Chapter Text
Whether Zenigata got reprimanded or ignored after a chase largely depended on the mood of his superior officers. Seeing Zenigata crash a pair of antique cars into an international border and letting Lupin escape was much the same as pulling open the blinds to see a tornado. Nobody was really all that happy about the situation, but what were you gonna do? Tell the sky to quit it? Better men than you had already tried whatever they could for longer than you’d been at that desk, and if they couldn’t change things, you weren’t going to fare much better.
But Zenigata’s track record had been so much better lately. The ICPO had been so happy with the relative lack of collateral damage regarding the Copycat hunt, that perhaps they’d all forgotten. The skies had been blue and the sun had shone so bright, that when those cars crashed and Raoul nearly drowned while Zenigata wasn’t even supposed to be on duty, something had really snapped with the chief, and Zenigata found himself on the end of a hollering spree that was now in minute 46. There was no use yelling at Zenigata, though. For the same reason as every other time. He wasn’t even paying attention.
He was thinking about Lupin.
Love wasn’t some kind of on-off, “one look and you know it” thing. Especially not with Lupin. Coming to grips with those feelings had been difficult for Zenigata. Not only because it felt like they poisoned his purpose in life, but because of the people around him. The more obvious his feelings became, the more he had to renounce them.
No, no he didn’t love Lupin. Haha, yes sir, he knew it was a joke. No, ma’am, your home and jewel collection are safe with me, of course the rumors aren’t true. No, please, Darling, it isn’t true. Please don’t take Toshiko away to your mother’s, we can work this out, because I don’t want it to be true, and that has to be worth something. I want to choose you, and our daughter, and I want to choose this life with you, but I don’t understand what my heart is doing, and I’m scared. Please. Please don’t leave me.
He wasn’t sure when, or how, but at some point, Zenigata was in far too deep to stop, and was forced to confront his feelings. He loved Lupin. And as much as he didn’t want to look at those feelings, he couldn’t help it. Any Lupin-related mystery, no matter how painful, inexorably drew him in.
What did he want from the thief? Zenigata certainly wanted Lupin to pay for his crimes. Justice had to be upheld, and the world couldn’t have people who flouted the rules all over. Rules and laws weren’t always fair, but they were necessary. When Zenigata broke them, it was out of respect for them. It was to uphold the spirit of the law, if not the letter. The ideals of fairness, that there were walls that could keep people safe, and not looking over their shoulders every five minutes. The idea that there could exist a world where a man spoke frankly and honestly, where people were safe to be who they wanted to be, without seven layers of trickery and deceit. Lupin and criminals like him made that whole perfect world utterly impossible. Snakes in the garden.
But, and this was a big one- Zenigata wasn’t the same rookie out of Tokyo Metropolitan, not anymore. With a standard issue badge, gun, and standard set of beliefs. Back then, the nail that stuck out got hammered down, and damn it if he didn't want to nail Lupin. Hard. Pick up the gangly little man and slam him into a jail cell. Let him rot.
The idea of becoming justice itself was intoxicating. That Zenigata had been entrusted with such powerful authority. He could live a life of simple problems set right. That criminals sprung up like weeds, some naturally occurring event he could cuff and overpower and overcome.
And Lupin wasn’t just a perp with a bad attitude out to make problems and sow chaos. He had a good heart. And so much potential. But Zenigata had been burned so very many times. Lupin’s fake deaths. Lupin’s promises that he would change. Zenigata knew that there was a good man in there, but he’d only seen him in glimpses.
This was supposed to be it. The real, no-fooling cross-your-heart honest moment where Lupin let down his walls and really went for that fresh start. In Zenigata’s mind, he hadn’t lied to a single person when he’d stood Raoul up in front of the office. In order to help someone reform, you had to believe in them all the way down to the tips of your toes. Love and conviction could knock down absolutely any wall, logic be damned. And so the same way he could barrel through any other problem, Zenigata had stomped the mere concept of Logic beneath his bootheel. Raoul was not Lupin. Raoul was Raoul.
He’d spent so much time assuring everyone that Raoul wasn’t Lupin. He hadn’t stopped to think, even once, that Raoul really wasn’t.
Two men were left, both of whom were good enough replicas of Lupin to fool Zenigata entirely. Down to their dental records and DNA, they both were indistinguishable from the real thing; both heads full of Lupin’s real memories and experiences.
But they weren’t identical, and that was the real lousy part of it. Slippery, headache-inducing Raoul, visually the spitting image of Lupin, but cracked in a way that absolved Zenigata of any guilt over the lie. The man was a wiz at paperwork, and despite the scrutiny Zenigata had given him at the museum, he never would have stolen a single one of those cars without Zenigata’s express urging. Raoul teared up regularly. His cartoonish nature was well and truly in check. It wasn’t easy for him, but he was adjusting day by day, and every time Zenigata called him Raoul, it was just that little bit easier for them both to believe it. He was just that tiny bit more reformed.
Only was he? Was this the flaw in the copy? Because there had to be a flaw. There had to be something that distinguished the copy from the original. And it grated at the back of Zenigata’s skull, the knowledge that under no circumstances would Lupin ever give up thievery, showboating, and the Lupin name. Wasn’t that the impossible element here? Wouldn’t any Lupin expert worth his salt point at Raoul and immediately call him a fake?
Zenigata shook with anger, and the chief seemed to think that this was directed at him. The chief’s voice raised even higher, and he continued yelling.
But really, Zenigata continued to think, who was out there saying that this flashy, automobile-thieving jerk had to be the real Lupin, anyway? If someone was trying to copy Lupin, they’d be a step behind. They’d ignore that Lupin was capable of growth and change, and they’d just try to make him spin his wheels for the rest of his life. Even if the rest of the world thought that Lupin was just a flashy thief, Zenigata knew that there was more to him than that.
But that was an easy flaw. Zenigata had bigger nits to pick. Specifically the fact that there was no way that Lupin could be out and about, cavorting and thieving like nothing was wrong.
Zenigata had read the reports. He had gone down to the morgue. He had seen the bodies. He had also seen what Lupin had done to the rest of that building after he found his gang dead. And that meant…
“Look. Let’s stop for a moment, and say that it doesn’t matter which one of you is Lupin.”
Two sets of wide eyes bored into Zenigata. Once they'd clocked out, Zenigata had brought them to a small izakaya, tucked away in a quiet street deep in central Lyon. When works became too much to bear, the back room was one place where Zenigata could find both privacy, and wet, overflowing masu.
“What!?” Yata yelled.
“WHAT.” Raoul all but screamed.
Zenigata tried to hush them. “Look, it’s a, whatchamacallit, a thought experiment. This other guy.”
“Lupin-“ Yata responded, the same time as Raoul said “The copy-”
“Whoever he is, he’s out there, trying to pull heists, and continuing on with Lupin’s career. He’s all set to go on, by himself-“
Yata shook his head, a quiet “so?” On his lips, but Raoul’s eyes widened, before staring down at the table in front of him. His hands curled around his napkin, twisting it tight, and his eyes began to water.
“Being Lupin means doing whatever you want, taking whatever you want. Putting on a show and looking exactly the way you want to look to the public. But when people stick around you, you can’t curate your appearance forever. If you wear your masks every day, you’ll get a rash and your skin will get infected. If you try to act too nice to appease someone, you’ll eventually crack and scream just to spite them.” He twisted the paper around and around, fraying it. “But if you really, really care about someone, you won’t put on a mask. You’ll change for them. Even if you’re the most selfish man in the world, you’ll learn how to be kind, just to be selfish enough to be surrounded by smiling faces.”
Zenigata swallowed. “I didn’t believe Lupin had a glimmer of good until after he’d met Jigen. Fujiko taught him humility, and Goemon’s honor rubbed off on him. Lupin was always tirelessly working to keep that crate of firecrackers from blowing up on each other, and that softened him, too. As obnoxious as he could have been to them, Lupin never wanted anything half as much as he wanted to see his gang happy.”
Yata went pale. “You don’t think he’d go back to his old ways, do you? I know the reports back to front, and at least when he causes trouble nowadays, Lupin’s not malicious about it. But back before he was working with the gang…”
Zenigata stared at his glass. “He was a nightmare. Nobody listens, nobody ever understands. But he needed to be behind bars where he couldn’t indiscriminately kill, pillage and destroy. That’s why I said it doesn’t matter which is real. A copy of that is still a danger to the whole world.”
Raoul wiped his eyes. There was something cold creeping in. “So that’s the difference between the two of us: If everyone else died, would Lupin pack it in, or keep going?” Raoul leaned back in his chair, leg crossed and foot tapping against the opposite knee. “The answer is stupid and not worth thinking about. I-”
“Sure it is,” Yata barreled forward. “Lupin would never stop being Lupin. So you’re not Lupin. You’re Raoul.”
Raoul looked up, failing to hide how haggard he’d become, and already dreading the turn the conversation was taking.
“Woooooooow, you’re like five chapters behind, Yata-kun. Maybe if you keep listening to us, you’ll be caught up in another six months-“
“Shut up! I’ve had to follow your twisted logic for the past year, the least you could do is listen now that I’m trying it on.” He slapped the table. “I mean, you look like Lupin and you act like him, but Lupin III had to earn that name. It wasn’t inherited based on blood, it was passed down based on his skill, his similarity to his adoptive grandfather. Before that, though, he had to have had another name. And that name was?” Yata looked from Raoul to Zenigata.
Zenigata nodded, almost in defeat, and gestured toward Raoul.
“You’ve got more Lupin than any of the other copies," Yata continued- "but you’re missing something-“
Raoul hissed like an alley cat, “I’m not missing anything! If anyone’s the copy, it’s Mister Tryhard Cosplay!”
“Raoul!” Zenigata cut him off, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you’re actin’ like you want to be Lupin!”
“Well why does that guy get to be Lupin and I don’t?!” He crossed his arms so tightly, it looked like he was trying to hug himself. “I didn’t say that I wanted it, but I sure as hell don’t want him to have it, either! He doesn’t get to be me!”
“But he isn’t. He’s Lupin. And you’re Raoul. He’s the world’s number one thief. And you’re not.”
“Great!” Raoul leaned forward, head in his hands, breath quick with frustration. “I’m part of some Lupin scheme to fake his death, some schmuck he tricked into trading places to keep Zenigata company! I’m just another distraction! I’m a big fat goose egg!”
“No, you’re not!” Yata continued to shake his head. “You’re Raoul!”
Zenigata was still at a loss for words, but Yata’s hand was in a fist. “If you were a perfect double of Lupin, down to the memories, then that means that you would have betrayed us by now.” He looked to them both for approval. “Right? But even when I refused to believe you, you stuck to your paperwork. You might have all of Lupin’s memories, right up to the point where he faked his death. But after that, everything you’ve done has been as Raoul, right?”
Nobody interrupted. It seemed that Yata was about to make a very important point.
“Whether you actually lived Lupin’s memories or not, I was by your side while you cracked case after case. I’ve seen you at the office every single day. Even if it was under false pretenses, you chose every single day to be Raoul, not Lupin.”
Yata’s eyes didn’t budge from Raoul’s. “d’Andresy, I don’t understand you, and I don’t understand why you were able to pull yourself away from Lupin’s path. But you were made to be one thing, and you’ve found your own path instead.” Yata put out his hand. “Those aren’t Lupin’s memories, and they aren’t the memories of whoever you used to be. I don’t care if your memories are real or a copy. The ones you’ve made with us mean that you’re Intern Raoul d’Andresy to me. And Lupin, whether he used to be you, or he’s some other guy, he could never, ever steal that, because he didn’t do any of it.”
Raoul looked down at Yata’s hand. It was extended for a shake.
Yata smiled.
When Raoul took his hand, his face was aglow.
“Yeah…” Raoul responded, rolling the idea around in his mouth, slowly trying it on, “…if I’m successfully Raoul, then who cares who Lupin is?”
“Not me,” Yata nodded. He turned to Zenigata. “Right, Sir?”
Zenigata sighed. “Of course right.”
Wrong.
Wrong wrong,
As Zenigata drove home, he was sick with anxious energy.
There was nothing more important than knowing which one was the copy.
Either Zenigata had done his duty these past few months, finally breaking new ground on the quest to lock Lupin up for good inside the skin of a good man…
…or the real Lupin was not only still at large, but deteriorating quickly. Reeling from the sudden, brutal loss of his entire family, and completely abandoned by Zenigata, Lupin was reverting to his natural state. Nobody left to please but himself, no social contacts encouraging him to practice empathy or develop a Super Ego or question himself enough to even have a subconscious or be anything but one screaming comet of pure desire.
At work, Raoul’s desk had been carefully placed so that Zenigata could see it from his office. He was diligently filling out his report, and giggling to himself, no doubt about something ‘enormously clever’ he’d written in there. Zenigata’s eyes narrowed, trying to stare through that grin. Roaming over the skin, probing for proof that Raoul was just another mask.
Hoping that the good man he’d worked so feverishly to drag out into the light was sitting, finally, right in front of him. But what if Lupin had pulled this one over on him? Swapped himself out and left this docile double behind, the old balloon switcharoo, but with a heartbeat and feelings and sudden crippling existential dread?
Raoul must’ve felt Zenigata’s eyes on him, and he looked up, forcing a weak smile.
Zenigata wasn’t sure that the one he returned was any better.