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Watching Goemon while he fights, Jigen has learned, is like observing a lightning strike in extremely close proximity.
It’s beautiful, in a primal, powerful kind of way, watching him weave between slow men with slower guns, Zantetsuken cutting through the air in flashes of silver and red, always too fast to see.
It’s also bad for Jigen’s health, because much like actual lightning, it makes his heart stutter and skip beats.
And it’s not even because of how otherworldly he looks in those moments, either (well, not entirely). It’s because Goemon is so damn reckless.
Granted, they’re all reckless, with this line of work they happen to be in. Conflict is guaranteed, and you’re lucky if that conflict happens to be a few hired thugs with guns. Long story short, they get shot at on an almost weekly basis.
But with Goemon … It’s different. When the bullets start, instead of taking cover like any logical, normal person would do, half the time Goemon unsheathes his sword and starts running toward the bastards shooting at them .
And, granted- he’s fast, and skilled, and probably the most deadly person Jigen has ever met or will ever meet- but he still hates it, every time.
He hates it because he knows any time could be the last, and Goemon doesn’t seem to care.
---
They’re in South America, this time. Somewhere coastal. Argentina, Jigen thinks. He wasn’t really paying attention to Lupin when he was prattling on about the scenic views. All Jigen knows is that they’re after a small-time drug ring’s big pile of gold, and it’s far too hot for his taste.
Lupin managed to lure away the majority of the drug ring’s forces with a tip of a rival gang attacking another location, leaving their main nest empty. Lupin and Fujiko (uhg, Fujiko ) are tasked with infiltration and abduction while he and Goemon guard the street leading up to the headquarters, preventing the members from forcing their way back in when they inevitably realize the tip they received was bullshit and someone is stealing their stuff.
The thing about guard duty is that it always starts off boring as hell. And, in this case, hot.
Jigen had long ago abandoned his suit jacket and tie, rolling up his dress shirt as high as the sleeves would go, but he still feels suffocated as the material clings wetly to his skin. Even this late in the evening, when the sun has been down for a few hours, the heat doesn’t let up.
The pedestrians don’t seem to be letting up, either. From where he’s loitering on the street corner, he can spot at least a dozen, mostly paired off in couples, ambling between the small shops and restaurants that spread down the road. The whole scene is lit in a soft golden hue from strings of lights hanging overhead.
It’s disgustingly romantic. Not at all the type of place you’d expect a drug ring would set up their headquarters- too highly trafficked. Then again, they’ve been successful so far, so maybe hiding in plain sight- disguised as a private catering company just a few buildings down- is the way to go.
Doesn’t matter. Their job is still the same, even if the presence of civilians makes Jigen nervous.
He removes his hat and wipes his sweat-slick hair back from his face for the hundredth time. Most of all, he just wishes he had more to do than just lean up against a building and smoke (or sweat) himself into an early grave. Complaining aloud to an unresponsive Goemon got too tiring about an hour in.
The man in question is still in the exact same position as last time he checked a few seconds ago- cross legged with his katana laid across his knees- on the ground two feet to Jigen’s left. Still meditating, although uncomfortably, from the look of his long, dark hair plastered to his forehead and neck from the sweat.
Jigen tries (and fails) not to stare.
He sighs and wishes- not for the first time- they were here for any other reason than a job. That way they could take refuge in one of the bars, maybe laugh over some drinks. Tease each other in the way that they tend to do when they’re alone. Complain about Lupin and Fujiko.
Just as he opens his mouth to express this sentiment aloud to Goemon, a civilian’s shout grabs his attention, and his gaze is torn to down the street.
The car they’re looking for- a large black SUV- is barreling down the street at an unsafe speed towards the T of the intersection they are guarding. Instinctually, he draws his gun and fires in one smooth motion, taking out the front left tire and causing them to carreen into a car parked on the side of the road a little over a hundred feet away.
Goemon is already on his feet, hands going to his sword. The civilians around them scream and scatter, and Jigen helps their urgency by firing another shot towards the black car as the doors open and thugs start pouring out. The second they are able, the thugs swing their assorted guns around and fire back.
Jigen holds his hat with one hand and fires his gun with the other as he throws himself into a roll behind the nearest building. Directly across the street he can see Goemon, back against another building and hands still poised to draw his sword.
He risks a peek out from the corner and swears before ducking back. Bullets chip the brick where his head once was.
He counted seven, maybe eight. With another risky peek and and a jolt of surprise, he sees they’re already pressing forward, running from behind car to car parked on both sides of the road. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, as Jigen could easily pick them off as they move out from cover, but these guys aren’t idiots. They duck quickly, use their position well, and lay down surprisingly accurate cover fire when on the move. They’re organized. They’re professional.
They’re definitely not what they expected from a seemingly small-time drug ring.
Within seconds, the stakes have been upped severely.
Jigen can’t get an accurate shot in without getting riddled full of shots himself, and Goemon can’t do anything at this range.
Retreat is not an option. The way they’re separated, they’d have to take off in opposite directions, through unfamiliar streets, while trying to outrun heavy automatic gunfire. On foot. With plenty more enemy reinforcements heading toward their location.
As he stands behind cover, gripping his gun with white knuckles, Jigen realizes with a dull shot of panic that this just got bad. Very bad, actually. The speed of the escalation leaves him reeling and his brain is jumbled.
Think, think!
They’re gaining ground, quickly. If they don’t do something, they’re going to die. He shoots a look across the way and the sinking feeling in his stomach increases tenfold when he sees Goemon’s grimace, his wild eyes.
He knows it too.
Jigen swears violently.
Time to improvise.
“I’ll keep their attention here, you circle around from behind using a side street!” He yells to Goemon as he fires blindly from behind the wall.
Goemon shakes his head, forcefully. “No. There’s no time. They’ll reach you before I do.”
Desperation fills him. “Better just me than both of us- just go, I’ll manage!”
“No .”
Jigen is just about to scream back to just leave him, Dammit, but the words die on his tongue when Goemon pivots from behind the wall, drawing Zantetsuken, and sprints through the gunfire.
Terror, all-consuming and lightning-electric, stops his heart and roots him to the spot for a split second.
In that split second, Jigen can do nothing but watch as the bullets find their mark; one in his shoulder, one in his thigh, one grazing his arm- blood erupts from the wounds and flies into the air, and Goemon cries out in pain- a terrible, choked yell that turns Jigen’s veins to ice- and he stumbles, but he does not slow his advance - his sword flashing bright silver in the low light-
And suddenly Jigen is moving too, throwing himself fully into the open street and barely even aiming before his finger finds the trigger and his bullets find the heads of one, two, three, four men in rapid succession- but it’s not enough , because there are still some left standing and Goemon is still hurt - but despite the blood splattering from his Hakama onto the asphalt, he closes on his targets before they can respond further- and there's another bright flash of silver, a blur of motion, a spray of blood, a scream, a stray gunshot, bodies falling to the ground- and then silence .
For a second, they both pause where they stand, listening for any further sounds of danger. The silence continues.
Then in a heartbeat, Jigen is sprinting towards Goemon. He reaches him just as the other man sags in place, reaching out and grabbing his arm for support.
“Goemon! Goemon- Jesus fuck - shit, let me see-” Desperately, he catalogues the wounds as they both sink to the ground clinging to each other.
Goemon breathes out heavily, “I- I’m alright. I-”
“Like hell you’re alright. Hold still ,” he barks as Goemon moves to stand.
“Jigen, we can’t stay here,” He protests weakly, but- mercifully - complies.
“Just- just- hold on, you’re losing blood,” Jigen stutters out. With shaking hands, he tears off the sleeve of his Kimono, taking a strip of fabric and tying it tightly around the wound on his thigh. Jigen bunches up the remaining fabric and presses it into his shoulder, and Goemon grits his teeth and hisses.
Jigen grabs the other man’s hand and presses it to the makeshift bandage.
“Push down on this, okay?” His voice shakes. Goemon scrunches his eyes shut and nods. He squeezes his hand once before letting go.
Jigen helps lift him as he carefully rises to a stand on his one good leg. He pauses to catch his breath, leaning heavily onto him.
They both jump and look down the street when they hear gunfire echo in the distance, then sirens.
“It’s not safe here,” Goemon says weakly.
Jigen agrees. He swallows, his mouth dry with adrenaline. “Safehouse, we need to be at the safehouse right now.”
---
They limp through the dark streets, going as fast as Jigen dares while dragging Goemon.
Several times, they dive into alleys or doorways as cars pass, flattening themselves against the walls as much as possible until the car rolls out of sight and the streets become silent again.
Each time, Goemon is slower and slower to start moving again. Each time, his breathing becomes heavier and his footing less sure.
Each time, Jigen feels a deep panic seep into his bones- something bubbling up in him akin to hysteria. It pushes him forward in a haze and he finds he can barely find the mental prowess to navigate the crowded streets.
Sometime during their escape, Lupin calls him. The generic ringtone echoes too loudly in the alley they’re cutting through, and Jigen stops and scrambles through his pockets while Goemon slides away from him to lean on a wall.
He flips open the cheap burner phone with resentment.
“What.”
Lupin’s sing-song voice blares in his ear immediately, “Wow, that sure is no way to greet your genius heist-planner slash salary-provider! How ‘bout a ‘hey my very good friend and benevolent boss, how did things go on your end?’ Instead of a-”
“Arséne. Not now. Emergency. Make it quick.” Jigen bites out.
Maybe it’s the extremely rare use of his first name, or maybe some of Jigen’s desperation leaks through- because Lupin falls silent.
When he speaks again after a beat, he gets straight to the point, his voice uncharacteristically flat for once in his life.
“Fujiko and I won’t be able to make it to the safehouse. We have the goods, but they cut us off. We’re getting out of town. I’ll send you the location as soon as we know where we’re going.”
“Fine. That all?”
“Yes, but, what happened on your end? You guys didn’t meet us at-”
“Not now.”
Jigen snaps the phone closed and shoves it into his pocket.
They have to keep moving before… They have to keep moving. That’s all he can let himself think about right now.
He ducks his shoulder underneath Goemon’s arm and lifts him from the wall. As he gets them moving again, he feels Goemon shudder, and Jigen’s heart twinges painfully.
“We’re almost there, Goemon.” He promises.
In between labored breaths, he replies, “I’m alright.”
Jigen would laugh if he didn’t feel so much like puking.
---
When the safehouse is within sight, Jigen very nearly collapses in relief.
It's just a corner of a shabby and run-down residential building on a dark street, all but abandoned; but to them it means salvation.
At the door, Jigen fumbles one-handed with the key, the other still occupied with keeping Goemon steady. A small eternity passes before he’s able to get the door open and both of them inside.
Cool air soothes them as Jigen takes stock of the place. The interior, thankfully, is untouched from the way they left it this morning- old mismatched chairs and couches cluttering the space of the living quarters, all arranged around a low table in front of a small fireplace. A dingy kitchen takes up the right side of the room, where dirty plates with the remains of their breakfast are still piled in the sink. An ajar door in the back leads to a small bedroom and bathroom that smell like dust and mold respectively.
It ranks among some of the more crappy digs they’ve stayed at, but right now it looks like paradise to Jigen.
He wastes no time guiding Goemon down into a plush chair. He goes without complaint.
Jigen briefly makes sure he's conscious, then quickly lights a fire in the hearth for a low, inconspicuous level of light.
He walks back to Goemon's side. He looks almost as if he's fallen asleep while meditating, head tilted back and eyes closed. The grey of his complexion and the sheen of sweat on his brow keep him from looking peaceful, however. Before his thoughts catch up to him, Jigen raises his hand to carefully rest on his forehead.
At his touch, Goemon's eyes crack open and he reaches up to weakly smack Jigens hand away.
"Your hand is too sweaty," he croaks.
In any other situation, Jigen might have laughed at his fussing.
But Goemon's hand, soaked in blood, leaves a bright smear where he touches Jigen's arm, reminding him of the urgency of his injuries.
Jigen simply breathes out, willing his hands to steady. He then taps Goemon's forehead to once again get his eyes open and focused on him.
Once he's satisfied that he's paying attention, he tells him, "I'm going to find the first aid kit so I can patch you back together, but you need to keep your eyes open for now. Got it?"
Goemon rolls his eyes, but nods his assent. Jigen takes it as a great sign that he has enough energy to be annoyed.
He goes and starts rooting through the kitchen cabinets until he finds what he's looking for, then returns to Goemon's side, pulling up a mismatched chair. He digs through the box for the suture kit as Goemon watches with half-lidded eyes.
He threads the needle with practiced ease, noticing with relief his hands are steady.
Goemon pulls back the soaked fabric on his shoulder and Jigen inspects the gunshot. The bleeding has slowed to a trickle, but there's no exit wound.
They both know that means some painful digging with a pair of tweezers. Their eyes meet briefly and Goemon scrunches his face in displeasure, but sighs in defeat.
Jigen gets started.
---
It takes a small eternity, full of clenched jaws and swearing from both of them, to dig out the two bullets from Goemon's body: one in his shoulder and the other in his thigh. Halfway through, Jigen manages to find a half-empty bottle of jack, and that helps the process a bit. For both of them.
The alcohol gracefully mutes the worst of Jigen's residual terror, and the color slowly rising back into Goemon's complexion soothes even more.
He's going to be okay.
The pit in his stomach remains, though. He has yet to find a cure for that.
Despite the blood loss, Goemon has seemingly recovered enough to once again become his old self, trying multiple times to steal the sutures as Jigen works. After the third attempt, Jigen slaps his hand away.
"Dammit, Goemon, stop! You can't stitch your own shoulder and arm closed, and the way you're squirming is making it impossible," He huffs, setting the tools down and lighting a cigarette to ease some frustration.
"I can, actually, and have before. My head is clear now, I can do it myself," He replies, and reaches for the needle and thread.
Jigen shoos his hands away and picks them up himself.
"Stop. Just let me. Hurts less when someone else is doing it," He mumbles around the cigarette and continues working.
Goemon closes his eyes and grimaces.
“I’m alright. The injury doesn’t phase me.”
Jigen sucks in a breath, and the room seems to melt into a blur around him. When he blinks, he sees blood spraying into the air, flashing behind his eyelids. Feels the residual horror pitted in his stomach burn back to life. Hears the goddamn sound Goemon had made when the bullets tore his flesh echo in his ears.
The injury doesn’t phase me.
Goemon’s matter-of-fact tone infuriates him, so suddenly that he feels whiplash. His hands pause mid-stitch and he stares blankly at the half-closed wound. Slowly, he plucks the cigarette from his mouth and snubs it out on the ratty table beside him.
“Not phased, hmm?” He drips only a hint of his anger into the words.
Goemon straightens, minutely. “Jigen-”
“At what point exactly does an injury start to phase you, Goemon?” Jigen continues, raising his voice slightly above the other man’s while still enunciating his words casually. “When you’re on the floor, bleeding out? When you realize you’re too far gone to save?” He pauses, listening to the buzz of emotion in his brain, and meets Goemon’s eyes. “How about when your friends find your long-cold corpse? Would it phase you then?”
His words sit heavy in the air between them. Anger flushes Goemon’s pale face red. He begins to glare at him, no doubt finding the right words to verbally skin him alive. Jigen narrows his eyes back at him and braces himself for it. Welcomes it.
Anything to replace the apathy.
Goemon begins in a low, deadly tone, “If you’re implying that I can’t take care of myself, or that I’m incompetent-”
“Jesus , Goemon, that’s not what I-”
“Then say what you mean,” He growls, “Because I refuse to be looked down on by the same person who-”
“You’re going to get yourself killed one day!” Jigen shouts and grips Goemon’s upper arm, making him wince. Jigen winces in turn and loosens his grip, but doesn’t remove his hand.
“I imagine we’ll all get ourselves killed one day.” Goemon’s words drip with frustration. “You are always the one who’s saying that it’s one of the risks you have to be willing to accept in this line of work. Oh, I'm sorry, does that only apply when it’s your life on the line?”
“What are you talking about- that's not- I’m talking about the way you pretend you’re invincible, take unnecessary risks, run head first into gunfire -”
“That’s how I fight, Jigen. I have to get up close,” He explains slowly, biting, as if he were talking to a particularly annoying child. “That is how I’ve always done it. Why are you taking issue with it now? ”
And there it is.
Because, when it comes down to it, he’s right- he shouldn’t care, not when it’s worked in their favor for so long. And he didn’t . He didn’t mind it, for the longest time, but now he does . He cares so much it makes his heart ache and keeps him up at night.
Jigen’s not stupid. He knows why. He knows it’s because Goemon has inexplicably turned from a friend, a fighting buddy, someone he trusts, into something more than that recently. He’s turned into someone who Jigen wouldn’t make it through losing, and the thought of that scares him like nothing else.
Sacres him enough to freeze his veins, lock him in place, and stop his heart.
Jigen stutters while he searches for the right words to answer, but most that come to mind say too much. He settles on blurting, “Because I didn’t know you back then.”
The answer sounds unsatisfactory, even to Jigen, and to his dismay, he could feel his face beginning to heat. Jigen suddenly focuses his attention back on stitching the wound in order to avoid his piercing gaze. Out of the corners of his eyes, he watches as Goemon’s face scrunches in confusion, then loosens in shock in quick succession.
“What.” Jigen spits, embarrassment fueling his anger, “What’s that stupid look for, huh?”
Goemon’s brow furls and- inexplicably- a blush forms on his cheeks. His eyes have lost some of their sharp edge by the time they meet Jigen’s again. He says softly, “You’re worried about me. I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dismiss your concerns. I- I only meant that the pain is bearable.”
His pink tinged, earnest expression and dark eyes, bathed in a soft light by the fire, take Jigen’s breath away, suddenly and completely, and all of his anger leaves with it. Not for the first time, he feels the all-encompassing urge to lift his hand to his face and smooth away the crease formed between those dark, regal brows with a gentle swipe of his thumb.
How soft and warm would his skin be? What would his exhale feel like in the palm of his hand? How much darker could that blush become?
The sheer strength of the urge always surprises and scares him. He stares into those liquid dark eyes, and realizes how close they are, how easy it would be-
-but he can’t give in to the urge. He shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought.
He makes himself look away, like always.
Jigen huffs a nervous laugh and finishes another stitch, shooting back, “That would be more convincing if your face wasn’t scrunched up like you’re sucking on a lemon.”
“My face is not-” Goemon hisses and contorts his face as Jigen pulls a bit harder than strictly necessary on the next stitch.
“Unphased, huh?” Jigen quips, grinning smugly.
The look Goemon gives him is nothing short of murderous, but Jigen can tell easily that it’s only slight exasperation at most. His ‘joke’ at Goemon’s expense had done it’s intended job of clearing the emotionally charged air between them. Somewhat.
For a minute, they sit in silence. Jigen loses himself in the task of stitching, and he almost jumps when Goemon speaks without looking up from the floor where he is staring.
“One of these days, you’re going to wake up with every inch of your hair missing. Including the beard,” He vows solemnly.
“Oh yeah? How ya planning on doing that?” He mumbles back, smiling to himself.
Goemon looks up and makes a show of holding his chin in a smug victory pose. “Oh, it won’t be me. I’ll get Lupin to do it.”
Jigen grins wide. “Two can play at that game, pretty boy. I bet you all the smokes I have left that I could convince Lupin to bedazzle your entire wardrobe-”
“-I would not take that bet-”
“Zenutseken included.”
“It’s Zantetsuken , and you wouldn’t dare,” Goemon smiles, baring his teeth, but not hiding the laughter in his eyes.
“Maybe not, but he would,” He quips.
Goemon hums in agreement. After a beat of silence, he adds, monotone and straight faced, “Too bad. It seems he has left me with no choice but to preemptively kill him.”
“Very sad,” Jigen nods solemnly.
“Do you think we could convince Fujiko to pay for the funeral expenses?”
“Not a chance in hell. You and I both know she’d die before giving us a single cent.”
“Ah, a double funeral then. For the unfortunate beautiful couple who mysteriously died young,” Goemon says wistfully, and meets his eyes.
They both hold for a second, then dissolve into giggles.
Eventually, comfortable silence once again fills the space between them.
Jigen still feels giddy in the aftermath, smiling to himself as he finishes the stitching. These moments, in safehouses and in cars and on rooftops- making each other laugh with their back-and-forth banter- these moments are worth everything, every treasure in the world, in his opinion.
But, Jigen is nothing if not greedy, so of course he wants something more.
The ache of it makes his mood drop in an instant. In his head, he starts up the familiar mantra: this is enough. This is enough. This is enough.
Plenty of things will always be out of your reach. That’s just a fact of life. No use crying about it.
This will have to be enough.
He hasn't managed to convince himself yet, but there's no other option but to keep trying until he dies one of these days.
He rouses himself from his thoughts.
“Alright, you’re all patched up. Now, be a dear and don’t tear any of my handiwork out of place for at least a few days,” He says with a light pat to his bare shoulder.
Goemon huffs and pulls his legs up onto the seat of the chair to sit cross-legged in his standard meditation pose while Jigen gathers the contents of the suture kit back into its case. Once finished, he collapses back into the chair opposite of Goemon with a groan, content to sit in the other man's immobile presence a while before dragging himself off to bed.
Now that Jigen’s looking, however, he notes that Goemon isn’t still at all, he’s fiddling with his weapon. He watches as Goemon smooths his hands down the length of the sheath, back and forth, over and over. His thin, callused fingers flutter slightly where sheath meets handle. Jigen feels his light mood sink away, and worry takes its place.
“What is it then?” Jigen asks, trying to go for gentleness but falling somewhat flat.
“What?” Goemon looks up, but continues the movement of his hands.
“The thing that’s phasing you,” He answers. “Something is.”
Goemon pauses, then looks away to stare into the fire. “And you’re sure of this, are you?” He says, teasing, but the distracted look in his eyes fails to match his tone.
Jigen gestures to where he is still running his hands over Zantetsuken. “You always fiddle with that when you’re nervous. Too nervous to meditate, that is.” He doesn’t add the fact that he only knows this because he’s spent too many hours watching him meditate from under the low brim of his hat under the guise of sleeping.
Goemon looks at him, shocked, then down at the sword in his lap. “I guess I do. I hadn’t realized,” he answers softly, a light blush forming on his cheeks yet again.
Jigen swallows thickly and stays quiet. The silence stretches on. Jigen resolves himself to wait, having experienced silences in conversation like this often enough to know Goemon is gathering his thoughts.
“The fact that I was bested, even if only extremely temporarily,” Goemon eventually states, smirking towards the end with false bravado.
Jigen decides not to call him out on the painfully obvious lie. He clears his throat and smirks back, “Yeah, well, battles aren’t always decided by skill. If they were, I don’t think we’d need to spend half of our budget on medical supplies.”
“No. I guess not,” He replies, then looks away, staring back into the fire with a worried look on his face.
It’s silent for a few minutes more until, from under his breath, Goemon mumbles, “I hate that you can’t follow your own advice.”
“...Come again?”
He sighs, exasperated. He thinks to himself for a moment before seemingly coming to a decision. He looks straight into his eyes and states evenly, “I said, I hate that you’re a big fat hypocrite, Jigen.”
Jigen stops. He tries to process those words, and fails. He clears his throat. “What? ”
Goemon’s gaze turns accusatory. “Your words and actions have shown time and time again that you show little care for your own life, yet you can sit there and accuse me of being reckless. It makes me wonder if you are doing it on purpose, to spite me in some way, or if you are just that oblivious.”
His face and tone are so somber, it takes Jigen for a loop, and he gets the distinct feeling he’s been caught in some sort of trap. He tries to think of anything he did or said in the past that led Goemon from point A to point B, causing these words now presented so seriously to him.
“I’m... Not sure I follow.”
“Just oblivious, then,” Goemon sighs again. “Listen to me- you, Daisuke Jigen, are a huge idiot.”
Jigen pauses to forcibly push the sound of his full name in Goemon’s mouth out of his head. When he’s focused again, he finds that he’s still hopelessly lost. “Goemon, you’re going to have to elaborate, because I don’t understand what the hell you’re talking about.”
Goemon inhales sharply, eyes looking towards the heavens for strength. He starts slowly explaining, “When we were cornered on that street, you were so ready to sacrifice yourself. You did not even consider anything else, because that’s where your mind went first-”
“There wasn’t anything else. I was working with what we had so at least one of us could make it out alive. And- and- it wasn’t a guaranteed death sentence- I could have managed.” The placitude falls flat, even to Jigen’s ears.
Goemon visibly bristles at his words, sitting up in his chair impossibly straighter, rigid with anger. “Then why didn’t you consider circling around and leaving me as bait? When they reached me, they would have been up close, where a swordsman would have the advantage, and you could have fired at them from their exposed backs- whereas I would have still had to run towards them, ruining any element of surprise!”
Jigen feels his anger rise in return, and he yells back, “I couldn’t risk you dying before I-”
“-But you could risk yourself dying,” Goemon finishes lowly.
Jigen’s first instinct is to lie- to dig his heels in and deny it- but the words die on his tongue when he sees Goemon’s expression. His brow is furrowed in anger again, but this time his eyes are sad. Sad and dark and knowing.
He says nothing, which is all the confirmation that Goemon needs.
“What if I told you that I only acted like that- acted recklessly - because I couldn’t risk you dying?” Goemon adds, his voice pained, “That the thought scared me into action!? ”
His words stall Jigen’s brain, and all he can do is stare. When Goemon speaks again, it’s softer, but no less angry.
“I know you. I know you Jigen, because we are the same brand of idiot. So when you put your life on the line for me, I understand it. It scares me, but I understand it. It’s when I do the same for you that you lecture me for it, call it a mistake, because you think you're unworthy.” He pauses, catches his breath. Jigen tries to interject, but is quickly silenced by Goemon continuing.
“No- no, you shut up and listen. I don’t know why you think you're so unworthy of things freely given to you. It- it makes me so angry , when you deny yourself things, because- because in my eyes, at least, you are the single most skilled, and honorable, and- and just plain worthy person I have met.”
It’s almost more than Jigen can process. All he can do is continue to stare in shock and horror. The silence drags on. Eventually, Goemon flushes angrily under Jigen’s stare.
“If you’re going to mock me-”
“Why?” Jigen interrupts, voice hoarse.
“Why what?”
“Why would you say I’m worthy?”
Goemon looks closer at him, leaning forward minutely. His brow furrows and Jigen forces his gaze away, unable to handle the compassion in his eyes.
Goemon seems at a loss for words. He explains hesitantly, “Well, ah- to start, purely objectively speaking... Because, if we faced each other in open, honorable combat, you with your gun and me with Zantetsuken, I honestly don’t know if I could win. Your skill is unrivaled, Jigen. But- no. More than that, I… You...”
He cuts himself off with a sound of frustration, then continues, softly, “...More than that, I trust you, and you’ve never let me down. I fight beside you, and you’ve always saved me. We are… Friends. Is that not enough?”
For a few seconds, all Jigen can do is breathe. He forces air in and out of his lungs while his brain slowly catches up. All the while, he can feel Goemon’s eyes on him, too close.
“...What about Lupin? He’s the ringleader here, and- and you fight by his side too. Hell, even- even Fujiko sometimes,” He breathes out, but does not look up.
“It’s… Different. Lupin isn’t like us. He’s the leader, and the planmaker, and the driving force. He’s not a fighter. He’s not stained in blood like we are.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jigen sees him smile, bitterly. “And we both know the only thing we can trust about Fujiko is that she’s a back-stabbing bitch,” He adds, his tone becoming lighter.
Jigen laughs nervously, mouth dry. “Yeah,” he agrees.
“Out of everyone I’ve met, You… You are the one I rely most on. That’s why, if anyone is worthy of- of happiness, or living guilt free, or- or… My life , It’s you,” He finishes, his voice barely a whisper.
It’s too much. Jigen screws his eyes shut and lowers his head, willing himself to not do anything stupid, like start shaking. He still feels Goemon’s eyes on him. He’s never wished he had his hat to hide behind more than in this moment.
“Jigen.” Goemon’s voice is too soft.
“Daisuke.”
He looks up in surprise, right as Goemon’s hand reaches his neck and their lips meet in a feather-light kiss.
Jigen freezes.
It's all too much at once- he can't process it.
So he stops trying to.
He gives in and it's like a flip is switched in his brain- he can think of nothing else but the soft sensation, the warm point of contact. In an instant he’s kissing him back, hard , pouring every hidden look, every bitten off comment, every missed opportunity into Goemon’s mouth. His hands move frantically from his lap up to Goemon's arms, his shoulders, his neck, finally settling into his silky hair at the back of his neck and weaving in, close to the skin.
Goemon shivers under his hands, and their mouths part just enough for him to shakily exhale onto Jigen’s lips before diving back in with renewed fervor.
Goemon rises from his chair and surges forward into Jigen’s space, and Jigen goes easily, gladly- until his head is tilted upward enough to hit the back of his own chair and Goemon places a knee on either side of him, bracketing him in.
Their lips move faster against each other, more urgently. Jigen licks at his mouth, earning another shiver. Goemon’s hands start to wander up and down and around his torso; pushing, pulling, and squeezing.
They kiss until Jigen feels light-headed, and Goemon pulls away to gulp in air, still keeping his forehead pressed to Jigen's as he breathes, eyes closed.
The sight of him, flushed and breathless, in his lap, punches through Jigen like a bullet never could.
At that moment, he so, so desperately wants to keep him here, exactly as he is: breathing, alive, safe safe safe .
Jigen reaches up to hold his face, cradling his smooth cheek in his palm. Goemon's dark eyes flutter open, and he's rendered breathless at the sight all over again.
Safe safe safe.
Jigen's heart aches, and before he can lose his nerve, he chokes out, "Promise me something?"
Goemon blinks slowly, then brings his hand up to cup the back of Jigen's more firmly to his cheek.
His eyes bore into Jigen with a severity that only he can achieve when he answers, "Anything."
"No more running into gunfire,” He pleads.
Goemon’s brow furrows gently as he hears the desperation in the request.
“I really did scare you, didn’t I?” He sighs, and runs a gentle hand down Jigen’s face. “I… I promise. I will save it as a last resort. But in return you must promise me something.”
Jigen hesitates, but there’s no denying him. He nods.
“Value your own life as if it is mine. Please.”
The mere implication scares him down to the very marrow of his bones. Goemon believes him worthy, and he wants Jigen to see himself that way too. He doesn’t know if he can, at this point. With so many years of self-loathing, he has no idea how to even start to undo it all. He doesn’t know if it's possible.
But Goemon thinks him worthy, and Jigen is tired of denying himself things.
He wants to try.
He lets out a shaky exhale, loses himself in Goemon’s dark eyes, and says, “Okay.”