Chapter Text
Zenigata throws himself into looking for targets- he needs something to distract himself from Jigen. Which was, like a lot of things in his life, easier said then done. Especially now with heat still lingering on his lips and his heart thundering. Even as his eyes stay fixed on trying to scour for a target… it’s the same as ever. It’s hard not to look at them. It’s harder to convince himself he only pays attention because it’s his job.
He still remembers the day he first watched a patch of shadow step out from behind Lupin and look at him like he was something dangerous. Not a joke.
Jigen always makes him think a bit of the stories he used to read when he was in jail. Hanshichi would come and visit him, and always bring a few books. Cheap, worn out paperback kind of things. Mysteries, thrillers, historical drama, honor and blood kind of things. It wasn’t exactly high literature. But for him, then, a dumb broken hearted kid who never had been much of a reader… that was classic literature.
He always liked the one type. The rough voiced men with broken hearts of silver. A little too scuffed to shine, a little too worn down to let themselves care. The ones who’d call the hero a fool for loving someone, just to turn around and put themselves between him and the world.
Unbearably cool. Especially to a dumb kid who wore his heart on his sleeve and cared what people thought of him so much that even now it hurt like an old scar.
It’d just disappointed him when he’d read to the end, and somehow nobody seemed to realize what they had. Well. He’d been a romantic kid, with a broken heart and a weakness for men with dangerous eyes. Then he’d grown up, and thought he’d put those kinds of ideas behind him.
But there Jigen was… and there Lupin was. Lupin, who was fool enough to fall in love again and again. Lupin, who never seemed to hesitate in the least to reach out for happiness. Who plays life like a game and smiles the whole time. Who’s never alone unless he wants to be. Someone worth being a fool over
If Lupin was the hero, then he was all the dumb broken hearted kid in a jail cell could ever have have dreamed of.
Damn it all. Why did these people have to make it all seem so easy?
“Hey, Pops! Ready for your first mark?” Jigen calls out, interrupting his thoughts.
Zenigata shakes himself. He was supposed to be a professional, not some rookie letting himself get wound up! …well maybe it’s a little late in his career to get worried about being ‘wound up’, but. Still.
“Course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” he snaps back gruffly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and trying to shove any damn thoughtful recollections right the hell back where they came from.
“Good. 9 o clock. Think fast.”
Zenigata turns quickly- and stops, as he realizes the motions turned him straight back to face Jigen. The hell’s he up to…? But he doesn’t get long to think about it. Jigen immediately shifts- catching a fallen tree branch under his foot and, with one high kick, sends it straight at the other man as hard as he can.
He barely has enough time to be surprised. That was going to hurt if it hits, and if it’s his target then- but the wood can’t be hard enough to take the full force of a bullet- Jigen was RIGHT behind it- he can’t
But the thoughts don’t matter, because he’s already moving. His guns in his hands as he dives to the side, forcibly turning away from Jigen to keep him out of his sights. There’s no time to aim, no time to finish the thought. Theres just enough time for the sound of gunfire cracks through the air as he takes the only shot he might get, squeezing the trigger almost completely blind from the hip.
The branch is punched out of the air in an explosion of splintering wood. Almost before it hits the cobblestones, Zenigata rounds on Jigen, eyes flaring as he stalks up to him, shoving his gun back in it’s holster like a 17 year old hanging up on an ex. There’s barely an inch left of his cigarette, and at the rate he’s now angrily puffing on it he might risk singing his lips. He spits it out instead, grinding it under his heel as he glares at Jigen.
“What the fucking god damn HELL do you call THAT?” he hisses through bared teeth, glaring down at him. Without breaking furious eye contact he drags out his cigarette carton and yanks a dark colored smoke out with his teeth inelegantly. Usually he tries to curb his smoking, if for no other reason then his salary didn’t really stretch to many vices. But he was going to have god damn stroke unless he chain smokes almost as badly as this idiot, overconfident, smug son of a bitch gunman does.
The son of a bitch in question regards him, lips curling into a catlike, smug smile. He moves with the least amount of urgency or concern possible, idly patting himself down before a hand vanishes into a pocket. It comes back out holding a lighter, which he flicks on to hold up to Zenigata’s unlit cigarette.
“I call it a damn good shot.” he replies, evenly looking up into the other mans face as he lets the fire catch. It really had been. And he’d been in exactly the right place to watch the show- front row and center. No better way to find out how a man shoots then to be standing in front of him- anything else is confident guesswork, in his book.
“Wh- you- I could have HIT you, you goddamned stooge!” Zenigata retorts, nearly resenting feeling his nerves start to settle as he took a deep breath. What he definitely does resent is that as simple a gesture as giving him a light was softening the edge of his anger. He isn’t some over-eager pup looking for a pat on the HEAD, damnit! Or at least that’s what he tries to tell himself.
“Ehhhh.” Jigen makes a vague sound and shrugs one shoulder up, pocketing his lighter.
“You didn’t, though.” Jigen adds, as if sensing that maybe, just maybe, all this furious glaring meant that Pops needs just a bit more then ‘literally not a fucking answer’. He uses the same relaxed confidence he’d used to light the smoke to reach up, and brush a few bits of splintered wood off Zenigata’s shoulders. He wasn’t even sure the other man had even noticed they were there. All that laserlike attention, and the guy never seems to turn any of it on himself.
Zenigata tries to bat his hand away, doing a bad job of not letting confusion shine through his glare and scowl. He doesn’t have an answer to that. He doesn’t seem have an answer to anything Jigen was doing. It feels like he keeps losing his balance- no. He keeps being taken off balance, pushed one way and pulled another over and over in little tugs and lurches. He’s not used to that. He’s used to a firehose pressure blast he can at least dig his damn feet into the ground against.
He’s used to assuming the worst, and doing his best not to be charmed. Even if it doesn’t work, at least he knows what the rules are. But this? Zenigata can’t even tell if he’s being toyed with, or tested. And the worst part is, he’s not sure he even dislikes either option all that much. He just wants to know where he stands.
Hah. As if he ever knows where he stands with these people.
Jigen neatly dodges Zenigata’s half-hearted attempts to swat him off and reaches up again and brushes away a splinter of wood from the mans cheek. When Zenigata’s gaze flick down, he almost wishes he hadn’t. That lazy grin seems to have floated away on the smoke, leaving calm eyes draped in shadow like the black of a bandit mask.
“I wouldn’t let you shoot me, Pops. Promise.” Jigen says firmly. It’s what he’d rather hear, if it was him. Not ‘You’d never shoot me’. He wouldn’t say a thing like that- not to Pops. He likes him too much for that.
’Never’ is a fools lie. Almost as bad as the honey sweet poison of ‘forever’. Things change, and life doesn’t give a damn about promises- For all he knows, maybe one day Pops would have a damn good reason to gun him down. The least he owes him is one less weight on his shoulders about it.
A guy could do a whole lot worse then getting taken down by a man ruthless enough he’d never hesitate, but good enough he’d probly cry about it.
“Now, you got a shot for me?” He asks, tugging Zenigata’s hat down over his face. It was Jigens turn to slip away to the side, burying his hands in his pockets. How annoying. Even without Lupin here he can just hear the man tease him for being a romantic.
“Eh? Ah… R-right.” Zenigata clears his throat, filing away whatever THAT had been for. Later. Probably. There was a lot happening here he feels he needs five free hours and a bottle of whiskey to figure out. Luckily he has long practice shoving back being flustered as hell long enough to figure out a plan
“If you’re allowed to kick something at me, then how about a thrown target?” Zenigata asks, slowly putting together an idea.
“Sure. Never set a rule against it. You got something in mind?” Jigen glances up- surprised when he’s met by a familiar monkey grin- or at least a very familiar drawing of it. Zenigata was holding one of Lupin’s calling cards up, smirking with that little flicker of cunning he gets sometimes. Half the time right it right before he gets properly suckered, but its still a pretty good look
“Aw, Pops. You keep those? How many you got by now? Gotta be over a hundred.” Jigen grins at him as he examines the card, tickled by the thought. Pops really was a sentimental guy.
“Don’t get smart with me. They’re evidence, of course I keep them. This one just happens to be useless.” Zenigata growls, turning away from him. He turns the card over in his hand, feeling the weight of it a second, flipping it up an inch into the air- watching with intent focus as the card loops in the air and lands back in his palm.
“You take that back. I’ve never been smart in my life.” Jigen retorts, in a deadpan that has a snicker hiding in it. He looks to Pops to see if he has a comeback to that, but to his surprise, it doesn’t seem to be coming. Instead, Zenigata’s staring intently out at the landscape around them, his gaze darting through the air tracing out along invisible paths, watching the wind.
Jigen takes a step away to give him room, keeping his eyes fixed sidelong at the man still. He can’t help but enjoy it, watching allll that mean, wicked focus winding up tight just to try and get little ol’ him to miss a stitch. After seein’ that… what can a man do, besides his best?
It makes him want to strut a little. Most times, he wasn’t too big on being in a spotlight by himself. It was only fun with Lupin. A lot of stuff’s fun with Lupin. Trouble for instance. Lupin loves trouble, and near as Jigen can ever tell, trouble loves him right back. So Jigen wouldn’t have figured it’d be much fun without him. But…
He cracks a wide, sharp grin. Things will always be more fun with Lupin. But he could get used to having this particular spotlight all to himself a couple of minutes.
Black, subtly heeled shoes settle into the moss and weed covered cobblestones as Jigen sets his stance, disturbing a puff of dandelions enough to send a flurry of seeds rolling away in the wind. The motion of holding his right arm out at his side feels as natural as the click of a firing hammer. Sure, he could just have his gun up at the ready. They weren’t working on duel rules or nothing. He just feels like it.
Zenigata readies his arm in an iron curve, holding the card at his left shoulder. A second ticks by as he clears his head and watches the path he needs light up under his fingertips. It’s just long enough before he’s whipping his arm in a fluid roll of force from shoulder to wrist, twisting his hand to shift the angle and send the card up in a soaring arc that hooks right, and catches the wind to fuel a sudden uneven spin.
But Zenigatas eyes aren’t on the card by then. He’s turning as fast as he can to watch Jigen the instant it leaves his hand- and somehow, it’s still barely fast enough. He misses the start of the draw. Jigen’s hand is already full of silver, his arm moving in the liquid curl of a whip crack.
Thunder blooms in the path of Jigen’s eyes.
And just like that, when he turns back to look, he can already see the red card fluttering to the earth like a wounded bird. Zenigata sighs, head slumping forward and to the side, even his hat seeming to sag with his disappointment. But he can’t keep a smile from resting in his expression. If he has to lose, it might as well be beautiful.
“Well, what the hell else did I expect.” he says, almost to himself. With a shrug, he starts to walk towards the slowly falling card, tracking its slow fluttering path.
“Ah, don’t pout, Pops. It was a hell of a throw. I didn’t know you could pull that trick with cards too.”Jigen cheerfully ambles after Zenigata. Theres a clean metallic click as Jigen pops his revolver’s cylinder open, reloading in a practiced flicker of motion. Friendly competition or not, he’d always rather stay topped up.
Zenigata smirks, a little prideful on that point. He only has so many skills that are even a little unique, after all.
Following the cards path takes him into what must once have been someones garden; at least judging by the stone house foundations, those stone steps leading to the ghost of a house, and an ocean of riotously growing basil fighting it out with rebel plots of mint for real estate.
“Course. My cuffs are just balanced for throws.Tossing cards is an easy way to pass the time if I’m stuck bored somewhere.” he explains, stumbling a little as he walks through the overgrown yard.
“You talkin’ airports, or jail?” Jigen snickers as he stops next to Zenigata, twirling his magnum showily before holstering it, just for the smug fun of it.
Zenigata shoots him a quick glare, for that. It’s exactly enough time for Jigen to snatch the falling card out of the air, just before it would have landed in Zenigata’s hand. When he looks back, the empty space confuses him just enough to look back up into the air. He catches on after a second, glaring at the gunman.
Jigen ignores it as as he examines his handiwork, mouth twisting in an annoyed frown at the ragged hole in the card. Sure, he’s nailed it clean through. It’s a great shot. But it’s not a perfect shot. The perfect shot would be nailing Lupin’s little signature doodle as a bullseye.
He’d wanted to show off. See Pops light up with that burnt-edge awe of his. He likes the way he’s too honest not to react, even if he’s annoyed about it
He tugs the brim of his hat down a little firmly, annoyed. Maybe it really was a good throw.
“Alright, pops. I’ll tell you something good.” Jigen says, tucking the card into one of Zenigata’s pockets. He picks his way through the thick growth of herbs, making his way towards the stone steps.
“Lupin takes your cuffs apart.” he says, sitting down on the steps.
“Don’t exaggerate- he usually just pops the lock.” Zenigata growls back, pulling the card Jigen had shot back out of his pocket and examining it himself. Sheesh, clear through the middle…
“Eh?! No, for cryin’ out loud…” Jigen replies, rubbing the palm of his hand against his forehead a moment, trying to suss out if any of that had been a goddamn joke or not. The guy can be as bad as Goemon like that- Jigen had nearly gotten a migraine the day Goe had pointed at a waffle and asked what ‘that square doriyaki’ was. They both had to be fucking with him some of these times, right?
“No, you ditzy flatfoot. I’m talking about why I knew you MAKE your cuffs. It’s cause Lupin takes. Them. Apart.” he clarifies, lowering his hand and tugging his hat back into place, holding one hand out palm up, and miming turning something in his other hand, indicating someone using a tool.
“…Oh.” Zenigata catches on all at once- going pink and pulling his shoulder up around his ears bashfully. He tucks the card Jigen shot back into his pocket, and flicks a cuff out from inside his jacket in a practiced motion to look at it with wide eyed thoughtfulness a second.
Now that’s a reaction. From Jigens perspective the man might as well have be radiating steam. He leans back against the steps with his hands behind his head, making himself comfortable while he’s watching him.
“Practically has more fun with a new model of cuff then he does the treasure, some days.” he can’t help but add, just for the fun of watching that blush get worse. Really, he kinda feels bad sometimes for any other crooks Zenigata’s cuffs might get tossed at… him and Lupin’s little arms race produced some pretty scary locks. Even a so-so lock pick like him could tell THAT much.
“Hmph. All THAT means is I need to make them good enough to CATCH him, not just entertain him.” Zenigata attempts to snap at him, but the best he can do is a slight grumble. His mouth is stuck in a soft wobble of a repressed smile as he starts to twirl his cuffs, fidgeting with them. He builds enough momentum to catch the chain against his hand, moving his hand in a shy little circle so that it kept spinning around one finger.
“Oh…? So you wouldn’t enjoy hearing he wrecked a pair of picks on one or two of those then, eh?” Jigen replies, shading his eyes to watch as Zenigata’s arm arches up and sends his cuffs high up in the air out of sight. Pops meanwhile just stands there and looks to Jigen, as if he’s forgotten what he was doing. Which… 50-50 odds, honestly.
“Of course not. Such pettiness is beneath a true officer of the law.” He snaps, holding his head up haughtily, his eyes closed and arms crossed tightly over his chest in the perfect picture of offended righteousness. At least until he peeks one eye open to look at Jigen, and tilts his head towards.
“But, eh, but… say out of curiosities sake… you remember which ones?” he asks, poking his fingers together in one the worst attempt at nonchalance he's ever seen. And he’s caught Goemon trying to steal one of his magazines before.
“Even if I remembered, you really think I’d rat that much out?” Jigen replies, shaking his head at him reproachfully.
“Had to try.” Zenigata grins, shrugs, and holds his right arm out at his side, JUST before the cuffs come sailing back down, anchoring around his arm with a snap. Zenigata grins, and holds his arm up to examine the cuff, flicking it with a fingernail to check the lock was set.
There’s a soft clapping sound- and despite them being the only two people in the whole town, Zenigata finds himself almost surprised that it’s coming from jigen. A genuine sound- he could guess it was anyhow, because he’d seen it before. Just usually it wasn’t directed at him, and usually the reason he heard it was because the car he riding was in had just been cut in half.
He snorts and gives a little half bow, a soft glow of pride warming his chest. It really was probably embarrassing letting himself be pleased about the praise of a criminal. But sometimes… well who else in the damn world was qualified to judge?
Zenigata thinks a second, walking through the thick mint to sit on the stone steps next to Jigen. He flicks his ring of keys back out again, settling in.
“You know about my ancestor, right?” he asks, setting about unlocking the cuff from his arm.
“Of course I do. Cmon, how long have we been dealing with you?” Well, to be specific Jigen knew once he’d asked Goemon about it. The story… hadn’t really been what he expected. Lupin and Goemon had that whole kind of grand ancestry thing going. But the way Goemon had put it…
It’d been one of those random waiting days, where whatever the plan was it involved him freezing his tuckus off sitting behind some stone wall waiting for a signal. He didn’t mind those so much with Goemon around, though. Especially when Goemon sat just a little closer then he needed to, pressing his shoulder to Jigens in an unspoken little pool of shared warmth. Not, of course, that a true warrior was bothered by the cold, he was sure.
Goemon had held Zantetsuken on his lap that day. He’d taken note of it at the time, and the way his hand lingered now and then over the smooth wood, because he knew damn well Goemon didn’t need to have his hand on the damn sword to draw it faster then you can blink. It’s a part of him. Jigen was pretty sure sometimes if he set his hand to the steel, he could have felt Goemon’s pulse.
Which meant if he was keeping it closer then he would normally… he was worrying. And in Jigens experience, giving him something to talk about helped a little. And you did have to give him a little nudge. Something historical and deeply Japanese, with a lineage? As safe a bet as putting money on every number at a roulette table. It didn’t hurt he’d been genuinely curious.
“Zenigata Heiji. A thief taker.” Goemon had said, almost little more then a glint in his eye and the tone of his voice giving away how excited he was. The rest of him still had that ambient… predator in wait thing. It was a quality that reassured Jigen; only natural, really. He was a predator too.
“…right, so. A cop. But old timey?” he was sure he’d said something to that effect, cause. Goemon had actually slipped and snorted at that. He shook his head- the motion sending his hair brushing against Jigens shoulder.
“No. Police were of samurai class. A Thief Taker was traditionally working class… or had once been criminals themselves.” Goemon explained.
He’d thought about it a bit and nudged Goemon in the side slightly, giving him a sly look.
“So… you kinda outrank Pops, huh?” he’d asked. He might not know the nitty gritty of the old school Japan thing, but honestly aside from that all the broad strokes were pretty much what Jigen had grown up with. You had your big bosses, the middlemen, the fighters… and everybody else. And the people who mattered had the real good weapons.
Probably a good thing he DID get it, going from a strict criminal structure to Lupin’s style was a hell of a culture shock for people used to assuming friendliness had a razor stuck in it somewhere…
“Perhaps.” was all Goemon had said, but he’d radiated smugness in a way that told Jigen he meant ‘yes’.
“You telling me you could have been giving him his orders in another life, huh…? I’d like to see that.” a a firm jab to the ribs with a sword sheath jab didn’t do much to interrupt Jigens wheezing snicker.
“Do not be crude.” Goemon had a way of going silently angry when he was flustered that was probably pretty dangerous to find so cute on such a deadly guy.
“Who was being crude? You just got a dirty imagination, Goe.”
He wasn’t sure if it was enthusiasm for the subject, some kind of scolding, or maybe just a way for the pink-faced samurai to forcibly change the subject, but he did actually wind up learning a pretty good deal about Zenigata’s ancestor. Also the particulars of edo era coinage, surname laws, and that it was a ‘Jitte’, not a ‘fancy Japanese opera police baton thing’.
Still. Pretty nice way to spend the time.
“He was an a thief taker… kinda an investigator, like you. He threw those coins from back when getting change back for one yen was still a thing?” Jigen says, back in the present, miming the action of throwing a small object.
“Right!” Zenigata confirms with a grin. He’s pleasantly surprised by that; it cut off a lot of explaining. One of the nastier shocks he’d gotten when he moved to the ICPO wasn’t that his ancestor wasn’t well known. Even in japan, the name Zenigata mostly carried weight with other cops, or around the Tokyo area. The shock had been just how much explaining his ancestors story took. Him not understanding new things in new places, he could handle.
Finding out things he’d always taken for granted were almost so hard to explain it was barely worth trying…? That was what could get pretty lonely.
“So he’s why you’re a cop, and use a Jitte and all.” Jigen adds, wanting to show off a little.
“Wrong.” Zenigata grins wider at Jigens double take of confusion.
“Don’t misunderstand. The legacy of my ancestor is something I’m determined to honor. And training to fulfill that legacy is the reason why I can pull a lot of the tricks I do. But he never used these.” he explains, dropping his cuffs back in his coat pocket, smiling fondly.
“He didn’t dress like this either… not that uh, he could?” he trails off, realizing about mid-way through that was a little bit… well it was the Edo period so western dress wasn’t a thing yet…
“Or like I could pull off traditional wear.” Zenigata adds, glancing down at himself as he very nearly completely loses track of what hed been saying.
“Ooohhh I don’t know about that.” Jigen drawls- but this time Zenigata stubbornly keeps his gaze firmly away from him. It barely helps. He can sense the eyebrow waggling.
“Shhh.” he opts to hush him instead, trying to get his momentum back.
“Just saying, you’ve got broad shoulders… get a lil more chest showing…” Jigen can’t help it; Pops gets so flustered so fast. Someone clever enough could really wrap a guy like that around their little finger… which is sort of what happened, he supposes.
“Wh- I wouldn’t be wearing one like GOEMON’S.” Zenigata snaps, reddening as his momentum immediately slams directly into a wall.
“Aww. Why not?” Jigen asks, turning his head to look Zenigata over. Come to think of it, Goemon in a suit like Pops’ was always pretty easy on the eyes.
“Because he wears his kimono like a damn punk, thats why. It’s showy. Almost as good as a silk jacket with ‘Strongest Under Heaven’ embroidered on the back.” Zenigata explains, gesturing at his own chest to indicate the way Goemon’s kimono was open in the front.
“Silk jacket? Pretttttty specific example there.” Jigen says meaningfully, grinning and leaning in a little closer.
Zenigata colors darker, cursing himself. Dealing with the gunman in a conversation, he’s learning, is tricky. He has a fast eye for loose threads, and a way of tugging on them that could unravel a man. He just hopes to hell that Lupin got this kind of treatment about HIS stupid older outfits; he’d heard from Hanshichi allll about how Lupin used to dress.
“I didn’t wear a goddamn jacket that said that! I didn’t even wear my coat that often.” he snaps, glancing over.
Zenigata has to take a moment to consider something. How high were his odds Jigen’d use his next question to find out what kind of clothes he wore as an embarrassing 19 year old? And from there, how likely was it he’d wind up telling him more then he’d mean to about it…? It adds up fast to a gamble he can’t take. Time for a sacrifice ploy. Jigen couldn’t possibly want to spend a question on information he already had…
He holds a finger up, looking away.
“You get ONE.” he grumbles. Jigen raises an eyebrow and settles in to wait, watching as Zenigata goes from annoyance, to deep thought, to a kind of heavy, weighty embarrassment. It takes him a few minutes, but Zenigata finally manages to square up his resolve. God help him…
“…Tiger print shirt. …worn a little LIKE goemon, come to think of it.” he finally says, letting out a deep sigh. He stands up, quickly. Jigen on the other hand is rooted to his seat, staring at him with the sparkling glee of a kid on Christmas god damn morning.
“You didn’t.” Jigen is pretty sure he’d dropped his cigarette and he barely even cares. Oh god he hoped there were photos. Somewhere, somehow- there HAS to be. He’d said he was arrested, right? Did Japan DO mugshots back then? God damn absolutely fuck whatever heist they had lined up next, they have an urgent date with some goddamn police records in Saitama.
“Nope. No more words. That was your fact. Words are over. Shooting now.” he growls, sheer embarrassment wearing his vocabulary down at unusual speed, not even glancing back at him as he stalked towards the street- slouched so far down he was practically bent in half.
Jigen plants his hands on the step behind him, springing up to his feet to quickly trot after him. He grabs Zenigatas arm, going on one toe to let the momentum swing him around in front of the other man.
“Eaaasy there, Tiger” he snickers as Zenigata rounds on him, and hops up- planting his hands firmly on his shoulders. Just as Pops started to swipe for a grab he leapfrogs directly over the man, snickering as he lands on his feet, stumbling the momentum out a moment.
Zenigata exhales and forces himself up out of the grab, opening and closing his hands a moment.
“Alright, alright. Back to business. On your 8.” Jigen says, idly walking around Zenigata.
Zenigata exhales and stands up- slowly forcing the bolt of anger down to focus on the task. At least if he’s shooting, he’d just embarrass himself the normal ways.