[[First multi-chaptered Rhythm Thief fic... of course it's an AU involving adoption. Thanks to Spanglyspace for figuring out the plot with me.
Spoilers: For Emperor's Treasure.
Set: Before Emperor's Treasure. Starts with a twist on the Bonus Chapter 'Meeting Fondue'.]]
Déjà Vergier
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Raphael limped past the fountain, grimacing from the pain in his leg. He'd set off an alarm at the Louvre and cut himself trying to escape out of a broken window. It was a dumb mistake, even for a rookie art thief.
Who was he kidding? He wasn't an art thief. He wasn't his father. He was sixteen— little more than a kid.
He doubted that was going to earn the constables' sympathy. A pack of them was hot on his trail right now. He had to get away from here— out of Paris. Maybe he could even take that dog with him...
"Attends!" A brown-haired police officer blocked his path. Unlike the other constables, he wore a stiff white shirt and a red tie. This guy meant business.
With his injured leg, Raphael couldn't do any fancy kicks or flips like he'd practiced. Good thing he still had his fists...
The police officer warned, "You are in no condition to resist arrest. Come quietly."
Raphael resisted anyway— punching the officer in the chin— resulting in him being handcuffed and chucked unceremoniously into the back of a police car.
Raphael hung his head as he was driven to the constabulary headquarters. No one noticed the small white dog chasing after them.
"What is your name?"
"Phantom R," Raphael answered for the fifth time. He was proud of his alias, despite failing to make a famous fist impression as the phantom.
The officer who'd caught him, Inspector Vergier, banged his fist on the interrogation table. "Your real name!"
Raphael knew he had the right to remain silent, but where was the fun in that?
"Mr. R. Phantom to my friends."
"It won't be long before your finger print samples return and we learn of your true identity, anyway."
Raphael's heart skipped a beat. Upon arriving at the Constabulary HQ, the police had bandaged up his leg, given him a full body search (he'd concealed his father's coin with a sleight of hand trick) and taken samples of his fingerprints. If the Constabulary discovered who he really was, they would probably raid his apartment and his father's secret basement. Either they would blame Raphael for the stolen artworks or they would question how a hopeless teenager had gotten hold of them.
Maybe they would go looking for his father. The last place Raphael wanted to see him was in prison...
Vergier tried cracking him from a different angle. "Why did you break into the museum? Did you intend to steal something?"
Raphael had intended to start returning some paintings. If only he could tell Vergier that. Instead, he shrugged. "I was just taking a stroll."
"Breaking and entering, more like…" Vergier squinted at him. "How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
"I have a fourteen-year-old at home and you two look nothing alike. Where do you live?"
"The land of cheese."
"And your name is?"
Raphael bit his lip, peering at Vergier. "Promise you won't tell anyone?" Vergier leaned forward in his chair. "The honest-to-goodness birth name my parents gave me is... Vergier."
Vergier almost flipped the interrogation table. "That's it! Until you are willing to cooperate, you will remain in police custody."
"Wait!" Raphael protested as he was dragged through the halls to the detention cells. "Don't I get a trial or phone call or something?" He could contact his neighbour Madame Paula or one of his school friends— they would vouch for him. On second thought, that may put his identify at risk...
By the time his finger print test was done, it wouldn't matter anymore.
The sound of the cell door clanging shut rattled around in Raphael's head. Was this to be his new home?
Hours later, after several failed escape attempts, Raphael heard Vergier returning:
"...I told you I would be home as soon as we have dealt with this delinquent boy."
A concerned female voice asked, "What on Earth did he do to make you so stressed out?"
"He broke into the Louvre and would not answer my questions seriously."
Vergier's companion didn't sound impressed. "Seriously? How old is he?"
"A few years older than Charlotte, I suspect. He lied about his age— you'll have to wait here. Visitors aren't allowed near the cells."
"Let me talk to him, Paul."
"Emma..."
Despite Vergier's protests, a woman with chin-length purple hair approached Raphael's prison. Though her face appeared gentle, she was frowning.
"I hope you realise that what you did was very wrong. You caused my husband a lot of trouble and made him late for dinner."
Hearing this, Raphael's stomach rumbled. The constabulary had given him a less than satisfying portion of bread and water. He stared guiltily at Mrs. Vergier, not having the energy to play games with her as well.
At the end of the day, Inspector Vergier was just doing his job, right? It wasn't his fault he didn't understand Raphael's dilemma.
"I- I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"Please can you tell me your name?"
"Raphael."
She nodded. "And where are your parents, Raphael? They must be worried, wondering why you're not home yet..."
Raphael winced at her words. "I don't have any parents."
Her expression softened. "I'm sorry to hear that, but it doesn't excuse what you did."
"It certainly doesn't." Vergier appeared to have been listening around the corner. Raphael stepped back when he joined them.
"However—" Mrs. Vergier added "—Raphael's circumstances cannot be overlooked. Perhaps we should contact social services..."
That sent a shiver down Raphael's spine. Social services would be very interested to hear he'd been living on his own for a year. Would they consider... sending him to an orphanage?
"No, you can't!" Raphael burst out. The Vergiers looked at him in shock. "You can't because... 'cause I have a dog but my apartment doesn't allow pets. If they find out, he'll get taken away from me!" He started sobbing. (He needed their pity, even if it cost his dignity.) "Then he'll get sent to the pound and maybe even p-put down. W-what if he's already a goner? I haven't fed him all day..!"
Mrs. Vergier gasped, "Paul, I think he's having a panic attack. Open the cell door."
"Don't be fooled—"
"Open it!"
With a resigned sigh, Inspector Vergier did as she said and she rushed inside to reassure Raphael. "It's alright, Raphael. You and your dog can... You can stay with us until everything is sorted out! How does that sound?"
Vergier's jaw dropped. "What?!"
"Y-you really mean it?" Raphael sniffed. Living under the inspector's roof was a better alternative to a cell or an orphanage. (And it would be easier to escape.) All he had to do now was find his dog—
There was a scream from one of the constables in the hall. "A-ah! Who let this dog in here?"
Huh. That mutt may have been a chicken, but he had good timing.
"We're back, Charlie!"
Charlie perked up at her mother's call. She had gone to bring her father home, insisting they couldn't start dinner without him. Of course, she had said nothing against Charlie raiding the fridge.
She was eating fries in front of the T.V. when her parents walked in. Neither of them commented on the fact that she was too young to be watching this particular crime show. That was new.
Charlie turned to see they had a visitor with them; a red-haired boy, holding a white dog and a duffle bag.
Her mouth still full of fries, Charlie looked questioningly at her mother.
"Charlie, this is Raphael and his Alsatian Cheesehund..."
"Uh… Fondue," Raphael supplied.
"Woeuf!"
"...Raphael and Fondue are going to be staying with us."
"Temporarily," her father muttered. "Emma, may I talk to you in private?" The two of them went into their bedroom, speaking in hushed tones. She could have sworn her old man mentioned something about a criminal.
Charlie would have liked to get back to her T.V. show, but Raphael felt the need to make conversation.
"Nice place you got here," he remarked, glancing around her family's apartment. "Much bigger than my old haunt."
"Thanks... Where did you live?"
He hesitated a little. "Oh, you know, just around the city centre. That's where I met Fondue, scrounging in bins."
The canine was currently gazing at her fries. She shoved her plate behind her. "These are mine, but you can help yourself to the fridge if you want—"
Help themselves they did. Charlie's lip curled as the gluttons took enough to feed the entire constabulary. The dog she could understand, but the boy was toothpick-thin! Where did he put all that food?
Raphael munched on a macaroon, motioning to the T.V. "What're we watching?"
"Ace Detective, Season 2, Episode 10."
Raphael raised an eyebrow as the detective unmasked the butler as the culprit. "Talk about clichéd..."
"How would you know?" Charlie wondered. "I assumed you had never seen this before."
"I haven't. I can't afford T.V., but sometimes I catch crime dramas on the radio." He stopped lounging in his chair when Charlie's parents came back.
"I see you have already made yourself comfortable..." Charlie's father grumbled. Her mother nudged him and he assured Raphael, "You may remain here until we find more suitable accommodations for you."
Charlie nearly choked on her fries. "Quoi? You mean he isn't just staying for one night?"
Her mother sent her a stern glance, before smiling at Raphael. "You and Fondue can sleep in Charlie's room. Charlie, you'll share with me."
A boy and a stinking dog were stealing her room? She spluttered, "You must be joking-!"
"If it's easier, I'll crash out here on the couch," Raphael offered.
"I will take the couch," Vergier cut in. "And rest assured— I will be guarding the door."
"But Mama...!" Charlie moaned.
"No buts, Charlie. As your father said, it's only for a short while. Now come and help me move some things out of your room."
As Charlie trailed after her mother, she heard her father warn Raphael, "There better not be any funny business, especially towards my daughter. Are we clear?"
There was a smirk in Raphael's voice. "Crystal."
"I come bearing news of Isaac's son— he was apprehended by the Paris Constabulary earlier today."
Jean-François hummed. He was aware of how sickly Isaac's boy had been in his younger years, but hadn't he grown stronger with age?
"This is surprising, and rather vexing... Pray tell, how did he fall into the Constabulary's clutches?"
"He was caught breaking and entering at the Louvre, we believe," the armoured messenger explained. "Now he is under the scrutiny of Inspector Paul Vergier."
Jean-François scowled. That meddling inspector had been on their case since Napoleon's casket was removed from Les Invalides. For all of his thieving ways, Isaac hadn't been able to pull off the heist undetected. (Jean-François knew it was a mistake to employ him.)
If Vergier interrogated Raphael, he ran the risk of exposing the Mystère Organisation. How wise was Raphael about his father's work? How much had Isaac shared with him? Clearly, Isaac couldn't be completely trusted.
"There is no need to concern Isaac with these developments." Jean-François smirked. "I will see to it that young Raphael is taken care of. As for our inspector friend...You may send him a warning in some shape or form."
The messenger bowed and turned his back on Jean-François. However, he warned, "It has been fifteen years, Graf. The organisation grows impatient. Everyone wants the emperor to reclaim his former glory—"
"Which will only be possible when the girl reaches her full potential; when she can play Moon Princess perfectly," Jean-François hissed. "I will decide when that is."
The messenger left without another word. Jean-François re-entered St. Louré Convent, where his star protégé was practicing the violin. (Soon he would have two protégés.) He smiled at her. "Shall we take it from the top, Marie?"
