little, yeah awhile. Sounds right.

People always thought Lupin was stupid around Fujiko, that he would fall for anything she told him and he didn’t care to correct them. As a good thief, letting false assumptions spread was perfect obfuscation that you didn’t have to do any work to maintain. A mask you didn’t even have to make.

It wasn't true, though. He wasn't tricked into any of this. The honest truth of it was they had a mutually beneficial relationship.

Once he had done the fun part, the part where he defied all odds, stealing something magnificent with the whole world watching? And hopefully getting a good chase from Zenigata? After that, the object was usually useless to him.

He had money, Grand-père Arsène had left him in charge of a full estate before he even really started his career. The family was all gone now so, it was his, thus he had more than he knew what to do with before he even had a chance to prove himself.

In his opinion, the only point of having anything at all was to make the next heist more wild and spectacular than the last. To have the means to defy the odds, that was the only value it had.

Fujiko liked the gems, the necklaces, the paintings. Her tastes were exquisite and refined.

And really it was a relief to give it away. Being in a large museum-like room filled with glamorous objects collecting dust made him feel like he might be entirely swallowed up thinking about the emptiness of it all. Stale places like that made him feel existential in the worst ways.

Seeing his bank account balance going up in a sudden rush could feel exciting as it happened, but looking at a bank statement with too many zeros just brought on this nagging feeling of waste, pointlessness. All the zeros, a gnawing void asking what the hell this was all FOR…? It was something he had to push violently from his mind.

But that’s what made his relationship with Fujiko so beautiful. He could leave it in her hands and never have to consider where it went. She spirited it away and he never had to spare a single thought on it ever again. He could be on to the next adventure, baggage free. And sometimes he would even have sex as a bonus, too. Couldn’t be more perfect.

Of course, he also loved when she tricked him, he loved the intrigue, the surprise, the sudden betrayal that meant he had to recalibrate the plan on the fly! It kept things exciting. It made him sharper, stronger. Fujiko made him the best possible thief. And he knew she believed in his ability to survive any death trap, conquer any scenario. In fact, other than himself, Fujiko probably had the most faith in his skills.

It made him giddy, thinking about a woman like that, probably one of the sexiest and most cunning people on earth, and yet she thought HE was flawless. 

She didn’t have to say it, it was obvious. It was her faith in him that got him through some of the hardest situations he had ever been thrown in. She made him feel powerful. She made him feel invincible.

He didn’t need straightforward encouragement. Grand-père made it more than clear; that kind of stuff is empty, it only fills you up for a second or two. It’s an aperitif. You could get a thousand girls who would say that kind of thing to you and still want more. But a woman like Fujiko? That’s the kind of thing that could fuel your fire for a lifetime.

He didn't want to betray her faith for even a moment. He could not accept letting her down. And thankfully tonight was going great. He wasn't going to let her or himself, or Granddad even, down. If he couldn't even throw a simple party, how the hell could he expect to steal a world class artistic marvel?

Her warmth still permeated through him but he managed to get himself back in host mode. "How’s the sake, Goemon? I got the right stuff, right?"

"Indeed. It’s excellent.”

It was gratifying whenever he could get such a positive reaction from Goemon. Usually Goemon was harsh, harshest towards himself. He denied himself so much of the pleasure of the world. Lupin made it his mission to slip as many little luxuries into his life as he could, and of course to flatter him profusely for his incredible feats of strength.

Goemon's prideful little smirk was always worth it.

Jigen lifted a weary, skinny arm, "Let’s have another round, then.”

Lupin was pleased as punch to see Jigen so positive. He hadn't been rude to Fujiko, even with her this close to him. He tried to think of a positive story. Something fun, and funny, and not too sexy. And he had the perfect one ready. 

“Oh I HAVE to tell you all about our trip to Hawaii. So we get off the plane and they lost my suitcase of clothes, so we only have Fujicakes’ stuff.”

Lupin was holding a little back. Zenigata had actually followed him on that trip. And well, Lupin MIGHT have filled his own suitcase with tools and clothes and lockpicks. He just had wanted to have a little fun robbing some tourists. Nothing too flashy. Just a fun travel activity, like a walking tour.

So he had to 'lose' his luggage when he spotted Pops in the second to last row of the airplane.

“Of course I was planing for it to be warm, so I really didn’t have much to cover him up with.” Fujiko was smiling. She remembered it fondly, too. It was probably the best week they ever had. He pointed out the badly disguised Zenigata while in flight and once they landed they had a roaring good time teasing the Inspector while both in very revealing bikinis.

Fujiko was absolutely diabolical with delicate "accidental" touches. Zenigata tried to stay calm, and of course he saw right through Lupin's own sexy little number, but he had to try to pretend he had no idea in order to keep up his undercover surveillance act. It was so much fun.

He attempted to lurk around watching them from a distance for a whole week. Watching them nuzzle on beach chairs and flirt with other couples and get the girliest drinks on the menu while splitting coconut shrimp. A weird way for a lovelorn man to spend his vacation, but Zenigata was a bit of a masochist and Lupin didn't judge anyone for what tickled their fancy.

“But it was a blast, when we got to the hotel we both shaved and made up elaborate backstories the whole time!”

“You were always trying to make me laugh and break character!" Fujiko tugged on his cheek in the way she did when she was scolding him for something she definitely had enjoyed him doing. He felt a flow of praise, warm and fuzzy in his gut, and he wished he was back there doing it all over again. When the little smirks would form at the corner of her mouth from some joke or delivery of his performance threatened to make her burst out laughing.

“So we were making up details, different stories for everyone and having to keep them consistent for all the couples we met!” Lupin tried to outline how brilliant it all was, but obviously you had to be there. 

Especially with Zenigata hoping to catch them out on inconsistencies, it kept them both on their toes and jumping into bed each night with playful, confident energy like they used to have.

"You kept the same name every time though I bet,” Jigen teased, “you were always terrible at on the spot names.”

"He is! Remember Daisuke Ishikawa?” Fujiko laughed and so did Jigen, both laughing at one of his very minor mistakes.

Jigen was smiling smugly, he could hear it in his voice, the way he mocked him, "Melted that genius brain of yours with all your drinking and hedonism.”

Not like Jigen was perfect, where did he get off anyway? "Jigen you’re even more of a hedonist than I am! Or at least, we’re on the same level! How many times have people tried to shoot us and you wouldn’t even dare to put down your drink!”

“People shoot at us a lot, so why waste perfectly good alcohol? If anything I call that economical.” 

Jigen's toothy grin was both a welcome home and a reminder of distance. It stung in Lupin’s throat. It was time to change the subject.

He shifted his gaze to Zenigata, “Well, I want to hear about all your adventures! How about you Pops? Tell me you haven't been too lonely without me!”

He hadn't hacked into the ICPO database this year, because APPARENTLY just looking at information was illegal. They really made it hard to be on the straight and narrow, calling harmless stuff like that a crime.

Zenigata looked lost for a moment before starting his reply. “Err... well... I’ve been keepin’ an eye on you, of course.”

Lupin smirked at Zenigata for thinking he hadn't known that already.

Zenigata continued. "But after a few months it just didn’t feel right havin’ the ICPO payin’ for me to do nothin’. So I asked to be taken off the Lupin case.”

Lupin choose the wrong time to take a sip of sake because that revelation made it take a special route down his throat, burning as it did. “Oh-hoh y-yeah? Well that’s great news! Now I can get back to things without any trouble!”

A few months? Lupin’s knuckles were splattered with droplets of sake. That's all it took for the cops to decide he wasn't even a threat enough to have ONE salary spent on him? They’d all deserved it if he went out and committed some reckless property damage just to punish them for the assumption!

Zenigata seemed angry as well and smacked his fist on the counter, "I’m still watchin’ you! We made a deal!”

He'd better be. Lupin wasn't going to do anything, he'd made a promise before god, Fujiko, and Zenigata that he wasn't going to be doing any crime. And he cared about keeping his word to at least one of the three. Maybe even two. On a good day.

"Ghu-huhuhuuu! I know, Pops! I’m only kidding.”

Zenigata talked about some of his current exploits, something about a new recruit. Boring, not gonna last, nothing worth thinking about. Even if he was still working on the case, no newbie was worth taking Lupin’s consideration. Zenigata prattled on about his usual tenacity, being a big dumb hero, blah blah blah.

Easily could've done that stuff himself. Get shot at in some ditch. Who needs it, who needs it. Lupin imagined Zenigata bringing in a whole mess of guys who rarely got their hands dirty tied up like roped rodeo cows, undignified, not even getting to walk in the door.

It was a warm little spark of golden nostalgia. Lupin felt it tickle in his ribs until he couldn't help but laugh at the vivid picture, "You sure love painting a target on your back! Even more than I do, huh, Pops?"

"They're findin' out slowly what you already know. I'm hard to get rid of." Zenigata grinned. 

Saltiness aside, it was good to know that hadn’t changed: you could always count on Pops. If he said he'd do it, he'd do it to the ends of the Earth. It was what made Lupin grow to respect and care for him as much as he did.

Goemon added, as if he'd read Lupin's mind, "Admirably persistent." 

"And harder to kill than a damn cockroach," Jigen teased. Lupin smiled, thinking for the moment about his good choice of friends. So in sync and well-suited to their task.

Zenigata was nestled in perfectly and he joined the warmth with his booming, confident laugh, "Heh heh heh, don't you criminals ever forget it!"

It filled him with relief to hear him say it again, at least Zenigata understood. Lupin was still what he always was, a thief. The nasty idea of retiring was on ice for the moment. Lupin didn’t have to imagine himself a former, he was a present.

Fujiko spoke up, “Lupin, you should make your good friend Zenigata another drink.”

"We’re not friends!” Zenigata shouted with an outdoor voice in an indoor setting. Lupin was glad they didn't have any neighbors in town.

And Zenigata's denial was uncalled for; they weren't in public, after all. Who was there to deny it to? Back when the chase was still on, Lupin might understand an insistence upon their absolute rivalry. Rivals, of course. But even then... even then if he would protect him at cost of his own safety? Friends. That's the least of what they were. Wasn't it?

"Awww, come on now Pops, can’t you just say we’re friends! That’s why you’re here isn’t it? Aren’t you all my friends?” 

He felt the last question slip from his lips unbidden. It wasn't cute. It wasn't charming. It twisted in his stomach and slithered out of his mouth. Sickening insecurity creeping through his teeth.

Lupin pulled a silly face. He pouted his lip out as far as he could, stretching his hands out in an exaggerated gesture of begging. 

At least they might laugh, might break this silence.

It was dead quiet. Quiet for so long that he worried they might hear his breathing shift its pace. They might even hear Granddad was laughing at him, Your weakness is showing, boy.

Lupin let a sharp sting of air into his lungs. A hiss like getting a paper cut. The pain was a reminder to handle it all with steel gloves. Paper cuts only happen if you're not being careful. It was his own fault for thinking he was allowed to not be careful.

The air he took in got pushed out as a laugh, he let it loosen his tight throat. A Lupin wasn't held back by the approval of others. A little laugh, let this feeling disappear and it would all be easy.

He had laughed in the face of people much more dangerous than these lot. He had a reputation to keep.

“So cold. So cold! And I even got you guys the expensive alcohol! So how about you, Goemon?” Easy prey for a conversation change- “Any new techniques? You must have gotten something good done in all that training time.”

"I have been focused on a difficult technique.” ‘Focused’ was right, Goemon didn’t even notice that he was bailing Lupin out. “A way of moving that allows a man to slip between two opponents and disarm them."

Perfect. He’d launch into a boring tirade about honor and diligence and oh lah dee dah . What a friggin stuffed shirt. Goemon’s actual words faded out, as his dumb face continued to talk. 

I'm Goemon and I neveeerrrrr stop training. I just have to be so cool and soooo strong and you haven't even seen my final form, Lupin. I’m probably rescuing damsels and getting them all to ooh and ahhh while they stay up polishing my sword allll night lonnnnggggg!

Lupin chiseled a smile onto his face. "Sounds pretty useful."

Then Jigen was cutting in too, and his smile just the wrong sort of happy, barely too wide, "Oh it was... Goemon and I did a few... weeks in meditation. In the mountains. Right, Goemon?"

Goemon assented, barely looking up. But the guy was an open book, and the hesitation implied a thirty-volume-set.

What the hell had they actually been up to? Jigen sure as hell wasn't meditating in the mountains. Bullshit. Sleeping in the mountains at best! Was it so illegal that he couldn’t say it in front of Pops?  Zenigata wasn’t about to tell anyone anything he learned at a party for the guy he was supposed to be arresting for over a decade.

"Come on, now. What did you really do?" Fujiko beat Lupin to the punch, calling Jigen out on this nonsense. "Zenigata's not going to do anything to you, you're not Lupin."

"Thank god." 

Jigen produced a cigarette, as was his habit when he was about to have to settle in and talk, but instead of starting the story, he turned and gave a casual smirk in Lupin’s direction.

Did he think that Lupin was going to play his immature game? And on home turf, too? Whatever the two of them had been doing, Lupin didn’t care in the slightest. It was pathetic how much Jigen wanted his attention, actually. Really sad. Embarrassing for him.

Lupin responded in what was definitely a cool, level tone, and he probably looked composed like a movie star while he said it.

"You guys are just jealous that Pops only has eyes for me! And that I’m married to the prettiest woman on earth! I’m the world’s greatest thief. I’m Lupin III!”

Lupin wiped a little of his drink off his cuffs. How’d that sloshed on there? And huh. His throat felt a little hoarse. Maybe he’d said it just a little bit louder than he’d meant to. But he’d definitely, absolutely looked like Clark Gable or Henry Cavill while delivering that sick burn. Very cool.

The bait was meant for Jigen, but Zenigata popped off, face red with embarrassment. "What is THAT supposed to mean?!"

It was decades too late to salvage the guy’s ego, but Jigen slung a friendly arm over Zenigata's shoulder, taking pity on him. "If you promise not to be a narc, Pops, I’ll tell you."

"No promises," Zenigata was still being defensive. But Lupin could guarantee he wouldn't tell a single soul. Not even to his new little sidekick. The whatshisname guy.

"Well. Some guy hired Goemon and me to protect a vault. I know, right? That was wild. A few days we had these huge groups of guys trying to break in, and other days it was nothing. We got bored half the time. And then creative the other half. And then he tried to stiff us, so we took all of the jewels in there at the end. You should’ve seen Goemon’s face."

Mercenary work. 

Goemon's hollow eyes, casting about for another victim, even as his blade arm finished the one smooth stroke which would sever a man's head from his shoulders.

The dark shade cast over Jigen's features when he took a lethal shot.

All at the behest of some rich manic. Lupin took a sip from his glass, but he couldn’t taste it.

What a waste.

Fujiko set her charms on the gunman. "Gonna share any of that score with us, Jigen?"

It must've just been habit. Fujiko knew better than to turn her gorgeous chest toward Jigen. Any good and proper man would bask under that chest and set up shop in the promised land. But Jigen? The warm light of those twin suns would hit that dried up lizard of a man and shrivel him up for good.

“Why the hell not?” Jigen laughed.

What.

Jigen took a drag on his cigarette. "You and Lupin were always the ones with good fencing contacts. I just have a big pile of rubies back at my place. Whatdya say. 70/30? That was your usual shtick right?”

"Uhh.." Lupin let a soft noise escape his mouth. 

"Shoot, I forgot! You’re outta the business now, aren’t you?"

Jigen had his arm still casually tossed around Zenigata’s shoulder. So weirdly chummy. Gross. So that’s how it was, huh? Wouldn’t give your old pal Lupin a hug, but he was fine to get all buddy buddy with the cop.

Maybe Jigen had gotten THAT kind of lonely. Him and Pops both. No Lupin to orbit around, so they had to make do with leftovers.

But his imagination immediately retaliated, reminding him what that really meant. That maybe missing him would motivate them to move on, and never miss him again.

Grief was his least favorite emotion and he fought it off with a bat. He wrestled his mind out of that position so hard he was left panting for air. All this about jewels and heists, and friends maybe drifting away into the unknown.

Zenigata didn't seem to be feeling pleased either, as he shook Jigen off with his usual gruff expression, “That’s enough of that! No illegal activities at this party!”

That oaf thinking he had control over anything here was a laugh. Lupin had to set the record straight. Plus, selling gems someone ELSE stole wasn’t really illegal, anyhow. How could he, Lupin, have known they were stolen?

Lupin smirked at Zenigata, "It’s MY party, Pops! It seems like I should get to make the rules. And right now I wanna drink!”

As much as he was eager to see the loot, it was still best not to do the deal right in front of the old man. He would be sure to make it a hassle.

Goemon cut in. “I did not know it was illegal to drink in Italy.” 

Nobody knew quite what to say. Goemon couldn't be serious? Probably not. He was probably joking. His jokes were sometimes hilarious, but sometimes fell flat. 

Fujiko was behind the bar now, holding one of those damn glasses. Lupin knew what she was about to say before she said it, and braced himself for it.

"Sorry,” She clicked her tongue and lifted it to the light. “The glass is a little dirty." 

Lupin took it from her hand, trying his best to move past it, "It's fine."

From the glint in her brown eyes and the shape of her smile, it was obvious she wasn't in a good mood. She put one finger under his chin, drawing his eyes up to meet hers. "What can I fill it with?"

He tried to show her his belly. "You can pick, I know I’ll like whatever you choose, Fujicakes." 

Y ou win darling, I'll listen to you.  

But maybe his heart wasn't in it.

It was all so pointless, whatever stupid thing it was. He longed to just be past this tension, he just wanted this argument to be over so they could get back to the fun part. The part where staring into each other's eyes, hopped up on that special competition made their hearts race and the future bright. This was too much anger and the stakes were off and too many things were wrong and Lupin couldn’t stare at them for long enough to figure out what to do.

A soft sound startled his reverie: the slow thrum of knuckles; Jigen tapping on the bartop counter. Sharp and insistent, the quiet man only ever used it when he wanted Lupin's attention.

"What about what I like? Lupin, you're bragging about the booze, but this stuff is all shit. Cheap whiskey. Cruddy bourbon. Do you even have a bottle of rum? What kind of bar doesn't have the bare essentials?"

Good old Jigen. He was always swooping in for the rescue. He saw Lupin scrambling, needing an out, so he made one. No matter the time past, they still had their unspoken partnership. Jigen would never leave Lupin in trouble. Lupin felt his routine smirk creep onto his face, Jigen's ribbing that he knew just how to respond to.

"Can't drink in a comfy little bar? Do you even like rum?" Jigen set up the pitch and Lupin knocked it out of the park. Teamwork same as it ever was.

Jigen made his signature Keh and crossed his legs casually, "Maybe I'm in the mood for it. Or a half-dozen of the other things you don't have."



"So picky Jigen-chan. FINE. There’s a liquor store two blocks up." A breath of fresh air, a little excuse to slip out and let Fujiko cool off too. Good for everybody, really. He got up swiftly, no sense in delaying.

"Do you have to go?" Fujiko put on her cutest pout and his heart felt like it was being gripped in a vice. 

She was faking it, of course she was. But even the fact that she'd want him to stay was its own alluring ego boost. She wasn't tricking him for loot today, this was about wanting to keep him. He hadn't felt wanted like that all night, and it was undeniably tempting to let her win.

He hesitated, and leaned towards her to kiss her cheek softly. Hopefully she could feel in it what he wished he could say.

But aloud, he kept his tone cheery. "Keep that cute face right there, I’ll be back for the drink before you can miss me!"

“I miss you already.” She said with a warm smile. A sad smile. This time it ached in his chest even more. He couldn't fix anything right now. He needed a breath, he needed a plan, he needed just a little more energy to be strong enough to give them all a good night.

Lupin was part of the way across the room but he drew back towards her, almost helpless to resist, "Oh, in that case!"

He leaned in with a last small kiss on her cheek. He was tender, gentle. It wasn't a throwaway gesture, he hoped the warmth of it got through to her. But he couldn't meet her eyes again as he slipped out the door.

Though he hadn't taken much time getting to know his neighbors, he knew the layout of the neighborhood well enough. The slight chill to the air was a good motivation to walk faster up the sidewalk.

When he entered the store, the door hit a small bell. But no one looked up or over. The only folks present were a few old men uninterested in anything but their own schedules.

Lupin hit the rim section, and skimmed the top shelf. Bottles glimmered like jewels on display, promising, in turn, sumptuous sips of the most refined spices and exotic fruits. Rum could be sipped like whiskey, and one of these would make an excellent addition to his and Fujiko’s collection. 

Or rather, they should’ve. What an embarrassing turnout for the shop’s crown jewels. None of them were good enough to really impress, and he’d get stuck holding onto something he didn’t really want.

Browsing the middle of the rack was equally useless. Sometimes the top got clogged with brands that bought their way there, and the real good stuff was hiding, inconspicuous behind a mediocre label, down where you couldn’t see it. His eyes skimmed across and down, across and down, until, hunched over and at the bottom, his hand finally hovered over a bottle of Bacardi. 

Bottom-shelf booze meant for mixing, not sipping. You didn’t need to travel or steal to get this in your hands. You could find this in any drug store, bump into it in a shell-bombed basement in the middle of-

Ah. So that’s why Jigen had rum on his mind.

Pretty cheeky move. Impressively sly. Their first time would’ve been the kind of one-night stand to brag about later: the spectre of death looming overhead, years of building friction finally coming to a head for a night of passion which, thanks to the booze, lasted a lot longer than Lupin had assumed the ol’ quick-shot would’ve been capable of-

A sting in his gut, and Lupin hated that he even could register it as guilt. He wanted to wallpaper over all of that, the guilt and the thing he was guilty about, because those feelings didn’t have any place in his current life.

Lupin held his breath and a memory of an argument with Fujiko came to him. It wasn’t her style to yell. When upset, she always withdrew. Years of feminine spycraft had taught her to be subtle, and avoidant.

But not that day. Lupin couldn’t remember where they’d been, but the loathing galore she’d affixed him with was burned deep into the recall. 

'You never really want anything until it slips out of your fingers, do you?'

He burned just thinking about it, true or not. Fine! Maybe he took his treasures for granted. But he knew that was a risk, and that was why he worked three times as hard to impress her! To make her happy! Why wasn't that good enough for her?

He just didn't understand why she was so angry. She’d smile when she was upset. She’d be angry that he loved her so much, angry that she loved him back. Like time at the hot springs so many years back, when she wanted to kill that poor tattooed woman. Irrational anger pointed the wrong direction.

Why couldn't they just enjoy being in love with each other? Other people seemed so happy. And it wasn’t all bad between him and Fujiko! But sometimes... it felt like the bad would never stop, and nothing could fix it. And it drove him crazy, because the more attempts he made, the more the word “impossible” loomed in his peripheral vision. How was he supposed to bear this wound to his pride?

But then, Fujiko prided herself on him not being in control of her. She’d rather be unhappy. Not that he hadn't hurt himself before for the sake of his own ego, too. But from this end it felt so senseless.

If he had arms right there to coddle him, to praise him, to shower him in every soft, sensual act under the sun, Lupin wouldn’t throw it away. He’d take it. He'd save some stupid sense of self respect for another time. How dare she act like he didn’t want her? Giving up everything for her wasn’t a one-time choice. It was something he was doing over and over, every single day.

But seeing them all here tonight brought to his attention a thing he never felt possible.

Jigen was going to slip through his fingers. Zenigata’s constant return was something you tried to plan for, Goemon’s sudden rescues were a familiar refrain. But Jigen was supposed to just be there. All he ever needed was a place and a few scraps of attention. And Lupin hadn’t thought that getting married would have meaningfully altered Jigen’s seat at the table.

Yet he saw it with his own eyes. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or a year from now. But Jigen had already taken the first step towards slipping away.

Lupin’s hand wrapped tight around the Bacardi. He knew who would be more than willing to coddle him and shower him with love as long as he just gave a little. He wasn't promising anything. It was just a bottle. Jigen owed him anyway. Where the hell would he be without Lupin the Third? Probably 6 feet under.

Lupin caught his own reflection in the mirrored checkout counter, it was still completely off. So dull that he might as well be 6 feet under, too.

Purchasing the liquor and exiting the shop, Lupin looked down at the brown paper shopping bag. It was heavy. The apartment was only a few blocks away, but how annoying to have to carry it. It would be so much easier to drive.

His eyes met a beautiful Porsche with the top down, parked right in front of this liquor store. As if it was fate. They were destined to meet like this. In his moment of need, a stunning car like that, a flashy, brilliant white exterior and fine leather seats.

Lupin felt the tips of his fingers itch. He hadn’t stolen anything in months. Terrible time for it. Pops was only a mile away.

But wouldn’t it be exciting, just to borrow it? Just park it a few blocks over, no real harm done. The car’s rightful owner would get a great story. And Lupin wouldn’t even dent the thing.

Mutually beneficial situation. He couldn’t see any downsides. He neatly hopped over the door and into the driver’s seat. He tucked his precious cargo into the passenger seat and reached down with one hand underneath the steering column.

His suit jacket was still loaded with stuff from their adventures in San Marino. With a flick of his wrist, the necessary tools were at hand. He justified carrying this stuff to Fujiko with the promise that you never knew when someone would show up looking for revenge. It was always good to be prepared for anything, which, to her credit, she couldn't agree more on. She too was never going to let herself be unprepared for a dangerous situation. And it DID actually happen a few times this year. So it wasn’t paranoia. You can stop working, but not everyone got the memo.

He was out of practice, so it took at least a minute and a half to fiddle things right to start it up. But the way the car vibrated to life flowed into his limbs with a nigh-orgasmic pleasure. It felt great to be great. It made his bones feel warm just to bask in his thiefly competence.

Lupin whistled. “Little lady, let Lupin the Third show you a good time!”

He shifted into drive and smoothly joined the flow of traffic. He accelerated to the corner. That buttery, soft, engine, she purred like a kitten. 

And then a screech of tires. A metallic crunch, loud and abrasive. The sound of glass being shattered. It was a chorus of noises that would make anyone wince. And Lupin did though his eyes were shut tight for only a millisecond. He had trained out the normal human reaction as best he could.

He opened them and saw the steel and poly carnage in the intersection 100 feet ahead. A little truck and some horribly ugly panel van that might even be improved visually by the folded and serrated metal that was now decorating it. The crash damage was extensive, but low speed. Both drivers got out and started litigating the blame, hands flying and a second crash of wild Italian insults smashing into one another.

Lupin didn’t bother trying to translate. This sort of thing was a universal language.

The whole intersection was blocked. Every car waiting behind them, including Lupin’s pretty new Porsche, were stuck tight. A few around started inching. Trying to finagle a way through. Questioning if maybe just a little this way, or that way, then maybe, magically, a truck wouldn’t be in the way.

But it definitely was.

Lupin stared at the spectacle. They were all stuck here. For who knows how long. At least one person started to honk. Then another. Honk honk. Honk honk. Lupin tried his too. Honk honk. A brief moment of idle satisfaction to shout into the chaos. But believe it or not, no laws of physics shifted and no sinkholes appeared and swallowed up all the stupid, noisy cars. Still at a standstill.

Lupin tapped his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. He bounced in the seat. He released the brake and scooted just a little farther. Mere centimeters. Nothing changed. He bobbed his head. This wasn’t going anywhere.

He gripped the wheel, tight. Stupid car. It was prison bars with a shiny coat of paint. A 200,000 pound steel bear trap. He hated this car and everyone else in their stupid fucking cars, too. He put the car in park, and let go of the wheel. He actually did a flip over the car door to get out. He reached over to the passenger seat and scooped up the brown bag. And he walked away.

And god, it felt AMAZING.

All the noise around him didn’t register, it wasn’t his problem. Despite the cursing, honking and yelling, the air was clear and crisp and Lupin the Third was free.

Why in the hell would anyone stay in that mess, locked in like a jail? Walking away felt even better than starting up the car. The brown bag was weightless in his hands. His steps were as buoyant as if he was skipping.

He was home before he knew it.

Home? Pft. This was just a door. Just an apartment. Home was a word that made him want to laugh. Why would he even call it that?

He opened the door and took the stairs like Lupin the Third should. Bounding upwards towards the highest heights he could reach. More and more, faster with each one. He was slightly disappointed when he reached the top because he wanted to go even farther, despite the sudden burning in his calves from being out of shape.

And there he saw Pops losing his balance. His reaction was fluid, he felt lighter on his feet with a firm decision made. He caught the heavy inspector and he was thrilled to find his arms were still able to handle the full weight.

He tossed the bag of booze aside, to the waiting hands of his ever-vigilant samurai. No words spoken, but it couldn't have been more perfectly coordinated. Trusting Goemon to catch that bag just as he had learned to trust Goemon's control of his blade. He would let the tip of Zantetsuken within a hair's breadth of his skin as long as Goemon was the one holding it. He didn't have to say a thing to him, Goemon was always playing in tune with Lupin's grand symphony.

“Wow Pops, you are really getting into this party, huh? Maybe we should cut you off!”

Zenigata drooped his weight against Lupin, who was enjoying the closeness of his rival, even if it was Lupin grabbing Zenigata as opposed to the usual arrangement.

Lupin’s face felt warm and nourished as if he'd eaten a feast. He gestured at the bag he'd brought, "Got your rum, Jigen. In the bag."

Lupin tried not to make it obvious the way he watched with excitement as Jigen rolled open the paper bag and looked inside. As he picked up the bottle, Lupin found his eyes fixated. Many years of watching that shaded gunman's face taught Lupin to know the smallest moves of what little remained visible.

Jigen's jaw tightened.

And then he wrenched the bottle open to knock back an enormous gulp. What an uncouth, greedy slob he was... scruffy beard that bristled on a guy's cheek when you pass out next to him on the couch. Still acting like a mid-20s bachelor at his age...

Lupin relished the last moments of contact with the drunk detective before depositing him back into his seat at the bar. His cheek brushed against him as he slipped out from underneath the larger man's arm. Teasingly smiling maybe, but sincere as he could be.

"Geheheh Pops, I can tell you missed me!"

"I didn’t miss you.” Zenigata lied terribly, and Lupin had to roll his eyes.

"Too bad Zenigata, Fujiko’s got him." Jigen said calmly, as if he had finally found a way to come to terms with it.

Guess all he needed was a little rum after all.

Jigen patted Zenigata's shoulder consolingly and produced one of his cigarettes, "Here, this’ll help sober you up, old man."

Lupin observed from the outside something he had many times seen from the inside. The way Jigen tenderly tucked it into the other man's mouth. The way he used the lighter as an excuse to draw the other person closer.

It felt so different from this distance.

It made Lupin start to lose a hell of a lot of the energy he had just worked so hard gathering on his little booze outing.

"You too, Goemon. No more randomly trying to kill us, okay?" Jigen didn't touch Goemon as often, but he rustled his hair affectionately, and Goemon even smiled. Few men could do that to the samurai and keep all their fingers.

"I'll do my best." Goemon replied, allowing Jigen the opportunity to place a cigarette in his mouth as well. Jigen moved like he was still in that carefree world, the world of freedom. The world of being a thief.

Lupin felt uncomfortably like a ghost watching his past life. And behind that figure lurked the specter of that word. Retirement.

And he must've been staring too obviously, because Fujiko deemed it an opportunity to try to remind him that he wasn't alone. She poked his nose gently with a stirring stick.

"You want that drink now, sweetheart?"

She was radiant as always, even after a night she probably wasn't too pleased about. A gracious angel. He couldn't even dream of letting this fall apart. How could he even think of it? She had never told him much about the past. But he knew, just from time at her side, her heart had to have been broken. And he wouldn't be that. He was here, and now with her. He promised.

"Don’t mind if I do, thanks, Fujicakes!" He replied warmly.

He glanced over at Zenigata's sorry state and wanted to make sure he felt included, "And one more for Pops!"

“I really don’t know if I should....” Zenigata put up token resistance but took the drink Lupin passed him without further complaint. 

Fujiko busied herself behind the bar, mixing him something she’d ordered back on that trip to Hawaii, stirrer clinking against glass like a wind chime. It was a very sweet cocktail, and a reminder she didn't hate him. He looked at her grateful smile in full force.

But the intimacy of their shared glances at each other ended with Zenigata taking it on himself to give an awkward toast. He hung one arm over Lupin and barreled forward regardless of the words.

“A toast to you and Fujiko. You know... I wasn’t ever a good husband myself. But I’m proud of you. You’re... doing it right. Anyone who looks at you can see. You're meant to be together. Everything that came first? That made you into the people you are now. People who belong together. Every single day. And Lupin? Maybe you belong in a jail cell. But you belong in this cell more. I...I mean! Because you're not living for crime, anymore. You’re living for each other, right?”

Fujiko turned around but still glanced over her shoulder at the way Zenigata took Lupin by the shoulder and clinked his glass and put his entire foot in his mouth with that horrible trainwreck speech. She smiled slightly to herself, a tired smile.

'A jail cell,' Lupin repeated under his breath. And they both must've felt that thought hang in the air like a 200 pound anvil waiting to crumble everything beneath it. All the while the drunken inspector seemed none the wiser.

"I’m gonna go get some snacks from the kitchen. You want anything?" Fujiko needed her own break. 

He absolutely couldn't blame her. Might as well give her something else to do. An excuse to stay in there longer, if she needed. "Ooh, get those cinnamon pecans!" Lupin agreed enthusiastically.

She slipped out of the room with delicate steps, silently reminiscent of her life as a thief. 

As she did, Zenigata shakily got to his feet and muttered, "Which way is your bathroom?"

Lupin pointed and the big man stumbled off to the hallway. Lupin would've been more worried, but he knew Zenigata had been way more drunk than this hundreds of times.

Goemon stood up as well and gave him a serious look, "I will keep an eye on him."

“Thanks, Goemon!” Lupin replied with a smile. Lupin trusted Zenigata would actually need to go, but he also felt sure the guy would dig around when he had the chance.

But Zenigata hadn’t even blinked at the Van Gogh in the hallway. What was there to worry about? It might even make the evening more lively if he got all riled up. Lupin was shocked he hadn't seen handcuffs even once this evening.

He said he doesn't need handcuffs when you're already in jail. The thought came at him like a freight train that he barely jumped out of the way of. He felt like he was shrinking into irrelevance by the second. Lupin the Third who?

When he was finally alone with Jigen he had so many things to say. Jigen had the Bacardi, he knew Lupin missed him. At least, Lupin really hoped he knew. He felt all the words inside his brain like a weight on his back. 

Just be honest. He thought, but immediately felt revulsion at the idea.

“Do you really have anything hidden in this place?” Jigen started, and with a smile that Lupin could tell was inviting him to play. Have a little banter. Perk him back up. But it didn't work with Lupin feeling like this.

“Nah, it’s all junk.” Lupin frowned. 

None of it was enough, not for Fujiko, or for him. It was all trash if it didn’t make them feel warm and tightly knit together. He wanted it to feel like sharing a hammock, squeezed together and appreciating the world around them. But it felt like a house that hadn't even been moved into. He wouldn’t flinch if it burned to the ground this instant.

“I’ll say.” Jigen laughed at him, probably for being melodramatic. 

Lupin felt relief in that, Jigen helped him not take himself so seriously. It was the other way around too. Lupin chuckled, thinking of how Jigen would laugh and say something like, ‘Did you expect a sofa to fix your marriage?’

Just be honest. Lupin tried, he shoved the truth forcefully out of his gut but it came out as just a soft whisper. 

“I’m glad you came, Jigen. I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I wasn’t sure I would, either.” Jigen replied, aloof. 

He was probably being honest. Would Lupin do the same, were it Jigen who kicked him out and said they ‘couldn’t hang out for awhile’? After all they'd been through? After every time Jigen showed up for him no matter what he said to him? Then he'd abandoned him?

Lupin had to be grateful that Jigen was resilient, despite being an old man with bad habits and poor impulse control. He was lucky Jigen was so forgiving, even to people that didn't deserve it.

Lupin shook that thought off rapidly. LUPIN was the one worth waiting for. It was the natural order of things. He was the star of Jigen’s sky, wasn’t he?

“Lousy partner if you won’t even show up when I call.”

“You’re an asshole.” Jigen muttered with a sip of his drink.

“Sure I am. Ask Pops, he’ll shout that til he’s out of breath. I never said I was nice.” 

Lupin doesn’t have to be nice, he has to be the man in the spotlight. You only have to capture the attention and hold it in your powerful hands.

You have to be the sun, Granddad said, so bright that no one can ignore, or else you aren’t even a Lupin.

“Mmm.” Jigen shrugged it off. Hard to believe he was this detached, usually the Bacardi and partner thing would’ve been enough to win Lupin more than a shrug.

Give and give, and nothing back. Fujiko was mad, and he had stayed in here just to try to talk to Jigen. Wasn't that enough?

But Jigen wouldn’t even smile at him right. Was it already too late? Had Lupin really fucked it all up for good? Lost all his friends, all his hard-earned love. They were all tired of him, just like Fujiko was. He had no friends and a failing marriage. The worst fucking prize he could imagine. 

He wanted to scream. He hadn’t tried to leave anyone. He’d been more reliable and consistent this year than ever before. This was what he was supposed to do, wasn’t it? How many times had every single person in attendance this evening told him to hang it up?

They’d complained and cajoled about how dangerous his life was, about how they were sick of the risks he took on a daily basis. Lupin always played to an audience, but no matter what he pulled out, nobody was clapping. Fine. He had been friendless before, and he was fine. Maybe it was worse to have had it and been abandoned than to have never trusted them at all.

The murky silence broke when Jigen grabbed the bottle of Bacardi and let his hat brim slide out of the way. 

A pair of gorgeous, soft, eyes looked up at him. Lupin’s blood was pounding through him, making his limbs feel hot. Jigen’s face said what he needed to hear.

‘I still want you.’

Maybe there was more those eyes were waiting to say. They were brown and bright, tired but filled with the empathy that Lupin wanted so desperately.

‘ Please pity me so I don’t have to apologize, ’ Lupin fleetingly thought before he shoved it down like vomit rising in his throat. He couldn’t stand to confront it, it was gross and weak, like a sickly animal struggling to breathe. It wasn’t befitting of Lupin the Third. Not even slightly.

He had to say something.

But before he could, Zenigata’s clumsy stumbling alerted him that they weren’t alone any more. The moment was over, maybe he could forget that slimy, needy feeling in his gut.

“Pops! Hope you didn’t wreck my toilet, you took forever.” Lupin felt refreshed just teasing Zenigata. Zenigata was a guy you could set your watch by. He’ll get riled up, swing around like a maniac. He was good for cheering anyone up.

He had transferred his hat into his hands, fiddling with it awkwardly, “Err... sorry.”

Sorry?! Oh god what could he be apologizing for, and looking this contrite? He looked like he was about to apologize for lighting important paperwork on fire or something.

The guilt was palpable in his tone. “Actually, I want to talk to you about something.” 

The man could find a way to blame Lupin, even if Lupin hadn’t done anything at all. Lupin started to sweat. What the hell was he about to say?

Goemon interrupted before Zenigata could continue. His timing couldn't be more apt. Impeccable timing. The side of Lupin’s mouth turned up, into a fond smile. 

"Jigen, Zenigata. It’s getting quite late. Perhaps we should not overstay our welcome."

Wait no, what was he saying! Lupin revoked the smile as something activated in him. fear? Desperation? Whatever it was, it was bad.

He rushed to salvage, waving his hands to shake it off harder, "Oh come on Goemon! It’s not even midnight, it’s no big deal."

"It’s late for those of us who’ve still got jobs to do. Unlike you, slacker," Jigen smirked. 

Dagger to the heart bringing up how he wasn't working. Despite Lupin's best efforts tonight, clearly Jigen wasn't going to give it to him easily. Lupin wanted to fight to keep them here. But even that just felt wrong. Everyone was acting odd, and Lupin felt in his gut how badly he'd fumbled this. Fujiko was obviously upset, but he could've salvaged that if he had a little positive energy from the rest of the gang.

If Jigen had only given him an inch, if Zenigata had come with all his unstoppable forces roiling inside him, if Goemon had settled in near him, calmly, bringing him that added moment to breathe. But they were all abandoning him.

Maybe he had abandoned them. Turnabout was fair play, wasn't it? But Lupin had felt sure it would never happen to him in reverse. He was the Sun, and the planets didn't just suddenly veer off into another solar system! Did they?

In all his blind perseverance towards a goal, he never bothered to look to see that they were still standing next to him. He dared to look back for a single moment now. And they weren't at his side. He was running alone. Chasing Fujiko, who even now still felt like a distant star that he reached and reached for, still never getting closer.

Alone, drifting in outer space.

"Yeah. It was nice to see you all. I’ll tell Fujiko you said goodbye." Lupin tried to smile, but it wasn't his best attempt.

Goemon and Jigen helped Zenigata to his feet and didn't hesitate long to guide him to the stairs. Lupin dragged along behind, unable to say nothing, but also unable to say anything that he wanted to say.

“Pops, are you going to write a report about getting drunk at my anniversary?” 

Lupin watched for even the slightest reaction from his rival. Any reminder that he still held the keys to Zenigata's engine. But the old man only drifted down the stairs, pulled by the current of Jigen and Goemon.

Indignant to see nothing, Lupin bounced down the stairs after them. Maybe closer he'd be unable to resist, he gave an arrogant little laugh, the kind he knew made steam come out of Zenigata's ears:

“Don’t leave out the part where you admitted how right I was, okay?”

Zenigata only groaned softly, like Lupin had made a bad pun rather than insulted his entire career.

Jigen turned to give him a small, dismissive wave. “We’ll get Pops to bed with something for his hangover. Don’t worry about it. Bye Lupin!”

“Give my regards to Fujiko.” Goemon added with a firm emphasis.

Maybe he knew why she was unhappy, which only made Lupin dread the confrontation even more.

“Same.” Jigen added, probably not meaning it, but it was hard to say.

Lupin managed a sweeping performative wave, “Will do.”

And then the prison door opened and shut, and he was left inside it.

Lupin could hardly mount the stairs. Should he go talk to Fujiko? Instead, he plodded to the top and cleared cups off the bar. He wiped the bar off. He tidied the room. When he was done, it as neat as if none of them had been there at all.

He hoped this was enough time for Fujiko to have space. He took a deep breath and carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen, where she was busy browsing her phone at the kitchen table.

"They said 'Goodbye and thank you.'" Lupin ventured, trying to take the temperature.

She don’t look up. "Really."

Definitely a bad temperature.

"Well... Goemon did." Lupin admitted.

Fujiko made a small gesture, a shrug maybe. He felt awful, and just wanted to hold her. He wouldn't dare come close though, not when she was slouched like that. She would just push him away. Sweat leaked from the seam of his mask. It tickled unpleasantly in a way that made him want desperately to scratch.

He fucked it up after he promised it would be a good night. How could he have miscalculated them all so much? How did he lose control of his delicate juggling act? He had managed fine for years, and now, despite having much less to judge, he was failing miserably.

"I'm sorry.... About the glasses. You were right. I'm sorry, Fujikcakes." He muttered. 

She would know what he meant. Sorry about the glasses. Sorry about the night. Sorry about the whole pitiful mess.

"Hmm..."

She didn't seem to even care enough to yell at him. She seemed unsurprised by his failure, which hurt more than anything.

“Can I make it up to you?” Lupin's face couldn't hide the ache, as much he wanted to stay cool, he was desperate to salvage even one thing. Even one win would be enough.

Fujiko looked up and smiled at him. "Sex?"

His face brightened. He was a bit surprised that was what she was asking for but he absolutely wasn't going to turn it down.

“If that’s what you want? Then, I'm all yours, Fujicakes!”

Great! She finally was asking for what she wanted, and it was something he could more than deliver on. Whole body orgasm, bliss and ecstasy and all the fireworks! He could turn this night around, all he needed was to give it his all. Though it would be nice if "his all" didn't currently feel like a low battery icon. Rejections from all his previous friends clung tight like leeches on his soul.

When she looked up at him, he saw her eyes, filled with a thousand words. A thousand secrets. Most of the time he didn't care to know anything about her past, about her secrets. He was content with her being her own universe that he admired from millions of miles away. But tonight he felt cold, and lonely.

He wanted to beg for love. For her to hold him warm and close and intimate.

"Fujiko..." he twined his fingers in hers, "Do you...?" 

He knew she loved him, it wasn't even a question he needed to ask. Maybe what he wanted her to answer instead was:

'Do you wish you didn't love me?'

It made his heart ache.

"Hmm..?" She awaited the rest of the question with just a hint of impatience.

"Sorry. Do you want a massage first?"

She shook her head, her brown eyes, beautiful, telling him nothing.

---

The next morning, his body shuddered before he had even opened his eyes. There was a breeze in their bedroom, and it wasn’t the time of year to be leaving the window open. He reached out to snuggle closer to the warm body next to him, but his arm landed on an empty mattress, planted down on the cold hollow in a way that made his breath catch in his throat.

There was something in him that was already sure. A gut instinct that used to be a matter of life and death, feeling if someone was or wasn’t in the next room. The window was open, but even that couldn’t mask the lack of smells that should’ve been there. No brewing coffee. No lingering puff from her morning perfume.

She wasn’t here.

Thank god, it’s over.

He felt something unclench. This was what he wanted. This wasn’t going anywhere but down and she was just the one between the two of them who wasn’t afraid to admit it. He strained the muscles on his face into a smile. 

But he also felt his pillowcase damp with tears.

It hurt like bombing your set in front of a crowd. He was an entertainer at heart, it felt like he lost his magic. A real magician leaves the crowd in rapturous applause. Not silent, with eyes burning and an empty space in the box where the pretty lady should be.

Show was over, no finale. 

Just a parting message, left in red lipstick on the pillow next to him.

Adieu

It seemed only fitting. Fujiko wasn’t nearly as theatrical as he was. He felt desperate for another chance to impress anyone who he failed with that badly, but she knew when to bow out. He was the one left gripping the lipstick stained pillow and wishing it would give him enough closure to feel ready to close the merciful curtain and end the show.

He gritted his teeth. Inevitability was something he hated. He got up and shut the window, then headed to his office and flipped open his latest notebook. He started to write. 

Plans to Win Her Back.

Then he crossed it out furiously, pencil thrashing at the paper until the title was just a smudge and the word:

Plans.

Underneath he wrote: Jigen still at hotel down the street.

And he circled it. It was a start.