A Dance in Ecstacy

A flash of silver flickered through the charred curtain of sky, slices of metal crashing down. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, toes kicking off while streams of dark hair mingled with the inky background, the moon casting only enough of its shine to make out the shape of a single man. Below a street light, he landed like a gymnast after a delicately planned routine. Eyes of immaculate black lacquer snapped open, a hand gasping his sword as he made a swift turnabout, each footstep blasting through the silence of night.

The man was not alone. "Goemon…" A lustrous surface gleamed below the beams of light. "Taihou da!"

Goemon didn't miss a beat. He took off to the place he was needed. He required no further distraction.

Zenigata took off after him, a mindful eye watching every movement. It was no good; Goemon wasn't like Lupin. No matter the precision, the samurai could merely send broken handcuffs to the ground in a split second and continue to get away.

This was the cause for Zenigata's most recent frustrations. He couldn't seem to find them in a group. Whenever he would catch a glimpse of his agile adversary, Lupin would be gone in the blink of an eye. But Zenigata didn't have the tactics to handle Lupin's partners. Fujiko was likely the cloest to Lupin, however her incessant confidence was maddening and whenever she was in a pinch, some brute would come screaming with all of their men.

Goemon's eyes narrowed. Zenigata was getting close—too close for comfort. He came to a halt and whipped out his sword, a menacing shimmer in his eye. He held the sword up, avoiding the cuffs, and swung it down.

Zenigata, despite himself, could feel his knees wobble. His fingers loosened, the handcuffs out of his grip. As expected, the blade never made impact with his head, but his hat did have a mighty nice split in it. Before Zenigata could react further, the samurai was off. Zenigata picked up his fallen supplies, knowing it was too late.

Zenigata stood for a moment, the chilled breeze doing nothing to expel the burning of shame. It wasn't just that Goemon was invincible, but it was the fact that Zenigata was likely the last person who should have been chasing the man in the first place. Zenigata, if asked why, would never have been able to bring himself to explain it, but it was something he mulled over on his far too long nights alone where sake was his only companion.

The inspector had a strange sort of attraction to the one called Goemon. Zenigata blamed the way he was raised sometimes, and others he would question himself. There was something about the way the samurai carried himself, something beautiful in its subtlety. It was everything, really. Goemon had a limitless grace in every movement he made, each swipe of the arm like a picture being painted, fluid and calculated. Watching Goemon run was like watching a cheetah, the traditional cloths floating from slender, but metal-crafted limbs and creating the sensation of a gorgeous landscape, one that threatened to suck Zenigata in, stealing his mind through those curious eyes of his. Even the way his locks of dark hair swung behind Goemon with quick movements, the quiet moment where he lamented cutting into something without use, it was all quite elegant. Yet there was no question that Goemon was the epitome of a man.

He felt like a child, watching a cool samurai superhero on TV and wishing he could be like that too. He couldn't help but have a strong admiration for Goemon's dedication. But what took the cake was that there were some thoughts which were decidedly more mature. To be specific, more adult. Zenigata, having repressed himself for years, found himself disturbed by this, all the more so by it being about another man. But they only became more frequent.

Zenigata, sucking in a breath of broken pride, made his way back to the scene which he doubted still held the treasure.

It wasn't as though he hadn't known it to be true. If Zenigata were to be honest with himself, he would say that he had known for a long time. But the truth wasn't always simple and Zenigata, righteous ways and all, was not always honest. He hadn't been in the least, always telling his parents plans he didn't want. But he went through with them, didn't he? He married a beautiful woman and gave her a child. Noone but him had to know why he had married the first woman that had fallen for him. The younger him had been convinced of it himself, that he wanted a beautiful wife and child and anything else was pushed to the back of his mind. It was almost like he had forgotten about his other tendencies altogether for a while. Zenigata went red in the face and leaned forward. It had been a long time since he had thought of her. He had not contacted her once since their separation. He hadn't told her why, nor had he bothered to even get rid of her properly. She didn't deserve that; this he knew. A mild tremor rocked the inspector's bottom lip. He wanted to stop thinking; to forget it all. Why couldn't he?

He supposed it had been around the time he'd started the Lupin case. He didn't know why it came to him one day. Not just what he had pushed out of his mind, but everything. He realized one day that he was dishonest. It was just a small lie, one to his wife about the criminal he'd captured. But that wasn't it. He remembered other little lies too, and other not to little lies. That was the first concrete block on his shoulder. How could he damn people for the smallest things while he stole his wife's trust? When he ignored his daughter? His wife would have another child soon. Would he somehow become a great father and husband when that one came around? Something told him he wouldn't.

Zenigata slumped forward all the more, hands on his face as if to hide his shame.

Zenigata's mother was living with them for a while. He could hardly look her in the eye without being sick. Why was she so happy for them? It wasn't long before Zenigata discovered how truly terrible he was. He had altered evidence. The suspect was only a child, a boy going into college. Zenigata wasn't so old in comparison, but he couldn't help but see it that way. In the end, it didn't matter. The real criminal was caught. But that didn't change his own crime. If that had been the end of it, perhaps Zenigata would have forgiven himself, counted it as a rookie mistake and thanked the heavens that nothing came from it. He had, after all, made a greater effort in his work from there on. He didn't stop getting promotions. The last day Zenigata had anything to do with that case was far from the last time he had seen that kid, however. That boy had taught Zenigata everything about himself, had forced him to learn the extent of his deceit and more. Zenigata had even learned about his future. The guilt was unending and he ended it one day.

It was the very next day that he was assigned to capture Lupin III. Zenigata looked over the paper with a bitter laugh. That boy had taught him about his future too, always admiring a criminal. Zenigata always told him he was foolish and would get over it. That kid truly had been obsessed. Zenigata slapped the paper onto the table. "Lupin," he scoffed. "We'll just see how great he is."

It wasn't surprising to the older Zenigata that Lupin has messed with him a little. But the night of that robbery, something clicked in him; something that made him demand he get to try to catch that arrogant man again. It wasn't long before he was too far gone. Or maybe he only did that to forget about his failing marriage? Whatever it was, he left his wife a few weeks later. The last time he had seen her, the horrified look on her face as the children slept… He hated remembering that.

"Looks like Zenigata's totally drunk already!" One of his coworkers laughed, slapping him on the back.

Zenigata groaned, removing his head from the safety of his hands. His coworkers already knew from experience that he could be an emotional drunk. It was best to use that as an excuse. "You dunno whatchur talkin' about," Zenigata mumbled, predicting the laughter before it came.

Once home, Zenigata was sprawled on his bed, neglecting to remove his pesky clothes beforehand. His thoughts had moved onto another subject again. It was like Goemon wasn't real, more like a fantasy escape. Those thoughts were unforgivable, he knew. But something in his mind had a rebellious streak and the images kept coming. Dazed eyes soaked in the illusion of what wasn't there and never would be. Slices of iron stared at him through thin slits. Strings of crow's beak swayed, grazing the ningyo-pale skin of sharp shoulder blades. Sakura pink lips were softened with the ghost of a smile. They matched the color all over Zenigata's unshaven cheeks as his fingers inched towards the waist of his pants. All of the sudden, he was hit with a shockwave, a rush of sick that had him bolting up. What had he been about to do? "Shit," he muttered, slapping his own face. "I can't believe…" Shaking his head, Zenigata looked down at his lap with a grimace. "Shower… I'll take a shower." He needed more focus in his life. Maybe he could finally return that message his mother had sent him, the one he had ignored for far too long. Or maybe he could come up with some better tools. Handcuffs on a rope weren't doing it. A sigh echoed within the cheap hotel's bathroom walls, and likely outside of them. He was going to take it one step at a time and the first step was sleep. And if he woke up without any dreams about samurais, perhaps he could get through the day too.

These two might just be the most unlikely couple. Which of course makes them cuter, right? I wrote this on a whim, so it might take a while to get direction going. It was originally going to be a oneshot, then a twoshot, but that just wasn't doing them justice!
Don't worry, Zenigata-san, you're not a dirty old man! Ganbare yo, keibu!