What Have We Done…?
Summary: A short drabble like fic I decided to write. It'll probably have a slightly sad tone to it since happy things aren't exactly my forte. The second section of the story title is, as you've probably noticed, missing. That will be a sequel to this fanfiction that I may write if I get good feedback on this one.
I used to see you. I used to chase you. I used to hope that maybe one day, we could be together. But then one day, it all fell apart. I thought you would always be there.
Sly cooper, the most nefarious thief in the entire world once again pranced across the rooftops, playing a most dangerous game of Russian Roulette with good old Inspector Carmelita Fox. He had never been caught and hoped he never would be. It was a blessing from the gods that he never was hit. But then again, was Inspector Fox's aim just that bad? Or just that good? Sly shook his head. He never expected to know. He glanced behind him, unknowingly costing himself more than he could ever hope to pay.
You were supposed to be watching.
Inspector Carmelita Fox ran after that jerk Cooper once again. He had always evaded capture no matter what techniques were deployed against him. Carmelita had an almost perfect 99.9 capture rate of every criminal she had ever gone after. Sly Cooper was the missing .1. He would continue to fall, eventually ending up as the smallest percent possible, but still marring her perfect record. She needed to capture him, not only for herself, her department, and the world, but for her father. He had chased Sly's father for years before tragically being killed by a mob group shortly after Sly's father's death. Carmelita shook her head to rid herself of these thoughts. She had to keep her perspective, even if it was black and white, on the sides of the law. Even if the man she may or may not care about was grey…
I was supposed to be concentrating,
Sly turned back to the front noticing something but not in time. His foot caught in a hatch, and his body propelled itself forward, attempting to drag his foot with him, but it was caught. A loud sick crunch filled the air as Sly fell down with a pained grimace, his foot loosening from the hatch.
You were supposed to be paying attention.
Carmelita fired off a shot that she realized too late should have passed right in front of Sly. Instead, because of his fall, it scored a direct hit on his chest, sending him spiraling backwards off the building into the streets below.
I wasn't supposed to hit you.
Carmelita ran over to find Sly's crumpled form on the ground. His foot was twisted, the bone shooting through the soft skin and leather boots staining them red. Carmelita put her hand to his chest feeling a terribly erratic heartbeat. Shock pistols were meant to be stun effect guns, not lethal. But a direct hit to the chest could cause lung complications, or even stop a heart.
You were supposed to say something.
Carmelita began to cry. She should have been happy. She finally had that perfect record she had been hoping so eagerly for. But she couldn't stop the tears from flowing. They kept coming. You weren't supposed to cry over fallen enemies, only fallen comrades. But that left the question, if Sly was the enemy, and she cried for him, what was he really?
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Sly reached a shaky hand towards Carmelita and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand in a soft and tender gesture. "I never wanted this…" his voice was hoarse and scratchy. He sounded breathless and weak. "If only we could have been on the same side of the law. It might have worked out. But now, it's time we parted and went our own separate ways, like we always have…" Sly's eyes closed but his breathing continued although raspy.
It didn't have to be like this.
Carmelita blinked holding back tears. "You're wrong Sly… We were never on opposite sides of the law. We were both just caught up in the middle with different ideas…"
In a black and white view of the world
What do you do when everything you want
And everything you care about
And everything you love
Is a shade of grey?
Sly's breathing slowly came to a stop. His body cooled and his blood stopped flowing. His body was sent to the morgue. Carmelita was given top honors, and special awards for the most distinguished career in history. However after this incident, Carmelita soon quit her job as an Interpol Inspector. She rarely left home. It was a dark stormy night that it happened. Her friend would find her body a few days later. The bloody knife still clenched in her hands next to the pool of blood. Her neck and wrists would both be a dark red, but strangely enough, she wore no look of hurt or pain. She wore a serene smile in death.
But most of all. You weren't supposed to die.