~~~Where God Went to Die~~~

Ayleen Montoya, just as she believed she would be, was lost. Paris is a big city, and the gray rectangles and yellow branches of her map only existed to exacerbate that fact. Never one to be deterred by a little misdirection, she held her chin high, if for no other reason than to attempt to peer over the skyscrapers. Landmarks are only helpful if you can actually mark them, after all. She had asked for directions a few times, and when her shoddy french didn't rend a chuckle, it would at least get her a gesture to somewhere "over there." A big help.

From what she could remember, the house was wide, two stories with bronzed window framing and a large iron gate stuck between some hedges. Not that any of the housing betrayed those descriptors. For blocks and miles and hours, all Ayleen could see were the posh brick-lined walls of a metropolitan maze, twisting and detouring in the wake of some maniacal city-development plan. Grass had been extinct for the past few spider-webbed streets, but was promising a medial comeback, as foliage and the sent of the natural finally broke through it's concrete ceiling. The buildings grew reclusive, antisocially fitted to more properly convey the message of wealth. Modernized classical designs, angelic stone statues and bright painted glass hugged these introverted homes, creating a pseudo-art display, eager to swallow onlooker's with its beauty.

In the sky, a few clouds held their power with admirable effort, shielding most of the sunbeams, hogging the warmth. A breeze rolled by, silent in its approach, and catching the young raccoon by surprise. Her fur stood tall, and her tail twitched in anticipation. She was getting close, still lost, but nearer and nearer to the end, to answers, and to herself. As much herself as her father left behind… or lost.

Her mind traced the figures of the photo, losing the clarity of the hippo, but holding Bentley to her memory like a tattoo, for he must know the most of her mother. If the two had remained in the city the decades since Sly's departure- Abandonment? -he would no doubt be hot on her trail, possibly in Paris even now, maybe even at the house now, or out searching for her with Bentley and the hippo. That thought didn't scare her from her objective, because that house was the only clue she had to go on, less she go back for daddy's help.

The air was cold, the grass climbed in population, and the sun was still shy. She was close, her dad may already be closer.

She wondered if her mother was even still alive, remembering, albeit reluctantly, the grim hint Mugshot had left her.

"...Wouldn't be surprised none, if it turns up he killed her…"

Chapter Twelve

Paris, France - 2035

The sun, free from its room of clouds, now resided quietly behind the horizon, painting the layers of houses and distant towers autumn shades of light, leaving Ayleen wrapped in the cold of dusk. The stars emerged, what few could be seen in a metropolis at least, but Ayleen didn't mind, she liked stars. Even when you couldn't see them, they were still there, watching over you. That though helped bring her comfort, and kept her mind grounded in times of stress, or as a child when her father would slip into a depressive episode. She wondered now more than ever, if her mother was one of those stars, or if she was one that could never be seen, still there, but distant, invisible.

The lights of the city were her stars now, leading her down one last street, until its majesty was finally in full view; surrounded by buildings and homes, centered in a square park, stood the Eiffel Tower, lit with moving lights and flashing beacons. It was a torch, her North Star, in a sense. Tourists and locals alike all gathered to wait for a journey to the top, or to gaily pose against the wonder.

Of the dozen houses surrounding the tower, Ayleen could already eliminate all to her left. The house from the picture faced away from the tower, and the right side of the square looked much more reclusive. A kind of nonconformist aura rose from them, structures too egotistic to live in the shadow of the tower. Almost there…

A shiver passed through her bones and her hair nearly fell off her neck when she heard her own name, spoken behind her. "Ayleen?" Feminine, through a thick french accent. "Excuse me, are you-"

The raccoon had spun around so fast her tail cracked like a whip across the tall woman's (a skinny, thin-coated rabbit) shins. Her hand had hid in her pocket, some primal satisfaction in holding her knife, even though she didn't want the woman to know she had it. Had her father sent someone after her? Another contact in Paris? "How do you know-" She started to ask, feeling her body move itself away from the stranger.

The hare was a bit unnerved, biting her lip as she studied the teenager. "Do… you know Bentley?" She asked, looking very uncomfortable while her arms held themselves. Clutched in a fist, tucked under her arm, the rabbit held a phone. Ayleen could almost hear someone's voice on the other end.

"I…" Ayleen worried Bentley had no idea she was coming, and this was a trap set up by her dad. "Who are you?"

The rabbit held up her finger, sending an impatient prick through Ayleen's eyes, then raised the phone to her mouth and mumbled something. The other line buzzed something inaudible from the raccoon's position, but from the woman's face, must have been something stressful. "No, right outside, I said." She had cleared her throat and stood straighter, like she was being watched.

I need to leave… "I… I need t-to leave…" Ayleen choked.

"Well can you see us?" The rabbit ignored her, looking off at one of the houses. Ayleen wanted to look too, but a fog of worry emanated from this woman so potent the raccoon feared diverting her attention for even a millisecond. She seemed scared, speaking as if to a boss, not a concerned parent. …how was Sly speaking? Was he really as concerned as he claimed to be, or did he have some kind of power over this rabbit; a favor? Blackmail? …Was Sly speaking?

There was a loud bang from the phone to which the hare flinched, almost dropping it. With her attention diverted, Ayleen made a break for the fences. If she could launch herself into a backyard, she could find her way to streets, and be that much closer to Bentley. That much farther from her dad (hopefully) and his agent. As she was running, a house fitted immediately in-between two identical copies came to life with an explosion of light. Every bulb in the city seemed to be escaping those windows, black silhouettes inside, staring out at her. One was moving, sprinting through a bright glass hallway and out onto a balcony observing the tower. Just as the figure threw open the window, curtains escaping into the air before he could, Ayleen propped herself on the arch of a wooden gate, ready to jump into the next lawn over.

"Ayleen!" The voice of her father seemed to snuff all other sound, the chirps and hums of crickets and fireflies teleported thousands of miles away. Even the wind came to a halt, leaving its cargo of cold air on the girl's neck. Looking up, already knowing what she'd see, but needing to quench her curiosity anyway, Ayleen felt the forming of a tear. On the balcony, crying much harder than her (as evidenced by the tower's lights reflected in banners down his cheeks) was the ragged, unkempt shell calling himself Sly Montoya. Approaching his side quickly, a wheelchair-bound turtle.

Bentley smiled, as Sly continued to cry. Neither father nor daughter could speak, only stare into each other's hurt gaze.

~Seventy Minutes Earlier~

The door swung open, and in the frame of his old house, now refurbished and repainted almost beyond recognition, was a clean looking dingo, twirling a pencil with his fingers like a drumstick. He was in a labcoat, stained, but probably charred with a crusty black mark on the right sleeve. "Mr. Cooper?" The dog asked, postured and firm.

Sly sighed and nodded. "Well, Montoya, now."

The dingo stifled a smile, very small, but somehow convincingly genuine. "Very well, Mr. Mont-"

"Slys' fine." He interrupted, swallowing some guilt. The polite dingo nodded, addressed him by his first name, and gestured for him to step inside. The door closed behind them, finishing the perfectly square walls of the foyer. Last time Sly had been here, Bentley was debating on a new color for the carpet, but evidently, the conflict didn't stop there. Nothing Sly could render as 'in its place' was the same object from when he had left, even the air felt a little tweaked. "Bentley home?" He asked, unsure where to park his gaze. Adorned above a trophy case against the far wall, one filled to the brim with racing plaques and bronzed goblets, hung two large banners with fine gold thread bordering some kanji. Sly might have been able to read it, but found himself exploring the rest of the wall, running his fingertips over the familiar grooves and plates. Even two decades worth of time to paint couldn't hide the drywall's leathery texture, and that made the raccoon a bit sentimental.

"He told me he should be finished shortly. Would you care for a drink?" The dingo, who Sly figured must have been a butler or caretaker or nurse to the old broken turtle, held his hands together over his belt, patiently awaiting a command.

Sly thought to ask for some brandy, but remembering even the word brought a phantom taste to his tongue, and suddenly the last thing he could imagine stomaching was alcohol. He chose something else instead, immediately forgetting what it was as soon as he spoke. The dingo nodded, and confidently floated past an arching doorway. Happy to have some room to breathe, Sly returned his attention to the new ensemble of furniture, now taking the time to notice how… stale they looked, like they'd never been used. Encircled by the long couches and pair of recliner chairs was a dark-wood coffee table, offering racing and scientific magazines like a waiting room. Maybe that's what this place had become, -and if his deep-rooted worry were true- brought on by a depressed, lonely, aimless friend, only visited by the post-officer and on-foot salesmen. Sly let himself ponder how many people he had abandoned in his life, leaving them in a sad dark hole, without his light.

Oh, shut the hell up.

Soon, the dingo reappeared in the doorway, glass of… something, in hand. "Your drink, Sly." It was obvious he had to stop himself from saying 'sir', which led to a modicum of levity in the image of Bentley manically crafting the perfect butler, unable to even think of acting casually.

Sly smiled, and took the cup. "Never caught your name." He inquired, trying to grow comfortable in his jungle of revised and updated nostalgia.

The dingo held out a hand. "Jamieson McCullibur. Former French infantry."

Former soldier? "How long 'av you been working for Bentley?"

"For?" He chuckled. "Just a few weeks. With? Ever since." James spoke with joviality, probably truly honored to consider himself a 'partner', but Sly wanted to roll his eyes.

"You must help him out in the lab?"

"Well, yes. I grew up a mechanic, this work suits me-" He kept talking, but Sly found the words to carry no sound, wondering instead what Bentley's latest project was. Most hot summer afternoons back in Denmark, he found himself missing the smell of oil seeping though the Febreze, the clanks and clicks of tools over the sound of the wind on the windowsill… now, back in his own mind, he heard nothing. Smelled no oil, just the Febreze. "…truly humbled by the opportunity, of course." The words re-solidified in the air as the dingo finished. Sly hummed politely, hoping that would be signal enough to convince him he was listening. The raccoon took a sip, expecting water, surprised by an acidic taste. "Kombucha." James smiled, seeing Sly's expression. "Home grown. We're all out of what you wanted, my apologies." What the hell did I even ask for? That question only swam through his mind for a heartbeat. He didn't actually care.

"Its good." The raccoon lied, pretending to drink more. The liquid tasted slightly of ginger when it hit his lips,before crashing back into the glass.

"Good for you, too."

Sly wondered if Bentley told this new character about his drinking. He wondered if he even told Bentley. The turtle liked wine, Sly didn't, and thought how often he would even drink around his old gang. "Yeah, feels like it." Sly, although invited into the rest of the house, sat on the unfamiliar couch and sighed. Of the room's previous decorations, there had been only two survivors; a huge blue and bronze rug, stolen from a Mandir in Cambodia, and a photo of the original trio in front of a sunset. Sly looked young in the picture, a strange tingle in his gut telling him it was from the early 2010s. The three thieves were happy, arms around each other's shoulders and a soda cup in the monstrous hands of Murray.

That brought him back to the memory of the hippo's face when he told them he was leaving. Murray had been so excited for Ayleen's birth, he had had even adopted the habit of referring to himself as 'Uncle Murray' in Sly's presence. He cried, the day Sly and his baby made for the train station. Sly wanted to, but couldn't. He wanted to, just to prove to himself he still deserved her, but couldn't. Sometimes pain can cause so much hurt that it just feels phony to cry. He felt like it was what he was supposed to do, or else the pain wouldn't be real, the hurt just a state of mind. Sly had talked to Murray since, but only over the phone, and for what in total, felt like only a few minutes.

It probably was.

Fuck you.

The last thing Murray had said to his face must not have made that deep of a wound, as Sly couldn't recall what he had been told. Whatever it was, Sly was ashamed he had tried to make it the last. "The big guy around?" He asked, twirling his glass, watching the mushroom nectar cone into and out of whirlpools. No answer, as he realized only after being mesmerized by the liquid that James had snuck away, and he was speaking only to the pictures on the wall.

With another sigh, he checked his phone, looking for her name. Officer Marsh, HQ, and several other Danish acquaintances had tried for him, but had all been ignored. He was just under two days out of the country, but already felt hunted for his pelt. Did Marsh tell everyone Sly hurt him? Last thing he had seen of the bird, he was curled over in his driveway, holding his groin in agony.

You just can't end things on good terms, aye, Cooper?

He was just about to make a call to Marsh, maybe to apologize, maybe as repentance, when a heavy rain of footsteps apparated from the hall. Painting frames and the surface of Sly's drink jiggled as the floor rumbled harder and harder, sounding and feeling like a sprinting behemoth. Just as that word entered his mind, it came across his sight, too, as the hulking frame of a now much older Murray skidded to a halt in the door frame. "Sly?" He asked loud and slowly, unblinking. Tears were welling in his eyes, his pink-gray skin wrinkled and stretched over his muscles. Sly smiled too, realizing he was standing. "Sly!" The hippo yelled, bolting over to his buddy so fast he spilled the kombucha over the new carpet.

"Murray, I-" Sly looked down, expecting (or perhaps, wanting) the brute to find an awkward pause in his sprint, and stand just far enough away to affirm their tension. Of course, the hippo did just the opposite, and hugged Sly so hard it felt like he squeezed in an extra pascal for every year he couldn't.

"Sly! Sly!" Was all Murray was able to choke out, the sounds of his sobs so loud and close to the raccoon's ear it was its own kind of bear hug entirely. When Sly was finally able to catch a breath, his friend squeezed him again, sobbing loudly over the popping of his joints. Through whatever word best animates the hippo's noises, he ended with a firm and undeniably warm "Welcome home, Sly!"

Naturally, the raccoon was hesitant to consider this home, and even if Murray did, Bentley wouldn't. "It's good to be back, Murray." He said, uncaring the tears had started to fall. The hug he had expected played just to his predictions, but the scolding and lecturing must have been scheduled for later. The turtle held no grudge, Sly was sure, but there had definitely been an aura of hurt when he decided to leave. Maybe in the first few months Bentley held to the idea of letting Sly come back, but seventeen years? All three of them were probably different people by now.

"...And then the back tires gave out, but I didn't even notice 'till the replays!" Oh! And then-" The hippo was reliving a recent achievement for the raccoon, guiding him as they walked with his heavy hand on Sly's shoulders. Well, Murray doesn't seem too different.

Past the arched doorway and through a wide hall -mostly used to showcase the house's impeccable closet collection- opened the main landing of the villa. It was a tall wide room, the biggest in the house, and held two floors. The top, only reaching halfway out from the walls but a respectable distance from the ceiling, met the ground on either side of the room with two dark wood staircases, the same ones Sly always remembered. In between the opening of the stairs, tables and plants and antiquated vases in rustic shadowboxes decorated the colorful sunken alcove. The floor above offered a nice wood ceiling, and hung from its center was a huge glass chandelier, one Sly definitely didn't remember. He tried to keep his gaze stuck to the walls, again littered with dusted nostalgia, but couldn't look away from the figures at the top of the stairs. Hunched, still and smirking, was a wheelchair bound turtle on the cusp of his middle age, sporting a thin white beard and polished round glasses. "Hey there, pal." his nasally voice was crisp, cracked and dry but genuine, and hiding a whimper. "Long time no see."

Sly smiled, feeling his muscles grow warm as autopilot took over, and his legs carried him up the thick mahogany stairs. At the top, he knelt, and before he could even think to make eye contact, tried to apologize. Somewhere along the line, Bentley cut him off, and grappled him into a hug. He had a good center of gravity in that heavy chair. They rarely held each other like that, even back in their heyday, but it brought a calming sense of love over the raccoon. That love had a bittersweet pinch, however, as his mind couldn't shake the horrible thought that Ayleen didn't feel that love, that he had scared her off too far. It made him hold his friend tighter.

The woman standing a bit uncomfortably to the turtle's left twirled her fingers and ran her eyes over Sly when she didn't think he'd notice. Her ears were flattened backwards behind her head, tied at the top with a green scrunchie. She acted like she'd behave much younger than her physical features would allude, what with plastic jewelry and a frilly laced dress underneath a small brown coat. She leaned into the trio and whispered something in Bentley's ear before hastily shuffling off past the kitchen, opening from, and/or spilling out onto the back corner of the raised floor.

Sly pushed both her and the dingo out of his mind. "Has Ayleen shown up yet?" He asked, aware the desperation was thick in his voice.

Bentley shook his head. "She's got to be here somewhere, we'll find her." The years had been kind to him, all things considered. Murray too, the only marks of age being their thick whiskers and wrinkled eyes. Between the scars and matted blankets of stress Sly found his new life to require him to wear, he must look much worse than them.

Murray still retained most of his muscle mass, the thick pink skin reluctant to sag like the turtle's. His voice however, carried some slight stress of age, like a smoker who quit too late. It made sense though, with all his screaming and powerful 'indoor' voices. "I'm excited to finally meet her!" He announced. Of course, Murray had met her before, but only for that small window of time she lived in the house with them. Sly had taken her away about five months after she was born, then kept quiet about those who wanted to watch her grow up. Maybe he hadn't cheated just her out of a proper life- the life she deserved -but all of his friends too. They were there when Carmelita was pregnant, they were there for Ayleen's birth… it was selfish, taking her for himself exclusively. He understood that now, looking into the eyes of his old friends, of his family.

Sly smiled. "Yeah, we're a bit overdue, huh?" He asked with a nervous chuckle, followed by a cold grip of guilt. "I think… I need to apologize to you guys, what I did… wasn't-"

Bentley shook his head. "It's okay Sly. It was a tough call, you only did what you thought was right."

Well, I could have at leas- he found the words materializing in his head painful. Decades of self loathing and seclusion from family can do that, make you feel the weight of your thoughts should be kept to yourself. But now, the time for reclusive brooding was over, it never even should have begun."Still, I could have at least stayed in Paris, or-or come to visit, or-"

Murray interrupted him by ruffling his hair. "Sly, seriously dude, you're off the hook!" The raccoon looked up at him, unsure how to respond. "Besides, we missed ya, it wouldn't make sense to greet you after all this time with a lecture." Bentley nodded, glasses illuminated by the weak light.

"I don't…" A sigh, then a smile. "Thank you, both of you. You don't know how much… how much I needed to hear that." The pain Sly had been carrying for years, the grim anticipation for how they would treat him, every cynical and melancholy thought he put into this reunion, it all melted away. That how it felt, too, like it was some cursed chunk of ice he had frozen himself in, finally freed by thawing words from his greatest friends.

The hippo laughed, motioning for the others to follow him back to the kitchen. The rabbit woman and James had disappeared to somewhere, leaving the old gang to their own devices. Sly walked alongside Bentley, still content to push his chair himself, even with the dilapidated feeling that came with age. "How have you two been?" Sly asked, expecting a novel for an answer.

"Well I'd say 'same-old, same-old' but I don't want to worry you." Bentley still had his wit, even if Sly had sacrificed most of his sardonicism.

"We won the Spaniard's Cup last year!" Murray added, garnering a quick correction from Bentley, who referred to it's original Spanish name. "Did ya see the trophy?"

"Saw so many I couldn't keep count." Sly remembered an entire wall of glass protecting various awards and other legally-acquired boons from when he left, the one in the foyer most likely boasting their newest victories. "Remember when you tried to get sponsored for the Daytona?" He asked, responded to with laughs and a brief flashback.

The trio talked extensively about Murray's driving career, Bentley's new hobby of commercial machinery upkeep, and the two new residents of the house; A studious, polite dingo named James, and Bentley's (state provided) caretaker, the tall rabbit woman named Dorothy. Bentley had met James during a period where he helped lecture in robotics classes across France, usually very transparent about his criminal background. Something about James sat well with the turtle, and his own exciting past attracted the former soldier's adventurous side, too. Sly had actually heard of Bentley's "Scared Crooked" stories (as he had gotten his precinct to call them, unbelieving the turtle wouldn't be proud of his work) while on the job in Denmark. Some local mom or the sort had made a complaint that a known criminal, and former understudy for Europe's Most Wanted would be lecturing in a public college. Sly almost attended that lecture, if for nothing else than to stay on the public's good side. Bentley… and perhaps Murray, may not care if their felonious pasts were laid bare, they'd managed to live on top of that drama, but Sly had never confessed. He never tried to redeem or reform himself in the eyes of others. He could barely do it in his own head.

Maybe these guys figured it out… "Did INTERPOL ever come knocking?" He asked, hoping no one, himself included, would dig from that word to Carmelita. If Ayleen ever showed up, he'd have plenty of time for that later.

Bentley shook his head. "Well, not technically, we went to them."

Murray nodded. "We told them where Kane Island was, showed 'em what we saved."

"Of course, that was all just to get on their good side. Pretty important if you're just gonna sit still for the rest of your life."

Sly cocked his head to study Dorothy, who had reappeared with a tray of crackers, now nervously pacing back and forth through the room. She was his caretaker, was she also his parole officer? Some kind of spy to keep tabs on the world's biggest cyber-criminal? "So you're not planning on anymore travel?" He asked, choosing to save further inquiry of her for later.

"I think I've had my fair share." Bentley hummed as he watched the silky blue curtains bounce on a small breeze. Moonlight was beaming through the open windows, the hallway to their left (being one fourth glass) seemed to turn that light silver, with golden balls and ruby twinkles flashing over portraits as the Eiffel came to life. Blue and green light caught a giant-print landscape, one which Sly remembered shooting. Bentley and Murray were there with him, leading him to wonder how many of the pictures that Sly didn't take were new. They didn't look familiar… how many old ones did he take without his gang by his side?

Dorothy (or Dorie, as she preferred) had slowly made her pacing wider, and now stood relatively close to Bentley. "Uhh, excuse me? I-I just got a call…" Bentley had told Sly he had some good people keeping an eye open for his daughter, their only clue to her whereabouts as vague as hers was to them; somewhere near the Eiffel. Sly knew she'd make it this far at least, and now with the feelers put out by Bentley, it would only be a matter of time.

After she had taken a quick hop away from the gang, Bentley called back for her, eliciting a slightly disappointed sigh. She came back though, already privy to what Bentley would ask her. "Where was she seen?" He opened.

Sly's ears perked up. "We found her?"

Dorie forced a smile. "She was seen heading towards the Eiffel Tower…" Sly stood up and looked out the window to his back, a perfect box around the glowing tower. "I believe if we're patient-"

Bentley's chair squeaked so loud it almost sounded like an intentional interruption, but his voice was there for that. "Dorothy, would you mind waiting for her in the park?" He was looking right at her, as he rolled himself to Sly's side.

In her most polite tone; "Wouldn't Mr. Cooper wish to search for her?" Sly's tongue clicked at the mention of his old name, wondering if Bentley and Murray still referred to him as Sly Cooper, as both her and James kept calling him that.

"I think Sly should stay here, if Ayleen finds us on her own he should be here, too." Sly didn't agree that was the best course of action, secretly hoping he would get to use his sneaking skills one last time, but he could understand waiting for her. Maybe she needed that, the sensation of finding her father, not being found by him. Dorothy nodded, eyes twitching back towards the turtle as she softly stomped off.

"What's going on with her?" Sly asked, voice hushed. Murray shrugged, like the question was for him.

"I'll tell you later, its a bit of a story." Bentley responded.

"Heh, yeah, it seems like we have a lot of talking to do 'later'. Should we make a schedule?" Sly joked, finally feeling comfortable enough to do so, even through the anticipation of seeing his daughter again.

Murray laughed. "That reminds me, how long are you two gonna be in town?" He was taking up three couch cushions all on his own. "There's a crazy lot I wanna show her!"

Sly thought for a minute, eyes still glued to the tower as the image of Ayleen manifested in the stars, barely visible above all the light pollution. "I don't know… I don't…" The crunch of Mugshot's skull boomed through his mind like a gunshot. Where would they go from here? What would become of that mistake? Would he tell Ayleen?

Yes. You will. Bentley and Murray too.

Bentley gripped Sly's elbow, gently, affectionately. "You guys are welcome to stay as long as you want. It is still your home."

That made Sly laugh, it was the exact opposite thing he expected the turtle to say. "Thank you." His voice cracked, but he didn't care. These two were great friends, Sly again cursed himself for wasting that.

They stood there, in the dark room adjacent to the glass hallway, watching Dorie disappear behind the backyard's wooden fencing. Soon, her lanky, pouty figure sank into the shadows completely, and Bentley's phone rang. They 'talked' a little bit, Bentley mainly rolling his eyes and providing blatant instructions on where to look.

"I think I see her…" The static tinted voice announced.

"What? Where? Let me talk to her!" Sly raised his voice, leaning down to Bentley's side. Dorothy said something, but when Bentley pulled away to better hear, Sly followed. "Where?"

"Right outside, I said."

"REALLY!?" Sly practically screamed, hurrying back to the window to press his eyes against the glass.

"By the tower?" Bentley asked, but Sly had already spotted his target. Accidentally knocking Bentley's phone out of his hand when he ran past, Sly nearly punched the wall turning on the lights. He could see her, running. He matched her speed, never taking his eyes off her, right up to her climbing on the neighbor's fence. When he reached the end of the hallway, he shoved the doors open, and held his breath, only letting out a single "Ayleen!" She looked up at him, fear, sorrow, regret and so many other words pooling behind her dimly lit eyes, a sensation Sly could never have felt before having a child. She looked transparent to him, and all that was inside was hurt.

I'm sorry, He wanted to say, but couldn't.

/*\

Dorie was the first to enter, James on tail, sandwiching Ayleen like they expected her to run off again. The rabbit kept looking over her shoulder, never making eye contact, but hurrying her steps. Ayleen might have found her queer in a funny sort of way, had her mind not been clouded by the situation she found playing on repeat in her head. She'd try to make amends, her dad would yell. She'd try to ask about her mom, her dad would cry. The moment of truth, to make or break all the effort she's spent, would be who's side Bentley would ultimately take. She didn't expect him to rush to her side, and her dad arriving first gave her no confidence.

She was lead past a small entrance room, and into a hallway ending in what at first felt like a ballroom. Two giant staircases carried the carpet onto an indoor balcony, some bookshelves and sofas protected from the drop by old baroque railings. She had to double check everything she saw, the entirety of the decorations reminding her of home. Except, although everything at home may have been stolen, this home was overflowing with what was definitively contraband. The whole scene reminded her of a movie, the secret mountain hide-away of some international supervillain… maybe it just reminded her of what it was; a monument to her dad's old life. A heinous, unmoral, possibly even evil life. It was something he didn't want, but as even the air of the room felt richly endowed, Ayleen could start to empathize with him. He wanted to share this with her, and her mom too, but couldn't. Maybe, if he had tried something… well, 'something', feels like the right word. She didn't know what he did and didn't do. She was about to though, and she wondered if the air would still circulate affluently after learning the truth of these dark walls.

At the top floor, holding the railing with white knuckles, was the nervous face of her father, red sadness pooling in his eyes. When Ayleen saw him, she immediately looked away, thinking she heard him sigh. Through the gentle vibrations running under the floorboards, she knew he was walking downstairs, but she still couldn't look. Quickly, she leaned close to Dorie. "Excuse me?" The rabbit jumped in a hyperbolic display of surprise. "I think I need a minute to collect myself…" She said to the woman, but loud enough so her father would hear. She nodded, and shakily pointed past the mouth of the stairwells, to another hallway hidden in the lush greenery of the sunken floor. With one quick look at her dad, standing an awkward dozen-odd feet from her with his hands in his pockets and gaze unchaperoned as it ran the room, she folded her arms and shuffled to the hallway. It wasn't until she reached the wall (and after hearing a strange sounding growl from Sly) that she realized she had never actually asked for the bathroom, and Dorie could have been pointing her outside for all she knew. If that was the case, Ayleen didn't mind, she really did just need a few minutes to prepare herself.

The hallway seemed to adopt a themed collection, unlike the other rooms, which felt more like an antique shop pressed for space than the home of a collector. The carpet abruptly took on a red glow, complementing blue charms and bells that hung from nails. Some end tables pushed against the wall displayed little knick-knacks, each one harder to originate than the last. At the end of the carpet sat a few more doors, one for each side of the hall. Ayleen pressed her back into the middle one, and let her legs give out. The millisecond she hit the floor, every word and phrase she'd been playing with in her head felt like they could a burn a hole in her. Words like 'sorry', 'love', 'truth', even sounds, like what it might be like to hear her sober father cry. Not that those thoughts didn't worry her already, but saying you'll jump is a lot harder when its time to jump, not to mention actually doing it. Sly didn't look angry, or disappointed (not at her, anyways) but Ayleen knew that she had hurt him. Sly may have lied, and kept her mother a distant entity, but Ayleen ran away from home. It had only been a few days, and straight to old trusted allegiances of his, but she hated to imagine a child of her own ditching her. Then again, she hated to think she'd ever lie to her child. Maybe Sly had the same logic, seventeen or fewer years ago. Maybe this heinous cloud of secrecy was a recent development in his life. Maybe the decision to keep hard and painful truths from children was one that came easier with parenthood. Sly would lie for her sake, maybe he saw this as just another one of those times, assuming there had been more.

Her knees had been pulled up to her chin as her thoughts contorted themselves, pain, sorrow, anxiety and regret all baked into a nauseous pressure on her heart. She was crying quietly, unwanting for any of the others to come comfort her. What could any of them do, anyway? Four of the five didn't even know her, and Sly… Sly couldn't make her feel better. Not until she let him, at least.

The burning words kept coming back, unsuppressed when thoughts turned to the future; what would they do now? Go back to Denmark, resume school and work? A part of her felt wrong for thinking that, almost like it was sidelining her mother, and this entire journey to discover her. Would Carmelita want them to go home? Would Carmelita be holding her right now, if she could? Ayleen would like to think so, her only evidence to go on being nothing but hope. She wanted her to be that kind of mother, and now was the time to find out if she was… would have been… is?

The raccoon wiped her eyes, using the modicum of strength she found to lift herself off the floor. She wanted to call for her dad, but swallowed the urge. She would go to him. She had to, it was the only thing left to do. She walked back to the stairs, distracting herself by studying more decorations. She always thought her house was filled to the brim with worldly trash, but this place may as well have been an international dump. Maybe dump wasn't the right word, trash usually isn't this dusted. When she finally made it back through the hallway, she took a final gulp, and climbed the stairs.

Sly's head shot up from his palms fast. His daughter was now at the top of the stairs, holding her arms, trying very hard to contain her tears. Sly put in no such effort though, his gray cheeks stained black strips under his eyes. He stood up when he saw her, but didn't move more than that. Instead, they stood there, staring at each other, both feeling the exact same thing, neither sure to mention it first. Finally, Ayleen's lip quivered, her tears fell, and she ran to her father. Sly smiled, caught her, and buried his face in her neck, leaning down for a better angle. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry-" the girl was saying between her sobs, fingers digging into Sly's back.

He held her tight, whispering "It's okay, it's okay," over and over into her ear.

"I love you dad…" She cried, and through the girls hair, you could see Sly smile, as he said back

"I love you too, Ayleen. I love you so much." And he held her, and she held him.

A little longer than I wanted, but I'm actually pretty happy with where this chapter went :) the next one will be a little more of the same, but Chapter 14 is gonna suck chode, so get ready :)))