It's not that I don't trust you. It's just that I don't trust you.


This cop was nuts.

That was the only reasonable explanation Sly could come up with as they drove back towards Mesa City. Her hands were tight on the steering wheel and she stared down the road ahead like it might get her to destination faster if she intimidated it enough; never mind the fact that she was going the exact speed limit and not a mile over.

Like he'd called her earlier – weird.

But being a stickler for driving rules or even going back to a city that would gun her down in an instant weren't what made her nuts. What made her nuts was risking her entire job for a stranger like him. Her boss hadn't exactly been quiet on the phone even before he'd started yelling, and Sly had heard pretty much all of it. She hadn't been lying about what was at stake.

What kind of cop put their badge on the line for that? Certainly not any he'd ever met. Which, admittedly, was not all that many, but he could still attest to the fact that law enforcement was corrupt across the world.

The thought made his expression twist in bitterness, and the fox must have noticed because she finally glanced his way.

"If you'd rather not go back to Mesa, I understand," she said gently, like he needed comfort or reassurance. He nearly rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine. Just thinking."

"About what?"

Now he did roll his eyes. "Nothing that's any of your business."

"I'm just trying to make conversation," she huffed. "You don't have to be so difficult about everything, you know."

Difficult. Sly clenched his teeth even as his tone came out completely unaffected. "Everyone I've ever met has called me difficult. Difficult is practically my middle name."

To his surprise, the quip brought out a tiny breath of a laugh from her. The cop seemed just as caught off guard by the reaction, but leaned into it instead of backing off.

"That sure is an interesting middle name," she quipped back with a hint of a smile on her face. It was enough to make him relax in his seat just the smallest amount.

"What can I say? I'm an interesting guy."

"I'll say." There was a brief pause as she tapped a finger against the steering wheel. "I should have expected that from someone named Sly."

Sly couldn't read the tone in which she'd said that, but he could hear the emphasis she put in it, and it had him tensing all over again. It was very rare the Five used his first name, and even rarer it was for any good reason. He crossed one leg over the other despite the lack of room in the car and tried not to show how uncomfortable hearing the word out loud was making him.

"What, you don't like my name?" He asked, hiding the jitter in his voice under a thick layer of teasing.

"It's not that!" Inspector Fox hurried to say, as if she'd upset him somehow. "It's just – an unusual name. Unique. 'Sly'. Do you have a last name just as unique to go with it?"

Yes.

"Nope," he said, popping the "p" as loud as he could just to be extra annoying. "And I'm not telling it to you, so don't bother asking."

"Why not?"

She asked it so sincerely, like she truly didn't understand why someone wouldn't want to give their full name to a cop. As if she'd never been faced with the danger of her identity being known by someone who could and would do her harm over it. It should have pissed him off, but instead it left him wondering once again how she'd gotten so far in her career without knowing the way the world worked.

"Names have power," the raccoon eventually settled on. God, he was already regretting telling her what little he had about himself, innocuous as it was. "Truth be told, I'm not the biggest fan of mine."

And yet here he was, telling her more. What was wrong with him? He wasn't usually this careless.

She glanced at him again, surprised and searching, but he was done letting anything else slip. All she'd find was a stone wall of emotion.

"Well…" the fox said, more hesitant than he would have expected. "I'll try not to use it too often, then. How's that sound?"

He shrugged and leaned farther back in his seat. "You can do whatever you want. It doesn't matter to me."

The conversation petered out as they passed a giant "Welcome to Mesa City" sign that had been vandalized to say "Muggshot City" instead. After a few minutes of grim silence, the cop spoke up again.

"Ugh. Why do criminals always advertise their location in the dumbest, most obvious way possible?"

Sly couldn't help the almost inaudible chuckle at her words.

"Because guys like Muggshot are always more interested in bragging about themselves than keeping things on the down-low. I doubt he even knows the meaning of the word 'subtle'."

Inspector Fox gave him a look as she parked against the street. "You say that like you've met him."

"I've met his goons," he replied without missing a beat. "You saw how they were."

"True," she admitted with a hum, stepping out of the car and clicking the safety off of her shock pistol, "but that doesn't necessarily mean that he's the same way…even though one of his aliases is Meathead Muggshot."

"Pretty sure you don't earn a name like that if you're the gold standard of criminal intelligence."

"Can't exactly argue with that."

They both took a moment to look up and down the street, paranoid that someone else might be out here despite the fact that they were still on the outskirts of the city. When no mobsters came rushing out of abandoned buildings, Sly rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck.

"So, what's the plan?"

He watched as the inspector slowly scanned the skyscrapers ahead of them. Her eyes fell on something in particular and he didn't even have to follow her line of sight to know what she was looking at.

"We start there," she announced, pointing at the giant, green, gaudy neon sign of Muggshot's own name in the far distance. "Sometimes the most obvious place is where the target really is hiding."

"Can't argue with the detective on that one."

It was a little relieving that despite her being dense on some things, she still had enough awareness to follow the big green beacon that was the mob dog's place of residence. If he was lucky, he wouldn't have to nudge her in the right direction at all, and then they could both go on with their lives peacefully and separately before the night was over.

But he still mentally came up with some excuses for the knowledge he had, just in case she asked.

"Are you coming?" Inspector Fox asked, throwing him a glance from over her shoulder. She was already walking with purpose in the direction of the distant hotel.

"Yeah, I am. Just zoned out for a moment."

Sly jogged until he was on pace with her and flipped his hood up over his ears. It was a familiar comfort.

"Why are you covering your head?"

"Aesthetic," said completely expressionless. The mask sitting at the base of his neck, he decided to leave down for now. There wasn't much of a point in hiding his face when everyone in the city already knew what he looked like.

She stared at him with an arched eyebrow. "Is your 'aesthetic' supposed to make you look like some kind of crook?"

"I dunno," he drawled right back, "is your crop top supposed to be a good representation of Interpol dress code?"

The raccoon watched with great satisfaction as her face went red. She turned away from him and they walked on in silence.

Said silence was soon broken by a very loud, very familiar voice calling from some distant outdoor speaker.

"Yo! Hey, yo, yo, it's the boss!"

They froze simultaneously at the sound of Muggshot himself and ducked into the nearest alley together. Sly's entire body was stiff like a springboard and he watched Inspector Fox hold her pistol close to her chest at the ready.

"Ya know, I'm the first to admit that maybe driving everyone out of town, while necessary to set up shop, mighta taken a hit outta the business. So!" The mob boss paused a moment like he'd lost his train of thought in the middle of his speech. "Now, I'd hope you mugs would be o-bli-ged to any visitors that come here to lose their money in my casino. But!"

Another pause that made Sly's hackles rise under his hoodie. He knew that kind of pause all too well – it was the kind where Muggshot was barely keeping himself from caving the nearest wall in with one angry punch.

"I got a reliable tip that a cop might be snoopin' around the operation. So from now on, greet any "visitors" you see with a hail 'a lead! Capiche?"

The speech ended abruptly with a shriek of microphone feedback, and the streets fell quiet once more. The raccoon physically forced himself to loosen up so he wouldn't jump at the next smallest thing. He locked eyes with the cop, who also looked like she had just been three bad beats away from a heart attack.

His mouth twisted upwards in a wry smile. "Well, guess we know that they know you're here, huh?"

"Guess so," she replied with a tense exhale. He was amazed to see that despite knowing the entire city now had a hit out on her, her hands were still steady as they held her weapon. "That just means we'll have to be extra stealthy from here on out."

"Stealthy is practically my middle name."

"Your other middle name, you mean?"

"I'm a man of many talents." He jerked his head in the direction they were heading, pretending not to see the tiny smile on her face at the same time that she rolled her eyes. "Come on. We should get going before we're caught standing out here like a couple of idiots."

They kept moving after that with very little talking, intimately aware of how much they stuck out and how trigger happy the criminals would be after their boss gave them the go-ahead to shoot first and ask questions later. Alerting even one dog to their presence could easily alert the entire pack, and neither were eager to face a fox-and-raccoon hunt anytime soon.

It took over an hour of sneaking and hiding and taking alternate routes to avoid mobsters by the time they finally reached the crime boss's personal hotel.

The front doors of the building were boarded up – not to ward off any potential trespassers, Sly knew, but because Muggshot had broken them wide open in a fit of rage and just hadn't gotten around to fixing the gaping hole. He leaned against a rusty old truck in the parking lot as the cop went to examine it.

"The lights are on inside," she noted, peering between the cracks of the wooden planks. "And I can see a few dogs, too, but not their leader."

Sly shrugged even though she wasn't facing him and folded his arms. "I doubt he'd be easy to find after learning you're here. Not to mention, if this is his base…"

He glanced up at the tall building. There was a window on the topmost floor with bars across it, barely noticeable unless one knew where to look.

"...He's probably not going to be on the first floor. He'd keep his valuables a lot higher up than that."

Inspector Fox let out a contemplative hum, still checking out the barricaded front for any sign of weakness and barely paying him any mind. He watched the way the dim street lights made her dark hair seem to shine as it bounced against her back with every move she made, and thought about how bizarre it was that she was so unconcerned with having her back turned to him. It would be very easy to pull his cane out of his backpack and take her down from behind before she even knew what hit her; a quick, simple getaway before she could learn anything about him.

Sly exhaled quietly through his nose instead of doing that, and eyed the empty parking lot for incoming mobsters. Idiot, arrogant cop.

"I could break through this without too much trouble," she said to herself, oblivious to the raccoon's thoughts. She placed her palm against the makeshift wall. "But I don't want to risk alerting anyone inside of my presence if I can't guarantee Muggshot is in there, too."

She wouldn't find her target in that building without outside help, he knew. The bulldog might be a meathead, but even he had enough braincells to make the only way up to the top floor of the hotel a secret one.

Before he could even think about how to tell her what she needed to know without incriminating himself, there was a sudden cacophony of voices in the distance. Both of them were quick to hide behind the truck Sly had just been leaning against, right as a group of five dogs came walking across the nearest bridge towards the parking lot.

The mobsters were arguing amongst themselves in a way that it was impossible to tell whether they were actually being aggressive or just needling each other; more than a few snarling jaws and clenched fists were being shaken. Raccoon and fox both watched from where they were crouched behind the truck as the group stopped as one for a smoke break.

Then Sly saw a terrier. A terrier he recognized. One of the dogs who had pulled him out of his room and unintentionally set him on the path to freedom.

That dog was in charge of maintenance in the hotel. He had one of only two copies of the keys to the secret elevator; the other would be snug in Muggshot's pocket. If Inspector Fox was going to have any chance at reaching the mob boss, she'd need that key. He nudged her and pointed as carefully as he could towards the terrier once he had her attention. He watched how her eyes widened, then narrowed, as she too recognized one of the goons who had attacked her.

The group finished their break and began to split up – a few headed back up the bridge while the terrier and two others went into a building neighboring the hotel. Sly knew without looking that it was the casino Muggshot had been diligently working on for months.

"We need to follow that terrier," he said once they were sure the dogs were long-gone. "He knows how to find Muggshot."

Inspector Fox gave him a sharp, suspicious look. "He does? How do you know that?"

"I heard him bragging about it to his buddies when they were hauling me around the city."

It was a tiny lie, but it worked. The cop accepted it with nothing more than a determined nod.

"Right. Then we better hurry before we lose him." She vaulted over the truck's hood and started running for the casino. Sly ran after her, startled by her sudden gung-ho after all her careful stealth through the rest of the city.

There weren't any guards outside or inside the casino's front doors, which was a small relief, but the moment they passed the front lobby onto the open floor, they could see dogs all over the place. Most were gambling at slots or playing cards, too distracted to have noticed the newcomers, but the sight of so many enemies still made Sly's heart beat like a drum.

He wasn't going to get caught. He couldn't afford to get caught. Never again.

The two of them ducked behind an unattended slot machine, scanning the area for the terrier. The layout of the casino was strange; although they had entered it at ground level, there were balconies overlooking rooms below them. Either this place had been built on the side of a hill, or Muggshot had sunk a lot of money into spelunking.

Inspector Fox tensed in anticipation, peering over the side of the railing.

"Down there," she whispered, pointing to one such lower level. Sly followed her finger to see their target pacing back and forth in front of a comically huge jackpot machine that rotated round and round in a circle.

It wouldn't be too difficult to find the stairs from here, he figured. There were plenty of things to provide cover, and most of the dogs were so absorbed in their gambling that it would be child's play to sneak past them. The raccoon was already putting together a plan in his head, when his "partner" suddenly shifted her weight beside him.

He turned just in time to see her vault herself over the balcony.

What the hell?! Sly scrambled to the edge of the platform, watching in horror as the cop landed heavily right behind the terrier.

The dog jumped three feet in the air but she was already barreling over him, knocking him flat and pinning him down with her full weight. Before he could even think to yell or bark, the fox covered his mouth with her free hand. Her other hand she used to jam her shock pistol against his back.

She was too far away for Sly to hear what she was saying, but he could see her lips moving rapid-fire as she spoke to the stunned terrier. In all honesty, the raccoon couldn't blame the guy for the reaction; he was just as shocked by her audacity.

What was she trying to do with a stunt like that – announce herself to the entire casino and get them both caught?!

He forced his pounding heart to slow down, if only so he could stay fully alert. None of the other dogs on either floor had seemed to hear the fox's loud entrance, or they had brushed it off as nothing. No one came running to check on the commotion. Sly exhaled, long and slow, and looked over the railing again to find his own quick, preferably quieter way down.

It was only as he was lining himself up for a drop that he saw the shadow fall over Inspector Fox from behind.

There was no time to even think to call out a warning – a large meaty fist slammed into the side of her head with all the force of a truck. The fox crumpled like a soda can, falling limply onto the carpeted floor as Tony, the bullmastiff who had led Sly's kidnapping, stood triumphantly over her with a snarling smile. His terrier buddy crawled out from under her looking white as a sheet. Neither of them had even noticed the raccoon balanced on the railing above and behind them.

Sly had a sudden, perfect moment of clarity.

He could leave, right now, and no one would ever know he'd been here. He could leave the cop to her fate and flee like he should have when she'd first offered to take him with her. He'd be free of her, and her incoming Interpol squad, and these mobsters, and Muggshot, and the Fiendish Five, and maybe even –

His chest ached.

The raccoon looked down at the scene beneath him. He stared at Inspector Fox, and for a single second he wasn't seeing the cop who'd rescued him laying dazed on the floor. He was seeing the cop who'd confronted him slumped against the wall of a police station, surrounded by fallen comrades and their own lifeless blood.

Sly took a deep breath and jumped before he could change his mind.

He landed silently on a slot machine right behind Tony. Neither dog picked up on his presence, too preoccupied by their catch. Their ears didn't even twitch as the raccoon slowly reached behind him into his backpack and pulled out a gleaming golden hook.

"Can't believe she came back," the terrier muttered, still very much shaken up if the nervous twitching of his nose was anything to go by. "Who's stupid enough to come back to a city that wants you dead?"

"A cop, that's who." Tony crouched next to the fox and wrapped his hand around her neck just as she was starting to come back to herself.

A button at the base of the hook was pressed. It unfolded into a cane with the tiniest 'click'.

"Don't move!" The bullmastiff growled when Inspector Fox began thrashing under his grip. "We got orders to shoot you on sight, but I think the boss would love ya hand-delivered on a silver platter. Course, if ya struggle too much, I just might think you're not worth the effort."

"Do you think the raccoon is still with her somewhere?"

Said raccoon sank into a crouch, taut with energy.

"Doubt it. If that brat's smart, he already ditched the cop and high-tailed it outta here. He's probably long gone from Mesa."

Hello irony, my bitter old friend.

Sly shot forward like a rocket, swinging his cane down as hard as he could in a perfect, practiced motion. It smashed against Tony's skull so hard the vibrations ran right back up through the cane and into his arm. The bullmastiff was out cold in an instant and dropped to the ground with a loud thud.

The terrier stumbled backwards with wide eyes, hands reaching to his belt for a weapon, but he was too slow. Sly leapt at him with a sideways swing, and the smaller dog went down just as easily as his comrade had.

Inspector Fox coughed on the floor beside him, on her hands and knees with her hair shrouding her face and hiding him from view. Sly immediately folded the cane back up and put it away just in time for her to look up at him with cloudy eyes that were already clearing at a rapid rate.

"Sly…? What just –"

"We gotta go." He rooted through the terrier's pockets and closed stiff fingers around a large, heavy key. Then he grabbed the fox by her forearm and hauled her to her feet. "We got what we came for but we gotta go!"

Luckily, she didn't need any more prompting. The two of them hurried out of the room and through the nearest doors they could find, which lead them into a back alley surrounded by skyscrapers. Sly let go of Inspector Fox and watched as she leaned against a stack of tires, trying to catch her breath and reorient herself.

"Are you – okay?" She asked between gulps of air.

"I should be asking you that. You're the one who got a nasty blow to the head."

"You're shaking."

The raccoon looked down at himself. Tremors were running through his hands where they sat limp at his sides.

"Huh," he said, distantly, as the adrenaline subsided and realization caught up. "Guess I am."

Inspector Fox pressed a hand to her head, running her fingers carefully along where she'd been struck. There wasn't any blood in her fur but she still grimaced at her own touch.

"I'm definitely going to have a big knot here in a few hours," she muttered unhappily, "but I think I was just dazed by the hit. No concussion from what I can tell."

"You can tell with that kind of thing?"

"I'm not as disoriented as I should be. No drowsiness, no loss of balance, and only a little dizziness. The headache is the worst part and I can shrug that off."

"If you say so." Sly looked up past the tall buildings, where a monstrous parade balloon of Muggshot was tied to some distant place, silhouetted against the evening sky. He closed his eyes and willed his shaking away.

"I asked that dog where to find Muggshot," Inspector Fox interrupted his brief meditation, making him crack one eye open. "He said something about a secret way to the penthouse from the first floor, but I didn't get the chance to ask anything else before his friend knocked me flat."

"Oh, yeah, that. Here." The raccoon held out the comically large key. "Pulled this off of him after I saved you. Pretty sure it's for whatever he was talking about."

She took it and turned it over in her palm, studying it. "I've never seen anything like this. I'd bet you're right, that it is for that secret way up. Nice quick thinking."

"It was nothing," he said, because it was the truth. "Easiest thing in the world."

"Well, thank you." The cop paused. "And…thank you for rescuing me."

"Oh – yeah. No problem."

"You shouldn't have had to put your life on the line for me," she continued. "I was reckless and put you in harm's way. I promise I won't let it happen again."

Sly shifted, uncomfortable. "Yeah, well…it's fine. It wasn't a big deal. I wasn't going to just let them kill you."

He very pointedly did not meet her eyes, opting instead to look around the alley they'd found themselves in as he tried in vain to make the strange, sudden knot in his chest go away.

"We should probably get going before those goons wake up," he said quickly, before she could fill the silence with questions he didn't want to answer – or even think about. "Don't know how much time we have before they sound the alarm and this place gets swarmed."

Inspector Fox opened her mouth, then closed it, then nodded. She pocketed the special key and they started making their way back towards the hotel. Sly was content to let the silence linger between them, but after a few minutes of not running into any other dogs, the cop seemed to have a different idea.

"You know…" she started, almost hesitantly, "I was thinking about that conversation we had earlier about names and you not liking yours."

Oh, we're on this subject again. "Yeah, I remember."

"What about nicknames?" The fox asked. "Are you a fan of those?"

"I'm familiar with them." If insults and derogatory words counted as nicknames. "Why, you got something in mind?"

"How does…how does 'ringtail' sound?"

That made him stop walking to stare at her. Inspector Fox stopped as well, looking suddenly a little uncertain.

"I don't mean anything offensive by it," she was quick to say. "It's just – you mentioned earlier that you're not a fan of your name, and I saw the way you tensed every time I used it."

Dammit. His poker face needed serious work, it seemed. He could practically hear Mz. Ruby hissing over his shoulder about how easy he was to read, even now.

"And since you saved my life – since we're doing this together," the cop continued, snapping him out of the thought, "then some familiarity is in order. It's a bit of a habit I have with the people I work with."

"You saying I'm a c – an officer now?"

"Associate. You're an associate," she stressed like it would physically hurt her to even joke about him being a cop. One thing they could agree on, at least. "So…ringtail, if that's okay. And you're welcome to come up with something for me if you think of anything."

Ringtail. Not as common as things like "runt" or "brat", but not so unfamiliar it felt foreign on his ears like his first name did. Sly shrugged and pretended the knot in his chest wasn't loosening from something as stupid as nickname.

"Ringtail works."

"Really? You don't mind it?"

"Nah. If it works for you, it works for me." He put his hands in his hoodie's front pocket and made a point to turn his walk into a saunter. "As for you, I'll probably just stick to 'Inspector Fox.' It rolls off the tongue too nice to ditch."

"As much as I appreciate the respect for the title, you don't have to be so formal. You can use my first name."

"….Eh. I'll think about it."

They fell back into silence, broken only by the occasional distant gunshot. Inspector Fox, apparently recovered from her little mishap faster than expected, took the lead with steadfast steps, and the raccoon easily kept pace behind her like a shadow.

Something about the conversation was tugging at him in an odd way, and it took him a moment to realize why; she was treating him as an equal. This cop who'd known him for only a few hours had given him a nickname like she did for anyone she worked beside. It had only happened because he'd saved her, sure, but the fact still stood.

Sly kept his eyes locked on the back of her braided hair and pushed the thought firmly away. What one random cop thought of him didn't matter when they were only going to know each other for another hour at best. He'd show her the way to Muggshot, she'd wait for her team to come sweep up the place, and he'd disappear during the confusion with pages of the Thievius Raccoonus and his own hard-earned freedom.

One naïve, well-intentioned cop wasn't going to change that. Not for all the respect in the world.


A/N: I'm back baby! This damn chapter went through three whole rewrites because I just could not decide what I wanted. At first the duo was going to confront Tony, Inkspot and Spark on the rooftop with the crane from the "Straight to the Top" level and Sly was going to pilot the crane to save Carmelita, but that got too convoluted. Then, I tried putting the confrontation in the "Duel By the Dragon" level for the fun parallels since Sly and Carmelita are working together instead of against each other, but it wasn't quite clicking the way I hoped it would.

So at the end, I just decided to use one of the most iconic places in the game and went for Boneyard Casino. Even pulled Carmelita's jumping-off-a-balcony bit straight from a speedrun strat lmao. Rewriting game scenes to novel form is hard.

Thank you all for your patience! From here on out I think I'll release chapters on Sundays instead of Fridays. It will give me more time to finalize them before posting with the way my job schedule is set up right now. Until next time!