Summary: By living out the coda to her past, Carmen could save their future. Sequel to Endgame.
Standard Disclaimer: I'm just a fanfiction writer. All hail the rightful owners.
Content Disclaimer: There is violence, heavily implied sexual content, weapons, drug content, alcohol, and abuse of power in this work of fiction, and not of the cartoon variety. The characters as portrayed here are neither invincible nor morally flawless. If you read Endgame, you have some clue what I'm capable of writing here. If you haven't read Endgame, I suggest you read it first. However, if you are too young or attached to "beloved childhood" versions of the characters… you've been warned.
"Here." Carmen said quietly, as she turned her back and crossed her wrists behind her.
Seeing the other agent watching him, Zack had no choice but to cuff his once-adversary, whispering "What are you doing, Carmen?"
"I…" The thief replied, her eyes hollow. "I just killed someone."
49 Hours Earlier. Virginia Beach, United States of America
"Give it up, Carmen!" Ivy shouted, reflecting, not for the first time, that she really needed some new taunts.
"Not a chance, detective!" Carmen responded, perhaps considering the same thing.
They were in Virginia Beach. Carmen had stolen salt-water taffy… a lot of salt-water taffy, as in tons of the stuff.
Zack shook his head. They were working the case with the help of a local agent, Ray Sting, but he had not arrived yet, much to the siblings chagrin.
The game had felt heavy lately, despite everyone's best efforts. Though they had left the implications of the incident mostly in abeyance, the detectives couldn't help but find the chase more difficult. It would have been nice to have someone along who actually believed in what they were doing.
Never the less, they had Carmen backed onto the beach, against the tumultuous surf. There were protocols to be followed, lines to be recited.
Carmen took a few deliberate steps back into the damp sand, her hands reaching for something in her upper pockets, as waves began to lap around her stiletto-clad ankles.
"She's going to get away, Ivy!" Zack yelled, recognizing the object Carmen withdrew as one of her personal portable helicopter models.
As Ivy accelerated her steps, as Carmen quickly assembled the machinery.
"Started without me, did you?" A confident male voice with a difficult to place accent announced.
Both detectives and Carmen turned their heads to observe the new arrival. The detective seemed a bit old to be an ACME employee, by about thirty years, but then there wasn't exactly a maximum age. His stern black hair was streaked with gray, and his burly figure was muscled in sharp lines.
"Ray Sting?" Zack asked. "You're late."
Ivy didn't even slow down or look back. No tardy backup was going to interfere with her pacing.
Carmen was a different story. She, for lack of any better term, froze. Her device falling from nervous hands, she stared at the agent, with her mouth ajar.
Ivy not noticing the change, reached for Carmen's arms, but that the first touch of her hand, Carmen lost her mind.
Pulling them both down into the surf, Carmen grabbed Ivy's hair and, as a wave crashed over them, crushed them both to the ground.
Zack let out a yell and started running into the water, when he saw the ocean foam turn red.
Player: What's going on, Carmen? You went wild back there.
Carmen: I didn't mean to, Player.
Player: That's almost an apology, Carmen. Now I know something must be wrong.
Carmen: Apologize to Ivy for me, Player.
Player: But why did you… Carmen? Carmen? Come on, this is really getting annoying!
"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" Bridgette asked, taking the sea-soaked coat from her employer.
"What?" Carmen responded dully, her eyes elsewhere, dragging a hand through her damp hair.
The secretary turned, putting her hands on her hips. "I'll rephrase. Are you going to tell me, Boss" she put a little extra emphasis on Carmen's title. "How you ending up wrestling that detective instead of flying away into the sunset?"
"No." Her boss replied, in the same non-tone.
"Are you in any pain?" These one-word answers were starting to grate on Bridgette's nerves.
"No."
"Liar." Normally Bridgette would just let her employer stagger back to her room and go through whatever bizarre post-heist ritual she normally used to exorcise her demons. The blond was hardly one to judge someone for preferring to keep pain to herself. However, she was not in the mood today.
"I twisted my ankle." Carmen deadpanned.
"Of course you did." Bridgette answered, still annoyed. She sighed. "Sit down."
The thief fell into her chair, behind her grandiose desk. "Fine. If it bothers you so much you may go ahead and wrap it up."
"Yes, Boss." The secretary grabbed some ice from the mini fridge under her desk, and then dropped to one knee.
Carmen watched Bridgette work for a moment, and shook her head. "I think I hurt her."
That took Bridgette a little aback. Carmen made mistakes, in spades, but, as a rule, she did not admit to any of them. "The detective you mean? I err… I hacked the system to check." That was another skill Carmen had taught her. "You broke her nose. Probably bled a lot, but she'll be alright."
The blond stood up and poured her senior a glass of water.
"I knew you'd want to know that." Bridgette said pushing the glass across the desk, "Just like I know that physical pain is the least of your worries today."
Carmen took a sip. "What would I do without you?" She asked, half-sarcastic.
"Wrap your own ankle?" Bridgette suggested with a smile. "Wear flats?" The lackey laughed a little, "You'd find some other scared kid to rescue. It's your nature. You collect strays the way most people think you collect landmarks."
Carmen took a bitter swig of the water with mannerisms that would have had Bridgette thinking the drink was alcohol, if she hadn't poured the stuff herself.
Bridgette mused, "I had a sister like you, once."
She had, actually. Except that Morgan's addiction was to alcohol, not thievery. It had taught Bridgette the drill though. She knew that nothing could stop Carmen from returning to crime. Morgan had promised at least twenty times that she would stay away from liquor. Bridgette had believed her big sister every time.
"What happened to her?" Carmen asked.
"She hit a tree, going 130 kilometers per hour, drunk out of her mind." The secretary answered shortly, giving Carmen a compendium to her heartbreak.
Bridgette had learned you don't stop caring about someone just because she broke your heart a half dozen times. It got so you could predict when you were about it to be hurt, didn't mean you could do anything about it. Just protect them as assiduously as you could, then clean up when you inevitably failed. Loyalty was a brainless emotion.
"Oh." Carmen said quietly.
"You know the rest of the story. Not hard to guess what happened between then and when you pulled me off that street corner." Oh yes, fidelity was utterly inane. Except, of course, that Carmen had earned it. Not many people picked streetwalkers for random, nonjudgmental acts of kindness, let alone as their secretaries.
"You were too young to be there." Carmen explained.
"I was older than you were when you left ACME." Bridgette noticed.
Carmen, hearing that remark, glared. "Well, you looked frightened."
Bridgette knew Carmen thought she was being hopelessly naïve, but it was almost impossible not to believe the best of someone who saved you on a whim like that. What's more, it was even more difficult not to feel cheerful when one was having the first decent conversation with that person in months.
Bridgette cogitated for a second. Maybe faith was her addiction. Seemed like everyone she met had one. Why shouldn't she?
The door banged open. "Did you miss me?" The silhouette said, from the archway.
Whoever it was, Bridgette didn't recognize him. That didn't mean anything though. Carmen kept company with whomever she pleased. A great deal more disturbing was the look of abject terror on her boss's face.
The secretary put on her courtesy face. "Excuse me. I don't remember making an appointment for you, Mr…?"
"Moskvani." He said arrogantly, "And I don't need an appointment. Do I, Carmen?"
Carmen's voice was numb with fear. "Bridgette, do as he says."
"Yes," Mr. Moskvani said, with a dark twinkle in his eyes. "Leave us alone." He walked behind Carmen's chair and, reaching over the back, started running his hands familiarly over her shoulders and neck.
Most days, Bridgette wouldn't even dream of disobeying her boss. However, years of working a desk hadn't done anything to dull the instincts she'd learned working the streets. "I'm not going anywhere." She said protectively because she couldn't stand the look of pained endurance in her idol's eyes.
"You've trained her poorly," The intruder commented.
"Please Bridgette, just do as he says…" Carmen whispered, looking close to tears, as the trespasser smiled sardonically.
Dedication really was an idiotic concept. Keeping quiet, or better yet getting out of this room would have been far cleverer. "Carmen, it's going to be alright." Bridgette said, though she knew no such thing.
The man laughed. "She's useless." He commented, his right arm moving under his jacket.
"Nicholas, no!" Bridgette heard Carmen shriek.
Aside from the gunshot, it was the last thing she ever heard.