~~~Where God Went to Die~~~

Carmelita wasn't feeling too great, morning sickness was just now finding the exit, but the cravings were a nasty aftershock. Murray wanted to help with this new issue, offering to cook her meals, bring her fast food, or even just suggest what she should eat, based on what he was hungry for. In the back of her mind, hidden behind years of stress dedicated to her career, but as clear as ice when Cooper was there, she was happy and appreciative of all his help. Bentley too. At the end of the day, she wouldn't hesitate to call herself a friend to this trio of former thieves.

Former?

That word left slime in her throat. She had tried to forgive Sly once, put all their ornery history behind them and focus on a brighter future. After he lied, and ran backwards through time, Carmelita found logic in blaming herself. She kept him away from Murray and Bentley, from the only family he had left. Would things have turned out better for the four of them, if Sly didn't fake his amnesia? He could have just ran, let the cops-n-robbers show go on for another season. What if she offered to work towards a pardon for the gang, would they get to live happily? Can they still? Carmelita hadn't reported back since Sly ran off, and had told her captain she was after the rest of the gang. Now, in the wake of their adventure, the fear of almost losing him for good, and her pregnancy, she wasn't sure what path she needed to take. Sly said no more adventures, yet was still out running errands for Bentley. When he got back, would he hold that promise? A horrible deer tick of a pinch in her heart told her to tread lightly; he had lied before.

She sat outside the french home, twirling a pen in her hand. She had made a pro/con list for staying with the gang. They were still very much wanted by INTERPOL, as well as hundreds of smaller national agencies all over the globe. It was probably a matter of time until one or ten of them tracked their hideout, as they were all not only French-born, but currently residing in the heart of her capital. On the Pro side, she had written all of their names on their own bullets. She always liked Murray, ever since Canada, and Bentley proved to be a great conversationalist. And Sly… she always loved Sly. Always. Even if it took her a while to admit it.

On the "Con" side, underneath the obvious (Abandoning her career, hunted by the law, possible indefinite seclusion from her family and friends, plus moral obligations) was just one name; Sly Cooper. She wrote both of his names to further the point onto herself. He wasn't just Sly Cooper, her love, greatest adventure, and catalyst for at least the latter half of her job, he was also Sly Cooper, her duty to stop, a liar, a thief, and her heartbreaker. Staying with him would align the same descriptors to her name, she knew. Alas, she still made the list, desperate to convince herself into either decision.

If she had to, she could raise the child on her own, she knew she could. Even debated adopting a few times in the past. But would that be fair to her? Her. Carmelita didn't even know if it was a her, she just felt such a wash of love when Sly held her, told her Ayleen was the perfect name for a girl. No, that wouldn't be fair to her. Or to Sly, and she loved both. She couldn't raise his girl without him, for either of their sakes… for all three of their sakes…

Carmelita sighed, tossing the pen into the grass with a flick of her fingers, then crumpling the paper in her hands. She put it in her pocket, wanting to throw it away someplace private, where none of her new family would know she debated leaving them.

New family? Dios mio… she smiled, however, embracing the happiness that came with the word. Family. Bentley, Murray, her Sly and Ayleen… Family.

The door behind her cracked open like thunder. "Carmelita!" It was Murray, out of breath and throwing looks over his shoulder like he was being followed. "It's Sly!" He didn't sound happy, he sounded very scared.

Chapter Thirteen

Paris, France - 2017

Sly emerged from the green bulb in a frenzy, stomping his feet and waving his arms, fighting invisible birds. His fur was matted, eyes bloodshot and streaking, and his breathing sounded pained. Naturally, he had come back only seconds after he left, and everything was in its place, sans his bearings.

"Welcome back," Bentley, exactly where he had been three seconds and twenty thousand years ago, cocked his head. "Are you okay, pal?"

Sly glared down at him, almost unsure of where he was. "Its not real." he said through an unintentionally monotone voice. He wanted to sound scared, needed to be sure he was expressing himself, but couldn't feel his body, and couldn't hear himself speak. "Time isn't real. You knew?" That probably sounded harsh, accusing.

The turtle scoffed, but held his empathetic expression. "What do you mean?"

Sly looked down, his pupils vibrating in their red-cracked porcelain cages almost audibly as he locked his friend into them. His hand was moving free of input, a robotic motion carrying his shaking fingers into his pocket, and clamping them around the fabric. When he realized what he was holding, he looked away, he didn't want to see Bentley's face when he showed him. With a flick, he tossed the blood soaked mask out of his pocket, onto Bentley's lap. Sly heard him mumble for a little bit, then a quick prick of shock held his breath when he understood what he was holding.

"Oh, oh my god…" Was all he could whisper, uncharacteristically flat, or grim. Sly nodded, pushing his hands through his hair, just to keep his arms moving. When he was still, he felt like stone, like his skin weighed heavier every second, and he was worried it'd fall off. He could still smell the blood, feel it on his fingers. It was the only thing he could feel actually. It was the exact same blood that was inside him, but on top of his fur, it might as well have been nitroglycerin. It burned the stone underneath, it froze the hair in between, it was inside him, it was him.

Always will be. That voice said. Why was it always so loud? Had it always been there? …Who's there?

…

Answer me. The raccoon asked himself… maybe aloud.

Bentley must have said something, Sly could feel his chest rising and falling, like he was giving response. Something was wrong, but why couldn't he tell what? Why couldn't he feel?… Or for that matter, see, why couldn't he see?

When his senses came back online, and his brain remembered where it was, he had to gasp. His hand hurt, a feeling now covering much more than just what was bloodied, as through a growing fog he could see he had put his fist through the wall. Apparently, he was in a different room. Apparently, he was still moving, the walls and shapes bouncing with a feeling resembling motion. Apparently, he was talking. He could feel himself. Who was he talking to? He couldn't tell, but he heard something that sounded like his voice. Somebody must have answered after that, he felt himself stop moving. The heaviness didn't come, but some nausea did. Was he vomiting again? Was he even inside?

Who was touching him? "Sly!" they were yelling, next to and above him. He said something back, and "No, we're here!" came back to him through his fogged reality. "Get Carmelita!" the noise said. Sly's eyes finally found a figure he could identify; his hands, forcing his fingers through the carpet, the frayed, coarse threads ripping his fingernails at their ends. He saw this, but couldn't feel, so he pushed harder. Roots of red streaked across the carpet, touching in their center just before he lost his sight again, and felt his stomach erupt.

/|^|\

If his head was a fogged lens before, it was now cleaned, but cracked. Sly woke up a day later, eyes unsteady and lips bloody and raw. He had been chewing them through the entirety of his breakdown, and had done enough damage to warrant stitches. Bentley kept him in the house, and along with Carmelita, had enough medical knowledge to keep the raccoon stable. Sedated to keep a restless mind at bay, and tucked into sheets by Murray for the rest. His mouth tasted like iron, and he couldn't focus sensation lower than his neck, tight muscles reluctant to wake back up.

When he was able to finally push himself up, alone, in a dark room, crusty scabbing on his mouth, he looked at his hands. They had been washed, his fingers bandaged and puffy. Letting out a sigh, he tested them against each other. Feeling with them was foreign, almost uncomfortable.

The clock on the wall, which helped Sly recognize the walls as the guest room, said it was almost four in the morning. To his right, sitting limp in a chair, deep in slumber, was Carmelita. The dim lights from through the windows illuminated her hair and the front of her torso. Resting in the glow, held tightly between both fists, was the blood-soaked mask Sly had taken off his corpse. It was wrapped around her knuckles like a bandage, twisted and stretched in her anxiety, bondage for restless fingers.

He wanted to hold her, to feel her against him. It's all he wanted, every other emotion hurt, every other feeling was an intrusion, nothing felt comfortable but her. He wanted to hold her, but could still only manage to keep his back straight when he propped his arms under him. He tried to smile, maybe paranoid she was awake, and testing him, but he couldn't find the energy. Everything was getting fuzzy this time, something he was at least a little more comfortable with. He knew what was there, and figured the blurring image was just what should have been happening. He could have had a concussion for all he knew. He closed his eyes, set himself down as gently as he could, and felt his body fall into sleep.

He dreamed of his murder, his suicide. A fearful, moldy nightmare, but at least he could process it. At least he could process it.

/|^|\

The next day Sly was able to keep awake long enough to explain to everyone what had happened, too ashamed to look anywhere near Carmelita when he did. Murray leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he attempted to make sense of the story. Bentley was listening intently, swallowing any visible emotion with calmly sighs. Carmelita was… looking out the window. That's all Sly cared to know about how she was feeling. She didn't make any noise or ask any questions, like the other two. Just stood there.

Sly took another drink of his water, grateful to not have to scoop it out of a river, with an eye over his shoulder to make sure his robotic steward remained passive. "So that's why I… went back to…" He shook his head, finishing his tale.

Bentley gave another sigh. "Well… I'm going to admit, I'm a bit skeptical."

"You had that theory about multiple timelines though, right Bentley?" Murray asked.

"A theory is only as strong as its evidence, of which we had none." He paused for a minute. "When we all went to save the Thevious Raccoonus, and then to rescue you from Egypt, we traveled with my first machine." Sly remembered. The one Bentley had called a 'phase.' "And if what you said Penelope figured out is true… then perhaps it can be possible..."

Carmelita scoffed, moving from the window, but Sly didn't watch. "As opposed to impossible?" she held out the red and black mask like a crucifix, propped up with her thumb, repelling something vamperic. "We know it happened." her voice was stern.

Bentley looked away. "When it comes to time, things don't have to be possible or impossible, I mean technically speaking, time travel might not even be real!" Carmelita was frustrated by that last line, and had to pace to control herself.

"That's what he said." Sly coughed. "Clockwerk didn't believe in time, said traveling through it was impo- …well, I don't know."

"What was Penelope's take on that?" Sly could tell it hurt him to say that name, but the turtle hid it well.

"She said something about… traveling without a catalyst was risky, like… like, reckless or something."

"Like climbing into a cave without a rope leading back out?" Bentley scratched his neck.

"I dunno, something like that. Yeah." Sly remembered the analogy being a lot worse.

Bentley stayed quiet for a moment, giving a window of silence to be eaten by Murray and his pantheon of questions. Carmelita tried her best to catch him up, but found herself lost too. "So, what? You actually can't change the past?" She finally asked Bentley.

He sighed, and adjusted his glasses. "Okay, well, evidently… Yes, and no. Depends on what you travel with, I'm assuming."

"So what, did Sly just, created a new world or something? When he…" She looked over at the raccoon, who caught her with a guilty look back.

"Sly left via my mark two- er, so to speak, -which as he'll remember doesn't require physical matter to lead the travel. I assume, although I need to put some more thought into it, this second method of time travel seems to be-" Pointless? "-inconsequential."

"That's why hes back in OUR time? Right?" Murray had gotten closer, his voice booming over the others.

"Yes, because the past he went to, while looking and functioning exactly like our own, could be altered with no effect to the time Sly left." The turtle had taken off his glasses, perhaps in attempt to combat the stress curdling behind his eyes.

Finally, Sly sighed. "I traveled by myself back home and to two-thousand-two, but every other time I was with him. " he looked at Carmelita. "You know what I think? Or, what I'm worried about, rather?" they were all looking at him, but he was only looking at her. "What's happened has happened, cant change it. Not really, anyways," he started with a sigh. "but from our perspective- here and now, I mean -there is no future. Not yet. You stay in a timeline you change, then maybe you can wait around to see whats different. Maybe that's the only way time changes, is if the… changer, is there to see it."

They were all staring at the floor.

Sly bit his lip, winced at the pain. "If I had stayed in oh two… maybe time… maybe that timeline would have caught up to me. I don't know. I don't want to, actually." He forced a small chuckle, and saw a shadow of a grin on the turtle's lips.

"You don't think your cane served as the catalyst , do you?" Bentley asked. Sly dismissed that as outside his field of knowledge.

"That… still doesn't make a whole lot of sense." Carm spoke up, clearing her throat. "You went back to look for the mouse? What if she decides to come back? Does she come to our world?"

Bentley shook his head. "Timeline." Reality. Sly wanted to correct. "If she comes back, and she would absolutely come back with Clockwerk, I'd wager that'd be the Clockwerk Sly got to travel with. But then again, I have no idea what kind of machine Penelope is using… its only safe to assume the worst." he concluded, looking at his bed-ridden friend. "And you're certain… this Clockwerk doesn't hate the Coopers anymore?"

Sly looked back. "Penelope claimed to only need him as protection… from us. Other than that, he was pretty passive. Maybe pent up, or frustrated?"

They all thought about that for a minute. Eventually, they arrived at a conclusion, satisfying no one, but keeping a sort of lid on the subject; Time Travel could only affect the future if one stayed to see it out. Sly mentioned Clockwerk's question of traveling into 'uncharted' future. Bentley claimed to be able to build or modify his machine to account for 'forward' movement, if given more time. This idea was heavily scrutinized by Carmelita, and Sly found himself agreeing. The future seen could be the future that occurs naturally, as long as they didn't come back to the 'present' and reveal what was seen, Bentley rested his final thoughts, noticing Carmelita's hostility.

In its entirety, the conversation ate their entire day, lots of arguing, hypothetical disaster scenarios, and the occasional roadbump; slowing down for Murray. By the time the hippo and turtle had stressed their minds enough to keep them awake for weeks, they left the others alone. Sly was growing tired again, as Carmelita sat next to him, squeezing his leg, letting her mind focus. "…What did you think would happen?" She asked slowly, after eons of silence.

Sly knew what she meant, he had been fearing that question. He was afraid of the answer, too. "I… I wasn't in the right place, mentally. For all that to just be dropped on you, staring at two different Clockwerks… I just needed to see." He gulped. "I… I thought I was right…"

A long break of silence. "…Did, you want to be right?" She asked, swallowing a sobbing noise.

Sly saw she had tears falling through a hand pressed into her face, trembling. "I wasn't thinking, it was a stress induced, recklessly impulsive decision." he said. It felt like hurting her all over again, a guilty confession to a party who already knew, just couldn't swallow your faults, just needed to hear. She nodded weakly and wiped her cheek, sighing when her eyes found recluse out the dimming window. "Carm… I don't want to lose you." he spoke without moving his lips, just expelling an honest pulse of love, known only to her.

"I don't want to have to lose you, Sly." she managed to say past a choked voice. "And Bentley… he can't keep this up." shaking her head.

Sly sighed, trying to wrap his already worn mind around his friend's relationship… with his father's killer's creator… he needed a drink, all these words made his brain throb. "He's in mourning, her running off on him…" he paused to consider the irony. "…Well, it must have come out of nowhere. Couldn't have felt good." Carmelita nodded, unintentionally offending the raccoon. When he felt that offense disappear as quickly as it came, leaving only a cold pocket of guilt for even thinking of it, he grabbed her wrist pressed into the sheets next to him. "Carmelita," she looked at him. "I know what I did was wrong. That entire time I was with Clockwerk, all I could think about was you. I was convinced that no matter what happened, I had to keep going for you, and for our baby." Sly pushed himself into sitting upright. "And when I ki-" She flinched. "Well, it wasn't smart. It was probably even selfish… but it proves something." He held her until she looked deep into his eyes. "The past is unimportant, worthless. Memories and emotions are just what we use to choose our paths going forward. And-and all I want to remember, is how you make me feel. I love you, I don't want to lose you." he smiled, looking back into that warm, embracing stare.

"...I love you too, ring-tail." she said softly, pulling him into a kiss. They held each other and talked all night. They talked about their future, and Carmelita agreed; it was all they truly had.