lupintrois | When You Bury the Past, Bury it Deep

When You Bury the Past, Bury it Deep

Neither Albert nor Lupin want to admit how much they're enjoying this. Matching wits with someone at your level, hiding your vulnerabilities while showing off all the places you've improved, trying to figure out where the other still has weaknesses or has adapted to them over the years. It's a thrill, and a very distracting one.

Which is why Lupin fucks up the timing, and in the middle of Albert pretending he doesn't know the 'Tickey' is Lupin and Lupin pretending he doesn't know Albert knows, the actual Tickey shows up.

"Uh."

He stands in the doorway, staring at the perfect copy of himself lounging against the couch. Albert fumbles, wide-eyed, while Lupin just gives his double a flirty wink and sashays out the door. Albert's left to make weak excuses about covert operations tech experimentation, and someone in his department being a joker, and he's not entirely sure Tickey buys it. Still, Tickey shrugs and fetches the wallet he'd forgotten in Albert's bedroom.

"So like that Lupin guy, yeah?"

"Yeah....like him."

There are things Albert keeps from Tickey, and Tickey knows and respects it. Lying is different - lying means keeping track of all the lies you'd told before, and the more you lie the easier it is to sleep up, and directly lying to him would be harder for Tickey to forgive. Lupin has, in one simple accident, made Albert more vulnerable and that lights a cold anger in him that hadn't been there before.

He scraps his original plan, and instead escalates to a point he never thought he'd get to. Fuck that hairy little scarecrow, trying to be the gum in his gears, a pesky fly annoying a giant to death. France has no need of such pests.

The next step is conducted completely off the grid, no chance of messages being diverted or erased by Lupin's pet hacker. Zenigata receives an message by courier mail sending him out to a town in rural France. Once he's there, anonymous notes left in his room and a package sent to his hotel by mail will guide him to a smaller town, and then a graveyard with a specific hill that overlooks the valley and is lit beautifully when the sun begins to set. It's old and the stones are all worn down with centuries of rain and wind, save for the grave on the hill. When asked, the old gravetender will say he he has no idea who's buried in that grave, but he will have some intel on the strange man who comes to visit it every couple of years and lays lupines at its base, then pays in cash to make sure it's maintained.

If Zenigata couldn't put it together himself, a few more items he finds in his room upon his return will clarify the matter - one or two photos, some signed notes, a newspaper clipping about a routine juvenile arrest.

When Lupin killed and buried his old self, he didn't know the term for the identity you left behind would one day be known as a 'deadname'.

But he put up a headstone for her anyway. She'd gotten him this far, after all. It was the least he could do.

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Zenigata got the letter right after a fight with Blaise Desforges. It was a welcome distraction after a few days in Japan with his former subordinate that had been defined by the coldness of the grave. Blaise blamed him for Officer Watanabe's death, and Zenigata couldn't find fault there. He also couldn't explain anything about what happened, or who had Watanbe on his payroll.

It was a strange thing. I have evidence regarding Lupin III's next move. Zenigata took it to the people he trusts for analysis -- no prints, no strange chemicals, no hints to who it belonged to. By his reckoning, Albert must've sent it.

The pissing contest between the two thieves was getting exhausting, and people were getting hurt and killed. But Zenigata couldn't ignore it, or something else would be done. If this was an attempt to lure him out to die, so be it. If it was a trap, he'd be walking into it. If he was to be bait for Lupin, he'd have to hope Lupin was going to be smart about getting him out of trouble.

Zenigata got in an unmarked police car, and drove to a little town. The next clue took him out to an even smaller town, and the next clue there took him out to a tiny farming community in the middle of nowhere in Bourgogne Franche Comté. It lead him further out to a tiny church, to speak to an aging Catholic priest about a grave he had been directed to.

His first thoughts were for Lupin's violence: was this a past murder he regretted? A lover? A secret child? Who was this woman buried out here in the middle of no where that the man in the brilliant colored jacket, paying only in cash, made sure the grave was tended. It was a melancholy place, but in an area rich with agriculture and beauty, with some of the greatest vineyards France had to offer. If Lupin had buried this person, he'd made sure she laid to rest in a beautiful, vibrant place.

He retired to his quaint lodgings (Rural lodging meant old guest houses and the occasional AirBNB space, and this place only had the former,) cursed his phone's bad reception, and then settled in to read while he waited for service to come back. He'd touch base with Yata once it came up.

He was making notes about being an affirming queer parent, hoping not to fuck it up, when the realization came to him. It was a time of pride. All the brilliant flags, all the people celebrating a variety of identities. The warmth it felt to be a part of a community, with people who did not damn him for being different. People who had come out of closets, announced themselves as new people, and those who had left their old selves behind to become what they were meant to be.

Lupin had come out here to bury himself. Or, at least, a past self.

He pulled up another book, and then flipped to a specific section, settling in for the night to read. At first he was confused, and then he was irritated, and then he rounded back through to peace again. Of course he'd never figured out or been told. It was none of his damned business. Lupin had treated his body like his Fiat 500 -- all custom, built by the very best. He'd carved himself into the image he wished to have, and maintained it. He embraced the brilliantly colored jackets and shouted he was here, Arsène Lupin III, the grandson and inheritor of the Lupin legacy.

Good for him.

Once he managed the confusion and shock, there was a strange feeling of pride for the monkey-faced man. He was authentically himself in a way Zenigata had never allowed himself to be, wrapped up in rules and laws and respectability politics. He thought of Max and John with their pins, Wei Ying and his brilliant clothing, Lan Zhan's charms, tank tops in stripes of all colors. He hoped all of them lived the lives they wanted to have, with the people he loved. He wouldn't deny Lupin the same wish.

Then he though of Oscar. He thought of Oscar's pain and confusion, he thought of the cruelty he'd dealt the boy. He thought of the image he had given him, crafting himself into a rigid man for which there was no compassion or kindness. To be a man was to be unyielding, to stand up against the world. To do what needed to be done, no matter what. It left no room for soft young men who needed to be treated with a kinder hand, who had needs left unaddressed.

No wonder Albert thought this would be a wedge between them. Why not? He'd been a terrible father to his gay son who did not know if he wanted to be a man or a woman, or what Zenigata would love more. Of course he'd find Lupin's past monstrous. Of course Zenigata would hurt him for not fitting some ideal of proper masculinity.

Zenigata knew he wasn't perfect, but he had grown so much over the years. The way Klaus looked at him when he realized he was educating himself to be a better father for his little lesbian daughter... Zenigata knew he'd come a long way.

Maybe not long enough, though, if Albert still thought Zenigata would hurt Lupin for this.

Once his cell phone got service again, he sent Yata a text, said he'd be researching these clues he's got further, and then shut off his cellphone and took himself to a local vineyard in an all new tiny town, bought excellent wine, and proceeded to spend and evening completely soused. Then the next evening. And the third.

On the fourth day, Zenigata realized that he didn't matter to Albert at all. It wasn't them that he wanted to wedge apart -- he didn't care at all about that, did he? He just wanted to hurt Lupin in a way that few could hurt him. To peel a layer of mystery and glamour from the famed thief. To bare this, to disrupt the person he'd built going forward, wasn't about rift or break up. It was simply about hurting someone in a place he was vulnerable.

Zenigata drank his last bottle of wine, and promised himself he'd stay on the rest of the trip out.

On the fifth day, he made a decision. In the evening, he took himself for a walk, found a remote place, and burned every clue that Albert had left to taunt him. Then he headed back to his little guesthouse, ready to rest.

Edited 2021-06-10 17:37 (UTC)

Lupin is too distracted by the game to even notice Zenigata's gone off the grid until Ami flags it for him. No traffic cameras, no security systems, his phone barely even gets service. At first he just has Ami keep an eye on Zenigata's whereabouts in case Albert tries something real stupid....and then he takes note of the exact part of France the man's gone off to.

And he realizes that Albert has in fact done something real stupid, far earlier and far more intensely than Lupin expected. (Damn, you're going to make him think you actually like Tickey or something.) He gets out of Paris and into the countryside as fast as he can, still almost a week behind Zenigata, his panic increasing the closer he gets to that one, specific town and that one specific hill. By the time he finds Zenigata's AirBNB, he knows it's too late.

So he lurks, disguising himself as one of the local farmboys (but like, in a sexy way. but not too sexy.) and prowls about, trying to listen in for some sign of...coercion? Blackmail? Disapproval?

The only disapproval Zenigata expresses is to the family he's staying with. They are mixed race, with a black husband and a white wife, their children running the gamut between the looks of both of them. They both have things to say about life in rural France, and very few of them are kind. They all have had encounters with the racism of rural France, as well as unwelcoming people in pastoral towns.

'We should go back to the city,' says the husband.

'But the illusion of French equality exists even there!' bemoans the wife.

They think he has fled out here to avoid heartbreak, because he drinks like a brokenhearted man, heavy with weariness. But their farm runs like it's supposed to ruN regardless of his presence -- animals are out in the fields at the right hours, the summer is replete with green growing things. This little village is in Jura, famed for great cheese and some of the best alpine dairy one can acquire, and far away from tourists. It's perfect for a sad man with a heavy heart.

Zenigata indulges in it with his wine, until he vanishes into the wildflowers to sober up, destroy the 'evidence' he knows that Albert certainly has back, and then comes back to the farm. The next day, he is in better spirits, and even offers a hand. The house's mistress laughs; he is big and strong and genial now that he is sober, and while he was never rude or unpleasant, he is still a shade nicer to be around when he has not obviously been spending a lot of nights in his cups.

If he notices any of the specific farmboys as he takes up a few duties, helping to haul some hay and chat among the folk, learning about the farm life, he does not show it.

The evening after the burning, he sits on the porch of the guest house, in a worn rocking chair, smokes a cigarette, and rests without needing wine to do it. He's found some peace, or made some decision. Hard to guess at which.

Edited 2021-06-15 00:07 (UTC)

"Nice evening, isn't it?" says a farmhand who wasn't here until yesterday but is really working the rural France angle. He leans on the post of the porch, his shirt collar open to expose a bony clavicle, his poorly tied hair falling in his face. "Enjoying the time away from the city, hm?"

"It is," Zenigata says, smiling faintly. His cigarette smolders between his fingers. "Nicest I've had since I got here, honestly. Then again, first night completely sober, so that may have something to do with it."

He gestures to the pack, brown and yellow Shinsei label showing bright in last rays the early summer sun. "Care for a smoke?"

Lupin takes it, slowly, slides it between his lips and leans forward to accept a light off the larger man.

“So what’s got you drinking so hard?” Lupin asks, once he’s inhaled. He knows, of course. God, he knows, and he hates it, and he’s going to put his boot right up Albert’s ass once he gets back to Paris, but right now he’s aching.

Zenigata cups a hand around the flame of his lighter to shield it so the younger man can take his first drag off the cigarette. Then he puts the pack and lighter on the porch railing again.

"What did Baudelaire say? 'One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters... But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk,'" Zenigata quotes with a smile. Quoting French poets to a French farmboy, Zenigata gives himself a moment of indulgence, before he continues.

"Somebody is hurting someone I love, and using me to do it," he says, leaning back in his chair, as he taps ash off his cigarette and doesn't mind where it drifts. Rude of him to his hosts, but he'll make sure it's cleaned up before he goes. "That's cruelty I can't abide. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and my brain just had to swim in it a while till I could drag myself out and look at it plainly. I thought for a moment he was using me especially, which was torturous, but I realized-- I was little more than a fat little pawn on his chess board. I don't matter. My relationship does not matter. Only the hurt matters. If he could do it with anyone else, he would have. That let me look at things more clearly, taking myself out of the equation with the man behind the knife."

“That, uh. That sounds like a lot.” Not quite the takeaway Lupin expected, but not a fun one anyway. He goes back to his rural boy slouch, breathing out slowly, letting the smoke carry away in the breeze.

“Sounds like your man is a lot of trouble. Maybe more than he’s worth.”

His man, eh? Zenigata smirks around his next drag.

"Never," he said, resolution firm in that single word. "He's worth it. I haven't given him this much of my life to suddenly deny him the rest. What should I care about past secrets of his? Business that doesn't involve me, nor need my approval or earn my disapproval? It doesn't make him less my man. It's stupid that his foe thinks this is enough to damage my regard for him."

Exhaling a cloud of smoke into the wind, Zenigata relaxes in his seat. "Besides, why should I let him make me feel anything at all? This bastard who hates him so much, plays these games -- that lets him win, you know? Gives him exactly what he wants -- engagement. The best way to handle him is to shrug and walk away. If you don't play the game, he can't continue to cheat and be cruel, you know? But if my man keeps at it, well... we'll have to figure it out."

“Some games are...pretty dangerous to lose, you know.” He knows Zenigata’s got him made. And he knows that Zenigata’s seen what Albert wants him to see, and if not understood it fully at least understood enough to know it’s something he wasn’t supposed to see. The pose of the farm boy is becoming more and more the lanky slouch of Lupin himself.

“Maybe he was doing this to keep you safe. Take the heat off you. Be a bigger threat than you could ever be.”

"Maybe the best way to keep me safe is to forfeit," Zenigata says, countering the idea as he looks at his smoldering cigarette instead of the 'farm boy.' "I did sort of provoke this mess, but I've been taught my lesson. Now it'd about the other two. Escalation. The thrill of 'what will he do next,' of tangling with a foe that matches you."

He took a drag again, nearly finishing it-- it's so short now, it'll be gone in the next breath he takes off it, but for now... For now he holds the burn in his lungs before he lets it out.

"Like I said. I don't know that I matter anymore than to be a piece that's moved," he says, gentling a little. "For either of them. Don't think I don't believe that I'm important to my lover. But I know that he and his rival are tangled up in their game now, and the only thing that can come of that is more hurt."

"It's not..."

His voice catches in his throat because damn him, man's got a point. Even with the mask and wig the man's now unbearably Lupin...Zenigata would know those eyes anywhere.

"Let's go inside," he says abruptly, passing Zenigata without looking him in the face.

Those big hazel eyes hit Zenigata just right-- heart and soul. But he nods once, stubs his cigarette out on the bottom of his boot. Then he gets up and follows up Lupin into the guest house, closing the door behind him.

Once the door is shut between them and the world, he reaches out for Lupin's sloping shoulders.

"Hey," he says, fingers at the edge of the wig. "Let me take this off for you."

Lupin lets him, and then slides in to drink deep of his lips. He’s missed getting to kiss this man so badly. Still, he forces down his impatience...it’s not the time for it now.

The wig slides away, and he pulls the mask down a moment later, with sad eyes beneath it. “Sorry Albert’s being a dick,” he mumbles. “I’ll pay him back for it, I promise.”

Zenigata takes his one kiss; affectionate, loving, and tender. He refuses to rush things right now, not when there's so much that needs to be said.

"I'm not worried about Albert, Lupin," Zenigata said, seeking out to take Lupin's hands in his own. They're one of the few things that almost match Zenigata in size -- stupidly broad palms and hairy knuckles. He loves them anyway. "I'm worried this is going to end with you two flayed for the world to see."

'End'. As if it already hadn't. As if Zenigata hadn't seen behind the mask Lupin wouldn't even tell people he was wearing, that he had crafted so carefully and delicately to make it fit him. As if Zenigata hadn't already seen far too much. "Told him I didn't want you as some stupid pawn in this," he grumbled. "Directly told him that it would bite him in the ass. So if I don't bite him back, he'll think he can do this to you whenever he wants." He curled into Zenigata's arms, eager for touch and comfort.

Rarely does he get Lupin vulnerable and soft, seeking comfort ands strength like this.

"You told him how valuable I was to you," he said quietly, tucking Lupin neatly against him, arms protective around the smaller man. "Of course he had to take that from you. He's a thief, like you said. But Lupin, he's failed. It didn't work. I'm not the person I was, and no matter what mud he attempts to splatter, he doesn't realize the important thing-- I am not enamored of your mystique, Lupin. I care about Lupin, the man, here with me."'

Those words were probably very deliberately chosen, but they come out of him smooth and natural, like the truth. Because it is the truth. All of it.

He was a thief. And Lupin had just baited him - deliberately. Coaxed him out of retirement with a lovely prize, the same way Zenigata would bait Lupin with a gold meteor or a priceless painting. Lupin frowns against Zenigata's chest as he realizes how easily he's fallen into the trap of his own vices.

"But the mystique helps, yeah? That whole carrying on the bloodline's traditions like you do, huh?" he mumbles into that ample bosom.

"It doesn't hurt my feelings, one bit," Zenigata says, letting Lupin plant his face right up against Zenigata's sternum. "But Lupin, even-- even if years from now, if all the masks are in tatters, and we are too old to do anything but chase each other around a house and talk about the 'good old days' before bad hips and trick knees... I will still be here, and I will still want you."

He reached up to cup the Lupin's face, coax him to look up at Zenigata. "And I will always, always know you have a trick up your sleeve, that ace I don't know about, that secret thing. There will never be a day you don't have mystery, Lupin."

Edited 2021-06-15 14:37 (UTC)

That last bit? That's what gets the tension dissolving out of his lanky frame, letting him lean fully on Zenigata. The mystique means a lot to him, as does Zenigata respecting that he has it...Fujiko always let him have his secrets, but so many people thought love meant exposing everything to each other, nothing left to hunt and seek, only placidly laid before you like plated meat before a captive tiger. No tiger would prefer such a meal to the thrill of the chase.

"Good," he mutters. "I want you, but I want that hunt too. I don't want what we have to ruin either of them...either that game we play, or what you are as a person. Albert's...Albert's already ruined."

Happy to be a wall of support (indeed, he's happiest on the hunt -- but second happiest as a stalwart defender) Zenigata lets him take what he needs, bearing Lupin's weight without complaint. He strokes the man's cheek again before he settles his arms around Lupin's middle once more.

"I won't be ruined by Albert or by you. You push me to my limits, make me act and react. Like your motley crew, even I've been improved by your presence," Zenigata tells him. "The game? It'll go long so long as we can play it, Lupin."

"Then I'll play it as long as we have," Lupin says quietly. His foot catches the chair behind him and tugs it over so he can stand, get some height on the big man and give him another round of kissing.

Then, he shifts his weight and gets Zenigata to sit down in the chair opposite, perching on his lap. He needs some cuddles, okay?

Zenigata blinks as Lupin reaches for new height, but beams as he takes the man's kisses as they're given, feeling a warmth that's been absent this long, miserable week. Sure, he might laugh through them, but he's happy. This makes him happy. Promises like this -- between them -- have a weight like few things have. He's given a promise like this before, but this time...

This time he's sure he can keep it.

When Lupin wants into his lap, Zenigata obliges him, sitting down into one of the comfy chairs and getting him situated with the easy one might a large cat, only with less clawing. Then he settles, and says, "Promise me, this stops. Forfeit the game, but walk away with the real prize. Let-- let me take the summer off, with Ami-- and you. We'll dash off after that coin, and we'll grab time with Ami, and... we'll be us, without pretense."

Hunting and chasing and hungry for everything their lives have to offer.

"And what happens the next time he tries this?" Lupin nuzzles into his arms, chewing on one thumbnail. His eyes sweep across the worrying amount of discarded bottles scattered in the kitchen. "He thinks he owns you just because he's your boss or something stupid like that."

"He's the type who thinks everyone is an object to own, and he's wrong. I just do my job," Zenigata said, leaning back in the aging, overstuffed chair. It's comfortably broken in, and cradles them both nicely. "But I don't let him compromise me. You do what you do, and keep your distance from the political arena in France. We can't unseat him, so we have to endure him. Like a crack in an otherwise nice vase. So long as you don't put pressure there, the whole thing won't fall apart, and we'll till have a pretty nice vase, yeah?"

"Yeah, but the vase'll break eventually," Lupin says quietly, barely audible, and then covers up his doubts with more kissing. He winds up straddling the man, the kind of position he'd usually use to get something more salacious, but right now he just wants to know he's wanted.

"So he's got you scared, huh?"

"No," Zenigata murmurs, mouth offered up for kiss after kiss. He can tell when Lupin is salacious, and when Lupin is needy. They're very different Lupins. This one needs love, affection, validation. It isn't about chasing pleasure, it's about chasing something more intimate.

That's something Zenigata is happy to give, taking his time with him until he has to speak again. Then he pulls back, sliding his hands through Lupin's dark brown hair, and gives him a somber look, gray eyes gone stormy.

"You've got me scared," he says. "You don't go to war, Lupin. Not like this. But here we are, well past opening salvos."

Lupin chuckles. “I go to war when there’s something that needs warring over. Didn’t I do it that time you got shot in France? Done it half a dozen times just for Jigen, lost track of how many for women...” Fujiko, Clarisse, Rebecca...

"Oh, God--" Zenigata laughed softly, nuzzling in. "They stuck me with that absolute moron. Broke both my legs, after I nearly died on the table. Did I ever tell you..."

Zenigata stops, looking at Lupin with that dewy-eyed adoration he only let cross his face in private, softer and more sweet than he let onto his face at any other time. "I was dead on the table, and-- they said your name when they pronounced me dead. My heart kicked back into motion as soon as they spoke it."

Each touch suffused with tenderness, Zenigata brushes his fingers through Lupin's hair again. "The thing is, Albert's not untouchable, but the victory will be pyrrhic at best. By the end, you will have no mystery to anyone. Neither will Albert. Ami and I will be caught between you, and God knows where our lives will be. At this point -- Albert doeesn't care about me one goddamn bit. He cares that you care."

"Mmm. And I think he's remembered he has fun with this." Lupin toys with Zenigata's shirt hem, thoughtful as he lounges against the man. "That part, I'd forgotten. Matching wits with someone on your level is potent, and I doubt he gets any fun like that in the government."

"It's like that hook up with the ex, you know? You know it's not what you really want, but damn if the sex wasn't great. Only the sex is theft," Zenigata said, efore he kisses his brow. "And I know you didn't sleep with him, it's a metaphor."

Lupin barks a laugh. "You know what, you're not wrong! He's sort of my ex a bit, in that way. Ex-rival, maybe. Fujiko with a much worse attitude and no sex appeal." There's a faint expression of fondness that crosses his face, the sense of nostalgia for something that was lost but lovely.

"The problem is when you go back to people who you know are bad for you," Zenigata says, as if he knows how this can be from experience, "you're doing two things: feeding their ego that there can be nobody else for you, and setting yourself up for hurt and another round of betrayal. So... why are you giving him exactly what he wants? He's not stealing anything, you're offering it up on a platter, Lupin."

That one, Lupin had to chew on for a while. He stretched out to grab the closest non-empty wine bottle and probably dirty glass, never leaving Zenigata's lap, and poured out a glass - then set it aside and took a swig right from the bottle.

"So. You saw the graveyard, huh?" he asked, not making eye contact.

"Tiny little Catholic parish," Zenigata said, taking up the wine glass and sipping from it. Why not? Lupin's going to hog the bottle, and that's fine by him. "Lovely place. Priest didn't know what to make of me, but was happy to tell me about the well kept grave on the edge."

Zenigata's started rubbing concentric circles on Lupin's back with his fingers, knowing where this can go. Lupin does not give secrets easily, leaving Zenigata feeling set up to steal something without knowing.

It's hard to leave the door unlocked, to let a guest walk in, when you've devoted yourself to being a fortress. "Nice guy," he mutters. "Does a great job. Always nice to see places like that get the love they deserve. You do the yard tour, then?"

"Yeah. He was confused at first, telling me there was definitely no crime out here, and certainly beneath the notice of anyone famous," Zenigata said, hand still working over Lupin's back. "They get tourists, sure, but nothing too fancy. Some repeat visitors, but not many."

"Don't always look the same when I visit, either. Throws them off. Albert...has ways of finding things out, where you didn't even know he was there at all." Another swig from the bottle.

"So why do you come?" Zenigata asks the million dollar question of the night. If Lupin wishes to bury the past, it makes sense to leave the bones to rest. But murderers come back to the crime scene all the time. Which does Lupin think himself to be?

Zenigata knows how he feels about it. He figured it out the day before, and came through the other side at least semi-prepared for this conversation. But he can feel how fragile this is in his big shovel hands. Like if he closed his fist or raised his voice, he would shatter this delicately revealed truth that hasn't seen the light in some time.

It's a shame - its beautiful, like all of Lupin's facets are. Even the ones Zenigata wishes were different. They're still beautiful, because they're Still Lupin.

Lupin gazes at the mouth of the bottle, thinking. He knows, of course. He's just not sure how to explain it in a way that keeps him safe, that doesn't make it seem like it's regret.

So as he often does, he resorts to a distraction.

"You know, my grampa's name wasn't originally Arsene," he says, taking a swig and putting the wine back on the table. "It was a name he adopted after he took up thieving. Used to be Raoul, back when he was a kid. You know how old he was when he did his first heist? Six. Six years old and he's stealing diamond necklaces out of people's windows and then he just decided well, might as well keep a good thing going. And that's how Raoul became Arsene. And then like the asshole he was, he came back like fifteen years later and bragged about it and gave the damn necklace back because he didn't need it anymore, but wanted to pay some weird tribute to his first heist."

"I didn't know that," he says -- who knows if that's true or not. He might, and just be willing to lie for Lupin's preservation of mystery, or he may genuinely not. But the thing sounds... well. Very Lupin.

So does burying a name you don't use anymore. A family tradition, shedding old names for new. That, too, very Lupin.

"I suppose it makes sense to come back to the places that helped him on his journey to the person he wanted to be," Zenigata muses. "Everyone has their rituals to remember such things. For me it's specific dojos, places I learned. Makes sense to me that he'd come back to the place he found his calling."

"Yeah. It's...like. You're not that person anymore, but you're grateful that the person you used to be got you far enough to become you." He regards the wine bottle label, pursing his lips. "And you figure the least you can do for them is give them a nice place to rest after you kill them."

"Kill seems like such a strong word," Zenigata says, hand finally going still against Lupin's back. "Killing a thing ends it, but... I should like to think, like the diamond necklace, there was some value in having it, then then value in setting it aside, too. Sometimes you have to be what you're not to figure out who you are. When someone decides to be their authentic self, the person you were ... you can still look back on them and say, 'I learned so much from that, but it's not what I am now.' Even if the lessons are sometimes harsh and the learning hurts."

He can see in his own mind's eye the Zenigata's of the past -- the rebellious teen who got into trouble, who carried his troubles onward across an ocean to try and escape fate, and then the acceptance of the weight of history, before finding out what he'd been running from all his life is where he was happiest.

It probably isn't like that for Lupin, Zenigata thinks. It is probably harder and more hurtful, to cocoon up and then break free like some larcenous butterfly. But he tries to empathize, to see what that could be like.

"You know I've been reading a lot in my spare time. Some books Ami's therapist suggested," Zenigata added, tilting his head so he can tuck Lupin up to him and offer a protective, welcoming space there in his arms. "It helped me figure some things out about-- names that are dead. Affirmations, all that. But I don't know how to tell you that regardless of where you came from that the person I value is right here. It just seems best to plainly tell you I love you. All of you, right here, with me. No gravestone is going to change that. You are Lupin, my Lupin, and that's all that matters to me. If you need more, I'll do it for you."

Lupin is quiet. Chatterbox that he is, it's rare to have any conversation hold such long, indulgent silences. He's fidgeting a bit, and Zenigata may notice his own wallet dipping in and out of his pockets as aimless fingers pick at whatever they can grasp.

We must admit that it was sufficient to turn the head of a boy at that age. It was all so easy. He had simply to desire the thing, and reach out his hand to get it -- and so he reached out with both hands.

"You know. Even Jigen and Goemon...they haven't met her. They know a thing or two but they haven't...it never seemed to be a conversation they'd want anyway. But then there's you." His voice is almost shaking. The brave, confident thief, having trouble putting his words together. It's not fear of being left behind, no, not the way he sits comfortable in those arms. More a fear of betraying himself.

"Would you...would you want to meet her? Go by and..." He swallows hard. "Pay some respects, tomorrow? It's a beautiful place, at sunrise."

Unsurprised that Jigen and Goemon haven't pried, Zenigata doesn't ask 'why not.' Indeed, they've buried their own pasts in secret places, and know better to disturb old bones lest they shake of their own accord and chase after anyone who disturbs their grave.

"You know," Zenigata said as he slides his hand over, to give Lupin fingers to weave with, a hand to squeeze. "I was out the other day and picked some wild flowers on a whim."

(He does not say he was drunk and had been burning evidence until the wee hours of the morning. He was. That's not important to the story.)

"They've still bright and colorful, in the vase over by the window. Maybe we can take them to leave for her," Zenigata continued, though he smiled gently. "Do you think that'd be nice?"

Edited 2021-07-02 13:35 (UTC)

Jigen and Goemon had no interest in what he was, just what he is. Goemon's ties go to a past so far away it might as well have been myth, while Jigen (and Fujiko, too) had no ties at all beyond what was in the moment. Zenigata was different. What would interest him about a man would be different too, Lupin reasoned.

"I think that would be lovely," Lupin purred. He reached up to give Zenigata another kiss, only to cut off halfway through as he broke down into giggles.

"Oh, god. Albert's face when he realizes we left him with blue balls is gonna be great."

Zenigata grinned then, curling around him as they slip further into the chair, foolish with his joy.

"I've already put in for summer months away with Ami," Zenigata said, nuzzling his thief's hair. The cresent of his smile pressed to Lupin's temple. "I'd like to go home for a bit, then -- we can chase that coin and return my honored ancestor's belongings to the right people. Albert will not be invited."

Later, they'll slip away to bed and Zenigata will be able to give Lupin a proper reward for all his hard work, one not quite as satisfying as showing Albert up but satisfying none the less. The next day they'll take the flowers and go up to that graveyard, to that stone on the hill, and Lupin will stand rigid while Zenigata's eyes graze over the name on the stone. Sure, Zenigata's seen it already, but...it's different, with the man himself right there.

But. Lupin's a man who adores in showing off his genius, and somewhere in the back of his head it's bugged him that he could never talk about one of the greatest heists of his career - a disappearing act and a reappearing one, Lupin the Third appearing as if born fully formed like Athene from the brow of the public consciousness.

He talks in vague terms about the person in the grave, leaning on Zenigata the whole time, until the clergyman's wrinkling his nose at the bad taste of making out in a graveyard. When they get home, Lupin gives him his reward back in kind.

Then he texts Ami and tells her to delete the rest of what she's got. The game is over.

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When You Bury the Past, Bury it Deep

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