He landed on something soft.
Sly looked down. Not for the first time, he'd hit the envelope of one of the red blimps that floated through the district like lazy clouds. His back injury had subsided to a low growl. So far, so non-fatal.
He looked up to the tiger he had semi-intentionally sent careening into a tree. With a hiss of pain, Fangmeyer pulled off the helmet, revealing sweat and a grimace.
"Hey!" called Sly. The blimp hadn't stopped, and he was gently floating away. "I'm sorry, pal, are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. A little scuffed, but–"
Fangmeyer's brain caught up, green eyes sharpening.
"Hey! What do you care, dirtbag?!"
Sly winced. "I just..."
He heard something behind him. The sound of boots on the blimp's soft envelope. He turned, catching sight of the vine swinging back as Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox released it.
"Sly."
"...Carmelita."
Wolford ran to Fangmeyer, helping his partner stand. "Sasha! Are you okay?"
"Yeah, Maxie. Don't worry."
"Good," called Carmelita. "Alert the pilot of this blimp. Make it land."
"That's an automated model, Inspector," replied Wolford. "There's no-one aboard. We'll need to contact the company."
"Then do it!"
She was loud, her officers growing steadily distant. One tree later, they were out of sight.
Carmelita fixed her glare on Sly. Two fiery coals in the rain. "Where are the others?"
"They're gone, Carmelita." He tried to keep his voice level. "Escaping in the Van, like they always do. So don't eve–"
"I don't care," she snarled, "about Bentley and Murray."
Sly realized he was no longer looking at Carmelita. Carmelita, the woman he had shared laughter and long evenings and a bed with, was gone. Back at the headquarters, maybe. Or on a lifeboat out at sea.
The woman staring him down was indisputably Inspector Fox. And she was furious.
"You're here," she spat, "so they'll come back. And I'll deal with them when they do. I am asking you for the location of the others. Nick Wilde. Judy Hopps. Tell me their location, now."
"I... I will."
Sly glanced to his Binocucom, pulling from his pouch just far enough to read the time display.
"...but not now."
"Not now." So low and deadly there was no question mark.
"No. Not now. You know me, Carmelita. Always a slave to the schedule. I promise I'll tell you – I told you I'd get them home! Just not yet."
The silence dragged for a moment. Just them, alone in the forest sky, nothing between them but rain.
Carmelita's voice was iron.
"You know something? I'm done."
She took one step forward and he, on cue, took one back.
"I'm done being your girlfriend one minute and your parole officer the next. Whatever's more convenient for you. I can't be both, Sly. Not any more."
Sly stayed silent. Not to buy time.
"And I'm done being used as one more cog in Bentley's plans. I saved your life yesterday," she hissed, "and now, you won't even tell me where my friends are. Because of some 'schedule'. Because the people around you are pawns to be played."
His ears were low, his tail flat against the blimp. "It's not Bentley's plan," he mumbled, almost too low to hear.
"I don't care whose idea it was. You signed off on it. You decided to leave me in the dark, after everything I've done. And if you're not going to tell me where Nick and Judy are–"
Her hand, her whole arm, struck to the side. And with a solid clack, she unfurled a collapsible baton.
"–I'm done asking nicely."
Sly backed up another step, clutching his cane a little tighter. He couldn't fight Carmelita. He wasn't strong enough. Not just because of his injury, still growling, still threatening to break open any moment.
He loved her. He had always loved her. And despite his jokes and jabs and everything he did to her, everything he had to do to escape arrest, he always felt that affection returned. Quiet smiles and gentle glances. But there was no love in her eyes now. If she had any left at all, it was buried under cold focus.
The game was over.
Carmelita brought a hand to her ear. "Max. Report."
Sly couldn't hear the reply. He watched Carmelita's glare shift.
"How could they be locked out of their own system?! They–" Her eyes shut suddenly, frowning in frustration. "...Digital. The whole system is digital, isn't it?"
Sly's heart leapt. He glanced around, and – there. Traffic cameras. The ones on the highest roads could see the blimp. The raccoon and the fox staring each other down.
Bentley... he thought. And Murray, too. Murray's keeping him safe while he buys me more time. He smiled at the cameras, hoping they could see. You guys forgive me too easily.
His smile died as he turned back to Carmelita.
Or maybe they don't realize...
"Typical." Carmelita took a step forward. "Keep trying, Wolford." Another step. "Until then..."
Another.
"I've got Cooper."
She lunged.
Sly dodged to the side and almost fell, his foot slipping on the wet tarpaulin, the fight over before it began. But his balance realigned and he darted back from Carmelita as her baton swung for him again.
She was relentless. Sly quickly realized he was out of his depth. He was used to the shock pistol – powerful, yes, but slow. Big, ponderous blasts fired from a distance. He had never fought Carmelita this close.
He had never fought Carmelita.
She had chased him, swore him out, managed to land hits with the pistol. But this was different. The baton was thick and heavy and so fast, taking all his concentration to avoid.
"The prison–!"
Swing
"The ship–!"
Swingswingswing
"Two perfect opportunities to arrest you, that I wasted!" Her eyes burned. "I thought I was making the right choice, but here we are! No Nick! No Judy! Just you and another damn plan!"
Sly bit his lip. Carmelita would understand. She wanted them to come home safely, but they couldn't, not yet. Not without Penelope. It would so simple to just tell her–
And then a helicopter swooped by, like the world's largest, loudest gnat.
There were cops watching. He had to assume they could hear the conversation. He was lucky they hadn't lost patience and opened fire. Here, close quarters with Carmelita, was the best place to buy time. No matter how much it hurt them both.
So he fought. Or tried to.
Stay alive, and wait for an opening. The strategy that kept him alive in a thousand fights. The ancient Cooper tactic of letting your opponent throw their weight around until you could topple them.
But this was Carmelita. As his mind processed the furious cop doing her damnedest to take him down, all his heart could see was her. His first crush, his constant protector, a woman he wished he deserved. There were openings. She swung too hard, too angrily, left herself vulnerable. The moments came and went, unused. He wouldn't fight back. He couldn't.
He dodged instead. He dodged every blow, because he needed time and one hit would end the fight in an instant. His wound sang angrily.
She must have sensed his hesitation. "What are we doing? Why am I trying to beat answers out of you?"
Sly swallowed. The rain pounded, drenching his clothes, his fur. But his mouth was dry.
"Why are Nick and Judy playing along with one of your stupid games? They could just come to me directly. They know they can trust me."
For a moment, Inspector Fox faltered. Carmelita's voice was quiet.
"Or... I thought they knew."
"Carmelita," said Sly, hyper-aware of the nearby cops, "you've done enough."
"No. I haven't."
She caught herself. Her eyes met his, burning coldly.
"I won't stop. Not until they're safe and every guilty party faces justice." She growled. "Including you."
She swung in, putting her whole body into the motion. Vulnerable. Sly slipped under the baton and backed away, watching as she turned around. Her glare didn't waver.
"What's the matter, Cooper?" She stalked forward, rain in her hair. "You're barely trying."
He had to hide his weakness. But he hid it under the truth. "The rooftop," he said. "At the museum. I told you I never wanted to hurt you again. I meant it."
Her glare burned. "Oh? Is that it?!"
She lunged suddenly, faster than he could dodge. He managed to parry with his cane, but the force of the blow vibrated down his arm. She didn't stop, and he struggled to meet each swing of the baton as it came.
"Well, you did hurt me, Sly! You crushed me with a year and a half of silence!"
The fight continued at its new pace, Sly parrying instead of dodging. A swordfight without swords. It was working – he was alive, he was on his feet, he was buying precious time. But this was so much harder than just avoiding her strikes. Every reverberation down his arms made him weaker. He felt the blood loss catching up to him.
Carmelita noticed too. "No... You're not just holding back. You're slower." Her eyes narrowed. "Last time I saw you, you were helping Nick follow that ghost–"
She struck, he parried.
"–which allegedly killed two people..." She struck again, but her gaze was less hostile. One eye blocked by his cane. "Sly, did it hurt you?"
Sly grimaced. He couldn't let things wind down, not yet. Time to fight dirty. "Why would you care, Inspector? If I'm slower, I'm easier to catch."
Carmelita growled. She kicked suddenly and Sly managed to slip back, dodging it.
She stood there, glowering at him. Sly noticed a slight tremor in the hand holding the baton. He wondered whether it was from anger, or...
"Shut up." Her voice was just a growl. "You're trying to make me angry."
"It's not that hard to set you off, Insp–"
"No," she roared. Sly almost flinched. "You're trying to make me angry," she repeated, "probably because of this precious plan. It won't work. Whatever this is, I'm not letting you manipulate me."
Sly swallowed. It was hard, hearing it phrased that way. He tried to stick to playing the villain, but his own voice sounded distant. "Is it a cop thing to be paranoid of everything?"
"Paranoid?"
It was almost too fast for him. One second, she was still standing there. And then the baton was swinging for his face. He dodged, less and less graceful with every motion.
"Paranoid of thieves? Paranoid of liars?!"
Carmelita followed his every movement, only half a second behind.
"Paranoid of the man who handcuffed me to a volcano?! Who used me to clean up his messes? Who built a relationship with me based on a lie?"
Sly watched as her swings grew slower. Gradually, inevitably, she burned herself out.
Alone, in the rain, out of breath.
She met his gaze. Her voice was embers.
"...Who left me? Who never called, even when he promised he would?"
Sly ached. "I'm sorry."
It didn't seem enough.
It wasn't.
"Don't apologise," she said. "I don't need your pity."
Sly stared. "Carmelita...?"
"Frankly, I never should've expected change from you. You're Sly Cooper. You can't be fixed." Her glare was sharp as ever, but she aimed it at her own feet. "I'm more angry at myself. For being dumb enough to trust you in the first place."
"'D...dumb enough'."
That was how she saw it. Their adventures, their synergy, the trust they had built. Their relationship. All some embarrassing mistake. Something she was too good for.
That was how she saw him.
Sly gritted his teeth. Suddenly Murray's words came back to him, what he had said about channelling anger.
Anger could be useful fuel. Sly understood that very well after fighting so many vile people. But any anger at his loved ones went into the same dark pit as his fear, his doubt, his grief. Smoothed over with a smile.
He wasn't smiling now.
"Y'know something? No!" He gripped his cane tighter. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry for leaving, and for going quiet. But you're not blameless either!"
Her eyes flashed. "What?"
"You heard me!"
Sly brought his cane down, hard, and she blocked it. He knew she could block anything he threw at her. So he threw everything.
"I admit it! I'm terrible! What we had fell apart, and it was ninety percent my fault." He struck again and again and again, gaining ground, as Carmelita met every swing. "But the rest was you! Can you just acknowledge that? Or is ten percent too much for Inspector Fox to ever admit to?!"
"I–"
"Maybe it could've worked, if I had just been able to retire! If I didn't have to get to grips with the exact opposite of my life's work! But no! I lied about my memory, and you lied straight back!" His attacks were wild now, Carmelita struggling to keep up. "I was ready to stop being a thief. That's it. Interpol? 'Constable Cooper'?! Your idea!" Full swing. "I never wanted to a cop! I just wanted you!"
Their weapons met on the last word. Sly snarled, his arms straining – and then noticed Carmelita's expression. She stared at him. No anger. Just surprise.
Catching himself, Sly leapt back. There was a silence.
Sly wiped his eyes on his sleeve, hasty and childlike, until nothing remained but rain. "Jeez. Sorry. We swapped roles there for a second..."
"Sly..." She had recovered too, but her voice was soft. "Do you mean that? Was it the policework that drove you away?"
He shrugged at a passing tree. "Didn't help, I guess. It was a lot to get used to. I'm not Nick."
Carmelita sighed. "In that case... You're right to blame me. It was my idea." She smiled thinly. "I can admit to a little more than ten percent."
"Heh. Thanks."
"You should've told me," she added. "I was excited at the prospect of working with you. But we didn't need to do that if it's not what you wanted. I... I just wanted you, too."
Sly met her gaze. "I love you, Carmelita. And I'm really sorry. For everything."
"I know," she said. "Me too."
For a moment, they both just stood there. Weapons lowered. Alone in the rain. But Sly didn't relax, realizing that Carmelita's guard was still up.
"...And I'm sorry for this."
Suddenly she had a finger to her ear.
"Now!"
The helicopter behind her shone a high-beam light directly into Sly's face. He yelled, covering his eyes too late. His natural balance kept him upright, but he couldn't see, couldn't dodge, couldn't escape.
Carmelita's boots on the tarpaulin, barrelling towards him. Her baton audibly cutting the air. One strike. That's all it would take, and the fight would be over. Sly braced himself to be reduced to a bleeding wreck, instinctively curling up, unable to choke down a panicked gasp–
Nothing.
Sly stood there, ready for the end, but it didn't come. He felt Carmelita's presence, her breath, but she had stopped short. Slowly, his vision returned, and confirmed it. With perfect control, she had stopped the baton an inch from his stomach.
"Wow."
He lowered his arm, meeting her gaze. He wondered if he looked scared. She seemed solid as ever. At least on the surface.
"You are hurt, aren't you? You just flinched. That's the first time I've ever seen you flinch. For god's sake, you even whimpered."
"How dare you," he mumbled reflexively. "How dare you insinuate I, a man, should not whimper. Sexist. Wow."
Carmelita scoffed gently. Her eyes softened. "Always ready with a joke, aren't you?"
Then she slipped her boot into his ankle and grabbed his throat.
She dropped him to the soft material of the blimp – because it was soft, he realized, as she applied enough force to restrain him but not an ounce more. Pinning him with her body, she took his cane, hooking it into the back of her belt. He couldn't reach it, but it was safe.
With one hand, she grabbed both his wrists. The other slid into his shirt and down his back.
"Whoa, hey, okay." He grinned. "Had a dream like this once. No shame about all the watching cops, huh?"
"Perfectly professional check for hidden weapons," she muttered.
Her fingers came to his wound and he felt them tense, as though in horror. His smile died.
"This... this is bad." She was quiet. "The original injury and the hack job keeping it closed."
"She did her best."
"Sure. But did 'she' also tell you that one solid blow would rip this right open?"
"...Yes."
"Sly," hissed Carmelita. "Why are you like this?! Don't you care about yourself at all?"
"Sure I do." He met her eyes. "Just not as much as I care about my friends."
"You're a trainwreck."
She sighed, slowly.
"But... you're my trainwreck."
She cuffed his hands, still keeping him down.
"If you really care about your friends, you need to recognise they care about you. If you got hurt, Bentley and Murray would be heartbroken." Her voice dipped. "And they wouldn't be the only ones."
Sly's eyes widened at the touch. Carmelita was still on top of him, her body blocking the view of the helicopters, the cameras, the gathering cops.
And in the little pocket of gentle darkness, she was holding his hands in hers.
They had never held hands much, even during the time they shared. Sly decided he'd been a fool to scorn it. There was something in the gesture, so intimate and innocent, that really reminded him he was alive.
"Sly." Her voice was a whisper. "Please. Never go quiet on me again."
"I won't." He returned the gesture, squeezing her hands. "I promise, I won't."
He savoured the moment, trying to commit it to memory, before breaking out another woozy smile.
"Matter of fact, I think we're gonna be seeing a lot of each other..."
The blimp was descending, completing its preprogrammed route. And the docking area was choked with cops.
Carmelita dragged Sly to his feet – she seemed reluctant to resume the role of Inspector Fox, but duty called. A firetruck, drafted into the armada, extended a ladder to the top of the blimp. She helped Sly descend.
"Inspector Fox!" called Wolford from the crowd. "Couldn't stop the blimp, but we managed to prevent any further alterations to its course. Once we learned its destination, we locked down the entire area."
"Exemplary work, Max. Thank you."
He saluted, trying to hide a smile, but she caught how his tail perked. Carmelita scanned the crowd. Near the back, a medic was giving Fangmeyer's arm a once-over. Carmelita caught the tiger's eye, earning an offhand salute and a wink. She smiled.
Then she found who she was looking for. In the centre, at the front. Bogo.
She and Sly reached the ground. Bogo stayed where he was, but officers began filtering forward. Dozens of mammals, all sizes. A personal escort.
"So." Sly was quiet. He stood in front of Carmelita, watching them come. "This is it, huh? The end of the line."
"Looks like it." Carmelita's voice, low in his ear. Comforting. "Sorry, Ringtail. This can't be fun. But I'm so glad you're safe."
"Carmelita..."
It was her turn to be surprised. His hands, still bound, found hers. He gripped her tightly. A simple gesture, but one that slowed the world down. For a moment, just them.
"...I'm really sorry."
He burst forward, sudden and violent, getting clear of her reach before she could react. The oncoming officers tensed and snarled and reached for weapons. He smiled.
Handcuffed, half-dead, an entire city of cops before him? This was living.
He dodged under and around and over them, letting their sheer numbers work against them. They struggled, all clustered together, and he laughed and danced through them. Past Grizzoli, under McHorn, kicking off Johnson's face into the air. He was fast, he was unpredictable, he was alive.
And then he was in front of Bogo.
Time slowed. The jump had brought him closer to Bogo's height, but the chief still towered over him, cold fury in those hard eyes. His arm was moving. He was so much faster than that massive frame implied.
His fist.
Sly heard Carmelita yell a warning, but it was too late. He saw, in slow motion, how perfectly his trajectory matched Bogo's punch, and had enough time to think Oh, cool. This is how I die.
The punch caught him in his chest, his entire chest, and rattled every nerve in his body. But miraculously, his stitches didn't reopen. He was still alive.
Then he hit the concrete like a skipping rock and that did it.
In a matter of seconds, he was lying in his own blood. The atmosphere changed instantly. With a ripple of breath, the officers' anger turned to shock. Bogo stared. Speechless.
"Sly!"
Carmelita ran to him, eyes wide. She dropped to her knees, holding him, far past caring how it looked. Then, suddenly, she dipped a claw in his blood and tasted it. Sly wanted to laugh, quip about how weird it was. The words wouldn't form.
Carmelita stared. "It's not fake. It's not–" She turned over her shoulder, roaring. "He needs medical attention, now! That's a direct order!"
She turned back to him. The world fell away, and they were alone. Carmelita held him, her arms strong but her voice soft.
"Sly, just – just stay with me. Please..."