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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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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