Author's Note: If you aren't a fan of a certain femme-fatale, I apologise. Actually I take that back. Loving Fujiko needs no apology.

Disclaimer: I own nothing…Lupin stole it.

A Sicilian Fauxmance

'Marry me.'

It wasn't a surprise, but the jolt she felt was.

His face was brimming with hope, empty of cynicism, and a curious thing happened.

She said yes.

Weddings are not for the faint of heart.

Luckily the thing beating beneath Fujiko Mine's prodigious bosom could not be described as faint. Dark, definitely. Teacherous? Unhappily, yes. But never faint.

Even now, dressed in a white confection more suited for Vegas than the Aegean, her hair being coiffed to improbable heights, there lurks a motive positively oozing ulterior.

'Perfetto,' the stylist breathes, laying the horse bristle brush reverentially on the armoire.

The blushing bride ducks her head demurely until he leaves then scowls, shakes free her hair, sweeps her lips of their insipid peachy colour and slicks them with red.

Perfetto indeed.

Fujiko sways to the balcony, her palms stroking the smooth warmth of the balustrade. The sunsets here are said to be the best in the world and Fujiko is inclined to agree. Maybe the wedding is putting stars in her eyes. Or is it the Groom? She considers him a moment; the dark eyes, the quick hands, that smile…ah, she has almost forgotten her task. Bad form indeed.

Not long now, an hour at most. Time for a last hurrah.

Nearby, another is enjoying the sunset pouring over the azure roofs and lazy windmills of the Eternal Rock. The breeze from the Aegean is a tender caress.

Somewhere church bells are chiming.

He enjoys these calms before the storm, the only time he can truly relish stillness.

All a-lounge at a beach side bar, he relaxes into the chatter and mirth of the islanders.

And doesn't everyone look dapper? Heels teetering, trousers crisp, flowers in lapels. Not often an island this small hosts an event of such magnitude.

Good old weddings; all those guests in their finery, jewellery just ripe for the plucking…but that was small time compared to why he was here. The Prize of Sanforini would soon be his.

A slight shift to the right and…there. An addition not even the seamstress could detect allows the frothy gown to slip from her cleanly as silk.

She checks her watch; twenty minutes.

Part of her delights in the familiar ablutions; the mesh securing the dark wig, the rasp of gloves, the footpad slippers a relief from satin heels.

The mirror throws back the reflection of the perfect thief, not as slim of hip and breast as in her novicehood, but all the more striking for it.

Butterflies in her ribcage and lightness in her fingers. Time to go to work.

He orders a glass of milk, takes a sip, gags. Warm.

Little wonder in this heat. The town's only mansion looks the coolest place, but it's not the huge swimming pool he finds tempting. No spikes on the walls, no security. The island's richest man is either very loved or very simple.

What's this?

He frowns as a black clad figure drops nimbly from the mansion's lower balcony and into shadow. Interesting.

No spikes, remember. No security.

His grin felt almost savage; a new game was afoot.

Fujiko could have laughed.

The lock was at least as old as the musty vault – poor defence for so great a reward. A twist and a flick would have it open in a heartbeat. Another look at her wrist.

Fifteen minutes.

Enough to do this the old-fashioned way. She plucked a pin from her cleavage, realising she'd planned to use it all along. For old time's sake, she supposed, smiling at her sentimentality.

The lock was almost clean when she sensed it; the whisper of dark tobacco and a smirk.

Damn.

'Language,' he tutted, detaching from the shadows. After she'd turned, of course; nothing like making an entrance. 'Hallo, Fuji-cakes.'

'Lupin.'

She practically choked on his name. It had never been honey on her lips, but still...

'Hard at work, I see.' He peered around her to the safe. 'And in such style!'

A scowl - that was more like it. A moment later she was worrying the lock again. Two more and the safe swung open.

She was silent, removing the treasure with archaeological reverence.

'Shiny,' he observed as the emerald fractured light onto her dainty features.

'Better than that,' she purred. 'The Egyptian Rex.'

He drifted to the arrowslit window and sighed; she had never looked at anything with a heartbeat that way. The sun was sinking into the crushed satin sea, a blood orange on the horizon.

'Hey, Fuji, remember Sicily?'

It always comes to him so clearly; the memory of not their first but their third meeting, the thrill of reuniting with one swift and chaotic as he; the orchards, their fruit full enough to make him ache for a taste, the smell of Chanel and menthol cigarettes, and the constant mantra; Rule Number Two, Rule Number Two, Rule Number…

He took a last draw on the cigarette and flicked it into the shadows. 'I guess not. Anyway, now you've scored how about we blow this island? I've a boat just—'

He turned to find her gone.

The boudoir felt cramped with fury. Typical. A moment, one moment, that was all she wanted. Her last job. Sullied.

Ten minutes.

She secreted the gem between her breasts, almost guilty at dulling its magnificence. The Egyptian Rex, Prize of Sanforini, truly one of a kind. Priceless.

Her hands were trembling. Out of rage, no doubt. The gall of that man! The emerald was little more than a gewgaw to him, but to her it was a treasure, the relic of a life soon to be left behind. That she had beaten him to it was her only solace.

Time to be fashionably late.

On with the dress and on with the show.

Confusing.

It was not like Fujiko to dash off; the woman was a confirmed gloater.

From the island's scrubby promontory he could see the cove perfectly; a single boat bobbed in the harbour. She was still here.

A little hide and seek, was it? Well, two could play that game. Obviously. There wasn't much point playing on your own.

Shut up, Lupin.

Quite right. There were pressing matters to attend.

This was it. The end. She was a new leaf, freshly turned.

The church seemed very far away, its arched doors a dismayed gape.

She barely noticed the old man, appointed to lead her through the square and down the aisle, gently take her arm.

'Afraid, signora bella?'

She smiled absently. Her Groom was waiting for her in that dark place. Her future husband. Her future.

She suddenly felt a little strange.

A gaggle of islanders who hadn't managed to squeeze into the church crowded nearby. She supposed weddings were grand events to such provincial types. Their gossip was gnat-buzz in her ear.

Who is she? Such beauty!

Where did she come from? So mysterious!

'Who am I?' she whispered. A thief.

'Where did I come from?' Nowhere.

'What am I…?' Ow!

She straightened only for her arm to receive another sharp tug, this one making her stumble.

'Ay!' her elderly escort exclaimed. 'This sun, ees too much for 'er!'

'But—!'

Too late; several islanders were already jostling she and her companion to the only shade. A stone alcove some distance from the church where was they left her, red and dishevelled and unfortunately not alone.

'You. Bastard.'

'Now is that any way to speak to your elders?' Lupin straightened from a geriatric hunch to flurry a hand through his hair, shaking loose clouds of talcum powder.

She stalked off a pace. Somewhere an accordion was sighing a familiar melody. Slender trees whispered in the square nearby, casting their scent into the gloom. Both conspired to tickle a memory she had taken pains to forget.

'Friend of yours?' she asked acidly.

Lupin glanced up from the cat winding around his ankles. 'She seems to like me.' He tilted his head against the wall, dark gaze fully upon her. 'What's the deal, Fuji-cakes?'

'I'm getting married, you clot.'

His hand paused only briefly in its rhythmic stroking of the cat. 'And you didn't invite me? I'm hurt, Fuji. Truly.'

Rule Number Twelve - When you can't hide the lie, tell the truth.

He sank onto a stone step, remembering to breathe.

What the Hell was that music anyway? So familiar. Maybe from Paris or Rome where accordions wafted notes from every street corner…

Look at her in that dress….okay, stop looking, she's starting to get pissed. Beautiful and pissed. Edible and pissed. Soon-to-be-married and pissed. She wasn't the only one, other than the beautiful, edible, and soon-to-be-married part.

Say something, idiot!

'Marry me.'

Her knees sagged beneath several layers of petticoats. 'What?'

'Dump the other guy,' Lupin drawled around the cigarette he was cupping into life. 'I'm in the mood for a soiree.'

'Let's see,' she began, 'One; you're the sorriest marriage material on the planet. Two; no one's stupid enough to follow you to the altar. Three; You're spineless, faithless, hopeless…hapless…and witless…and four;...'

…you should have asked me sooner

Lupin was wearing a strange half-grin. 'Four…?'

'Never mind four. I'd sooner marry the cat.'

'Hear that, puss? You're in luck.'

But 'four' had been so clear she was sure she had spoken it aloud. What was the matter with her?

'Jitters,' she said suddenly.

Lupin paused, the drowsing cigarette mid way to his lips. 'Huh?

'Jitters,' she said again.

His smoke ring wilted to an oval wisp. 'I take it that's a no.'

The Bride was staring as though he was an interesting variety of bug, arms folded over her straining sweetheart bodice. White, he noted. What a hoot.

'Lupin,' she said eventually, her voice almost soft. 'You only want me because I'll soon belong to another – you're a thief 'til the end.'

'Me?' he objected. 'I'm not the one with the emerald.'

'True. Then why are you here?'

He squirmed under the cat's expectant green gaze; the stone step was practically breaking his ass. 'I missed you.' There. He'd said it. And it was even half true. 'It's been a year, Fujiko. You're avoiding me.'

'I've been avoiding the jobs.'

'You looted Jaigarh Fort last month!'

'It was practically unlocked,' she breezed, as if he hadn't been poring over Jaigarh for three Hellish years.

'Who's the lucky guy?'

He didn't care. Not really. The cat waowed loudly, drowning Fujiko's words. He touched a silencing finger to its nose.

'…owns the entire island. Do you know the people live here tax free? They're all ancestors of the original inhabitants, well, the ones not killed in the volcano. His commissioned a hospital especially for the victims of that, and the orphanage, and the Sanctuary for Endangered Butterflies…'

She sure knew a lot about the guy. Jeez, what a blatherer. And was she blushing? He had only asked the stupid question to fill an awkward silence, not to get the guy's life story.

'Sounds great,' he snapped, before she could launch into his love of puppies and rainbows.

Outside, the song had soared to its mournful crescendo.

She looked dazed. Dreamy almost. Oh shit. She loved him. She loved this Whasisname who owned an island and saved butterflies from volcanoes.

And he suddenly remembered the song. And he suddenly remembered where.

'Sicily,' she breathed.

Not the first time they'd worked together, but she watched his every move, every smile, every rogue flash of emotion as if they'd just met. Just studying the technique of a Master Thief, she told herself when she played memories of him 'til dawn.

'Third time lucky,' she had murmured as they hunched in the orchard of the Mazzini Mansion, fallen fruit turned wine beneath their feet. Somewhere a song was being lulled from an accordion.

'Rule Number One' She tried not to shiver as his lips brushed her ear. 'Make your own luck.'

'And Rule Number Two?'

He stretched his lithe form, his expression fathomless as he turned to her. 'Never fall in love.'

'Now she remembers.'

She looked at him, slumped with the cigarette wilting sadly from his lip, and could almost believe he was suffering. Almost. This was Lupin, a man annoyed simply because she was boldly going where he feared to tread. Commitment. Stability. Inevitability. Predictability. Tedium…

'Falling in love. Your greatest betrayal, Fujiko.' His grin crumbled the dead cigarette to ash. 'What a perfectly fitting end.'

There was some pleasure in the widening of her eyes as he stood to peck a kiss to her hand.

'Well it's been nice. But before I forget—' he made a show of patting his pockets. 'Ta-da.'

'What is it?' She was close enough for him to steal a real kiss, her gaze suspicious but still rapt on the red box in his palm.

'Consider it my wedding gift.'

She was cradling the box when he stepped into the sunlight.

'Lupin?'

The voice behind him was small. He paused - he would give her that much, but he didn't have to turn. Turning would mean having to take a last look, a last wonder at how those lips and long thighs would feel pressed against his.

A hand rested hesitantly on his shoulder. 'Did you ever love me?'

The accordion had stopped. Something had replaced the music, something he knew well; a preternatural sense that the alarm was about to sound. The cat rubbed a consoling cheek to his calf.

'No,' he said.

Rule Number Thirteen - When you can't hide the lie, lie harder.

His shadow stretched long as he crossed the courtyard with all the loose-limbed swagger of the cat trailing his heels.

She wrenched open the red box and winced as sunlight was flung back at her. It looked even more majestic in its bed of ruffled white satin. Breathless, she closed the lid on the sparkling stone then dipped into her bodice. Gone. How had the weasel managed to pull off that little trick? Damn him!

'Darling!'

Somehow she hadn't noticed the church bells erupting into clamour, or the guests spilling from the church.

Her Groom, sweaty in his tuxedo, was striding her way. 'You look glorious.' His open face clouded. 'But isn't this bad luck?'

'Rule Number One.'

'What was that?'

'Never mind.' She looked around at the panicked crowds, eyes artfully wide. 'Oh. What's happening?'

'Sorry to worry that pretty head, but our Egyptian Rex has gone for a wander. The island's quite beside itself.'

Drat.

She unleashed her most winning smile. 'You mean this little thing?' The emerald glittered almost mockingly as she opened the box. 'I'm sorry, but you know us women. Always poking our noses where they don't belong.'

His frown was uncomprehending.

'I borrowed it,' she said slowly. 'And I'm very sorry. Here.'

He stared blankly at the emerald. 'Very pretty, dearest, but it wouldn't make much of a ringbearer.'

What was the fool talking about? 'Explain.'

He blinked. 'Our little Gypsy, the last Egyptian Rex – gone! The rarest of all breeds…'

Emeralds came in breeds now? She really was out of touch.

'…and soon-to-be mother to the most priceless of litters.'

The scenario took on a certain weary inevitability.

'The cat,' she said dully.

'You've seen her? Darling? Where are you going? Darling!'

'Who knew cat hair would make Mai Tais even sweeter?'

His partner grunted between sneezes. 'What we waiting for? This furball's killin' me.'

'Patience, Jigen,' he said enigmatically, lying on deck to catch the first stars twinkle through the dark, drink in hand, the waves a gentle rocking lullaby. Perfect peace.

'LUPIN!'

Not even stubbing a toe in his haste to reach the side of the boat could mar the moment.

'What have you done now?' Jigen asked wearily.

'Discovered there's nothing more satisfying than a furious bride,' he said happily as Fujiko, skirts hoisted to allow a generous view of her garters, careened onto the jetty.

'Lupin, get back here!'

Her first shoe sailed into the waves. The second had the grace to strike the boat.

Lupin was lounging on the deck rail, captain's hat sat jauntily on his head. 'Aw, Fuji-cakes. Don't you like your present?'

She wished for another shoe to lob at his idiot head, but violence would get her nowhere at this distance. Time to change tack.

'I love it,' she crooned in her silkiest tones. 'Let me on board and I'll show you just how much…'

'Don't even think about it.'

'Jigen? I should have known you were in on this.'

'Well, duh,' came the laconic reply.

'Sorry, Fuji-cakes, but we've places to go, kittens to sell.' Lupin hoisted the real Egyptian Rex and mimed a wave from its fluffy paw. 'Enjoy your honeymoon.'

'I hate you, Lupin! Do you hear me? I. HATE. YOU!'

A grin, a roar of engines, and he was gone.

'You!' she snarled at the car that had rocked to a stop less than a foot away, its driver frozen mid exeunt. 'Get in.'

The man in the trench coat frowned. 'I think it's you who should get in, Ms Mine.'

'Fine,' she huffed, stuffing herself and her dress into the passenger side of the police car. 'Just follow that boat.'

'And why would I want to do that?'

'Because, Inspector Zenigata, I'm the person who wants Lupin most in this world. And I will stop at nothing to get him.'

The man stared at her. She stared back.

'Good enough for me,' he said finally, grinding into gear. 'Why are you wearing that dress anyway?'

'Because it's my wedding day, numbnut.'

She hunched into her seat as they swerved past panicked guests and, rather embarrassingly, a weeping Groom.

'He looks a bit put out,' Zenigata observed.

She supposed she should feel a bit sorry about that. 'Just get me to the ferry.'

The road opened, the sea a glittered ribbon to their right, and there, speeding serenely on the waves, her prey.

'Stick with me, Zenigata. You won't be disappointed.'

But the speedometer needle relaxed a few notches. 'It's not too late to go back, you know.' He darted a measuring look her way. 'Start fresh.'

'Rule Number Three, Inspector.' A grin stretched her lipstick tight. 'Never lose sight of the prize. Now drive.'

The car roared toward the rising moon, tugging the veil from her hair to settle on the road now far behind.

Nitpicky Notes: No such breed as the ridiculously rare Egyptian Rex, of course - poor Gypsy is just a mash of Devon/Cornish Rex and Egyptian Mau.

Apologies (genuine this time) for changing Santorini to Sanforini and hoisting it to Italian waters - I've no excuse other than it felt right for the fic.