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Lupin’s eyes narrowed against the afternoon sun as it beamed in through the dirty windshield of the Fiat, filtering through the dust and dirt that had built up over the years of get-away driving and Jigen refusing to wash it even when he was supposed to. To either side of him, apartment complexes and storefronts and people with widened eyes and startled postures whizzed by him, almost completely blurred out as his foot pressed harder and harder against the gas pedal, his entire body leaning forward against the steering wheel almost as though he could urge the car to accelerate by will. His teeth were grit hard enough to grind, and beneath his skin, he could feel the way his heart was jackrabbiting away, pounding loud enough to be heard in his eardrums, loud enough to drown out the wailing of the police siren that had been tailing him like gum stuck to a shoe. 

Momentarily, he flicked his eyes away from the road ahead of him to glance haphazardly in his rearview mirror, swallowing hard, brows furrowed as he glared into the reflection of the world that he was leaving in his dust, just to see if maybe, perhaps on a stroke of luck, he had lost his own personal wad of gum-- sure enough, though, driving like a maniac, he saw Zenigata’s determined expression burning holes into the poor Fiat almost like he was trying to actually, physically burn holes into the metal. For a little while, Lupin thought that he would. 

He damn near jolted with how close that stupid cop car was to his own, and he slammed down on the gas and gunned it past a red light, raising up a storm of blaring horns, and screeching tires, more than likely accompanied with strings of profanity yelled at him as he sped away, though of course, he couldn’t hear it. Even if he could-- he didn’t really have the time or luxury to care all that much, for this was beginning to look like one hell of a close shave. 

The heist was a solo one. Not by choice, mind; he was practically begging both Goemon and Jigen to go with him after Fujiko rejected his proposition, but was only met with an aggravated, sleepy glare from his right-hand man and some bullshit about “letting the body and the mind rest from the sins of larceny” from his left. 

Alright, sure, whatever, no big deal. 

Bitter as he was, he figured he could just go at it alone (though, not without the theatrics of sighing heavily and slamming the door as he left to show his dearest friends how disdainful he was for their betrayal). It wasn’t as though he really needed anybody but himself for this particular caper, as it was nothing more than a simple cash-grab to afford a few more bottles of liquor, a few more cartons of cigarettes, a few more months of rent at their shithole safehouse. The kind of job that he would do for fun when he was little more than a bright-eyed nineteen-year-old, and now, as he was thirty-seven, it was the kind he did when he got bored and restless.

The whole ordeal was rather direct, straight-to-the-point, and didn’t call for much planning. There was a particularly rich couple who lived in some mansion of a house with their two rugrats, a guard dog, and, most importantly, a safe so easy to crack it was almost embarrassing. 

Effortlessly, Lupin scaled the climbing ivy that clung to the brick siding of the home, and slipped in through the third-story window in the dead of night, rolling in and closing it with a near-silent click as he scanned his surroundings for any servants that he might have to knock out with a mild tranquilizer. However, he found none and proceeded to exit what looked like someone’s study, light as a feather, senses on high alert.

On tiptoe, he crept down the hall, calculating his movements precisely and accurately, as he had the entire blueprint of the house memorized down to a T. He knew which door contained the vault, which contained the sleeping members of the family all tucked away in their king-sized beds, and which were little more than glorified broom closets that would lead absolutely nowhere. Hell, he knew so much about the layout of the house that he might as well have lived there all his life, and he thought about this fact with a quiet chuckle as he peeked ‘round the corner and searched the expanse of the narrow halls for a particular painting. 

It was of the family’s daughter, done in rich, thick, expensive oil, almost as though she were some form of royalty from a period drama, and if he nudged it just so to the left, it would swing open and reveal the vault, a tall, steel hunk of metal with the simplest lock combination Lupin had ever dealt with in all of his years of thievery. 

Opening it was, needless to say, easy as pie, and taking the wads of cash and countless heaps of pearl necklaces and diamond rings that glistened in the slivers of moonlight that the tall windows offered even easier. The entire time, his face was stretched out into a mischievous grin that he wasn’t able to hold back as he stuffed his loot into a simple canvas sack, the kind that he could simply sling over his shoulder and that would fit wonderfully in the secret compartment of the Fiat hidden beneath the middle seat for when he drove away. 

It was a perfect operation if he dared to say so himself. Stealing candy from a baby, really, and he was rather satisfied with his efforts while he closed the vault’s door shut as quietly as possible and readjusted the portrait of the young girl. 

He nearly left just like that, deciding to call it an easy night, however, he noticed that something seemed to be missing from the face of the painting. For a few moments, he stared at the daughter’s golden spirals of hair tumbling across her tiny shoulders and framing her fat, rounded face, and her button nose that turned slightly upward as she gazed forward with a doe-eyed stare. The paint was smooth, and the detailing was just fine by his book-- it was a wonderfully done painting and must have cost loads of money to be done. Hell, if she were more famous, he would’ve taken it for himself.

Even still, however, something was off. It was missing a certain element that would really tie the whole piece together.

When he left to make his way towards the stairs, the symbol that he always signed on his calling cards was scrawled right across those plump rosy cheeks. There we go, he had thought whilst pocketing his Sharpie and adjusting his stolen goodies, smile wide enough to hurt. Now it’s perfect.  

The stairs were only slightly creaky, and each time he stepped on a particularly bad step, the squeaking noise of the wood could easily be mistaken for the house settling on its foundation. It was going to be a clean, effortless escape he realized, and with this, he grew so cocky that he took extra time to look around at the lavish decorations that littered the walls: original artwork and several prints of famous artists like Picasso and Degas, as well as several glistening sconces, made from gold and silver that held lightbulbs rather than real flames. 

The floors were adorned with Persian rugs, each one sporting a different, floral pattern and hued with rich, deep, royal blues and bright, popping crimsons, golden embellishments bordering the edges to really give it a flare that was so expensive it looked tacky. Mahogany coffee tables perched with their animal claw legs at the end of red, velvet couches, crystal champagne flutes, and shot glasses filling each and every cherry-stained wooden alcohol cabinet he came across. Tapestries hung on the walls, colored gold and emerald, and long, velvet crimson curtains covered the floor-to-ceiling windows in every room. 

On and on he sauntered, a pep in his step and a languid expression replacing the shit-eating grin that he had previously been wearing. The empty silence of the house told him that he had been successful, and he was endlessly excited to get back to his shared apartment and show off the spoils of his heist, bragging about how easy it was, and how good of a thief he must’ve been to be able to go in and out in-- he had checked his watch, at that point-- twenty minutes. Goemon and Jigen would be impressed, he figured, and would compliment him on his skills before dropping to their knees and begging for his forgiveness, pleading for a share, promising that they would never leave him to do solo missions ever again. 

(Perhaps that part was a mere fantasy, but since Lupin was taking his sweet time to exit his victims’ house, he figured he may as well indulge in such a thought). 

The only thing that he counted as a semi-issue was when upon reaching the foyer with its royal oak flooring and shivering crystal chandelier, he spotted what he had been most worried about. Which was, of course, the guard dog. 

He was a big, meaty thing, a hound, with droopy ears and bloodshot eyes and jowls that swayed from side to side as he trotted forward, claws tacking against the floor, tail swaying from side to side languidly. 

At first, Lupin was scared stiff, knowing that at any moment this big guy could unleash the loudest, most ear-rupturing howl that would be as effective as any alarm system, or perhaps even lunge out and attack him. He had never been the best with animals, and they always had an affinity for hating his guts the moment they laid eyes on him.

However, instead, the mutt simply lumbered forward and pressed his nose right up against Lupin’s outstretched, trembling hand, licking between his fingers and smiling one of those classic, big, happy smiles, with droopy eyes and a wagging tail to match. 

So much for being a guard dog. 

Lupin smiled, scratching the gentle giant behind his floppy ears and bidding him farewell as, bow-legged and chest puffed, he walked right out the front door, not bothering to lock it behind him just to throw in a bit of disrespect to the family he was robbing. 

And then, that was it. He drove home, clambered up the steps to his apartment with the stolen goods in hand, and crashed on the couch as he didn’t want to wake the others with the hassle of getting into bed. Simple operation, simple getaway, simple cash. 

But, of course, as luck would have it, it wasn’t actually that simple. And the family, upon waking up and finding that they had been robbed, had contacted the police, who contacted Zenigata after seeing his signature doodled scrawled all across the daughter’s oil portrait, who was hot on Lupin’s heels the second he got the call. And now, Lupin was caught between a rock and a hard place as he sped down the roads of St Francisville, New Orleans, the sun sinking slowly beneath the horizon as it graced the city with its last touches of milky golden light, beams of it sliding across the concrete and getting caught up in the streetlamps. 

Leaning into the wheel, Lupin took a right turn hard enough to toss a few empty plastic cups rather violently against the door of the Fiat, a hideous shriek accompanying the strong scent of burnt rubber as he narrowly avoided colliding headfirst into a little green car, whose passenger looked about a second away from hyperventilating. His brows furrowed ‘til they left little wrinkles creasing his forehead, foot pressing down harder into the gas pedal, shoulders hunched and tensed while he whizzed past a restaurant covered in clinging ivy, absently reaching down with his dominant hand to shift into the sixth gear as he began to climb up an awkwardly steep hill. 

He was flying at over seventy miles per hour, and he knew that if he didn’t slow down, he’d leap right off the edge of the hill and possibly collide into innocent bystanders or slam himself directly into an oncoming car, however, he didn’t have much of an option. A brief glance at the rearview mirror told him that Zenigata was right on his ass, getting closer and closer by the second, speeding up when Lupin did and keeping him right under his enormous thumb. 

Gritting his teeth, the thief prepared himself to go flying as he barreled on through, not hesitating to bump the speed up a few miles, sweat beading on his forehead, gaze focused on the asphalt ahead of him as closer and closer he drove to the hump of the hill in the rather small, almost residential area. It was a dangerous game to play, and if Zenigata hadn’t been on his A-game today, he would’ve driven much slower. 

The wheels of the poor Fiat picked up off the ground for a moment or two before slamming back down onto the road, springing Lupin straight up and causing his head to collide with the ceiling of the car with a solid thump, a soft shout escaping his tightly closed lips in surprise. However, just as soon as he had been disoriented, he was right back on track mere moments later, screeching around a group of teenagers who practically flew to the sidewalk when they heard the commotion. 

He tore forward, this time taking a left turn and trying to peel off into a less populated area as to reduce the chances of smearing someone’s entrails across the pavement, nearly swerving out of control and ramming into a newspaper stand, the owner of which cried out and uselessly threw a magazine at his back window. Recovering quickly from the violent jerk of movement, he glanced into his left side mirror, hissing a curse between his grinding teeth when he saw that Zenigata was just as recklessly careening through the streets, once again far too close for comfort. 

“Someone’s determined today,” he murmured bitterly, anxiety coiling in the very base of his gut and bleaching his knuckles pale. “I don’t have time to play with you, you great oaf,” he shook his head, frowning hard in equal parts frustration and urgency. 

On the off-chance that he was caught by the inspector closing in behind him, he could easily escape. He would be out of those cuffs in five seconds flat, two if he caused some sort of ample distraction, and no prison thus far had been able to hold him, especially if the others caught wind of his capture. However, something about this particular chase felt different, felt a little more heated, a little more violent. Zenigata wasn’t playing around-- not to say that he ever was, but hell, it sure did seem like it at times-- and seemed to be in no mood for any sort of the playful cat and mouse chase that he usually engaged in. 

Lupin swerved right hard, damn near slamming his own body into the window of the Fiat as he ran yet another red light, hoping that he would be able to make his way out of the more urban areas so that he could boost his speed up just a little more. 

That time, he ran over a curb, damn near knocking himself directly into a streetlamp. The sweat on his forehead trickled down to his chin, and he licked his lips in anticipation as the oppressive heat of New Orleans in late June began to get to him. If he were going just a little slower, he would reach over to adjust his air conditioner, but judging from the close proximity of the police sirens ripping through the air, he couldn’t quite afford such trivial things. 

He just couldn’t seem to shake his dearest rival, not today at least. Every screeching turn, every increase in speed, every jump and pivot and shriek of tires was copied, Zenigata mirroring his actions with uncomfortably precise accuracy. He tailed him all the way down a quaint neighborhood, where concerned faces peeked out of bug screens and stood, mouths agape, on wooden porches to watch as the action progressed, tailed him as other police officers joined the chase and then ended up on their sides or crashed into walls, tailed him as he jerked the steering wheel and almost knocked the Fiat onto its back like some bright yellow beetle, but managed to save himself right in the nick of time. 

As annoyed as Lupin was with the length of this particularly intense car chase, he was relieved when he began to see fewer and fewer buildings, finally managing to break away from the constraints of a fairly populated area and really being able to put pedal to the metal. Which, as one would expect, he did, his nostrils being assaulted once more with the pungent stench of burnt rubber, a horrific shrieking accompanying the terrible odor that made him wince something awful; he would definitely need to bring the Fiat into the shop after tonight, there was no way such haphazard driving could be good for the tires.

The pro of escaping a residential area and speeding away into a field, no roads or houses to interrupt, also came with a con. And there he was, right on Lupin’s ass, sirens wailing atop his ratty police car as he followed in suit and cranked up the speed. 

“Fuck,” Lupin grunted, tall grass thwacking against the windshield and scraping against the siding of the car, his hands growing clammy with how hard he had to grip down in order to keep control. He wasn’t much for off-roading, and this much was evident with the way he kept swerving to and fro, rocketing off of the ground when he hit dips and rocks and small mounds of earth.

Thankfully, however, Zenigata wasn’t much for off-roading, either, and had slowed considerably ever since he followed Lupin into the field. Allowing himself the smallest of grins, the thief retained his speed, knowing that this was it, the final straw-- he was going to win, he was going to lose that pesky inspector once and for all, and would be home free just as soon as he returned to the loose gravel road that he had been following prior to swinging himself recklessly into the grass. 

A momentary glance to the rearview mirror told him everything he needed to know. Zenigata’s car was continuing to slow down, going a good twenty or thirty miles below what Lupin was speeding at, and he was clearly beginning to lose control over the vehicle. 

By this point, the moon was beginning its slow ascension, the milky twilight of the sky slowly succumbing to the velveteen blackness of night. Deep hues of purple danced amidst the thin wisps of clouds, and the sun had shed her last drops of light across the land, leaving everything muddled and odd and terribly difficult to see. The grass, tall and waving in the gentle breeze, had turned into a thick blanket of invisibility, and it would be near impossible for anybody to spot the Fiat unless they were able to make out the trail of flattened greenery that the car left in its wake. 

Lupin couldn’t see Zenigata at all in any of his mirrors and even took a moment to twist his body hastily to check his blind spots in order to verify that he really had, in fact, lost him. He turned back around with a satisfied smile, beginning to slow down ever so slightly as to have more control over his steering, taking a deep breath of relief. 

Hell, he couldn’t even hear those idiotic sirens anymore-- the only noises that accompanied him were the rumble of his own engine and the constant brush of grass that rattled against the doors and windows, crunching beneath the tires. If he listened just a little harder and concentrated less on driving, the chirping of crickets danced merrily ‘round his ears, cheerful and loud as they sang their tunes in hopes of finding one another in the darkness. 

He began to make his way back to the gravel road, not bothering to look and see if Zenigta was still following him, for at this point, surely he had given up. Besides, if he stayed in the grass for much longer, he may blow out a tire, and God knows that was the absolute last thing he needed right now.

Shakily, he reached upward with his right hand to unlatch the sunroof and tug it open, a blast of cool, summer air immediately filling the car with the scent of ryegrass and the subtle ripeness of a nearby swamp. The wind tousled his hair, ruffling his jacket and dancing playfully across his face, cooling his body from the nervous heat that had been building up in his gut. 

That had been far too close, he decided, setting his jaw and trying to calm his breathing, as he appeared to have forgotten how to use his lungs in the midst of all of the chaos. It was almost embarrassing how rattled up he was, really, but then again, Zenigata had never seemed so… set on catching up to him. 

Yes, sure, he was constantly seeking him out, always giving chase, never one to settle until he had the thief’s hands bound in the cool metal of his trusty handcuffs, but something about this particular night seemed to drive him. Was there a promotion at stake? Perhaps he had been chewed out one too many times by his boss and this was his breaking point? Maybe he just had wet socks and a sour attitude, which had happened before, albeit with less… intense consequences. 

Lupin could think on and on about the reasons as to why his absolute favorite enemy was so hot-headed tonight, could connect dots in his mind and try to figure out what was making him act as though he were a bull and Lupin was the slick matador, waving his red cape out in front of rage-blinded eyes. 

However, he did not have the luxury of doing such, as suddenly, without so much as a warning, the unmistakable bang of a gun fired off somewhere behind him. 

His heart leaped to his throat, and once again, his breathing quickened; had he been found? Did Zenigata actually manage to catch up to him despite all of the obstacles that had been thrown his way? 

Another bang forced the thief’s train of thought to jump the rails, and he accelerated, swerving out of control just for a split second as he attempted to navigate his way through the tall grass and fiery, bright wildflowers, whose colors had since dimmed ever since the sun had disappeared behind the horizon. Two more gunshots made Lupin jump in his seat. 

Perhaps going back onto the gravel road wasn’t such a good idea, now-- he would be far too vulnerable, and he couldn’t afford anything like that unless he was aiming to get caught. Which, obviously, he was not. However, if he continued to drive off the path like he was, he was surely going to ruin the car and be forced to try and escape Zenigata on foot, and though he had outrun him in the past, he wasn’t so sure he could, not right now. 

And then, peeking out above the grass and beckoning him forward he saw it. His saving grace. 

A forest, towering high, dense with thick, dark trunks and even darker leaves stood before him, just about a hundred feet further than where he was. He could only see about a meter into it before it snuffed out all of the light around it, and if he managed to race to the treeline and duck out of the car before Zenigata caught up to him, he would be home free. Anybody could get lost within the impenetrable blackness amidst the foliage, and with the cover of nighttime swallowing the sky whole, there was no way in hell that Zenigata would find him. 

He would be safe, at least for tonight, and then he would be able to book it on back to his apartment before the inspector even knew what hit him. 

The closer he got to the forest, the quicker his heart raced, knowing that this was a rather risky charade he was playing. If Zenigata somehow managed to catch up, he was surely done for, but really, now, he had to think optimistically if he ever wanted to make it. 

So, brightening up just a little, he convinced himself that he would be fine, that the inspector would lose him the moment he stumbled into the woods, that he would be able to look back on this exact moment and think of how silly it was to worry. 

He gripped the wheel harder (as if that would do anything useful), and prepared to leave the sanctity of the grass and be out in the open. It would only last a split second, he told himself, and prepared to come to a screeching halt right at the edge of the forest. 

As it turns out, though, a split second is plenty of time for another bullet to come whizzing out of the night and blowing a hole right through the Fiat’s back left tire. 

Lupin, completely unprepared for this turn of events, spiraled out of control. 

With a yelp, he tried to slam down on the brakes but missed by just a hair and ended up stamping his foot against the flooring of the car, and in his haste to readjust himself, he swerved the steering wheel hard and sent the Fiat hurtling across the gravel path.

All around him, the world sped past in a dizzying blur, the trees and the grass and the tiny, blinking lights of fireflies sending his mind into a tizzy, stomach threatening to push back the lunch he had eaten earlier that day and spew it all across the dashboard. 

Another gunshot, another blown tire. 

If possible, Lupin lost even more control, and his hands flung completely off the wheel as he was slammed into the window, knocking his head hard against the thick glass and causing dark spots to flood his vision for a few seconds. Though he quickly recovered from this, he still wasn’t fast enough to regain control of the car, and in one final desperate attempt to do just that, he swung the nose of the Fiat left as hard as physically possible, gritting his teeth, preparing for the worst. 

He was incredibly grateful to be wearing his seatbelt when the side of the car was met with the hard trunk of a tree, stopping him abruptly and flinging him against the middle console, where he swore on his life he heard the faintest crack as his ribs were met with the hard surface. 

He whimpered as the dust settled, aching to pat himself down for any injuries he may have sustained from the wreck, but knew that he didn’t have the time to do that. He had to get into the cover of the trees, otherwise, he would be dragged to prison for sure. 

Trembling hard, he undid his seatbelt and pressed himself up against the door, clicking it open and spilling out onto the ground in a miserable heap, wanting nothing more than to just lie down and center himself so that he wouldn’t vomit all over his shoes or anything else equally embarrassing. 

Shakily, he stood, legs feeling weaker than jelly, and took an experimental step forward. He had to slam his cold, clammy hand down on the hood of the car to keep from falling, still having a little bit of trouble discerning left from right as the world slowly began to still in front of him. 

Behind him, he heard a car door slam shut with the force of something big and terrifying and surely very pissed off, and his heart skipped at least three beats. 

Hurry up, he urged his legs. It wasn’t as though they were injured or anything, he was just a little shocked, a little shaken up, it was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. 

He took an uneven, shaky breath, blinking away the spots that were once more beginning to obscure his vision. Just a little further, he thought, though deep inside he knew that at the rate he was going at, it would be impossible to lose Zenigata, who had been able to stop his car properly and was now running at him full force. 

The sound of footsteps grinding down on gravel made him wince, and he tried to pick up the pace, sliding his fingers off of the cool surface of the Fiat and walking quicker and quicker into the treeline. He wasn’t going to accept defeat, not now, but he knew that at this point, he had to. He must’ve hit his head a little harder than he had initially thought, for it was getting more and more difficult to keep upright. 

Just keep walking, he pleaded his legs. just keep walking, and maybe Pops will take pity on me and just let me alone. 

“LUPIN!” Came the furious bellow behind him. 

So much for taking pity. 

On pure instinct alone, the thief turned around to face the man calling his name, squinting in the darkness and stumbled backward when he realized that Zenigata was only about two steps away from-- 

THWACK! 

A fist collided hard with his cheek, and before he knew it, up was down and down was up and he was falling harder than he ever had before onto the ground, thankfully managing to catch himself on his elbows lest he suffer another knock to the head. 

Strangely enough, the punch had sobered him up enough to see straight, almost like a slap back into reality, and without ever remembering standing, he was back on his feet again and throwing himself forward, ducking beneath another punch and elbowing Zenigata as hard as he could in the gut. 

The blow had the taller man stumbling backward, but he immediately found his ground once more and dodged another attack from Lupin, who had tried to grab him around the waist and knock him on his ass. The thief, startled that he had gasped thin air when he thought for sure he would have collided with the inspector, didn’t have time to react before another punch was issued to his nose, head flinging back with a curse, stomach churning when something hot began to trickle down his upper lip. 

“Dammit!” He exclaimed, holding his face, and Zenigata didn’t say a word. He simply stared the thief down, frowning hard, and stepping forward to try and get another hit on him.

However, Lupin was prepared and, now, pissed as all hell, and he reeled back just as the inspector got into his personal space and swung his fist forward with all of his might, almost glad when he got a loud shout of pain and a solid crack beneath his knuckles in return. His victory was short-lived when his feet were suddenly knocked out from beneath him, and before he knew it, Zenigata was on top of him. 

The wind had momentarily been knocked out of him when the warm weight of the inspector settled heavily down on his waist, and he struggled to breathe as the dark shadow of Zenigata loomed over him, winding his fist back and bringing it down on Lupin’s face. 

Once, twice, he hit him, Lupin’s head being forced to turn with each collision, the bitter, sour taste of copper stinging his tongue, and good God, Zenigata was mad. 

Kicking his legs, Lupin managed to shove the inspector forward, who gasped softly in surprise and had to fall forward onto his hands, not before his forehead bumped Lupin’s, hot breath spilling all across the thief’s face. 

Using his shock as an advantage, Lupin shoved Zenigata hard beneath his arms and twisted his legs to kick him off, managing to switch their positions with a grunt of exertion, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to last for long. Though he was far more slippery, Zenigata was certainly much, much stronger, and he would be on his back at a moment’s notice.

Lupin swung and punched the inspector in the cheek with his right fist, raising his left to do the same, though he was stopped short by Zenigata’s palm, knuckles squeezed tight beneath the strength of the inspector’s thick fingers, nails digging into the thin flesh of his hand, leaving little half-moon indents.

Just as he expected, Lupin was flipped once more, rolled onto his back while Zenigata struggled to hold him down, his knee digging into the thief’s hip, elbow colliding rather harshly with his chest, hand shoving down on Lupin’s shoulder to keep him grounded whilst he issued yet another hit to his face. 

Lupin’s cheek smooshed hard into the earth below, nose filling with the scent of cool, moist dirt, his mouth being assaulted with bits of grass that snuck between his grinding teeth. 

“You!” Zenigata grunted, taking a pause to spit the words directly into Lupin’s ear. “You good for nothing, sniveling, wily son of a--” he, however, was unable to finish the insult as Lupin freed one of his legs and pushed himself back, managing to lift his hips far enough to wrap his mile-long around Zenigata’s waist and roll him onto his back with a soft pomf! quickly clambering atop him and grabbing his wrists, trying to fend off another attack that would have him on the ground once more. He struggled, fingers now slotting between Zenigata’s own to shove them back, the inspector’s legs kicking endlessly, whole body squirming with enough force to cause Lupin to lose his footing. 

Which, sadly, he did, but before he was able to be pinned once more, he rolled to the side, ribs aching something fierce as he did so. 

Zenigata thudded to the ground, chin hitting the dirt, and Lupin took this moment to scramble up, standing despite how shaky his legs were, and, in a quick, hasty, desperate attempt to keep the inspector on the ground, he lifted his left foot and brought it down hard to the back of his head, forcing his face deeper into the dirt.

He took this chance to start running, but only managed to take a single stride before a hand shot out and gripped his ankle, and with a loud yelp, he fell flat on his face, quickly trying to right himself.

Before he could, however, a knee struck his back, right between his shoulder blades, and he was pushed down once more, hands pressed up against the earth, curling into useless fists, dirt-digging beneath his fingernails and thick, green weeds coming up between his fingers. 

Zenigata rolled him over onto his back, but instead of forcing him to the ground once more, he instead grabbed a fistful of Lupin’s shirt in each hand and swung him upward, seemingly effortlessly bringing the thief up, first to his feet, then to his toes, then into the air as he charged forward and rammed Lupin’s back into a tree, so hard that Lupin cried out as the wind was pushed from his lungs.

He choked, unable to breathe when Zenigata released him and slammed his fist into Lupin’s cheek before the smaller man fell back onto solid ground, knees buckling beneath his weight. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise, however, for when Zenigata reeled back to issue another punch, his fist was met with the rough surface of the trunk, and he barked in pain, slumping forward against the tree and shaking his hand to try and relieve it of some of the blood that was spilling out from his knuckles. 

Lupin took this opportunity to lift himself back up, shoving his face into Zenigata’s middle and gripping whatever cloth that he could, pushing himself off from the ground and tackling the inspector to the floor. He could practically hear the way the air was forced out of Zenigata, escaping in one, pained gasp and now, he was the winded one. 

Eyes blown wide and darting to and fro, he gasped and heaved and sputtered, attempting in vain to properly breathe again, tears gathering, blood flying up in pitiful specks that stained his trenchcoat and fell in a spray across the corners of his mouth and neck. 

Deciding not to tempt fate again, Lupin climbed atop him and fell hard onto his waist. This time, however, Zenigata remained still, legs no longer thrashing, and when the thief took both of his arms in each hand, he was unable to fight back, still struggling to breathe beneath the weight of his rival. 

“What the fuck,” Lupin gasped, shoulders hunched, head reeling, fingers digging harder and harder into Zenigata’s skin, curling tightly ‘round his wrists and shoving them as hard as he could into the softened earth below. “is your goddamned problem?!” 

He got no response, of course, as Zenigata was still attempting to catch his breath, though his sharp eyes told Lupin everything he needed to know. They were squinted in a mean, cold glare, burning directly into Lupin’s own, brown and dangerous and spilling over with an emotion that Lupin had never seen on him before. It almost scared him, really, and his heart stopped beating just for a second at the intensity of the gaze.

“My problem?!” Zenigata wheezed, finally able to push the words between his lips, brow furrowed. He was completely still, now, not even bothering to struggle beneath Lupin, though both of them knew that if he wanted to, he would be able to knock the thief back in one swift motion. 

“Yes, yours!” Lupin spat in return, holding eye contact, attempting to match the fire in Zenigata’s eyes. 

However, no matter how hard he tried, he could not. There was a flicker of something new, something absolutely terrifying, almost like a rabid animal had overtaken Zenigata’s body. 

“You’ve never come at me like that, at least not since you were first assigned to my case! You could’ve fucking killed me, Zenigata!” He continued, pretending to ignore the unease roiling around in his gut. 

“Oh, please,” Zenigata laughed, and it was mean and it was nasty and it was without remorse. There was not a lick of humor behind those eyes. “I could’ve killed you, ah? Never stopped you before, you grimy piece of shit,” 

All around them, the crickets continued to chirp almost as though nothing had ever happened. No longer were their calls peaceful and pleasant, but instead digging into Lupin’s eardrums and burrowing beneath his skin, a hot, uncomfortable taunt that left him trembling. He was shaken up, that was for damned sure, though, at this point, he wasn’t sure whether it was from the crash, the fight, or the look in Zenigata’s eyes. 

“What, is that your new goal or something?” Lupin asked, squeezing Zenigata’s wrists harder. “To kill me? You do realize that if I hadn’t swerved when I did when you blew out both of my back tires, I would’ve hit that tree head-on! I was going fast, you dick, I wouldn’t have survived that!”

“But here you are, alive and well,” the response was immediate, no hesitation holding the words back. “so you can stop whining about it now,” 

Lupin let out an incredulous noise of disapproval, shaking his head in pure disbelief. 

Normally, Zenigata wasn’t so aggressive. He could be rough at times, sure, but this complete, unfiltered rage was something that he had seemingly left behind long ago, dropping his hardened shell at each quiet moment of reluctant cooperation between himself and Lupin. He had softened over the years, growing tired of chasing after a target he knew damn well he could never capture and even allowed himself to form a strange, shaky friendship with his greatest rival. There had been countless nights where the pair had shared drinks, slurring their words and leaning heavily against one another, smiling and laughing at nothing at all, brief moments in time where they would join forces, just for a little bit, and chase after a shared enemy, working in tandem, bouncing ideas off of one another almost as though, in another life, they could be partners. 

Many times, Zenigata had let down his walls-- maybe not for long, maybe only between the bated breaths of hushed whispers and vulnerable murmurs-- but he had let them down nonetheless and Lupin was able to catch a glimpse of who hid beneath the layers of his trenchcoat and the scars littering his skin. 

He was kind. Gentle, really, in every sense of the word, soft in his actions and sweet in his words, with a heart big enough to house every soul in the world. Even big enough to house four, rugged thieves, who he had sworn to hate. Those hands that had, just moments ago, beaten Lupin black and blue, had pressed into the small of his back before, pushed strands of hair behind the thief’s ears before, squeezed tightly onto another set of hands, smaller than his, shakier than his, and held tightly. Within them was an infinite amount of tenderness hidden in each knuckle, each bone, each twitch of muscle. They usually weren’t so hard. So violent. 

But tonight was different. 

Tonight, the crickets trilled angrily and the dull, damp heat of New Orleans bore against the pair of men like flames licking against their skin, and the moon’s beams that illuminated only slivers of the darkened world were now harsh enough to scorch and blind the widened eyes beneath them. 

Tonight, Lupin had not fought with the lovable, clumsy fool Zenigata that he had always known.

Tonight, he had fought with a stranger. 

The tension melted off of Lupin and left him feeling weak, exhausted, dizzy. Though he made no move to release the man beneath him, his grip loosened, and for just a moment, he feared that Zenigata may sense the sudden moment of weakness and use it to get back at him and beat him bloodier than he had before. However, he did no such thing and simply lay there, motionless, gaze locked with the thief’s. 

Though his features softened ever so slightly, the expression scorched into his eyes did not change. 

“You’re out for blood tonight, huh?” Lupin chuckled bitterly, breathing heavily; he didn’t know how tired he had been until this very moment. “What the hell happened? What made you snap like that?” 

“I’m doing my job, Lupin,” Zenigata responded through gritted teeth. 

“Your job is to capture me, not kill me,” 

“You’re wanted dead or alive,”

“So you’re actually telling me that you’re willing to kill me? Just to bring me in? That’s gotta be a new low for you, Pops,” 

“Don’t call me that,” 

“Or what, Pops, what’ll you do? I’ve got an advantage over you,” Lupin scowled, though he knew he was lying. They both knew. There was certainly an advantage, yes, but it did not belong to Lupin. “my gun is in its holster. Doesn’t that scare you?” 

The threat was empty. 

“And where do you think my gun is, huh, smartass? I’m sure if you move your leg just a little you’ll feel something, but trust me when I say it ain’t because I’m happy to see you,” 

This threat was not, in fact, empty. 

“What, so you’re just gonna shoot me or something?” Lupin snorted, though he felt himself tense up just a little. He knew that the inspector was serious-- whereas Lupin was only trying to rile him up (God knows why, if Zenigata got any more riled up than he already had been Lupin was a dead man for sure), Zenigata meant every word that he spat in the thief’s blood-stained face. “You know by now that I’m weak. I’m willing to openly admit to you that I can’t fight anymore, that car crash left me dizzy and I still haven’t fully recovered from all of those punches you landed. You could do it, you know,” 

There was a brief pause, a moment of silence filled with heavy breathing and the warble of crickets. From above, a screech owl crooned its gentle call, nothing more than a soft chitter that went unnoticed by the two men.

“What, shoot you?” Zenigata finally spoke.

Lupin nodded. “Yeah, Pops. So what’s stopping you? Surely I’m not heavy enough to actually pin you down like this,” 

“Of course, not,” 

“So then why don’t you do something? Before you were all fire and fury, and now what, have you given up?” 

“Of course, not,” 

“Then go ahead and do it. Come on, now, push me off of you and shoot, dammit,” Lupin, knowing damn well that he was probably risking his life, slowly released one of Zenigata’s wrists and brought his hand upward, trembling terribly while he reached out with his index finger and pressed the pad of it squarely between his eyes. “right here, Pops. I wouldn’t even know what hit me,” 

“Stop toying with me, you brat,” Zenigata growled, and finally, he looked away, rolling his head to the side, staring off into the distance at nothing. 

“That’s what I thought,” Lupin murmured, and released Zenigata’s other wrist to lean back against him, sitting up a little straighter and letting his head fall backward, nose pointed toward the sky, letting out a deep, exhausted sigh from between his bloodied lips. 

Warm, wet gore trickled down his Cupid’s bow from his left nostril and got caught up in the spaces of his teeth, tumbling down to his bottom lip and spilling off of his chin, dripping down onto the inspector’s dirtied white button-down and leaving crimson stains that sunk into the fabric slowly. His head was throbbing, brain pounding against his skull in a dull, low, constant thump, and without even reaching up to touch his forehead, he knew that he was bleeding. The bruises that were slowly forming along his jaw and on his right eye were finally beginning to sting and pulse, almost as though they held a tiny heartbeat within their deepening hues of red, soon to turn purple, the flesh already tender from where it had been punched. 

Lupin felt hot from the crown of his head all the way down to his trembling legs, the adrenaline of fighting finally flooding out of him and leaving him weak, worn out, clumsy. He could tell that Zenigata was suffering the same fate, even without looking at him. He was tired. They were both so, so tired. 

It only took a little shove for Lupin to push himself off of Zenigata’s waist, rolling over and allowing his shoulder to touch the ground beneath him as finally, he found himself on his back, looking upward at the sky through lidded eyes. 

In his peripheral, the trees of the forest hung heavily up above, but the pair of men were only at the border of it, not close enough for the darkness to completely obscure them, and the deep, thick, navy of the sky spun slowly, clearly overhead. The lack of light pollution allowed the stars to peek through, twinkling and winking in and out of existence, albeit slightly blurry what with how Lupin’s head was still reeling. 

He had to admit, the view was wonderful. And now that the breeze had come, a little cooler, a little sweeter, a little softer, it played within the folds of his clothes and scurried across his chest, gentle once more. In fact, Lupin almost closed his eyes against the kiss of it, but he couldn’t, not now, not when he was lying shoulder to shoulder with a familiar face he had never met before. A firefly made its presence momentarily known right above Lupin’s nose, but once its soft light dimmed, it disappeared into the nighttime, flying lazily to and fro, allowing the wind to partially carry its gossamer wings. 

“I’m about to be fired.” 

The sudden voice, soft-spoken and yet so filled with anger, surprised Lupin, and he quickly turned his head to face Zenigata, who was staring upward, expression unreadable.

“After that little stunt you pulled at the Landry household, the one where you didn’t leave any sort of calling card at all, didn’t give any forewarning to, that one, the commissioner sought me out. Told me I should’ve been on top of this case. That I should’ve been able to know that it was you robbing them,” 

Lupin was silent. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say-- not because he felt guilty for getting Zenigata in trouble, but because he didn’t know what direction this was taking. 

“Obviously, because I had no way of knowing, I wasn’t contacted to inspect that damned mansion or set up any sort of security. It wasn’t until they found that ridiculous logo of yours smeared across their daughter’s portrait that anybody even realized that you were the one who had stolen all of their precious heirlooms and money. And obviously, by that point, I was far too late,” 

Zenigata paused to take a breath, and Lupin felt the way his shoulders relaxed. The arm pressed up against his own was warm, almost comforting in a sick sort of way. 

“It was a break in the pattern. The pattern I had obsessed over for twenty goddamned years. I thought I knew all of your quirks and qualms, I thought I had you pinned down, Lupin, and even though you always manage to get away from me I still know how your brain works. But this stupid, trivial fucking case,” his jaw hardened. “this idiotic petty theft was the one where you break your own stupid fucking pattern, and now I have to suffer the consequences because I couldn’t get there in time,” 

It took a few seconds before Lupin was able to respond, not only trying to digest what was being said to him but also waiting to see if Zenigata was going to continue talking. When he didn’t, and the drone of the unspoken words between them became too loud to bear, Lupin opened his mouth to speak. 

“Is that why you almost killed me, Pops? Because your boss got mad at you?” He chuckled, growing angry at how small the reason was for Zenigata’s sudden violence. “You’ve been in tight spots like this before. It’s not my job to keep you secure in your position, you know. This is none of my problem, I’m my own man and so are you,” he paused to take a short, quick breath. “I’ve slipped away from you more times than I can count. Your boss has threatened to let you go over and over, after every fuck-up you make, but he still hasn’t done shit. Because as much as I hate to admit it, you’re right, you’re the only person in this dog’s world that knows how to track me, or how I go about doing things. I don’t know how, but you are, and that’s something that your boss needs,” 

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, at this point. He didn’t want to comfort Zenigata, but at the same time, he couldn’t imagine him being let off the case; for some unknown reason, something in the pit of his gut just couldn’t even bear to entertain such a thought. He had felt like this for years. He hated it. 

“Don’t you understand? This whole fiasco is just another drop in the ocean, it means literally nothing. You’re gonna look back on this and wish you had been fired, because you know damn well I’m gonna continue dragging you to hell and back with me, and I know you’re already sick of losing constantly. So yeah, sure, I didn’t send a calling card, and yeah, sure, the commissioner scolded you. That’s nothing, though, and you know it as well as I do,” 

Silence fell between them once more. In the distance, the rapid clicking and croaking of small, sticky little frogs arose from the nearby swamp, and the grass swayed slowly in the warm, June breeze. When Lupin adjusted his hand ever so slightly, he felt it brush gently against the inspector’s, and he left it there, borrowing the warmth of his skin despite it being far too hot outside, letting it sink into each of his trembling, anxious fingertips. Zenigata didn’t move. 

He knew that being told off by the commissioner wasn’t what had completely thrown Zenigata over the edge. He knew damn well, but it wasn’t his place to pry, even though he knew he could, because he always pried and the sweet, dear, soft-hearted inspector always spilled his guts to the thief. Many times, Lupin had used this against him, had gotten personal, private information out of him only to shove it right back into his face when he needed a quick out, when Zenigata was a little too close to capturing him. At first, he had loved it and drank up the shattered expression that was standing so vulnerably before him, even going as far as to mock him for feeling hurt that he had trusted somebody with something so fragile only for the promise of never telling another soul, never uttering a word, Lupin, please, God, listen to me when I say I have never told anybody else about this, I don’t know why I’m trusting you but I am, to be shattered. 

He hadn’t done that in years. And now, he kept all of those strange, hushed little secrets in a special compartment in his mind, and he cherished them more than he should’ve. 

Under normal circumstances, the thief would’ve been on Zenigata like a bee to honey, pushing all of his buttons, asking as many uncomfortably intimate questions as physically possible in order for the truth to finally come out in a rushed explanation, one that came with annoyed, flushed cheeks and tired eyes, but these weren’t normal circumstances, were they? Something was genuinely wrong, and like a crystal glass shattering against the dirty tile of the kitchen floor, something had broken within Zenigata, and Lupin wasn’t sure he even needed to pry. If he waited, if he was patient, the inspector would tell him what was on his mind, and then he would listen and make a few harmless jokes about the matter, and then the air would be cleared and everything would go back to normal. Please, God, just let it go back to normal. 

Finally, there was movement, and Zenigata sat up, bits of grass falling away from his trenchcoat like molted feathers as he did so. Lupin found himself foolishly missing the touch of their hands.

The inspector shuffled around a little more, drawing his knees up close to his chest and hugging them, resting his chin atop them, shoulders hunched. 

Lupin almost reached up to touch his back, to trail his fingertips along the expanse of it, for now, he really did feel bad. The anger of suddenly being engaged in a wildly unfair fistfight after having just crashed into a damned tree was-- somehow-- gone, and replaced with a sense of worry, and try as he might, he was unable to rid himself of it. He could get back at Zenigata later, maybe throw in a few good swings, catch him off guard with a nice slap to the face, but for now? For now, he was growing frightened, and if he didn’t do something to ease the stiffness in Zenigata’s shoulders right this second, then he would only get worse. 

So, pushing his elbows into the dirt, he heaved upward himself, legs bending at the knee to sit a bit further out from his body, moving one of his arms to drape them over the tops of his knees. 

“You want a smoke? Bought a fresh pack yesterday,” He asked, free hand digging into the inner pocket of his red jacket, rummaging around the area for the familiar shape of the carton of Gitanes he always kept handy. 

“Sure,” Zenigata mumbled, voice barely even audible. He was sulking, and he looked pitiful. Embarrassing, almost. Lupin wanted to make fun of him. Didn’t he? 

Instead, however, he simply nodded and pulled out the cigarettes, flipping the carton open with a simple flick of his wrist, and holding it out, offering the weary inspector the first one. He didn’t see it or was maybe just ignoring it, so gingerly, Lupin nudged his shoulder, leaning his head forward to try and get a peek of his expression. 

Zenigata turned, blinking stupidly down at the cigarettes, not daring to meet Lupin’s eye, sniffing absently. 

He reached out to take one, knuckles grazing the tip of Lupin’s pinkie. Before he could actually grab a cigarette, however, Lupin stopped him.

“Hey, wait,” he said abruptly.

“What do you want?” The inspector replied, unamused. 

“Geez, no need to get upset,” Lupin rolled his eyes, praying that he would be able to lighten the mood. He almost wished they were still fighting; seeing Zenigata so deflated was beginning to cause the sharp maws of anxiety to gnaw at his stomach lining, and if he was close to throwing up earlier after getting knocked around a little too roughly, then he was even closer now. “I was just gonna say that you should be my lucky strike,” 

Furrowing his brow, Zenigata frowned. “Why?” 

“Because I haven’t found one yet,” 

“You’re such a child, Lupin,” Zenigata sighed, but even still, he took a cigarette from the very middle of the pack between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it delicately, taking a moment to shuffle it around between his fingertips ‘til it was upright, then pushing it back into the carton. Too much care was put into the action. It was almost scary, really.

“There,” Lupin hummed while his eyes followed Zenigata’s hands and, this time, he took a cigarette for himself. “now when I smoke that, I’ll think of you,” 

“Psh,” Zenigata snorted, bringing the filter to his mouth and resting it between his lips. “remember me fondly, I guess,” 

“Sure thing,” Lupin hummed his response, slowly beginning to pocket the carton but not before taking a snout between his own knuckles and drawing it out of the box, fumbling with it awkwardly until it lay between his fingers. 

“Got a light? I’m afraid I lost mine while I was chasing you,” Zenigata huffed, and the thief smiled, digging deeper into his inner pocket to retrieve the Zippo lighter right below the carton. 

“Which part?” 

“When I leaned out to shoot your tires. It must’ve fallen outta my breast pocket,” 

Lupin’s nose wrinkled bitterly. “You’re a real prick, Pops,” 

“So I’ve been told. Light?” 

“Yeah, sure, sure, don’t rush me,” the thief’s words were slightly muffled as he held the filter between his lips, leaning down and flicking the striker a few times, unsuccessful until at last, on the fifth near-silent flk, a small, steady flame erupted from the lighter, and he leaned down to catch the flame with his cigarette, inhaling deeply ‘til a familiar stream of hot, burning smoke filled his lungs, causing him to close his eyes and take in the slight buzz of nicotine that resulted in his first inhale. Then, thin, grey smoke billowing from between his slightly parted lips and out of his nostrils, he slowly held the lighter to Zenigata. 

When the inspector’s larger hand engulfed Lupin’s, and he pulled it closer to his lips to light up, the thief’s stomach dropped down to the grass, and his chest was filled with something hard, tight, uncomfortable, something he often pushed down. This time around was no different, and he swallowed his heart as it crawled up his throat, and prayed it would stay within the confines of his aching ribcage for the rest of the night. 

Zenigata took a deep, long drag, closing his eyes, the cherry illuminating the dirt and blood smeared all across his face, small, fresh cuts along his cheeks, nose just as bloody and ruined as Lupin’s own. 

“Thanks,” he sighed, the words coming out physically in the form of tendrils and wisps that blew from his lips. 

Lupin nodded, though he didn’t say a word. Another breeze passed them by, carrying bits of baby hairs and loose clothing with it. When Lupin shuffled closer, closer, closer, ‘til his shoulder was pressed into Zenigata’s, the latter either didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

“You know, I’m all packed up,” Zenigata said quietly. 

“What’s that?” 

“I’m all packed up. My stuff at the office, I mean. They had me pack all of my things,” 

Lupin began to chew on his inner cheek. Ah. So this is where that patience he had been thinking of earlier was finally playing out. The truth was spilling free, rolling off of Zenigata’s tongue like the smoke from his borrowed Gitane. 

“Did they, now? What a scare tactic,” 

“Yeah,” the inspector chuckled, though it wasn’t angry or bitter or anything other than… sad. To put it simply. It was sad. “I wish,” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean, Lupin, that the commissioner had me pack up all of my possessions into a little cardboard box, and he showed me the paperwork that would officiate my termination, and he told me that if I didn’t catch you once and for all that I was done for. They already have somebody in line, waiting to take my job. Young little thing, real quick on her feet. I’m sure you’ll like her,” 

Lupin swallowed hard, unease poisoning his mind with blackened, charred thoughts of what if this is real? 

For truly… what if it was? What would happen if Koichi Zenigata, Interpol’s finest, was let off for good? There was no way that such a ridiculous thing could be possible, not over some minor slip up like this, no way, no how. 

Opening his mouth to speak, Lupin tried to joke his way out of his discomfort, tried to pull the inspector’s head out of his damned ass, because he was being an idiot at this point. This was all going to be a big joke, some ploy schemed up by none other than Zenigata himself to take Lupin into the big house. And even if he was serious, there was no way in hell anybody was going to fire Zenigata. Sure, he could be a dunderhead at times, maybe a little too much of a clutz for the force, but he was perfectly capable of bagging any criminal he wanted, Lupin included, even if it didn’t last long.

“I’m sure that’s nothing,” was the wonderfully clever response he managed to choke out. 

“That’s what I tried to tell myself,” 

“Stop kiddin’ around here, Pops, you aren’t going to get fired. And-- and hell, you know what, you bastard?” Lupin’s voice had raised an octave, and oh, God, he really was nervous now, because this couldn’t possibly be happening. He was not going to get somebody new on his case, not after twenty years of falling into the most pitiful, disgusting, embarrassing love he had ever experienced before in his life. 

Trembling, he held out his wrists, catching the inspector’s gaze with his own, because for some reason, in his mind’s eye, if he was able to maintain eye contact, then the spell would be broken, and he would wake up, and this would all be a terrible, sickening nightmare. 

“Here, Zenigata. Go ahead. Cuff me, shag me, do whatever you want. And then I’ll come quietly, alright? I’ll get into that shoddy little car of yours-- seriously, is that the best they can give you?-- and you’re going to drive me back to the station and arrest me. I’ll stay the night, even, I’ll make sure the others don’t come for me right away,” 

For a little while, all Zenigata could do was stare. 

His eyes traced the outline of Lupin’s hands, seeming to follow every single crease in his palm, every smudge of dirt and shock of bright red blood that had scraped its way onto the soft flesh. It was as though he were studying those deft hands he had said he hated many times before, memorizing them with those big, brown eyes of his. Whatever fire, whatever flood of enraged sparks that had filled them before was now gone, replaced with something entirely new and different. It made Lupin self-conscious. 

And then, just like that, Zenigata smiled. And he shook his head, ash crumbling away from the cherry of his cigarette, falling onto his knees like black snow. 

“Didn’t you hear me, you idiot?” He breathed. “I said that I had to catch you once and for all. Forever. I have to lock you up, and I have to keep you there ‘til the death penalty comes for your sorry ass. Even if you do come with me tonight, and I do manage to prove to the commissioner that I’m able to get you, I’ll still be fired the morning you leave,”

Slowly, Lupin lowered his hands. 

“There are loopholes, surely,” he murmured. “it’s not your fault if I escape, you know, it’s the warden’s fault,” 

“I’m already on thin ice, Lupin. They want to get rid of me. I’m nothing more than dead weight to them, now. I’ve grown too soft for this job, y’know.”

He paused, swallowing hard, chewing on his words as he pondered what he would say next. All the while, all Lupin could do was stare. Sit quietly. Listen.

 “And that!” He finally exclaimed, a grin quivering its way onto his lips. He was closer than he had been before, wasn’t he? “That’s all your fault! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you and your friends? The bastards that have completely ruined me and stripped me of everybody and everything I’ve ever loved? I can’t bring myself to do anything to any of you!” He laughed. Lupin wasn’t sure what was so funny. He shrunk back as Zenigata grew closer. “I know that I’m going to lose this job and I know that when I fly back to Japan, when the commissioner sees me, he’s practically going to throw me out of the office himself, because I can’t touch any of you!” He shook his head, still smiling, though his eyebrows were knit together, wrinkles creased across his forehead. 

In the glimmer of the moonlight, Lupin noticed how the grey hairs along his sideburns and peppered into his hair seemed to illuminate, like stardust. How long had those been there? How long was Zenigata going to pretend to chase Lupin? How long was the cat going to allow the mouse to slip from his claws? 

“Can’t you see? If I wanted to arrest you, I already would’ve. Hell, if I was serious about hunting you down, about bringing you justice, Lupin, you would be dead. I would’ve shot you, already, and I know that I can, because as fucking stupid as you think I am, I’ve been letting you go. If I wanted you, Lupin, you horrible wretch of a man, I would’ve had you,” 

Lupin had heard a lot in his life. He had been told some of the most harrowing tales from people who never ended up surviving, had been pierced by words so hurtful that he sobbed them out into the palms of his hands on nights where sleep did not come easy and the loneliness of his nature was hitting him hardest. 

This, however, was what broke him. There was the truth he had been waiting so patiently for, but it was not a truth he wanted to hear. It made him sick and angry, and he so desperately wanted to scream right into the inspector’s face, to tell him that this was all a load of bull shit, he was bluffing, he had to be. There was no way in hell that any of this, anything that had gone on this horrific night, could possibly be true. Zenigata was not simply allowing Lupin to escape, he just couldn’t hold him down for long! And the commissioner, despite the fact that Zenigata was shit at catching Lupin, was not going to fire him, because he was still a competent, successful policeman! 

Lupin could feel the way his blood was boiling, an inferno within him that made his skin itchy and the wounds on his body throb with dull, enraging pain. He wanted to hit Zenigata again, tumble to the floor with him, beat him ‘til he couldn’t even speak, because what the fuck was this? He had made Lupin crash his car, possibly break a rib, fought with him ‘til both of their faces were a bloody, swollen wreck, and now he plays the goddamned pity card? Tries to convince him that he was actually just playing a glorified game of tag with him, never actually wanting to capture him but giving half-hearted attempts anyway? He was being an idiot, more so than usual, and Lupin was just about ready to smack some sense into him. 

When he opened his mouth, however, the only thing that spilled from his lips was a soft, pitiful little whisper, more fear etched into his eyes than he was willing to admit.

“Do you hate me, Koichi?” 

He dared to use the inspector’s first name, and it felt like a prayer upon his lips. One last desperate, gut-wrenching attempt to get a rise out of this… person, this man, this human being that, despite everything, Lupin had found himself growing so fond of over the years. 

“I wish that I could,” came the equally quiet response, and that was all Lupin needed to fall apart at the seams. 

When he leaned forward to kiss Zenigata, the inspector pulled back, surprised, frightened.

“What’re you doing?” He asked, though he already knew the answer, Lupin could tell by the way he swallowed so thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing against the tender skin of his neck. 

“Be still,” Lupin urged, and maybe he should’ve backed off, maybe he should’ve respected the other man’s boundaries, but instead his hands drifted up to caress a hardened jaw, causing Zenigata to flinch lightly in the process. The pad of his thumb left a small dent beneath the inspector’s right eye. His free hand came up to rest on Zenigata’s own, the one that held the cigarette, and he squeezed onto it for dear life, too afraid to move away or let go or anything logical that he really should’ve done. The cigarette fell to the dirt, cherry still burning. 

“Please.”

What he had meant to be some sort of command, maybe something that’d snap Zenigata out of this strange, sorrowful state he was in, came out as a whimper, nearly the cusp of a sob. 

Zenigata, per request, grew still. And he allowed himself to be kissed, allowed Lupin’s lips to graze over his own, lightly, noses brushing together, hands squeezing tighter into his body. Lupin screwed his eyes shut, pressing harder, tilting his head lightly, begging for some sort of response, something, anything, anything at all, tears gathering thick and heavy at his lashes and threatening to spill over the top. 

And then, finally, finally, finally, Zenigata kissed him back.

His jaw relaxed, and his eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into Lupin’s body, slowly shifting positions so that he could wrap his arms around the thief and pull him ever closer, hands resting just at Lupin’s shoulderblades, not daring to move down any further, too afraid of what might happen, what may be admitted through the unbearable tenderness of such an action if he did. 

Slowly, Zenigata began to allow Lupin to push him backward, the hand that had once cupped his face now pressing softly against his barrel chest and guiding him down to the soft, cool earth below, fingers digging listlessly into the fabric of Zenigata’s shirtfront. It was dirty, stained with blood and muck, quite similar to the rest of him.

Just this afternoon, when he had first come charging after Lupin, when that fire of burning, seething rage had not quite reached his eyes, he had been completely clean. Button-down freshly pressed and starch, trenchcoat mended, tie clipped neatly, hair brushed and, maybe not pristine, maybe not perfect, but tidy all the same. What the hell had happened? In that short expanse of time, between the sinking rays of the burning sun and the gentle kiss of moonbeams, what had he become?

Momentarily, Lupin pulled away, his lungs screaming for air after all of his breath had just been taken away from him, and when he returned, he was grateful that the hesitance that Zenigata had previously displayed was no longer there, his large, warm hand coming up to rest on the back of Lupin’s head, toying gently with his hair, the other curling around the thief’s arm and grabbing helplessly at his jacket while Lupin slowly wrapped his arms around the other’s neck. 

It was a hollow, bittersweet kiss, full of countless endings that could have been but never would, words that both of them had retained for years finally spilling out through the soft, benevolent action, never dared spoken, because such things never could be spoken. They weren’t allowed to be, and as much as Lupin wanted to say those three, simple words, as much as he wanted to pull away and whisper them into Zenigata’s ear, as much as he wanted to admit that all this time, he was the one, he was the one, he was the only one, he couldn’t. 

His heart wouldn’t allow for him to do something so dangerous, so foolish, so instead, he tried to express himself in the way that he pressed his mournful affections to the corner of Zenigata’s mouth and how his arms tightened in an attempt to deepen the embrace and how his leg slotted so perfectly between Zenigata’s own, not dangerously close, but enough to tangle their limbs together in one last desperate hurrah. As if by sheer closeness alone, everything would change. 

But of course, such wishful thinking was entirely too naive, and when Zenigata drew away, lips lingering on trembling lips as long as they could, Lupin let him. 

They lay there, on the ground, the world spinning beneath their aching bodies, grass scratching at their hands and legs, dirt folding into their clothes and the creases of their eyes and the strands of their hair. Lupin buried his face into the heavy comfort of Zenigata’s shoulder, noting mindlessly that he smelled of burnt-out cigarettes and coffee, whiskey and cinnamon. Of course, though, the thief already knew this; he knew exactly what Zenigata smelled like. It had been ingrained in his memory for so long, and truly, how could he forget? It was something so trivial and useless, but he supposed that could be said for anything he knew about Zenigata. All of those small, meaningless facts, like his favorite animal or the number of freckles scattered across the nape of his neck were all burned into the thief’s mind, dear to him in some awful, sad sort of way. 

Hesitantly, he rolled off of Zenigata, left arm still pinned beneath his neck, and in turn, the inspector’s right was still wrapped ‘round his waist. Neither of them spoke a word, neither of them dared, as talking now would be admitting defeat. Breaking this barrier of silence, this unspoken vow, would be coming to terms that this story, this walking comedy act between two men bound to opposite sides of the law, loving each other in glances and shared cigarettes, was over. It was falling apart, and no matter how much Lupin wanted to preserve what they had, and the potential of what they could have, he knew that there was no use clinging onto something that would never be. 

Stories, as it goes, have a beginning, a middle, and an end. And yet, the end couldn’t come, wouldn’t come, until someone flipped the page-- so, if both of them continued to remain silent, if neither of them moved, then they would simply remain. Right at the cusp of the end, but not quite, in that blissful purgatory that held memories of what they had gone through and experienced together without ever drawing anything to a close. 

But this was wishful thinking. And all Lupin could do when Zenigata opened his mouth, when he turned to the final page of that dreaded final chapter, was close his eyes and wish that they had more time. 

“Hey, I’m pretty sure this new inspector doesn’t know half as much about you as I do. So you get a lucky break for a while until she figures you out,” Zenigata chuckled, though his voice quavered like glass wind chimes against the cool, summer air. “though, at the risk of sounding cocky, I doubt that she will,” 

Lupin made a soft sound, maybe it was a laugh, maybe not, he couldn’t tell. “I don’t think anybody knows me quite like you do, Pops. I’ll go easy on her, though, maybe build up her confidence, let her cuff me a few times,” 

“Y’know, it’s funny, that was exactly my parting wish,” the sarcasm dripping off of the inspector’s voice was evident. 

“Parting wish?” Lupin hummed. “You make it sound like you’re going to die,” 

“Might as well. I’ve been so wrapped up in this job I don’t have a life of my own anymore,” 

“That’s a sad thing to admit,” 

“Isn’t it?” 

Lupin turned his head toward Zenigata and was almost surprised to find that tears had streaked across the grime on his face, miserable and wet as they pooled at his chin and dripped heavily onto his clothes. His nose had turned red, the bags beneath his eyes puffy and dark, though perhaps that was from the bruises that were beginning to leave their temporary marks on his skin.

Lupin dared to roll over onto his side, to bring his hand forth and wipe off a smear of dirt right near the top of Zenigata’s Cupid’s bow, though he soon found that it was blood rather than dirt, and all he did was streak the bright crimson gore across the space above his upper lip like fingerpaint. He felt the beginnings of a smile beneath the pad. His heart lurched. 

“You realize that this will all be cleared up in a few days, right?” Lupin uttered, not even attempting to use his voice, as he knew if he did, it would tremble and fall apart right then and there. “You’re not out of a job yet, you’re too bullheaded for that. Nobody can fire you until you say so,” 

“You’re right with that one. Up until now, I’ve managed to convince my boss to let me stay, just for a little while longer, and he’s never been able to deny me that. Mostly because he couldn’t find anybody else suitable for your case,” Zenigata chuckled lightly, his breath hot against Lupin’s finger, which was still pressed lightly to his mouth only if it meant he could touch him a few moments more. “I would think you’d be relieved, to be honest,” 

“If that’s what you think, then maybe you don’t know me as well as all of the records say,” 

Zenigata didn’t respond to this. Lupin wasn’t sure if he didn’t know what to say, or if he didn’t want to say anything, but either way, he was glad that the both of them just shut up. 

Or, at least, he thought he was glad.

For when that warm, comfortable silence graced them with its presence once more, Zenigata began to stand, grass rustling beneath his weight, shoes scraping against the dirt, arm no longer lodged in place between the earth and the small of Lupin’s back. 

“Where are you…?” Lupin began, but he knew he didn’t need to finish, for the answer was clear. He knew where Zenigata was going, and he knew that nothing he said or did could possibly stop him; once he made up his mind, it was set in stone. Before, that had been one of the things that Lupin admired most about him, but now, he hated him for it. 

Quickly, Lupin scrambled to his feet, fear filling his eyes as he looked over the back of the one person he had been running from his whole life. Why was it that, the one time he wanted to be caught, Zenigata would refuse to do so? He listened for an answer hiding amidst the songs of the crickets and the rustling of the foliage but found none. That wasn’t a question that could be answered. 

With a deep, slow breath, Zenigata turned to face his rival, hands hung uselessly at his side, and Lupin wanted nothing more than to dash forward and hug him, squeeze him as tight as he could, tell him no, no this couldn’t happen, he wouldn’t let it, that there was no way in hell that this could ever possibly be the finish. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to move, doing nothing but staring the inspector down, dirtied and bloodied and filled to the brim with words that he refused utter.

His heart ached when Zenigata didn’t move, either, stuffing his hands inside of his pockets, smiling softly, one foot positioned behind him in the direction of his car. 

“I’m not going to say it. But you know that I do, Lupin. Or at least I hope you do,” 

“Yeah,” Lupin replied, sniffing, chuckling weakly. “yeah, Pops, I know. And as much as I want to, I won’t say it either,” 

“Alright. Good, that’s good. Now we have something to say to each other when we see one another again, whenever the hell that may be,” 

“Oh, so you’re saying you’ll visit me wherever I am? How will you find me?” The thief teased, voice breaking, quavering, and really, he was saying please please please just don’t go. 

“I’ve found you before, Lupin, I can just do it again,” Zenigata responded. I have to, was what it meant. I have to. 

“I guess I’ll have to trust that then. So there, it’s settled. We have something to say when you find me. And you know what, I’ll hold you accountable for it-- I won’t smoke your lucky strike ‘til you come around. And then we can share it, alright?” 

“That a promise?” Zenigata laughed, shaking his head wearily. Lupin’s lips tightened, his throat doing the same, and he nodded. 

“Sure is. That’s a promise,” 

And it was a promise he kept. 

He kept it when he smoked every last cigarette in the carton except for the one, kept it when he bought and continued to buy new Gitanes, kept it when the days turned into weeks turned into months turned into years. 

He never did smoke that last cigarette. And as time wore on, he knew he never would.