Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

November 13th, 2008.

It’s a cold night of November, rainy and dark as Conner Cooper looks out the window of his farm, pipe in mouth and deep in thought.

They've been hiding for years now, leaving behind their life in Portland to lay low in the deep country side of Oregon. Conner misses it, is disappointed than his son won’t be able to run down the city roofs like he did, but life always gets its way in the end. 

His son, Sly, eight years old at the time is reading on the living room rug, lying on his stomach as he does. Unaware of the turmoil is parents are experiencing but not blind to their obvious nervousness when the floorboard creaks at night or when the light flickers during a storm.

Conner crouches next to the kid, watching as he’s focused on his comic book. His eyebrows are furrowed as he reads, too focus to pay attention to his father next to him.

A long index finger grazes him softly between his eyes, softening his frown and finally, the smallest raccoon lifts his eyes from the pages. "You seemed focus, kiddo," Conner says, smiling. "Is that a new cartoon?"

Sly nods, smiling wide, his front teeth missing. "Mom got it for me last week." He’s all proud, that makes Conner chuckle.

"What’s it about this time?" His joint creak as he stands up, knees too tired to crouch for too long. The lack of exercise is starting to get to him physically and mentally.

"Officer Wallace has to stop the Indigo Brothers today!" Sly exclaims happily.

Conner laughs, shaking his head as he smokes from his pipe. "Only you could read stories about cops, kiddo."

"Conner," Lily, his wife, calls from the kitchen. "Dinner is almost ready. Didn’t you have something to show Sly before we sit down to dinner?"

"I did," he confirms, eyes falling on Sly once again. "Kiddo, could you wait for me on the couch? There’s something I need to give you."

Conner’s hand holds the railing as he goes upstairs, looking at the family portraits hung to the wall as he does. Pictures of Sly every year since he was born, portraits of the three them sitting in their old living room, pictures of Lily and Conner when they were newly weds. 

He shivers as he steps into their home office, walking towards their safe and unlocking it quickly. The Thievus Raccoonus lays inside right next to Conner's cane and he takes both of it, making his way back downstairs quietly. Sly awaits in the couch, hands on his thighs as he sits nicely, tail moving as he looks outside. He's so small, so young, younger than Conner was when his father first told him about their legacy before vanishing into thin air.

"Come here, boy," Conner says as he sits, taking his son on his knees. "I've got something to show you."

"Are you sure he's old enough?" Lily asks from the kitche, looking at them with a worried look in her eyes. "He's only eight, my love."

"He's old enough to understand, aren't you, Sly?"

"Yes, daddy," Sly says with a nod. His tail keeps on moving excitedly.

"This is a book that's been in our family for generations," Conner says, opening the first page. "You come from a long family of master thieves."

Tonight, the Cooper Legacy is laid into Sly’s hands. Tonight, he gets to have the Thievus Raccoonus and start his apprenticeship.

Except like I said life always get its way in the end, and we all know it is not going to go according to Conner’s plan.

It all goes down quickly, the glimpse of a shadow in the garden, the unmistakable sound of a foot walking on a twig.

Sly is thrown into the closet under the staircase, cane in hand as his mother hushes him. "You have to stay here and no matter what happens, you stay quiet." His mother says.

"Mom, I’m scared, I don’t want to-" He begs, reaching for her hand, ears falling flat when she shakes her head. The look on her face will haunt his nights for a long, long time. 

"I love you Sly. I love you more than anything. Please stay quiet." 

"Mommy," he says, but the door closes in his face. He's breathing hard, eyes struggling to get used to the obscurity as he presses his ear to the door, listening to every noise he can.

He hears his father running down the stairs, hear the door slamming and the muffled voices he doesn't recognize. Silence falls on the house, until it's broken. Three gunshots echo against the walls, the sound of something heavy falling on the floorboards. Sly's not supposed to move, his mother told him to stay quiet- but something inside his body urges him to open the door, just a little.

That's a huge mistake.

There's blood everywhere, around and on his mother's body. She's not moving, not breathing, her hair matted as blood runs to it. Sly gasps, the noise thankfully unnoticed as he clutches his father's cane against his chest. 

"Lily!" He hears his father shout, can see him rush to her only to be stopped by the most frightening being Sly has ever laid his eyes on. The shadowy figures draws an evil aura, its yellow eyes boring into his father's as it lifts him with its claws. Sly's vision get blurry, tears drowning him as he watches.

He can hear their voices but can't understand what they're saying, heart pouding as the ghoulish voice speaks. He can see his father spit, can see him tense as the claws get deeper into his flesh.

The scary figures walk over him as they leave, stamping on his father's body like he's nothing but a doormat.

Silence falls again, but Sly doesn't get out. His mommy told him not too. He sobs, he cries, curled around the cane. 

Tonight, Sly Cooper becomes an orphan. The last keeper of the cane, the next in line to continue his family’s legacy, to avenge his parents and make a name for himself.

--

He's laying on the cold floorboard, struggling to breath when the door opens hours later. He instantly stands up, his whole body shivering as he flattening himself against the wall, only hidden by the hung jackets. There's the unmistakable noise of footsteps, muffled voice that turn his blood to ice- did they come back for him?

Finally, after what seems to be a lifetime, the door opens and he's met with a nice looking stag in an uniform Sly would recognize anywhere.

"Office Wallace?" He asks, voice small, as his head comes out of the jackets, eager to see if his favorite comic book hero has come to save him. "Is that you?"

The young stag looks at him with an unreadable look- one that Sly will recognize as pity years later, and slowly shakes his head. "Only Officer Johnson, I'm afraid, kiddo."

The policeman's eyes travel down his body, looking for injuries, his eyes falling on his cane. Something takes over his features, and he swallows before swallowing harshly. "I am so, so sorry, buddy. Come on, let's get you out of here, alright?"

The stag offers his hand. Maybe it's the blood he can see in the background, or the dozens cops going through his house, or maybe it's the face of his mother before she locked him in- whatever it is, Sly takes his hand, and is hauled into his arms. "It's going to be okay, little man," he hears him say as he rushes to get him out of the house. Sly's eyes fall onto the floor, white sheets turning red as they cover what he knows is his parents' bodies. 

He is wrapped in a heavy blanket, his hand tightening against the handle of the cane when a cop tries to take it from him.

"It's just a toy, come on now," the stag says at his coworker. "Don't you think he's had a terrible enough night already?"

"It's evidence," the other guy says. Sly's eyes wander, looking for a quick exit.

"He just watched his parents die. Give him a break, alright?"

Sly comes from a family of thief, a family that ran away from the police on multiple occasions. He's supposed to do the same, supposed to wait for the right time and vanish, ready to mend for himself. 

But what if the sight of his parents’ corpses, fallen at the end of the claws of the devil himself had made him want to get justice on the right side of the law?

What if he had chosen to follow another path?

—

Sly wakes up in a pool of sweat, gasping for air as he often does ever since that fateful November night. His alarm clock read 4:37 as the twenty years old raccoon decides to get up and sacrifice the hours of sleep he had left.

He is fidgety, tense in that way he gets when he needs to be on the move. So he puts on a grey tracksuit and black running shoes, and goes. 

Portland is still sleeping as he runs down its quiet streets, nodding at the very rare bystanders he encounters as they leave for work or come home from it.

It’s cold, the city feels moist from the rain that poured the night before and the air is cold as Sly breathes through it. He doesn’t stop, runs five miles until he’s too exhausted and has to stretch his poor limbs. 

Sly carries a curse everywhere he goes, one that allows him to make himself imperceptible thanks to discretion, one that would make jealous the best gymnasts in the world. 

It should be a blessing to know that he’s capable of such feats, but as he stands near the river he can’t help but feel the weight of it on his shoulders. 

It’s a quick walk back to his crappy studio and Sly hops on the shower as soon as the door closes behind him. It’s a big day, today, he can’t be late (not that he could be, given he’s woken up three hours early). 

Sly puts on a clean pair of boxers underneath his black uniform, white gloves and black kepi, standing straight in front of his mirror.

Today, Sly Cooper graduates from the police academy after three years of training and learning. Tomorrow, he’ll know where he’s assigned, hopeful it’ll let him stay in Portland.

The ceremony takes place in the huge gardens behind the academy. A stage has been set up for the occasion, with red blue and white banners hung on the trees behind it- a patriots wet dream. Three chairs and a mic are set, ready to welcome the students. 

Sly’s eyes scan the crowd from where he’s standing behind the platform, waiting for the ceremony to continue. 

"I’m so nervous," says Anna, a pretty blonde eagle that’s in his class. "My parents flew all the way from Washington to see me today."

"No need to be nervous." That’s Neyla. Pretty, cocky, lethal Neyla. She aced the hand to hand combat classes. A true menace. "We’re finally going to enter big league."

"What about you, Sly?" Anna asks nicely. He likes her, she’s genuine and true to herself. "Are you nervous?"

"Nah," he grins. "I’m ready for this."

"Of course you are, big boy." Neyla’s hand claps on his back, her eyes falling on the crowd. "Let’s make history, people."

They laugh as she goes, waving to the crowd like she’s the freaking Queen of England and giving a lazy smirk to their superior as he shakes her hand. Diploma in hands, Neyla bows down to the crowd and jumps out of the stage. 

"Wish me luck," Anna says, wiping her hands on her pants. 

"This is your moment," Sly says reassuringly. "Own it."

He watches as she goes, walking up that stage way less confidently than Neyla did and giving a shy nod to their superior. She waves lightly at her family in the crowd and gets off gracefully. Sly focuses to engrave that last moment with his friends in his mind. 

Finally, as Sly climbs up the stage to get his diploma, he can’t help but feel empty. He shakes the Senior Inspector’s hands, smiles for the picture, and then his eyes fall on the crowd. Families and friends of his classmates that came to celebrate them on their graduation day. 

No one is there to celebrate Sly today. No one has been there ever since he was eight. 

Chapter Text

"Congratulations, Carmelita," Barkley says, smiling around his usual cigar as he shakes her hand happily. "You’ve really outdone yourself on the Northside Serpents Gang."

"Thank you, sir."

Carmelita, beautiful and young vixen that’s been working for Interpol ever since she graduated early at the age of nineteen, has never stopped being on top of her game. It amuses some people, annoys a lot more, but that’s just who she is; determined, ambitious, ready to do anything to succeed.

It sure pays out, as her boss says the words she’s been dying to hear for six months. "Looks like you’re getting that promotion, Inspector Fox."

"Thank you so much, sir. I won’t let you down."

Carmelita gets her own office, her name on the door and her own team. It comes with a newly gain respect, stronger self confidence and a feeling of freedom, like she’s finally able to do things her way. 

She even gets an executive assistant ; Winthorp. He isn’t much, really, some guy that worked in the archives sections for years and was finally brought down the attic to work in the real word. He’s shy, stutters a lot, and is clearly intimidated by Carmelita. It could be worse, really; he makes great coffee and is eager to help. 

She’s handed more difficult cases, putting criminals of all kinds behind bars and bringing them to justice. But Carmelita is young, eager, perfectionist; sometimes, it makes her have tunnel vision. Sometimes, she makes mistakes. 

"We’re assigning you to a special unit," Berkeley says, two years after Carmelita was promoted Inspector. "You’re removed from every case you were dealing with, effective now. Inspector Sharma will take over."

"What?" She exclaims before she can stop herself, not even having it into herself to look sheepish when he gives her a look. "What do you mean? Inspector Sharma?"

"Interpol has sent its orders. After the fiasco of the Firestone of India, they think I’ve made a mistake promoting you so quickly. They think you’re too young. Neyla has proven herself able to take over your work. She had an an apprenticeship with the Contessa, in Prague-"

"That’s nonsense," Carmelita immediately objects, interrupting his praising of the youngest tigress. "What happened in Bombay was a misunderstanding, if my team had arrived sooner I would-"

"You’re the leader of that team," Barkley says. "You’re the one that takes the blame, that’s how it is. Interpol doesn’t trust you anymore. You’ll have to prove yourself if you want to keep your position, Fox."

Carmelita opens her mouth to protest, but the look in the older man’s eyes advise her not to. She bites her tongue and counts to ten. 

Patience is not a virtue she’s been blessed with.

"They want you to prove yourself worthy of the title. It’s the real shit, Carmelita. If you fail this assignment, you’ll be stuck in a office for the rest of your career."

"What do they want me to do?"

"They're assigning you to the Fiendish Five case."

Carmelita’s eyes go wide, her mouth hanging open in surprise. They’re one of the most violent gang that’s still in activity and now her entire career relies on her ability to put them behind bars. A thing that not even the most experienced cops in Interpol have been able to do.

"I had to step out for you to get that last chance, kiddo. They wanted to demote you right away."

Carmelita swallows around the lump in her throat. She’s twenty two, young in age and in the job; far from what she’ll become a few years from now. 

"No pressure though," Barkley jokes lightly, but the vixen doesn’t have it in herself to laugh. "Ah, I haven't told you about the best part. They’ve found you a partner."

—

Sly has been working for the Portland police for two years now, going on patrols and putting harmless criminals behind bars within a small team he has grown to appreciate. 

He is playing the long game; does what he’s supposed to, is nice and charming to everyone, always volunteers to give a hand to whoever needs it. Slowly but surely, Sly carves out a niche for himself, his mind always focused on the main goal.

Sly is smart, field smart. He’s a master of disguises, able to move quietly and to infiltrate any location without getting caught. He speaks english, french, spanish and italian, which has allowed him to work under cover many times before. He’s more of a shadowy agent, unstoppable in that field of work.

He's charming, cocky, cultivated enough that it’s easy for him to blend in any types of group. Maybe it’s why his superiors turn a blind eye at his sarcasm and jokes. 

Or maybe it is because the Cooper genes, the thief genes, in his body allow him to move quickly, to jump on rooftops and run on cable wires; it makes him weird, at first. But then it makes him valuable. An asset for the team. 

So one day, of course, his time comes.

Chief Williams asks to see him before the end of his shift, and gives him the good news. 

"Congratulations, Detective Cooper. Seems like you’ve caught the interest of someone important."

"Sir?" He says, smiling already. 

"Interpol is creating a special unit for its Parisian HQ. They want you on that team."

Sly nods, standing straight, his hands behind his back. "What kind of special unit, sir?"

"The kind that’s going to target the worst scumbags out there," his Chief says. "This is big, Cooper, huge. This could do a lot for you career."

"When do I start?"

"You will be moved to Paris next week. You’ll be working under James Barkley’s authority. He’s Head of Investigation over there, a great cop. I recommended you, Detective. Make me proud."

Sly is handed the brown file, big bold letters on the front page ; The Fiendish Five.

He can’t even hide his cocky grin. "Ah, Sir. Ya know I will."

—

Sly moves in the next week in a studio apartment that’s in a much better shape than the one he was living in in Portland. It’s entirely furnished and the rent is covered by Interpol, given they’re the one that poached him in the first place.

It is a nice ego boost, that’s for sure.

He takes the day to settle into his new home, taking time to tidy everything and put aside his clothes and shoes. He’s in a nice neighborhood of Paris, in an apartment complex that other members of Interpol live in- under fake names, of course, just like him.

As he comes home from the convenience store arms full of paper bags and waits for the elevator, Sly is welcomed by a very angry vixen speaking loudly on the phone in spanish. She doesn’t look at him, free hand on her hip as she paces up and down further away in the corridor.

"I don’t care," he hears her say in Spanish. Her pronunciation is impeccable; a local, he guesses. "They didn’t even give me a chance to explain!"

His tail moves around as he waits, humming lightly as he eavesdrops, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity or interest. 

The raccoon sees her throw her hands up from the corner of her eyes. "It’s fucking unfair. It wasn’t even my fault in Bombay." He hears he sigh and sees her rub her eyes. She reminds him of a child. 

She curses quietly, checking her phone before walking towards the elevator. Sly pretends he wasn’t listening. "I gotta call you later. Yeah, bye mom. Love you too."

The vixen still doesn’t mind him as they wait and Sly almost scoffs. He’s heard the french were rude, but damn. 

Finally, as the elevator door opens she deigns to look at him, but only because he signals for her to get in first. 

"Where to?" She asks in french, her fingers pressing the button to the fifth floor before looking at him. 

He presses his own button, noting she’s on the floor right below his (it’s always useful to know where your rude neighbors live). She scoffs at his lack of verbal answer but says nothing as they slowly go up.

Sly’s eyes never leave the doors but he can feel how tense she is next to him. 

"I’ve never seen you here," She says after a few seconds of tense silence, souding almost suspicious.

"I’ve just moved here."

"You’re not from around here," she points, referring to his accent and switching back to english. "Are you American? What’s your name?"

"Geez," he says, looking back at her with an outraged look on his face. "What’s that? An interrogation?"

The nerves she’s got, that woman. Can’t be bothered to say hello to him but has no trouble meddling with his personal life?

Her eyebrows go up in disbelief, turning her entire body towards him, probably to flip him off, but then the elevator doors open on her floor and he stops her. 

"You’re going to miss you floor," Sly says, unimpressed. "Ma’am."

"Prick," She retorts, storming off the elevator and disappearing down the corridor. 

"That’s rude!" He yells after her, raising his own eyebrows when she gives him the finger. He doesn’t have time to react, the door closing in his face. "What’s wrong with that chick?" 

Sly is more than annoyed as he fumbles with his keys and puts his groceries down on his kitchen counter. He is still in disbelief as he showers and gets ready for bed, thinking back at her and her angry scowl.

Why are the hottest girls always fucked in the head? he thinks as he lies down, eyes on the ceiling. 

He sleeps a dreamless sleep, gets up early and goes for a morning run.

—

It is eight thirty in the morning and Carmelita is already on her fourth cup of coffee. She’s tense, fidgety and in a pretty sour mood as she moves her belongings to her new office. Admittedly, she’s still Inspector, and she’ll be handed the Fiendish Five’s case, which should feel like an honor, but Carmelita doesn’t have it in herself to convince herself it’s a proof of trust. 

If she fails she’s out, and the fact that the unit they’re forcing her to deal with is relocated in the second to last floor of the building, right before the archives room, tells her they’re willing to test her patience as well as her skills as a leader. They’re practically in the attic; the floor was not used for years, dusty and badly lit, the stale odour making her head spin. It feels like a punishment.

Carmelita guesses that in a way, it is.

Settling down the box full of her stuff on her new desk, she’s interrupted by Barkley.

"I can see you’re making yourself at home already, Fox," the badger says, a teasing smile on his lips. "That’s good."

Carmelita nods tightly, busying herself with the task to stop herself from saying something stupid. There’s no need to anger her superior even more, right?

"Come on, Inspector. See this as a challenge. I’m sure you’ll be able to pull this off."

"When’s my new team coming in?" She says as casually as she can.

"We’re still figuring out who’ll be a part of it," Barkley admits. Carmelita lifts her eyes to his, ready to argue, but he beats her to it. "But your partner will be here soon, no worries."

"I don’t understand why it’s so important that I have a partner in this case." She says in disbelief, hands on her hips. "Barkley, come on now. You know I’m more than capable of dealing with this on my own."

"The Firestone Of India proved you can’t, don’t you think?"

Carmelita scoffs, ready to defend herself- to no avail, of course. It wouldn’t change a thing.

The bipping sound of the elevator’s doors opening interrupt their conversation, and Carmelita watches as the badger walks towards it, shaking the hand of someone she can’t see.

Her eyes fall on a quite handsome raccoon wearing green cargo pants with his insignia hanging from his belt, a black shirt and black boots. His hair is slicked back, his brown eyes enhanced by the natural mask of black fur on his face.

It could be okay, really. 

If he wasn’t her fucking rude neighbor from the night before. 

Chapter Text

"Inspector Fox, meet Detective Cooper. He’ll be your partner throughout this case."

Sly and Carmelita both look at each other in complete disbelief. The raccoon is quicker to put his cool-guy mask on, holding his hand out for her to shake, very aware of Barkley’s eyes on them. 

"Nice to meet you," He says, waiting for her to shake his hand. She looks two seconds away from punching him in the throat and it amuses him very much. "You can call me Sly."

He can see her grinding her teeth as she reluctantly shakes his hand, quickly letting go of it. "Let’s keep it professional, Detective."

"Sly comes from Portland. He was a real asset to their team and I’ve no doubt he’ll be one here as well." Barkley turns to Carmelita, his cigar held between his fat fingers. "I’m sure Inspector Fox will be glad to teach you our ways, Detective."

"I’m sure she will," Sly says, grinning. "Looking forward to it."

The badger pointedly ignores the way her hands are into fists by her side, and turns to the raccoon once again. 

"Sir, could I have a word, please?" She says through gritted tears but is dismissed by a wave of hand. It looks like she’s having a terrible couple of days; Sly is beaming.

"Show his office to your partner, Carmelita. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss the case later."

Tension is thick as the badger leaves them alone. Sly doesn’t say anything as Carmelita breathes heavily. She looks like smoke is about to come out of her ears. 

Sly feels the need to break the silence; not because he’s uncomfortable, but because he’s having fun. "So, the Fiendish Five, uh?" He whistles. "That’s a serious one."

"This my office," she spits, pointing to the makeshift plate with her name on the door, one that Winthorp insisted on making her. "I am the Inspector in charge here. We’re not partners, we’re not equals. You do as I say, and I’ll solve this case in no time. Understood?"

"Geez," he says after a while, looking at her as she’s catching her breath. "Feeling better?"

"Spare me your patronizing tone, raccoon."

Sly ignores her, grinning as he seats at the closest desk. "Because we are going to solve this case. Together, as a team. As partners, remember, Inspector?"

"I don’t need some kind of second-class officer to come here and tell me how to do my job."

"I haven’t applied to this job," He says, crossing his hands behind his head. "They came looking for me." 

"I don’t have time to deal with you." Carmelita says, walking back into her office. "The quicker I solve this case the quicker everything will go back to normal and you’ll be crawling back into that shithole you came from."

Sly scoffs. "Are you that pleasant with anyone or is it just me?" 

"I don’t need to be pleasant," he hears her say as she sits on her chair.

"Alright then," Sly mutters to himself.

Carmelita doesn’t say anything more, doing god knows what inside her office. Sly takes it as his cue to unpack his belongings, putting away his files and office supplies. If the queen of ice over there is not willing to have him participate he’ll have to take that right himself.

Taking out the laptop he was given at the front desk, Sly quickly realizes he doesn’t have access to anything related to Interpol.

At this point he’d rather poke his own eye out with a rusted fork than asking her for help, and that’s how he ends up walking down the corridors, looking for some IT guy who, hopefully, will be nicer than his so called partner has been. 

"Hey," he says as he reaches the desk of a nice enough looking turtle on the fifth floor. "I’m Sly."

"Hello, Sly," The guy says, looking at him funny.

When the guy doesn’t introduce himself, he continues. "I was transferred from the PPB [editor’s note : Portland Police Bureau] and I don’t have my Interpol login details yet. Could ya give me a hand, pal?"

"What makes you think I work for the IT department?" The guy asks, seemingly offended at the idea. 

Sly looks at him, at his big glasses and funny shirt, at his wheelchair and silly cycling helmet. "Uh.."

"Jerk," the guy says, but he’s got a mischievous smile on his lips. "I’m Bentley. You can close your mouth, Sly, I’m just messing with you. I’m in charge of the IT department."

"Thank god," he laughs. "Felt like a massive dick for a sec."

"Oh, you were," Bentley says. "But I’m used to it. You said you were just transferred, right? Your user ID must not have been created yet."

"Can you do anything about it?"

Bentley sends him a look. "Give me a moment, please."

His fingers are quick on his keyboard, eyes focused as he does his thing. Sly’s eyes wander on the open space, full of square of desks on which are multiple laptops and desktop computers. Almost every desk is occupied by different people- nerds, if he’s being honest, typing at the speed of light.

Sly feels a little out of place.

"Here you go," the turtle says, handing him an entry pass hanging from a string. Sly puts it on his neck, looking at the picture of him that’s printed on it. It’s the picture they took of him when he started working at the Portland’s precinct, young and starry eyed. It’s quite an unflattering picture, in his opinion. "You’ll be granted access to every floor on this building as of now. I’ve set up your login, too. Here."

Bentley hands him a post it with informations scribbled down on it, which Sly pockets. "Is there any way you could change that picture?" He asks, sheepish.

"There is not." His smile tells him different, but Sly doesn’t argue.

"Alright. Thanks, pal."

"Goodbye, jerk."

Sly waves as he leaves, going back to his office. He’s got work to do, and the sooner he gets to it, the sooner he’ll be free to go.

—

"Is this team going to be just the two of us?" Sly says as they sit inside Barkley’s office, facing the projector’s screen on the wall. It shows the blurred figure of a particularly large dog, taken by the security camera of a mall somewhere in Utah before it was destroyed.

"We’re still figuring out who’ll come to assist you in this case." Barkley says, turning his attention back to screen. "The county police in Utah sent us this camera footage this morning. Seems like the town has been completely taken over by a local gang."

Sly leans forward on his chair, squinting to look at the footage. "Is that supposed to be Muggshot?"

"Alias 'Two-Gun Tony’ or 'Meathead Muggshot'," Carmelita says, eyes focused on the screen. "He’s wanted in more than seven countries across the world, with a dozen warrants for his arrest."

Barkley moves to the next slide, showing a younger looking Muggshot’s mugshot, Tony Rossi written on the sign he’s holding. 

"What’s he doing in Utah?" Sly asks. He’s well aware of the Fiendish Five’s whereabouts, having studied them for the past fourteen years, but still, he’s not about to disclose that information. He’d be kicked out the case if anyone knew of his little conflict of interest.

"Mesa City is known for being a boomtown," Carmelita explains as she crosses her arms. Sly doesn’t doubt she’s glad to know more than he does. "He’s been terrorizing the citizens for months, and building his own empire, according to our sources."

"Inspector Fox is right," Barkley says, going through pictures of tacky buildings taken from the sky. "He’s demolished schools and hospitals to build his casinos. He even has his own hotel now." The badger turns towards them, his mouth downturned. "This camera footage is from a couple weeks ago but they've only managed to send it to us today."

"Why isn't anyone doing anything?" Sly says in disbelief. "What about the local police? Or the FBI?"

"Muggshot has taken complete control over the city. Every officer that stood out to him is either dead or enslaved, working for him against their will. We’re their last hope."

"What about the civilians?" Carmelita asks, her eyes turning to the badger. 

"They’re gone," Barkley answers. "Everybody in this damn town is an accomplice to Tony Rossi and a member of his canine gang. They’ve scared everyone else away."

"What’s the point of building casinos if there’s no one in town to go?" Sly scoffs. "That guy’s a dimwit."

"He’s our first target," Carmelita stands up, hands on her hips. Barkley nods. "Do we have a warrant?"

"We do," the badger says. His features change into something more serious, more worried. "But this camera footage is the only picture we have of what’s going on inside. I don’t know how many goons he’s got, or what weapons they’ll use. Right now, it’s about locking this place down and figuring out where Muggshot is hiding. This is a big first job, I’m aware." His eyes fall on Sly, who just holds his gaze.

"When do we leave?" Sly says, standing up as well. He’s not afraid of Muggshot, not for a minute. 

"Tomorrow morning. You’ll be staying in a motel just outside the city, so pack enough. I don’t know how long you’ll be staying there."

"Alright," Sly says, pulling up his sleeves. 

"Inspector Fox," Barkley says as she’s about to leave. He’s got his serious face on. "Let’s not have it be a remake of Bombay. Do I make myself clear?"

The vixen nods, ignoring the raccoon’s curious eyes on her back, and lets the door fall behind them.

Chapter Text

Mesa City is a place you wouldn’t think twice about, lost in the Utah desert, far from any other city in the region. 

Now it’s almost a pale imitation of Las Vegas, with its big casinos and tacky hotel high up the hill. The Mesa City sign has been vandalized, renamed Muggshot City in big bold black letters. A huge graffiti of the bulldog has been drawn on the water tower in the far side of the city, as if to prove a point.

"Fucking dimwit," He mutters under his breath as they’re looking at the city from a far with binoculars. Sly and Carmelita are currently sitting inside her red cabriolet, her civilian car standing out like a sore thumb in the empty desert. 

"We’re twenty minutes away from the motel. I suggest we get there and settle down, and come back at night to do a bit of reconnaissance."

"Let’s hope your circus car doesn’t attract unwanted attention," Sly says, leaning his elbow out his window as he looks at the huge gate leading to the city. "There must be a ton of goons guarding the gate twenty four/seven."

"I’ll find a way to get in." She says, making a u-turn and driving towards the motel. 

"We’ll find a way to get in, remember?" Sly gives her a look, smiling as she rolls her eyes. "Taking the back door is kind of my speciality."

"Like the municipal police has any kind of specialty," She scoffs. "I still don’t understand why you’ve been chosen to work for an administration as big as Interpol."

"Believe it or not, Inspector, but even the ‘municipal police’ is useful to society." She doesn’t look at him as he speaks, eyes focused on the road and jaw set. "And I’m great at working undercover."

"Whatever," she mutters under her breath, parking behind the motel. "You’re here as an assistant, Cooper, just to get Barkley off my back. I really don’t need your help."

"Too bad," he grins, jumping out the car. "I’ll go get us a room, how about you deal with our bags?"

He's already going in as she grumbles behind him. There’s a petite woman at the front desk, young looking siamese cat that’s playing on her phone, probably bored from the lack of customers. Sly can’t imagine there’s a lot of tourists around here.

"Hi," he greets, leaning on the counter with a grin. The girl looks up, standing straighter as she sees him and smiling widely. "We’d like to book a couple rooms, please."

"Of course," she says, eyes traveling to Carmelita, currently taking out her suitcase from the trunk. "Are you here with your wife?"

"Nah," he denies, the thought a bit disturbing. "We’ll take separate rooms."

The cat nods, smiling a bit larger as she types on her keyboard, stealing glances at him. He just smirks at her, insignia well hidden under his shirt as he looks at the lobby. It’s a shitty hotel, one that’s in great need of a dusting. Sly hopes he won’t get fleas.

"How long will you be staying?" The girl asks. 

"Not sure, actually." He looks at Carmelita outside, but she’s not looking his way. "We’ll book for a week and then we’ll see."

The girl nods, typing. "You’ll get room 102 and 103. Are you here for business? Or.. Pleasure?"

Sly laughs, amused by her attempted flirting. She gives him a lazy smirk in answer. "I’m never one to turn down pleasure."

Sly takes the keys, handing her some cash they’ve gotten from Interpol, and salutes her with a two fingers gesture near his head. 

"I’ve got the keys," he informs the vixen as she walks towards him, pulling her suitcase. "I think you forgot my bag, lady."

"I think you’re grown enough to get your own bag, Detective." She snatches one of the keys from his finger, coming up the stairs. "It’ll keep you busy!"

"Not very chivalrous of you, ma’am."

Carmelita gives him the finger, unlocking the door to her room and disappearing inside it. Sly soon follows suit, stepping in his own room that’s right next to hers with his own bag in hand.

It’s a typical motel room; there’s a double bed on the side with two bedside tables and a big dresser with a TV hung above it. The carpet is stained on some places but the bathroom looks clean enough as he checks it quickly. 

It looks comfortable enough for the little time he’ll spend here, and Sly has slept in way more disgusting places than this one before.

"What's the plan?" He says, leaning on her open door as she unpacks. Her jaw sets as soon as she hears his voice. Still, she turns towards him, running a hand through her hair.

"We wait until the sun goes down, and we find a way to get into the city unnoticed."

"Sounds good," He says, eyes falling on the weird lookin gun on her bed; red and yellow, with the interpol logo on the barrel, which is particularly large. "What's that?" He says, holding it between two fingers until the vixen snatches it from his hands.

"No one ever told you not to touch things that are not yours?"

"You're no fun." His eyes watch curiously as she puts the weird looking gun on her holster. "Seriously though. I’ve never seen a gun like this before."

"That’s because you’re at the bottom of the ladder." She says, adjusting the hair band on her braid. "It’s a shock pistol."

His eyes grow a little bigger in surprise. "No regular guns for you then?"

"I am a cop," she says, turning to him. Her eyes are bored. "I’m not here to kill anyone, am I?"

"I dunno, you tell me, Inspector." He grins, looking as she rolls her eyes. "You seem to have a real instinct for the jugular. Or is it just special treatment reserved for me?"

"I don’t care about you," she says, putting her closed suitcase under the bed. "We have a couple hours before the sun sets. I’ll be working on a strategy, please don’t bother me."

Sly takes that as his cue to leave, closing the door behind him, humming as she mutters to meet her at the car at midnight.

He goes back to his room, jumping on the bed and lying on his back with his hands behind his head. He looks at the ceiling, at the weird looking stains covering it and rolls onto his stomach.

He should sleep for a bit, get a bit of rest before they spend the night investigating the city, but he’s buzzing with energy, eager to get to work.

Sly has always been a man of action after all. 

He goes back to the lobby, and he’s buying snacks from the vending machine when he notices the cat checking him out from where she’s sitting at her desk. She’s young, not older than nineteen, but that doesn’t stop her from showing interest.

He decides to use this to his advantage. Chocolate bars in hand he walks towards her desk, leaning on it with a smile. "You seem bored. Don’t have a lot of visitors?"

"Who would visit this shit hole?" She answers, grinning playfully.

"Touché," Sly smiles. "I take it as there’s not much to do around here?"

"We’re in the middle of nowhere," The cat, whose name is Jenny, according to the badge pinned to her shirt, points out the window. "Nothing is reachable without a car."

"Yeah, I’ve noticed that on our way here." He answers casually, eyes wandering through the windows. "Thought I saw a sign though, about a town nearby. Uh, what’s it called-"

"Mesa City?" Jenny asks and Sly nods, pretending he just remembered. "Yeah, it used to be a calm town. Wouldn’t recommend you go there though."

"Why? Nothing interesting to do over there?"

Her eyes bore into his as if she’s searching for something, but her growing grin tells him it’s nothing harmless. "Not for someone who’s looking for pleasure, I guess."

Sly laughs, noting how she seems pleased with herself. She’s probably sure she has him wrapped around her fingers- too bad for her, it’s more of the other way around. "Tell me more," he says, sitting down in the chair on the other side of her desk, a charming smirk on his face. "I like hearing you talk."

—

Sly is sitting on the hood of Carmelita’s car when she joins him at midnight. She’s wearing a black leather jacket instead of her yellow one, black leather pants and black combat boots. Her yellow gloves have been replaced by black leather fingerless gloves, matching the black beanie on her head. 

"You look like you’re about to rob a bank," He says cheekily.

"Get off my car," she simply says, eyeing his backpack as he jumps off of it. "You look like you’re going camping."

"Gotta be ready for everything."

"What d’you got in here?"

"The essentials." He shrugs. "A couple flashlights, some snacks and bottle of waters just in case. Ah, and a survival blanket, just in case." And his cane, but he’s not going to disclose this information so early. She’ll freak out for sure. 

"What about your gun?" She asks, opening her car door.

"I don’t have one," he shrugs. "Neither a regular one nor a fancy pistol like you have."

"What?" She says, looking at him in disbelief. "And how are you planning on stopping this gang without a weapon?"

"With my charm and force of persuasion?" He says, shit eating grin on his lips. She rolls her eyes, slamming her car door. He climbs on the passenger side. "Besides, I thought I was just an assistant? Surely you won’t need me in this case, right, Inspector?"

"Damn right," she mutters through gritted teeth as she starts the car. 

It’s a quick drive as they dont risk coming too close to the city walls. Carmelita parks the car next to a building that’s falling into ruins, hiding the car from the town.

They walk the last of the journey. It’s dark, the desert only illuminated by the stars and the huge spotlights on the city walls. Carmelita has her hand on the handle of her shock pistol as she walks, back straight and head held high.

"I’ve talked to the receptionist," he says when the huge metal gate comes into view. "According to her Muggshot and his gang arrived about six months ago. They stayed at her motel for a while before taking over the city."

"Did she say something useful?"

Sly glares at her but doesn’t mention she’d already know if she could just stop interrupting him. "Said there is about a hundred of goons working for Muggshot in Mesa City, and that they’re heavily armed. She’s heard them speak about the hotel, too. I think that’s his headquarters."

"Did she said anything about the civilians?"

He shakes his head. "Only that they ran away before he started building casinos all around the city."

"We’ll take advantage of the dark to take recon photos. That’ll give us something to work with while I come up with a plan."

Carmelita stops right next to the eastern wall, looking at the holes in the concrete. "D’you have a ladder in your magic bag?" She says, eyeing the top of the wall. "I don’t see how we’re going to climb that wall."

She turns her back to him, deep in thoughts as she analyzes the structure. There’s only one gate and it’s right up front; there’s no way they’d be able to just walk in unnoticed.

Adjusting the straps of his backpack on his shoulders, Sly takes a few steps back, gauging the distance between the different breaches in the wall. 

Doable, he decides, and takes a run up, quickly making his way up. It’s effortless as he climbs the wall quietly, his fingers moving quickly and his arms burning as he hoists himself up. 

"What are you doing!?" Carmelita whisper shouts when she notices he’s gone. "They’ll see you!"

The raccoon lands silently on top, crouching immediately. "I’ll find a way to get you in," he says. Taking out a walkie-talkie out of his bag, tossing it to the vixen who catches it easily. 

"Don’t you dare leaving me here, raccoon!"

"I’ll be in touch, promise."

Chapter Text

Sly has no trouble moving on the wall, skillfully avoiding guards and mentally noting the security systems he encounters. From what he can see the streets are empty, poorly lightened by a few street lamps, and most of the security is gathered on the wall.

Good, he thinks. 

Sly effortlessly jumps on the roof of a nearby building, taking the walkie and pressing the button. 

"I’m inside," he whispers. "I’m looking for a way to let you in."

"You’re going completely against procedure," Carmelita whisper shouts. He rolls his eyes. "I’m in charge of this operation, Cooper!"

"You wanted to get in, I’m in," he says. "Do you want to know what I’ve found out or what?"

He can hear her puff on the other side. When she doesn’t say anything he almost bites his fist in frustration. "Jesus," he mutters. "Alright. There’s about twenty guards posted on the wall. They’re not moving but they have binoculars, and they’re armed."

She still doesn't speak but Sly knows she’s listening, stubborn as she is. "Most of the security is on that wall, I can’t see anyone down the streets." He squints, crouching to get a better view. "Can’t see no surveillance cameras either."

"Muggshot is overly confident no one can go through that gate," She concludes after a while. "That’s good, he won’t suspect a thing."

Sly nods even though she can’t see him.

"Did you take some pictures?"

"I don’t have a camera," he says. "But I’ll memorize everything."

Carmelita curses in Spanish, sounding very annoyed. "Get me inside."

She breaks the link and Sly puts the walkie back on his belt. From where he’s standing on the rooftop he can see the huge hotel overlooking the entire city and several other buildings falling into ruins. Muggshot really destroyed the town to build his casinos.

There are lights coming from a few windows on the last floor of the hotel, which Sly guesses must be the penthouse where the bulldog is hiding.

He jumps to another rooftop, quickly making his way across the city. He sees no one as he moves, not a single camera outside the building and huffs. Fucking moron.

His walkie sizzles on his belt. "Are you planning on getting me in today?" He hears her say, her voice full of sarcasm. He huffs and climbs down a pipe to land on the sidewalk, quickly making his way along the wall. 

"How do you feel about the sewers?" He asks in the walkie, eyeing a manhole on the concrete that he’s almost certain leads outside. 

"I don’t," she says. "Why?"

"Because that might be your way inside, Inspector," he says, taking out his cane and using it as lever to lift the heavy lid. "If it makes you feel better it doesn’t look that dirty?"

"Coming from a damn raccoon," she says, and Sly lifts his eyebrows. 

"Thanks for the blatant racial jab," Sly spits. He’s losing his patience. "It’s be easier if you could just get off of your high horses and let me do the recon work."

Sly hears her exhale on the other side of the line, can hear her boots on the desert ground. "Alright," she says after a while. "Thirty minutes. Try to see if you can find anything useful and meet me back outside when you can."

"Alright. Over and out."

—

It takes him a few minutes to manage to find a spot that gives him a good few view of the hotel, but when he succeeds he lies down on his stomach and takes his binoculars.

The building can’t be described as anything other than tacky. It’s big, with golden details on the windows and a huge statue of Muggshot right next to the front door. It’s heavily secured, too, as Sly can see multiple cameras just on the main wall. No doubt that’s where they’ll find the bulldog.

Two goons are guarding the door, quickly replaced by two others that come to relieve them. Zooming in, he can see golden doors of what seem to be an elevator right in the middle of the lobby, but nothing much apart from that. 

He can hear a car driving down the main street and some voices, too, coming towards his direction. Probably some guards going down to their headquarters, he deduces. 

His walkie sizzles again, and Sly stands up, making quick work of climbing down the wall and joining the vixen.

"Let’s go," he says as he lands soundly on the ground. Carmelita nearly jumps in surprise. "I’ll explain everything at the motel, we shouldn’t stay out here for too long."

—

Carmelita sets down a paper map of Mesa City in the small table in her room as Sly munches on a chocolate bar from the vending machine. 

She hands him a marker pen, which he takes. "This map is from a few years back," She says, distatefully eyeing a crumb on the fur of his cheek. 

Sly makes quick work of crossing out the building that don’t exist anymore (thanks to Muggshot) and writing notes on the rest of it so Carmelita can understand what he’s seen.

Cameras, guards, spotlight, he writes everything down as she looks intently. 

"There’s a changing of the guards in front of the hotel a 00:30. That’s most definitely where Muggshot is hiding."

"Of course it is," she says as she studies the map. "So the receptionist didn’t lie then."

"Jenny," he corrects, ignoring the glare she gives him. "And yeah. Between the ones guarding the gate and the ones staying at the hotel, I’d say there’s not more than a hundred goons working for Muggshot inside the city."

"I’ll report to Barkley in the morning." Carmelita says, stretching her back. "Let’s try and get some sleep."

"Alright," he says. "Goodnight."

"Detective," Carmelita interrupts as he opens the door. "Don’t pull the same shit you did tonight on the rest of this operation. Got it?"

Sly looks at her for while, huffing when he sees how serious she is. "You could just say thank you, you know."

"Got it?" She asks again, holding his gaze.

"If you don’t mind going through the sewers, Inspector. Goodnight."

As he lays in bed afterwards, clean and warm from his shower and in nothing but his dark blue boxers, Sly’s mind travels to memories of a night he will never be able to forget.

If he gets to Muggshot, would he explain why they did what they did? Would he manage to talk to him one on one without the vixen ruining everything? 

He dreams that night, of metal claws sinking through his flesh and tearing apart his body, of blood flooding his childhood house and drowning him alongside his parents corpses.

His sheets are drenched as he wakes up gasping for air, fists balled in the comforter. His alarm clock announces 3:27 in bright red letters as he gets out of bed and out of the room.

It’s freezing outside but he welcomes the chill that quickly calms his scorching body. The moon seems huge in the desert sky, lightening the space around the motel in a way that somehow soothes his mind. Soon, his nightmare is only a memory.

Carmelita’s room is plunged into darkness, a sign she must still be asleep given the very early hour. 

There’s no way I’m going back to sleep, he thinks as he puts his jogging and sneakers back on. Might as well get something out of this.

He starts running, his legs instinctively taking him to Mesa as he runs the 3 miles separating the motel from it in less than thirty minutes. The spotlights on the walls and gate are still on as he watches from a far, but something else catches his attention.

Sly watches as a green jeep comes into sight, stopping right in front of the main gate as the driver opens its window to talk to the doberman guarding the entrance. They chitchat for a while as Sly gets closer, jumping slightly when they start laughing quite loudly together.

He hides behind a couple big rocks on the right side, perking his ears to catch bribes of their conversation.

"When’s Marcus coming in?" He hears the driver say in a southern accent. 

"Tomorrow night," the doberman says. "His truck’s supposed to come in at 4."

"Fuck yes," the other guy answers. "I’d let him fuck my wife for one of his lamb chops."

Sly listens as the two men laugh together, rolling his eyes. Men.

Still, he focuses on the important part of it all; a supply truck is coming through the next night, and it might just be their chance to break into the hotel incognito. 

He runs back to the motel, takes another shower and gets ready for the day. It’s 6 am by the time he hears Carmelita wake up through the thin wall. 

The raccoon is lying on his back, playing on his phone when she finally knocks a while after. She comes in when he tells her to and he lifts himself on his elbows. 

"I’ve sent everything to the HQ. They’ll probably reach out in the morning."

"Cool," he says, throwing his phone back on his pillow. "I need to tell you something."

"I really don’t like it when you say that," she says, sitting on the chair next to the bed.

"I’ve figured out a way to break into the hotel." Her ears perk up at that, a surprised look on her face quickly turning suspicious.

"How?"

"They’re waiting for a truck tonight, around 4. It’s going to be full of supplies- that’s our shot at getting in."

"Where is it coming from?"

"Not sure," he says. "But as soon as it stops at the gate we’ll have to run and hide in the back. Easy."

"And how do you know that, exactly?" She crosses her arms.

"Couldn’t sleep, went for a run." 

"A run," Carmelita repeats, looking at him like she doesn’t quite believe it. "In the middle of the night."

He shrugs, holding her gaze. "I’m not a big sleeper."

"Right," she says after a while. She looks like she doesn’t believe him, suspicious frown on her face, but she doesn’t say it. "Well, I’m starving. Let’s see if there’s somewhere to eat around her."

Sly grins, standing up and taking his jacket from the back of the chair. "Now you’re speaking my language."

Chapter Text

It’s a quick drive to the gates of Mesa City, where Sly and Carmelita are planning on breaking in the city through the supply truck, but it’s also a quiet one.

It’s late, they’re both tired and eager to get their hands on Muggshot, that’s why Sly sets his jaw when Carmelita brings up his night run again as she drives. 

"I just proved I’m qualified for the job, didn’t I?" Sly answers as they’re driving through the desert. "So why are you so suspicious of me?"

"I’m not," the vixen immediately denies, clearly just for the sake of disagreeing with him. Sly huffs, window down as he puts his hand outside, catching the warm wind. Her eyes are focused on the road, and he doesn’t think she’s going to speak, but then she does. "You’re an average detective coming from a shit town and suddenly you’re hired by the most important police organization on the entire world to work on the biggest case of this century? Yeah, it doesn’t add up."

"First of all: ouch," he scoffs, looking at her side profile. "Second of all, Portland is everything but a shit town, it’s actually quite big and nice. And they’re the one that came for me, I didn’t ask for it." Carmelita sets her jaw, and maybe that’s why he adds: "I certainly didn’t ask to work with you."

"That makes two of us."

Sly doesn’t say anything more, eyes focused on the landscape. It’s late, almost four in the morning, but it’s still warm outside. He closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling.

"You gotta admit it’s a bit unusual to go wander in the desert in the middle of the night." She says after a while, breaking the silence.

"Already told you I was out for a run."

"A three miles run in complete darkness?"

He shrugs. "I’m a good runner."

"And a light sleeper."

Sly shrugs again, "Yeah."

She hums, parking the car in the same hiding spot she did the last time they were there.

"It’s almost time," she says as she checks her watch. "Let’s get in position."

The pair hide behind some rocks as they wait silently. Carmelita’s eyes are focused, her jaw set as she looks at the gate. Sly feels the need to break the silence, leg bouncing as he crouches, but he doesn’t have time to because suddenly the unmistakable sound of wheels on the desert sand is heard not far from them.

"It’s coming," he says even though he knows she’s heard it too.

"We’ll have to be real quick," Carmelita says, standing a little straighter. "And discreet."

"Don’t worry about that."

The truck finally comes into view, stopping at the gate like Sly knew it’d happen. The driver opens the car window and starts talking with the guard, allowing Carmelita to move quickly and to slide herself under the tarp at the back of the truck. 

Sly quickly follows suit, running soundly and lying next to her as they flatten themselves, unnoticed. 

The vixen puts her index finger on her lips, indicating to stay quiet, and he nods. They hear the two men laugh and speak together loudly, and then the truck is moving again.

"We’re inside." She mouths soundlessly. 

He nods. Their bodies are pressed together as they lie, heat radiating from the vixen’s body and onto his. He can smell her perfume; rich and fruity, and the apricot smell of her hair as he breathes through his nose. Sly tries not to think about the weight of her arm next to his, or of the way their boots graze against each other.

After a few minutes the truck comes to a stop and they can feel from the way it moves that it’s reversing. Sly lifts the turp slightly, smiling as he sees the truck enter some kind of underground warehouse. 

"I think we’re under the hotel," he whispers and Carmelita nods as she takes a peek out of the turp too. 

The driver gets out of the truck, and they hear him talk to another guy. "I’d kill for a cig, fuck."

"Let’s go for a smoke and then I’ll help you unload everything."

Their voices become muffled as they exit the warehouse and the pair take that as their cue to jump out from under the turp and rush towards the staircase. 

"How do you want to do this?" He whispers. 

"Let’s try and get to the lobby. See if there’s more security than what you’ve noted."

Sly nods, following her as they move quickly. Carmelita has her shock pistol out but lowered as she walks before him and his fingers tighten around nothing, eager to take out his cane. He doesn’t, of course.

Soon they get into the lobby and it’s just as tacky as the exterior ; there’s white marble on the floor and walls, touches of golden everywhere, and a very huge and very ugly statue of Muggshot takes center stage right in front of the elevator. 

"We’re going to have to split up," Carmelita says after a while (reluctantly, it seems) as she eyes the lobby, which is completely unsupervised. The lights are on but there’s no surveillance camera nor guards to be seen. "Do you know how many floors there are in this hotel?"

"From what I’ve seen from the outside, I’d say about eight? There’s a penthouse on the last floor."

"I’ll take the upper floors and see if I can find Muggshot. If anything happens, we stay in touch thanks to the walkies, alright?"

"Okay."

"If you come across Muggshot you do not try anything. You call me, and I’ll be joining you as fast as I can. Got it, Detective?"

"You’re well aware I’m not some kind of rookie, right? I’ve done my fair share of arrests."

"Tony Rossi is far more dangerous than the criminals you’ve faced in Portland, I’m sure." Carmelita says, looking at him with that condescending look he hates with a passion. "Anyway, that’s an order, Cooper, not a question."

"And here I was, thinking that was a democracy." Sly says bitterly, sighing dramatically when she gives him a glance. "Alright, Inspector. I’ll let you have the honors of cuffing the guy."

"Be in touch." Carmelita orders, and disappears up the stairs. 

There’s only one problem though; if Muggshot’s penthouse really is on the last floor on the building, that’s where Sly needs to go. 

His eyes fall on the elevator, and he presses the button, climbing in as the door opens. There’s only one button inside, leading to the last floor. It’s a bad idea, maybe, but Sly presses it, and swallows as it starts moving.

—

The penthouse looks like the rest of the hotel ; ugly and badly decorated. It’s kitsch, there’s no other word for it.

Sly scans the room; like every other penthouse the elevator gets him straight in the living room, welcomed by a plain couch and a dozen machine guns scattered everywhere.

"Charming." Sly whispers to himself, eyes falling on the opening door in the far corner of the room where he can see a bed.

He quickly makes his way over there, finding the room empty, the bed unmade, and some more guns scattered on every free surfaces he can think of. This guy truly has a big problem.

But then his eyes fall on a safe, hidden in a corner of the room. Cooper’s instincts kick in, the urge to pick the lock strong in his guts, his finger flexing unconsciously. He tries to repress it, adverts his eyes to look at the room instead, but then- What better way to know about your enemy than going through his stuff?

Sly gets on his knees in front of the safe, ear pressed against it as he slowly starts working on it. It falls open in no time and Sly feels a little ashamed at how easy it is for him as he looks inside.

More guns, some cash, a picture of an old female bulldog with grey hair and blue eyes (his mother?) and some papers. Nothing interesting at first glance but as he lazily goes through the papers, his eyes stop on a page that looks oddly familiar.

The handwriting is stylish, the words written with what seems to be an ink pen are faded, old, and there’s a drawing Sly has already seen before, but can’t remember when.

There’s five pages total and Sly reads them all, digging through his memory- Has he seen this before when he was investigating the Fiendish Five? 

The room seems to get ten times colder as his eyes fall on the name signed in the last page.

Tennessee Kid Cooper

His father’s face come back to him in a flash, his pipe in mouth and lazy smile as he shows him a book- a brown book with golden letters on it. "You come from a long family of master thieves." He remembers his father saying.

"This is a book that's been in our family for generations." It comes to him in a flash, crashing down on him as he gasps. 

"The Thievus Raccoonus," he says in a breath, chest constricting as that fatal night comes back to haunt him once again. 

Why would a dumbass like Muggshot want this book? What would he do with it? Sly hasn’t seen, hasn’t thought about this book since he was eight- never wondered what it’d become because he simply forgot about it all together.

And all this time, his parents’ murderers had it? Used it for god knows what?

Sly feels his chest closing in a he slowly gets to his feet, pages crumpled in his close fists. He closes his eyes, urges his body to relax as he struggles to get air in his lungs. It’s been weeks since he’s had a panic attack; it’s most definitely not the best time for it right now. 

He can hear muffled sounds in the background but it’s too quiet compared to the buzzing in his ears, and ironically it’s Carmelita’s voice through the walkie that gets him out of his turmoil.

"Cooper, do you copy?" She says, her voice a bit sizzling. 

It takes him a lot to take his own walkie in hand and press the button. "Yes," he simply says, a bit out of breath. 

"Did you hear that? Where are you?"

"Hear what?" He needs to get out of this room, out of this hotel, right now. 

"What that guy just said, through the speakers." When he doesn’t answer, she presses, her tone impatient. "Are you okay?" It’s not worried, it’s annoyed.

"Yeah, sorry, I- I haven’t heard anything."

She pauses and he can easily picture her frowning in irritation at his behaviour. "Meet me back at the car, we need to talk."

"What about the plan?" He manages to say.

"Minor inconvenience. Meet me ASAP."

--

Carmelita is going through her trunk when he finally meets with her. His heart beats at a normal rate again but his palm are still sweaty, and his backpack seems to be burning with those pages stacked into the front pocket. With this new secret and the cane, it starts to feel like a too heavy weight.

"What's up?" He says as he reaches her level.

"Muggshot's not here," Sly watches as she closes the trunk. "But he'll be here tomorrow."

"What did you find out?"

"Didn't you hear what his goon said through the speakers?"

"I was in the basement," the lie rolls easily off his tongue. Too easily, maybe. "There's no speaker down there."

Carmelita seems to buy it, or to not care enough about that detail to dig into it, and she says "He's throwing a party at one of his casinos, to celebrate his conquest of Mesa City."

"Muggshot's too dumb to plan something like that."

"I agree", Carmelita nods, meeting his eyes. "But he's not the leader of the Fiendish Five anyway, so it might not be his idea."

"What d'you want to do?" Sly says, taking off his backpack and setting it down on his seat.

"We'll break into the party, incognito. Mingle with the guests and arrest him."

"We're not dogs," he points out. "They'll notice us right away. Besides, it's not like there'll be many guests apart from his goons, will it? They've chased everyone else away."

"I’ve found the guest list," she says, waving a piece of paper between two fingers. "That guy led me straight to it."

"Okay?" Sly tries to take the list from her fingers but she moves her hand away. He tsks, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. 

"They’ve invited a bunch of low life criminals, we’ll just pretend to be two of them."

"Now you’re speaking my language, Inspector." He says, finally feeling a little bit more excited than he did since then. "Told you working undercover was my specialty."

"We’ll see about that." Tucking the paper inside her back pocket, Carmelita sits on the driver seat of her cab. "Let’s get back to the motel, catch up on some sleep." 

Chapter Text

Sly waits for Carmelita on the hood of her car as he scrolls through his phone patiently. He’s wearing a three pieces black suit, an elegant black tie and black boots. Tonight, he’s supposed to be Lorenzo Di Volutti, an italian drug dealer that’s been operating in Chicago for the past ten years. The real Lorenzo has been recently arrested by the local police, who’s dismantled his traffic, but the news of his arrest haven’t been made public yet so it’s the perfect cover. Plus, the criminal is a Skunk, which resembles raccoons enough.

At least that’s what Sly chooses to believe to get in character more easily.

He checks his watch just as Carmelita gets down the motel stairs. Sly almost gasps as he sees her, more of a natural reaction of his body than a genuine appraisal of her beauty (again, that’s what he chooses to believe).

Still, she’s gorgeous. Clad in a long black dress with spaghettis straps and a slit showing off her thigh, her hair in a curly and messy bun, she looks sinful. He eyes the black stilettos she’s wearing and whistles.

"Not afraid to sprain an ankle, uh?"

"Please," she scoffs, moving a stray strand of hair aside. "I’m a professional."

"You certainly look the part." Sly gets off the hood, noting how her eyes roam over his suit approvingly. It’s the first time she looks at him with something that’s not irritation, but he’s gentleman enough not to point that up. "Shall we?"

She nods. It’s a quick drive to Mesa City, especially as they’re starting to be familiar with it, except this time Carmelita stops at the gate and opens her window. 

"Names?" The doberman at the gate asks, eyes going up from his list only to fall on Carmelita, and he doesn’t hide how they linger on her cleavage.

"Sharon Nicolette," She says in an impeccable new yorker accent. "And this is my friend, Lorenzo Di Volutti."

"Hello," Sly says in italian, smiling at the guard. Of course, he only nods in answer, eyes focused on Carmelita’s boobs.

"Have fun at the party, miss Nicolette."

Carmelita gives him a warm smile and a wink that she immediately loses when they get out of sight. Following the other cars she parks in front of the casino, looking at the other guests in distaste.

"Criminals, all of them." She spits. "They’re all going down tonight."

"We’re here for Muggshot, remember?" Sly says as he opens the door for her. "Don’t lose sight of our main goal."

"Don’t mansplain my job to me, Cooper." It has him rolling his eyes.

"I wasn’t mansplaining anything, geez." He offers his arm to her, which she takes reluctantly as she wears a fake but bright smile on her red lips. "I’m just talking."

"You do that a awful lot," Carmelita says as they enter the casino, ignoring his outraged scoff. 

Sly has never been in a casino before but he’s pretty certain they all look like this; red carpet on the floor, slots machines everywhere, blackjack tables and roulettes on every corner of the room. Rich people, desperate criminals, they all mingle in the room, drinking cheap champagne and playing games they’ll lose money to.

He's never been in a casino but has a natural talent for poker, naturally good at bluffing- and lying. It’s a talent he’s ashamed of having, but that can come in handy. Especially tonight, or in his field of work in general. 

"How do you want to do this?" He says quietly after a while as they scan the room. 

"Muggshot’s here." She discreetly nods towards the back of the room where a particularly large dog stands on disproportionated arms and very small legs, a cigar between his lips. "I’ll go and talk to him. I have an electrifying friend I’d like to introduce him to." 

"You’ve got your shock pistol on you?" Sly asks in disbelief, eyes wandering on her figure with a frown on his face. "Where the hell did you hide it?"

She grabs his chin not so gently, eyes meeting as she scowls. "Eyes up here, raccoon." He scoffs as he frees his face from her grip. "If you can’t see it neither can Muggshot and his goons, and that’s good."

"You’re so weird," Sly says, taking two glasses of champagne from a tray, offering her one. 

"Try not to get yourself noticed while I’m gone."

She leaves on those words, her hips swaying as she walks towards their target. 

She’s insufferable, that vixen, but god is she sexy.

Sly drinks his champagne quietly, eyes scanning the room as he moves casually, getting closer to his partner in case something goes south. He leans on the bar, pretending to enjoy the party as Carmelita uses her charms.

"What’s a pretty young lady like ya is doin’ here?" He hears the shapeless dog say to her and snorts when she fakes a charmed laugh, hand coming to hide her lips in an elegant manner. 

She’s good, he has to give her that. 

The goons sitting with Muggshot look equally as charmed by her accent (and her body) as she talks to them, hips jutting out and muscular thigh on display. 

Even Sly finds himself looking at her, at the stray strands of hair escaping her bun, at her muscular arms and shoulders. He can even smell her perfume from where he’s standing. 

"I love casinos!" He hears her exclaim in that excited tone she’s faking so well. 

"Yeah?" Muggshot says around his cigar, clearly preening. "Want me to give ya the tour, doll?"

"Marvelous!"

Carmelita takes the (large) arm he offers her, eyeing the goons when Muggshot leans in to whisper something only for them to hear. 

She doesn’t make eye contact as they walk pass him but he notices the subtle gesture she makes with her fingers; give me five minutes.

Sly downs the rest of his champagne, setting the empty glass on the bar as he adjusts his tie and scans the room. The goons seem to be enjoying the party more than they’re keeping it under surveillance but the raccoon is not fooled. Somehow, they must be keeping an eye out on the guests. 

He casually strolls down the room, smiling at guests and pretending he’s having fun while he subtletly watches Carmelita climbs up a staircase with Muggshot following her.

She thinks she can handle this herself but Muggshot is bigger, stronger, probably has a hundred guns hidden in his pants, and that makes him take a decision.

A stupid one, maybe. One that would have Carmelita kick his ass for doubting her skills, that’s for sure.

But Sly’s always been one to trust himself and act on instinct, so he does.

Acting like he has every reason to be there Sly slowly makes his way towards the stairs Carmelita and their wanted criminal have taken a few moments ago. He adjusts the lapels of his jacket, run a hand through his hair, his steps light as he goes.

Until a strong hand grabs his shoulder and makes him stop. "You can’t go over there, Sir. Staff only."

Shits, he thinks, conjuring his best charming smile as he turns around innocently. 

"Ah, sorry, pal. I was looking for the bathroom." He says in Italian.

The dog looks at him dumbly, his grip faltering a bit and his brows furrowing as he mutters, "Uh, no speaking spanish-"

Sly swiftly grabs the guy, taking advantage of his confusion to have him in a chokehold, only releasing him when he faints after a few seconds. He makes quick work of shoving him in a nearest closet, eyeing the dog with disdain. "That was Italian, you dumb fuck."

The raccoon closes the door behind him, and quickly makes his way up the stairs. It leads him to a corridor that itself leads to many doors and Sly has no idea where the pair went to. 

It would take too much time to try every single door randomly.

Fortunately he doesn’t have too because suddenly his ears catch a muffled sound, so quiet he almost misses it, so faint Sly realizes the rooms are soundproofed.

"Carmelita," he mutters, rushing to the origin of the sound, wishing he had his cane but also grateful that the vixen had her shock pistol on her, no matter where on her body she managed to hide it under such a tight dress.

He’s expecting to see her hurt, or dead, but it’s not the sight he’s met with as he slams the door open.

Instead, he’s met with an out of breath vixen leaning over a very unconscious looking Muggshot. Her bun is completely disheveled, strands of blue hair falling onto her eyes and one of the straps of her dress was ripped in the fight but she looks mostly okay. Unscarred, compared to the beaten bulldog lying on the carpet next to two custom made guns and shards of glass. 

"What the fuck," Sly says before he can stop himself, eyes falling on the shock pistol in her hands. It’s steaming, just like Muggshot is. "You’re a fucking menace, lady."

Her own eyes fall on him like she just noticed his presence and a smirk draws on her lips.  

"Told you I’m a professional." 

Chapter Text

"Can’t believe you actually pulled that off." A young officer from the county police says for the fourth time in ten minutes.

"So you’ve said." Carmelita says, watching as her colleagues nick the remaining guests from the party - a bunch of criminals all stacked into the same room. How convenient?

"And you’re sure you didn’t take part in their fight?" The same officer insists, eyeing Sly who’s casually leaning on the wall.

"Nope." He says, popping the word. "That was all Inspector Fox’s doing."

They watch as Muggshot is dragged around, cuffed and unconscious into a very large stretcher until he’s shoved into a heavily armored police vehicle. 

Carmelita’s face turn into a genuine smile as the local chief shakes her hand, looking pretty proud. "Inspector Fox, can’t say I’m not impressed. What you just did is one for the history books."

"Thank you, Sergeant Winston. But it was really nothing." Sly almost rolls his eyes at her false modesty. "I was simply doing my job."

"And you did it brilliantly. I’ll make sure to tell Chief Inspector Barkley right away."

Carmelita nods and Sly gives a smile to the older pig as he shakes his hand as well. Soon, it's just the both of us standing there as the county police busies itself with the usual tasks that a crime scene involves.

"You did great," Sly says because it’s the truth. 

The vixen gives him a look, adjusting her dress as it falls and holding her head high. "Told you I could handle this case by myself."

Sly scoffs as she walks towards the exit, but then she turns around, a smirk on her lips. "You’re nothing but my assistant, Cooper!"

"Yeah, yeah," he rolls his eyes as he follows her, smiling playfully. "Keep telling yourself that, Inspector."

— 

Mesa City is declared clear of any criminal activities the next day. With Muggshot sent to a high security prison and every single guests of the party arrested, the few goons that didn’t choose to fight had the intelligence to surrender, hoping for a good deal or an early release.

Sly takes a shower as soon they get back to the hotel, leaving Carmelita to deal with the mandatory phone call with Barkley. It’s her time to shine, after all, and he’s not in the mood to bother her by interrupting it.

His mind drifts back to the pages he’s found in Muggshot’s safe as the burning water falls down his tired body. It took him a lot of years to think back on that fateful night and by that time ptsd had made its nest in his troubled mind, blurring details and memories of what happened to his parents.

He has always been aware of the identity of his parents’ murderers but it took him a while to figure out the motive, deciding it was probably to take out a rival family in a stupid power war. But now, now that he’s found those pages and remembered that brown book his father insisted on showing him almost solemnly, he’s not so certain. 

God, how he wishes he could’ve talked to Muggshot before he was taken down. Ask him every questions his childish brain has tried to repress all those years.

Why did you do this? Why did you take that stupid book? Did you kill them just for that stupid book?

Rage takes a hold of him as he tries to control his breathing, hands flattened against the shower wall as he tries to calm himself.

No need to torture yourself, a voice in his mind says. You can’t ask him, now.

"Cooper?" Carmelita’s voice outside of the bathroom door brings him out of his turmoil. Her voice is tired and he has no trouble guessing his would sound the same. 

She sounds uncertain, like she hesitated before stepping foot in his room to begin with. Sly decides it’ll make himself feel better to annoy her a bit, so he does. "Talk about privacy, Inspector," he teases loud enough for her to hear over the water. "Can’t even stay away from me while I’m showering? Could be described as harassment."

"You’re a prick," she says immediately, usual fire back in her voice. "I came to ask if you were hungry."

"Starving," He answers, turning the water off and wrapping himself into a warm towel. "D’you wanna order something?"

"I was thinking maybe some pizza?"

"Sounds great. I’ll be out in a few."

Sly makes quick work of toweling himself off and drying himself with the fur dryer. He’s in grey cotton shorts and a white tee as he joins her from where she’s sitting at the small table between their bedroom doors. He leans against the balcony guardrail, watching as she’s cutting a steaming pepperoni pizza in slices. 

She looks out of the shower too, wearing a simple black tank top and cotton shorts, her hair damping her back. The air is warm outside, the light breeze making her shiver as it surrounds her. Her nipples harden under her top, goosebumps appear on her arms and cleavage, and Sly can’t help but look.

"What did Barkley say?" He says to distract himself, taking the paper plate she’s handing him. 

"He was happy." Carmelita bites into her own slice, crunching her nose when she burns her tongue. Sly smiles into his own bite. "Said he was very proud."

"That must have stroked your ego real good."

"He wouldn’t believe I did it without your help." She admits after a while, not looking at him. She doesn’t say anything more, and the raccoon also doesn’t know what to say to her, but then she breaks the silence again, clearly irritated and outraged. "God, why are men so shitty?"

Sly shrugs, swallowing the remnants of his food. "Because they can’t fathom the thought of a woman doing a better job than them?"

"Barkley is the one that promoted me Inspector," Carmelita says, ignoring him like it was a rhetorical question. "He knows what I’m capable of, if not why would he have insisted so much on giving me that case?"

"I can tell him I wasn’t around when you arrested Muggshot if you’d like."

"That wouldn’t change a thing." she sighs. "But thanks. I guess."

Sly hums his answer, helping himself to another slice as he sits on the guard rail. His mouth is full as he says, "Did he say where we’d be going next?"

"He sent me the files of the four other members of the gang," Carmelita says, looking at him distatefully. "Says he trusts me to choose our next destination." 

"See?" Sly smiles through the tomato sauce and pizza crust. "He trusts you."

"Could you not speak with your mouth full? That’s disgusting."

"So, where do you wanna go?" He asks, ignoring her jab and swallowing his food. 

"I’m not sure yet." She hesitates a bit, wiping her mouth with a paper towel. "We’ll have to go back to Paris for a few days anyway to prepare the operation."

"Aren’t you afraid the other members will hear about Muggshot’s arrest?"

"It won’t be made public until I’ve put them all behind bars."

"Still," he argues. "There are dirty cops, and they probably have friends already in jail."

"They won’t know what hit them," She promises, standing up to throw the empty box away. "We’ll be leaving around eleven tomorrow. Try to catch up on some sleep." 

She goes to enter her room but stops abruptly, eyes meeting his in a way he can’t describe. "No more night jogging for you, alright?"

"Sure thing, mommy."

"Goodnight," Carmelita says, ignoring his sarcasm as the bedroom door closes behind her.

Sly stays like this for a while, turning himself around on the guardrail to face the horizon. The sun is starting to set, coloring the sky in a pretty mix of pink and orange shades. He remembers his mother then, watching the sunset as they sit on the rocking chair they had on the back porch of the farm. "It means we’re going to have a really nice day tomorrow." He remembers her saying as she stroked his hair. 

Sly loves sunsets. 

—

They're back in Paris in no time, asked to take a few days off to rest before focusing back on the case.

Sly takes the opportunity to finally read the sacred pages he’s stolen from Muggshot’s safe. They’re signed by Tennessee Kid Cooper, which he learns is one of his ancestor that lived in the Far West during the late 19th century. 

He was known for being an outlaw who stole from rich landowners by carrying out old-style train robberies, and that’s how Sly learns this ancestor of his mastered a skill he's never heard about before; he could walk and slide along the rails to evade capture. 

While Sly has inevitably inherited physical abilities without asking for it, such as agility and clever fingers, he’s never really thought twice about what he could do if he developed this skills. He can jump on roofs, sure, can easily match a gymnast’s abilities in running on cable wires and climbing on pipes, but he’s never wanted to master those skills.

They just came naturally to him, which is why it’s no surprise when he’s able to slide on guardrails within a day of trying to. He can’t do it with just any kind of shoe, of course, but it still gives him some pride when he manages to land quickly after his slide. 

Still, a question occurs; do the other members of the Fiendish Five also have pages? If yes, what are those going to teach him?

Sly makes the most of his rest days, goes on runs and slides on some more railings just because he can.

Of course, Carmelita doesn’t rest, and he’s met with a very serious looking vixen when he goes back to their floor the next monday.

"I’ve figured it out," She says in lieu of a greeting, eyeing him disapprovingly. "A few days ago, actually. Where were you?"

"At home?" He says like it’s obvious, because it is. "Where Barkley told us to rest for a few days?"

Carmelita scoffs, clearly outraged. "Did you think this case would work itself?"

Sly watches as she walks to the white board, marker pen in hand. He scoffs. "You know, it’s a real pleasure coming to work everyday. No pressure, no annoying coworkers to ruin your day. It’s a dream."

"Could you tell that to Barkley?" She says, matching his sarcasm. "I’d be really happy to help you get back to Portland soon."

"Funny," He says, sitting at his desk as she writes on the already full board. His hands are behind his head, ankles crossed on his desk. "Jesus, your handwriting is so shitty. And you misspelled Wrath."

Carmelita scoffs, giving him a nasty glance while also looking a bit embarrassed, quickly correcting her mistake. "Sorry for being bilingual, you dick."

"I can speak four languages and my handwriting is actually pretty neat."

The vixen huffs, ignoring him as she brings the board closer to him. "And you bother me in all of them, chico."

"Anyway," Sly says, smiling widely. "Isle of Wrath, that’s Sir Raleigh’s lair, right?"

Sly eyes the words on the board;

Sir Raleigh

Species: Bullfrog

Age: Between 60 and 66

Chief Machinist for the Fiendish Five 

Last known location : Isle of Wrath

Charges : Murder, theft, fraud, torture, identity theft, property damage…

"He is our next target," Carmelita nods. "There’s only a slight problem though."

"The problem being no one knows where that island is, or if it exists at all?"

Carmelita nods again. "That’s correct. We’ll need to stay in Wales for a while, try to figure out a way to get there."

"Has Barkley figured out the rest of this team?"

"It’ll just be the two of us again for now." The vixen says, looking at him with irritation- her favorite way to look at him, really. "Not that I couldn’t do it by myself."

"What a shame," Sly grins. "Did you run a background check on the guy?"

Carmelita nods. "I did." Pointing to a picture of young Raleigh on the board, she speaks again. "Unlike the other buffoons in this gang, Sir Raleigh didn't get into crime because of some tragic event. It seems he was just- well. Bored?"

Sly snorts, "Who'd be bored of being rich? I certainly wouldn't."

The vixen ignores him as she continues speaking, crossing her arms on her chest. "He developed an interest in piracy, which he first attempted during a ride on his yacht. Seems like he hasn't stopped ever since."

"And extended his list of crimes, I believe." The raccoon says, reading the list Carmelita has made. His spine shivers over the word "Murder"- even if Raleigh wasn't the one pulling the trigger on his mother, he still was there that night.

His nasal laugh has haunted more nights that he's willing to admit.

"When are we leaving?" Sly asks, standing up from his desk. 

"Still waiting for the green light from the IT department. They’re working on a communication device for us."

"Not a fan of my walkie talkies?"

Carmelita draws her mouth in a tight line. "Let’s follow the procedure this time, alright? No more funny business."

"The funny business helped us apprehend Muggshot, didn’t it?"

She ignores his point, setting the marker pen down. "We also have another stop to make before we go."

His ears perk up as he smiles. "Now I’m curious."

—

The armory is not a place he was looking forward to go to, but he’s got to admit it’s pretty cool. 

It’s dark in a way that makes it mysterious. There’s a table in the center of the room where a particularly large pink hippopotamus is currently cleaning a gun.

Sly adverts his eyes as Carmelita greets the guy, choosing to look at the room before introducing himself. Different types of weapons are lined up in armored shelves, protected by what Sly guesses is bulletproof glass and alarm systems. There’s a lot of them; guns, shock pistols not unlike Carmelita’s, tasers and batons Sly is quite familiar with.

Another shelf is full of bulletproof vests, smoke grenades and tear bombs they weren’t allowed to use in Portland, not that Sly wanted to. He’s not a big weapon guy, to be honest. 

"Cooper," Carmelita says from where she’s standing next to the table, looking at him reproachefully. "Can you come here?"

"Hi," Sly greets the hippo as he walks to them, giving him a friendly smile. "I’m Sly."

"Murray," the hippo says as he shakes his hand excitedly. "Are you Carmelita’s new partner?"

"Only in title," she huffs.

"I am." Sly says, all smiles. "She’s glad to have me."

"That’s so cool!" Murray immediately exclaims happily and Sly decides he likes the guy.

It seems that Carmelita does, too, according to the way she absolutely doesn’t look at him like she does Sly. She even smiles a little bit, if that tight grimace can be called a smile. "Murray works for the armory, he’s in charged of assigning us our weapons for cases and to take care of them."

"Cool," Sly says. "Do we need special equipment for Wales?"

"Inspector Fox told me you don’t have a gun," Murray says as he quickly reassemble the machine gun he was cleaning. "Did you leave it in Portland?"

"I never used the gun I was provided with." Sly shrugs. "I’m not a gun guy."

"You’re a cop," Carmelita points out. "We’re not asking you to shoot anyone, but you need to have a weapon- for protection. And to arrest dangerous criminals."

"I didn’t need a gun to apprehend Muggshot, did I?"

"That’s because I did," She points out, looking at him firmly. "With my shock pistol."

"Well that’s great that you have it, then. That way I don’t need to carry one."

Carmelita opens her mouth to argue, or to call him off, he’s sure, but Murray interrupts her calmly.

"Whar do you dislike about guns?" The hippo asks, genuinely interested. 

"Never had to use one?" Sly shrugs again. "I’m a cop, but I’m not looking to hurt anybody. I’ve been able to catch criminals without using violence on them."

"What about your own protection?"

"I’m quick, agile. I’ve got good reflexes."

"Those would’ve been no use against Muggshot’s guns!" Carmelita exclaims like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. 

"Would you be comfortable with a shock pistol similar to Inspector Fox’s?"

"Nah," he says firmly. Sly doesn’t want a gun, nor a weapon, he’s got his cane and wit. Not that he can admit it to them. "I’m good." 

"See?" She says, throwing her hands up like she’s done with him. "Told you he’d be like that."

Murray hums non committedly, looking at Sly with a friendly face. "Can we make a deal?"

"What kind of deal?" He asks curiously, barely aware of Carmelita checking her work phone when it rings.

"I’ll try and find a good weapon for you when you get back from Wales, and you’ll try it over there."

"Buddy-" Sly starts, but then Murray looks at him with an affection the raccoon is not used to, and he can’t bring himself to disappoint the over excited hippo. "Okay, sure."

"Amazing! When are you guys leaving?"

"In a few days," Carmelita says. "Murray, we gotta go. Bentley’s waiting for us in the IT room."

Murray nods, waving as they exit the room and busying himself with cleaning Carmelita’s shock pistol. Sly is quite surprised to see she trusts someone else to take care of it, but doesn’t say anything.

—

"No, you got to- Ah, let me do it." Bentley says, a little annoyed as he takes the small device from Carmelita’s hands. "I’ll show you."

Carmelita mumbles as Bentley shows her how to adjust the earpiece and puts her in her ear. "You’ll need to have it on you at all times for it to work, of course."

"That’s pretty cool," Sly notes as he looks at the small black device. "Surprisingly discreet."

"You’ll be able to communicate with each other whenever you need to, by lightly pressing on it to activate the device. Just press it again to break the link."

"Just like a walkie talkie." He says.

"It’s smaller and more modern, but yes, I guess." Bentley says, taking the second earpiece and giving it to the raccoon. "It’s waterproof as well."

"What if we lose it? It’s so small." Carmelita says, taking the earpiece off and looking at it. 

"You can geolocate it thanks to your work phone." The turtle explains, showing them how it works as he speaks, aware the pair is not as talented with technology than he is. "You also can use it as a recording device if you hide it somewhere and use your phone to activate it."

"At short distance, I assume?" The vixen asks.

"Indeed."

"That’ll do. Thank you, Bentley."

The turtle looks a bit offended by the disinterested tone Carmelita is using but doesn’t say anything as he puts his lips into a tight line and adjusts his glasses.

Sly gives him a small smile, which the turtle doesn’t really return but he doesn’t take it personally. 

"You’re all set now." Bentley says. "Please don’t lose them, or break them. They cost a fortune."

"No worries," Carmelita says at the same time Sly says "No promises!" as they’re walking towards the elevator.

Jesus, Bentley thinks. A match made in heaven. 

Chapter Text

Sly is not a big fan of Wales; it’s rainy, it’s cold and it makes his fur feel uncomfortably heavy on his body. Swansea is pretty, though, he guesses. Costal city with its port and small restaurants that give the town a particular charm.

They spend twelve days lock up inside their rooms in the motel Interpol has booked for them, busying themselves on finding something, anything, that could help them locate the Isle Of Wrath. Of course, they’re working individually, only meeting to eat and briefly exchange about what they’ve found.

Which is, of course, nothing.

It’s like the island doesn’t exist, like it’s just a silly legend made up to have people believe in the Welsh Triangle.

On the thirteenth day, Carmelita loses it a bit. They’re so desperate to find something they’re even working together now- well. In the same room, but not together per se. They’re not that desperate.

Still, Sly is bored, fidgety as he’s not getting enough action. The constant rain is annoying enough that he doesn’t even go jogging.

So on the thirteenth day, they fight.

(Over something stupid, too, as Carmelita loses her temper over badly cooked trout and all hell breaks loose. Eating fish every day will do that to a person.)

"Why do you have to be like this all the time?" Sly asks in irritation.

"And like what, exactly?" She scoffs. 

Bitter, no fun, stubborn, impossible to work with?

"Difficult," he settles on. "You’re such a buzzkill."

"I am so not," Carmelita immediately argues. Of course she does. "I am a lot of fun."

"Yeah, right," he scoffs.

"I am fun," She insists. Her brows are furrowed, her mouth is tight- she actually looks like she wants him to believe it. 

Sly absolutely doesn’t believe it.

"Okay," He taunts. "Prove it then."

"And how exactly would I do that?"

Sly shrugs. If he has to spend another second locked in that room with her, he’s certain he’s going to lose his sanity.  "Let’s go out tonight," He offers. "Let’s have a drink, dance a bit. Just take a break." 

Carmelita huffs like it’s the most stupid idea she’s ever heard, eyeing her trout like it’s suddenly become a very appetizing meal. "This is a work situation, Cooper. We’re here to find a way to the Isle of Wrath,  not to get drunk in bars like teenagers."

"I think they call it pubs around here," Sly argues, smiling. She rolls her eyes. "Come on, prove me wrong, Inspector. You know you want to. Loosen up a bit."

She seems to hesitate for a while, but Sly doesn’t get his hopes up. They’ve been working together for a month now, he’s well aware his partner is a little uptight.

But then, against all odds, Inspector Carmelita Fox surprises him. "Fine. But only for a hour, and then we get back to work."

"Promise," Sly says with the biggest grin on his face. 

Of course, life doesn’t allow him to keep his word.

— 

They find the nearest pub and soon one drink turns into four. 

Sly learns two things that night : Carmelita prefers hard liquor over beer and she’s redoubtable at darts.

Ah, scratch that, he learns three things : she’s also an insufferable winner. 

"You’re so lame," she mocks when he misses his shot. 

Sly is not a lightweight, he’s quite good with alcohol, but still his vision gets a bit blurry, his moves are slower. The Welsh are serious about their liquors.

"You’re distracting me," he slurs making her laugh even louder. "You cheater." 

"Accept your fate, raccoon. Admit I’m better than you."

Sly misses the shot again but the laugh she gives him is a nice consolation prize. Her laugh is nice, just like her voice in general. 

Carmelita is a pretty laugher. She’s not ashamed of it, full belly laugh as she throws her head back and closes her eyes. Pointy fangs poke out of her red lips in a way that’s so cute it makes him almost wants to lean in and lick them.

Sly must be really drunk.

"Okay, I give up," he says as he sits on the opposite stool. "This game is rigged."

"You know the rules, Cooper," Carmelita laughs as she hands him another shot of tequila. "That’s the loser punishment."

Sly quickly downs the liquor, wiping his lips in a smile. "Only you could make rules even when we’re playing games."

She doesn’t answer, only drinks one as well even though she’s won. Sly takes a minute to look at her, alcohol soaked brain trying to make sense of her body language.

The vixen doesn’t look drunk at first glance. She’s sitting straight like she always is, but her hair is not as neat as she usually wears it and her eyes are not focused. He wonders if she feels as much out of it than he does. 

"I hate this place," she slurs after a while. "I miss sunny Spain."

Okay, she must be at least tipsy if she’s talking about her private life. Sly may be drunk, but he still knows how to jump on an occasion like this one. 

"That’s where you grew up?" His mouth feels heavy but he hopes she understands his words.

 Carmelita nods. "Born and raised there. I left for the academy when I was eighteen and never gone back."

"Never went back," Sly corrects with a teasing smile. 

"Shut up." The vixen says, but she’s smiling. 

"Do you think you’ll come back there eventually?" Sly pries. "To work for the Spanish HQ, maybe?"

"I go back there every Christmas already." Carmelita shrugs, eyeing her empty glass. "I don’t think I could live there anymore."

Sly nods. "Too used to Paris?"

"Something like that." She gives him a tight smile, one that tells him there might be a story behind this. He’s drunk but he’s also lucid, and he’s well aware she’s not going to hand over her backstory to him so easily. "What about you?"

"I was born near Portland, and raised in a farm."

"No way,” she snorts. "I can’t picture you in an actual farm."

"Well it wasn’t an actual farm, it was more like a ranch?" He says. "In the country side. We weren’t farmers or have plantations or anything like that."

"Too bad," Carmelita says with a smile that’s still a little small. "I was trying to picture you riding a tractor, wearing a straw hat."

Sly laughs, downing another glass. "Well, you’d have to picture a child version of me. I only lived there until I was eight."

"Where’d you go after?” It seems to peak her interest a little. "Did you move back to the city?"

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s stupidity, but Sly answers her. "I went to live in an orphanage, in Fairview. Stayed there until I was old enough to leave."

He doesn’t look at her as he speaks but Sly’s used to this reaction enough to know Carmelita is looking at him in shock. He guesses it’s not very usual to vent about your traumas to your coworkers, is it?

"I’m sorry," Carmelita says. She’s got pity in her voices, just like he knew she would. "I didn’t know."

"’S okay," he slurs and shrugs. "Everybody’s got their own shit, right?"

"Right." She nods, eyes falling on her glass once again. 

They don’t speak for a while, both deep in thoughts and not looking at the other. Sly mentally curses himself for speaking too much. He blames the tequila, tho.

Still, they were having a good night before that, and Carmelita was finally loosing up a little, relaxing her normally frowning face. Some might say she finally got rid of the stick she had up her ass, but the raccoon decides not to think about said ass.

After a while, Sly decides to lighten the mood and gently bumps her arm with his. Testing his luck, he raises his glass with a grin. "To our partnership."

What starts with a simple grin turns into a nice laugh again, one that reaches her eyes and warms his insides. "You wish."

But still she clinks her own glass with his and downs the tequila, scrunching her nose as she does while Sly shakes his head to handle the strong taste. Soon, the shadow that took over her arms for a sec goes away. 

"How about a dance now?" He asks, grinning sloppily.

"I need to go to the bathroom first." Carmelita jumps off her stool and goes, and Sly stands up to stretch his inebriated limbs. His head spins and he has to lean on the table to avoid falling over, his tongue feels like sandpaper, but otherwise he’s good. At least he doesn’t feel like he’s going to throw up. 

"Shit," he mutters to himself, rubbing his eyes to make the stars go away. It doesn’t work, his vision get even more blurry and he doesn’t have time to react when a particularly large walrus comes into view, punching him in the face. 

Sly falls on the ground, barely aware of Carmelita’s scream as she’s held with her arms behind her back before the same walrus heabutts her and she falls to her knees.

His eyes close, and he’s out.

— 

There’s a painful pounding on his head as he wakes up and Sly knows it’s not just the alcohol kicking his brain. It takes him a few tries to open his eyes, the throbbing in his snout and taste of copper in his mouth reminding him of the nasty punch he took in the pub.

His eyes struggle to adjust to the dark but the way his heart jumps tell him they’re in a boat. In the hold of a boat if the darkness and stale odor is a clue.

"Finally," he hears Carmelita whisper near him and finally he sees her. She’s got a black eye from the headbutt she received and her lip is split but she looks otherwise okay. "You’re awake."

"Where are we?" He asks dumbly, eyes falling on the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. Carmelita is in the same state except she’s got some kind of metallic chain around her neck as well.

"We got jumped at the pub," she explains. Sly can feel anger roll off her. "And now they’re taking us to god knows where and that’s your fault!"

"My fault? I didn’t ask to get punch in the face!" 

"I told you we should’ve stayed in the room and you wanted to go party!" Carmelita spits, whisper shouting in order not to get heard. "Your immaturity will be our downfall."

"Now you’re being dramatic," he says, eyeing his cuffs. The humidity of the room has him sweating in seconds and it runs down his temples. "I think I can pick those locks."

He hears her huff in disbelief. "And then what? We’re probably in the middle of the sea."

"Can you swim?" He asks as he tries to sit straighter. 

"Of course," she says after a while. "But the water’s probably freezing, we’d be dead in minutes."

"What’s the plan then?"

"We wait until they take us out, see where it leads us. Then we jump their asses."

"Is that how you got this?" He vaguely motions to her lip and, well, to the neck chain she’s got around her throat. 

"I kicked one of them in the balls when they went down to load the boat."

Sly laughs, only stopping when she hushes him. The look he sends her is more than amused despite the situation. "Aren’t you lovely."

Carmelita hushes him again as two voices can be heard through the vent. They’re men voices, thick with an accent that’s hard to understand.

"D’you call the boss?" One of them says.

"I can’t," the other one sighs. "Ain’t no signal with that storm."

Sly can’t make out the rest of their conversations over the heavy rain and neither can Carmelita as she frowns to try and focus on their voices. 

It doesn’t last long after that as the boat finally comes to a stop abruptly, probably landing into sand. They fall silence, almost holding their breath as they wait, and then more walruses come in to unload the merchandises. 

"Where are you taking us?" Carmelita tries, voice filled with rage.

"Shut up, you bitch." One of them spits. "You roundhoused Mike in the dick!"

Sly gives a startles laugh which gets him a nasty look and a blow to his stomach. The wind is knocked out of his lungs but he keeps his composure, smiling through the dried blood that ran down his nose. "Geez, y'all are sensitive." 

"Shut the fuck up, rat. You ain’t gonna be laughin’ so much when the boss get his hands on ya."

Carmelita is thrown over another walrus’ shoulder in a fireman carry and taken up the stairs while Sly is pulled by the chain that holds his wrists and ankles cuffs together, prisoner style.

He can’t almost make anything as they walk on the wet sand, heavy rain blinding him as a goon pushes him and he falls to his knees, failing to get his balance.

"Welcome to the Isle of Wrath, you poor fuckers. You’ll die here!"

It’s so faint Sly almost misses the small gasp Carmelita lets out and then their eyes meet.

He swears he sees her smile, but then he’s hauled to his feet and pushed forward again.

I’m coming for you, Raleigh, he thinks almost manically. 

Chapter Text

They’re thrown in a dark, damp room that Sly guesses is a makeshift prison cell as he can hear a metallic door closing near them. It’s cold in here, the humidity making him shiver as he struggles to get to his knees. 

They stay quiet for a few minutes, until they’re sure that the goons have left.

"So much for jumping them," Carmelita scoffs angrily as she manages to sit despite her heavier cuffs holding her down. "Fuck this entire town!"

"Losing your shit isn’t going to help us," Sly says as he blinks several times, trying to get used to the lack of light. Soon, he can make out shapes and confirm they’re the only prisoners in that basement. It’ll make it easier for them to escape.

"This is all your fault," she repeats. "If we hadn’t left our motel-"

"We wouldn’t have found the island." Sly cuts her off, finding his confidence back a little when she falls silent. "They probably saw us leave the motel anyway, and drugged our drinks in the pub."

Carmelita adverts her eyes, setting her jaw. Sly speaks again. "And I told you I could pick those locks." 

"They took my shock pistol." Carmelita speaks after a few minutes, clearly pained that he’s right. "And our walkie talkies. And your weird backpack."

The raccoon nods, swallowing harshly as his mind goes back to his cane, lost somewhere in the hands of ill-intentioned morons. Worst, in the hands of one of the Coopers’ murderers.

He lifts his chin towards her head, eyeing her braid. "Do you have an hairpin?"

"You're not seriously saying you can manage that trick?" She scoffs. "This is not a spy movie from the nineties." 

"Can you trust me?" God, he’s done with all this already. 

"Fine." Carmelita breathes after a while. She turns reluctantly, giving him access to her long hair.

Sly struggles to get to his feet, moves limited by the cuffs on his wrists and ankles, but after a few tries he manages to secure a black hairpin between his index finger and middle finger. "I got it."

He quickly gets to work, sticking the pointy hand  inside the lock and focusing really hard. His father had shown him this trick when he was little, years before he became an orphan and he’s a bit rusty. Hasn’t really been using this trick ever since.

But soon, it clicks, and the cuffs at his feet fall open. He breathes a sigh of relief, working on the one on his wrists, twisting his hand in an unnatural way to try and get free.

"Hurry up," He hears Carmelita say next to him, and he sends her a glance.

She looks on edge, furious, and Sly realizes she’ll probably set the entire island on fire as soon as she’d get free, and that’s why he makes a decision.

His cuffs finally open, the clicking sound having Carmelita huff out in relief and swallowing thickly. 

But he can’t have her ruin everything once again; he needs to get to Sir Raleigh first, to speak to him, to understand. And right now the vixen looks way too angry, way too ready to get her hands on some criminals to allow him to do just that.

So instead of taking the hairpin slowly, he rips it out the lock and it breaks in half. "Shit!" He exclaims in pretend surprise, changing his expression into one of despair. "Do you have another one?"

"You got to be kidding me!" Carmelita screams, fangs bared. "Can’t you do anything right!?"

"It’s an hairpin!" Sly immediately defends himself, even though he’s well aware he’s a lying liar once again. "It’s not my fault it broke!"

"Find a way to get me out of here," Carmelita spits through gritted teeth. "Now!"

The raccoon gets to his knees in front of her, ignoring her furious glare as he inspects the chain around her neck. "Shit," he says. "I could’ve picked the cuffs on your wrists but this one needs a key."

"Then find the key." She orders. Their eyes meet for a quiet minute and then Sly nods. 

"I’ll be right back."

"You better be, raccoon." Sly can see how angry she is; the uncomfortable feeling of guilt pools in his stomach. 

Stay here, he almost says, but doesn’t when he realizes how stupid it sounds. No need to anger the furious vixen even more. 

If he wants to stay on this case, he’ll need her to trust him. His little night run was a stroke of luck in finding a way to break into Mesa City; this, over there, is pure and simple betrayal.

It’s making sure his partner (and superior, if we’re taking their rankings into consideration) stays cuffed in a damp prison cell like a caged animal. It’s something a criminal could do to achieve his aims.

Sly may be a Cooper, but he refuses to be a criminal.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Sly finally gets to his knees and out of the dark corner they were thrown into. The basement is empty except for the cuffs connected to the walls and the dried blood that pools on some parts of the concrete floor. 

A charming place, really.

As the raccoon soundlessly makes his way out of the underground prison, it’s soon obvious the island is not the main part of Raleigh’s hiding spot.

There’s a huge cargo boat moored on the other side of the island and a weird looking blimp attached to it, floating in the windy sky. 

Sly instinctively knows that’s where Sir Raleigh must be, and that feeling is reinforced when he thinks back to the goon’s words; "Ain’t no signal with that storm."

That must mean the frog is not yet aware of their presence in the island. It also means Sly has to hurry if he wants to get in and out without alarming Carmelita even more.

The drugs in his body are almost worn out now as he realizes the most of his brain fog is gone. His limbs feel lighter, there’s no pouding in his skull apart from the slight pain in his snout; it allows him to make his way soundlessly but quickly towards the boat.

Sly climbs a tree effortlessly, squinting through the pouring rain to look at the boat. He can’t see much apart from the irregular appearance of a flashlight on deck but yet Sly decides to go there anyway. 

If he can’t see them it means they can’t see him, right?

It takes him way too much effort to make his way into the boat, his moves slowed down by the thick rain and wet sand trying to swallow his feet. After what seems to be an eternity, Sly manages to jump from a nearby tree and catches a floating rope just in time, avoiding a face first crash into the boat’s wall.

Soon, Sly lands on deck, crouching as he takes his surroundings. First, he needs to get his backpack back- and Carmelita’s shock pistol, too, but his cane’s his main focus. He’ll also need to actually find the keys to free her from the chains if he wants to live to see another day. 

It’s like dancing, really; a few light steps, a jump behind some barrels when a flashlight comes too close, a soundless run when footsteps  can be heard nearby. That dance leads Sly straight to what’s supposed to be the captain’s cabin and his guess is confirmed as his eyes fall onto his closed backpack, settled down on a table. 

He slides himself under the table as he quickly checks that everything’s still where he left it, heart sinking when he realizes his cane is missing. The pages are still here, probably useless to the goon that went through his belongings, but his cane-

Sly swiftly puts his backpack on, adjusting the straps as he crouches down, still hidden by the table. He needs a plan, and a good one, too. 

—

Inspector Carmelita Fox is having a very, very bad day. 

It’s been over an hour since Sly completely abandoned her to rot in this wet cell and the vixen is absolutely losing her shit. 

She’s been grinding her teeth since he left, counting the minutes silently as her eyes never leave the broken hairpin that’s been left on the floor.

He can’t have broken it on purpose, right?

No, she decides. He’s just a useless piece of-

A sudden noise breaks her out of her thoughts, her ears perking up to try and identify where it comes from.

It’s footsteps, she realizes, as a big walrus wearing blue overalls limps heavily down the stairs separating her from freedom. She instinctively flattens against the corner of the wall, unseen from where the walrus is standing, straining against her cuffs.

The chain around her neck almost chokes her but she holds her breath as the walrus comes closer, angrily mumbling in an accent so thick she can’t make out any of the words he’s saying. 

He loudly curses all of a sudden, probably noticing Sly’s cuffs left open on the floor. "Fuckin’ rat!" She hears him spit, followed by a nasty wet cough. "Where’s that bitch-"

The vixen acts on pure instinct, jumping on the walrus from behind and coiling the two sides of her chain around his neck, choking him.

He resists, of course; tries to grab her, to pull her by her neck chain and slam her into the ground, but Carmelita holds tight. Uses every strength her body allows, every muscle in her thighs that wrap around his body. Her arms burn from how hard she’s tightening the chains.

Soon, the goon falls cold in a loud thump, face first in the concrete floor of the basement she’s in. She’s out of breath, face bright red as she takes big gulps of air, exhausted from the fight. 

But Carmelita doesn’t have time to rest. She crouches, body searching the walrus to find the key to her cuffs, almost crying in joy when she finds them and frees herself from the heavy restraints. 

Her throat is sore from the chain, the fur on her wrists matted from blood as she fought against the cuffs. It hurts when she rubs at them.

It doesn’t take her long to get out of the basement or to run towards the boat. The pouring rain is an old friend as she makes her way on the island, feet sinking in the wet sand slowing her but Carmelita doesn’t have time to be bothered by the weather; she’s a woman on a job. 

—

The storm is getting worse, rain and thunder sound proofing the boat as Sly runs on a rope unnoticed. It’s dark as he watches two goons playing cards inside a room full of barrels and unopened crates.

A nasal voice breaks the noise though the speakers. "Congratulations, chaps. I hear we just sunk our hundredth boat in the span of two weeks thanks to the Storm Machine!" Raleigh’s voice is hard to hear through the echo and sizzling sound of the speaker. "I’d say this operation is workin’ like a charm!"

Sly frowns as he listens. Storm machine?

"The loot is currently being unloaded and stacked into our special room. Splendid, my friends, splendid."

He eyes the goons as they listen to the frog, cards in hands and looking anything but happy at their boss’ praise. It doesn’t take long to understand why. 

"Now let’s remember who’s in charge here! I demand the boilers stay at full pressure all the time, you lazy fuckers! If y’all are lounging when I get down from my blimp, y’all will regret ever coming down into this earth!"

Sly tenses at the venom in his voice, much as the goons who suddenly look like they’ve seen a ghost. 

"But carry on, boys. Carry on."

The link breaks down, leaving a shrilling sound to echo in the boat. Sly grinds in teeth in hurt.

"Let’s move," one of the goons say as he lays his cards down and stands. "I ain’t gonna wait around for the punch!"

Sly watches as they pick their toolboxes back, eyes squinting when the light catches something next to it-

His cane.

One of the goons grabs it, lazily dragging it so the handle touches the ground. It has Sly tense from where he’s crouching on the rope.

Carmelita’s shock pistol is a heavy weight in his backpack but still, Sly takes it in hand. He hates gun, hates this one too, but he has no choice if he wants his cane back. Physical strength is not going to cut it against guys twice his size. 

So Sly shoots twice, taking down the goons efficiently as they fall onto the ground unconscious and fuming. The raccoon jumps from his hiding spot, keeping his distance as he pulls his cane closer with his foot and grabs it finally.

The familiar weight in his palm has him more focused, more confident instantly, like the wooden handle and golden book is an extension of his own body. In a way, he guesses it is. 

"It’s you and me now, Raleigh." He says to no one in particular. 

A strong body collides into his when he gets out of the room, trapping him against the nearest well with a muscular forearm against his throat.

"Don’t move," a familiar voice spits near his face. He can’t see her clearly but as this point he’ll recognize that hateful tone anywhere.

"Carmelita," he breathes and she loosens her grip a little. "Fuck. It’s me!"

"Cooper," she spits, taking a step back but still gripping his collar. "You left me to rot!"

"I was getting our stuff back!" Sly immediately retorts, handing her the shock pistol he just used. The vixen completely lets go of him and he takes advantage of that to move out of her way. "How did you even free yourself?"

"I’m resourceful." Carmelita says, eyeing the room he just came out. Finally, inevitably, her eyes fall on the cane. Sly curses inwardly. "What’s that thing?"

Sly could say the truth, could admit it’s a family heirloom he’s turned into a weapon, could beg her to keep the secret and let him stay on this case despite the obvious conflict of interest it’ll become once she’ll know the Fiendish Five killed his family. 

Of course he doesn’t. Because he knows she absolutely won’t be on his side and she’ll most likely rat him out.

Also, because these two can’t communicate to save their lives.

So Sly lies. "One of them had it on him when I took them down with your gun. I took it. For protection."

"You used my shock pistol!?" She exclaims, looking downright outraged. Then, she looks at him disapprovingly "And I offered to get you an official weapon, didn’t I? Even Murray tried to help."

"Do you think they’d let me keep it? As an official weapon?"

"Why?" She scoffs, eyeing the cane. "It’s just a weird stick. A fisher’s hook, at best."

"I like it." He shrugs. Hates himself for how easy it is to lie to her face.

Carmelita rolls her eyes. She’s drenched, much like he is, and she looks incredibly tired. Maybe that’s why she drops the subject- for now, at least. "Did you ran into Raleigh?"

He shakes his head. "But I know where he’s hiding."

"In that weird looking blimp, is he?"

"Yeah."

Carmelita sighs, rubbing her eyes. "Any way we’ll be able to climb up there?"

"We’ll have to get him to come down, it’s the easiest way." 

She looks like she’s considering the idea, eyeing the blimp floating over them. "I need to think about this."

"No need," Sly says, packing up his cane and zipping his backpack closed again. "I already got a plan."

—

Carmelita being by his side so soon in this operation wasn’t part of the plan, but it’ll have to do. 

Making their way down the bowels of the boat is not an easy task; the boat is way more guarded than Mesa City ever was. 

Carmelita and Sly work surprisingly well together, moving fast and unnoticed, taking out the goons they can’t avoid and hiding from the one it’s easy to move past. The temperature increases tenfold as they reach it, a far cry from the freezing rain they were almost getting used to. The machinery is loud, so loud they can’t hear themselves talk. Sly’s ears are buzzing with it, sweat drips from his brow. 

"Now what?" Carmelita asks loud enough for him to hear, as if he hasn’t briefed her on what he’s learned while they were separated. 

"We need to find the boiler room."

She nods. "Come on then." 

After a few more minutes of sneaking and dodging the few workers they encounter, the pair finally enters the boiler room. All the engines are humming and vibrating, the room so hot it’s almost unbearable to stay in it. Carmelita huffs next to him, sweat falling from her forehead. Sly’s eyes fall on the bruises on her neck but doesn’t say anything, focusing back on the task at hand. 

"We just have to fuck everything up, and Raleigh will come down running." He says.

"That’s it?" She says in disbelief. "That’s your great plan?"

"You didn’t hear him earlier," Sly looks at her again. "His goons are scared of him. If we put a stop to all of this, he’ll get down to kick their asses."

"What if he doesn’t?"

Sly shrugs. "At least we’ll have destroyed his storm machine and the weather will be good again?" Carmelita snorts. "Well, maybe not good, but a little better? Plus, he won't be able to sink more ships.. So there's that." 

"As long as we get out of this heat as soon as possible."

"Ladies first." He says, waving towards the machinery. 

Carmelita picks up a left out monkey wrench as she eyes the engines, and then she hits. 

Again and again, harder than Sly expected her to, clearly fueled by bottled up anger the raccoon is glad not to be on the other side of. He watches as the engines seem to go even quicker, black smoke coming out of them and filling the room as the whole machinery breaks down. 

"I think that’s good." Sly says, eyeing her with a playful smile. She gives a last hard punch to it with the wrench, a little out of breath. "Easy tiger. I think you’ve had it."

Carmelita lets go of the wrench, looking at her work with a small smile on her face. "It felt nice."

"I bet it did," he says jokingly. "That’s a job well done if ya ask me. Let’s get out of here."

"Gladly."

Chapter Text

Their plan worked like a charm.

Soon, the nasal voice of a very angry frog can be heard from the speakers. "You useless, good for nothing IDIOTS!" His shrilling voice has the speaker crackling and Carmelita chuckles quietly from where they’re hiding on one of the ramshackle buildings on the deck. Their bodies are pressed together once again, flattening themselves on the roof to get a nice view of the panicking workers running around like headless chickens, unseen from them. The vixen looks less angry, more relaxed as they're finally getting some action, and Sly's got to admit he feels the same. 

He risks a glance at her, looking at the bruises on her neck, at the dried blood on her wrists. Guilt takes over once again, but the raccon quickly shakes the feeling off. It's not his fault they got captured in the first place.

"The boilers have completely exploded!" The frog shouts again. "Now if you can't do your jobs properly, I'll come down and I'll show you!"

Gasps of fear can be heard on deck alongside the sound of safety boots running around the metallic floor covering the floor. Then, for only a minute, silence falls onto the boat.

It's quickly replaced by the frightening sound of an alarm going off as the blimp slowly starts to come into view. "Can't believe it actually worked."

"Told you it would." Sly says, lifting himself up on his elbows. "We just have to get to him now."

The blimp lands loudly on the other side of the boat in a trembling chaos. The workers keep running around and the pair takes advantage of the diversion to jump down the roof, landing safely between two containers. "How do you want to do this?" Sly asks quietly.

"We'll split up," Carmelita immediately offers, and Sly knows it's because she wants to be the one catching Raleigh. Mesa's county police officer doubted her skills enough for it to bruise her ego, even if she'll never admit it, and the fact that even Barkley asked if the raccoon had anything to do with her success must be the reason why she's so desperate to prove herself again.

Usually Sly would've argued, tried to double-cross her to get to the frog in time, but somehow he knows he can't. In order to beat the gang and avenge his parents he needs her, even if the thought is a disturbing one. He wouldn't have been able to beat Muggshot, or even locate him if it wasn't for her. Of course, he'll never tell her that.

Sly is also very aware neither Muggshot nor Sir Raleigh were the masterminds behind the Fiendish Five or behind his parents' massacre. There's only one culprit, the devil himself, and he'll be the one who'll have to answer for his actions.

He’ll be the one to tell Sly about that crucial night. 

So Sly agrees. "Alright," he says with a nod. "I'll search through the blimp, see if I can find something useful."

Carmelita nods, taking out her shock pistol and checking it. "Be careful out there." Her tone is softer than he ever thought was possible coming from her, and even she seems surprised by her own voice. Their eyes meet. "We don't have the earpieces anymore. I won't be able to rescue you if something goes south."

Sly grins, eyeing her teasingly. "Worrying about me, Inspector?" It feels nice, this banter; familiar. 

She scoffs. "Just don't want to come and save your ass when I could be beating Raleigh's." 

"You're thinking about my ass?" He teases again and it gets him a nice shove from the vixen.

"Ugh," she says, rolling her eyes. "Don't get lost, I ain't coming for you." 

Carmelita turns around a corner, walking towards the frog's direction and Sly's eyes may or may not fall onto her own butt as she leaves. 

"Whatever you say, beautiful." Sly says, but she's gone already.

Taking out his cane and securing his backpack, he's ready to go.

The raccoon makes his way back onto the roof they were hiding on and uses his cane to slide on a rope, landing perfectly on top on the red containers near him. He runs, jumps and slides some more, until the sight in front of him stops him dead in his tracks.

The entire front hull of the ship is sunken, filled with seawater and floating crates. His eyes go big as he looks at the hundreds of broken boats of all kinds. Commercial, recreational, even a sailing boat or two, completely ripped to pieces and floating away. Sly knows Sir Raleigh fancies piracy and sacking boats, but seeing it with his own eyes is something else.

He thinks of the hundred people he must've killed to plunder their ships and his stomach drops a little. There's a bitter taste in his mouth as he keeps on moving towards the blimp, using the frames as support for his jumps. The graveyard of ships has him landing next to the empty blimp quickly than expected, and soon Sly enters it. It's small, there's only one room with a single bed and a few shelves. Sly's eyes fall on a painting of a wall, painting of a younger Raleigh drinking red wine and looking boringly into the eyes of the artist.

Sly scoffs as he goes through the papers on the wooden table; blueprints of the ship, of the storm machine, and some journal entries the bullfrog seem to have been writing about his time on the boat. He snatches the blueprints as evidence, putting everything in his bag, and puts the entries as well as an afterthought. The more evidence the better, right?

There's no safe in the room, nothing that could hold the pages as Sly ransacks the blimp, not bothering to cover up his tracks. It's not like Raleigh'll be able to come back here anytime soon anyway.

Sly's eyes fall on the painting once again, eyeing it with disdain. His fingers flex around his cane, tightening around the handle as he takes a shaky breath. 

Then, in a swift motion, he hits the painting with all the strength he's capable of. He hits, again and again, watching as bits of the painting come flying around him, a piece of the frame almost blinding him when it lands near his face. It won't bring the Coopers back, won't erase what happened, but god does it feel good.

Sly stands on the bed, walking on the pillow with dirty boots for good measure as he gets the remnants of the artwork off the wall and throws it into the ground. He's met with a hole in the wall, large enough to get his hand through it.

"What's that?" He whispers to himself, securing his cane under his left armpit and shoving his right hand inside the hole. His whole body flattens against the wall as he forces his arm inside it, fingers grazing what feels like paper.

He heart's pouding in his chest, his eyes go big- and finally, Sly grabs the pages and takes them out.

Rioichi Cooper it says on the bottom of the last page as Sly's eyes move on it. There's drawings on those pages, just like there was on those he found in Mesa City, but Sly doesn't take time to read them. He'll have plenty of time for that when he goes home.

He's a bit ashamed for the excitement that courses through his veins at the idea of learning a new trick- Old Cooper habits die hard, it seems. 

His treasure is well hidden inside his backpack as Sly exits the blimp and jumps down on the nearest roof. He can't see Carmelita anywhere down the streets, and can't see any kind of smoke or explosion either. 

He's frankly not sure if that's reassuring or not.

Unfortunately, Sly doesn't have time to think about this too much, because suddenly the roof he is standing on starts shaking under his feet and opens up in two parts, taking him by surprise. Sly barely has time to jump down onto the newly opened room before the roof totally disappears. The room is in open air now, as Sly eyes the sky and then back to the empty helicopter in the middle of the room. Raleigh's escape route, no doubt. 

But if he's planning to escape, it means he must have encountered Carmelita, right?

So where is she?

"Conner?" A nasal voice says behind him, the same voice Sly has had nightmare about since he was a child. Slowly, he turns around, and the old frog's face turn into one of disgust. "Ugh, no. You must be his insufferable offspring."

"Afraid you'd seen a ghost, Raleigh?" Sly spits, fingers tightening around his cane. 

"How delightful," the frog sighs, rolling his eyes like he's disappointed. Like Sly is not a worthy opponent to him. "We have a guest." Sly squints in anger, moving slowly towards the frog, who just casually walks around like he doesn't feel threatened at all. "You see, child, the only thing is... I HATE UNEXPECTED GUESTS!"

Sly barely has time to dodge before the frog launches himself at him, moving way too fast for someone his age, and watches as he sneakily jumps down a hidden hole on the ground. He doesn't know where it leads, what he'll face down there, but he's always been more of a "act first think later" kind of guy- so he follows suit. Jumps into the hole and falls into the same room Raleigh is in, standing on a red velvet throne elevated at the far side of the room.

They're in what seems to be an indoor swimming pool, the water so green and smelling of swamp, scattered with pretty green and pink lily pads, which Sly currently stands on.

Raleigh scoffs as he sees him, as if he can't believe the raccoon would actually follow him in the unknown. "You're still there?"

Sly sees red. "Wipe out my family and join one of the most wanted gangs in the world- You better expect company, Raleigh."

"Aw," The frog mocks. "I'm ever so sorry. How sloppy of us not to finish the job, isn't it?" He taunts with his ridiculously posh accent. "Obviously we should've snuffed you out as well."

Sly's breathing heavily, trying not to get the words get to him- but he's young, still. Quick to anger, easy to provoke. The small, older and rational part of his brain alarms- they knew you were there, that night.

Still, he gives in to anger. "Maybe you should have," he spits. "Or maybe you should've stayed the fuck out of Portland, because now I'm going to make you pay."

The older man has the audacity to yawn. "You shouldn't have come here alone, kiddo. Because now- Without further ado, I'll have to make amends." 

Alone, he said. He's not aware Carmelita is there with him- maybe he doesn't know she's there at all. So why the helicopter?

Raleigh joins his hands in sick anticipating, a huge smile on his face as he screeches, "By bloating to gargantuan size, and squashing you like the insignificant bug that you are!”

Sly doesn't even have time to blink as the batrachian swells up his throat and suddenly becomes five times larger than he was seconds ago, taking the raccoon by surprise. Raleigh launches himself on the lily pad right on his left, and Sly barely has time to jump before a long, sticky tongue tries to seize him. 

The raccoon jumps from lily pads to the other, dodging the vicious tongue that comes for him with ease thanks to his natural agility. He's aware he's not playing in familiar fields as he doesn't know how to swim and is a little slowed down by the ambient humidity that has him sweating profusely, but Sly holds steady. It's also too risky to come too close to the frog as his tongue keeps on moving at an unnatural pace.

Yeah, frontal attack isn't going to cut it in this particular fight. He'll have to tire him out.

So he does. Sly jumps, dodges, tries his best not to let the older man's jabs get to him as he does, finding little comfort in the sheen layer of sweat covering his entire body. His calves are burning as he jumps once again, barely avoiding a hit that has him losing his balance, his boot covered foot dipping in the dirty water.

"You're weak," The frog spits in badly controlled anger, his calm and collected persona long forgotten. "Just like your old man was!"

Sly gritts his teeth, settling on a skill he mastered without the help of any book in the world; provocation. "Tired, grandpa?" He taunts, getting his balance back. "I can see the disgusting mucus dripping down your body."

"Die!" The frog screeches, launching himself at Sly, his tongue dividing in two as it grabs his cane and sends it flying on the opposite side of the room, sinking in the bottom of the pool. The other half of the sticky, pink flesh grabs him and hauls him in the air, the sheer force of it having him choke on a breath. 

"Don't move!" Carmelita's voice can be heard suddenly and both men stop moving to look at her- Sly in disbelief, Raleigh in red hot anger. "Drop the raccoon, mister Raleigh."

"More unexpected guests," Raleigh says through his teeth. Sly finds a little bit of comfort in the idea this guy is having a pretty shitty day. "How fun."

"I asked you to drop him." Carmelita's eyes never leave the amphibian, shock pistol in steady hands. As Sly's eyes roam into her, he notices she's hurt; there's blood on her temple, her jacket is torn apart on one of her sleeve, her left arm held very close to her body like it's injured. Still, she looks... Badass. Here to save the day, with big brown eyes focused and determined. Her tone, infuriatingly demanding that's usually intended for him only, shows she's not here to play. That she will shoot if he doesn't oblige. When Raleigh doesn't, she speaks again. "I believe I asked you nicely. It's not going to happen twice."

His heart is pouding in his chest as he looks at her, but she's not looking at him. 

"You heinous wench!" He screeches, turning to her. "You want me to drop him? Have at it!"

It happens in seconds. The vicious tongue sends him flying, the speed of it taking his breath away. The sizzling sound of electricity echoes in the room, and it’s the last thing Sly hears before he falls into the freezing dirty water.

--

"You heinous wench!" She hears the frog screech. "You want me to drop him? Have at it!"

Carmelita watches in shock as Sly is thrown accross the room, his arms flailing as he falls into green, swampy water. She growls, and starts shooting.

The frog dodges her first shots, but she can instantly tell he's slowed down by what she guesses was a previous fight with her partner. She easily avoids his hits, too, jumping from one end of the room to the other in seconds. Her left arm hurts like hell, courtesy of a particularly strong walrus she's encountered on her way, but she pushes through, finally hitting his tongue with two energy shots. The frog screams in pain, his size reducing a little as he falls to his knees.

"You're under arrest," Carmelita shouts loud enough for him to hear. "I'd suggest you surrender before adding assault against a law enforcement official to your already long list of crimes."

Raleigh's out of breath when he finally answers. "Why don’t you drop the act, lady? Your little friend is already dead. Can't you see?" 

Carmelita's eyes follow the wave of the frog's hand as he points at the spot where Sly disappeared under water seconds ago- the spot where he hasn't resurfaced yet. 

Can you swim? She remembers him asking when they first got captured. She told him she could- but did he? 

Can he?

"I'm done playing nice," The vixen spits, setting her shock pistol to the highest level. Her heart's in her throat at the thought that Sly- her partner in this case, might be dead. "I gave you multiple chances to surrender."

"Don't you understand?" Raleigh says through a gleeful smile. "I'm just-"

Carmelita doesn't give him time to finish; she launches herself at him and kicks him in the throat, watching as he loses his balance and makes a truly disgusting gurgling sound only batrachian are capable of. His tongue starts flying straight out of his mouth again, aiming for her shock pistol, but she's younger, more trained, less tired than he is- and she shoots before he can reach her. 

The frog gets back to his usual size, falling onto a lily pad further up in the room, body fuming. His tongue falls from his open mouth, his eyes close- he's down. 

Carmelita will convince herself later than she was just doing what's right, just doing her job as she plunges into the smelling water without hesitation. She can't see much down there, blinded by the strangely thick water engulfing her in a freezing envelope. Still, she doesn't slow down and goes deeper, throat burning as she finally sees him, unconscious and tangled up in some seaweeds. She acts on pure instinct, securing her hands under his armit and lifting both of them to the surface. 

Something catches her eye underwater, squinting to make out the shape of the strange looking stick Sly looked so prone to keep earlier. It’s just a freaking fisher hook, she tells herself as they finally break through the water, taking big gulps of air in her lungs.

Her left arm hurts like a bitch as she holds them both, legs moving to stop them from sinking. Raleigh's still knocked out as she hoists Sly up on a free lily pad, making sure it doesn’t sink under his weight. 

When she’ll think back of this moment right there, Carmelita won’t know what drove her to dive right back in to get his stupid golden stick back. Let’s just say a strange force, something bigger than her, bigger than all of them, pushed her to do that for him. 

(Big brown eyes full of mischief come to her mind when she grabs the sunken cane. She pushes that image away.) 

He's not moving, not breathing as she crouches above him, back to the surface, setting the cane next to him and starting CPR.

One, two, three.

One, two, three.

"Come on," she pleads as she gently slaps his face. She can't have her partner die on her on a case. "Cooper, come on. Wake up!"

She's pratically sitting on his hips as she gives him cardiac massage for what seems to be an eternity- until finally, Sly starts throwing up water. 

"Thank god," she sighs in relief as he coughs. "Thought you were dying on me, raccoon."

"You wish," he says through his coughing fit. Even now he grins like an idiot. "You can't get rid of me, Inspector."

Despite herself, Carmelita laughs. Despite herself, she's relieved he's alive.

(Because it would've been a pain to explain his death to Barkley, not because he's slowly growing on her. He's not, he's annoying, a bit dumb, and she doesn't need a partner.)

The position they're in gets a little bit more real as Sly sits up, eyes growing bigger when their faces are inches away from the other, Carmelita being sitted on his hips in a way that could easily be described as inapropriate from an exterior point of view.

Her face burns a deep red as a lazy smirk draws on his lips, cheekbones a little pink on his side too, but she doesn't give him time to tease and she stands up right away, almost kicking him in the process.

"Right," she says, clearing her throat. "Well, I need to call for back up. Raleigh's out and you need to get to an hospital."

"I'm fine," Sly says, his voice hoarse. He coughs some more, but this time, it's a wet cough. What's inside that disgusting water must not be good.

"That was an order." Carmelita cuffs the frog, sending him a nasty glare. "Not a question."

Sly struggles to stand up, holding his side as he grimaces. "Can't believe you can't freaking swim." Carmelita mumbles as she struggles to stand up, wet clothes weighing her down. 

She doesn’t look at him directly, however she can see him pick up the cane in her peripheral vision and looking at him strangely. Carmelita doesn’t need to look to know he must be grinning like an idiot.

"Did I ever tell you you're the best?" He teases with a shit eating grin, hand closing around the handle.

"I freaking hate you." She announces, but there’s no fire in her voice.

Chapter Text

Sly stays in the hospital for a whole week, official request of Chief Inspector James Barkley himself. 

Carmelita doesn’t visit him, of course she doesn’t, but Sly gets a surprised visitor ; Neyla. 

Which he hasn’t seen since he graduated from the police academy, and who has changed a lot since it happened. 

She’s still as pretty, of course. Her brown hair is covered by a red headscarf and she’s wearing a simple white tank top and a pair of blue jeans, her civilian outfit, he guesses, and she brings him a box of freshly baked pastries. 

"I’ve never been happier to see you, Miss Sharma," he grins, biting on a coffee flavored eclair. 

"It’s Inspector Sharma, now," Neyla says as she sits on his hospital bed. "Thanks to your new partner, if the rumors are true."

Sly nods, mouth full. "Carmelita has been assigned to another case. I didn’t know you were the one that took over her work."

"I’m not surprised she didn’t brag about that." Sly watches as she dips her finger into the cream of the pistachio custard still in the box. His eyes follow the movement as she licks it. "This woman is a real pain in the ass."

"She’s not that bad," he immediately says, feeling the need to come to her defense- even though the tigress is not exactly wrong. "It just.. takes a while to get used to her is all."

"Enough about her. I was quite shocked to hear you were transferred from Portland." Neyla grins at him, the same playful grin that kept him awake on some occasions at the academy. Sly puts those memories away, if only because he’s only wearing a thin hospital gown that leaves very little to the imagination. "What’s up with that?"

"You’re not the only one that got promoted." Sly says, which has Neyla nodding in agreement and he meets her eyes, speaking again. "They’ve asked me to work on the Fiendish Five case."

"No way," She gasps after a few seconds. "That’s what you’re doing with old ironsides?"

"I thought you knew." Sly frowns. "I thought everyone knew."

"Can’t say I did." Neyla says on a frown, standing to walk towards the window. "And here I thought she’d gotten demoted."

Sly watches as Neyla seems to be processing the information. They go way back, together. 

When Sly got into the police academy, he was nothing but an eighteen years old orphan with a lot of anger and a hard time with authority. He struggled to follow the rules, wore his last name like a weight on his shoulders.

Neyla called him out on his bullshit many times. Told him to man up, to suck it up if he wanted to make a name for himself in the profession; that everybody had shit to deal with and no time to spare for his. 

They became friends no long after that. Neyla was fearless, not afraid to put herself out there, unwilling to waste time with other people feelings. 

Sly was angry, thirsty for justice, painfully loyal. Together, they made quite the pair. 

Sly has to admit Neyla had been his sexual awakening despite herself, even though he’s pretty sure she’s well aware he had a big crush on her when they were younger. It's not like she didn’t have a lot of fun teasing him back then. 

She might’ve changed physically, but Sly is well aware she’s still the explosive, sometimes selfish woman she’s always been. It’s what got her where she is now, isn’t it?

That’s why Sly finds himself saying, "Keep it to yourself then." Even though he’s well aware giving her this information might be coming back to bite him in the ass sooner rather than later.

Especially seeing how she seems to dislike Carmelita on a deeper level. 

Neyla nods again, looking out the window. She looks deep in thoughts. "Well, I guess that explains why you’re in that hideous gown then, doesn’t it?" Then, on a smirk, she adds in her signature british accent; "You got your ass beaten by one of them."

"I’m fine." Sly says dismissively. "I’d be back on the field already if it wasn’t for Barkley." 

She snorts.

"Yeah, well," The tigress says as she turns towards him again. "I’d avise you to enjoy the time away from your lovely partner."

"I'll keep that in mind." Stuffing his face with the last of his eclair, Sly watches as Neyla closes the box of pastries and starts walking towards the door. "Hey, what're you doing?"

"Thought this was for you only?" She says cheekily. "Sorry to disappoint, handsome. I've got to go."

"Thanks for coming, I guess." Neyla gives him a grin, which he returns. "And thanks for the eclair."

The tigress gives him a military salute which he answers with a wink, and then she's gone.

--

"This doesn't make any sense." Carmelita mutters for the third time in a ten minutes span, head bowed down towards Mz Ruby's file. Her eyes have been reading the same words all morning, trying to make sense of them, to no avail.

If she thought they had limited informations on Sir Raleigh and the Isle Of Wrath, what they have on the aligator is basically nonexistent. Carmelita knows she's about fifty, that she was born and raised in Louisiana where she started taking interest in voodoo and other mystic arts thanks to her parents, well known for being a couple of fortune tellers in one of the most famous funfair of Bâton Rouge.

Carmelita hates not knowing things, especially things related to cases.

"Cooper, come here," She says, only to be met with no answer, which has her lifting her head. Her eyes fall onto his empty desk, tidied and clean- just like it’s been all week.

Right, he’s not there. He’s in the hospital. 

For some reason, it bothers her. Not that’s she worried, of course; she knows a week in the hospital was more the result of Barkley’s obligation as their boss than an actual necessity linked to Sly’s health, but still. She’s been speaking to herself the entire week and it’s starting to get on her nerves. 

It surprises her, the realization that she was about to ask him for his input on Mz Ruby’s file, but she guesses it’s her new normal, ever since they were partnered together.

Besides, even if she’ll never say that out loud or allow someone to suggest it to her, Sly is actually a good partner- work wise. He’s smart, he’s got good instincts and an open mind that allows him to explore the silliest leads. Also, he doesn’t get mad when it’s a dead end, unlike her.

They complement each other well, it seems. 

It makes her gag. 

Winthorp’s annoying voice breaks through the phone on her desk, getting her out of her thoughts. "Erm, Inspector Fox? Are you there?"

"What is it, Winthorp?"

She needs a coffee, and a cheeseburger.

"Chief Inspector Barkley is asking for y-you in his office, ma’am. Should I t-tell him you’re on your way?"

Sighing, Carmelita pinches the bridge of her snout. "Alright. Yeah, I’m coming down."

"Thank you," the weasel says. 

It takes her a few minutes to get there, but finally Carmelita knocks on the already opened door of the badger’s office. He lifts his head and smiles as he sees her.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does. "You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"Fox, yes, actually. Come in, please, and close the door would ya?"

The vixen obliges, standing straight with her hands behind her back, head held high under the badger’s amused look. "Dont you wanna sit down?"

"I’d rather not," Carmelita says after a while. "If that’s okay."

"Relax, Fox. I didn’t call you here to tell bad news."

Despite herself, she relaxes a bit. Being called to her boss’s office hasn’t really been great for her as of lately. 

"Have you heard from Detective Cooper?" When the vixen shakes her head, he continues. Carmelita swears he looks a tad disappointed by that fact. "He’s coming out of the hospital tomorrow morning."

"That’s great." She says, forcing her tone to be more excited than she actually feels. It's not like she’s not happy he’s well, or that he’s coming back, it’s just that she’s not glad he’ll come back to her being stuck on the case. 

It’s easy to get used to being the best cop in the team. 

"It is." Barkley says, eyeing her strangely. Whatever he’s searching for it doesn’t look like he finds it, given the sligh frown on his face. "How’s it going on the Fiendish Five case? Have you figured out who you’ll be going after next?"

"I was thinking Mz Ruby." Carmelita says, leaning with her hands on the chair’s back. "It makes the most sense after Sir Raleigh and Muggshot."

"You've done great on those two arrests, you and Sly." He says appraisingly, and Carmelita bites her tongue in order not to remind him she’s the one that beat them, not Sly. "But don’t underestimate Mz Ruby, or overestimate your skills. Those are still very dangerous criminals."

"I know, Sir." She nods. "I’m still working on locating her."

"I’m sure your partner will be of great help once he’s back tomorrow."

This conversation is painful, she thinks. Still, Carmelita nods, acting like the good soldier she’s always been- or the good soldier Interpol always wanted her to be. "No doubt."

Barkley seems to hesitate as his fingers graze a brown file at the top of his pile, her eyes following the movement. "There’s another case I need your input on, while you’re stuck on the Fiendish Five one."

"I’m not stuck," Carmelita rushes to say, adverting her eyes when he looks at her with a bored look. He knows her like the back of his hand, she’s his protégé, after all. "But I’ll be glad to share my expertise on any other case in the meantime."

"Have you heard of the Alabama Butcher case?"

"Can’t say I have." A wave of nausea runs through her as Barkley slides the closed field towards her. It seems to hold a weight she can’t quite comprehend yet. Her eyes fall on it, but she doesn’t touch it.

When Carmelita’s eyes meet the badger’s, she sees something terrifying in them. 

"I’ll let you study the file. Once you’re done, I want you to come back here and tell me if you still want to work on that case. You’ll need to check with Sly, too. You’re a team now."

"Okay." Carmelita says, grabbing the file. A strange feeling is in her guts as she holds it under her arm. "I’ll see you tomorrow then."

Her hand is on the doorknob when Barkley speaks again. 

"Carmelita," he says, his voice quiet. Calm. "Birmingham Police has turned to us because they failed that case." Carmelita doesn’t turn around, eyes focused on the door as she listens. There’s hesitation in his usually steady voice when he speaks again. "The Deputy in charge- she’s dead."

She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, feeling how the room grows colder around them. Finally, she turns her head, looking at the older man with the face of someone determined, someone not afraid. "I’ll catch him."

She only receives a tight nod and a worried glance. "We’ll see about that tomorrow."

The door closes behind her.

As Carmelita sits back on her own office chair, reading glasses on her snout and starts to go through the file, it feels like an ice bucket has been poured on her head.

—

Sly finally comes back to the office the next day, all smiles and charm as he makes his way through their empty floor. This so called team they were supposed to be a part of seems to have been put on hold, seeing how there’s only the vixen in her own office and nobody else. 

He can see her through the glass door, cute little black glasses perched on her snout as she holds her chin with her hand, eyes roaming on the page she’s reading. 

Sly grins as he opens her door unannounced, chuckling when she jumps. "Did you miss me?"

Carmelita groans as she takes off her glasses, looking at him with way less fire than he anticipated. She looks almost- sad? No, that’s not it. 

"I didn’t hear you." She simply says before rubbing her eyes. 

The lack of banter is what alarms him the most. "I was expecting some balloons, maybe a ’welcome home' banner." He teases anyway, sitting on the free chair on the other side of her desk. "At least some fireworks."

"You were gone for a week," She scoffs. "And you weren’t even injured! That was basically a vacation."

Sly shrugs. "If you consider lying butt naked in an hospital gown and eating bland food a vacation, then yeah."

Carmelita only hums, closing the file she was currently reading. They’ve been working together for three months, now, and Sly is proud to say he’s learned to decipher her body language. 

There’s no sign of her usual irritation, she’s not frowning or scowling. In fact, her eyes look empty, which is even more frightening than her usual state of anger. "Are you working on the case?"

"Barkley wants our help in another one, to take a break from the Fiendish Five." She finally looks at him. "It’ll help us locate Mz Ruby if we allow ourselves to take a step back for a while."

"Okay?" Sly says. He’s the one that’s frowning now, looking at her with uncertainty. "What case is that?"

Carmelita turns the file around so that it faces him, allowing him to read the bold letters on its cover. 

"The Alabama Butcher?" He says in a scoff. "Charming guy, I assume."

"Sly," Carmelita says. Their eyes meet again and she looks dead serious. It has him swallowing his own saliva. "This case, it’s-" She sighs. "Barkley won’t let me work on this alone, he needs to know you’re in this too."

"Why wouldn’t I be? We’re partners, right?"

"Read it." The vixen orders in that strange tone of hers. "And then we’ll talk."

"You’re freaking me out," Sly says as he stands up and takes the file. Carmelita looks like she’s seen a ghost and it’s frankly starting to make him uneasy. 

He goes to sit at his own desk when she doesn’t answer with anything else but a tight nod, and starts reading. 

According to the file, the ‘Alabama Butcher’ has been in activity for about a year. What started as an ordinary case regarding the disappearance of a well known prostitute of Birmingham took a nasty turn when said prostitute was found dead in a ditch, her body so damaged it took four weeks to be able to identify her. 

From that moment, it only got worse. More sex workers started to disappear, one after the other, only to be found weeks later in isolated areas, their bodies in shreds.

Soon, Birmingham Police was forced to admit they had to do with a serial killer, which, of course, terrorized the inhabitants of the town.

Sly reads the never ending list of victims’ names, all females, and all sex workers well known in a few particulars neighborhoods of Birmingham. As often with serial killers, there’s a pattern: he only kills women, they’re always found in isolated areas such as wastelands or abandoned buildings, and they’re always- well, butchered.

He frowns as he turns the pages, falling on photographs of the victims’ bodies. A wave of nausea takes over his stomach as he looks at all the blood, the chopped body parts lying next to their battered bodies.

The obvious traces of blows and torture the killer seem to leave on every single one of those poor women, like a sick game he’s playing before finally putting an end to their sufferings.

Sly takes small comfort in seeing no mention of sexual abuse in the reports. It seems the killer is not choosing his victims because of their careers, but probably more because of their status in society. 

It’s always easier to kill people no one will come looking for, it seems. 

It baffles him how no one has managed to identify or catch him. Those killers, as crazy as they are, they always end up overconfident and eventually, they make mistakes. 

This one seems to be smarter than the average.

When his eyes fall on the last report in the file, the world stops spinning around him. His breath catches in his throat, heart pounding. 

Deputy Anna Williams

22 years old

Date of death: November 3rd

Cause of death: Murder by asphyxia

Sweat drips down his forehead while dread fills his heart. His finger graze the picture of the woman he’s called his friend for his entire time at the police academy, smiling politely at the camera, wearing her police uniform proudly. 

He doesn’t dare look at the autopsy picture. Doesn’t dare read more, doesn’t want to see her naked and battered. 

His eyes read the date of her murder again: November third. Anna got killed while he was in Wales, and he had no idea.

Sly focuses on his breathing, closes his eyes. It can’t be true. It can’t be. 

"Sly?" Carmelita’s voice has him opening his eyes painfully. He’s breathing hard, his eyes are watering. When he meets her gaze, he can see worry in her eyes. "Are you done reading?"

Are you okay? Is the silent question. 

"I’ve just finished," He breathes, closing that haunted file. Slowly, he stands up, and the room is spinning around him. "I think I need fresh air.”

"I’ll come with you." She immediately says, grabbing his shoulder when he walks towards their small balcony. He’s pale, barely aware of the warmth of her paw on his covered fur.

Sly leans on the guardrail, closing his eyes once again and taking a deep breath, focusing on the sounds of the city, on its smells. 

Anna’s laugh comes back to his mind, memories of them having lunch and talking about everything and nothing, debating over silly topics. He hasn’t hear from her in years, they only texted each other on birthdays or holidays, but he still considered her a friend. 

God, he’d been so happy for her when she was promoted Deputy. 

And now she’s gone. Gone because she was investigating a sociopath. 

Gone because she might’ve been too close to solve the case, and she became a problem. A liability the killer had to take care of.

He feels sick.

"It’s quite awful, isn’t it?" Carmelita whispers after a few minutes of silence. She’s not facing him, looking in the distance. "This case."

"Fucking awful." He agrees sadly. "I’ll never understand how someone can do something like that to a person."

"It made me sick to read of all that," She offers, turning her head to look at him. "But you look particularly distraught."

He guesses it’s her way to express worry, as insensitive as it sounds. 

"I knew the Deputy that got killed on the case." He admits after a while. Still, he doesn’t look at her. "I did my classes with her back in Portland."

"Shit," she breathes. And then, after a beat, "I’m sorry."  

He nods. There’s a lump in his throat he struggles to swallow around. 

"How well did you know her?" Carmelita tentatively asks. She looks sincerely sorry, but Sly realizes she’s asking to evaluate the conflict of interest it’ll represent if they took the case. 

Of course Carmelita would want the case. Solving a case no one could, proving herself to be a great cope again, putting a sociopath behind bars. She’s like this, isn’t she? 

Despite the hole in his heart, Sly puts on a brave face, finally turning towards her. "Not well." He half lies. They lost touch, it’s true, but they were good friends a couple years back. "She was a classmate."

Brown eyes focus on him, trying to tell if he’s telling the truth. He holds her gaze, shrugging with one shoulder like he’s not two seconds away from sobbing like a child. The slight frown on her face tells him she knows he’s lying. Still, she doesn’t voice it.

"Alright." Carmelita agrees quietly, softly. Too soft for the relationship they share. "Do you want to take the case?" She asks.

Do you want to take the case for her? Is the silent question. 

Do you want to avenge her? He can read in her determined eyes. 

"Yeah." He nods. "Yeah, let’s take down this bastard."

Chapter Text

"Are you absolutely sure?" Barkley asks again, two plane tickets between his fingers, worried eyes locked on Carmelita. 

They're leaving for the airport soon, ready to fly to Birmingham. It’s been four days since Sly read the file, four days since they agreed to take the case.

Also four day of dreadful silence and unbearable distance between them. They’re not fighting, they’re not even talking, if she’s being honest. It’s like her usually teasing and way too chatty partner has locked himself into an unbreakable fortress; his walls are up, and Carmelita cannot climb them.

She plans their trip during those four long days, while Sly reads the file again and again, trying to find something helpful. Perhaps he’s torturing himself, too, because Carmelita can see right through his lies. 

She’s well aware he’s grieving his friend. 

She books a nice hotel downtown under a fake name, rents a mundane car, deals with the basic logistics to keep her mind busy. Still, when she looks up and her eyes fall on the distraught raccoon multiple time during those days, her heart clenches in her chest. 

His leg bounces repeatedly as he reads or writes down, his lip bloodied from how much he picks on his skin. She’s worried he won’t be able to get things into perspective once they’re in Birmingham, and on a few occasions the vixen wonders if she made the right decision when she agreed to let him work with her on the Alabama Butcher case.

She should’ve told Barkley of that conflict of interest, should’ve told him they were unable to help because of it and focus on Mz Ruby instead, but something in her guts told her not to.

Carmelita has lost a couple of coworkers over the years. Some retired, some died of diseases or in accidents unrelated to the job, some just transferred to another city, but she’s never lost a friend. 

And because of that, Carmelita is unable to understand the depth of the raccoon’s feelings regarding Deputy Williams’ murder. So instead of trying to talk to him about it, feeling he might just lie and say he’s fine anyway, the vixen decides to give him something more precious; her trust.

If he needs to solve the case in order to grieve, then so be it. She’ll be right there with him. 

Back to the present, Carmelita nods. There’s no fear in her features because she doesn’t feel any. She’s determined, she’s angry. Outside Barkley’s office, Sly is quietly talking with Bentley. He looks calm, collected. If it weren’t for the tired look in his brown eyes, he’d look completely normal. "We are."

"Alright." Barkley nods reluctantly. He looks worried, but still gives her the tickets. "I’ll need you to update me as much as you can, Fox."

"I will." She easily promises. "We’ll be back in no time, Sir."

"I need you to be very careful," The badger says, locking eyes with her. "The both of you. This isn’t some harmless criminal, we’re talking about a serial killer."

"A serial killer I will bring to justice." Carmelita says firmly. "I can promise you that."

"I know you will." Barkley says after a while. They hold gaze for a while, until he nods again. It warms her heart a bit, this trust he’s showing her. He’s the one that stopped Interpol from demoting her in the first place, after all.

As Carmelita exits the office, she catches Bentley’s annoyed tone. "I can’t believe you lost a five thousand dollars worth of equipment on your first case!"

"We were captured!" Sly defends himself. "It’s not my fault they took the devices!"

"You were responsible for it!" Bentley exclaims. He reminds Carmelita of a disappointed father. 

"Gentlemen," she greets, interrupting their conversation. "We have to leave soon."

"Thank god," Sly huffs as he uncrosses his arms. "Bentley here has been scolding me for the past ten minutes."

"About the lost earpieces, I assume?" She says, very amused. "Very sorry about that." 

"You’re not," the turtle grumbles, handing her the small boxes containing two brand new pairs of earpieces not unlike the previous ones. "I’d be grateful if you could avoid losing those too."

"We’ll be extra careful." She quickly reassures, pocketing the boxes. "Are you ready?" The question is directed to Sly, obviously. 

For the first time in four days, he meets her eyes. "Yeah, let’s go."

—

They don’t sit together on the plane for safety reasons, only reunited when Carmelita picks him up with the rental car a block away from the airport.

The only sound in the black honda is the radio as she drives towards their hotel, until finally, Sly breaks it. His head is turned towards the window, looking outside. 

"How many people do you think the Fiendish Five killed?"

If the question surprises her, she doesn’t show. "A lot." Is her simple answer. "They weren’t linked to every murder they’ve committed, unfortunately."

He knows. They weren’t officially linked to his parents murder, after all. That’s why he was able to work on their case in the first place despite wearing the Cooper name.

"Why do you think they kill?" He asks. 

Carmelita doesn’t answer right away, but he can see her fingers tightening around the steering wheel from the corner of his eye. Finally, she speaks again, but it’s strained. "For the same reason this guy we’re after does it." Her eyes fall on him, and he reluctantly looks at her. "Sociopaths don’t need motives."

"I guess not." He agrees, and silence falls once again.

They do not speak again until they reach the hotel, parking inside its underground parking lot and taking their suitcases as they reach the lobby. 

"We have a reservation," Carmelita politely says in english to the receptionist. 

"Name?" The older looking wolf asks, typing on his computer. 

"Marisol Esposito." She says, using one of her many aliases. Carmelita slides her fake ID towards the wolf, who makes quick work of scanning it. 

"Room 306," he announces, giving her a magnetic key. "On the third floor. The elevator is on your right, ma’am.”

"There must be a mistake," She frowns. "I booked two rooms. Two double bed rooms."

The wolf slowly shakes his head, turning the computer screen towards her. "I’m afraid not, ma’am. It seems you booked only one room."

Carmelita burns a bright red as she looks at the screen, way too aware of the amused looking raccoon next to her. "Do you happen to have another one available?"

The wolf turns the screen back as he checks, sealing their fate as he shakes his head once again. "Not at the moment, ma’am. But it looks like a room on the second floor will be free in two days."

"Alright," she says. "We’ll take it."

Carmelita deals with it, paying the room with Interpol’s credit card they were given for the case, and then they walk towards the elevator.

"This is what I get for not booking a shitty motel for once," She curses, pressing the button way too many times. 

Despite the terrible situation he’s facing, Carmelita’s despair never fails to amuse Sly, who grins in response.

"Shut up," she scolds as they enter, eyeing her grin with an annoyed look. 

"I haven’t said anything yet." He playfully says. 

"Keep it that way."

The room Carmelita has booked is simple but elegant. There’s a closer on the right side, facing the bathroom door, and a little further on the room a queen size bed with blue and white silk sheets. The room is decorated with taste; paintings of Alabama’s landscapes, elegant blue curtains and a pretty fluffy white rug. 

The bathroom is small but clean, with a large enough bathtub and a double sink. 

Sly whistles as they puts down their suitcases, taking the room. "Can’t believe you made us sleep at that shithole back in Mesa when we could’ve slept in places like this."

"It’s not like I had a wild choice of places back in the desert," She reminds him. "And should I remind you we were supposed to lay low back then?"

"Aren’t we supposed to lay low right now?" He counters, kicking off his boots and jumping onto the bed, falling on his back. "This is heaven."

"Not exactly." Carmelita says after a while, busying herself with examining the room.

Looking for what, he wonders. Bugs, cameras, maybe dust. He’ll let her go at it.

"What do you mean?" He says, arms under his head as he watches the elegant molding covering the ceiling. 

Carmelita doesn’t answer right away, probably checking the bathroom for god knows what as Sly rolls onto his stomach, opening the night stand on the side of the bed he’s decided to claim.

A bible, some tissues and a forgotten condom were left there in sad irony, the latter making him raise his eyebrows. "Looks like the last guests had fun in this room."

"Let’s hope they changed the sheets." Carmelita says as she comes back from the bathroom, padding barefoot on the wooden floor. "The bathroom is clean."

Sly hums in agreement, closing the drawer to sit back with his socket-covered feet on the ground. "What did you mean earlier?"

She eyes him hesitantly, hands on her hips as she sighs. "We have to meet with the local police tomorrow morning, to discuss the case."

"I know." He frowns. "What are you not telling me?"

Carmelita sighs again. Finally, she meets his eyes. "I guess you would’ve known tomorrow anyway.." Rubbing a hand on her face, she speaks again. "You know how the Butcher only went after sex workers, right?"

And after my friend, he inwardly says. However, he only nods in answer.

"I figured the only way to come face to face with him was to, uh- Work undercover. As a prostitute."

A beat, and then, "Excuse me?" He exclaims, standing up suddenly. "That’s your great plan?"

"It’s not like I’ll actually be having sex with anyone," She reasons like it’s obvious.

Sly scoffs. "Well, go at it," he says, throwing her the lonely condom that was left on his bedside table. It annoys him even more when she catches it easily. "Have some fun before getting killed, but choose your customer right, because that’s the only condom we have."

"I’ll ignore that blatant disrespect and pretend you never said that." Carmelita says, throwing the condom back on the coffee table. "I appreciate your worry but I’m not planning on getting myself killed."

Neither was Anna, he thinks but doesn’t say. Somehow, he thinks Carmelita can see it clear as day in his features.

"Alright, I’m sorry," he says. "That was out of line."

"It was." She agrees. "But Sly, you have to trust me on this."

"It’s a shitty plan."

"That’s the only one we have." She counters firmly, holding her ground. 

As often during times of disagreement, Sly and Carmelita find themselves having a silent conversation. Eyes locked, lips pursed, eyebrows frowned. It’s a language only them understand.

"There’s got to be another way." Sly ends up saying, crouching next to his suitcase to open it.

"There’s not." A beat, and then. "Birmingham Police has been working on this case for over a year, Sly. What makes you think we’ll be able to solve it if we use the same strategy that they did?"

When Sly doesn’t answer, busying himself with his clothes, she speaks again. She’s so close to him, standing right next to his suitcase, that he almost flinches. "Nothing is going to happen to me."

It’s only when he reaches the bathroom door, hand on the doorknob, that Sly finally looks at her. His face is closed, resigned. "Let’s hope not, Inspector." She’s looking at him, too, a tad irritated that he’s doubting her skills as a cop. 

Somehow, she softens when she hears him say so quietly, "It'd be a shame for the profession to lose another great cop."

The door closes behind him and once again, Carmelita is alone.

The night turns out to be complicated despite the absolutely amazing bedding and the soundproofing of the room.

Their conversation about Carmelita’s not so great plan had completely distracted them from the fact they were supposed to share a room, and by extension, a bed. 

Sly comes out of the bathroom twenty minutes later and Carmelita quickly follows suit, taking a very long and very hot shower. Sly is sitting on the bed when she gets out wearing a grey tank top and a matching short, her hair still damp from the shower. 

"There’s only one bed." Sly says, looking a bit sheepish, only clad in black sweatpants. When Carmelita only nods, suddenly too aware of the barely covering pajamas she's wearing, he speaks again. "I can take the couch."

"Don't be ridiculous," She finds herself saying, acting way more casual than she actually feels. "We're two adults, we can share a damn bed. Besides, it's only for two days, right?"

"I'll take the couch." Sly decides after a few seconds of looking at her. Maybe it's because he can sense she feels like obligated to coddle him, maybe it's because it disgusts him to sleep next to her (which absolutely doesn't bother her- why would it?). Either way, she watches as he takes the second pillow and spare blanket, making himself at home on the large couch under the window.

At least it looks comfortable.

She's pratically sure he's fallen asleep as they lay in silence, the room so dark she can barely see the lines of his back as it's turned to her, but then she hears him sigh. So, so quietly she almost miss it.

Carmelita hesitates then, almost speaks, almost asks questions she's not even sure he's going to answer. How well did you know her? Do you want to tell me more about your relationship? Are you sure you can handle this case? 

She doesn't have time though, because then his soft voice echoes in the silent room. "Goodnight, Carmelita." He simply says.

She nods despite knowing he can't see her, answering as softly "Goodnight, Sly."

--

Birmingham Police Station can't be described as anything more than old and decrepit, proof of the obvious lack of funding. 

Sly and Carmelita sit in the office of Deputy Carpenter, an old and moaning bulldog that was replaced by Anna when he retired but was asked to come back temporarily when she died. Another sad sign of the lack of funding. 

The older man immediately dislikes them and is not shy about it. Sly would’ve been very amused by that fact if the circumstances were different. 

"I was sorry to hear about the loss of your coworker," Carmelita politely says, both hands wrapped around her steaming cup of black coffee. "I’m sure Deputy Williams was an amazing cop."

"She was better than you french folks ever will be." The older man mumbles in his own cup. 

Eyebrows raised, they exchange a look of both surprise and disbelief. Carmelita clears her throat, hiding her irritation as she drinks. Sly, not in the mood to tease or argue, only takes a sip of the burning liquid- only to spit it back in the cup. Disgusting.

"Why aren’t you taking the case back?" She asks again to kill the time. "Might as well work if they’re going to pause your retirement."

"I’m not allowed back in the field." The bulldog explains grumpily. Sly gets the vibe that retirement wasn’t his own choice to begin with, and that he probably didn’t get a say when they promoted Anna to have him leave. "I’m in charge of the administrative tasks of the job." After a beat, he spits out so quietly they almost miss it, "Like a damn rookie."

"Sorry to hear that." Carmelita offers in a nod. That only gets her an irritated look, which has her scoff.

"How long is this going to take?" Sly speaks for the first time since they got here, fingers tapping impatiently on the wooden desk. They’re waiting for two other officers; have been for the past twenty minutes, and he’s starting to be bored. 

"Sorry about that," a younger cop says as he finally enters. "We’re understaffed today."

"Only today?" Sly scoffs quietly just as Carmelita elbows him in the ribs and stand up with a polite smile. 

"Officer Jenkins, I suppose?" She shakes his hand when he nods. "Inspector Carmelita Fox," she introduces herself. "And this is Detective Sly Cooper. We were sent by Interpol to help with the case."

"Thank you so much for coming so quickly." The officer smiles, shaking Sly’s hand as well. "I have to say we’re feeling under the weather ever since Deputy Williams was.. You know."

Sly can feel the vixen’s eyes on him for a brief second, but he doesn’t look at her. His jaw is set as he looks at the officer. 

"My condolences." Carmelita says, not sitting back on the shitty chair they were offered. "We’re looking forward to work alongside your services, but I have to warn you your role will be strictly advisory. Interpol has claimed this file and is now in charged of it."

"Whatever it takes to catch this monster." Officer Jenkins nods. "I believe you already read the file?"

"We did." Carmelita says, taking her out of her bag. "It mentioned that you followed multiple leads but that they were all unsuccessful."

"The guy would be behind bars if it had been successful, don’t you think?" The bulldog spits, only to get ignored by her.

"But Deputy Williams was killed off duty." She says, only looking at Jenkins. "Which means she must have found something that got her too close, or that allowed her to meet face to face with the culprit."

"Anna’s office was sealed the day after her death. Whatever she found is in there, if it wasn’t already in the file."

"Could you show us around?"

She doesn’t see how hard it is for Sly to swallow around the lump on his throat. 

"Follow me."

Sly can’t explain the feeling, but Anna’s office looks way warmer than any other cop’s office he’s seen in his entire career. It literally looks the same; a portrait of the USA’s President hung on the wall, a large wooden desk right in the middle of the room, covered in a shit ton of paperwork that also spills from the many units on the walls.

Still, he can see her soul in small details, such as the forgotten sage green mug on her desk or the Alabama Crimson Tide cap hung on her coat rack. 

The smile she’s sporting in the family picture on her desk has his heart breaking a little. Anna was a family girl, even back in the academy. He and Neyla would tease her to death for her biweekly facetimes with her mom or the absolute declaration of love her sister and her would send back and forth through texts. 

Neyla teased her because she thought it was ridiculous. Sly teased because he secretly wished he still had a family to do this with. 

He was always the biggest mama’s boy, and there’s no doubt in his mind he would’ve called her a few times a week too if he’d been lucky enough to still have them around. 

Would you be a cop if your father was still around? A quiet voice says in the back of his mind. 

Shit, he thinks, swallowing his own saliva. Probably not.

That thought has a shudder run down his spine, and he barely hears Carmelita thanking the officer in the background or the door closing as he leaves. 

"Are you going to be okay?" She hears as she joins him, putting on her black gloves. 

"Of course." He half lies once again. "Let’s get to work."

As often, Sly and Carmelita go to work in complete silence. She busies herself with the wooden desk while Sly goes through the units, frowning at the spilling papers threatening to fall and avoiding the drawers to close properly.

Anna always was a neat freak, or at least he remembers her being one back in their academy days. She used to clean her room every morning despite not being obligated to (they were not in the military, after all), always kept her notes organized and ready to share if someone needed to borrow them, which is why seeing how messy and disorganized her units are has him frowning.

Despite their silent agreement of always working individually and only sharing their discoveries later on, Sly voices his thoughts. "I think this case was completely obsessing her," He says as he opens one drawer, not needing to look at Carmelita to know she’s probably looking at him.  "She was always so organized and serious about paperwork, but all of this- this is just messy."

"Are you implying someone might’ve gone through her files?"

"I don’t know." Sly says, eyeing the drawers. "They said her office was sealed the day following her death."

"She died off duty, at around 11 pm. Plenty of time to go through her stuff before the room was locked, don’t you think?" 

Sly only hums in answer, wheels turning in his head as he goes through each drawers. There’s no way the killer would’ve been able to come in and out of a police precinct unnoticed, unless he was a cop himself, and even then, why would a cop kill a bunch of sex workers?

Get your shit back together, he mentally scolds himself. This is real life, not an Officer Wallace comic book.

It takes them the entire day, but finally, the entire office has been searched through. Taking pictures of everything, going through every files, searching the desk for any hidden clues, only stopping to eat microwaved food and take a bathroom break. 

Sly is an even more sour mood as they get back to the hotel, empty handed and heart heavy. 

They haven’t found a single thing, at least that’s what Sly thinks, until he sees Carmelita checking the room once again.

"You already searched the room." Sly sighs in irritation. "I promise you there won’t be any more specks of dust."

She doesn’t answer as she jumps from the chair she was standing on, looking at him with an expression he struggles to decipher. "Hey, are you hungry?"

"Not real-"

"Let’s go and grab some food." She cuts him off, eyeing him with purpose.

It’s only when they’re both sitting in Carmelita’s car, doors locked and heating on that she speaks again.

"At the precinct, did you notice something weird?"

"What do you mean?" He asks, frowning. "Only that her office was messier, but we’ve already talked about that."

"Deputy Williams was killed off duty and found in the middle of a public park in broad daylight." Carmelita says frantically. "She had been working on the case for a year, so why kill her now?"

"Because she was coming closer to the truth," Sly frowns some more. "I don’t understand." They’ve already figured that out, so where is she going with this?

"I just- Can’t get this out of my head, so bear with me, okay?." Carmelita sighs, rubbing her eyes. "They tell us her office was sealed the day after she was killed, but then her files are all messed up like someone went through them- Supposing that she was just not messier than she was when you knew her."

"Okay?" He presses.

"And when I try to go through her computer, it tells me her login hasn’t been used since two days before she died, which doesn’t make any sense."

Their eyes meet- Carmelita’s are wide, frantic like she’s onto something, and Sly’s are just lost. "You think some of them did it, don’t you." He says matter of factly. "And erased their traces after leaving her naked and battered in that park."

"I’ve left an USB device in that computer, and I’ve texted Bentley. He’ll be able to get into that system and see if something is missing."

"Why are we here?" He asks, showing the car. It hits him then. "You were looking for bugs in the room, weren’t you? Why?"

"The hotel was recommended by their office, there’s no way I’m risking being spied on."

"This is some serious shit you’re talking about." The raccoon breathes after a while.

"It’s some serious shit I’m suspecting." She answers, looking at him. "I might be completely wrong, and god I hope I am, but what if I’m not?"

"Do they know about your plan?"

"They don’t," she says, turning the car on. "But if one of them did it, there’s no way they won’t recognize me right away, even dressed as a prostitute."

"Shit," Sly says, even if he’d glad it means she won’t be able to go through with it. "Okay, let’s say we follow that lead. How do you want to do this?"

"First, we grab some food." Carmelita drives them out of the hotel parking lot. "And then, I suggest we start by focusing on Deputy Carpenter."

"Yessir."

Chapter Text

Sly finally gets his own room the next day. It’s not that it bothered him to share one with Carmelita; she’s clean and organized, doesn’t take too much room and is quiet most of the time. The ideal roommate, in a way.

Except Sly doesn’t fancy being surrounded by silence these days. Every time he’s left with his thoughts as Carmelita lies on the bed with her laptop or the case file, Sly finds himself thinking about Anna.

Whether it’s memories from the academy or the morbid curiosity that almost has him opening the file again and look at the report about her death, his mind always wanders back to her. And everytime it does, his stomach flips and his heart clench in a way that’s so painful he almost gasp.

Now that he has his own room, on the floor right under Carmelita, he’s free to blast jazz music from his phone to avoid thinking at all. Thank god for the soundproofing in the walls.

Sly and Carmelita haven’t gone back to the precinct ever since their conversation in the car, and the vixen has mostly worked on her own. They haven’t heard from Bentley yet, and that fact is starting to worry him as well.

Is that because there’s nothing there? Or is it because there’s actually so much to find? Sly isn’t sure which thought is the most disturbing. The fact that one of her coworkers, someone she worked with and trusted, could be her murderer- could be this bloodthirsty killer, it sends icy shivers down his spine. 

He’d like to think the world is not that bad of a place, but he’d be foolish to. Life has shown him more than once just how cruel it can be. 

It’s 10pm on a wednesday night when Carmelita texts him, asking him to join her in the car. It almost amuses him how paranoid she’s being with her hotel room when neither of them could find any bugs or cameras hidden. 

"Hey," he greets as the car door closed behind him. "What’s up?"

"Bentley finally reached out."

The words shouldn’t be as dreadful as they are, but Sly is used to that uneasy feeling in his stomach. He takes a deep breath. "Okay?"

Carmelita seems to hesitate for a second, which is not the vixen he’s learned to know, but then again she tends to try and coddle him this days. It’s cute, really, but it also annoys him deeply.

"He was able to retrieve informations that were indeed erased at 4am on the night she died." Carmelita explains, her eyes never leaving his. "Someone used her login that night, and got rid of things he didn’t wanted us to see. Sly, we were right."

"So someone in that precinct is the Alabama Butcher." He breathes. "Shit."

"Yeah." She breathes as well. "I’m sorry."

Sly brushes her off with a wave of his hand. "What did he found out?"

"It seems Anna had found an eye witness. A person she was in contact with and who had informations about the killer."

"Do we have a name?"

Carmelita shakes her head. "She nicknamed it ‘Camelia’ in every conversation they had. I think Anna was starting to suspect one of her coworkers and didn’t want them to be able to identify the witness."

"That means the killer might not have been able to get to it yet." Sly concludes with a nod. "Do we have anything more on that witness? Something that could lead us to it? Camelia could well be a name, right?"

"I’ve done some research, and the camelia seems to be the state flower in Alabama." Carmelita says sheepishly. "In any case, Bentley is still working on everything. It seems the killer has some skills in informatics if was able to erase everything and encrypt it just in case."

"That’s just our luck." Sly turns to look out the window, watching the concrete wall of the underground parking lot they’re parked in. "Maybe she gave it that nickname because the witness is someone deeply linked to the state? Or maybe it owns a flower shop? Or its actual name is similar to Camelia?"

"I’m not sure yet." Carmelita says, taking the Interpol red and yellow camera from the back seat. "But I doubt Anna would’ve chosen a nickname that would make it too obvious to guess who the witness is."

"What’s that for?" Sly asks when she puts the camera on his lap. 

"Bentley was able to find Deputy Carpenter’s address. Seems like Birmingham Police’s officer don’t live in a secured apartment complex like we do."

"You want to break into his house?" 

"Let’s just be in stake out for a start." Carmelita finally starts driving. ".. And then we’ll see."

That has Sly grinning, as he sits with his left leg bent and foot resting on the leather seat. His elbow rests on the window sill. "What happened to following the procedures, Inspector?" He teases. 

For some reason, seeing her so determined to bring justice warms his inside in a way he refuses to acknowledge yet. 

"Procedures don’t apply when we’re dealing with  monsters."

— 

Deputy Carpenter’s house is just as plain and boring as the other ones in his street. He lives in a more secluded area of the town, with playgrounds for kids and identical houses that characterize the small towns in America.

Sly watches the house thanks to the binocular Carmelita brought. It’s a one story white house with a front porch and some trees shadowing the right side of the roof. The mandatory US flag is hung from the outside wall, right next to the front door, which is covered with a mosquito net. 

The quiet sound of clic clic clic echoes in the otherwise quiet car as the vixen takes pictures of the house. It’s getting late, the sun has long set and thanks to that they’re hidden by the darkness of the night. There’s no light in the street, the only street lamp being only a couple feet away from where they’re parked.

The lights have long been turned on in the house, a sign the grumpy man have been asleep for a while. Sly has never been one for patience and right now frustration is getting the best of him. He knows Carmelita must be in the same state.

"He went to sleep a while ago now," He finally points in a sigh. "There’s no way he’s going to get up and kill people."

"You’re probably right." She sighs, too, almost reluctantly. "He’s old as shit."

"Let’s go home." Sly offers, putting his seatbelt back on. He tries not to show his disappointment, he does, but Carmelita’s eyes on him tell him he’s not very convincing.

"We had to tried, right?" Carmelita asks softly. He hates how sweet she sounds, only because he knows it’s out of pity. "For Anna."

Still, Sly swallows his misplaced pride. "Yeah, of course. Thank you."

It is a quick but silent drive back to the hotel, as Carmelita drives with a set jaw and Sly only looks at the empty streets through his window.

"Let’s try again tomorrow, okay?" She offers when they get to the elevator. He only nods. "Let’s get some rest."

"See you tomorrow." He only says, parting ways with her to get to his room.

Sly’s shoulders slump as soon as he sets foot in his room. He’s discouraged, sad, frustrated that they don’t have any strong lead yet.

What did you expect? A voice sounding strangely like Anna says in his disturbed mind. I was on this case for a year before I even found something, and it got me killed.

"Get yourself together, Cooper.." He grumbles to himself, making his way towards the bathroom while making a trail of discarded clothes behind. 

Finally, scorching water falls down on his tensed body, which has him sighing in delight. Closing his eyes, the raccoon puts his crossed arms on the wall, forehead leaned on his elbows as his mind wanders. 

He thinks of their time at the academy, of all the moment they shared together; Anna, Neyla and himself. His mind starts to wonder; were Neyla and Anna still friends? Does Neyla know Anna is gone?

Somehow, he doesn’t think so. They were polar opposites, they disagreed on many topics, bantered a lot. In retrospect, they were probably friends because he was right there with them.

Unconsciously, his mind wanders to the image of Neyla when she visited him at the hospital. She was as pretty as she always was, maybe only a little more lethal. Sly’s hands wander down his arms as he lathers up in soap, feeling how taunt his muscles are, how tired his body is. 

It’s been a while since he was able to get a good run and it’s getting to him. He needs to get off some steam.

So Sly closes his eyes as he lathers up his torso, hands rubbing his fur as he starts fantasizing.

He pictures Neyla in his hospital room, climbing in the bed with him and kissing him like he dreamed it in the academy. All tongue and teeth, no room for sensuality or anything of the sorts. Sly thinks of her hand traveling up his thigh under his thin hospital gown, finally touching his dick, and-

"Shit," he curses under his breath, opening his eyes to be met with his not so enthusiastic dick. He’s barely hard as it is. Guess he’s grown out of this fantasy, that’s just his luck. 

Reluctantly going back to showering, Sly welcomes once again the heat as water pours down on him and washes away the sandalwood soap covering his fur. He wonders if Carmelita is as frustrated with the case as he is. Is she already asleep, or trying to relax under a hot water?

Or is she already in bed in one of her tiny pajamas, with those cute little reading glasses perched on her snout and that beautiful hair braided in the way-

Oh.

Oh.

Sly opens his eyes to the feeling of his hardened dick hitting his belly, eyes growing big as he realizes. He wasn’t able to get it up at a very graphic image of Neyla, but thinking of Carmelita in her tank top and booty shorts has him hard as a rock??

Maybe he’ll regret this later, but Sly Cooper already has a shit ton of regrets anyway. He desperately needs to get off, and denial is an old friend of his.

Sly hisses when his hand falls on his dick. God, he’s so sensitive, it’s been a while seen he’s gotten some. It might’ve been with that one waitress in Portland, but right now he doesn’t care about that.

Facing the wall one again and holding himself against it with him palm, Sly closes his eyes once again and slowly pumps his cock.

He thinks of pointy little fangs, of how much he wants to run his tongue on them and kiss her slowly. He’d take his sweet time, too; run his hands up her body, hold her face in his hand as he kisses her lips sensually. Pleasure is building in his belly just like it would be if he truly was kissing her, licking her lip to have her open that pretty mouth of hers and kissing her with it.

It has him moaning quietly, imagining how she would sit on her desk, wrapping her strong thighs around his waist as he french kisses her. His dick hardens even more at the thought she would put her hands in his hair while he would suck on her tongue. 

Frustration gets the best of him, and soon enough he imagines her on her knees for him, looking up at his face with her big brown eyes while she takes him between her lips. A shaky sigh escapes him as his hand moves faster on his dick, trying to get there so desperately his abs are tight.

But Sly Cooper has never been the type of guy that gets off on girls taking care of him. It’s hot, of course, to imagine Inspector Fox get down and suck his dick, but it’s not who he is to the core. 

His mind comes up with its own scenario before he can stop it. He imagines her lying in bed in her grey tank top and matching shorts, her curly hair up in a messy bun as she reads a book, those sexy glasses back on her face. 

She would be lying with her legs bent at the knees, her perky nipples hard under the thin fabric like they were in Mesa-

"Shit," Sly curses again, fangs biting on his bottom lip as he moves faster, the hand holding him against the wall closing into a fist. He groans and moans, surprising himself with how loud he’s getting, mentally thanking the gods for the sound proofing of the room. 

He imagines getting into her room in nothing but a towel, because then he’d be allowed to, and she would look at him with hungry eyes. 

He moans particularly loud at the thought of pulling her by the hips towards the end of the bed and taking off her tight shorts, finally seeing that pretty and wet pussy up close.

Pleasure peaks up his spine as finally, Sly imagines himself tasting her. God, he’s a whore for this; he would kiss her pulsing clit slowly, feast on her pussy until she writhed and moaned his name, push a long finger inside her to feel how tight she is.

"Oh, fuck," He breathes pathetically, toes curling on the shower floor. It feels so good-

He imagines sucking her clit while finger fucking her slowly, feeling her wall convulse against his finger while she moans his name desperately. "Make me come," he imagines her saying in a shaky breath, with that sexy accent of hers, "Make me come, Sly." 

That kills him. "Fuck, yes-" He groans, his whole body tensing as he comes against the shower wall, body tingling everywhere as he does for a minute or so. It’s mind blowing, breathtaking, it’s nothing he’s ever experienced before, until finally it stops.

Sly is left there with a hand covered in cum, a shower wall showing the proof of what he’s done, and a feeling of satisfaction that beats any regret he could have.

His body is relaxed as he gets to bed that night, already drifting to sleep with an appeased mind.

That hasn’t happened in a long time.

—

"Can you breath a little more quietly please?"

"I absolutely can’t," Carmelita whisper shouts next to him, her body so close to his he can feel how hot she is. "This is insanity! We are respectable cops!"

Sly is currently crouching down in front of Deputy Carpenter’s back door, picking at the locks to try and break it- a skill he’s a bit ashamed to have, but which has been pretty useful in the past for less criminal activities. Like getting into his own apartment after losing his keys somewhere during a jog.

"This was your idea, remember?" He says, frowning as he focuses on the sounds. "You’re the one that said we’d have to break in eventually."

"I meant if there were evidences he was linked to the case! There’s no way that old guy is, we’ve already established that."

"It doesn’t hurt to check, alright? I’ve got a hunch." 

"You and your hunches." She grumbles, standing straighter and a little further away from him. 

Ignoring her comment, Sly grins as the door falls open and he stands up. "Besides, we wouldn’t have came back here today if you were absolutely sure there’s nothing to find. Come on, just a quick look. It’s already open anyway." 

"Yeah, now that you picked the locks like a god damn thief." She huffs, walking past him and inside the house, unaware of how her comment has him shivering in unease.

The house seems even smaller from the inside, decorated with warmer tones; brown carpets, forest green couch and dark woods on the floor and furniture. The house is empty, they’ve waited for the old dog to leave for the precinct before breaking into the place, and the silence is loud around them.

"I’ll check upstairs. Tell me if you find anything." Carmelita orders quietly, like she’s afraid of disrupting the silence. "No funny business, okay?"

"You know me." 

Sly grins at her as she rolls her eyes and disappears up the stairs, leaving him alone. 

Putting on his black plastic gloves, Sly starts going through the house. He finds nothing out of the ordinary in the kitchen, nor in the bathroom except for some high blood pressure meds he doesn’t mind given the age of their suspect. 

He’s getting a little fidgety as he goes through the living room, checking the pile of sidelined mail and magazines on the coffee table, until he finds it.

The picture of the old cop, his mouth upturned in a grimaced smile, his arm tightly wrapped around a younger and pretty dog who’s smiling widely.

There is a flower tattoo covering her entire arm.

"Carmelita," he calls loud enough for her to hear. "Come check this out!"

She hurries down the stairs, an alarmed look on her face as she joins him, hand on the handle of her shock pistol. "Did you find something?"

"Check this out,” Sly repeats, handing her the picture. "Does that look like a Camelia to you?"

"Shit." She whispers under her breath, taking the picture with a glove covered hand, eyeing the tattoo. "Who’s that? His daughter? They look awfully close."

"Sweet home, Alabama." He singsongs playfully, only laughing when she elbows him in the ribs with a disapproving look- and a small amused smile.

"You’re disgusting. That’s an awful cliché."

"Is it?" He grins, watching as Carmelita sends a picture of the photograph to Bentley. "Did you find anything upstairs?"

"Nothing that could link him to the case." Carmelita answers, placing the photograph back. "This is a great lead. Congrats, partner."

"Aw, you’re going to make me cry."

"Come on, let’s get back to the car. We’ve been here long enough anyway."

—

They’re sitting in Carmelita’s rental car again when Bentley reaches out to them. Sly is still as amused by her unwillingness to talk about the case in their rooms, which he finds awfully funny, but he doesn’t contradict her.

"I’ve got the name of the girl in the picture you’ve sent me." Bentley says, looking at Carmelita through the screen as they facetime. She turned the phone so that the turtle could see them both, and he looks a bit disgusted at him Sly is eating his cheeseburger, but doesn’t voice it. "Her name is Lucy Carpenter, she’s Deputy Carpenter’s niece."

"Okay." Carmelita nods. "Does she have a record?"

"Not even a parking ticket." Bentley says. "She’s living in a small down just outside Birmingham. I’ve sent you the address."

"So, the tattoo?" Sly asks a bit impatiently, which gets him a nasty look from the turtle. "Is that a Camelia tattoo?"

"There were all kinds of flowers in that tattoo, but yes." Bentley adjusts his glasses. "There was also a Camelia."

"Which means she might be the witness Anna had found." He concludes. Suddenly, eating doesn’t appeal to him, as his mind once again goes to his friend. 

"Is there any chance they knew each other? It seems like Lucy is younger than Anna was."

"It’s too big to be a coincidence, right?" Sly asks hopefully. 

"I’ve found a couple of family pictures while I was investigating Deputy Carpenter, and there was a group photo where both Deputy Williams and Lucy were in. They probably met a couple times." 

"He was quick to say she was a great cop the first time we saw him." Carmelita adds. She looks like she’s processing every new informations. "It looked like he liked Anna a lot despite his whole grumpy vibe."

"Looks like we have to go and talk to that girl, right?"

"Yeah," she agrees. "Thank you, Bentley. We’ll be in touch."

Despite the grief, sadness and anger, Sly finds himself excited. They’re getting closer, he can feel it in his bones. 

Chapter Text

"I can go alone, if you’d like."

They’ve been sitting in Carmelita’s rental car for twenty minutes now, silently looking at the apartment complex where Lucy Carpenter is allegedly living in. Not that they’re doubting Bentley’s informations, of course.

Carmelita’s voice is as sweet as ever as she speaks those words, her tone so gentle it has him shift uncomfortably in his seat. 

He knows she means well, but this exaggerated kindness and well, pity, she’s giving him is starting to get a little oppressive. 

"I’m fine." He dismisses, taking off his seatbelt. "Let’s just go."

His heart is in his throat as they knock on the door and wait. He’s sweating despite the cold weather, way too aware of the vixen’s eyes on him. 

After a few seconds, a pretty and young dog, smaller than Deputy Carpenter but with the same wide blue eyes opens the door and looks at them curiously. 

"How can I help you?" She says, the door only slightly opened. Sly notices how frantic her eyes look, like she wasn’t expecting visitors.

"Inspector Fox and Detective Cooper." Carmelita says, showing her insignia. "From Interpol. We’d like to ask you a few questions."

"You’re Sly." The dog- Lucy, says suddenly, eyes growing bigger as she looks at him. "You’re Anna’s friend."

Sly can very well feel Carmelita’s glare on him and imagine her usual frown, but it feels almost disrespectful to lie, so he doesn’t. Only smiles sheepishly to the girl. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I am."

"Come on in." Lucy suddenly presses, letting them in and quickly closing the door behind them. The door and the three locks on it, to be precise.

"You look frantic." Carmelita says, hand on the handle of her shock pistol. Sly knows it’s not that she’s planning on using it, it’s more of a comforting gesture she’s doing unconsciously. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"You’re here because of Anna, aren’t you?" Lucy says. Only then does Sly notice the blinds are closed, like the girl is hiding. And of course she is. "Because she’s dead."

"I think we should sit down."

And so they do. Drinking way too hot tea in a way too dark living room, only lightened by a small lamp and a couple rays of sunshine coming through the blinds. 

"You knew my name." Sly says, breaking the silence. "Did Anna talk about me?"

"She showed me pictures of her time at the academy. You were on almost all of them, you and some girl wearing an headscarf. She said you were inseparable back then."

Sly nods, ignoring once again Carmelita’s eyes on him. It’s not like she didn’t know he lied when he said they were just acquaintances anyway. "We lost touch after graduation, but we texted each other on occasions. She was a great girl."

"She was." Lucy agrees, looking very, very sad.

"How well did you know her?" Carmelita asks, attention back to the dog. She’s sitting straight on the couch, totally on cop mode.

Maybe that’s why Lucy seems less comfortable as she answers. "We were friends. Met through my uncle, who was her partner. But you probably already knew that if you found my address." When neither Sly nor Carmelita deny or confirm, she speaks again, eyes fixed on her steaming cup. "We hung out a couple of times, found out we had the same hobbies, the same opinions on a couple topics. We got along pretty well."

"How did you hear about her murder?"

Sly tries not to shift at the word. 

"My uncle told me. And it was everywhere on the news, to be honest."

"How did you react?" Carmelita asks. A dumb question, in Sly’s opinion, but he doesn’t voice it. She’s just doing her job.

"How would you react if one of your best friends was murdered like this?" Lucy snaps. "I was devastated."

"You know why she was killed, don’t you?" Carmelita’s tone is firmer, like they’re playing good cop bad cop. Sly looks at Lucy a tad uncomfortably. "We know she had a nickname for you, ‘Camelia’."

The way Lucy moves on her chair confirms any doubts they were having, but somehow it doesn’t bring Sly any peace. If anything his stomach is in knots.

"She started calling me that after I got my tattoo." Lucy smiles a bit at the memory. "It was just- a cute thing. Between us."

"Did you have a nickname for her?" Sly asks, his voice hoarse from emotion.

"Yeah," The dog confirms, smiling at him. "I used to call her Mother Theresa, because she was so damn selfless."

Sly snorts despite himself. "Shit, she really was. Not a single bad bone in that body."

Silence falls on the room as Lucy and Sly both think back at their friend. Carmelita only looks between the two of them, a tad irritated the interrogation is not going quicker, but also understanding both of those people are grieving someone they loved. 

But Carmelita is a cop, and one that needs to put a dangerous serial killer behind bars. "We were able to retrieve files and informations that were erased from Anna’s computer the night she was killed." She says, breaking the quiet. "We know you saw something that helped the investigation- it might be why she was killed."

"Carmelita," Sly says reproachfully, scolding her. For what, she doesn’t know. Her tone? The way she wants this over with? She doesn’t have time for this.

"What did you see, Lucy? We need to know in order to bring that murderer to justice."

Inevitably, Lucy closes down. "Are you implying I’m the reason my best friend was murdered?"

"I didn’t-" Carmelita starts to say, but it’s too late.

"Because I’m not." Sly watches as Lucy stands up to put her half empty cup in the sink. "I’d like you to leave, now. I have nothing to say to you."

"You know Anna was murdered because you have the last puzzle piece." Carmelita stands up too, setting her cup on the coffee table. Sly can only watch as the whole situation goes south. "What did you see, Lucy? You looked so afraid when you opened the door, is that because you expected to see her killer? You have to tell-"

"I want you to leave! Go!" The younger dog snaps, looking at them angrily. "The both of you!"

"Come on," Sly quietly says, taking a firm hold on Carmelita’s arm and guiding her towards the door. He cuts her off when she’s about to protest again. "Lucy, I’m so sorry for your loss. And thank you for the tea."

She doesn’t answer as Sly unlocks the door, and then they’re out. 

He’s furious as they walk down the path to the car. Furious that Carmelita had to go all cop on their only lead, furious that because of her temper they don’t know any more than they did when they first knocked on that door.

Furious that he can’t get over Anna’s death and deal with this case like he did in Mesa or in Wales. 

"We were here to interrogate her!" Carmelita scolds as they get back into the car. "You were sitting there and reminiscing about your teenage years, how is that helpful Sly!"

"How is that helpful to yell at our only lead!?" He snaps, looking at her furiously. "You had to go and attack her and now she won’t tell us shit!"

"She didn’t want to tell us anyway! God, you’re so useless is this case!"

"Why?" Their eyes meet angrily. "Because I’m mourning a friend, huh?"

"Well yes!" It shouldn’t hurt, but god it does. His heart is in his throat. "You’re not focused, you’re not- you’re not yourself. Sly, I really don’t need a numbskull with me on that case."

"Oh, I held you back, didn’t I?" He breathes after a few seconds. "My mistake, Inspector Fox. I wouldn’t want to be a fucking rock in your shoe during YOUR big investigation. I’m so sorry my emotions are such a setback on your personal success."

"Sly," she sighs, closing her eyes in frustration. "Just listen-"

"Screw you," He snaps, opening his car door. "I’d rather walk back to Birmingham than spend another forty minutes drive next to you."

"Don’t be ridiculous." She says, looking at him like he’s growing two heads. "It’ll take you hours to get back to Birmingham on foot."

"I’m a runner, remember?" He says, slamming the car door shut and starting to walk.

He ignores Carmelita’s shouts of his name or her calling him an idiot and asking him to get back in the car. 

After what seems an eternity but can’t be longer than a five minutes walk, he hears her car turn on and watches as she drives away. 

She must’ve lost her patience. Good.

So did he.

—

It takes Sly seven hours and eleven minutes to get back to their hotel. It's late, almost 8pm when he gets back to his room, but he’s not tired.

His feet are, of course, but what’s driven him back here is anger, frustration and determination.

Anger at Carmelita, who acted like a real bitch, frustration at himself for taking the case while knowing it would be freaking hard to get his head back in the game, and determination. Because he’s going to solve it, with or without the vixen’s help. 

Sly takes a long, long shower, but this time he doesn’t need to blow off some steam. His long walk was sufficient. He puts on some black boxers and grey sweatpants, settles into bed, and starts reading the pages he stole back from Raleigh, which he hasn’t had time to do before. 

This time, he learns about Rioichi Cooper and the Ninja Spire Jump which allowed him to land on narrow spires as light as a feather.

Sly already knows how to move pretty soundlessly and can jump on rooftops and walk on ropes (thanks to Tennessee Kid Cooper, may he rest in peace), but he’s never been able to land and hold himself on more narrow objects such as sharp poles and what not. 

As he reads the technique and tries to understand how he’s supposed to place his feet, his phone vibrates next to him.

The Gods have never been merciful towards the Cooper family, but tonight, it seems they’re feeling generous.

"Hello?" He asks as he answers the call from the unknown number.

"Hi," a familiar voice speaks. "Uh, this is.. Camelia. From earlier." 

Sly sits in shock. "Uh, okay. How- Is everything okay?"

"Can we meet?"

"Of course." He hurriedly says, getting off the bed and ready to put his shoes on. "I’m on my way."

"Oh, I don’t mean now." She says, sounding a bit embarrassed. "Tomorrow night, I’ll text you the address. Please come alone, alright?"

Sly doesn’t answer right away, letting go of his boots and looking at his door. It doesn’t matter how mean Carmelita was earlier, he can’t go and lie to her anymore, at least not when it’s related to work. 

But she presses. "Okay?"

"I’ll see you there." Is what he settles on. He hears Lucy’s breathy thank you, and the call ends. 

He can’t be mad that she doesn’t want to see Carmelita again nor confide in her after the fiasco of their conversation earlier, but Carmelita is his partner and his superior if you care about rankings (he doesn’t, but that’s just how it is).

His phone vibrates once again later that night with only an address inside a text, which Sly will think about all night long. Insomnias suck.

—

Sly is supposed to meet with Lucy at 11pm that night, but he doesn’t think he can face Carmelita until then.

She reaches out in the morning, asking him if he wants coffee, but he only replied that he had a migraine and left it at that. She didn’t text again, much to his disappointment (which he’s not ready to acknowledge), and Sly spent the entire day locked in his room.

It’s almost time now, as he gets ready. Black cargo pants, black tight sweater and black boots, accessorized with a black beanie and black leather gloves. 

He looks like a burglar. It has him think back at Mesa City, when Carmelita did too and he teased her about it.

It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

Backpack on, Sly exits by the french doors that lead to the balcony and leans against the guardrail, looking up to Carmelita’s own balcony that’s right above his. There’s no way he’ll be able to climb towards it, there’s no grip for him to pick, so he settles on texting her.

Except she still doesn’t answer after five minutes, and Sly is almost late to the rendezvous, so he grabs a small rock and throws it at her window. No response, so he does it again. Three times.

The result finally comes, as the form of an angry looking vixen that opens the window and leans down. She’s in her bra and there’s a towel on her head- Sly almost laughs.

He would’ve if his eyes hadn’t fallen on her boobs. 

"What the fuck?" She whisper shouts. 

"Finally, that took you long enough."

"Sly?" She asks, squinting like it could’ve been someone else. "What are you doing here?"

"Serenading you." He sarcastically comments, the anger from their precious fight still fresh under his skin. ”What does it look like?"

"You look like you’re about to rob a bank." She says after a few seconds, clearly referring to the same Mesa City memory he was thinking about earlier. It almost makes him smile, but he doesn’t. Their fight is too fresh. 

"Maybe I am." He simply says. "Get dressed, we’re leaving."

"What? Where?"

"Not sure yet." He honestly says. "I’ll wait for you at the car. But please, make it quick. Like under five minutes quick."

Carmelita waves towards her towel, sending him a nasty glare. "I’m going to kill you."

"Great. Kill me in the car. Now come on!" Sly hurries her.

It didn’t particularly need an answer, but the one he gets has him freezing.

"Okay." She says after a quick pause. "I trust you."

The words hold more weight than it appears, especially after what was said the day before, and the look they exchange is no better.

But Sly only nods, and soon, they’re on the road again.

It’s a twenty minutes drive until they’re parking on the side of the road. Sly only said that Lucy had called him and asked to meet alone, to which Carmelita scoffed and started to complain, but it was quickly interrupted. It’s their only lead once again, and he’s not about to let her ruin it, which he told her. 

"I won’t be far. If you need me, you just say the word."

"What, you wanna make up a safe word now?" He mocks, adjusting his earpiece. "Like we’re in some creepy BDSM simulation?"

"Just a word you say if you want me to come and help." She scolds gently, eying him. "Like, I don’t know. Like ‘lettuce’ or something."

"Lettuce." He deadpans. "We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere to meet a potential witness that’s going to help us catch a bloodthirsty killer, how am I supposed to say that word casually?"

"Oh my god, it was just an idea! Find something else if you’d like, jesus."

Obviously, just like it always does in those kind of situations, Sly’s mind go empty. ".. Alright." He agrees after a few minutes. "Alright, lettuce it is."

"Just be careful, that’s all." Carmelita says. It’s almost time now. "Okay?"

"I will."

Sly walks towards the white bandstand Lucy asked him to meet her at, leaning against the guardrail as he waits. It’s freezing outside, his breath coming out as white puffs as he breathes from his mouth. Rubbing his glove covered hands together, he watches the neighborhood.

They’re in a residential area, surrounded by white little houses and a calm park which is completely dark. It’s scary, but somehow knowing Carmelita is sitting inside her car a few meters down the street with her shock pistol and binoculars is enough to relax him. 

They clash, fight and banter, but they’ve got each other’s back now. They’ve come a long way.

Sly’s trail of thoughts is broken by quiet footsteps approaching him, and soon Lucy comes into view. She’s in all black too, wearing a black sweatshirt and black leggings. Sly smiles a little.

"Hey," he greets, to which she just nods.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course." He says gently, but a bit pressing. If she wants to talk, it needs to help the investigation; they can’t just share memories of Anna and call it a day. Sly needs this all to just wrap up. "You wanted to show me something?"

"I’m-" Lucy starts, looking away sadly. "I’m going to give you what I gave Anna, that night. The night she died."

"You saw her that night then." He says, to confirm. To make sure he understands. Lucy nods.

"I asked her to meet me in Birmingham, told her I needed to see her- about the case. I knew she was working on it, that she was promoted Deputy because of it. So she joined me."

"What did you want to tell her?"

"I know who the Alabama Butcher guy is." She says, blue eyes meeting brown. Sly swallows harshly, even though he already knew. 

"She called you an eyewitness." He presses. "But why? What did you see, exactly?"

"Everything is in that file." She says, suddenly looking frantic and shoving a small orange USB stick into his palm. "Once you see this, you’ll know everything."

"Lucy," he says, trying to calm her down. "Come back to the hotel with me, alright?"

Sly tries to gently grab her wrist, but everything happens at once.

The sound of running feet towards them, Lucy’s scream as she’s pulled backwards and stabbed in the neck. Sly is met with the devil himself: a man he doesn’t remember seeing in his life, but whose face seems so familiar from how unremarkable it is.

His eyes grow big, the bloody blade comes closer and closer, until finally-

"LETTUCE!" Sly suddenly screams, taking the guy by surprise.

The silly phrase is what saves his life, ironically. Because the guy is surprised a second too long, and soon Carmelita is running towards them, gun blazing, and the guy runs off.

"Call 911!" He shouts, taking his cane from his backpack. "And take care of her. I’m onto him!"

Carmelita doesn’t even have time to answer as Sly runs off after the man. He looked older than him, and not in a shape as good as Sly, but damn can he run fast. 

His calves and feet are on fire after yesterday’s walk, but Sly runs like his life depends on it. Adrenaline rushes through his veins as he jumps over thick roots and avoids tree stumps, getting closer to the guy, until finally, a clever move of his cane allows him to trip the guy up.

It’s a nasty fall, one that has him falling face first down the hill, his bloody knife stabbing him in the ribs. 

It’s a small comfort as Sly stops next to him, pressing his foot onto the guy’s stomach and leaning the hook of his cane around his neck. One small move and he’ll break it. 

There’s nothing in the grey eyes that look up at him. Those are the eyes of a killer, of someone who lost his soul a long time ago.

Those are the eyes of the man who took his friend’s lives, and the lives of hundreds of innocent women before her.

He’s not sure why, but Sly takes a second to really look at him. The guy is a tiger that must be in his fifties, his fur whitened on his chin and around his cruel eyes. He’s dressed so mundanely Sly is sure he’s the kind of man that makes himself invisible when in a crowd, and isn’t that perfect when you’re a killer?

The sick smile he gives him has Sly pressing his foot harder on his body.

"I should fucking break your neck." He spits, vaguely aware of the sirens coming closer.

"Why kill the messenger, son?" The guy asks, smiling. His fangs are red, covered in blood. "I’m not the guy you’re looking for."

"Spare me your bullshit." Sly says, pressing his foot closer to where the knife is still deep inside his body. The guys hisses in pain.

"Oh, but I’m very serious. I ain’t him."

"You sliced the throat of a girl in front of me, you piece of shit!"

"That?" He laughs, coughing blood. "Ooooh, that’s not what you think, boy. I’m an innocent man, you know."

Sly tightens the grip on his cane, fangs bared, ready to kick the guy in the face, until suddenly: 

"Sly." Carmelita says, a few meters away, up the hill. "She’s alive. The ambulance is taking her to the hospital."

"You hear that, you freaking monster?" Sly chokes out. His vision is getting blurry. "You didn’t kill her, she won’t be one of your victims!"

The guy only laughs, the sick sound echoing in the empty park. It has Sly let out a sob, and his fingers tighten, one single move of his wrist and Anna would be avenged- 

But a smaller glove covered hand covers his, and suddenly, his wrist relaxes. 

"He’s not worth it." Carmelita gently says, and Sly realizes how much that’s true. 

His cane falls next to him as he takes a few steps back, head down as he cries. He doesn’t even know why, it must be because it ends here and now. This nightmare of a case, it ends here. 

And Anna will never be there again to witness it.

So Sly cries, sobs, falls to his knees. He’s barely aware of the guy being cuffed and taken to another ambulance. Right now, he doesn’t care.

"You did good." Carmelita says again, kneeling next to him. "You’re a great cop."

Sly only sobs louder, surprisingly finding comfort in the gentle hand rubbing his covered back.

"You did it, Sly." Carmelita says out loud, her arm wrapping around his middle. "You brought her justice."

Birmingham is free. 

Chapter Text

The week following the arrest is pure chaos. 

Journalists are relentless. They corner the officers when they leave the precinct or when they arrive, they try to enter and interview Sly, who they see as the hero that caught the blood thirsty murderer, only to be not so gently thrown away by Carmelita.

Soon, it’s all over the news : the Alabama Butcher has been caught. 

Lucy miraculously survives her throat injury, but she’s not allowed visits yet, which stresses Sly out to the point he barely eats. Fortunately for him, Carmelita handles the administrative aspects of the arrest and he can focus on the USB stick Lucy gave him that night. 

It’s far from being a professional file, it’s actually messy and full of badly taken photographs, poorly lightened as they were taken at night and from a weird angle, but you can easily make out the figure and stripes of the same tiger they’ve arrested the week before. 

Relief washes over Sly as he realizes that’s really it, he really did it. 

Of course, that feeling doesn’t last long.

Because, if they really caught the guy, then why are they currently standing in the precinct’s morgue, leaning over another prostitute’s dead body?

"Does anyone else know about this?" Carmelita asks as the forensic pathologist puts down the sheet that was covering the body lying on the cold steel table. It’s a woman, unsurprisingly, young and beautiful. One more woman to write her name on the list of the killer they thought they finally caught. 

"I’ve called you as soon as we found the body." The expert says. "It was brought here an hour ago."

"Where did they find it this time?" Carmelita says, while Sly stands back, eyes focused on the corpse.

He should be used to life pulling the rug from under his feet, shouldn’t he?

"On the edge of the woods just outside the city. Thankfully, she was found by an officer on patrol and not by a civilian."

Carmelita sighs, a deep, annoyed sigh Sly can relate to. He’s so done with this case. "Alright. What can you tell us?"

"I was only able to proceed to the first exams before I called you in here, but I can tell you this is not the work of the same killer."

"Wait, what?" Sly suddenly says, out of his trance. 

"The person who did this tried to make it seem like it was, and he almost succeeded, might I add, but I can assure you it’s not. We’re dealing with a copycat." 

"Why kill the messenger, son? I’m not the guy you’re looking for."

Sly thinks back to the words he heard from the tiger, which he took as a faint attempt to disculpate himself, but now he’s not so sure.

They were sure the killer was someone close to Anna, someone that worked in the precinct, but the guy that assaulted Lucy is not. Did he tell the truth? Is it a bigger case than they anticipated? 

Was he working for someone else? 

Deep in thoughts, the conversation between Carmelita and the forensic is barely a background noise until finally, a firm hand on his forearm has him going back to reality. 

They haven’t really talked since the arrest, both too busy dealing with the aftermath to really spend time together, but that’s not the only reason if Sly is being honest. Their fight has left a bitter taste in his mouth, and no doubts in Carmelita’s, even though it was pretty much her fault.

So when they get back to the hotel after another quiet drive, it’s almost a surprise when Carmelita grabs his wrist and stops him from pushing the elevator button once she’s out.

"I’m sorry." She says when their eyes meet, which is all the more surprising. "About what I said that day. I was frustrated and I took it on you. I apologize."

The honest apology takes him by surprise, leaving him dumbfounded and silent for a long minute, which Carmelita seems to mistake for rejection because suddenly she’s turning on her heels and walking towards her room, embarrassed.

"Wait!" Sly says, stopping the closing door with a hand and almost running after her. "Wait, it’s okay. Apology accepted." It’s not okay, not entirely, but Sly doesn’t want her to close down on him.

She stops then, a hand on the doorknob, ears a little flat as she looks at him. "Really?"

"Yeah." He breathes, his tone softer than anticipated. "I’m sorry too."

"You don’t have to be." Carmelita brushes off with a wave of her hand. "This place is just- frustrating. God, I can’t wait to get back to Paris. Never thought I’d be missing the Fiendish Five."

"Tell me about it." He sighs, suddenly feeling very tired. "Can’t believe we’re back to square one."

"I’m going back to the precinct to interrogate the suspect tomorrow. Come with me, maybe he’ll be more chatty if he sees you."

"He still hasn’t said a word, huh?"

"Nope." The vixen shakes her head. "But neither did Lucy until she confided in you, right? It seems like people open up to you more easily."

Finally, Sly smirks. "Maybe that’s because I’m not an angry vixen insulting everybody and their mothers?"

Carmelita scoffs and rolls her eyes, but the usual irritation is missing from her face. "You’d be bored without it."

Sly never realized how much that’s true before. She’s a real piece of work, this woman, but he’s grown to like her. Her fierceness and determination and tunnel vision that makes her so Carmelita. 

He suddenly remembers he jacked off to her a few nights ago, and hides his embarrassment with a cough. "Yeah, well, good thing you’re not going anywhere, right?"

Her brown eyes soften as she nods, taking a sec to look at him. "Good thing indeed."

It doesn’t last for too long, this quiet moment where they just look at each other, trying to guess the other’s thoughts. It happens more often than they’re willing to admit. 

—

The interrogation room is dark and cold in a way only a room that holds so many terrifying confessions can be, with the usual table and chairs in the middle of the room and the two way mirror you see in movies on the right wall.

The old tiger (whose name is Bassaan Kapoor, he’s been told by Carmelita earlier) is sat on one of those chairs, both his wrists and ankles cuffed to the table like he’s a wild animal that could easily overpower everyone in the room.

A single nod from the raccoon is everything Carmelita needs before she opens the door and steps into the room, immediately catching the eyes of their main suspect, who smirks lazily.

"Inspector Fox," he drawls, slumping into the uncomfortable chair. "I was starting to think you were getting tired of our little sessions."

"I think it’s time to quicken the pace a little bit, don’t you think?" She says as she closes the door, and that’s when the tiger’s eyes fall on Sly.

His expression change so quick he almost misses it; it’s the most subtle twitch of an eyelid, the way he straightens up slightly. Sly just sits opposite of him, quickly joined by Carmelita, his hands crossed on the table.

"I remember you." The tiger says. "You’re the boy that stabbed me."

"I didn’t stab you, you fell on your knife like an idiot."

Kapoor growls low, fangs bared but Sly stays unfazed. When their eyes lock, the overwhelming sadness Sly felt the night of his arrest is gone, replaced by an anger he’s tired of feeling. 

"Are you feeling more chatty today, Mr Kapoor?" Carmelita says, breaking the tension. Sly takes a quick second to look at her. She’s sitting straight, but relaxed, like she’s not afraid of the man sitting in front of her. Sly doesn’t think there’s a lot of things that can scare this woman. 

"That depends." The tiger says, only looking at her. His fingers are twitching on the table. "How about that deal I asked for?"

"You cut a woman’s throat right before our eyes, I don’t see how I could give you a deal."

"Too bad then." He says, and Carmelita, who keeps a calm facade despite the obvious irritation Sly can read in her body language, is about to answer, but the raccoon decides on another strategy. 

"It’s a bit pathetic, you know." Sly says casually, checking his claws like he’s bored. "Your little attempt to clear your name back in the park. Not very manly if you ask me. You could own up to your own bullshit, y’know."

"And who asked you?" Kapoor spits, his ego clearly hurt. 

Sly shrugs, looking at him. "If you don’t mind sounding like a pussy, that’s up to you pal."

Of course, as it often does with men with quite fragile masculinity, the tiger stands up, held down by his cuffs, and loses his temper. Sly doesn’t bulge as his cuffed fists hit the table. 

Carmelita doesn’t move either, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow like she’s not very impressed by the reaction. Sly is sure she knows what he’s doing.

"Come on now, Mr Kapoor." She scolds, her tone suggesting he’s nothing but a misbehaved little kid. "We’re all adults here."

"Don’t you dare look down on me you nasty bitch!" He suddenly screams, which has two officers come inside the room to intervene. Carmelita dismisses them with a wave of her wrist, never looking away from him.

"It’s alright, boys. Our friend here is just throwing a little fit." 

Kapoor loses his shit instantly. 

"Fuck you, and fuck you too you fucking rat!" He slams the table again. "If that fucking moron Jenkins hadn’t-"

He cuts himself off, looking like a dear caught in headlights. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees as everybody falls silent.

Until Carmelita stands up, watches as the tiger falls down on his chair, and puts her hands on the table as she leans forward. "Officer Jenkins?" She says, and her voice betrays her a bit. "That’s what you said?"

"I want a lawyer." The tiger immediately answers, swallowing thickly. "I won’t say another word."

"Gentlemen, where is Officer Jenkins now?" She asks the two officers that entered the room moments before when they all exit. Sly looks at the tiger left alone in the room, looking very distraught.

"He’s been on a leave all week." One of them answers weakly, like he’s not sure of where this is all going.

"No one contacts him, no one says anything about what Mr Kapoor just said. If anything comes out, I’ll personally kick your asses and make sure you’re stuck in the archives room for the rest of your careers. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes ma’am." 

They’re quickly left alone, Carmelita walking with purpose as Sly follows after, unable to identify the feeling that takes over his body. 

"Carmelita, wait!" He says as he hurries behind her, but she doesn’t slow down.

"Good thinking back there," The vixens says quickly, walking down the stairs at a rapid pace. "You did great."

"Carm, wait-" Sly says, gently grabbing her forearm. "Just give me a sec to catch my breath."

"I’ll handle everything with Bentley, just go back to the hotel, okay?" Their eyes meet, and hers are so intense Sly struggles to swallow. "Trust me on this."

"I trust you." He says quietly, nodding slowly and letting go of her arm. 

Carmelita looks at him a second longer, and then he’s alone in the empty staircase. 

—

Sly has nothing to do but to lie down on his bed and look at the ceiling. It’s been hours since he left Carmelita at the precinct and he’s bored out of his mind.

He did some push ups and some mountain climbers like an idiot to blow off some steam and try to forget the fact it’s not safe yet to go out for a good run, took a long burning shower that left him exhausted but relaxed, and since then he’s just been lying in nothing but his boxer briefs, dozing off slightly. 

It’s never a good idea for Sly to be alone with his thoughts, but there he is, thinking back to everything that has happened since they first got here.

He was supposed to go after the Fiendish Five and avenge his family name by putting them behind bars, and now they’re stuck in this case that has brought him nothing but pain and regrets. 

When will he stop losing the people he loves?

As it often does, his mind drifts back to Carmelita. She’s so unpredictable, this woman. Surprising him with softness and apologies when he thinks she’s going to brush everything off and act all high and mighty. 

Sly thinks back to the first time they met and is baffled to realize he doesn’t view her as the bratty and temperamental woman he thought she was. She’s seen him crushed and vulnerable, sobbing down on his knees and saved him from drowning in Wales- does she sees him as the weak little boy he never stopped being?

Does she appreciate him- like him, the same way he does her? They’re not exactly friends, but they’re a little more than partners, he thinks. Going back to Portland is going to hurt like a bitch once everything is solved in Paris, but would it feel the same for her?

Or will she be glad to finally work alone again, free of the burden he’s been in Birmingham?

The door flies open suddenly, revealing a really stressed looking vixen whose eyes immediately fall on his underwear as he sits down in surprise.

"I know where he is." She hurriedly says, getting her composure back. "Get dressed, we’re going now!"

Sly barely has time to put his clothes back on before they go.

—  

The most terrifying thing about serial killer is that they’re also a living breathing person underneath it all.

They’re a person that lives their lives, have mundane jobs; it could be your neighbor, the weird classmate no one wants to sit next to or the creepy guy you politely smile to on the bus. They have ordinary lives, ordinary houses and drive ordinary cars like the rest of us.

Really, it could be anyone. 

How easy it would be if those people were just monsters getting out at night and vanishing at the first rays of lights. 

The house Sly and Carmelita are currently looking at is nothing short of ordinary. White bricks, brown shutters, a small garden that’s well taken care of. 

And yet, a monster lives in it.

"How do you want to do this?" Sly asks even though he’s already taking his cane out of his backpack. There’s no way the guy is getting out without a fight. 

It seems Carmelita shares the opinion, as she grabs her shock pistol from her holster and checks the ammo. "Let’s get him. He’s been playing us long enough."

Carmelita knocks on the door for good measure but it’s a useless gesture as the door, left unlocked, slowly falls open under her fist. They exchange a confused look, a frown, but Carmelita firmly nods. 

Sly is hit by the two most disturbing things as they set foot inside the house.

The first thing is the unmistakable smell of death, of decomposing flesh that hit them straight in the face.

The second thing is the swaying body hung from the exposed beams of the living room, hung on a tight rope, eyes open in a way that’s going to be very hard to forget. 

His body is in a very advanced state of decomposition, almost mummified when there’s no way he could’ve been dead for more than a week, and Sly knows Carmelita must be thinking the same as her eyes never leave the corpse.

His eyes scan the room; nothing looks too out of place, he thinks. There’s no signs of a fight, no signs it’s a set up.

"Maybe he got scared when his little friend got arrested and decided to kill himself before getting caught?" Carmelita voices with a dubious  tone Sly honestly shares.

A flash of green catches his eyes at the foot of the corpse and Sly comes closer to it, careful not to touch the body as he crouches down and grabs the enveloppe with a glove covered hand.

"What’s that?" Carmelita asks behind him, watching as he takes out the small piece of paper from inside it. When he frowns, she adds, "What does it say?"

"No clue." Sly says, squinting like it’s going to help him. "It looks like french, but not really?"

"Let me see," Carmelita says as she snatches it from him, ignoring the look of disbelief he sends her and focusing on reading the words. "I think it’s Creole?"

"Creole, in the middle of Alabama?"

"It looks like it was sent to him." Carmelita says, looking at the envelope, frowning. "But there’s no stamp…"

"Can you translate it?"

"No." The vixen admits, looking very irritated to do so. He knows she doesn’t like not knowing things. "What about you, mister ‘I can speak four languages perfectly’ ?"

"There’s no need to be jealous about that," Sly says around a smile. "But no. I’ve never thought I’d need to, to be honest."

"I’ll send this to Bentley, he’ll know. Let’s search the place for good measure."

Once again, the team separates to go through the house, except this time Sly goes upstairs while Carmelita looks at the corpse for a second longer.

Carmelita doesn’t believe in anything that’s not science. Magic, voodoo, all those inexplicable things, that’s just a bunch of BS she doesn’t have time to acknowledge.

So when she finds a strange looking little rag doll under a piece of furniture not far from Officer Jenkin’s body, rag doll that’s wearing a police uniform and which has its neck broken, the uneasy feeling that takes over her body is quickly shoved away. 

It could’ve fallen from the envelope when he opened it, or it would just be a sick joke totally unrelated to Jenkin’s suicide, but even the rational part of Carmelita’s mind can’t come up with an explanation that seems even just a tad realistic. 

"What do you know about Mz Ruby?" She asks Sly out of the blue when he comes back downstairs.

"I’ve heard the rumors." He simply answers, eyeing the doll the vixen is still holding. Of course, he knows that’s just not rumors, having seen the alligator’s weirdness in person when she decided to break into his house and participate in his parents’ murder, but he can’t just say that. "Heard that she was involved in some serious voodoo shit. Why? What’s that?"

"Does that look like a voodoo doll to you?" She asks, showing him the doll. She looks reluctant to ask and looks very uneasy.

"I gotta admit it does." Sly says after a while, eyes falling on the corpse once again. "But what does it all have to do with her?"

"I’m not sure." Carmelita admits quietly. "Just a hunch."

"Let’s get out of here," Sly offers as Carmelita quickly lets the precinct know of their little discovery. Someone will need to come and get the body. "We need Bentley’s take on all of this."

—

Bentley doesn’t reach out for a few hours. The pair go back to the hotel, take another much needed shower and meet up to Carmelita’s room to eat chicken wings and drink soda on her bed, exhausted from the day. 

She still doesn’t have mentioned the case since they got back, which is quite surprising, but nice. It feels good to think about something else, to just live outside of the case.

"Are you planning on going back to Portland on Christmas?" Carmelita asks around a mouthful. She’s got sauce on her cheeks, and the thought that’s she the cutest thing ever crosses Sly’s mind for a second. 

"Why would I be?"

"I don’t know." She shrugs. "Are you not celebrating holidays or something?"

Ah. Sometimes he forgets how little she knows about him. 

"Not really." He says with a shrug, adding with the most casual tone he can muster, "My parents died when I was little, it’s just me now."

Carmelita stops eating, brown eyes growing big as she looks at him like he’s grown three heads- the usual reaction he gets when talking about his personal traumas like it’s not big deal.

"Shit," she says, embarrassed. "Sorry. I- Shit, you told me before, didn’t you? In Wales, before everything, and I- I’m sorry. It slipped off my mind." 

Again, Sly brushes it off with a shrug. "It’s alright."

Carmelita doesn’t ask about what happened, just like he knew she would. It’s not like he would’ve told her the truth anyway. 

"What about you?" He asks lightly, eager to change the subject. "Going away for the holidays?"

"Yeah, I’ll probably join my parents back in Spain. I do that every year."

"Sounds cool."

She scoffs. "Yeah, try and enjoy the quiet when you’ve got an army of nephews screaming in your ear and a bunch of spanish people just speaking loudly in general."

Sly smiles kindly, trying to imagine her in a personal setting outside of work. He’s never really thought about what her life looks like when she’s not on duty, but it’s a fun thought to have nonetheless. 

"Sounds like fun."

"That’s because you don’t actually have to live it."

"Maybe." He says around a laugh. "I usually just go for a run, eat a ton of thai food and watch shitty christmas movies all day."

"See, that’s actually my dream." She groans, making Sly laugh even louder. She joins him after a few seconds, until her ringing phone breaks their little moment.

"It’s Bentley." She says as she grabs it, tension rising as she answers the call. "Hey, you’re on speaker."

"I have been able to translate the letter you found in Officer Jenkins’ house earlier." 

"Did you find out where it was sent from?"

"Not a clue. I still haven’t figured out how it’s possible," Bentley says, a bit off, "But it seems the letter wasn’t sent through the post."

"What do you mean?" Carmelita says. "It didn’t just appear magically-"

"I didn’t say that." Bentley snaps. He’s as rational and logical as Carmelita can be. "I just haven’t found a rational explanation. Yet."

"And what did it say?" Sly interrupts. He’s well aware the letter could’ve well appeared out of nowhere, if Mz Ruby really is involved. 

"I’ve sent you the translation just now."

"Alright, thank you, Bentley. See you soon."

The phone calls ends and soon, Carmelita opens the email the turtle sent her. Sly leans forward to read the translation with her. 

My dear little friend,

You’ve done good, this past year. Played your part well and sent me enough blood to continue our little project.

Unfortunately, your last letter is quite alarming. With the arrest of that dumb puppet of yours, it is only a matter of time since the police finds out you’re involved. I can’t risk being linked to you, my friend.

Do you remember what I told you, back in Louisiana? 
If something becomes a burden, it’s your job to get rid of it.

Looks like you’ve become a burden. 

I will miss you, my friend. But I’m afraid your time has come.

But do not worry, my darling- The little present I got you will make sure you’ll stay with me for eternity, taking a part in our little project. 

I’ll see you soon, I am sure.

Farewell.

-R.

"What the hell?" Sly says. "Is that-?"

"We need to get back to Paris. ASAP."

A few days later, they do. Ready to get back to their next target:

Mz Ruby.

Chapter Text

Their return to Paris is as busy and filled with paperwork as expected.

Once again, Carmelita insists on taking care of everything. She says it’s because she’s the Inspector in charge and it’s her job to deal with it, but Sly knows she’s full of shit. They’re almost in their fifth month of partnership now, knowing and understand each other better, which is why Sly is pretty sure she’s giving him those last moments of peace.

Sure, she also must want to be the one telling Barkley about their success within the case, they managed to solve it in a few weeks, after all, but it doesn’t feel like a victory to Sly.

He has been given three days off as she deals with everything, taking advantage of it to run until his legs give out in order to empty his mind. Still, the memory of his last conversation with Lucy comes back to mind.

He came to visit her before they took their flight back Paris, watching as she laid in the hospital bed.

Her eyes are close as she’s plugged into a bunch of different machines, the biping sound of her vitals bringing reassurance to Sly as he watches the thick bandage surrounding her injured throat.

Her eyelids flutter open as he comes closer, sitting by her side and gently taking her hand. "Hi," he says softly. "Are you okay?"

"Never better," the young girl answer with a pained expression, her voice hoarse as her throat is still healing from the attack. "Didn’t think you’d come."

"We’re leaving in a few hours, but I wanted to say bye first. Visits weren’t allowed before."

"So you caught him, huh?" Lucy asks, her eyes incredibly bright. "This monster."

"It was an officer working with Anna." He nods, throat closing around his words. Sly has to take a minute before speaking again, comforted by Lucy’s hand gently squeezing his. "He was working with the tiger you took pictures of, using him to commit those murders. But he’s gone now, you’ll be safe."

"Do you know why he did what he did?"

Sly slowly shakes his head. "We’re not sure yet, but we’re working on it." He promises. "You’ll be the first to know when that happens."

"Thank you." Lucy says sincerely. "Anna would’ve been so proud of you."

"She shouldn’t have died for all of this." Sly says in a breath. Tears are filling his eyes again, matching Lucy’s. He refuses to let them spill. "I’m sorry you had to lose her."

"You lost her too." Lucy says.

They hold each other’s hand for a long time, until Sly has to leave.

The words echo in his head as he runs along the Seine, sprinting until his lungs are burning and he has to stop to catch his breath.

Paris is wearing its winter outfit now. It’s way colder than it was in Alabama, of course, as the trees are stripped of leafs and the sky is constantly grey. It also rains a lot, which sucks but doesn’t stop Sly from burning some much needed calories. It’ll be snowing soon, too, he’s sure.

As he walks back to his apartment complex, watching some civil workers hanging christmas decorations on trees and buildings, he thinks of Carmelita.

She must be at the office right now, dealing with things he cannot even imagine in the aftermath of the case. A part of him wishes he’d be dealing with it by her side, but he knows she needs to handle this by herself. It’s her way of telling him she’s got his back when he needs to take a step back, which he honestly does after all of this.

Going back to his apartment, Sly toes off his running shoes as he goes through his mail, stopping when he notices a small light pink envelope with an elegant handwriting of his name.

What he finds inside has his heart clench. Pictures and polaroids of a younger Anna and a younger Sly back at the academy, a bunch of moments stopped in time he didn’t particularly remember but is glad to have.

He goes through every single picture multiple times with a small smile on his face, finally setting them down to look at the note left with it. She doesn’t have to be forgotten. It says, followed by the small and rough drawing of a little camelia.

Grief is hard, painful and quite a long process, but somehow it doesn’t seem as impossible as it did before. 

—

Carmelita is already there when he comes back to work the next day. Her cute glasses are on her snout as she leans forward on her desk, looking at various documents laid in front of her.

She looks up when he greets her with a smile, her eyes following him as he takes off his thick jacket and hangs it. "How are you feeling?" She asks with a neutral tone.

"Good." Sly simply says, ignoring the look she gives him when his winter boots wet the carpeted floor on each steps he takes. "Did you rest since we got home?"

"I don’t need to rest." Carmelita dismisses quickly, putting her glasses on her skull. "I’ve made a breakthrough regarding Mz Ruby’s case."

"Really?" Sly asks out loud, genuinely curious. "What did you find out?"

"Bentley was able to find out she sent those letters from the depths of Haiti." Carmelita stands up and comes to sit on Sly’s desk instead. "We still can’t explain how she did it as there’s no logical or rational explanation concerning the sending as it was not delivered through the mail, but that’s what we know."

"Okay," Sly nods. "When are we leaving?"

"Have you heard of the Obsidian Circle?" The vixen asks suddenly, walking to the white board she likes to use during cases. When Sly shakes his head to say no, she keeps talking. "It’s an organization that represent itself as a modern spiritualist group. They’re known for their with charity works, running events like soup kitchens and managing community centers all across the world. I’ve done some digging while you were away, and as it turns out they also manage a couple of planned-living communities."

"It- sounds lovely?" Sly says, a bit unconvinced. "What about them?"

"Interpol has been studying and tracking them for awhile and it seems it’s actually a cult. A dangerous one."

At that, Sly raises his eyebrows. "And you think Mz Ruby is involved with them?"

"Not only do I think that, but I also know that."

Sly almost rolls his eyes at her dramatic effect as Carmelita pulls out a few badly taken pictures of what could or could not look like Mz Ruby talking with what seems to be a young couple of ducks in front of a bland looking house. "And you found out all of this in only three days?" He asks in disbelief.

"Well, did you expect me to just twiddle my thumbs while I waited for you to come back?"

"I was only home for three days!" He exclaims, too amused. "And you managed to not only locate her but also link her to a cult. You’re amazing."

Carmelita absolutely doesn’t blush. "Yeah well, you should know better than doubt me, raccoon."

When he scoffs, Carmelita just keeps talking. "Those pictures were taken in one of the Obsidian Circle’s planned-living community in Corail, which is a commune in the Grand’Anse department of Haiti. She’s clearly involved."

"So we know Mz Ruby is involved with a weird cult, and that she was also linked to the Alabama Butcher back in the US. She’s also quite known for being a freak and for her liking towards voodoo. What does that tell us?"

At that, Carmelita slides a thick folder towards him. "Interpol has received a lot of complaints and testimonies, from people that claim they were pressured into give them large sums of money, as well as individual cases of embezzlement and money laundering. We’ve also got reports of missing people."

"If it’s that obvious, why weren’t they stopped before?" Sly says, looking at the glossy pictures and tons of informations inside the folder. 

"Nothing would hold in a court of justice, it’s only a couple of individuals that were living in those communities and started complaining after they left, or rumors from informants. Nothing that can be traced back to an actual person or persons. Yet." Carmelita says. "Also, if Mz Ruby really is involved, it means the Fiendish Five are too. Which gives them undeniable support as well." 

"We’re dealing with something bigger than I anticipated." He says more to himself as he looks at the list of names in one of the documents. 

Sly has never stopped investigating the Fiendish Five since he was eight, always doing researches and studying them, but never did he think they’d be involved in cults. 

"Mz Ruby mentioned that Jenkins was sending her blood in her letter." The raccoon says, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "Do you think that has anything to do with the Obsidian Circle?"

"It must be the case. It’s too big to be a coincidence, don’t you think?"

"Yeah," Sly says. "What did Barkley say about this?"

"He asked that we meet with him as soon as you got here." Carmelita takes the folder and walks back to her office, the heels of her boot heavy against the floor. "You ready?"

"Hell yeah."

—

It feels too familiar, sitting in Barkley’s office. It wasn’t too long ago that they were there talking about the Alabama case, the memory still too fresh in the raccoon’s mind.

"I didn’t get the opportunity to congratulate you sooner, Detective Cooper." Barkley says around his usual cigar, looking pleased. "Inspector Fox told me you were really impressive back in the US."

"It was a team effort." He casually says, giving his best smile. Never thought he’d say those words, looking back to the early stages of their partnership. 

"Didn’t I say you’d make a great team?" The badger brags, resulting in one of Miss Fox’s famous eye roll. 

"I’ve shown the Obsidian Circle file to Cooper." She says instead. "We’re ready to get our hands on Mz Ruby."

"About that," the badger says. "There’ll be a slight change of plan- We’re turning this case into an undercover mission. You’ll have no external support, very little ways to reach out to me or Interpol. You’d have to rely on each other on a daily basis."

"For how long?" Carmelita asks, clearly taken by surprise. No doubt was she expecting to come through the front door and kick everyone’s ass, gun blazing. 

"As long as it takes for you to get the job done."

Carmelita nods, clearly eager to get her hands on this case, but still asks, "I have no doubt we’ll nail this operation, but allow me to say this- I’m the kind of cop that knocks down the front door, and Cooper here is not yet used to those kind of long term assignments, so how can you be sure we’re the best team for this work?"

"I’ve got my reasons." Barkley says, and Sly doesn’t think he’s going to explain himself until he speaks again. "You both work well without much direction on field work, and the two of you have learned to overcome your initial distrust to become one of my best teams. I’ve known you longer, Fox, of course, and you’ve always worked hard at all the training I’ve set for you. Seeing how well you did in Birmingham, you’ve proven yourself too, Cooper. I can’t imagine a better duo for this operation, to be honest."

The unexpected praise has the same effect on the both of them, as they look at the older man in silence. Pride blooms into Sly’s chest in a way it hasn’t in a long time, warming his entire body. He doesn’t have to look at Carmelita to know she might feel the same. He honestly suspects this woman has a serious praising kink.

"We can do it," Carmelita says instantly, glowing. "A lot of people have been hurt by this group. It’s time to put a stop to all of this."

"I’ve got to warn you though," Barkley says as he crushes the top of his cigar into the ashtray. "Those people are incredibly dangerous, and very clever. Careful about who they welcome into their community. It’s not just about crimes related to money, there are also rumors about human trafficking." Sly’s heart drops inside his stomach, but he doesn’t voice anything, only nods.

"Stopping this cult means stopping Mz Ruby, which is our main goal, remember?" She asks Sly, probably reading his thoughts. "We’ll take this operation."

"And what would we be doing, exactly?" Sly says a bit impatiently, pushing down his uneasiness. Despite his whole disgust at the situation, he’s craving some action.

"We’ll have a lot to do to get you ready-" Barkley says.

"I’ll think of some possible covers," Carmelita cuts him off, standing up and ready, as eager as always.

"We already have that part cover," The badger says, giving her a nasty look for her interruption. Sly watches as he takes out a thick manila envelope, sliding it towards them.

Sly is the first to take it, ignoring the vixen’s look of disbelief as he takes out the two pages that were inside of it. As he reads, Sly realizes it’s profiles for him and Carmelita, with made up background and jobs and a brand new identity that they’re supposed to take on.

"Those cover stories were created a while ago, when we started suspecting their organisation, but that were never used." The badger explains. "I think you’ll be perfect for this."

"There’s a typo," Carmelita says, gently looking up at their boss. "Both those aliases have the same last name."

"That’s because you’re going to be pretending to be newlyweds." He says serenely.

Sly is pretty sure his heart stops beating right this instant.

"Married?" He chokes out. "Us?"

"Yes," Barkley says. "You’ll have to be the most appealing target for them to want to bring you into their community. You’re moving into your first home, cut off from families and friends, very wealthy. In desperate need to be a part of a tight-knit community or whatever bullshit they’ll sell you back there."

Sly’s corrupted mind goes back to the little jerking off session he got himself into back in Birmingham, when the memory of Carmelita’s stiff nipples had made him cum in his hand like a sixteen years old boy. It’s embarrassing enough to know he’s done that thinking of his coworker, but now he’ll have to play house with her and sleep with her and pretend to be in love with her?

Oh boy.

"Right." Carmelita says after a while, her face suspiciously blank. "It’s- Alright."

Chapter Text

If you had asked Carmelita about all of this about six months from now, she probably would’ve said she’d rather poke her own eye out with a fork than agree to this operation. 

And then, there she is. Driving a terribly expensive light grey SUV that screams "I’m a PTA Member" even though they don’t have any fake kids to go with their fake marriage license (and thank god for that), fake married to a partner she didn’t even want or need and yet has grown to accept.

Light reflects onto the delicate golden wedding band sitting on her finger, a reminder that this shit show probably is the closest she’ll ever be to become someone’s actual wife, which doesn’t really bother her but still crosses her mind.

"I think we’re almost there." Sly says next to her, eyes focused on the phone he was given for the operation. "Turn right on the next street and that should be it."

Carmelita only hums in answer, looking out the window and taking the surroundings. The house they’re going to live in is in a residential area of Corail, which looks way too americanized to seem natural. The vixen rolls down her window, looking at the white houses with neatly mowed front yards and hatchback cars parked in their driveways. It feels like they’re in Desperate Housewives. 

As she parks on the other side of the street, their eyes fall on the well dressed strangers standing in front of what is going to be their home for the next weeks, talking loudly with the movers taking boxes out of their truck. 

"Okay," she says in a breath. "Show time."

"D’you want to go over everything one more time?" Sly asks as he pockets his phone and takes off his seatbelt. He’s dressed in a very clever way, wearing a simple but elegant dark blue button down with black chinos and black boots, a pretty and very expensive silver watch on his wrist. It’s way less casual than what she is used to see him wearing, but it’s a part of the perfectly designed role he’s playing. 

Sly is supposed to be an IT guy even though he doesn’t know shit about it in the first place and can barely check his own emails, and Carmelita is playing the role of the stay at home wife who enjoys brunches and yoga with her girl friends and who is patiently waiting for her husband to finally knock her up.

(Sly struggled to stop laughing when Barkley pitched them the idea, and Carmelita had kicked him in the shin in retaliation. The beginning of a very healthy marriage, as expected.)

The vixen, on the other hand, is wearing a pretty white dress with small purple flowers on it alongside some white high-heeled sandals, her curly hair up in a messy bun. She looks the embodiment of the pretty and kind wife that enjoys spa days and going shopping; a far cry from the leather pants and combat boots Carmelita is usually wearing at work.

Still, she feels pretty, knows she is, too, if the way Sly’s eyes went bigger when she got out of her office is a good enough clue. They’re dressed to impress their new neighbors, and despite the obvious disgust she feels towards the role she’s supposed to play, Carmelita is more than ready to nail it.

Mz Ruby has been lying loose for too long.

The newlyweds get out of the car and Carmelita has to suppress the urge to snatch her hand away when Sly takes it and intertwine their fingers. He’s looking at their house with a satisfied grin, obviously playing his part.

"Welcome home, baby."

She wants to kick him again, but only nods with a forced smile. Sly drags her towards the house where the two strangers have turned to greet them, eagerly coming to shake their hands without letting go of hers. 

"Hi," he says around a smile. "I’m Sly, and this is my wife Carmelita."

"Good morning!" One of the stranger, a female lynx, greets them. "And welcome to Corail, I’m sure you’ll be very happy in here." When her yellow eyes fall on Carmelita, uneasiness fills her instantly. "My name is Jane, and this is Karl. We’re the founders of The Obsidian Circle." 

The male lynx behind her smiles widely at them, shaking Sly’s hand and kissing Carmelita’s. She suppresses a noise of disgust. "And yes, welcome to your new lives."

"Thank you for meeting with us." Sly says politely, a huge grin on his face. "We really can’t wait."

"Let’s get you inside," Jane says. "Make sure you have everything you need."

"Sounds good." Carmelita says, forcing her smile to not look like a grimace. "It was a long trip."

"We understand moving to another country can be a lot," The woman says as she unlocks the door. Beside her, Carmelita can feel how Sly is unconsciously tightening his grip on her hand. "But we already planned everything out for you."

And that’s an understatement. Interpol had to take drastic steps to make it all look appealing to this cult, and it involved scandalous sums of money. Sly and Carmelita were easily approved to fill a space into this planned community thanks to their decision of letting the cult founders furnish the house for them. 

It makes you more of a target when you seem so trusting with that much money right away. 

The house is ridiculously beautiful. 

It’s not too big but not on the smaller side either, a typical family house with huge windows, french doors that lead to the backyard and dark wooden floors. There’s two bathrooms, three bedrooms and an office furnished and decorated in neutrals tones. 

It looks straight out of an Ikea magazine but Carmelita supposes it’s tasteful. The couple follows their hosts as they move through the house, showing them the huge open kitchen with countertops made of marble and a huge fridge with two doors, matching the American style of the house. 

Karl never stops talking as they move from a room to the other, explaining things Carmelita can’t be bothered to listen to, occasionally nodding and letting Sly do the small talk. He’s the charming one, after all.

The master bathroom has a huge bathtub that also can work as a jacuzzi, the room directly opened to the bedroom which has a massive king sized bed and a cute little balcony surrounding the pool in their backyard. 

This is not something Carmelita is used to. The house is outrageous, it screams money on every single corner, especially as they enter the enormous walk-in closet that’s almost the size of her entire apartment back in Paris.

"Jesus," Sly whistles next to her. He looks genuinely impressed. "We bought the house a week ago, I’m surprised you got it done so fast."

"We are very selective about who we welcome into this community," Jane says proudly. She looks as enthusiastic as this Karl guy does, which has Carmelita wondering why a member of one of the most dangerous gang in history would be wasting her time with a shitty cult like this one. Those two look like brainless idiots, in her opinion. "We want to take absolute care of our residents."

"We appreciate it."

Carmelita only hums noncommittally, eyeing the closet as she struggles not to puke in her own mouth. The discreet pressing of Sly’s hand in hers gets her out of her thoughts, noticing Karl’s and Jane’s eyes on her. They’re smiling, but their eyes betray how puzzle they feel.

There’s no way in hell Carmelita will be the one to ruin their operation, so she lets go of her partner’s hand and puts her arm around him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. "It is everything we ever wanted, isn’t it, Sly?"

Sly’s hand rest on hers, smiling widely. He’s playing his part perfectly, looking so at ease she almost feels jealous. "They even got the walk in closet you wanted, baby. It’s better than I hoped." 

"We’re glad you like the house." Karl says, sounding sincere. "You just got married, right? Are you planning on having children?"

The question almost startles her, and her stomach churns uncomfortably. Pushing the feeling away, Carmelita forces a smile. "We got married two weeks ago." 

Noticing how surly she sounds, Sly lets go of her hands and turns to face her, taking her face into his hands. She’s a professional, so she fights the urge to take a step back from the too intimate touch. They’re supposed to be married, for gods sake. 

"Sorry, this is a sore subject." Sly says, looking at their hosts. "We’re looking to start over, our wedding ceremony was.. Complicated."

"I’m sorry to hear that," Jane says, her puzzled tone barely hidden by her never faltering smile. "What happened?"

It is a pretty nosy question to ask a couple of strangers, but Carmelita doesn’t voice it. Sly beats her to it, and answers first with an angry tone she knows is completely fake. "Let’s just say her parents tried to stop her from marrying me and wanted to interrupt our ceremony at the courthouse."

The sudden outburst seems to surprise them both, but Jane is quick to recover and plasters a bright smile on her face. "Well, we’re glad you have chosen to start over with us." She says, eyeing Carmelita’s wedding ring with something that almost looks greedy. 

Again, what better target than a young couple of newlyweds with no family and too much money to spend? 

"Sorry for the outburst," Sly says, looking sheepish. "It’s- been hard, yeah." 

"No need to apologize." Says Karl, and then they make nice casual chat with them for a few minutes about the neighborhood and other banal subjects until they’re left alone.

Sly gets down to talk with the movers and direct them to have the rest of their things (mostly clothes and personal belongings) brought inside the house.

Carmelita is more than happy to let him, discreetly checking the entire floor for bugs or hidden cameras, moving to the ground floor and doing the same when they leave. Finding none even after she double checks, the vixen finally allows herself to relax.

"There you are," Sly says as he comes into the living room. "Do you think they bought it?"

"I think so." She says. Even if the thought is a very unpleasant one, she’s well aware Sly is doing a better job than her at playing the loving and enthusiastic husband. "I guess we’ll have to wait and see, but- You did good."

"Thanks," He says around a smile that looks way more genuine that before, not that their little hosts could know which of his smiles are the realest.

(Carmelita feels hot all over to realize she actually knows him well enough to be able to differentiate his smiles.)

"You seemed tense," He adds after a few seconds, unaware of her inside turmoil. Her eyes follow as clever fingers undo the first three buttons of his shirt, showing the upper part of his strong torso. "You gotta loosen up."

"Easy for you to say." She scoffs. "You looked right at home upstairs, practically drooling over the jacuzzi. Didn’t take you for a greedy man, Cooper."

"Hey, you’re the one that put a ring on it, baby." He says jokingly, wiggling his eyebrows. "I’m a man of taste."

"Well obviously if you married me."

Sly laughs then, clear and genuine, the noise helping her relax despite herself. This is a stressful operation, one they can’t afford to fail, and the thought that he is right there with her is a comforting one. Not that she wouldn’t succeed without him, of course.

"Anyway," she speaks again, "They were suspicious as fuck, right?"

He nods. "They looked particularly interested in hearing how alone we are."

"Yeah." Carmelita agrees.

Sly only hums but the vixen is not looking at him anymore, instead choosing to look at the backyard through the french doors. It’s only when she sees him shift from the corner of her eyes that she turns to look at him. "What is it?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking."

"Well spit it out," She says, eyeing him curiously. "What’s up?"

"We knew acting like a couple would be hard, right? But we gotta be careful not to bring unwanted attention if we want this to work out."

"What are you suggesting?" Carmelita frowns, until realization dawns on her. "You’re not saying-"

"I think we should do what Barkley suggested." Sly cuts her off, conforming her doubts.

"And act like married people 24/7?" She asks in disbelief. "Didn’t know you were that desperate to be close to me, raccoon."

"Oh, fuck off," He says with a laugh, no fire in his words. "Just don’t want to mess this up."

Carmelita doesn’t want to either, so she sighs and rubs her snout. "What do you want to do?"

"Hell if I know." He says, eyeing the room. 

"Let’s make a list?" She offers, rolling his eyes when he looks at her funnily.

"Only you could take the fun out of a situation," He teases. "But yeah, okay. Let’s make a list of ideas."

And so they do, spending a good hour coming up with things they could try that would make it more believable without making them too uncomfortable. It isn’t long, but it seems to satisfy the both of them: sleeping in the same bed, cooking and eating together when they’re both home, giving each other pet names ("Isn’t that so cute, cupcake?" He teased, resulting in an honest to god slap on his snout. "Call me that and I’ll kick you in the nuts.") and going out on dates. Carmelita reluctantly agrees to holding hands in public and to goodbye kisses in front of their houses when Sly will leave for work in the mornings, which gets her another charming wink and wiggling eyebrows.

It can’t be so hard, right? 

The idea of kissing him is a strange one, though. He’s her work partner, maybe even her friend, the closet thing she has to one anyway, someone that she didn’t want by her side at first but who she’s glad to have now.

Sure, they touch, sometimes. They grab each other and even slept next to each other on that first night in Birmingham, they even give each other comforting touches when needed, but kissing… It’s intimate. Far too intimate to be done with a coworker, but Carmelita is a professional.

"Think this is good." Sly says as they read everything out loud. "We can do this."

The doorbell rings, interrupting their conversation as Carmelita stands up to look out the window. 

What she sees could well be her worst nightmare; the neighbors walking towards their house with their arms full of welcome baskets and bottles of wine, over enthusiastic smiles plastered on their faces as they wait by the front door.

"Let the show begin." Sly says, taking her by the hip and opening the door with a smile. 

"Hi!" The neighbours all greet in unison. "We wanted to stop by and say hello!"

As expected, it is indeed Carmelita’s worst nightmare.

—

The first week in Coral is a very busy and tiring one. They don’t have any contact with the outside world, avoiding to reach out to Barkley or Bentley as planned, only relying on themselves for the first part of the operation.

Sly settles into his new fake job as an IT guy for a small company downtown while Carmelita busies herself with unpacking their stuff and dealing with the neighbors when they want to stop by and say hello, bringing so much food their giant fridge seems almost too small.

Carmelita has never been one to live in communities like this, having left her parents and the family house as soon as she turned 18, so it’s quite unfamiliar to have all of those people care for them and invite them to stuff. When she thinks about that, her mind always drifts back to Sly and she wonders how it feels for him to be surrounded by so many people when he grew up alone, as an orphan. 

She hasn’t pried any more informations that he gave her, but it doesn’t mean she’s not wondering about all of it.

By the end of the week, Sly and Carmelita have been invited to a couple of promising events; the weekly neighborhood picnic held in the town’s park, an upcoming pool party at one of the many couple’s house and a seminar for couples regarding love languages, which honestly has Carmelita want to puke in her own mouth a little bit. 

As they walk towards the park on the day of the picnic, holding hands and dressed in matching colors, Sly cannot help but be too conscious of the weight of his pretend wife’s hand in his. They’ve shared three kisses so far, only small pecks on the lips when Sly leaves for his fake job, but the feeling of her mouth against his hasn’t left his mind yet. 

It’s ridiculous, he knows, but he’s fake married to an absolute goddess so yeah, sue him.

The area where the picnic is held is full of picnic tables covered with all kinds of food; brownies, muffins, about three hundred kinds of cookies and savory food like pasta salad and barbecued meat. The smell of everything has him salivating in seconds.

Soon, they part ways. Sly is immediately surrounded by children asking him to come and play, while Carmelita accepts a glass of what seems to be fruity punch on the other side of the park.

"Jane told me you just moved in," One of their neighbors, miss Applebee, a mid-fourties hippo dressed in a long patterned skirt and a hippie style blouse, says to her. "It’s always nice to have new faces around here."

"We moved in last week." Carmelita says, giving her best smile, one that she practiced all week. "But it feels like it’s been longer, everyone has been so warm and welcoming. It’s wonderful."

Miss Applebee beams at the response, taking Carmelita’s hand in both hers. "I’ve already told your delicious husband, but you should both come to the seminar I’m hosting in a few weeks!"

"Yeah, Sly told me about that." She says, fighting the urge to get her hand back and slap her with it. "We’d love to join."

"Wonderful!" The other woman exclaims. "It’ll be life changing, I promise! A whole day of exploring your relationship and learning more about yourselves."

Carmelita only hums as the woman launches herself into a pitch about how great it is all going to be, not paying attention as her gaze falls on Sly, who’s currently playing soccer with a bunch of kids. 

The light blue button down shirt he’s wearing strains against his biceps as he moves, his white sneakers turning green on the soles as he runs through wet grass. He’s genuinely laughing as he entertains the children, and that causes a strange feeling to bloom into Carmelita’s lower stomach. 

Seemingly noticing she’s not paying attention anymore, the older hippo gently presses on Carmelita’s hand. "Your husband is quite the catch." She says with a gleam in her eyes. 

"He’s great." Carmelita agrees in a breath, looking back to the hippie.

"Very good with kids," She speaks again, eyeing Sly. "Are you thinking about having some?"

Remembering the role she’s supposed to play, Carmelita smiles warmly and nods. "Yeah, actually. We came her for this reason. To have a house where they could grow up in, be apart of a loving community, you know?"

"That is a wonderful project. Children are the best." Miss Applebee beams again. "Have you done your genus testing?"

"Uh?" Carmelita asks dumbly, eyes going back and forth between Sly and the hippo. "Our what?"

"Your genus testing," She repeats. "You know, to determine your level of genetic compatibility, see if your species are a match."

"Uh," She repeats. Believe it or not, it has never crossed her mind before. "We- Haven’t. I didn’t know…"

"It’s quite okay, love. I’m sure it’ll work out for you two."

"We’re just going at it and praying for the best." Carmelita says before she can stop herself. What she says next- instant regret. Instant cringe. "In every room and every position, you know?"

The older woman stops for a moment, until she laughs so loudly everyone in the park stops to look at them. Carmelita, on the other hand, is bright red, drinking from her glass to hide her embarrassment. 

"You youngsters have fun." She simply says, gently patting Carmelita’s hand and leaving her alone. "Trust me, if I had a husband that looks like this, he wouldn’t be sleeping in the garden."

Feeling her distress, her wonderful husband joins her, wiping grass from his black chinos. "What did I miss?" He says, following when Carmelita grabs him by the biceps and moves away from the crowd.

"I hate everyone here," She claims. "This is the worse thing ever."

"Worse than swimming in that disgusting pool back in Wales?" He argues.

"Okay, maybe not the worst. But it’s awful!" 

"Those people are kinda nice," Sly says, looking at their neighbors. "What did that woman want?"

"Miss Applebee," Carmelita explains, referring to the chart they have at home of every single person living in that community with informations on them. Sly nods. "She talked to me about that seminar again. I think we should go."

Those words bring up much pain.

"Do you know if she’ll be there?" He asks, ‘she’ being Mz Ruby. 

"I’m not sure yet, but there’s only one way to find out."

Sly nods again, eyes moving to the crowd and back to the vixen. "They’re watching us." 

"Of course they are," She scoffs. Everyone seems to have taken a liking to them, especially to Sly with his freaking charming smile and politeness. "Everyone is drooling all over you. Even the damn kids."

That has him smirk as he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer until their snout almost touch. Carmelita’s heart is in her throat at their sudden proximity, which is still weird to get used to. "I just want my beautiful wife drooling all over me, to be honest."

"Sly-" She says, eyes falling on his lips. She’s not even sure of what she was about to say.

"We have to make them like us." He says, and Carmelita nods. "Trust me."

Her eyes close as their lips meet in a kiss that’s far more intimate than the small pecks they’ve shared since they moved to Corail. A strange feeling takes over her body as his arm tightens around her waist, her own hands flat against his chest as their lips move together. 

It’s only when the wet feeling of a tongue is felt against her bottom lip that Carmelita ends the kiss, blushing so hard it feels like her head is on fire. "I think that was convincing enough." She says, taking a step back as she clears her throat.

"It was." Sly agrees, wiping his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "Very much so."

"Let’s head back." Carmelita says, adverting her eyes. "I need another drink."

As she lays in bed that night, looking at the ceiling while Sly sleeps soundlessly next to her in nothing but his boxers, his body a real furnace, Carmelita will think that it doesn’t really seem fair that her first real kiss with Sly happened in front of a bunch of strangers.

The idea is so weird and gives her a feeling so strange she has to shove it down deep in a box inside her mind, one that she refuses to look at too closely for now. 

She’s drunk on punch, that’s all.

Chapter Text

"Well, well, well." Sly whistles as Carmelita goes down the stairs wearing only a black bikini with a red pareo over it, feet clad in black sandals. "Would you look at that."

"Close your mouth," She says as she joins him in the kitchen, standing there surrounded by all sorts of food laid down on their counters. "What’s all of that?"

"The neighbors dropped everything off earlier." Sly explains, adjusting his own dark blue bathing shorts.

(As it turns out, the pool party they were invited to was almost canceled because one of the initial host got sick, and Sly offered to relocate the party at their house. "It’d be good to be viewed as the heroes that save the day." He had told her that day when he got home with the news. Carmelita still refuses to admit it was a good idea.)

"What a bunch of show off." Carmelita goes and opens the french doors leading to the backyard, looking at the unused pool. "Can’t believe we’re actually doing this."

"It allows me to see you in a bikini, so I’m not really complaining." Sly says with a shit eating grin, barely dodging the sandal Carmelita throws him when the doorbell rings, wiggling his finger with a laugh. "Baby, don’t hit me in front of the guests, it gives a bad impression!"

"I hate you," The vixen mumbles as she puts her sandal back on and comes to greet the guests with him.

The pool party is an ambitious idea, but even if the thought initially repulsed her, Carmelita thinks it could work. It’ll bring all their major suspects together under one roof, and it’s also an easy way to show off their money without being too obvious about it.

Soon enough, the house fills up and even more dishes start piling up on every flat surface as guests snack on petit fours and pastries, drinking expensive champagne and fruity cocktails.

The guests are loud, noise surrounding them as they make meaningless conversation. Finally, it becomes worth it; about two hours in, as he’s sitting on a deck chair outside chatting with two of their neighbors, Sly hears about rumors about how a wealthy widow living on the other side of town vanished one day, only to resurface days later with a bruised eye and babbling about monsters. 

"She’s lucky the Obsidian Circle is so generous," The man says, sipping on his champagne. "Jane organized her transfer into a retirement home so that she won’t be alone again. I heard she donated a huge sum of money to them as a thank you. At least she’s not ungrateful."

Thats not shady at all, Sly almost says ironically, but bites his tongue. He settles on drinking instead, eyes wandering on the crowd until they land on Carmelita. 

She’s gorgeous, tonight. She always is, to be fair, but something about seeing her up close and personal, in a way that’s very casual, brings up her beauty even more. Sly never thought he’d be lucky enough in his miserable life to get the chance to see her outside of work situations, but he does.

Before, Carmelita was like an abstract idea, someone locked inside the coworker box, someone he could only link to guns and crimes and criminals. 

Now? Well. Now he knows she talks a little in her sleep, that her hair always leaves a nice apricot scent on her pillow, knows she doesn’t like cheap ham and only drinks herbal teas before bed. 

She's become a person, someone that lives and feels and breathes, someone with humor and thoughts and feelings. Sometimes, it becomes too much to bear, living with her. And it’s only been a week. 

The man he was talking to starts looking at him funny then, raising an eyebrow, and that’s how Sly realizes he must’ve zoned out and didn’t hear what the guy said. "Sorry, I- Was thinking about my wife."

Truest words were never spoken: Sly is thinking about her 24/7 since they got here.

"Ugh, tell me about it," The man says, turning to look at her. "She’s such a beauty. If I liked women, I’d be all over her."

Sly raises his own eyebrows, staring at him wondering how can someone be such a dipshit, but doesn’t voice it. He’s left alone before he can answer, watching as the guy goes back inside claiming he needs another drink, leaving Sly to sit alone.

It feels almost too crowded now, and it’s hard for him to breathe despite being outside. 

A sudden shadow in front of him interrupts his thoughts, and it’s Carmelita holding out her hand. "Can I talk to you for a sec?" She asks, grimacing a little as she adds, "Honey?"

Standing up, he takes her hand and puts on his best smile. "Sure thing, baby."

Carmelita leads them into their guest room, upstairs, muttering "We’ll be right back!" to the people looking at them funny. They only nod, going back to the food and their conversations, and the couple lock themselves in the room, away from prying ears.

"What’s up?" Sly asks, letting go of her hand to sit on the bed. No one can hear them, but they’re still talking quietly. 

"Bentley just reached out to me," She explains, taking out the phone she was given for the operation. "He sent us everything he’s found about the Obsidian Circle through the VPN. Said we should check it out ASAP."

"Good," Sly smiles, feeling a little lighter. It’s reassuring to know that even though they’re alone on field, they still got back up in Paris. "That’s a start."

"Did you found anything out?" Carmelita asks, turning her head towards the door when noise can be heard down the stairs.

"We’ll talk about it later." He says, nodding when she opens the door. 

Scared to be discovered, the couple goes back downstairs and goes back to mingling and drinking with their guests. The conversations are unexciting, going from things as mundane as the weather to other subjects like the latest PTA reunion at the local school or the benefits of essential oils when fighting a cold. 

It’s uneventful until it isn’t, around 9:00.

Carmelita is eating a pistachio croissant Miss Applebee (still dressed like she’s a 70’s hippie and who owns a bakery in town) has brought that almost has her moan when another neighbor, Deborah Milling, who owns an essentiel oil shop nearby, puts her foot in her mouth. 

"Mrs Campbell?" Deborah says, and it takes Carmelita a second to remember that Campbell is their fake last names and that she’s the one being talked to. She only hums in answer, immediately on guard when she notices the expression of concern on the older woman’s face. "I was looking for a bathroom and got lost, and I couldn’t help but notice how lived-in your second bedroom looks. I noticed you’re not very close to your husband physically, but I hope things have not come to this already?"

Carmelita turns bright red in a second, hearing how loud, too loud, Mrs Milling’s voice is. She’s too aware the room has filent silent and too aware of how everybody is now looking at them. 

Reflexively, Carmelita’s eyes search for Sly’s, seeing him standing near the front door with an half-ate muffin in his hand, face blanched as he’s already looking at her. Their second bedroom only has been used once when Sly had spooned her in his sleep and her skin itched so bad she had to get off the bed and came to sleep in there. 

She knows for a fact the room doesn’t look lived in, but she can’t just slap the woman and tell her to mind her own business. 

So instead she does one of most stupid thing she’s ever did and opts for the thing that will get everyone out of the house as quick as possible. 

Without looking away from Sly’s eyes, she musters the most confident tone she can and says, loudly, "We use the second bedroom for sex."

The silence is loud in the room as Carmelita turns to face Mrs Milling again, jutting her hip in controlled nonchalance. "It gets real wet and messy, and we can’t be bothered to change the sheets when we want to go to sleep."

From the corner of her eyes, Carmelita can feel the scandalized looks from the people in the room, and most importantly, Sly’s wide and proud grin. 

Then Deborah steps forward, smiling softly and gently grabs Carmelita’s forearm. Then, with a reasonable voice, she says, "We sell some vegan food complement for feminine lubrication if you ever need some."

Because it won’t make much difference and also because Carmelita wants to shut her up, she turns towards Sly, says "Trust me, that won’t be necessary.", and takes the last steps separating her from him.

He doesn’t have time to do or say anything before Carmelita grabs him by the opened short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing on top of his bathing shorts and smashes their mouths together. 

It is far from the kind of kisses you share in front of strangers, way too passionate to be considered anything else but obscene. Sly’s hand wraps around her waist as he presses her body against his, tongues meeting for the first time as the kiss deepens. He tastes like the chocolate muffin he was eating and god if Carmelita doesn’t feel like moaning for the second time tonight. 

The reactions are not what they expected as chatter starts again, the guests going back to the party like nothing happened. The kiss ends, and Deborah Milling’s laughter fills the room as she gently claps them both on the back. "Ah, I’m glad to hear you have such an active sex life!" 

She is radiant, looking so genuinely happy they’re sharing a bed and having sex it honestly confuses Carmelita. She doesn’t want to talk about their imaginary sex life any more than necessary.

Finally, the party winds down, leaving only a few guests including Miss Applebee, Deborah Milling and her husband Conrad, who’s the caterer that helped setting everything for the party. At this point, everybody has started talking about their sex lives like it’s an appropriate subject, munching on cinnamon scones from Miss Applebee’s bakery. 

Sly’s arm is wrapped around the vixen’s waist as the Millings and Miss Applebee approach them, his hand scorching hot around Carmelita’s fur.

"I’m so glad you moved here," Conrad says with a bright smile. "It’s good to see new faces around here. You’ll be very happy with us and the Obsidian Circle."

"Thank you," says Sly, leaning against Carmelita is a way that’s unusually clingy. She knows he’s probably just acting, especially because one of them noticed how distant they’re always acting when they’re supposed to be married, but it still is distracting. 

"I think so too." Deborah says, eyeing them with a gleam in her eyes, like she’s a bit stoned. "You’ll be able to unlock all your potentials as individuals, and achieve lasting happiness."

"I’m sorry about the PDA earlier," Carmelita apologized quietly. Sly only makes a noise of agreement. "It’s not our usual style, we’re more, well, at ease when it’s just the two of us."

"We understand." Miss Applebee says. "You don’t have to feel so defensive of your relationship around us, not when we have a chance to help you and guide you into the direction of inner peace."

"Alice," Deborah says, turning towards the older woman. "Did you tell them about the retreat?"

"I’ve actually invited them to the seminar."

"Marvelous!" Deborah Milling exclaims at the same time Carmelita asks "What’s it about exactly?"

"Just a little camping trip to some cabins in the mountains," Conrad explains. "There will be some hikes, yoga sessions, meditation.. And of course the love language seminar. Many experiences that will help open your inner eyes."

"It is hosted by the last one of the founders," Miss Applebee says like it’s a great honor to be invited. 

Somehow, Carmelita feels.. Warm. Pleased and satisfied, like it is indeed a huge favor that’s bestowed on them. "That sounds amazing, wow," She says, strangely meaning it. "We would love to come, thanks for the invitation."

Sly grabs her, turning her in his arms with a look of absolute bliss on his face. He’s grinning hard, leaning down and catching her lips in a very, very heated kiss.

Carmelita can hear soft murmurs from their guests, is well aware this is the kind of extreme PDA she usually despises, but can’t find it in herself to care. She kisses him as hard, immediately with tongue until Sly breaks the kiss and pulls her into a hug.

"Sorry," Sly says, not sounding particularly sorry, tucking Carmelita’s head under his chin. 

"It’s fine," Miss Applebee brushes off, looking at them happily. "We’re happy for you." 

For some reason, Carmelita believes her.

They’re finally left alone ten minutes later, after some more meaningless chatter about how life changing the retreat is going to be. Carmelita is torn between a feeling of anger at the thought that one of their guests just barged into their bedroom under a pretext, and being excited at being included in this community. 

Still, she forces herself to focus on her irritation, and by the time the front door closes behind them, she feels almost normal again. 

Sly, on the other hand, looks high as shit. He sighs happily, locking the door with a blissful expression on his face. 

"Sly," Carmelita scolds gently, shaking him by the shoulders. "Snap out of it."

"Shit, sorry," he says, straightening as he tries to collect himself, rubbing his eyes furiously. He still looks kind of dopey.

"I think they’re drugging us," Carmelita says, suddenly hit by an epiphany as she eyes the almost finished pistachio croissant she was eating earlier and the crumbs of the muffin Sly abandoned to make out with her. "I think it’s something in those pastries."

"We should- Take tonight off." He says, clearly fighting whatever puts them in this state. "Just go to bed."

"Yeah," Carmelita agrees, eyes traveling down his naked torso before she can help herself. "Yeah, let’s get to bed. I’ll sleep in the guest room."

"Why?" He says, his eyes hooded as he doesn’t stop himself from looking down her body either. "Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself?" 

It’s meant as a teasing jab, she knows, she’s used to them coming from him, but it doesn’t sound like it. It almost sounds- pleading? Like he wants her to confirm. 

She feels itchy all over, the room suddenly too hot, and she knows it’s because of whatever drugs they ingested, so Carmelita only shakes her head slowly. "Goodnight, Sly."

He almost looks disappointed but only nods with a small smile. "Goodnight."

Sly says it with so much heat in his voice it’s the only thing Carmelita can think about later that night, when she’s lying on their second bedroom’s bed, wearing only a thin pink satin babydoll.

—

It’s about 4 am when it happens.

Carmelita can’t sleep, only turning over and over in bed as she fights against the almost primal urge in her body. Whatever drug it is, it’s a strong one, one that her body struggles to sweat off.

Finally, sweaty and hot as a furnace, Carmelita gets out of bed and out of the room, walking towards the stairs to get a glass of water when the unmistakable sound of a body turning in silk sheets can be heard. Their main bedroom door is ajar, the room pitch black, only lightened by the moonlight coming from the window.

She doesn’t know why, will blame the drugs later, but then she’s pushing the door open and peaking inside.

Sly is lying on his side in nothing but his underwear, his back turned to her as he faces the window. She thinks he’s asleep for a second until an irritated sigh can be heard and she sees him turn to lie on his back. 

He must feel her presence because suddenly his head turn towards the door and he sits down as he notices her. "Can’t sleep either?" He asks, voice hoarse. 

Heat pools inside her stomach as she tries to suppress the feeling and steps inside the room, shaking her head. 

Sly nods too, patting the bed next to him, and without knowing why, Carmelita goes to sit there. She can feel the heat coming from his body, matching hers, can smell the faint perfume of his pinewood soap and the mint lingering on his breath. Somehow, it heightens her senses even more. 

"Do you feel any better?" He asks, crossing his hands on his thighs.

"I’m pretty sure I feel the exact same way that you do," she says as their eyes meet, his pupils so dilated he looks out of it, probably matching her own. Maybe it’s unconscious, but Sly’s eyes drift from her eyes to her lips, his tongue comes out to lick his. As horrifying as it might feel later on, Carmelita can feel how wet she’s getting through her lacy panties. 

"Hm hm," he hums, looking at her mouth as she parts her lips to take a deep breath. And with a  voice so hoarse she almost dies on the spot, he says, "And what can we do about that?"

Not even a second later is Carmelita launching herself at him, kissing him with a fervor she didn’t think was possible, tongues immediately meeting as she moans into his mouth. Sly hoists her into his lap, hands falling onto her hips as he kisses her, his grip so hard she’s sure she’s going to bruise. Right now, she doesn’t care. 

(Right now, it’s turning her on even more.)

Their lips part and they’re barely breathing each other’s air as Carmelita grinds down on his thigh, her aching clit rubbing against her panties as she does, electricity running through her veins as she chases pleasure. 

It’s not pathetic nor is it embarrassing as she moans and breathes hard, little uh’s uh’s uh’s escaping her lips as she feels herself throbbing. She’s never been this wet before, or she thought, until he bites her neck and says, 

"Come on, baby," His voice is so rough, his cock so hot and hard against her thigh, "Come all over me."

She can feel her wetness drench the fur on his thigh and suddenly it’s not enough, so Carmelita shifts her hips, sitting directly on his crotch, only separated by the fabric of their underwear as she starts rubbing herself against the firm shape of his dick. 

It’s so, so much better, the thick length of him catching her clit in a way that has her cry for it, her own noises mixing with the grunts he’s letting out. 

He’s devouring her mouth, his hand holding her curls as she can only breathe into the kiss, her stomach tightening in pleasure, moans of his name escaping her.

"Fuck, I want to taste you," he breathes against her lips and that’s it. Carmelita comes harder than she ever did before, gripping his hair as wetness gushes out of her pussy and directly on his boxers.

She can’t barely hear his own orgasm, the grunts of her name as he empties himself into his underwear, over the sound of her harsh breathing.

Exhausted, she falls next to him, barely aware of the warm washcloth cleaning them both and of Sly covering her with the sheets before she drifts off to sleep, relaxed and content. 

It’s okay, they can talk about it in the morning. 

Chapter Text

Sly wakes up the next day feeling light as a feather. His boxers are a bit sticky, his entire body, too, if he’s being honest, from sweat and other body fluids. Still, his heart feels light. 

The realization that he’s alone in bed strikes him as he stretches his body like a cat, sighing in satisfaction when his joints pop. 

Of course, that also reminds him of the events that occurred the night before. Flashes of Carmelita’s blissful expression as she came flood his mind, his cock stirring in interest as he grins wide. The idea of waking up half naked after being intimate with his co-worker (or boss, if you take ranks in consideration, which he still doesn’t) thrills him, except she’s not just his coworker anymore, she’s Carmelita, a gorgeous woman he’s just rutted against until they both nutted in their pants.

Not very romantic, I’ll give you that.

It becomes even less romantic when the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up echoes in their shared bathroom.

"Carmelita?" He calls with a frown as if it could be someone else, slowly padding towards the door. 

The retching sound comes again as Sly opens the door. Carmelita is leaning over the toilet, face sweaty as she vomits, breathing hard.

"Are you okay?" Sly asks, immediately moving to fill a glass of water and handing it to her.

"What do you think?" She snaps, rubbing a hand over her face. She looks particularly grumpy, but it’s probably just the result of being sick and not actual anger towards him. "I feel like shit."

"What happened?" He asks again, watching as Carmelita rinses her mouth and spits the water inside the toilet bowl. She only shrugs. "It was the food, wasn’t it?"

"If it’s the food, why aren’t you sick?" 

"Dunno," Sly shrugs, catching her forearm when she struggles to stand. "Maybe we didn’t eat the same things."

"Ugh," She moans in pain, lunging for the toilet again. Sly reaches for a towel, handing it to her when she’s done and filling the glass once again. "Fuck."

Carmelita sits down on the floor, slumping again the wall, her breathing ragged. 

"I’m calling off work." Sly says, watching as she rinses her mouth once again. "You might need to go to the hospital if you have food poisoning."

"I’ll be fine, just go."

"That’s not open for negotiations." He says, and he swears he sees the briefest hint of gratitude in her eyes before she puts on her usual scowl. 

"Fine," She reluctantly says, standing up on wobbling legs. "We’ll take a look at the files Bentley sent us then."

"You’re sick and you need to rest." Sly scolds gently, reminding himself of a worried mother. "I’ll take a look while you get some.”

"And let you do all the work? You wish. I’m the Inspector in charge."

(Un)fortunately, a couple meds in later and Carmelita is out for the day. 

She stops puking around noon, eats the chicken soup Sly makes her and takes the nausea pills he’s gone out to buy, and then she’s back to bed.

Sly makes good use for the newfound quietness as he settles on their couch, feet propped up on the coffee table as he logs himself into his computer and signs into the VPN.

As promised, Bentley’s file is there, filled with various documents and pictures. Sly takes his time going through everything.

As it turns out, not only have there been an incredible amount of unidentifiable food poisoning cases, but also hospitalizations for it, as well as hospitalizations for the vague diagnosis "mental status changes." As Sly digs even more, he finds out even more people were diagnosed with severe hallucinations and violent behaviors despite never being diagnosed as schizophrenic or known for drug use. 

They’ve been told not to do it too often, but Sly reaches out to Bentley through the VPN, letting him know of Carmelita’s digestive troubles and asking for some feedback. 

Bentley reached out quickly after, scolding him about using their encrypted mailbox too casually, but also giving him answers. 

Outbreaks of food poisoning is a sign of illegal food and alcohol importing, he writes in his email. I’m working to identify the smuggling chain and will get back to you once I find something. Give Carmelita my best and keep an eye on her.

It feels almost out of character to read those words coming from the usually grumpy and judgmental turtle, but Sly is happy to see the vixen is cared for by her coworkers. From what he’s heard, she, Bentley and Murray have been working together for some years now, and it’s clear they all care for each other on various levels.

Sly goes to check on her around 5, bringing her more meds and water she gratefully takes. She doesn’t have a fever anymore, thank goodness, and hasn’t been sick for hours, which honestly reassures the raccoon more than he’s willing to admit. 

He’ll never say it to her face, too afraid to get kicked in the shin, but it’s nice to take care of her like this. Cooking for her, making sure she’s getting better, it feels casual in a way Sly hasn’t felt since his parents died. 

She was the one taking care of his poor heart when he had a breakdown in Birmingham, so it’s only fair he’s taking care of her too now that she’s sick. 

Of course, he knows it’s the whole situation that makes it feel like this. Carmelita would never let him coddle her if they weren’t playing house or if she had another choice. Still, he’ll get what he can, taking her temperature with a hand on her forehead. 

"Fever’s gone," he tells her with a smile. "How do you feel?"

"Better," she simply says. "And in great need of a shower."

"I’ll run you a bath," Sly says, and does.

They talk through the ajar door as Carmelita washes herself up and enjoys the warm water, Sly sitting still in their shared bed. He’s sat in the exact spot he was sitting in last night when they got off on each other, but he refuses to be the one to bring that up first. 

Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t look like Carmelita will any time soon. 

Still, he finds comfort in the fact that she sleeps next to him that night while she could’ve claimed she felt sick and needed an entire bed to herself. He doesn’t cuddle her, but still enjoys feeling her warm body next to his- from the "small" distance their giant bed offers.

Something more concerning than the possibility of wine and food smuggling comes up the next day. Carmelita gets a phone call from the essential oils shop owner Deborah Milling, asking her if she had heard that Ms Williams left the community. ("She lived just down the block from you and now she has moved! Without a word! Can you believe it!?")

"Who was that about?" Sly asks once she’s hung up. 

"Ms Williams," she explains, rolling her eyes playfully when he gives her a look of confusion. "Mother of the twins you played with at the picnic."

"Ah," Sly says. "What happened to her?"

"Supposedly, she moved."

"That doesn’t sound sketchy at all." He says, and Carmelita only nods in agreement. "She seemed to love this place. Her kids, too."

And so, Carmelita tells him what Deborah Milling told her;

It seems that Ms Williams, who, by the way, is a wealthy young widow whose husband died of cancer a year back, decided to donate more than half of her fortune to the Obsidian Circle in her husband’s memory, and decided to move out of the country with her two children. 

Needless to say, they find that hard to believe, especially when Sly spent a good hour listening to her talking about how great the community was and how much her kids loved their school and teachers at the picnic. 

"So? What do you think happened?" Sly asks, drying his hands from where he was doing the dishes. 

"I don’t know," Carmelita says with a frown. "But nothing good, that’s for sure. We need to reach out to Bentley."

"I did, yesterday." Of course, that has Carmelita turn red in a second. "He’s investigating the possibility of a food and alcohol smuggling."

"And you didn’t tell me because?" 

"You were sick and I handled it." He shrugs, used to her temper by now. Of course, it pisses her off even more. "He’ll reach out to us once he finds something."

"I can’t believe-"

"It’s okay, alright? I handled it. You’re not the only good cop in this operation."

Carmelita opens her mouth to argue, but surprisingly doesn’t. She takes a deep, long breath, one that’s made to calm her nerves, and sets her jaw. "You’re impossible."

"Miss Applebee came by yesterday when you were sleeping," Sly says casually. "She’s organizing a bake sale and wanted to know if we wanted to be a part of it. I told her you were sick and that we’d let her know."

"I’m sick for a day and you decide to not tell me anything anymore, how is that okay?" She complains.

"I’m telling you now." 

"When is that bake sale happening?"

"On saturday, why?"

"She is on our suspect list, isn’t she?" Carmelita says, standing up from the couch. "I’ll go and talk to her with that excuse, see if she knows anything about Ms Williams’ sudden disappearance."

"You got food poisoning from what could’ve been Ms Applebee’s pastries and you want to meet her at her bakery? How is that smart?"

"I can’t just stay here and let you do all the work!"

And of course this is about ego. Despite everything, she still doesn’t see him as an equal and always has to shove her ranking in his face. 

"You’re supposed to be the housewife," Sly says because he feels like being a dick, and because she needs to be humbled a little. "I’ll go and talk to her."

"I told you not to call me that," She growls, fang bared. It doesn’t have the same effect it did months before. "And I don’t like you walking around without me to have your back."

"This was Barkley’s profile idea, not mine." He says, still very amused. "Besides, you’re supposed to be sick, remember?" Sly is already putting on his coat and scarf, not letting her argue more than necessary. 

"This whole situation is unsafe," She argues anyway. "This woman is unsafe! I don’t trust her."

"Okay, then trust me." Sly says, looking her in the eyes. It seems to work as she sighs and rubs her snout.

"You know I do. Dipshit."

She sounds grumpier than the situation warrants. Her frustration is understandable, but Sly can’t quite tell if it’s directed at him, at the situation, or at something else.

"I’ll make dinner when I get home."

And then, he’s gone.

—

It is a quick drive to Ms Applebee’s bakery, about fifteen minutes, just long enough for Sly to get into character and rehearse what he’s going to say. It doesn’t feel as nerve wrecking as he had thought, working this operation. It’s exciting to work under cover and it’s one of Sly’s specialties, too, but he still keeps his eyes on the main goal; taking down the Obsidian Circle.

Working alongside Carmelita has never been funnier. He thought it’d be hard to get his head back in business after what happened in Birmingham but it’s been surprisingly okay. Receiving Lucy’s letter lifted a gigantic weight off his shoulder, like a sign of forgiveness coming from Anna. 

Forgiveness for losing contact, for being away when she died. It's silly to feel guilt about that, they had different lives and lived in different cities, but it’s just who Sly is. He takes and he takes until it’s too much to bear. 

Finally, Ms Applebee’s colorful shop comes into view and Sly parks their SUV on the other side of the road. 

"Sly, hello!” Ms Applebee waves at him from behind the counter as he enters, a small bell jingling as the door swings open.

Sly greets her with a wide smile, allowing himself to look at the bakery. It’s nice and warm, decorated with taste, touches of red and baby blue everywhere adding color to the otherwise beige walls. 

"Hi, Ms Applebee." He says with a nice smile.

The older woman comes out from behind the counter to give him a hug, which Sly returns. It’s a little weird, but everyone is so touchy feely in this town, he forces himself to look at ease.

"How’s your lovely wife today?” The hippo asks as she pulls back and walks with him to one of the pink round tables that’s right next the shop window. 

"She’s slowly getting better, thank you for asking.

"That’s reassuring!" She exclaims, over the top as always, clapping her hands in delight. "Oh, honey, stay put, I just finished a  batch of dried tomatoes scones that I’m trying out for the bake sale. I’m dying to get your opinion!"

"Uh," he says intelligently but she’s gone, coming back a minute later with a tray of fuming scones. The smell has him salivating instantly. "I shouldn’t-"

"It’s a new recipe I’ve been working on for some time." Ms Applebee sets down one of the scone into a light pink plate, leaving again to get him a cup of tea. 

Sly’s mouth waters, his body betraying him, but his mind focuses on what happened at their pool party, and he hopes he’s not giving Carmelita another reason to kick his ass. 

His mind goes back to what happened at their pool party; about how sick whatever Carmelita ate or drank made her, and how out of it Sly was as their guests were leaving. Of course, it also has him thinking about what happened between them because of that, and while he doesn’t regret it, he knows Carmelita might. He also knows it will complicate the case sooner or later.

Furthermore, they still don’t know exactly what’s going on here, whether Mz Ruby, whose part in all of this is still unknown as no one mentioned her yet, has some kind of mind-control power she’s been using or whether there’s something in the food—or both. Sly knows Carmelita has more of a rational mind and doesn’t believe in all things supernatural, but he’s well placed to know the rumors about Mz Ruby’s voodoo powers are not just rumors. 

Still, he can’t just refuse to eat whatever their neighbors offer, given that it would bring unwanted suspicion on them and potentially ruin the operation.

Sighing, Sly runs a hand through his hair, his stomach twisting.

"That smells amazing," he says when she comes back. "You don’t have to do all that, you know."

"Oh, you know it’s no trouble. Tell me what you think."

Reluctantly, Sly takes a bite of the scone and sees heaven. It’s a dried tomatoes and cheddar scone, nothing like he has eaten before, the taste flooding his tastebuds. It’s so good he almost moans. "That’s amazing," he says around a bite. "You said that’s for the bake sale, right?"

"That’s right," The older woman beams at him. "I’m glad you like it! Did you and your wife decide if you’ll be joining us on the sale?"

"Uh, we still haven’t decided, I’m just waiting to see if she gets better before talking to her about it." He says, swallowing the last of the scone. "Who else is participating in it?"

"Oh, about everyone, you know. We like to help each other as a community." Ms Applebee drinks from her own cup of tea, a frown suddenly falling into her wrinkled face. "Ms Williams was in  charge of baking her famous apple pie, but she decided to move out without even a warning! Can you believe that?"

Sly barely has time to hum before Jane comes in the bakery, looking very surprised to see him here. "Mister Campbell," she greets with a small smile. "How delightful to see you here! Ms Milling told me you’d be joining us on our next retreat?" 

Shit, he almost forgot about that. Ms Applebee beats him before he can answer.

"I invited them, I hope that’s okay?"

"Of course, Alice! I was going to do it but you beat me to it. I’ll be looking forward to getting to know you and your wife more."

"Thank you," Sly says and flushes. The room feels a little warmer than it did minutes ago. "We’re excited to get to now more about this community."

"That’s great."

Sly decides to try his luck. "It really warms our heart to see how many people want to include us in things even though we haven’t been there for long."

Jane nods, "I have been wondering how the two of you were adjusting to your new lives in Corail?" She says sympathetically. "Deborah Milling told me your wife looked quite nervous when she mentioned your second bedroom. Would you want to talk about it?"

Maybe it’s the honeyed tone she’s using, but Sly actually wants to talk about it now. Jane is looking at him with genuine sympathy, like she’s sincerely willing to accept them and make them at ease, and before he can stop himself, Sly is rambling, face flushed.

"Carmelita can get pretty defensive, yeah," he says, the words just tumbling out of his mouth. "I was really—Carm and I have, um, w-well, we’ve been trying some new stuff in the bedroom and.. I don’t know, it’s pretty—uh? New?"

Embarrassment fills him as he stops talking, aghast of himself. He still hasn’t had the balls to talk about their little moment of madness with the vixen and here he is, blurting it out to Jane like they’re lifelong besties.

The lynx is giving him a sympathetic look, though, not looking at him like he’s crazy or pathetic, so it might not be too traumatizing for her. 

"It’s okay to be nervous,” she says. "It sounds like it’s been a lot for you to deal with lately, moving into a new town and navigating through marriage." Hearing the sympathy in her voice- it feels good. Like coming home. Like having a mom. "But it’ll be okay, I promise. It is obvious your wife and yourself have a lot of love for each other." 

Sly almost chokes on his spit and only nods, very aware he and Carmelita are not actually a couple, a behavior Ms Applebee seems to mistake as shyness.

"You’re both so cute," She beams at him. "Look at you, all shy and embarrassed to talk about your wife!"

"Uh, thanks," he stammers, trying to look at ease as Jane takes him in her arms and gently pats his back. 

And here he is, being comforted by a woman he’s suspecting of being a dangerous criminal, feeling dizzy and- almost relieved? Like he just confessed to a friend and it felt right and nice to be listened to.

He feels a little light headed as Jane finally lets go of him, smiling bright. "Alice, I was actually here to talk about the bake sale, do you have a minute?"

"Of course," the older woman says. 

Sly gives his goodbye, thanking Miss Applebee again for the free scone and tea, replaying the whole scene in his head as he walks back to his car. He feels happy, relaxed, but still stops himself from flooring the pedal as he drives through the streets, choosing to drive normally and casually like he’s got nowhere to be in particular.

He doesn’t know if it’s the food or tea, or even freaking magic, or if it’s because he’s investigating what seems to be a total shit show, but he feels very shaken after the conversation he’s just had.

One thing’s for sure; Carmelita is going to be utterly unbearable when she hears about what happened. He can already hear the I told you so’s.

—

Bentley reaches out through the VPN three days later, on friday night. 

This time, Sly has told Carmelita about everything that happened at the bakery- mostly because she harassed him until he did- resulting in her punching him in the shoulder when he told her about the scones and the strange dizziness he felt after eating one, but still. 

They’re both sitting in the couch, shoulders brushing. Sly is slightly leaning towards her, looking over her shoulder as she signs in on their shared laptop.

What comes through their encrypted mailbox is not what they expected, though.

Barkley is sending reinforcements for the operation, it reads. Inspector Sharma will be joining you with the informations I’ve found on monday. I cannot tell you more for now- Chief’s orders.

Oh, Sly thinks. This is going to be interesting.  

Chapter Text

Carmelita has faced many trials in her life. Graduating early and on top of her class at the police academy surrounded by jealous male classmates, failing a case so bad they assigned her a partner and gave her previous cases to the girl she dislikes most in life- 

Girl that’s now working with her on her new case, too. Even baking a damn apple pie for the bake sale was less painful than sitting in their SUV and getting ready to have dinner with Inspector Neyla Sharma, who’s going under the alias of Neyla Abernathy for the operation.

"I can’t believe this is happening to me, AGAIN." Carmelita complains for the fourth time in the span of the twenty minutes drive. "I hate Barkley."

"It’ll be fine," Sly says, and of course he does. He’s friends with Neyla, isn’t he? Ugh, it makes her want to vomit. "She just needs to tell us what she knows."

"I can’t believe Barkley is doing this to me again!" She moans, looking out the window. "Forcing me to partner up with you wasn’t enough, he had to put that chick on my operation too."

"First of all; Ouch. Second of all; Neyla is a great cop," he says, coming to her defense like she needs him to. It makes her sick, so she rolls her eyes at him. "Come on, we’re there."

They both climb out of the car, Sly’s hand finding hers right away, his hot palm engulfing hers in a way she should be getting used to but isn’t.

They've shared way more intimate touches than this one and yet it’s one that has her heart beating faster everytime. 

Sly rings the doorbell and there she is. She’s not wearing her usual patterned headscarf, her long brown hair cascading on her shoulder instead. Her red bindi is bright against her pink fur, her green eyes full of mischief as she smirks lazily. 

"Come on in," She says, and they do.

She lives in a house relatively similar to theirs, so Carmelita doesn’t bother looking at it and focuses on the other woman. She oozes confidence in a way that makes her want to grind her teeth, standing there with her hand on her hip and a lazy smirk on her lips. 

Sly, on the other hand, gives Neyla a friendly hug and a pat on the back, which she reciprocates as she rubs his fur over his black button up. 

Carmelita bites the inside of her cheek, adverting her eyes as a strange feeling pools inside her stomach. 

"I’m happy to see you," Sly says nicely, of course he does, when they break their hug.

"Never thought we’d work together on a case." Neyla says, her eyes falling on Carmelita. "Never dreamed of it." 

The sarcasm in her voice stays unnoticed by Sly. Carmelita only scoffs.

"Nightmare seems more accurate." 

The laugh Neyla lets out is everything but genuine, like she hates Carmelita's guts as much as the vixen does, which is probably the case.

"We brought wine." Sly says, holding out the bottle, and that's their sign to get to work.

They sit on Neyla's couch, a glass of red wine in hand as La La Land plays in the background just in case someone's watching them from outside. It's loud enough no one could hear them even with a good spying device, but not too loud so they can hear the other without screaming.

Turns out Neyla has been doing a lot of excellent surveillance work on their targets in the two days she's been in Corail, and as they compare notes it quickly becomes apparent that an actual intervention is going to be needed soon. Anger pools in the vixen's stomach when she realizes the tigress must have been working on the case remotely without them even knowing for a while, probably under Barkley's orders.

After everything, the idea he's still doubting her and her work stings even more.

"I've been watching the neighborhood very closely, and I intercepted a conversation between that Jane chick and some contractors." Neyla says, sipping her wine like she's talking about the weather. Her obvious disinterest for the case has Carmelita boiling even more. "She's hired them to do some work for her. I'm positive there's an upcoming slave auction coming."

"A slave auction?" Sly repeats in disbelief, his eyes falling on Carmelita right away. The vixen can feel her own blood run cold at the news.

"They're definitely involved in human trafficking." The tigress nods. 

"When is that happening?" Asks Carmelita.

"In two days."

"That must be where Ms Williams and her kid have disappeared to."

"We'll have to be there." Sly says, sitting straighter. His usual amused eyes and charming grin are gone, replaced by the seriousness he's only showing when they're talking business. It's a side of him Carmelita likes; when he's so focused his eyes are almost black, his jaw set and his fingers flexed on his thighs. He looks hot like this.

The thought falls on her like a ton of bricks, heat coming on her cheeks as her entire body feels like she's stuck inside an oven. He's not hot, he's not charming, he is- her partner. On whom she rubbed herself until she came a few days ago. 

Okay, maybe he's hot.

"Can you do it without blowing your covers?" Neyla says, turning to face Sly only.

"We can if we’re careful and quick," he answers without a second of hesitation. "We can go in our stealth outfits and gear, and leave as soon as the situation is contained. We have to be there."

When Carmelita doesn't answer, too busy thinking back to the moment they shared, Neyla grins. "I can go with him if you ain't feeling it, Fox."

That brings her back to the real world quite quickly.

"No." She says, out of her trance, her eyes instantly meeting Sly's. "No, I agree with Sly, I'll go. You can either be on guard or stay out of it, but there's no way I'll let you ruin this operation."

Neyla grows low, a feline sound that comes from her throat and gives Carmelita absolute satisfaction. "You wish." The tigress spits through gritted tears. "You’ll need my input. Besides, you’ll have to make up a pretty good cover story in case someone gets curious and asks where you were."

"No one suspects anything," Sly says, drinking the last of his wine. "We’ve been pretty convincing."

"So I’ve heard." Neyla stands up to get him a refill, her hips swaying as she walks. "I was pretty surprised to see how comfortable you were playing house together."

"We’re professionals." Carmelita immediately says, feeling defensive of their relationship- partnership. Whatever it is at this point.

"Still," Neyla hands the glass back to Sly, jutting her hip as she looks at the vixen with her usual arrogant scowl. "Aren’t you supposed to hate his guts?"

"I don’t hate him," Carmelita argues around a scoff, while Sly just laughs and brushes it off, saying "We’re over that." at the same time.

No, it doesn’t feel right that he believes that- Carmelita gets the urge to reassure.

"I never hated you," the vixen says, blushing as she realizes how intimate it is to admit that in front of Neyla. When she sees the slightly surprised look in Sly’s eyes, she feels the need to add, "I just didn’t want a partner."

It sounds like a lie, but it’s not- not really? She wasn’t fond of him that’s for sure, but hatred? Doesn’t seem like the right word for the feelings she had when they first met.

"You’re going all soft on me now, aren’t you?" Sly teases with a smile, but Carmelita knows him pretty well now, and can easily read the genuine relief in his eyes. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t burst his bubble and just rolls her eyes at him playfully.

"How cute," Neyla says like she’s bored. "A perfect little couple."

What follows is quick but sharp debate about tactics and strategy, which is kind of surprising given the amount of wine they’ve all had. Soon, the three of them are debating the idea of involving a local police force or keeping it lowkey and dealing with it on their own.

Of course, Neyla wants to deal with it and avoid involving anyone else, stating that "they don’t need any more liabilities" which has Carmelita instantly arguing, if only to have the additional back-up ready if anything happens.

Eventually, Sly, who didn’t take position until then, states they can effectively handle the slave auction alone and call in the police for back up at the end, allowing them to slip away into the night unnoticed and unscathed.

"That’s a good plan," Neyla ends up saying with a nod. Carmelita feels she’s only agreeing because it’s Sly talking. "We’re settled then." 

Soon, the bottle of wine is empty and Sly and Carmelita get on their way. Sly drives again, leaving Carmelita to look at the stars through the window with heavy eyes.

"That went better than I anticipated," Sly breaks the silence with a soft voice. "I was scared you would scratch her eyes out."

"Guess that wasn’t entirely useless," she says, rubbing her eyes. "Still don’t like her though."

"Why do you hate her so much?" 

"Why do you all think I hate everyone?" She asks in disbelief, only to be met with his usual dumb smile. "Okay, I might hate her. But she’s a real pain in the ass! She completely disregards procedures and acts totally reckless. I can’t understand why she was promoted Inspector so quickly."

"And that has nothing to do with the fact that she was given your cases when you got stuck with me, right?" He asks in a laugh, but Carmelita can tell that’s part of an excuse to bring the subject again. 

Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the strange way her insides are acting since they had sex, but Carmelita doesn’t feel like brushing him off. 

"I meant what I said, you know," she says softly, turning to look at his side profile. "I never hated you- I disliked you, at first, maybe. Felt like you were a little too much like Neyla, and it annoyed me. But I never hated you."

Sly turns his head to look at her, both hands on the steering wheel. There’s a slight frown on his pretty face, like he’s weighing her words.

Carmelita speaks again. "I’ve climbed the ladder by myself, you know? Was always on top of everything. So when I messed up only ONE case and was immediately- well, punished? Forced to have a partner and threatened to get demoted, I freaked out. It seemed so unfair, I took it out on you."

"I never hated you either," he says, looking at her with a softness she’s struggling to get used to. "I thought you were being difficult and a brat, to be honest. But I guess you’re not that bad." He smiles, which gets him a punch in the ribs. 

"Right back at you." Carmelita says, smiling, looking at him as he just laughs.

She feels warm, content. Despite Neyla being there, Carmelita enjoyed the evening. Sly and her, they’re not the same kind of cop ; she loves procedures and loves working by the book while he’s more of a "act first, think later" kind of guy. Still, she’s both appreciative of his dedication to being a good partner and starting to worry what effect it’s going to have on their partnership once Mz Ruby is arrested. 

(She isn’t sure she’s going to be able to forget what Sly’s perfume smells like on his pillow or the feeling she gets when she wakes up next to him every morning.)

Carmelita is so lost in thought that when the raccoon says something, she almost misses it. "Uh?" She asks dumbly, glancing over. He’s looking at her with that gleam in his eyes, the one that has her insides twist and her heart beat faster.

"I said, I’ll take the day after the auction off." When Carmelita doesn’t answer, he speaks again, as if to explain himself. "I wanna take you out on a date."

The world seems to stop turning. Hell freezes over, the birds stop singing- 

Maybe not, but Carmelita Montoya Fox stop functioning. "What? Why?" 

Her face is burning hot.

"We’re a newly married couple, it’s weird if we’re not going out on dates," He says. He definitely sounds uneasy all of the sudden- almost embarrassed. "Trust me, okay?"

Carmelita suddenly feels sweaty, too aware of the heat coming from the car and of the way her clothes stick to her fur. She takes a deep breath, trying to focus on him again, but flashes flood her mind.

His hands on her waist, helping her grind against his hard cock, the feeling of his scorching body flushed against hers, his lips that she kissed in front of everybody at the party.

"Carm?" He asks, breaking her train of thoughts, his voice so damn soft. 

"I trust you," she says because she can’t trust herself to say anything else. "Okay. Let’s go on a date."

It looks like the guy swallowed the whole sun. "Great. I’ll take care of everything."

The control freak part of her personality takes over, "Uh, okay. Do I get to know about what you’re planning?"

"Nu-uh," he scoffs. "It’s a surprise."

"And how I am supposed to dress if I don’t know where we’re going and what we’re doing?" She says in faux annoyance. 

"Dress hot," He grins. "Gotta show off my wife."

"Right," she stammers, her face absolutely not flushed.

Oh lord.

—

Two days to plan an entire operation is not a lot of time, but it still seems like an eternity. Somehow, Sly had forgot how hard it is to just wait.

While there’s plenty of preparation to be done, Sly doesn’t get to do much of it. He has to "work"— remotely, yes, but he still has to log in and do shit he doesn’t care for, for a company he’s pretending to know everything about.

They can’t risk drawing any attention to them this week, or at all, so Sly works from their home office and Carmelita busies herself with her usual fake activities (grocery shopping and yoga on the front porch) and checks their gear in the meantime. 

Waiting makes them both cranky, and it’s Carmelita that breaks first, giving him shit for not taking the trash and picking a fight. 

Sly knows it’s only nerves from the upcoming auction, so he doesn’t take the bait and refuses to entertain her anger. "It’s going to be fine, okay? Just relax."

"I’m relaxed," Carmelita argues, rubbing her forehead. "I’m just- I’m not worried about the damn trash." She says, kicking the trash bag.

No shit, he thinks.

She speaks again. "I know I agreed to the plan, but- You’re going solo into the back door of a group of known slavers while I’ll just sit on my hands with Neyla and watch the other exits and wait for your signal." She complains. "I should be the one to go in first, I’m your Inspector."

"We’ve been over this." He states, slightly annoyed. They agreed Sly would go in first because of his extremely impressive abilities regarding infiltration and his agility, and that Carmelita would stay on watch out with Neyla until he got in. She would come as back up when needed, being more of a "kicking the front door" kind of cop than he is. "This won’t be my first time breaking into a place unnoticed, and it might not be my last. I’ll be careful, I promise."

"You’re never careful," she mutters in defeat, adverting her eyes. "What happens if you get caught? I’m more worried about whatever made those people crazy than you failing the job."

Sly swallows; her concerns aren’t exactly unfounded. Bentley told them about a couple people that were found lost and confused with bruises all over their bodies after disappearing for days. What’s worse than their inability to recall what happened to them for the previous 72 hours was the speculation from Bentley that the only reason these people turned up at all was that their jobs made them too recognizable and important- it means they couldn’t easily vanish into a slave market somewhere and be quietly sold off.

The thought is a terrifying one. 

"I’ll stick to the plan," Sly says to reassure her- or himself. "And we’ll have the local police as back up as soon as we’re done. In, and out. Easy."

"We can’t afford to fuck this up, okay? Promise me."

"Have a little faith in me," he says, an arm around her shoulder. "I promise."

"Fine." She says, gently pushing him off of her. 

They get to it the next day.

Go their separate ways, driving towards their hideouts locations (the bathroom of an underground parking downtown) and get changed into their outfits. 

The outfits aren’t flashy per se, but Sly knows how impressive the tech involved is. Head-to-toe black, with utility belts, hoods that have thermal vision and miniature communicators built in. He secures the holster that welcomes a shock pistol not unlike Carmelita’s and another one that allows him to hang his cane on his back. He puts on his black combat boots and black jacket, and he’s out. 

He gets in the nondescript car Neyla left for him earlier that day, leaving his own car in the parking lot. It’s about an hour drive to the meeting place opposite the building where the auction is supposed to be held tonight, but Sly parks about a mile away from that and walks four blocks before turning down an alley and climbing up a fire escape ladder.

Carmelita is already there, wearing an outfit pretty much identical to his, her purple hair braided and falling down her back as she’s not wearing the hood yet. She’s looking at the building with binoculars, not paying attention to him until he greets her.

"You’re late," she scolds gently, probably more by force of habit than actual fire, but Sly doesn’t pay it any mind, only takes the other pair of binoculars. 

"Where’s Neyla?"

"Late as well." She says with much more annoyance. "Looks like you’ve got much in common."

It almost sounds jealous, but Sly doesn’t mention it- for now. 

"Speak of the devil," he says as the tigress joins them, her pink fur contrasting against the black of her gear. 

"Anything yet?" The tigress says in lieu of a hello, taking the binoculars from his hands and looking at the opposite building. She whistles approvingly. "Great spot for a lookout, Coop’."

"Hear that, Carm?" He grins. "I chose a great spot."

Carmelita only tsks him, ignoring his jab to focus on the task at hand. "Nothing so far. But that’s good, we’re probably ahead of them."

"Means we just have to twiddle our thumbs and wait for something exciting to happen." Neyla says as she sits on one of their camping chair, giving his binoculars back to Sly as she puts her hands behind her head. 

Carmelita sends her a nasty look of disapprobation which, of course, Neyla promptly ignores.

Hours pass. Sly and Carmelita don’t stop watching, bored out of their mind, while Neyla stands back and busies herself on her phone. 

They can’t do much, but they entertain each other with stupid stories about two hours in. Carmelita tells him about the fiasco of the Firestone of India, about how her team failed her which has Sly downright cackling at her. She elbows him in the ribs with a small smile on her face, his laughter encouraging her to keep talking.

They laugh about their precious adventures ; Muggshot, Sir Raleigh, they joke about it all, reminiscing about the time they got drugged and kidnapped at the pub in Wales and when Sly almost drowned in the dirty pool. Birmingham is still a touchy subject but Sly doesn’t flinch when she brings up the time she almost got dressed as a prostitute to catch the killer. 

Neyla doesn’t take part in their conversations, too busy scrolling on her phone to pay them attention. As it often happens, Sly and Carmelita are focused on each other; stuck in a bubble only them are invited in, listening to the other talking and smiling despite themselves.

To the outside world, they could be a real married couple and people wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

"How are you holding up?" Carmelita asks softly, her kind eyes meeting his. He was not expecting this. "After everything that happened in Birmingham?"

Sly takes a minute to consider this. He’s feeling better, that’s for sure. He’s not sure if the fact that he’s not sleeping alone anymore is the reason why, but he never has nightmares anymore and feels way calmer than he ever did. He’s okay, considering everything. 

"I think I’m okay," he says after a while. "In a way, Lucy gave me closure. I still think about Anna, especially now that Neyla’s here with us, but I’m okay."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Neyla asks, genuine surprise in her voice as she sits straighter. Carmelita slightly jumps next to him, like she actually forgot the tigress was there with them. 

"Anna," he says because it’s obvious to him. "She died."

"What?" 

"You don’t know?" Carmelita asks, dubious. "You read the Fiendish Five file, studied the case, and you don’t know?"

"I only read the part about Mz Ruby before coming here." She shrugs, standing up to get closer to Sly. "I don’t give a shit about the other members."

"… yeah, well," he says, looking at her. "Anna was killed when she was investigating the case."

Neyla doesn’t say anything for a long minute, only looking at Sly like she wants to read his mind. He doesn’t move, holds her gaze, unsure what her reaction is going to be. They were friends at the academy, but Sly is almost certain the two women never stayed in touch. 

"Well shit." She says, at last. Her face doesn’t betray any emotion- if anything, she looks like Sly just told her the sky is blue and water is wet. 

He’s about to answer her when the mini-laptop in Carmelita’s hand starts beeping. The vixen straightens, her expression turning into something sharp and focused. "It’s time," she says, scanning the screen. "There’s movement on the other side of the building."

"That’s your signal." Neyla says, glancing up at Sly. "Time to go."

Sly only nods, securing his gear and checking everything is good. He’s about to jump down the building when Carmelita stops him with a hand on his forearm. Once again, it’s just the two of them.

"Keep an eye out," he says, giving her a small smile. "Don’t kill Neyla." 

"No promises." The small smile she gives him looks more like a grimace. "Be careful."

"I will," he says. And with that, he’s gone, jumping from the roof like it’s nothing, landing soundlessly on the concrete. 

The combat boots Sly is wearing have silencers built into them, absorbing the noise of every step he takes. That combined with his natural agility and discretion (which he’s aware, was inherited by the Cooper name), make Sly as quiet and unobtrusive as a mouse.

He makes it to the side door, and then sends the signal to Carmelita through his earpiece to kill the camera watching that entrance. Then, when he’s got the green light from her, he creeps over to the entrance, kneeling by the heavy lock that bolts the door shut. He presses his ear against the door, listening to the mechanism working as he picks at the lock with the pointy end of his cane. It’s a skill he’s mastered despite himself, because of his last name, and is ashamed to have, but it does come in handy. 

There. Sly licks his lips, takes a deep breath, and concentrates. Finally, the door falls open slowly, and relief washes over his entire body. 

"Door is unlocked," Sly whispers into his earpiece. "Do you see anything?"

"Nothing from outside," Neyla says in his ear. "Get in there before they notice the camera has been shut down."

"Got it," he says under his breath as he slips through, quietly shutting the door behind him. Then, he  sneaks down the hall, every sense on full alert as he listens for sounds of activity or any sign that he’s caught, and is relieved to find none. 

Sly sneaks through the warehouse, sending updates about the layout to Carmelita, as it will help her get into position when she comes in next. He encounters four guards on his route but is able to dodge them easily, waiting until their backs are turned before slipping behind them down the hall. 

He moves fast but without a sound, almost invisible as he jumps and moves as light as a feather. 

Finally, he locates three separates groups of human trafficking victims, each in their own barred cell. There’s about a dozen sets of guards on patrol as Sly moves down the massive open warehouse room where the auction will presumably take place.

All three groups of victims are being supervised by multiple guards, who appear to be heavily armed. Most of the victims are young women, though there’s some children and young men mixed in, all of different species.

Sly quickly spots Ms Williams in one of the cells, huddled in the corner. She’s got a black eye and a split lip. Instantly, Sly sees red, and has to fight the urge to grab the nearest guard’s gun out of his holster and use it to beat the shit out of him. 

He keeps his cool though, following the plan as he climbs up to the second story and gets into position, overlooking the main room, hidden from view by industrial tubing and various boxes. 

Sly watches the people walking under him; none of the buyers have arrived yet, and neither has any of their suspected Obsidian Circle cult members. He doesn’t recognize anyone yet, so he waits, letting the girls know of what’s happening in the warehouse and answering their questions quietly.

"If it starts looking like anyone is going to get taken, we move,” he says in a barely-there whisper when Neyla and Carmelita start arguing in his ear; Carmelita thinks they should move and save the hostages, but Neyla counters that they’re here to catch the bad guys before anything else. "I’m with Neyla on this. We want to take these people down. Stay focus."

After what seems to be an eternity of Carmelita bitching in his ear, the guards start bringing out some of the prisoners to the stage, apparently in preparation of the upcoming auction.  Sly can see the hunch of the victims’ shoulders from the second level and the way they flinch when the guards raise their voices at them. His grip on the handle of his cane is so hard his fingers turn white. 

Turns out not everyone gets brought to the stage; Sly counts about twenty people on the raised platform where the auction will take place, which means another group has been left in two separate cells. They’re going to have to be careful no one hurts the prisoners, whether it’s them with their shock pistols or the guards with their full on real guns. Sweat rolls down his temple, and he wipes it quickly with the back of his glove covered hand.

If he messes it up, they all die. That cannot happen.

Finally, buyers start coming in. Most of them are dressed fairly normally, just jeans and jackets, while Sly was expecting people in fancy suits and top hats. Those buyers come from all species, just like the prisoners, so Sly lets go of the idea that maybe certain species were targeted. 

Pop music blasts through the speakers like it’s some kind of party, and Sly nearly falls from his hiding spot in surprise.

He feels his heart skip a beat when the side door opens again and a familiar figure walks in; Mz freaking Ruby. She’s wearing a pink hippie style blouse and a long beige skirt, the usual headscarf wrapped around her hair. Her eyes are focused as she walks.

"I have eyes on Mz Ruby,” Sly murmurs nervously, and gets a chorus of swears and satisfaction back from his friends. 

His heart is in his throat as he watches one of his parents’ murderers walk like she owns the place- which she probably does. 

"We have to get to her," Carmelita says in his ear. "Change of plan!"

"Nothing changes." Neyla says, while Sly’s eyes follow the alligator’s every moves. "We save those people and arrest all of those monsters. Look at the bigger picture, Fox. Ain’t India teach you anything?"

Sly can hear Carmelita growl low in his ear, but there’s no time for that. "Are you guys in position?" He says. When the girls confirm, he nods. "Alright. One, two.. Three!"

It is insanity. 

Carmelita bursts through the front of the warehouse, an explosion loud enough to deafen the whole room as she starts shooting with her shock pistol. Screams fill the air, along with a huge plume of smoke that comes in the wake of the explosion she used to.. “open” the door. 

Sly drops from above like a reaper, using his cane to take down four men in rapid succession as Carmelita flies at the guards in the rear. They’re fighting in unison, taking down guards so fast they can’t see them coming. Sly doesn’t use his own shock pistol, only his cane, the pointy hand of it bloody as he moves. 

They work fast, out of breath under the black hoods hiding their faces, but never falter. 

There’s a lot of shouting, a few rapid clips of gunfire, and then the fighting part is done. Their attack took the auction completely by surprise, as Neyla confirms from where she’s still on lookout on the opposite building’s roof, claiming that there’s no reinforcement coming for the bad guys. The local police, however, seem to be on their way.

The newly-freed victims are crying, trembling, one of them hanging from Carmelita’s neck and starts sobbing, all but collapsing in her arms.

Sly watches as Carmelita drops the guy with the other rescued people, struggling to get him off of her as he sobs into her chest. 

He doesn’t have time to help her though, because he spots Mz Ruby running towards a hidden door. He doesn’t have to think about it much longer; Sly runs towards her, sprinting to catch the alligator, who disappears into a purple cloud of smoke like she’s a freaking magician. 

"Neyla!" He all but shouts. "Mz Ruby left the building! Can you see her!?"

"You were supposed to keep an eye on her!" Carmelita scolds him angrily, but Sly ignores her.

"Neyla! Do you see her?"

"Negative." She says after a few seconds. "She’s gone."

Shit. 

Chapter Text

They part ways almost immediately, all three of them walking off into the dark in different directions, just in case someone is tracking them. 

Sly takes a circuitous route back to his car, and does a very thorough job of scanning it for any sort of bug or tracking device thanks to the scanner Bentley sent them. He sits inside his car for a few minutes, spacing out as he thinks back to what happened into the warehouse. 

They managed to save all those people without any casualties, thank god, which is a big win, but the bitter taste of defeat floods the raccoon’s tastebuds. 

He failed to arrest Mz Ruby. She was right there, caught by surprise just like the rest of her goons, and yet he watched her disappear in a purple cloud like an helpless child.

He knows Carmelita will scream at him when he comes home. They’ve grown closer but this is different, this is work. And his failure tonight might compromise the operation.

It might be way more complicated to get Mz Ruby now that it’s more likely she will be extra careful with her public appearances. 

"Shit!" He exclaims, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of his hands until his skin hurts and tears go down his face. 

He saw her face and was immediately brought back to a cold November night, wearing an eight years old clothes and watching his parents get butchered. 

He can’t exactly explain that to Carmelita, can he?

Defeated and exhausted, Sly changes back into his normal clothes, goes back to the parking lot to switch cars, and goes home. 

—

Carmelita is waiting for him when he gets in. She’s already changed into one of her silk pajamas and showered, sitting straight on the couch, her back facing him. Sly drops his bag in the hall, pulling off his jacket and flinging it in the vague direction of the coat rack.

The atmosphere is cold in the house, and Sly finds himself speaking before he realizes. "Carmelita, I-"

She doesn’t turn to look at him, her voice firm but tired as she speaks. "Go take a shower." She says. She sounds as defeated as he feels, but not as angry. Just… Disappointed.

Which, somehow, is way worse. 

It is nearing three am when Sly goes back to their shared bedroom, surprised to see Carmelita lying in their bed and not in their guest bedroom like he assumed she would be. She doesn’t say anything as he lies next to her, his arm under his head. 

But sleep doesn’t come. Sly lays there, wrung out, but he can’t fall asleep. He lies very still, waiting for exhaustion to get to him, not wanting to wake the vixen, afraid of the conversation he knows is coming. 

About thirty minutes later, he hears her grunt in frustration and roll over. 

"Ugh." She grunts out loud. Sly reluctantly opens his eyes and turns his head to face her, choosing not to be a coward, finding that she’s already looking at him. "That sucks."

"Yeah," he says softly, rubbing at his face. "We did something good tonight," he says after a moment, because he needs the reassurance- because he refuses to be the one to acknowledge his mistake out loud. "Right?"

She says nothing back. In the dark, only lightened by the moon, Sly can hardly make out her face. "It was good." Carmelita says finally. She sounds defeated, like she doesn’t have it in herself to fight tonight. "But it wasn’t enough."

He knew it was coming, but now that it’s said with the lack of fire he expected, it hurts even more. Scream at me, he thinks. Get angry, hit me. I can handle it.

"I’m sorry," he says. No, it’s not enough- so he keeps talking. "I messed up. It’s my fault that she escaped."

"Sly, it’s o-"

"It’s not!" He exclaims, getting out of the bed suddenly out of breath, standing near the window. He rubs at his eyes hard, tries to get his composure. What he doesn’t see is how Carmelita sits in their bed, her face contorted in worry. 

She’s mad, of course she is; she hates failure, lives for a job done well. Lives to be the absolute best in her line of work. Still, she doesn’t see the world as black and white as she did before. Call it character growth or just heavy fatigue, but Carmelita doesn’t have it in herself to get angry or to blame him. 

She failed on some cases too, in the past. She’s been a cop long enough to know that sometimes you can’t win on the first try. It’s a tough pill to swallow. 

Sly doesn’t know she feels that way. He only feels the guilt, the need to get punished, to earn forgiveness. Growing up inside an orphanage leaves marks on your soul you can’t just wash away.

"She was right there, I was- She was so close, I wasn’t quick enough, and now she’s gone and she might disappear again and the whole operation will be useless-" 

Carmelita stands up from the bed, rushing to him as he spirals. He’s having a panic attack, breathing hard and shaking. 

"Hey, hey, look at me," she orders, taking his face in her hands. "Sly, calm down. Breathe with me, come on."

He’s nearly hyperventilating as he looks at her with wide eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks and onto her hands. 

"Come on, look at me," she says, keeping her cam. "Inhale, exhale."

Sly forces himself to match her breathing as she repeats the words several times, inhaling and exhaling in sync with her. It takes a while, but soon, his heart is calming down, his breathing more controlled. 

"It’s okay," she reassures, wiping his tears with her thumbs. Her own heart beats like crazy. "You did nothing wrong. We’ll get other chances to catch her."

"What if we don’t?" He asks in a whisper. "What if she leaves and goes into hiding?"

"We’ll handle it together." 

The reality of her words sink in as Sly’s eyes find hers, the intensity in them making her shiver. Her heart misses a beat and she swallows harshly. "We’re a team, remember?"

Sly hiccups a laugh. "Fuck. I wish you would’ve hit me."

"Come here," she says, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. His arm circle her waist like they were always destined to do so, his face finding comfort in her neck as he breathes her in. 

They stay like this for a while. "She used one of her magic trick to escape," Whispers Carmelita eventually. "There’s nothing more you could’ve done."

Sly hums in her neck, unconvinced, his hands rubbing her waist gently. It’s not the kind of hug you give your work partner, it’s far too intimate.

The softness of his hands on her fur starts to give her goosebumps, the strange feeling growing again inside her belly. 

"I mean, it wouldn’t have happened to me, you know, I’m much more of a professional," she says teasingly. Maybe to distract him from his guilt, or to distract her from the heat burning her insides. 

"Oh, right," he smiles as he lets go of her. "Okay, lady. You’re done."

She instantly misses his touch, as fucked up as it sounds, but the vixen is not about to focus on that right now (denial is a river in egypt). She puts on her best smile and rolls her eyes playfully. "You know I’m right."

Both of them fall silent after that. It’s not the heavy silence that was there before when they were lying in bed, it’s the kind of silence where they just stare at each other with a smile on both their faces. They’re in that special bubble of theirs, remember?

Still, Carmelita wishes she had something, anything, to say to make it better- to make the feeling of unease in their minds vanish.

To make their brains stop asking the question; how many people disappeared before we stopped this?

If there’s some magic words to say, she doesn’t know them. Won’t ever find them, she thinks.

So instead, Carmelita does the only thing that feels right and leads them back to bed. Soon, she lies against Sly’s side in the dark, her head on his shoulder.

She drapes her arm across Sly’s stomach and is gratified when her turns towards him, laying his arm along her back. Softly, he kisses her forehead, his lips lingering a second too long against her fur.

Neither of them say anything. There’s nothing left to say. But finally, lying against the woman he’s grown to like, Sly is able to fall asleep.

And if he wakes up in the night with a racing heart and panic searing his skin, Carmelita is there to ground him, to hold him tight until the ghosts leave him alone. 

—

They have a video call with Barkley the morning after the operation, the first and only one they’ve had so far since arriving in Corail.

Sly and Carmelita are still in their PJs when they make it, sitting on the couch together with Sly’s work laptop on the coffee table in front of them.

"Congratulations on a job well done," The badger says. "I’ll keep this brief for security reasons, but I wanted you to know the extent of what you accomplished."

Carmelita only nods while Sly sits with a foot propped up on the couch, biting the claw of his thumb nervously. She didn’t say, but Sly easily guesses Neyla already briefed Barkley about what happened with Mz Ruby. 

He reads off a list for them; thirty-five prisoners were rescued, all of them already escorted back to their rightful homes. Three confirmed Cult members were arrested, including Jane. Two hard-drives were found in said Cult members’ homes with information on previous sales and data tracking previous prisoners. Also, another laptop was found in the auction house itself; a mine of information for Bentley to go through.

This only lightens Sly’s heart for a few seconds, until the other shoe drops.

"Regarding Mz Ruby’s presence at the auction, it only confirms she’s the third founder of the Obsidian Circle," he says with a solemn tone. "Which is good. However, the fact that she was able to escape might become a problem sooner or later."

"We’re aware she might think twice before showing her face again," Carmelita says firmly. She’s sitting straight, her hands on her lap, like she always is when they’re talking to a supervisor. "But we’re confident we’ll be able to arrest her on the next occasion."

"I’d hope so." The badger says, looking at Sly. His heart drops a little, but Carmelita’s firmness brings him peace. 

"Any word on if our covers were blown?"

"None," he says. "I think it’s safe to say the operation was a success."

They talk a little more after that, discussing the next stages of their operation. The other Obsidian Circle members have all disavowed Jane and all knowledge of the human trafficking operation, even her own brother, but Sly guesses it the usual procedure for them.

And of course, none of the data Bentley has sorted through so far (which is not a lot, yet) has contradicted their claims of innocence. Same with the interviews from the prisoners, surprisingly.

Or maybe not that surprising? Sly thinks of the supernatural aura that surrounds Mz Ruby and shivers. He doesn’t think Carmelita believes in any thing magical, but what he saw at the auction and what happened in Birmingham has him doubt reality.

Carmelita turns towards him when the call ends. "That wasn’t too bad."

"Yeah…" He agrees, rubbing at his eyes. They haven’t gotten much sleep, and his body is letting him know. "What now?"

"I believe you mentioned a date?" She says, standing up, but not meeting his eyes, like she’s afraid he only said that without meaning it. Like she feels that if she doesn’t remind him, he’ll drop the idea. 

"Hell yeah I did." He smiles, standing up and stretching his entire body.

"Still don’t want to tell me what we’ll be doing?"

"Nope." He says, popping his p’s. "It’s a surprise. Surprises are fun."

"I hate surprises."

"Of course you do," he teases. "You ain’t fun."

"Now you’re just insulting me!" She exclaims, faking outrage.

"Go get ready," Sly says, already walking towards the stairs. "We’re going to be late." 

—

Despite not knowing where they’re going, Carmelita decides to look her best.

She chooses a simple but elegant short black dress that shows off her long legs, her long curly hair cascading on her back. She puts on black stilettos and some gold jewelry, and she’s ready. 

Sly is already waiting for her downstairs when she comes down, dressed in a dark grey button down shirt and black slacks. Her eyes wander down his torso, watches the way his biceps strain against his sleeves- He looks absolutely gorgeous. 

It seems he’s thinking the same as his eyes seem to get even brighter as he looks up from his phone to look at her. Carmelita resists the urge to advert his eyes as his wander down her body, taking her appearance with a smile on his face.

With a deep blush on her cheeks, Carmelita asks, "Did I dress accordingly?"

She doesn’t know what she expected; a teasing remark, probably. 

What he gives her, though, has her blush even more, her breath hitching as he gently grabs her hand and kisses the back of it with the most sincere look he ever gave her. 

"You’re beautiful."

Their eyes lock for what seems to be an eternity. It’s for the job, a small voice in the back on her mind tells her. He’s playing his part.

Carmelita finds herself unable to play hers. After a few more seconds, the raccoon lets go of her hand and stands straighter, adjusting his rolled up sleeves. "We’re going to be late. Let’s go."

A quick drive takes them to their destination, which is a jazz festival that’s taking place in a town nearby. 

The festival itself is phenomenal and full of life. It takes up half of town, with artists playing on the sidewalks and small concerts being held on different spots. The streets smell like spicy food and alcohol, it’s loud from music and laughters around them- Sly relishes in Carmelita’s wide smile.  

It certainly is crowded, but Sly doesn’t mind the crowds even a tiny bit, and Carmelita doesn’t seem to either. He knows she grabbed her shock pistol just in case, once again hidden under her dress somewhere, a secret he’s dying to solve but knows he can’t.

Carmelita seems so absorbed as they walk down the streets and stop to watch the concerts, he can’t help but feel content. They’re surrounded by couples and groups of friends, loud families enjoying the shows, too, and soon it gets almost too hard to move through the crowd without losing her.

She must feel the same because there’s a glove covered hand on his arm suddenly stopping him, and then the vixen is looping her arm into his and giving him a smile that could light the whole town. 

"Just so you don’t get lost," she says around a smile. Sly struggles to breathe, as he often does when she stands so close. Her perfume is the only thing in his mind as he nods, and then they’re walking again, the weight of her arm looped into his a reassuring feeling.

Time passes fast as they enjoy the music and drink wine from paper cups, Carmelita humming a melody they heard earlier absentmindedly. 

"Did you enjoy yourself?" He asks as they reach the car again, finding comfort in the smile that has still not left her face. 

"I did," Her eyes find his. "Thank you for tonight."

"Told you surprises can be fun. But come on, we’re gonna be late."

She looks genuinely surprised. "Late for what? I thought that was the date?"

"You’ll have to come and see for yourself," He says with a grin, adding, "baby."

To his surprise, Carmelita doesn’t object to the nickname nor to the plan and follows him. 

The next thing turns out to be a walk along Miracle Lane which is a long street downtown that abuts a huge, meticulously-tended park. There’s a small lake, a greenhouse full of tropical plants, and a vast botanical garden, all directly opposite of a few lined up stores. 

Sly stops them halfway along the third block at what turns out to be a street cart that sells dessert crepes. He gets one with vanilla ice cream and salted caramel sauce while Carmelita chooses a simple nutella one, sitting next to him on a bench. They eat silently as they listen to a man playing trumpet not far away from them.

Sly doesn’t say anything but can feel how Carmelita keeps stealing little glances at him with that pleased smile on her face. It warms his insides like nothing else ever did.

"This is really nice," she says after a while once they’re done eating. "Thank you, Sly."

The raccoon turns his head to meet her eyes, giving her the most casual smile he can muster, as if he’s not filling giddy and drunk just sitting so close to her.

When did it start to feel like this?

Ever since they started playing house, probably. 

"You look absolutely mesmerizing tonight." He says after a while. Their eyes have not parted yet. "I’m glad you had fun." 

She only nods, brown eyes meeting black in one of those long stares that has his inside twist and his heart miss a beat.

Carmelita is the kind of woman that says a lot more with her eyes than with her mouth, he thinks. He feels like he’s learned more about her during those silent conversation than when he’s actually talking to her.

"Aren’t you the perfect husband?" She almost whispers, getting closer to him. It’s almost imperceptible, the only clue of it being her warm breath on his face.

Weak as he is, Sly lowers his eyes to look at those dark lips parting for him. 

If he was a stronger man, a better cop, he wouldn’t have leaned in; but the thing is, he’s not. He’s weak and driven by his feelings too often for his own good, no matter if they’re feelings linked to his tragic past or feelings for the beautiful and fierce vixen that he’s lucky enough to call his partner. 

So Sly leans in and meets her warm lips in a kiss that’s not different from the ones they shared that fateful night.

His hand cups her cheek as his tongue asks for access that she grants quickly after, their kiss becoming more intense by the second. It’s when he groans inside her wet mouth that she breaks the kiss. 

"We should, uh.. We should go back." She pants. Her cheeks are red, her lips wet from spit. She looks just like he feels.

—

Sly feels like he’s on fire. 

The drive back home is filled with tension. He struggles to swallow around the lump in his throat, his heart beating fast as Carmelita tries very hard not to touch him from where she’s seated on her side of the car. 

She kissed him- well, he was the first to break the distance between their lips but she definitely wanted it; didn’t try to hide it. Still, the idea that she might be regretting it now takes over his mind as he parks on their driveway. 

Seems like he was wrong.

Carmelita rushes forward as soon as they enter the house, an exclaimed "Fuck it!" falling between them as she pushes him back against the closed door and kisses him like only he can extinguish the fire that’s burning inside her.

(At least that’s how it feels for him when her tongue slides into his waiting mouth.)

Wet kisses are exchanged as her hands fall on his hair, pulling slightly making him wince against her lips. She doesn’t do more than pant as his hands grab her hips only to move on her ass as she sucks on his tongue. 

"Bedroom," she moans against his mouth and he swears he almost busts into his pants. 

Who’s he to turn her down?

Their little run up the stairs is anything but sexy; he follows her as she climbs it, moving clumsily as he tries and remove his shoes without falling and making a fool of himself.

Carmelita doesn’t seem to mind as she takes off her heels and pushes him flat on his back on the bed, straddling his hips without hesitation.

Straight out of a wet dream.

Her lips are back on his in a second, claiming his hot mouth with hers as she unbuttons his shirt quickly and roams her cold hands on his naked torso, making him shiver. 

As her lips parted with a wet little sound, a damp, hot little breath exhaled over his mouth. The kiss transformed into something sickeningly sweet, something melting him with each teasing press of her tongue and twisting his insides.

Something too sweet for the relationship they share, too sweet for the primal desire taking over them at this instant. 

Carmelita sucked in a breath as strong hands moved up her back, pressing her torso down into him as he tilted his head. That delicious and sticky hot mouth of hers was irresistible.

Sly deepens the kiss, stealing a little moan that escaped her. He groaned a little himself, this broken deep sort of sound that caught in his throat, hips shifting ever so slightly against her covered sex. 

She chased his mouth right back, tongue eager. Moving a hand to wrap around the nape of his neck she teased his hair, all while the other snuck underneath his opened shirt to roam his chest.

Sitting back without moving her from his lap, Sly’s hands moved to her thighs, caressing the soft fur until he reached her hips. In a usually long and intense shared look, the vixen slowly raised her arm, a silent invitation to take off her dress. 

His breath hitched inside his throat as her body came into view, the black dress quickly discarded on the floor of their bedroom. The matching black lace bra and panties she was wearing left nothing to the imagination, full breast almost spilling from the cups as dark nipple came into view. 

If he thought he was hard as a rock before, his heavy cock now felt like iron between his legs, especially when she started rolling her hips against it like she did a few nights before.

Slickness stained his trousers as she rubbed her pantie covered pussy on his bulge, the smell of her pheromones so mouth watering Sly wanted nothing less than plunging his tongue into heaven and have her cry out under him. 

Carmelita had other plans though, because in the blink of an eye he was naked from the waist down, cock slapping against his toned stomach as she threw his boxers and trousers across the room, her breath coming out ragged. 

Her eyes fall on his bare cock, pink tongue licking her lips as she took it in her smaller hand and stroked him oh so slow. He can’t fight the groan that escapes his lips at the feel of her bare hand on his sensitive flesh.

It’s way different from the dry humping they took part in a few nights and even more exciting. Carmelita’s panting as she’s stroking him from root to tip, her wrist twisting in a way that has his toes curl. 

His already hard cock becomes even harder, scorching hot in her palm and leaking from the tip- until the fierce vixen leans and licks the pearly bead.

"Jesus," he gasps as she does, thinking of disgusting things in order not to nut too soon and ruin the whole mood. "I gotta taste you," he pants, only to be met with a playful gaze and a quick peck on his lips.

"No time for that." Carmelita says as she straddles him again,  damp parties against his groin. 

"Take this off," Sly orders quietly, pinky finger brushing the strap of her black lacy bra. "I wanna see you."

For a second he thinks she’s not gonna do it, non obedient as she usually is, but then she reaches for the clasp on her back and her breast falls free and Sly swears he’s in heaven.

Warm hands immediately come up to grope her, fondling her boobs slowly and making her breathe even harder. Sly can swear she’s getting even wetter as he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the slight moan she lets out having him leak precum even more.

He’s pushed down on his back in a second as Carmelita pulls her lace panties to the side, grabs his heavy dick with her other hand, and takes him inside her slowly, inch by inch, making them both groan loudly.

An alarm rings somewhere in his mind, repeating condom, condom, condom, but then she’s adjusting her hips and taking him even deeper- he doesn’t care anymore. It’s not like he’s had sex with anybody in a while, and last time he checked he was clean.

Carmelita doesn’t seem to mind either as she pants and takes his dick like a starved woman, not even bothered by the fact he didn’t get to finger her at all- then again, she’s so wet he glided inside of her quite easily to begin with.

"That’s it, baby," he groans, eyes rolling as she continued with that easing, torturous, perfect rythm and then finally, the vixen took down those last little inches, ignoring the nickname. "So good."

She breathed out, slow and shaky. Stuffed full of his aching cock. Sharp claws scratched his chest before easing out of the skin as her hips shifted slightly, trying to get her body to adjust to fit him— to find more space for him inside of her.

Sly wasn’t convinced he was even breathing as he studied her face, watched her body shift, felt her grip around him. It was agony and ecstasy all at once. The raccoon felt every heartbeat rooted in his hard cock, every quiver of her tight cunt, every single spasm of those silk muscles trapping him.

That’s heaven, he’s sure. 

He fought the instinct to take over and rock against her himself, push her into the bed and make her scream, desperate and sore. 

He wondered if she knew the power she holds over him. Knew how his poor heart has grown fond of her over the past months. Can’t believe she would ever make him the luckiest guy on the planet and allow him to take her in such an intimate way.

His resolve finally snapped at the next little roll of curvy hips and shaky moan. Grabbed her waist so he could pull her against him, now in a sitting position, cock shifting against that bundle of nerves inside as he did.

Carmelita gasped out loud, soft breasts pressed against the hard of his chest. The rest of her body was tense, adjusting to the new angle of him inside her and unable to stay still. The liquid walls of her slippery cunt welcomed him home when he rocked into her.

They kissed and kissed while finding a soft little pace. Every time she circled her hips he’d thrust up, burying himself in her bliss and pushing sweet noises from her throat. The vixen’s tongue slid into his mouth, her body picking up speed.

She was about to come, he could feel it in the way she squeezed his cock, the way her moans were louder, more frequent. The hand in his hair was pulling, using him to ground herself as finally, on the next press of his tip against that special spot deep inside her, she came. 

Her loud cry got muffled against his cheek, low moan vibrating through his skull. Her face sank further down to bury the desperate, sobbing noises, the aching whimpers and her shaky breath on his shoulder. 

He kept fucking up into her as she rode the euphoric waves, sharp nails dug in his shoulders and hair. His own orgasm ached as it built. Just this too hot, too intimate, too slow sort of fucking that axed his chest, broke open his heart. 

Finally, with a broken groan of her name, Sly emptied himself into the scorching body of the woman he’s called his partner for months, holding her so close to his body he had no doubts she’d feel his broken heart beat incredibly fast. 

He’d never call it “making love” to her face, too afraid of those brown eyes getting darker and to hear the rejection falling from those sinful lips, but if love really existed, Sly was now sure this was it.

Chapter Text

When Carmelita wakes up the next morning she feels it immediately, that deep bruised throbbing between her legs. It’s not as painful so much as sore, the memory of his thick length carved inside her thighs. The rest of her body feels a little tired too, drained, like the pleasure she had felt had taken all of her energy and it didn’t get the chance to regenerate yet. 

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, the vixen stretches her legs, feeling a dead weight, tingling sensation in her arm. As she turns her head to the side she faces Sly, still passed out beside her, that stupidly handsome face of his buried into the pillow as he lies on his stomach.

The sheets covering them were pushed down on his lower back, hiding only his lower half from the daylight seeping through the window, the outline of his tail visible through the thin material.

They had sex. Actually had full on sex, the kind that has you claw at the sheets and curl your toes in sweet agony. Not that the dry humping session they had last time had her doubt he’d be good in bed, but still. She feels relaxed like she hasn’t been in months- years, maybe, like his cock miraculously healed her from the stress she’s been storing forever. 

The thought has her blush in its ridiculousness.

Without waking him up, she quietly pads towards the bathroom and takes a much needed too hot shower, washing away the remnants of the night they shared. 

Sly is awake when she gets out, comfortably wrapped in her fluffy white bathrobe, drying her dripping hair with a clean towel. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair tousled and mouth turned up in a lazy smile as he looks at her with a content look on his face.

He looks incredibly young, suddenly, she thinks. Maybe it’s the boyish smile he’s sporting or the slight blush on his cheeks, or maybe it’s just the way he’s sitting- slouching, almost. Like he’s not sure what she’s gonna say, or if she’s gonna say anything at all. 

It’s almost hurtful that he might think she’s some kind of robot that won’t acknowledge such a big turn in their relationship, but then again Carmelita is not even sure of what to say about the whole thing, so she doesn’t allow herself to be irritated. 

"Hi," he breaks the silence almost shyly, running fingers through his hair. "Good morning."

"Morning," she nods with what she hopes is a gentle smile, but objectively comes out as a grimace. "Did you sleep well?"

He hums, his eyes wandering shamelessly up and down her still wet body. He licks his lips and then their eyes meet again. "Best sleep I had in a long time."

The flirting undertone is so obvious Carmelita feels her cheeks burst in flame. 

Mentally moving back into a professional stance (like it’s even possible after riding this guy’s dick into oblivion), she says,

"It was good. Pleasurable." That makes her inwardly cringe but she pushes through. "But it can’t happen again. It was.. I think it got to our head. You know, playing house and everything."

She did good, she thinks. It’s like- ripping a bandaid off. Clean and just harsh enough to leave no room for assumptions. 

If Sly is surprised, he doesn’t show. Just stands up after a few seconds of silence and walks towards the bathroom. "You’re the boss."

Suddenly, it feels like Carmelita’s the one that’s left feeling like the ripped bandaid took a piece of her heart on its way.

—

All things considered, Sly really should be enjoying himself more than he is.

He’s in a beautiful cabin up in the mountains far from Corail—if “cabin” can be used to describe the four-bedroom, two-bathroom house with wood fireplace and massive living room. The front half of house is on stilts, the back half firmly grounded in the mountainside, the view incredible from the huge windows that look out over into the valley below. There’s also a wrap-around porch; it looks straight out of a Hallmark Christmas movie. 

They’re in some kind of national park, quiet and beautiful and scarcely-populated. Only a few other campers are in their area, since there are only a handful of cabins welcoming other members of the Corail community into this ridiculous Love Language seminary bullshit. 

Sly hates it. Hoped they’d be able to cancel on that all together. 

He’d hate it less if he could be here alone with Carmelita, but he’s not. While other neighbors are not that far away in the nearby cabins, Sly and Carmelita are forced to share their cabin with Karl- No doubt they’d would’ve been sharing with his sister Jane too, if she hadn’t been arrested during the slave auction and the disavowed by the Obsidian Circle.

Sly doesn’t care about all of that as of this moment. Carmelita’s practical and always so soulless words are still echoing in his mind. Of course she’d brush him off about their night together, what was he thinking? 

Well, that she’d open up to him and see him as more than a work partner. How stupid of him, really. 

He hates that he knew it was coming when she stood a little straighter and used that voice that irritates him so much: her Inspector voice. One that she uses at work, when talking to victims and giving them news they don’t want to hear. Like it makes them feel better to just rip off the bandaid and call it a day. 

He’s well aware that’s what she did with him and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

The news they got from Barkley before leaving didn’t help either.

Sly’s heart had dropped when he saw the somber  expression on the badger’s face.

"Their human trafficking operation has been shut down, and they’re angry and even more vigilant than before," he had said. "I’m not sure if Inspector Sharma  was made as cop, or if she just ran afoul of the cult’s operations, but it’s honestly a miracle she wasn’t killed."

Turns out Neyla had been missing since they parted ways after the slave auction and was recently found on back-country roads far from the suburbs of Corail with her clothes in tatters, utterly dazed and with no memory of the previous week. Worse, she’d been covered in bruises and scratch marks, with blood under her claws. She had fought her attackers, whoever had done this to them, but ultimately had failed.

The thought that he almost lost a friend again made him sick to his stomach. 

"Will she be okay?” Carmelita had asked, surprising them both. She had scowled at the surprised look Sly gave her. "What?"

"She will be,” the badger had said. "Eventually. She’s one of my strongest. She’s in one of the best hospital in the US, working with therapists and doctors to help figure out what happened and help restore her memories, but right now what she needs the most is rest."

"Regardless, the two of you need to be even more careful. We still don’t know how they achieve this kind of mind-wiping, but this looks more violent than what’s happened to previous victims. They’ll be on the watch for any other signs of infiltration. Be careful." Barkley had continued before hanging up and wishing them luck on their incoming seminary.

Now more than even did Sly understand how dangerous this whole operation is. 

As if the thought of the threat summoned the man, Sly hears the glass door slide open behind him. He turns to see Karl coming outside, already dressed to impressed in mountain gear; expensive-looking hiking pants and boots with a jacket Sly is sure costs more than his rent back in Portland, wearing a calm expression and carrying a mug of coffee in one hand.

"There you are," he says. "I was hoping I would catch you before I had to leave."

Sly forces a smile he doesn’t feel, turning around to stand with his back against the handrail. "Good morning," he says, and raises his own mug of turned cold coffee. "Just had to come out here to catch some of this mountain air."

Karl smiles, sharp as a knife edge. "It’s lovely, isn’t it?" he says, waving to the valley below. "We try to bring people out here a few times a year, and it never feels like enough. I would stay here all the time if I could."

"Thanks again for allowing us to come," he says instead. "My wife and I are really excited for this."

The word wife slips off his tongue so naturally it almost kills him on the spot. Still, Sly swallows his bitterness.

"So," he says instead. "What’s on the agenda for today?"

"Well, this morning we have vinyasa yoga in the foyer of the main lodge, followed by a hike, with a break for lunch at the summit,” Karl explains like he’s reading off an imaginary list. "Then decamp back at the lodge for a check-in, and then some time for rest and reflection. This evening we’ll have a big group meditation down at the amphitheater. That’s one of the main events."

"Meditation," Sly repeats dumbly. His smile feels like a grimace of pain. "Right, good. That’s—I was hoping there would be some of that."

Sly was definitely not hoping for meditation. Tried it once when he was forced into the hospital after almost drowning in Raleigh’s lair, and fell asleep. Let’s hope that won’t happen while they’re surrounded by cult members. 

"You know, I admit I’ve been meaning to ask you how you’ve been doing," the lynx says carefully. 

The raccoon thinks of Carmelita, who was still sleeping when he got up to clear his mind on the porch. She seemed so peaceful, a far cry to what she’s gonna look like when she’ll know Karl ambushed him into talking to him. 

"Uh, about what?" Sly asks, forcing his face to morph into an expression of innocence. 

"It seems like you’ve had a lot of mixed feelings since coming here," Karl says, turning around to face Sly. "Your wife, especially. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to talk about it. I know the move was stressful, I just thought I’d see if there was anything I could do to make you more at ease."

As he talks, a new feeling washes over Sly. His body warms, and some of the tension that was crashing him slowly leaks out of him like a punctured balloon. He swallows hard, eyes dropping from the lynx’s face to the bannister their elbows are resting on. His throat tightens; he has to take a deep breath, feeling a sting of what cannot possibly be tears pricking at his eyes.

Sly tries to fight it, he really does, but the feeling washes over him and takes over his mind, leaving him helpless and exhausted. "I, uh," he stutters, his mouth suddenly dry as sandpaper. Abruptly, he realizes that all he wants to do is tell someone what he’s been dealing with, what he’s been struggling with. And before he even knows he’s going to do it, all of it comes tumbling out of his mouth. "I just—it’s— I feel like everytime Carmelita and I take a step forward, she immediately takes us back two steps."

Karl inhales softly, takes a step closer. "Ah," he says. "Can’t say I’m surprised, I’ve heard some things after your pool party." His voice is kind, warm, sympathetic.

Sly hates him for it. Hates this neighborhood for being so damn nosy and judgemental.

The words pour out of him, coming faster now that the dam has been breached. “We’ve, uh, known each other for quite some time now, but it was so hard at first, and it took us, uh… It took us awhile to get past that and get together, and… I dunno, I can’t shake this feeling, you know? Like whatever I do, whatever we do, it’ll never be enough for her to completely let her guard down." 

"She married you," Karl points out gently. Like he’s an actual friend and not working for some dangerous mind-wiping cult. The reminder has Sly touching his wedding ring as if it holds an actual meaning. "She moved here with you."

He comes closer, reaching out to put a hand on Sly’s shoulder, and as he does so the raccoon feels himself relax, some of the turmoil in his heart subsiding. In its place comes a quietude, an ease he wasn’t expecting. 

He swallows hard. After a moment, he nods. And the weird thing is, he does feel better.

Karl is the picture of warmth and persuasion, and now that Sly isn’t seconds away from giving in and spilling every single details of their operation, he feels the urge to enjoy this—to feel wanted, attended to, understood, valued.

Things Sly hasn’t felt in a really, really long time. It’s incredibly strong, like a very good drug. All he wants to do is relax and give in to it, but the rational part of his brain reminds him that he can’t. 

Karl takes off his hand with a kind smile, as Sly stutters over his next words. "Thanks, for, uh.. for listening."

"It’s my pleasure." The lynx says. God save him, in that moment Sly believes him.

Karl leaves him after that, leaving Sly to drown in a wash of feelings he doesn’t know what to do with. He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to get his shit together before Carmelita joins him in one of her silky pajamas, her hair a messy bun. It doesn’t help Sly at all, she looks too pretty. 

"You okay?" She asks with worry as he takes her to their shared bedroom with eagerness.

He quickly relates to the vixen what happened—the emotional manipulation, the conversation that in retrospect was just as clearly an attempt to dig for information, the likely use of some kind of drug or hypnosis.

"You’re lucky you didn’t spill anything about our undercover op." She scolds slightly, looking at him with those big brown eyes of hers. "What did you tell him, exactly?" 

"Nothing related to the case," He dismisses. It’s not like he’s gonna burst out again and spill his feelings on the carpet for her to see.

"You can tell me about it, you know," Carmelita says after a while. Her face has softened, he thinks, turned into an expression of.. what he wants to describe as fondness, but is quite sure is just pity. She’s seen him break down a  few days back and is probably worried he’s gonna do it again. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

Sly sits on the edge of the bed, sighing deeply.

"I know," he nods. "But now’s not the time."

Later, when he’s alone under the shower spray, Sly will remember the things he said to Karl in the thrall of whatever is method of hypnosis actually is, and he will hate himself for it—but he’ll hate the lynx more, for robbing him of those words, those private feelings on the woman who’s carved out such a space in his heart.

No one gets to hear those things. The conversation will come back to him on the next night when staring at the ceiling and wishing for the courage to tell the vixen what he so freely told their mutual enemies. On those nights, Sly will lay awake, and burn for her. 

—

The rest of the day is a test of both Carmelita and Sly’s self control - for very different reasons. 

First, there’s the yoga session that Karl insists they don’t miss. It’s taught by a woman Carmelita vaguely remembers from the party they organized back home. The woman is a petite and curvy polar bear named Clarissa, who you wouldn’t picture teaching yoga classes but who proves herself to be incredibly flexible.

About ten minutes into the class, Carmelita is already done. She’s more of a boxing class kinda girl than a yoga princess, but she’s playing a role, during this op, so she clenches her jaw and does her best. Like hell she’s gonna suck at it. 

(It doesn’t help that the vixen hates yoga. She supposes not all versions of the “sport” sucks like this, but all the New Age bullshit that irritates her far beyond any relaxation the practice might give him.

Carmelita has not been relaxed any day of her life, and the breathing exercises and other “clear your mind and picture yourself in a field of wheat” is not exactly helping.

Also, she’s not not flexible, and she’s plenty strong, but some of the poses are still challenging and annoying enough to make her grind his teeth. The fact that Sly is nailing the session has her even more tense, the idea that he’s actually better at her than this a rather unpleasant one.)

On Sly’s side, seeing Carmelita in tight black yoga pants might just be the best part of his day yet. He’s quite amused by the obvious irritation she’s feeling and not even trying to hide, but doesn’t focus on that too much.

He’s always been flexible, agility being one of the skill he’s inherited as a Cooper, and showing off knowing that it’s pissing off the vixen, well- it’s a nice bonus. 

They’re finishing up at the end of class, rolling up their mats and heading to the changing rooms, when Sly happens to glance over and see the yoga teacher’s face in profile as she talks to another member of the community. The shape of her face hits him over the head like a ton of bricks, the memory of a picture he’s seen in one of the Obsidian Circle file popping out in his mind. 

He remembers it clear as day now ; their yoga teacher, wearing a bulletproof vest and holding an assault rifle, standing in profile outside some nameless military compound, fangs bared and eyes red. 

The complete opposite of the soft and almost too innocent looking polar bear they’re facing now.

"Sly?" Carmelita says, holding her rolled yoga mat. There’s that expression in her eyes again.  Sly jerks his head away from staring at the bear, his heart hammering in his chest like a drumbeat. 

They’re surrounded by deadly cult members. It suddenly feels too dangerous. 

"Let’s go get changed, baby," he says. He takes the vixen’s hand in his own, pressing it in his so she understands the urgency, and is careful not to look back.

They're heading to go hiking with said deadly cult members in the middle of nowhere, the thought a suffocating one. 

Chapter Text

The hike up into the mountains and trees is actually extremely enjoyable, the only part of the day that really is, in the vixen’s opinion. The path is not particularly easy, something that kind of surprises Carmelita. She would have expected the Obsidian Circle leaders to pick a climb that’s more fitting for conversation and emotional manipulation, but it seems that’s not on the menu (yet).

Instead, they’re doing a four-hour hike to the summit of the nearest peak and back, with a break at the top for lunch and to take in the view, which, no doubt, will be incredible. 

They spread out as they hike, instead of waiting for one together, for which Carmelita is mainly grateful. It’s really just her and Sly who are close enough to talk at all, trailing after the other retreat members at what seems like a nice normal distance.

She usually would be glad to hang back with him, to keep an eye on the other retreat members and try and figure out a pattern or something to solve the case. But ever since they had sex, things have been weird, and suddenly it doesn’t feel so nice to be close to him. Something’s off, to say the least. 

The pair move through the woods in absolute silence, pausing now and then to stare out at the vast expanse of the mountainside as it falls away down to the valley. There are no sounds except for the crunch of the dirt beneath their feet and the occasional bird singing in the woods.

It’s peaceful, out of the world. Living in Paris makes you forget how quiet nature can be. 

The peak in question is not anything special but the view is still impressive and, well, beautiful The other few peaks around them, higher up, are covered in snow as it’s late December at this point, and the leafless trees around them sway gently in the wind that whistles around the mountain. It could look depressing, as it often does at this time of year, but it doesn’t. At least not to Carmelita who stops right next to the edge, taking in the view as she breathes the crisp mountain air. 

She feels weirdly alive. It’s exhilarating. 

Carmelita and Sly pick a spot away from the other climbers, in a small patch of sparse grass, decided to sit in what Carmelita would love to call comfortable silence but is nothing less than torture. They don’t meet each other’s eyes, don’t say a word, only stare tiredly out at the huge expanse of rock and trees and sky while eating ham and cheese sandwiches that taste like cardboard. 

Sly stretches lazily once he’s done eating, looking almost feline as he lies down on the grass, brown eyes locked on the grey sky above them. Carmelita finds herself looking at him before she can stop herself, finding it hard to look at anything else as the clouds reflect onto his orbs, mirroring the storm she knows fills his soul. 

"I wish we could stay up here." Sly murmurs, so quiet the vixen almost misses it. It almost startles her and only then does he look away, her heart seizing up for a moment. 

"It’s quite pretty." She says, struggling to get air into her lungs. What’s wrong with her??

Sly turns his head slightly, just a little, meeting her eyes. It happens in a  heartbeat but Carmelita finds herself captivated by the intensity there, more vital and alive than anything in the trees or mountains surrounding them. Sly stares at her, and Carmelita stares back, because she can do nothing else, and there is nothing to say. Not here, not now. Not after the way she rejected him. 

Later, when he’s alone, Sly will think back to that moment high up in the mountains and be able to recall it with shocking clarity. He’ll remember the quiet of their surroundings, the loudness of his own heart as he looked at the woman he loves but who doesn’t love him back. Everything will be carved into his mind: the scent of cedar and pine, the clarity of the air, the unrecognizable look inside the vixen’s eyes, the way her braided air moved slowly in the wind. 

He will remember thinking: maybe not everything the Obsidian Circle does is total garbage. At least I can have you, even just for a while. 

Soon, all too soon, Karl gathers round everyone up to make the trek back down. They gather up their things and fall back into step and into role, following him as he guides the little group along a path down towards the cabins they’re staying at. Somehow the journey back down is more exhausting than the one up was. The way is more treacherous, at least, and they have to be more careful of their footing, the distracting welcomed by Carmelita as her brain finally focuses on something else than the raccoon walking silently next to her.

By the time they make it back to their cabin, all Carmelita wants to do is take a nice hot shower and pass out on their bed. The raccoon allows her to use the bathroom first and gets inside of it as soon as she comes out, and she’s already asleep when he gets out in a towel.

Still, he joins her into bed, careful to stay on his side and not touch her at all as slumber takes him all too quickly. 

He wakes up about two hours later with Carmelita sprawled out in the middle of the bed, the covers thrown haphazardly over them at some point. Sly doesn’t even know what time it is; mid-afternoon, maybe, judging from the sunlight coming through the windows and blinding him mercilessly. 

He groans, the sound quiet but loud enough that the vixen starts to stir next to him, stretching and sending her tail flying directly against his face, which has him groan again. 

He thinks he hears her mutter a weak “sorry” but wouldn’t put money on it as she lies down on her back, her tail still moving lazily and tickling his side. 

Silently, Sly sits down, feet meeting the ground as he tries to release the knot in his neck by slowly moving his head from left to right.

The bed dips next to him, signs that she must’ve sat down as well, but Sly doesn’t turn to check. 

"Cooper," She calls, but Sly doesn’t answer, doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to meet that strange look inside her eyes again. Except, this time she calls again, in a way that’s much softer, "Sly."

"What?" He snaps, harsher than he intended.

Instead of an answer, a warm hand wraps around his shoulder, gently pressing in a manner he knows is meant to be reassuring but tenses him even more. "You seem.. Shook up ever since that conversation you had with Karl this morning," She says, and if she minds how he stiffens under her touch she doesn’t show it. "I wish you would tell me about it. I’m your partner."

Sly swallows hard. He shuts his eyes, has to take a slow breath against the painful lump trying to form in his throat. He glances on the side at the hand wrapped around his shoulder; orange fur meeting darker claws, a scar on the back of her hand, delicate and long fingers pressing against his skin softly but firmly. After a few moments, he sags a little, a sigh escaping his lips. 

"It was good. Pleasurable. But it can’t happen again. I think it got to our head. You know, playing house and everything." The words echo in his mind, and he almost repeats them. Sly wishes they wouldn’t hurt that much; knowing her, he should’ve guessed they’d be coming. Still, it’s another bleeding wound in his already beaten heart. 

"I can’t," he chooses to say instead. It comes out choked, pathetic. Sly doesn’t have enough strength left to feel embarrassed about it. "It doesn’t hurt the case. You don’t have to worry about it." He continues, dismissing the subject and standing up, digging the already too deep space between them as her hand falls from his body.

Carmelita is quite a moment, staring at his back. "Will you tell me? Eventually?"

Fuck. Sly shuts his eyes, the lump inside his throat almost making him nauseous. "Only time will tell, I guess." He says. 

"Okay," The vixen says simply. Gently. "Then I’ll wait. As long as it takes."

That’s somehow the worst possible thing she could have said, mostly because Sly knows that despite her rejecting her at the worst possible time, she means it. Cares about him- only because he’s her work partner, and that work means everything to her. 

It’s selfish, maybe childish, but Sly wishes she’d care for him as much as he cares for her. Romantically.

He knows that eventually, he’ll have to get over himself and go back to normal with her. It’s not her fault, or his, that she doesn’t love him back, after all. It’s not like he can force it to happen. 

"You don’t have to." He answers, walking towards the bathroom.

"I’m your partner." She repeats. Of course she’d say it again. As if it doesn’t hurt too much already. 

"I know." He says, and the door shuts close behind him. 

— 

Karl joins them about an hour later after leaving a note for them asking the couple to wear the matching robes he dropped earlier and to wash themselves with the lavender soap in their shared bathroom.

They’re well aware it’s sketchy AF, probably meant to hypnotize them again but what other choice do they have if they want to discover what the Obsidian Circle is really up to? 

By the time they arrive at the location for the meditation, dusk is drawing down around them. Darkness comes early in the woods and Sly is glad there’s going to be a fire, because he can already feel a chill in the air. 

And it’s not as if their robes do much of anything to keep them warm. The robes that Karl provided for them are made with some cotton blend that feels smooth and kind of silky against his fur- not uncomfortable, but it doesn’t bring him any warmth either. Totally unsuitable for actual camping, but then, this part isn’t camping, it’s brainwashing.

As he glances around, Sly catches a glimpse here and there of the other campers arriving. Weaving their way through the trees in their soft gray robes, lit only dimly by the dwindling light of day, they look like ghosts, wandering lost through the woods. It sends shivers down the raccoon’s spine. 

Next to him, Carmelita seems calm, almost serene. Her hands are on her lap, perfectly steady as she takes in their surroundings, but Sly knows better than that. Knows her better than that. 

"Hey,", he murmurs, warm fingers touching her wrist, making her turn her head to look at him. Her jaw is set, her eyes focused. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she mutters. "Fucking creeps all around us."

The place the campers reunite at is a small amphitheater set in the middle of a thick grove of pine trees. Sly is not sure if it’s nature’s work or artificial design but long halved trunks are used as seats. Piled high on the stage is a massive mound of sticks and logs, probably prepared to be a bonfire, and Karl stands next to it, overlooking the entire group of campers slowly arriving.

Some of them arrive in groups of three or four, other come alone, and the thought of being here alone, undercover, without the vixen to have his back, sends a shiver down the raccoon’s spine. It makes sense that the Obsidian Circle would prey on the insecurities of its victims and try to isolate them.

Sly kinda wants to set the entire forest on fire, grab Carmelita and run for their lives back to Paris. 

"It’s gonna be okay." Carmelita says firmly only for him to hear. "I’m right there with you."

"That’s what I’m worried about." He says around a sharp intake of breath.

Carmelita blinks at him, turning her attention back to the crowd. "Dick."

"Not what I meant," Sly says, looking at her side profile before focusing on the campers. Before he can continue, the pile of sticks on the stage bursts into flame. 

Somehow, the atmosphere gets colder. 

"Welcome, wanderers." Karl says solemnly. His voice is deep, echoing in the huge space. "Welcome, children of the light. Welcome to all who came here, ready to walk alongside the Obsidian Circle."

Immediately, Sly feels something wash over his entire being— a warmth sort of lassitude, like when you’re very drunk or high. It spreads through his entire body, travels down his toes. His mouth feels dry, muscles heavy, and without even realizing, he takes the vixen’s hand in his. 

She intertwines their fingers just as another figure joins Karl next to the fire, and all of a sudden, Mz Ruby comes into the light, face illuminated by the flames. 

"Greetings, friends," she says, and spreads her hands. Greeting, Mother Of The Light, comes the answer from all around them. It gets Sly out of his trance, but his brain feels too mushy to realize he’s facing one of his parents’ murderer again. 

He should feel eager to get revenge, should want to get to her- to not let her escape like she did at the slave auction. Instead, Sly looks around, suddenly terrified that he and Carmelita missed a memo; it takes him a moment to realize he’s not shaking from a fear of being found out, but from a fear of being left out.

Her voice is intoxicating, her presence magnetic and she can definitely work around a crowd. Sly finds himself leaning forward, eager to hear her speak. Next to him, Carmelita’s mouth is agape, eyes shining as she seems to be entranced. Sly doesn’t feel anxious or angry anymore, he just feels good. Lighter.

Like all the burden he’s had to bear his entire life has disappeared upon hearing Mz Ruby’s speech about love and acceptance.

They’re not sure how much times passes between the back and forth between the camper and the cult members, but then pamphlets are passed around and everyone joins together in about 20 minutes of chanting and singing. 

Later that night, after the speeches and chants are over and they’re back to their cabin, Sly won’t remember more than a few details. What he does remember though, is an amazing sense of belonging, of being welcomed, of being- home. When he feels his chest open up with such warmth, Sly finds himself in tears. 

Carmelita is no better. 

As they lie in bed, still wearing their robes, Sly can’t recall the last time he spent an evening being so happy.