Cover art by dragon-buns! They've got an art blog on tumblr under "vividvulpine", so by all means, check them out! Shoutout also to Blurry and Moonstone for encouraging this highly implausible idea.
This fanfiction guest stars Tim Curry as
Anton Sevarius was having a bad time.
He needed to join a union, he decided. Some kind of villainous organization, preferably a gang. Not a street gang, no – something grander. A meeting of minds. All the smartest players formed gangs. The Fiendish Five, before their downfall, had been the rulers of the underworld. And recently the weasel had been hearing impressive things about something called 'the Klaww Gang'.
But he couldn't waste time thinking about the Klaww Gang. Not with the Contessa so close by.
Prague was a beautiful city, with a robust nocturnal community. But the criminal elements were well-behaved. The spider had webs everywhere, and troublemakers didn't last. That had suited Sevarius for a while – his work was quiet by nature. Especially without results.
But perhaps it was time for a change.
He came to his laboratory – or the crumbling warehouse that housed his laboratory, at least. Tight budget. Yet another downside of working alone.
His hands shook as he unlocked the door, though in his defence, the night was cold. His wiry orange fur seemed inadequate against the eastern wind.
He stepped in quickly, locking the door behind him. He strode through the warehouse floor, passing two, four, six glass tubes large enough to fit an adult. All empty.
He had established himself in what had once been the manager's office, overlooking the eerie view from above. The office was sparse, but it had lights and a desk and two whole chairs, and Sevarius supposed that was enough.
He shrugged off his overcoat, tossing it messily into the corner, and adjusted his labcoat with one hand. He had just set his briefcase on the desk when a voice cut through the still night air.
"Sevarius."
He turned, startled. There was a tigress in his doorway.
She was tall, athletic. Oddly dressed, especially for the weather. Red headscarf. Unusual lilac fur, with bright green eyes. And she had a whip holstered on her belt.
Underneath his fear, Sevarius was very curious.
"Ah... good evening." The doctor managed to keep his voice level, his theatrical tones filling the room. "I don't believe we've met, Miss...?"
"Not 'Miss'. Constable." The tigress flashed an Interpol badge as she sauntered toward him. "Though recently I've been angling for a promotion."
Sevarius quietly wished there his briefcase held anything more deadly than a stapler. He'd have to talk his way out of this. "I see. And where did you come from?"
"Skylight was unlocked," she said breezily. Her accent was yet another mystery.
"And this is how Interpol agents spend their nights, is it? Breaking and entering into private property?" His eyes narrowed. "I was under the impression you needed a warrant."
He regretted taking that tone.
The tigress moved with terrifying speed. In an instant, she closed the distance between them, and one powerful paw was crushing this throat. She slammed his head into the desk and held him there.
"A warrant?" She wasn't even looking at him. She examined her free hand, slowly unsheathing her claws. "That's for people who put paperwork before results. Do you know what happens to people like that?"
Sarcasm had left him. "N-no?"
She smiled. "They don't get what they want. I do. Understood?"
"Yes!"
"Good."
She released him, watching impassively as he wobbled back to his feet. She hadn't hurt him. Her moves were calculated, designed to frighten him without doing any harm.
She was a smart one. And she clearly had a plan.
Sevarius cleared his throat, trying to regain some decorum. "And... what is it you want, Constable?"
"What all modern women strive for. Work-family balance."
She sat, elegantly, on the chair in front of Sevarius' desk. He followed suit, flopping down into his own seat. It felt better to sit. Suddenly it seemed less like extortion, more like a business deal.
She must have felt the same. Her carefully uninterested expression melted into a bright smile. "How's your research going, Doctor? I hear you're the man to come to about cutting-edge genetics."
"I could bore you with the details," said Sevarius, "but I feel a woman as driven as yourself probably has a... specific query in mind."
"You'd be correct." She steepled her fingers, leaning forward. "We're both busy professionals, so I'll get to the point. I want a clone."
"Ah..." His self-preservation instincts fought a brief civil war. Dangerous to disappoint her. More dangerous to lie. "I'm afraid I've hit something of a dead end. Despite the great strides my research has made, cloning remains an imperfect science. There's no feasible way to create a viable specimen from just one set of DNA." He bore his teeth in an nervous smile. "My apologies."
She didn't reply, staring him down. Then she smirked. Humourlessly. "You scientists are all the same. I have an associate with the exact same problem. So caught up in your complex little puzzles you fail to see obvious solutions."
He felt a flash of irritation he decided was wise to suppress. "Such as?"
"If you can't make a clone from one set of DNA... do what already works. Use two."
She removed something from her back pocket. Her eyes, unnervingly, never left Sevarius.
"Some of us come with back-up plans prepared..." She tossed it onto the desk. "Here. Take a look at this."
He did. It was a small plastic bag – tagged with the official Interpol logo, which caught his eye. Certainly more interesting than the actual contents.
A clump of clean grey fur.
The implication was easy to catch. "I wasn't aware tigers came in grey."
"Not a tiger. A raccoon." Those green eyes flashed. "I assume that's not a problem."
"No, no... that's workable. That's fine." He met her gaze. "If there's any problem here, it's the fact I'm suddenly in possession of Interpol evidence."
"The Contessa is thorough when it comes to records. Even likes to take DNA samples from recent prisoners." A little shrug. "Seems like a clerical error requested two samples instead of one. And then another clerical error caused the duplicate to go missing. Funny how problems sometimes solve themselves, isn't it?"
"And why should I be interested in the DNA of a common criminal?"
"Because there's nothing common about him." Her voice was oddly hard. She almost seemed insulted. "There's more athletic ability in a single strand of this fur than most professional acrobats. I'm not exaggerating when I say this is some of the finest genetic material on the planet. I don't settle for mediocrity, Doctor. I only deal with the best."
"I see..."
His eyes settled on the fur. There was a pause. She was waiting for him.
"What you're asking for... Essentially a test tube baby?"
"The world's greatest test tube baby. Are you deaf? I came to you for a reason. I want the best."
He smiled. "Very well. I will work my magic. Optimize the resulting specimen as much as possible, augment strength, intelligence, etcetera etcetera..."
"Precisely. Not that you'll need to do much. She'll come from excellent stock."
"I'm sure." Sevarius raised a wry eyebrow. "I can't help but notice you already seem certain of the gender."
A nod. "She'll look just like her mother. You'll make sure of that."
"...Yes." He tapped his fingers together – he had to ask. "Shall we discuss pricing? This is significantly simpler than my previous efforts, but it will not be cheap."
"Send me an estimate," she said. "I'll fund sixty percent."
"...And?"
Her tone didn't change. "And you won't be arrested tomorrow morning by an Interpol strike team kicking down your door."
Sevarius had learned long ago to grin on command. "Sixty percent sounds wonderful! So generous. Thank you. I'll scrape together the rest myself. A trifling matter."
"Mmh."
The tigress stood, apparently satisfied. She watched him with those cold green eyes.
"Any questions?"
Sevarius grinned up at her – but now, it was genuine.
The extortion he could do without, and he wasn't sure where he'd find the money. But he had to admit, it felt good to have a project.
"Just one... Do you have a name in mind?"
It started slowly.
That was probably appropriate. Sly's life had slowed down a lot.
Gone were the days of globe-trotting adventure, of barely surviving high-octane heists. He had expected to miss it. He thought that itch would never leave him, especially after his first, failed attempt to settle down with Carmelita. But apparently, the second time was the charm.
Now he had everything his parents had once had. A nice, cosy, very secure home on the outskirts of a quiet town. A job consulting with museums' fine art departments from the comfort of his study, in between the surprisingly fulfilling work of maintaining the house. Most miraculous of all, a stable relationship with the woman of his dreams. And, of course, a wonderful daughter.
That made the paranoia so much worse.
It was over. He had made it. He had repeatedly earned his birthright, stopped more villains than he could count, and even scorned time itself. The Gang was retired, but still close, both literally and figuratively. Everything was perfect.
Until the haunting started.
He had brushed off the first sighting. One afternoon, when he picked Beatrice up from school, she had greeted him with a hug and an enthusiastic claim that she (and only she) had spotted a ghost lurking in the nearby trees. B was still young, so Sly hadn't taken it too seriously. And if someone actually was skulking around the area, he was quietly confident anyone with both Cooper and Fox blood could handle herself.
His wife, as ever, was more cautious. She had spent one of her rare days off investigating the school, the forest, almost the whole town. Sly had laughed at first. He told her that spending her precious free time doing yet more policework was one of the most Carmelita Fox things she had done in years. It was sweet she was that thorough about B's safety. Unnecessary, but sweet.
He hadn't laughed when she came home.
She'd been angry. She had no hard evidence, but didn't take that as good news. She should have found something. There was something out there to find. Her police instincts were sure of that. And whatever it was, it stalked closer to their family. Their daughter.
Almost a month went by. Before long, Sly was feeling it too. A vague dread, creeping at the edges of their life. They never discussed it openly. Beatrice was too young, and while she was exactly as precocious and dauntless as their child would be, they were terrified of scaring her. All they could do was stay vigilant and live life.
It was Sunday. On Sundays, Sly tended to take a jog. This Sunday would be no different.
He had already opened the front door when Carmelita drifted up to him. Older now, changed by age and motherhood and everything else. And yet just as beautiful as the day they first met.
"Looks like rain," she said, and underneath was another tone, different words. "You sure you don't want to stay home?"
"I'll be fine," he said, and underneath was that other tone, but the same words.
His gaze wandered to the living room door, picturing the fireplace. His cane hanging proudly above the mantelpiece. But he wouldn't need it. He'd be fine.
Instead, he leaned against Carmelita and kissed her cheek. "I'll get started on dinner once I'm home. Big Sunday roast. Should be good."
"Yeah," she said. "Your cooking always is."
"Nothing but the best for my girls."
He pulled away, but slowly. He took her hand in his and kissed it, as though greeting her for the first time. He met her gaze with a smile. Then a wink.
With that, he set out. Smiling like always.
It was a dark day.
Autumn had seized the sky, drowning it in unbroken grey clouds. Undaunted, Sly jogged down his usual route, drifting away from the suburbs and into a nearby park.
After so much of his life in cities, Sly still associated the word 'park' with small, underfunded lawns with the occasional swingset. But this was a Park. It was really more of an imprisoned forest, hemmed in by wooden fences. Sly frequently pointed out how macabre this must be for the trees, at which point his daughter would lovingly ask him to shut up.
Gravel paths weaved through the foliage. The park was empty, which almost gave Sly pause. Normally there would be at least a few people here, mostly families. But it was a dark day. People stayed indoors. The families had other, nicer places to be. Nothing out here but clouds and silence.
And from the trees, the ghost lunged for him.
Middle-age had softened him. Of course, 'soft' for Sly Cooper was still more athletic than most people would ever achieve. He dodged to the side, a whip whispering past him. It cracked near his ear and he caught a hum, the thrum of electricity like a deadly insect.
Sly took in what data he could. He didn't need much.
A tigress was attacking him. A lilac tigress, with short black hair and a whip, was trying to kill him. The specifics weren't important. The general picture was obvious. Neyla. In some way, shape, or form, Neyla. Despite death, Neyla. Twenty years later, Neyla.
Trying to kill him.
She planted herself before him, low to the ground and lethal. Already realigning her whip for a second strike. Sly, on reflex, smiled.
"Well. Good thing I'm in my running gear."
He ran.
There were two options. He could run back along the path, hoping to meet someone, hoping to find help. But if this new Neyla fought like the old one, involving civilians was a bad idea. Sly cared if other people got hurt. She wouldn't.
Instead, Sly plunged into the trees, weaving between them. The forest provided some cover. But his pursuer matched his speed, his agility. He wasn't about to shake her.
He brought his wrist to his mouth and said "Call. 'Lita." He enunciated the words clearly for his smartwatch.
The whip snapped from nowhere and caught his wrist.
Sly hissed, pulling himself loose with a flurry of cloth and wires and singed fur. He dove into the underbrush, trying to conceal his position. He glanced over the electrical burns snaking up his arm, but learned nothing the pain hadn't already told him. His watch blinked out a wistful apology before going dead.
Carmelita had bought him that watch.
Sly instantly switched from Flight to Fight. Not his wisest decision, but running hadn't worked anyway. That's what he told himself.
Always moving, keeping low and mobile, he searched for – there. A branch roughly the size of his cane. He grabbed it with his good hand, satisfied with its weight, its feel.
He turned on his heel and charged.
His aggressor adapted, going on the defensive. He could barely see her. She darted from tree to tree, a purple blur against green and brown. And the whip kept buzzing. A constant, deadly reminder Sly only had a stick.
She struck, and Sly dodged. She was gone before he could counter – and then back again, almost burning his neck. The whip snaked out and Sly parried it with the branch, losing a chunk of it but managing to redirect the blow.
She became more brazen, more open, pushing her advantage. The whip caught him again, near his knee, but with a hiss of pain and a gritting of teeth he stayed upright. He forced himself to analyse his opponent. And then he began to notice the little details.
This tigress was thinner than she should be. She was in perfect physical shape, athletic and powerful, and yet... smaller than Neyla. And was it his imagination, or was her muzzle longer, thinner? Her tail just a touch thicker?
Then his eyes met hers and his heart stopped.
It wasn't the fury he saw. The hatred, the intent to kill, he had been expecting. It was the colour. He had never quite forgotten the shade of Neyla's eyes, the way they twinkled, the contrast of green against lilac. This tigress had different eyes. They weren't green. They were hazel.
The same hazel passed down the Cooper line.
He froze. The shock almost left him speechless. Almost.
"You're not Neyla."
Her voice was rough. "No. I'm her vengeance given flesh."
He blinked. "Wow. Zero hesitation, perfect diction... that line was prepared, wasn't it? How long have you been waiting for this?"
She glared. "Too long."
With that, she resumed her assault. Sly slid under the whip, still searching for a solution. "What do I call you? Aside from 'my doom', 'my final reckoning', 'the last thing I'll ever see' – just heading off the obvious answers."
"Joke all you want, Cooper." Her whip struck out, shredding bark from a tree as Sly slipped past. "It won't save you."
"See, you know my name, but I don't know yours." The whip landed near his foot and he almost stood on it before realizing what an awful idea that would be. "Not a healthy start to our relationship."
She singed his tail as he dove behind a tree. "My name is Elyna," she said, stalking around. "At least I still have that."
"Well, Ellie..." Sly silently crept around the tree, keeping it between them, before darting for another one. "When did you... happen? The timeline isn't exactly making sense in my head, here. I don't know–"
"That's right!" she snapped. "You don't know anything. And you never did."
He had lost sight of her now. Navigating purely by sound. He crept from tree to tree, always moving. Stay alive, and wait for an opening. That strategy had saved him in a thousand fights. He had no idea what opening, if any, would appear. But he stayed alive. And he listened.
"My entire existence has lead to this moment. Years spent with only a snivelling wretch of a scientist for company. No conviction. Less money. He's in prison now. He can't help me. But I've grown beyond him."
She was getting closer. Was it random, or could she hear his movements, just as he heard hers? Sly's grip tightened on the branch. He felt his options slipping away.
"Did you know your mother, Cooper? Do you remember her? I never met mine. All I have is letters, recordings. She foresaw her own demise, so she left instructions. A back-up plan. It wasn't her first choice – she wanted to raise me personally." He could almost taste the fire Elyna's voice. Bitter flame. "But because of you, I'm alone."
"I had no idea about... this. About you. How could I? If I had known..."
Sly pushed past his emotional reflex. The situation demanded honesty. There was no sense nor dignity in anything else. He took a vital second to think before speaking.
"No. If I had known, nothing would've changed. Neyla needed to be stopped. And once she bonded with Clockwerk, there was only one way to do it." He kept his voice level. Sympathetic but firm. "I'm sorry you're alone, Elyna. But I can't apologise for doing the right thing."
He turned around and she was there.
He went to dodge the whip but she just tackled him, slamming her forehead into his nose. There was a clumsy moment where they both staggered but she recovered first. A second faster. But it made the difference.
The whip caught him square in the chest.
The electricity wasn't so bad, he thought numbly. Not with such a quick strike. But it was a full-force blow and he was already off-balance. Sly fell back, pain numbing his limbs, and hit the ground with a spray of dead leaves.
Plenty of time for the electricity now.
He had to move, to flee, to fight, to do something. But for the first – last? – time in his life, he felt old. His body hurt. He was tired and muddy and needed to catch his breath. One minute. Was one minute so much to ask?
Elyna towered over him. He saw the cold resolve in her face, his own hazel eyes glaring down at him. She really could kill him. But...
Sly felt old. And in that moment, he saw how young Elyna was. She couldn't be older than he'd been when he left the orphanage. Even then, he had Bentley and Murray by his side.
Who did she have?
Her voice was steady. Carefully steady. Another practised line. "This is where you die. Alone, in a public park. Your body found by some jogger. That's all you deserve."
Sly met her gaze. "...And what do you deserve?"
His breathing was strained now. He was running out of time. Elyna had every physical edge, and enough ruthless anger to wage – to win – a war. Sly Cooper was outclassed.
He couldn't win this fight. But he knew how to end it.
"You take after your mom in some important ways. I can see that." He held himself together. "I can't outfight you. I can't outsmart you. And you're not going to listen to some... empty speech about morals. So let me put this in your terms. Let me offer you the one thing Neyla never could."
The gamble worked – for the moment, at least. Her stance didn't soften, but she slowed. She tried to downplay her interest. But he caught her tell, a subtle movement of her ear. She waited.
Without a word, Sly let go of the branch.
He straightened up, slowly, aware of his injuries. Eyes on hers. That same shade of hazel.
Then he splayed his arms.
Elyna blinked. "What's this?"
He shrugged lightly, keeping his arms out. "It's what you make of it. If you want to kill me... go ahead. I yield. Of course, I wouldn't recommend it, for your own sake. My wife is not someone you want to upset. Neither are my brothers. And my daughter? If she's anything like her father – and believe me, she is – she won't take this lying down. You know my story, Elyna. You know what I did to Clockwerk. Do you really think you're more durable?"
She stared. "I..."
"But all that aside... if you have a plan, if you think you can avoid Carmelita and Beatrice and Bentley and Murray and Penelope all your life, if you honestly believe killing me will make you feel even slightly better – here I am."
He locked eyes with her, his voice hard.
"But before you do, I'm gonna ask you something. I know the answer already, but I need to make sure you do, too. Those messages Neyla left you – what did she call you?"
He saw her grip on her whip tighten. "My name. Obviously. 'Elyna'."
"Well, I guessed that much." His smile was bitter. "But I don't mean that. What did she call you? What were you to her?"
Elyna glared, but unsteadily, as though she knew this was a trick but not one she had ever seen before.
"You said she left you recordings?" he said. "Instructions for this plan?"
"I don't–"
"Specifically 'instructions'?" he pressed, voice rising. "Not advice, or guidelines. She gave you rules to follow. She came up with it and you had to do it. Is that right?"
He watched her shift the whip in her hand and braced himself for the end but didn't stop.
"Elyna, listen to what I'm asking you here. Did she leave room for your desires? The possibility you had dreams of your own?"
She growled. Low. "Shut up..."
"What about your emotional health? Did she at least acknowledge this ridiculous revenge scheme might be hard for you?"
"I said shut up!" snapped Elyna, literally lashing out. Her whip cracked through the air, but it was sloppy, borne of anger. Sly didn't move. It missed.
His voice was loud but steady as a rock, drawing on every fibre of fatherhood he had. "You told me you're alone. You told me there's no-one waiting for you to come home. So why bother? What are you gonna get from a dead woman?"
"She's my mother!"
"Family goes both ways!" roared Sly. "Family isn't one person demanding the world of another. I know how you feel, Elyna. I avenged my parents too. But because they loved me. Because I was their son." His eyes met hers. Words final. "So tell me, no one-liners, just the truth. Neyla may be your mother, but what about you? Are you her daughter? Or just another plan?!"
"I'm not a person!" screamed Elyna, her voice cracking.
She blinked. She had shocked herself, and there were tears in her eyes. She blinked again, violently, trying to force them away.
Sly didn't prompt her. He gave her space, trusting her to find the words she needed. His patience was rewarded by a shaky breath.
"I'm... not a full... I don't..."
Elyna swallowed thickly. She thumbed a switch on the whip's hilt and with a mournful hiss the electricity died. She clutched at it like a childhood toy. Sly remembered his cane.
"I am her vengeance given flesh," she mumbled. "That – you're right, that was prepared. I came up with it years ago. Because it's what I am. I'm not a person. I'm an idea." She smiled almost manically. "I was so proud of that line... I thought it'd really scare you, when we finally met..."
He nodded. "It wasn't bad."
"Thank you," she said to the ground. Sly decided to ignore the absurdity of the exchange. "I was... focused," she continued. "All my life, I've had this one goal. This mission. I told myself I was lucky to be so sure of my purpose."
She ran a hand through her hair, black parting messily for lilac.
"But sometimes I catch myself thinking these... dumb thoughts. Normal people have no purpose, they just waste their lives. But they're happy. Most of them. They have to be, right? Otherwise there wouldn't be any left. And–" She tensed, her wide-eyed stare hardening. "No. No no no. Shut up. You're just trying to stop me."
"Well, yes."
"This is just – some trick! My mother prepared me, told me you might try something like this–!"
"Something like what?" There was no triumph in Sly's voice. "Telling you the truth?"
"No! It's – this is just something she didn't anticipate." She froze. "But if she didn't anticipate it then she didn't prepare me and then I could actually–"
Elyna clutched at her head, staring fearfully at her beaten quarry.
"It – it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what you say to me. I need to do this. I have to." Her eyes were misty. "...Right?"
"It's just like I thought." Sly spoke softly. Sadly. "There's really nothing else for you. If you end my life... you'll end your own, too."
Elyna stared.
Then her whip fell from her hand and she was crying.
The adrenaline faded from Sly's veins. He was left watching a teenager with his eyes wailing desolately to herself. He felt a sudden flare of anger, one he knew he would never be able to act on. Despite her own death, Neyla had found a way to ruin yet another life. Except this time, she had started from the very beginning.
A perfect plan – on paper. A soldier Sly could never defeat, an approach that guaranteed results. But Neyla had made the same mistake she always did. No room for emotion, how her unstoppable agent of vengeance actually felt. And because of that, just by pointing out the obvious, Sly had reduced her to a sobbing wreck.
...She really sounded pitiful.
His instincts were still on-edge, after the chase and the wounds and the screaming. (Mostly the wounds.) But something made him push past that. He could have run, or rushed her. Seized her weakness and made her suffer. He didn't.
He walked very slowly toward her, arms still high. He made sure she saw him coming. And he very carefully brought her into a hug.
Sly let out a breath, patting her head. "C'mere, kid... it's okay..."
She was taller than him, yet seemed so small now. Shaking and scared. He gathered her up, ignoring his own injuries to console her. He immediately noticed the similarities. She felt the same, moved the same little motions. Sly was reminded of the first friendship-threatening argument, the first luckless crush, the first (and scarily early) broken bone after falling off the roof.
Elyna cried just like his daughter did. He wondered if they both cried like him.
For a moment, they stood there. He held her and she didn't quite hold him back, fingers bunched awkwardly in the fabric of his shirt. His wounds still stung, but not enough to distract him. He'd deal with them. He'd deal with everything. Right now, they just needed silence.
It seemed to work. After a minute or so, Elyna gave one final sniffle and pulled back. She fixed her hair, embarrassed, and Sly was relieved to see her move like a normal teenager.
Sly gave her a warm smirk. "Y'know, part of me was really expecting you stab me there."
Her voice was small. "What?"
"That would've been very Neyla. Come in for the hug, but slip a dagger out from somewhere. Sink it right between my ribs. Guess not, huh?"
"N-no," she said. She still seemed uncertain, even afraid. But after a moment, she gave him a wobbly smile.
He knew he had made the right decision.
"Sly!"
Carmelita's voice cut through the forest. Elyna started, and for a moment Sly thought she would bolt into the trees, never to be seen again. He laid a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her. Too much pressure would seem like an arrest.
Carmelita hadn't seen them yet. "Sly, are you there?! Bentley said your watch gave off some emergency signal, and that – please, are you here?! Sly–!"
"'Lita!" he called. "I'm fine. I'm right here."
"Oh, thank god..."
Carmelita burst into view, her boots crashing through dead twigs. When she saw Sly, her expression shifted from grim worry to relief in a second – then reversed when she noticed Elyna. Sly knew she was making the exact same connection he had, exactly as quickly. Neyla.
He broke the silence first. "Everything okay? Where's B?"
"Murray's watching her." Carmelita's eyes didn't leave Elyna. "What is this? ...Who is this?"
The moment dragged. Agonizing. Like a hanging.
Then Sly cracked one of his quiet smirks. "Isn't it obvious? Carmelita, this is my other daughter."
Carmelita didn't reply.
Her eyes sharpened. Elyna saw the concerned wife vanish in an instant, replaced by the shrewd Interpol officer she'd been warned of so often. Carmelita took in every detail, analysing Elyna with the cold precision of a super-computer.
Then she stepped closer, reached out, and laid a hand on Elyna's shoulder. Matching Sly's on the other side.
"No," she said. "Our other daughter."
"Of course." He looked back to Elyna. Still smirking. But his eyes were soft. "If she'd have us, that is."
The young tigress stared. She went to say something but no words came out.
Just tears.
Without warning she pulled them both into a hug. Sly felt Carmelita instinctively tense, and had to hide his amusement. Whether police training or awkwardness or both, he couldn't say.
Instead, he returned the embrace, moving gently. Carmelita followed suit, and they stood there, letting Elyna wordlessly sob.
"Take as much time as you need."
By now, she had taken almost a year. And they had given it.
Sly ambled through the house, ensuring the doors were locked and the lights were off. Dad stuff. He almost turned off the kitchen light before noticing Elyna and Beatrice were still at the table, pouring over the latter's maths homework.
He smiled. "Goodnight, B. Goodnight, Ellie. Don't stay up too late, alright?"
"We're almost done!" said Elyna. "And then we're both going to bed."
"Ah." Sly folded his arms, smirking. "So Carmelita isn't going to find you both playing video games at 2am?"
He watched all four ears defensively lower. "That," said Elyna, "was one time."
"Mm-hmm. I'm sure." He shrugged. "You know the rules. The trick to not getting punished is to not get caught."
"'No, it's not doing the wrong thing in the first place'," Elyna recited, filling in Carmelita's half of the mantra. B giggled.
Sly chuckled quietly. "Alright. Goodnight, girls."
He left them to their multiplication. Before long he was closing the door to the master bedroom. Carmelita was already in bed, reading a case file.
"Lights out, Inspector. I thought you said no more working in bed."
"You're right, you're right. It can wait until morning." She laid the file on her bedside table. "Are the girls in bed yet?"
"Finishing up some homework. Allegedly."
"Allegedly," echoed Carmelita. "Well."
Sly got into bed, leaning over to kiss her cheek. He paused. "Something wrong?"
"Mh?"
"You seem distracted." Sly laid an arm on her shoulder, pulling her a little closer. "Never go to sleep worried, 'Lita. What's on your mind?"
"You wouldn't want to hear it."
"I have to," he said resolutely. "I'm your husband."
Carmelita sighed. "It's just... Everything's worked out so far. She adjusted remarkably well once we found the right therapist. My main concern was how Beatrice would take it, and she was the most enthusiastic of all."
"She said she always wanted a sister," smirked Sly, "and apparently it wasn't a bluff."
"And now they're getting on so well. Elyna helps with B's homework, which I appreciate, but they also go on these little adventures together..."
"Sure," said Sly. "I think that's important. I know you value discipline, but sneaking around a bit is good for kids. It's independent."
"It's not that. Not exactly." Carmelita bit her lip. "Maybe I'm just bringing my paranoia home from work, the way you keep complaining about, but sometimes I wonder..."
"What?"
"I suppose I... What if leaving Beatrice with Elyna isn't a good idea?" She turned to him. "Is it really wise to trust her?"
Sly didn't reply immediately.
He gave the question the thought it was due. Then he met his wife's eyes.
"Is it wise to trust me? I've hurt you before. More than I ever should have."
"I suppose," she said, fingers running through her hair. "But it's been a long time since you've done something really stupid."
"Adopting a violent clone trained to assassinate me isn't 'something stupid'?"
"That's what we're trying to work out."
He nodded. "But you see what I'm getting at. Sometimes you trust someone, and they let you down. It happens. Murray's messed up. Bentley's miscalculated. Penelope..." He chuckled, but she could tell it was still strained. Even after all these years. "Well, we all remember what Penelope did. And last month we trusted her with our daughters."
"For three hours at a science museum."
"Three hours more than I ever thought I'd give her."
His hand found hers, gentle fingers playing with her wedding ring.
"I guess my point is just... yeah. Maybe we'll always keep Elyna at a distance. Always worry it's some ridiculous long-con, and breaking down in tears that night was Step One of Thirteen. But anyone can hurt you, at any time. And that can't stop you from living life."
She sighed. "Listen to you... so wise in your old age. Where's the aggravating, self-absorbed criminal I fell in love with?"
"Oh, I'm sure we can find him. You were always so good at tracking him down."
With a final kiss, they turned off the light.
[small brain] fluffy fankid
[large brain] edgy grimdark fankid
[transcendent brain] EDGY GRIMDARK FANKID WHO BECOMES FLUFFY