A/N: I just couldn't wait to post this chapter! This is my favorite chapter – both to write and to read over again – the chapter that inspired this turkey, (also the longest). There's even a Serenity reference in this one. Pretty blatant for anyone who's seen the movie, but I think it fits.

Love to my reviewers and my lurkers!

Disclaimer; I own no original Sly Cooper characters, they are the property of Sucker Punch Pro., all non-Sly characters are the property of me.

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Thief for a Day

Raven Ehtar

Chapter Five, 'Loyalties'

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Sly awoke the next evening in high spirits. The few hours he had gotten to train with Carmelita the night before had proved to be some of the most thrilling of his life. More than stealing, more than roller coasters, watching Carmelita successfully execute some of the Cooper Clan moves was a rush. He had known that she was athletic, coordinated, and had the stamina of an Olympic biker, but she was already doing rope running – not walking, running – and spire jumps like they were nothing! It was almost frightening, if he thought about it. If she ever recovered memories of these 48 hours after she reverted to her cop self, then he would be in serious trouble.

Sly shrugged to himself and started cleaning up. It was too late now, and Llazarrad had theoretically taken care of that end of things. If his 'programming' worked the way it was supposed to, then at the end of 48 hours, she would slip back to herself with no memory of what had actually happened. All she would remember would be that she had been unsuccessfully hunting for Sly and his gang through the streets of Vegas. Until then, she was a new recruit of the Cooper Clan, coming from a down-and-out family back in Paris. Or at least, that was story Llazarrad had fed her before turning her over to Sly. So far it seemed to be working. She hadn't questioned her past at all, not how they had met, when they had come to Las Vegas, or why she had joined up with them. Sly assumed that all of the gaps were being filled in by Carmelita's own mind, and hoped nothing he said countered what she thought was true.

Finishing his morning routine, he headed out of the tiny motel that he and the rest of the gang were staying in and went to the van. All of their important items were kept there, instead of being moved back and forth. Bentley thought they would be safer when kept in the van, and Sly knew better than to argue. He looked up, the sun was about three-quarters of the way through its route across the sky, which would make it about 4:00 or 5:00 pm. A couple hours of light – and heat – and then the cool, comforting evening would settle over the desert.

The inside of the van was amazingly hot and humid – like a greenhouse inside an oven. Which it was. Bentley was already awake and working on the 'puter they had stolen a couple days earlier in London. His brows were drawn down over his nose in supreme concentration, sweat trickled down his face, and his fingers created a blur over the keys. He was so focused on his work that he didn't seem to notice the heat.

Sly didn't close the van doors, "Jeez, Bentley," he said, striding past the working turtle, "do you think it could be any hotter in here?" He leaned over the driver and passenger seats, rolling down the windows to let in the little breeze that was blowing outside.

Bentley didn't look up, "Yes. How did you sleep?"

Sly smirked, "Fine, no thanks to you."

The turtle finally turned away from the computer and glared at him through his thick lenses. Sly had to work to keep a straight face. When he and Carmelita had come back from their short – but very productive – training session, Bentley had been waiting for them like an impatient mother on her daughter's first date. Without waiting to hear how things had gone, he had informed them that they had been given separate rooms, with both Bentley and Murray's sitting in between them. Carmelita had looked slightly affronted, but Sly had nearly died trying to hold in his laughter. Sometimes his reptilian friend could be very old fashioned, and very protective.

"So," Sly said, breaking Bentley's death-stare, "how's the 'puter decryption coming?"

Bentley sighed and turned back to his desk, hunching his shoulders in his typical hacker position, "Not very well. The guy must have over a hundred layers of protection on this thing, and I've only gotten through the first dozen or so. Whatever is on this computer, he doesn't want anyone to read it."

"Hmm…" Sly knew PT Bull's reputation, anyone on the shadier side of the world would, and it made him immensely curious as to what he kept in his personal computer. It could be something as boring as a registry for all of his subordinates, or as exciting as all of the secret locations of his loot and bank numbers. Whatever it was, he was determined to know.

Instead of starting on his flurry of hacker code again, Bentley stood and walked to one of the corners of the van. "Catch," he said, tossing him something long and thin.

Sly snapped the object out of the air almost instinctively. It was his cane. He paused; no, it wasn't his cane. The weight was different, the balance slightly more in the hook's tip, the wood not as smooth. He looked more closely at the metal that made the hook. Even the old wear marks from constant climbing, swinging and pick pocketing were missing. He looked back up at Bentley, who was taking a long pull from a water bottle. "What is this?"

Bentley grinned, "Didn't fool you, huh?" He put down the water bottle and brought out another cane, and tossed it to Sly as well.

This cane was definitely his, the weight and balance were perfect, and the handle had all the smooth areas from where Sly gripped it the most often. Holding both canes at the same time, the differences were even more obvious, but so were the similarities. They were the same height, the shapes of the hooks identical… if Sly wasn't as familiar with the cane as someone who had spent his entire life using it, he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. He looked at Bentley and quirked an eyebrow in silent questioning.

Bentley shrugged, as though embarrassed. "I thought that as long as you're going through with this farce with Carmelita, she might as well have the Cooper Clan secret weapon, too." Sly stood and swung the new cane experimentally, Bentley continued to explain, "Of course, she can't have one unless you give her yours, and so I built this imitation for her. It's not as sturdy as the original, but it should be more than adequate for how long she'll be with us."

Sly finished testing the cane, turned to the reclining turtle, "This is brilliant, Bentley! It'll really help tonight!"

Bentley had the grace to turn slightly pink at the compliment, "Yeah, well, just make sure that it gets put to some use. It took some careful measuring to get it that precise."

Sly grinned mischievously, "Sure will, buddy." He looked around the van curiously, "By the way, where did you put her shock pistol? Don't want to be missing that when Ms. Fox comes around to herself tomorrow evening."

Turning back to the 'puter and beginning his flurry of typing again, he twitched his head behind him, towards the front of the van, "In the secret compartment under the driver's seat. Figured if the vixen got curious, even she would have trouble finding it there."

Sly nodded, good. That had been one of the things that Llazarrad had warned against: seeing anything that might suddenly jerk her back to her own memories. Anything as familiar as that shock pistol was likely to jerk something out of whack, so Sly had given it to Bentley to hide before turning in, as well as her choker and badge.

Slinging both of the canes over his shoulder, he walked out of the van to find Carmelita and Murray. He was hungry and wanted to go out for breakfast.

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Later that evening, after the sun went down, Sly and Carmelita were once again swinging through the back alleys of Las Vegas with child-like abandon. Sly had never known what it was like to have brothers or sisters, or to even enjoy the thrill of sharing the night with his parents before they were taken from him. Companionship through the night was new, alien almost. Bentley and Murray were great friends, and Murray even came out in the field with him from time to time, but neither of them had the abilities he had, and so he had always been alone in the shadows. Watching Carmelita swinging from building to building, or feeling her presence just behind him, felt… good. It felt as though he had been missing something before, like a patch of his fur had been rubbed away, leaving his skin cold and exposed. Having Carmelita with him, it just felt right.

And Carmelita, pride of Interpol and enemy of anyone and everyone who dared to cross the thin blue line, was taking to back street acrobatics and petty theft like she had been born to it. Before long she was pick pocketing in plain sight without anyone being the wiser. On a whim, Sly led her into a small casino's back room, showing her how to crack a standard vault. Before Sly could demonstrate, Carmelita had it open and empty. Oh, it felt good to be alive!

As they rested on one of the roofs, Sly continued her lessons, as though she were a real Cooper recruit. "Normally we wouldn't hit a place like that. As a rule, we only steal from master criminals."

Carmelita, still in her Inspector gear, but hardly looking like an Interpol operative, was reclining on the slightly sloped roof like it was a pool chair. The back streets of Vegas were much darker than the well beaten Strip, and the moonlight had a chance to shine down without competition. The pure light highlighted and silvered the whorls in her fur, transforming her from an earthy vixen to a shining, celestial creature. Unaware of her transformation, she tilted her head at Sly, "Why? Doesn't that limit us?"

Sly smiled. Really, now that her law abiding fetters were off, she was a true crook. "Sometimes. But stealing from regular people doesn't mean anything, and it's unfair. If you can pull off a heist from a master criminal, you know you're a master thief." As Sly recited the family motto, he shuddered. A tiny thread of doubt was slowly wriggling its way into his mind, making him question his actions. What would his father say if he could see him now? Here he was, teaching the family secrets to the one woman who had ever come close to catching him. His enemy. She wouldn't remember any of this, true, but why was he taking this risk?

He tore his eyes away from Carmelita and stared down at his feet. The reply he had given Bentley, that it was just for fun, was enough for his friends, but not for him. Not anymore. It was true that that was the first inspiration, but as he watched Carmelita, and felt what it was like to have someone who was truly on his level share the most important part of his life, he had to wonder. Did he want to have someone who could do the things he could do as a partner? Did he want Carmelita to be a thief permanently? Was this just a way for him to see his dream, even if it was a cheap imitation? Was this all just a selfish diversion? He glanced at the cane Bentley had made for Carmelita. The one she was holding so jealously and could handle so well. Not as sturdy as the original, he had said.

Sly sighed and turned his gaze skyward. It was a sad reality, he realized, but however right it felt to have Carmelita at his side, flying through the night air and thieving with glee, it was really wrong. It could never happen while Carmelita was in full control of her senses, when she was really herself. What this was right now was just him, playing with her mind for his own comfort, to chase away a loneliness he hadn't known was there. Guilt and shame crashed over Sly like a wave, and he shuddered again.

Carmelita, completely unaware of her companion's despair, was watching the stars, feeling freer than she had ever felt before. She didn't understand why she felt so… released¸ but thought it had something to do with the raccoon sitting by her side. It was a wonderful feeling. Like walking on air, or discovering that she had wings. I am a leaf on the wind, she thought happily. Watch how I soar.

The two of them sat on the roof for over an hour, enjoying the quietness and beauty of the night. Slowly, Sly's depression eased, and he starting picking out the constellations that could be seen. He wished they were in the desert proper, then the whole sky would be alight with the tiny pinpricks. He was on the verge of asking if Carmelita would be willing to go into the desert when his comm. hissed to life and a panicked voice came to him.

"Sly! Sly! Carmelita!"

Carmelita, who also had a comm., sat bolt upright at the sudden interruption. She looked around in confusion at first, forgetting that the voice was coming from a tiny speaker set her ear, but Sly replied immediately, "What is it, Bentley? What's wrong?"

Bentley's voice came again, but it was muddled, like there was a lot of background noise trying to drown him out, "It's PT, Sly, he's found us!"

Sly rushed to feet and starting running back to the van almost before he realized he had moved at all. Behind him, he could hear Carmelita scrambling to keep up. What he had been blessing only moments before, the remoteness from the main Strip, Sly found himself cursing now. Why had he strayed so far? Why couldn't Carmelita be trained closer to the van? Why was he going so slow?

From where Sly and Carmelita had been it would have normally taken them fifteen minutes to the van going full tilt, but they managed to trim it down to nine. It still wasn't enough. Not by a long shot. By the time they got back to the van, Bentley and Murray were gone, and the van was in shambles. Murray's precious van had been dented and dinging in several places, as though the invaders had actually attacked the van in their blind fury. Papers, books, knick-knacks, everything that had been stored in the van was now strewn across the floor and the pavement outside. Bentley's desk and chair were overturned and shoved into a corner, a spider web crack spanned the windshield, and Sly was horrified to see a few tiny spatters of blood staining the scattered papers.

Something was wrong with Sly's ears. Not five minutes ago they had been as keen as ever, but the world seemed to have suddenly gone silent. He couldn't even hear his own breathing, which was coming much too quickly, or his feet shuffling through the ruins of his life. He dropped his cane without realizing it, walked to the front of the van, to the seats, hoping to see something – anything, that might prove that his friends had gotten away safely. There was nothing but a half eaten doughnut and a calculator. Representations of his friends – his brothers. His eyes felt strange, when he touched them, he discovered they were wet.

A tiny moan escaped his lips, but instead of dying away, it slowly grew, until he was screaming. He kept screaming as he fell to his knees, even when Carmelita finally caught up and cautiously stepped in, even as he tasted a coppery tang at the back of his throat as his screams tore his own throat to ribbons. Why had they taken them? Why couldn't they just take the computer and leave? They hadn't even decrypted it for Christ sakes, why kidnap when they had what they wanted?

As Sly sobbed uncontrollably into the floor of the van, Carmelita noticed something that seemed out of place. Everything had been ransacked and broken, except for one thing. A green binocucomm set. Bentley's set. Perfectly intact, set with care on one of the legs of Bentley's inverted desk. She knew there was no way for the binocucomm to land in such a small area when there had obviously been a struggle. It either meant it was a message from their friends, or from the ones who had blitzed them.

Sly was still curled on the floor, but was only moaning to himself now, rather than crying outright. Carefully avoiding broken equipment, Carmelita made her way to the disconsolate raccoon, and gently touched his shoulder. He twitched, snapped his head up. At first his eyes didn't focus on her, but stared as though she wasn't even there. "Sly," she said quietly, "they're going to be fine, I know it."

Sly didn't respond at first, but began shaking. The master of thieves had been robbed, and the robbers had taken his most precious commodity: his family. It had happened again. First his parents when he been a child, and now the friends he had made to replace them. Why was it always the ones he loved who took the worst blows? Why was he never able to protect them? Finally, in a small voice that trembled, he managed, "They wouldn't have done this if they were going to let us go. They have the computer now… they have no reason to bargain with me." He head fell back into his arms, but he remained quiet.

Carmelita frowned. This wasn't going to do at all. She pinched his arm hard, when his head snapped back up she cut off his protest, "Snap out of it Sly! It's like you're giving up or something! They're not dead, or they'd still be here! Why drag off corpses?"

Sly frowned, his tear soaked fur rippling, "But, the computer--"

"They must want something else," Carmelita insisted. She pointed at Bentley's abandoned binocucomm, "Look."

Sly twisted around and saw the carefully positioned binocucomm. He knew what it meant as well, because he snatched it up instantly. Sly put the set to his eyes and flipped the playback button. Along with acting as a combination binoculars/comm. unit/locator, every set had a recording capability, which made them convenient when the gang wanted to leave messages for each other. Sly watched as the image of the gigantic PT Bull swam into the view of the binocucomm. Carmelita stood near, listening in as the pit bull began to speak.

"Hello, Sly Cooper," he said with an unpleasant grin. His teeth were white and straight, but the way he smiled was ugly. "As you can see," he said motioning behind him at the fresh carnage of the van, "I have found you and your little band. But I'm afraid that it wasn't you, exclusively, that I wanted. You see," he leaned forward, "I want the laptop you stole from me." Sly nearly dropped the set in shock. Surely they had that now? PT continued, "I know you have it, Cooper, and I want it back. Until that computer is returned to me, I will be entertaining your friends as my guests."

Here the view of the binocucomm swung to the left, settling on the bound and gagged forms of his friends. Sly's blood began to boil when he saw the dark bruises on Bentley's face and the deep knife cut in one of Murray's arms. Murray was out cold, but Bentley saw the binocucomm and struggled feebly, "It's a trap, Sly!" Quickly, a thug cuffed the turtle hard in the temple. His head fell limply to his breast. He was unconscious.

PT came back, the same evil, twisted smile playing his lips. "Let's just say, my hospitality tends to wane the more it is used." The view suddenly went black, and Sly nearly threw the set across the van in rage. Using his friends – his brothers as bargaining chips for a hunk of silicon and plastic!

But that had to mean that they didn't have the computer yet. Somehow they had missed it when they had torn apart the van. Working with an energy born of desperation, Sly began to systematically work the van over for the second time in thirty minutes. With Carmelita's silent help, they sifted through every item in the van, and there was still no sign of the laptop. Gulping down his panic, Sly began thinking of the situation from Bentley's point of view. If he had spent several days working on cracking the secret files of a major crime lord, and said lord suddenly appeared to reclaim his property, what would be his first priority? Hide the goods. But where?

Suddenly thinking of the one place it could be, Sly pounced on the driver's seat and tore it out of its stabilizers. The cover for the secret compartment was slightly askew, and Sly knew he had found it. There, shunted underneath Carmelita's shock pistol, was the laptop that had caused so much trouble. He took out the pistol and set it aside, then took out the computer. It was still on, the screen not completely down. Sly unfolded it and saw that Bentley must have made some breakthrough on the security, because the files he had been trying to access were all open. Scanning the pages quickly, he realized why PT wanted it so badly. Better than a roster, the computer had every piece of information the police would need to hang PT. Schedules, maps, names, security codes – the works.

Sly sighed in partial relief. With this, he could get his friends back safe and sound. He was just slipping the computer into his backpack when he heard Carmelita move towards him.

"Don't do that, Sly." She was holding her shock pistol.

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A/N (again): Oooo, cliffhanger! So, this will be the first vote I've ever taken on one of my stories, the more respondents I get, the better. We have seen some violence in this chapter, (very little), and there is an opportunity for more in the next two chapters. The Question put to vote: On a scale from 1 – 10, how violent should this fic get? What do you, the readers, think would be appropriate for the plot?

Awaiting with bated breath, R.E.