Summary: Le Mont Saint-Michel and other immovable things. Set a few weeks after Split Up.

Standard Disclaimer: I'm just a fanfiction writer. All hail the rightful owners.

Content Disclaimer: Some connection with the Time gameshow cannon.

I hated mirrors.

In daylight, my home was surrounded by a thousand reflective fragments, water, sky, and tourists' eyes. I was used to it. However, when I was upset or angry, those little bits of my image made it worse. That's why I loved Mont Saint-Michel at night. Lacking sun, water was forgiving. It let me see down instead of backwards.

That night, I needed the forgiving horizon because I was exhausted. All that fuss a few weeks ago, if an entire land formation up and moving away could be so called, was a boon for the ever vibrant tourism business. That meant tables to clean, floors to scrub, and people looking at me. I didn't like that. Attention made me bone tired, but I knew watching the waves would soothe me.

As I lived alone, I didn't have to sneak away. I simply walked out into the cold dark. It was bracing, sharp, comfortable, and perfect. Padding through the narrowest streets of my island home. I felt like a cat and wished I was one.

The water was rising, cutting us off from the mainland. That was how I liked it. Wandering past midnight, I wanted the mainland to be out of my eyes, far away from me. Not even tolerating the causeway a little, I circled to the other side of the island tracing out the shoreline until I faced the sea.

That was when I saw her, the thief visiting her stale crime. Though I instantly felt afraid, I couldn't move away. She dipped her feet in the water and hissed like she'd touched a hot stove. There was something altogether too personal about that sound, and I was made instantly uncomfortable by it. Sensual as her affect was, her dress was almost comical in its casualness. Bare feet, a sloppy ponytail, and a lilac colored tracksuit didn't seem like they should fit her wildness and elegance. So, I probably shouldn't have recognized her.

"I love this place…" She suddenly said, aloud.

My heart pounded frantically, and I backed up involuntarily, trapping my back against stone. "Err… how long have you known I was there?"

"I think I'll leave you to guess at that." She reflected, taking a step towards me. Her eyes caught the moonlight and the wash of surrounding colors, taking on the glow around her, malleable to the surroundings but with unmistakable life.

Faced with her unwelcome gaze, I suddenly found courage. "Go away." I said hoarsely.

If reality matched my guess, few had seen that kind of surprise from her. "What?" She laughed.

"You aren't welcome here. Get out."

Her eyebrows twitched, and she chuckled again, making a sharp gesture as though to ask if I was quite serious.

Mont Saint Michel is stone, but it's also bramble, grass, and marsh. I gestured to the shrubbery that crowded the rocks where the castle began, still tangled from where the ground ripped apart underneath it. "Go away." I deadpanned. "You're disturbing the vegetation. Again."

I don't know what about that made her happy, but you'd think she was at a world class comedy club. "You're … original."

Why thank you I just love descriptions of myself. "What, because everyone lets you get away with everything?"

"They're far from elated." She glanced at the horizon for a moment. "But you…" she was being too light about it. "Almost sound like you want to attack me. You couldn't do any harm of course but…" Faded lips pressed together. "That is a bit… more rare than you'd intuit."

Feeling tightness in my chin, I glowered right back. "You really don't know?" I demanded.

Her elegant shoulders casually dropped.

"Fine." I replied coldly. "Follow me. I'll show you. But don't touch anything."

I started the trek up to the church, trying to ignore what felt like a very intrusive observation of my back. At the first locked door, I dug a key from my pocket, quickly so I couldn't see if she had any other means through. "I work here." Blandly, I explained. "Many years now."

"Would you like to have this conversation in French?" Almost a courtesy, "Mine is acceptable. If it would make you feel more comfortable..."

My throat hurt. "English is fine." My first language for that matter, and I have a feeling she knew that. We passed through the doors, and stepped between the wooden benches. Stopping at the croisée, my eyes sought out the four great columns, the pride of the room. I waited to feel peace, in vain.

Standing there, at the highest point of the mountain, Carmen smiled.

"What are you so happy about?" I demanded.

Reverently, she let her hand rest against the column. "I've always liked these." I could see the color of the stone off her eyes, tan with bits of red and black. Reflecting, she blurred the lines of each stone and the mortar, and saw the expanse of the column as a whole. "There's something so triumphant about them."

Not my favorite, as I preferred the cloisters, but I could see what she meant. The thief's words sounded so much like something I might say that they made me angry. "Look at it!" I demanded.

With only a glance at my anger, the criminal sighed. "I see... vision... effort... art."

Glowering.

"Masonry?" She asked. "Stone?"

It was nearly invisible but I knew the difference. "It's not supposed to be like this." I jabbed my nails at a single bit of the grandness, not quite the way I remembered it.

Staring in the moonlight, Carmen strained to see my observation. "It was... a little to the left?"

"It's damaged. And it will never, never be the same!" I put my head against the cold stonework and cried.

She sat down next to me, and for once the great Carmen Sandiego seemed marginally out of her element. "I have been doing this for nearly ten years." She finally said, in neatly trimmed syllables. "And I have never yet seen a local burst into tears like this."

"Well maybe you should stick around every once in a while." I remarked angrily, standing abruptly to face her.

"Next thing," She said, impatiently and a little not quite aligned with the beat. "You're going to tell me the mountain felt afraid or something."

"Don't be ridiculous." I gripped the column with an open hand. "I'm going to tell you that I felt scared." I muttered sullenly at the bitter crack in the wall, hugging the support. The stone was cold "I have no idea how the mountain feels."

Well at least she wasn't laughing anymore. "You felt unsafe?"

"Well how was I supposed to feel!" I exclaimed hoarsely. "They got us out of our beds, at three o'clock at night, making an awful racket. It felt like we were being bloody invaded! And then I didn't even know if I had anywhere to live or a job for a few days. I spent half a month's tips getting a hotel because there was no room anywhere this side of the channel. I don't take your home and fling it to... to the end of the earth. So don't destroy mine!"

The thief swallowed, but then declared. "This isn't damaged."

"It's different." I whispered into my lower lip.

"That's not the same thing. It is structurally sound."

My laugh tasted of strong tea. "Nothing that's been moved a thousand miles can possibly be structurally sound."

Carmen gestured sharply upward. "I've returned rental cars in worse condition than this. I got my deposit back, no less."

"You ripped it out of the ground!"

"I put it back!"

"I don't care. You... you changed it."

After considering her response for a moment, Carmen whispered. "I think we love different things about this island."

Bundling my knees in my arms, I ignore her.

"Mont Saint-Michel is such a place of change..." Musing seriously, she continued. "Wings, fortifications, all different time periods, the mark of every age. And you say these columns can't be strong, but they are... survivors. I'm sure you know about the collapses of the towers and the crypt..."

"Because they built it too high!" I cried out sharply, almost not caring if I set off security. "Because it couldn't hold the weight, and it wasn't safe…" My breath wouldn't be controlled. "And crashed to the sea."

"The archangel loved heights" Carmen intoned, a half expectant smile on her face.

I don't get the quote. "Huh?" I felt dizzy.

"This place is dynamic. Enduring, yes but adapting... changing..." She breathed the words. "Living."

I glared at her. "Well I like it this way."

Though I don't think she misunderstood me, not entirely, Carmen still asked. "Why is that?"

"Is this what you do?" I finally demanded to avoid her question. "Travel the world knowing everything about everything? Moving it around like pieces in a dollhouse?"

"Cherveux," she listed majestically. "Caen, Tours, and Tarascon, all in one day."

I felt a pull, but my loyalty outweighed it. "Mont Saint Michel is the best." I said softly.

"Yes it is." Carmen acknowledged without an argument, and it put me off my guard. "I only take the best you know."

"It's everything I've ever wanted." I pushed farther.

She nodded serenely. "I know."

"Then those other places don't matter to me." I lied.

"Ah," The stealer of my home ignored my made-up conclusion. "But that's not really why I do this."

I wanted the answer, but pride stifled me. I tried waiting, but Carmen didn't oblige. She just looked at me, sidelong in profile, clearly amused but terribly in earnest. Helplessly, I went farther. "What then?" I expressed my displeasure in terseness and tone.

"At some point." She mused carefully. "You refuse to let the world dictate who you are, take on a persona you can live with."

"Well that's ridiculous." I snap back mercilessly. "You can give new henchmen cute new aliases, hell you can give them a new identity. That doesn't mean they can be anything they want. It doesn't make reality just… just go away."

She seemed to appreciate my defensiveness, though I had no idea why. "That's true. But the power to create… is that something?"

I couldn't answer her because I didn't want to build. All I wanted was to be free from destruction.

"What would you be, if your choice was free?" She asked, considering eyes turned on me again. I could see my entire reflection over the blue. Even the night wouldn't hide it for me.

I snorted. "Pretty damn unlikeable."

"Really?"

"You know what?" I snapped sarcastically. "I think I'll have magical powers. And I'll be from 1066."

Her eyebrows danced in amusement. "Oh? You fear change, and yet you want to live the year of the battle of Hastings?"

I didn't expect her to take me seriously. "I… I could see the abbey when the columns were new."

"I thought you like it the way it is now?"

I can't win, but I can't let this go. "And maybe I'll grow my nails out a couple of feet!"

Completely casual, Carmen shrugged. "You could try it." She suggested as if referring to some kind of new pastry in a patisserie.

"You want me as a henchwoman?" I was flabbergasted.

"It's useful to have someone along who understands the… difficulties in what I do." Carmen remarked wryly. She chuckled. "It keeps me honest."

"So you want me to spoil your fun." I muttered bitterly. "That's typical."

Carmen laughed. "Would you prefer to enjoy the heists?"

"You're twisting what I said!" I exclaimed.

That thief actually had the audacity to take a step back. "I'm not going to force you into anything. If you're content here, you should stay."

"Me? This isn't about me. This is about you…. You and my stupid home. It was immovable, and you just showed up and you… you moved it!"

Carmen let me rest for almost a full minute. Then finally she asked. "What are you so afraid of? Do you want to talk about it?" She offered neutrally.

"No." Especially not with the woman who just dredged the whole thing back up. Bringing out all my insecurities wasn't exactly a great prelude to trust. Damn Carmen's probably sterling intentions. The last time I started a sensitive conversation with her, I ended up in tears. Though I found the silence uncomfortable, I didn't break it.

"Ok." She finally said. "You don't have to."

"My place is here." Where it was safe… safer. "I belong here." I pushed the writing away like a stinging ember.

"Well then. When you're ready," she corrected, gently touching my shoulder once before she melted into the sunrise.

It took me three more years before I took her up on it, but Carmen was telling the truth. And now, when I look at my reflection, with five inch nails and a faux medieval costume, I still don't have my magical powers. In many ways, I'm still afraid.

But I no longer hate the mirror. It's Venetian, lifted directly from the 17th century, and it suits me.