Author's Note
cough Uh yeah. So a little history. I know this kind of stuff rivets you people. This is my FIRST fanfiction, and probably my longest. I wrote it oh….2 or 3 years ago, so the writing is more crap than my usual stuff. If this hasn't chased you off yet, you are a die-hard Sly Cooper fan, or you seriously overestimate me. In some places, I've tried to smooth out the rough patches, but ultimately, this just sucks. So why post? Well my feathered friends, if this story brings a little grin to someone out there, I will feel less dirty about posting it. That's why – and this is important now – please comment one way or another if you like the first few chapters! If this story is too awful to read, I shall not dirty the interwebs with it. If you like it, I'll continue to hack through my own writing and try as best as I can to improve it. Fair?
Maybe not. Well, sit back, squint at the glaring computer screen of yours and be ready for M3thod-mak3r at her typical worst. Cheers!
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Time: Six months the attempted Kaine Island Heist
Bentley sat motionless in his wheelchair, muscles tense and aching from being held at attention for so many hours. However, discomfort was a somewhat less threatening adversary than the hundred plus policemen loitering in the valley below. Though several hundred yards of dense foliage separated Bentley from his adversaries, even a slight movement could attract their inconvenient notice. Strictly speaking, Bentley had not been connected with any recent crimes, but the law had a long memory, and the French police forces would undoubtedly have some questions for him…if they caught him, that is. Particularly in this place. With deliberate slowness, Bentley placed his Binocucom over his eyes, wincing as it whirred quietly into focus. Penelope made the lenses glare proof, so they would not reflect sunlight and glint suspiciously, but she hadn't had time to adjust the interior mechanisms of the Binocucom. No matter; the noise was only loud to Bentley's nerves as he brought the cops into greater focus.
"You seeing what I am, Murray?" Bentley asked softly into a microphone. Half a world away, Murray was watching the police activity on his big screen TV. He would have preferred to be there with Bentley, but Murray's form did not lend itself to recon missions. Large purple mammals tended to stand out slightly more than turtles. "Sure am Bentley." 'The Murray' replied, weakly. The image on the screen brought tears to his smallish, hippo eyes.
There was Sly Cooper, wearing a rather sharp suit and chatting happily with a fellow policeman, perhaps his best man. Murray bitterly regretted he could not attend his childhood friend's wedding, even if he tended to make a fool of himself at fancy parties. Bentley heard Murray's snuffling through his headphones, and had to admit that he was feeling weepy himself. Today, Sly Cooper, the infamous master thief turned cop, was to wed the elegant Carmelita Montoya Fox. Since Sly had no family of his own (save Bentley and Murray, who were currently on the lamb) most of those in attendance were members of law enforcement whom Sly and Carmelita befriended during their time on the force.
Bentley had privately hoped that Sly and Carmelita would have waited a little while longer to be married. Their wedding gift was nowhere near finished, despite all the hours Bentley and Penelope had spent constructing it. Plus, Bentley would have liked to have arranged a way to attend the wedding properly, but that would involve organizing something with Carmelita, though he had the sneaking suspicion that she would not want thieves at her wedding. Time might have slacked her temper a little, but stringent sense of right and wrong would not permit thieves to traipse about in her presence, unscathed…
So Bentley and Murray were reduced to spying; watching from afar as their lifelong friend walked down the aisle. No expense was spared for the happy couple. From his perch, Bentley admired the tasty looking victuals laid out on delicate china, the luminous flower arrangements, the frequented wet bar and even an ice sculpture of a pair of swans taking flight, a feature with Sly almost certainly found tacky. A string quartet provided a light background tune, which Bentley could only hear when the musicians reached the height of a crescendo. Finally, the decorated guests ordered themselves into seats and watched the alter with rapt attention. Then there was Sly, marching down the aisle with an elated smile on his face, an expression more readily associated with a particularly sassy heist than the prospects of wedlock. Carmelita was there too, naturally, her hair teased into formal elegance, her dress luminescent and immaculate white. She probably hated the restrictive nature of the garment, but happiness found her anyway as a priest recited vows over the couple-to-be.
For some reason, Bentley was nervous and jumpy, as though something would go wrong. Was this whole marriage just another trick of Sly's? Or perhaps was it some elaborate set up on Carmelita's part? In every heist, there was a moment where the job was either made or broken; the snatch of the jewel, the faith in a trap's failure. Bentley thought that these marital vows placed Sly and Carmelita in unprecedented states of vulnerability, and if the absolute commitment was not mutual, the destruction of the fooled party would be complete.
But, when Bentley took another look at the bride and groom, he saw that his fears were baseless. Bentley had known Sly for a long time, but he didn't think he had ever seen Sly so happy or so...in love. Bentley knew Sly as a suave, classy, mischievous and an occasional smart alec, but never a sap. Adoration was not usual expressive faire for Sly, but none the less he graced Carmelita with just that look as he stood beside her. To see Carmelita return the gaze with equal magnitude was also incredible. Bentley had never known Sly or Carmelita to be the romantic types, but he didn't think that he had ever seen two people so in love. Well, except for himself and Penelope.
Murray and Bentley watched, breathless. It appeared as though the priest had completed the ceremony, or was very near to it. "What's going on?" whispered Murray into his mike, as he reached for another tissue. "I don't..." began Bentley. "You may now kiss the bride." said the priest, quite loudly, almost, it seemed, for Bentley's benefit.
And Sly did.
In the valley, France's finest cheered, Bentley gasped, and half a world away, Murray began bawling like a small child.