Disclaimer: Carmen and friends are the property of others, I'm just borrowing them for awhile.

Summary: When a mysterious accident sends Carmen into early retirement, she and Zack strike up an unexpected friendship. Post-canon.

Author's Note: Most of these early chapters are probably Teen/PG-13, but later chapters will contain more mature subject matter, so I'm rating it M just to be safe.

"But you have retired, Holmes. We heard of you as living the life of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the South Downs."

"Exactly, Watson. Here is the fruit of my leisured ease, the magnum opus of my latter years!" He picked up the volume from the table and read out the whole title, Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, with Some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen. "Alone I did it. Behold the fruit of pensive nights and laborious days when I watched the little working gangs as once I watched the criminal world of London."

-Arthur Conan Doyle, His Last Bow (1917)

I always thought Carmen Sandiego would go out with a bang. Instead, she just quietly faded away.

The day my sister and I were called to Lee Galeese's office marked the official end of Carmen's criminal career. It had been several months since the thief's last caper, which was somewhat unusual. But really, Carmen's heists had never been the same since the whole sad business with Malcolm Avalon. She went through the motions, but I don't think her heart was ever quite in it again.

I remember being annoyed at having to trek halfway across town to meet with Carmen's motor mouth lawyer- I had nearly finished laying down some code for what I thought would bring me fortune and fame, the new and improved Zack Attack 30,000. But Ivy insisted it could be an important lead on Carmen's case. The past few months of inactivity had not been easy on my sister.

Lee's office was as tacky as he was. We sat in sticky faux leather armchairs while he rattled off some legal mumbo-jumbo at us. "The party of the first part, Carmen Sandiego, CEO of VILE Inc. hereby releases the party of the second part, Zack and Ivy, from all previous binding binders pertaining to her last will and testament, ipso facto, presto-changeo…."

"In English?" Ivy prompted, annoyed.

Galeese rolled his beady eyes. "Ms. Sandiego has decided to disband VILE inevitably. As it no longer exists, you are hereby absolved of inheriting her criminal organization in the eventual eventuality of her death. Now, if you will sign and initial these forms in triplicate, we can all be on our way."

"Carmen's disbanding VILE? Why would she do that?" I found myself asking.

The greasy lawyer looked sad and uncomfortable. "You can ask her yourself. Carmen, they're ready for you," he called out softly and opened the door.

I don't know what I expected to come through that door, but it certainly wasn't Carmen in a wheelchair. She still wore her trademark red coat and fedora, but her left leg was covered in some kind of large cast. "Hello, detectives. Thank you for coming." When she spoke her voice had the same velvet tone it always had, but she sounded tired.

"What the hell happened to you?" my sister blurted out.

"Skiing accident in Chamonix six months ago. I've had several surgeries, but my doctors tell me there is a strong possibility I may never walk again. One of life's great ironies- I spend half my life jumping off skyscrapers and I end up getting crippled on vacation." She gave a bitter smile.

I didn't really know what to say. "That sucks. I'm sorry, Carmen."

The great thief, suddenly diminished, nodded gravely. "Yes, as you well know, running is an essential part of my job description. And as I have no desire to manage a criminal empire from behind the scenes, I have decided to retire. I felt it was my duty to inform you."

My sister, ever the suspicious one, said, "I don't believe you, Carmen. This has to be another one of your tricks."

Carmen sunk back deeper behind her fedora and spoke wistfully, "If only it were, detective."

I looked at Carmen and at Galeese's disappointed expression. While she was an expert actress, he was not. "I think she's telling the truth, sis."

My innocuous little remark somehow caused my sister to boil over with rage. She turned on me, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And so what if she is, Zack? What are we supposed to do about that? Am I supposed to just sign these papers and walk out of here, while Carmen gets away scot free? Like the past ten years have never happened?"

"Ivy, calm down. She's in a wheelchair…"

"I don't care!" My sister proclaimed and stormed out of the office, slamming the door and rattling the picture frames on the wall.

"You might want to get out of here, she's probably called for backup already," I began.

Carmen looked pale, but otherwise unruffled. "Don't worry about me. Go after your sister, Zack."

When my sister finally showed up at ACME later that night, we got into a huge fight over what to do about Carmen. Really, somebody should have sold tickets, it was Pay-Per-View worthy.

"I'm not going to just let her go! It's not right."

"You're going to keep chasing after her when you know she can't run. What's the point of that?"

"The point is she's made her choices and should be serving thirty to life for them. This so-called 'accident' of hers changes nothing." Ivy shook her head and looked at me with a disappointed expression. "I don't get you, Zack, you always wanted to send her to jail before, sometimes more than I did."

"Well, yeah, but I never expected her to stay there!" I responded, hardly knowing what I was saying.

My sister's green eyes flashed. "So, this is all just a game to you? When did you turn into Carmen- when did her game become yours?"

It was an uncomfortable truth. I don't know when I started to see catching Carmen as more of an intellectual exercise and less of a moral obligation. Probably around the same time I began to see her as less of a criminal in need of justice as more as a brilliant but flawed human being. I tried to explain. "I wanted to catch her, sure. But not like this, you know?"

My sister's expression calmed, and she nodded. "I always thought it would be big and splashy, like when I was the Tigress. After all these years, little bro, it feels like a consolation prize."

"Right. So, how does letting her rot in jail really help anybody? It's not going to make me feel better. Or, the Chief. It's not going to help Carmen." I paused and when I spoke I was more deadly serious than I had been in my entire life. "Ivy, she could die in there and I am not talking natural causes. The woman has a lot of enemies. If Maelstrom or Lee Jordan sent somebody, she wouldn't be able to defend herself."

My sister clenched her fists and let out a deep sigh. "I'll think about it."

It nearly killed her, but eventually Ivy came around. In the end, she told me she only did for the Chief, that seeing Carmen locked away for life would break his heart. I almost believed her.

We spent the next two years putting away most of VILE and putting down any upstarts that thought to take Carmen's place. We were busy, but even my sister reluctantly admitted that it didn't match the thrill of chasing Carmen.

After that day in Lee Galeese's office, Carmen's trail went ice cold. Occasionally some civilian would call in a tip, claiming they'd spotted her at a fish market in Tokyo or prowling the halls of the Musée D'Orsay. They were almost always red herrings; the woman was a ghost.

I had a hunch that the Chief had been in contact with her. Occasionally when we were stuck, he appeared with a "hot tip" that seemingly came out of nowhere. Once, when Lee Jordan broke out of jail, two bankers boxes worth of evidence (containing his financial records, known associates, aliases, and no joke, an old report card) arrived mysteriously via courier from Havana. With all that info, Lee was back in jail before the prison guards even had a chance to miss him.

My hunch got confirmed one day when the Chief waited until Ivy had gone to lunch to ask me a favor. His cartoonish face took on an oddly serious cast. "Zack, I need you to take me someplace."

"Sure, where are we going? The beach? The movies? I hear the new Lily Marlene film is awesome."

"I want to go see Carmen. Don't tell Ivy."

"Oh." I felt like I should be surprised, but I actually wasn't. "But can't you just piggyback on her frequency? It always worked before."

"I have been and it's risky." He dimmed a paler shade of pink. "And it's not the same as seeing her in person." It may sound strange that a disembodied AI, who could not actually taste, smell, or touch anything, would care about being somewhere "in person." But it made perfect sense to me.

"Is it someplace far? Because an unauthorized C-5 transport to say…Bolivia is going to look suspicious."

"She's only a couple of hours away. Near Big Sur," he told me and smiled a little.

I took a deep breath. "Okay. A road trip it is."

It was a pleasant drive along the coastal highway to Big Sur, the Pacific Ocean on one side, rocky cliffs and redwoods on the other. The Chief and I rode together in uncharacteristic silence. The prospect of seeing Carmen left me feeling afraid, guilty, and a little bit numb.

Her house was on a dirt road, wisely secluded. I turned off the engine and got out of the car, the Chief trailing behind me. A screen door opened and I watched the woman who was once my greatest adversary gingerly maneuver down the driveway on crutches. I was overcome with an unexpected sense of relief; it had hurt to see her in that wheelchair.

The Chief rushed up to her and greeted Carmen enthusiastically. She smiled. Her bright blue eyes turned toward me. If she was disappointed to not find Ivy beside me, she didn't say so. "Hello, Zack. It's good to see you," she said, smoothly and simply.

I felt shy. "It's good to see you, too."

"Come with me," she beckoned. So I did.

The Chief and I followed Carmen to her backyard, which had a splendid view of the sea through the giant pines. A lunch had been laid out, lemonade and sandwiches. Carmen didn't eat much and reclined in a weather-beaten Adirondack chair with her bad leg elevated on a pile of cushions. She asked about my cases, my programming. She asked about Tatiana, who had recently broken up with me. She did not ask about Ivy.

Finally, I found the courage to ask about her leg. "It seems like you're doing better," I observed.

"The outlook is still indeterminate. My doctors have done all they can. I have been prescribed rest, relaxation, and intensive physical therapy." She took a sip of water and looked resigned. "Time will tell."

"Why here?"

"It's home, I suppose."

There was an awkward and melancholy silence. I knew I was not the real reason for this visit, so I excused myself. "I know you two want to catch up. I'll leave you to it."

There was a trail that lead away from Carmen's property down to the ocean and I hiked along it for awhile, despite not having my hiking shoes. The scenery was beautiful and terrifying. The cliffs were sharp, steep and unforgiving, the water below the bluest of blues. But acts of athleticism were Ivy's department, not mine, so I turned back.

I returned to Carmen's house, thirsty and sweaty, and grabbed a drink of water. Conversation between Carmen and the Chief filtered through the kitchen window. I couldn't make out the individual words, but the Chief sounded concerned and Carmen, sad and upset. I watched the Chief lower his screen to kiss her on the forehead, watched her lean into an embrace she would never feel. I turned away.

The layout of Carmen's house was very open, one room flowing into the next, with high ceilings and large windows that capitalized on the million-dollar views. Everything was neat and orderly, the furniture tasteful and modern. But there were no photographs, no mementos, nothing that revealed anything about her. The living room looked like a picture out of one of those catalogues my mom gets- Pottery Barrel or Crate & Barn. Perfect and soothing with zero personality.

Until I stumbled upon her library. Floor to ceiling built-in wooden shelves overflowed with books. One case was filled with classics and highbrow heavy-hitters- the complete works of Shakespeare, Herman Melville and Mark Twain, Atwood, Rushdie, Pynchon and Morrison, lined up in tidy rows. But the rest seemed to be stuffed with nothing but mystery and detective stories that threatened to spill onto the floor. She had all the greats- Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers, Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler- and even a first edition Murders in the Rue Morgue that I didn't look too closely at. But Carmen also collected what looked like the trashiest pulp from the 50s and 60s; a third of her books were written in other languages. I sat down and started reading about a Japanese detective named Kiyoshi Mitarai.

A few chapters in, the Chief popped up and interrupted me. "Hey, Zackarino, I've got to check in back at Crimenet. Just had word of a bank heist in Dubai."

"Should I go back, too?"

"Nah, it's not your division. But can you do me a favor? Sub me in this chess game I'm playing against Carmen?"

I shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

I joined Carmen out on the patio where they had just started a game. "You're playing black?"

She smirked and said with a hint of her old playfulness, "I usually do." She slid one of her pawns forward. "Your move."

We were back on familiar territory, playing opposite sides of the gameboard. To be honest, I'd been craving a match with Carmen for years, ever since that case with the statues where I had first met Tatiana. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't Carmen beating me in six moves. I felt like I just got my ass kicked by a Russian grand master. Whatever was wrong with her body, her mind still retained its knife-like sharpness.

"I want a rematch," I mumbled.

"I look forward to it." She rubbed her temples and looked tired. The afternoon had sapped much of her strength. "I'm sorry, the painkillers…they make me drowsy."

That was out of character. For Carmen to take painkillers and admit to it? She must be in pretty bad shape. I got up to leave. "I should be going. This was…fun," I said truthfully.

"Provided you don't bring backup, you are always welcome."

"Next time, I'll try to bring Ivy. I'll try."

Carmen looked at me, expressionless and simply nodded. "Thank you."

And then I did something which I think surprised us both. I leaned down and my arms, almost of their own accord, went around her, giving the embrace the Chief could not. A second too late, Carmen's right arm circled around me hesitantly. She, who had always executed the most complex gymnastic maneuvers with effortless grace, hugged like one long out of practice.

As I drove back home to San Francisco, I was overcome by a sense of dread. I had watched Carmen backflip off bridges, go toe to toe with dangerous criminals, and generally cheat death hundreds of times. But left alone with her own restlessness and boredom in that house by the sea, I had never been more afraid for her.

I had to do something.