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He’s chasing KID, and everything is perfect.
…Keibu?…
God knows what he stole. Ginzo doesn’t really give a damn— all that matters is him and that flashy bastard and the corner they’re both backing into. KID's gliders busted, and the edge of the roof is ten stories up and surrounded by cops. Ginzo—
…Keibu!…
—has him, this time. He really goddamned has him! That fucker, the smug bastard, his thief—
…Keibu, you need to wake up!…
KID just looks at him. The stupid little mustache he used to have twitches in silent amusement. Ginzo wants to laugh, rub it in his face one last time— but KID just tips his hat, and
…GINZO!…
steps backwards over the
…WAKE UP!
edge and
falls.
WAKE UP! OSSAN, YOU NEED TO—
Ginzo’s eyes snap open and he gasps, water burning as it comes out violently from his mouth and nose. His surroundings are blue-black, fuzzy and unclear like those TV’s you have to tune to catch the signal. He’s… wet.
And his head… hurts.
“Oh, my god,” Kuroba Kaito wheezes. “You’re not—“
Wait. Wait a goddamn second.
His surroundings snap into focus while he sits up and rubs the nasty gash on the back of his head. Some kind of pit? Dimly lit. The walls are steep. Rounded, made of slick bricks and maybe five yards across. Water shallowly pools at the bottom, but the spot at the center (where Ginzo’s head had apparently been) was just deep enough to cover his mouth and nose.
Also, Kuroba isn’t here, because that would be insane. Ginzo probably has a concussion.
“Are you planning on leaving me hanging, Keibu…?” the Kaitou KID asks.
Ginzo swears.
KID smiles, cheeky in the dim light, as if he isn’t pinned to the wall at an odd angle— it takes Ginzo a few seconds to realize he is, in fact, hanging, suspended by his right wrist from a rope that trails up towards the ceiling.
It takes him a few more seconds to remember he must have fallen down here. His body loudly rejects the concept of lunging over to grab the thief.
“Aurgh,” he wheezes.
“You’re telling me,” grouses KID. “I mean— Nakamori-keibu. I think we ought to call a truce.”
“Like hell!”
KID smiles, the cheek fading away for the usual cool collectedness. “I don’t think our host plans on letting us out, is the thing. We might have to… see ourselves to the door.”
Ginzo stares.
“…the back entrance.”
Ginzo stares some more.
“The— look, he came over while you were,” he wiggles his free hand, “unconscious. He’s trying to, you know. Kill us both. Etcetera.”
What. “Why me?” A better question occurs to him. “Who the hell—?!”
“…Do you remember the heist, Keibu?” KID tilts his head to the side, like one of Kaito’s doves. “The gentleman whose ruby I was borrowing did not find it…. very funny. Apparently.” He pauses. Tacks on, “also, he— uh. Seems to think we’re in…”
Oh, no. No fucking way.
“…mm, cahoots?”
“C—“ fuck, he can’t even finish that. “WHAT?!”
“I know!”
“WHAT?!”
“Ridiculous!”
“WHAT?!”
“Almost as weird as that time somebody thought you were secretly me,” KID muses.
Ginzo gives himself a few minutes to scream. KID allows it, for a bit, which Ginzo will begrudgingly admit is fairly sporting— under duress, maybe. Gunpoint. Whichever.
“Are you done?” KID asks. “Seriously, I think he’s coming back with cement.”
Ginzo screams a bit longer just for him. “Why haven’t…” Granted— maybe not the best idea to scream after nearly drowning. His throat feels like sandpaper. “…you… already—“
“Keibu,” KID says. “Look at my arm.”
“…how’d you manage that?”
On closer examination, the rope KID’s suspended by isn’t rope at all— it’s one of his grappling hooks. One end is caught above the lip of the godforsaken pit they’re stuck in, wedged underneath the… somewhat opaque cover of whatever’s being used to cover the entrance. Hell if Ginzo knows what it is. It's too far up, and his vision isn't exactly 20/20 on a good day. Today is not a good day.
The grappler must be stuck, or maybe KID just can’t work the mechanism with the real problem: a clearly dislocated arm.
Eurgh.
“Hey, hey, don’t make that face! It’s not so bad. Just need you to unhook the line, and, eh,” KID makes an obnoxious popping noise with his mouth. “…shove it back in.”
Ginzo picks himself up completely. Considers his old enemy. “Or,” he says.
“…or what?”
“Or, we wait here until my men show up, and bail both of us out.” He takes a step toward KID. “I trust them. We haven’t been down here for long, they’ll find us.”
“Keibu,” KID enunciates.
Ginzo takes another step forward. Face to face, close enough he can tell where the makeup and wax have melted the thieves' features into unrecognizable shapes.
Familiar, anyway, but Ginzo could trace the lines of KID’s face in his sleep. Just call him snoozing Nakamori, or whatever.
(Familiar isn’t the same, granted, but it’s… close enough.)
KID closes his eyes. Eight years ago, he would have laughed in Ginzo’s face. “…I managed that because you were falling headfirst into the trap that nutjob set for me. Yeah? And he’s coming back to drown us both in cement.”
“…Wait,” Ginzo says. “You botched a catch?”
KID’s eyes snap back open. “I just saved your life!”
“Saved it?!” If KID won’t follow the script, Ginzo will. He laughs in the other man’s face. “You’re the reason I was in danger in the first place!”
“You— AH!”
KID’s toys aren’t exactly user-friendly, but Ginzo’s been playing with his leftovers long enough to fumble for the safety latch— hidden in such a spot as to be unreachable by his left hand. An oversight Ginzo figures KID will have fixed the next time they duel— when his nemesis is more dignified then the groaning heap slumped against the wall.
“Get up. I need to put your arm back in.”
KID clambers to his feet, looking extremely unimpressed, the ghost of a pained expression haunting his face. What, is he that rusty? “…you have my thanks, K—“
Urgh. Ginzo cuts him off, finger jabbed into his ribs. “You—“ oh, he could say a lot. Ginzo exhales instead. “…grow back your mustache. You look twelve.”
KID stiffens. Nakamori ignores it.