Carmelita wondered if the sun had always been this bright.

After the long hours she had spent moving through the trees - after the crushing, total darkness at the bottom of the mine - it felt strange seeing the world in full colour again. There were barely any clouds in the sky, leaving an almost unbroken field of vivid blue ruled over by an unrelenting sun.

The baking rays illuminated the abandoned mining village at its busiest in years.

Hugo had come through, it seemed. Whoever Ramírez had told his team to turn to was well-chosen. A variety of city police had flown in, and were currently picking through the rainforest… alongside as many agents Interpol could dispatch here on such short notice. There were enough officers present, working together with stony focus, to sweep over every tree, every puddle, every singing insect.

She did it. Reyes and his men were all going to jail.

The mine was an open question. One she didn't want to ask. If she found out how things were going there, she would have to confront whatever that truth was. Carmelita decided she had earned a bit of ignorance, so she simply sat in the sun, hugging her new pistol, and waited for the world to catch up.

Her wounds offered a pretty decent excuse.

Her own first aid training had kept her going until two field medics had found her on the church steps. They, in turn, had tided her over until an appropriate transport could get her to a hospital. Carmelita didn't know what Venezuelan hospitals were like. She didn't dwell on that; she knew she would find out.

"I, uh, don't need to hear about that part. I've had my own share of awkward hospital visits in various weird corners of the globe… At least you actually spoke the local language."

"Didn't realise you were so squeamish, Ringtail. I won't get into how that went, if you can figure it out for yourself. But before I got there…"

There was, even now, a need to debrief.

To say this mission had not gone according to plan would be an understatement. An unknown but potentially high number of officer and civilian casualties… followed by thirty arrests, as the one person who dragged herself out of that mine unscathed proceeded to violate both the letter and spirit of the Interpol protocol regarding safety through numbers.

In other words, though Carmelita had done well, she had not respected the age-old institution of the buddy system.

She didn't know how this would all play out. For once, she hadn't been thinking about her career. She had been thinking of survival, her own and that of others, and she could only hope that would be reflected in the terrifying mountain of paperwork this debacle would generate.

If there were consequences, she would face them. If her journey out of that mine was only beginning, so be it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a shadow falling over her.

"What is this woman doing still sitting here?!" The voice was sharp and very familiar. "She's wounded! She should have been loaded into a medical transport an hour ago!"

The two medics scrambled to comply. They knew exactly who was in charge here, even if they hadn't met this particular officer before. Some people were just able to project their well-earned authority. It was a skill Carmelita hoped she could inherit, with practice.

Satisfied that her orders were being followed, the comandanta returned her attention to Carmelita. "Don't try to stand. I don't want you worsening one of your injuries."

Carmelita didn't return her gaze, or point out that 'one of your injuries' was a pretty pessimistic phrase. Technically, she was sporting a variety of scrapes and bruises, but there was only one wound of note. "…Understood."

A moment or two passed in silence. The elder officer regarded her intently. Carmelita wasn't looking at her expression, but she had a relatively good idea what emotions, if any, were on the woman's face.

When the question came, it was exactly what Carmelita had been expecting.

"Why didn't you stay at the orphanage?"

She had her answer ready. "Because tactically, I knew the risks of Reyes' men finding us there. I had an injured officer and several young civilians to keep out of harm's way. Sitting around and waiting for them to come to us was unacceptable." She rattled it off almost perfectly. Almost. "…Ma'am."

"As you say, it was quite likely. So what made you certain that, if you left, you could handle the entire situation by yourself? That the cartel wouldn't simply find an orphanage now missing the one person who could have defended it?"

Also a question Carmelita knew was coming. This time, though, she had no answer.

The comandanta sighed. "Listen to you talking about 'unacceptable risks'… And this is how you chose to contain the situation? You are aware, of course, of how heavily-armed these men were - how they were evidently willing and able to kill any officers in their way?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"So then, we're left with the same question: why? Why did you think you could handle this?"

Carmelita sat there, blood still gently oozing through her hasty bandages, and gave the question due thought.

She had no talent for lying. She had learned that long ago. In the steadily building heat of the morning, she only had the truth to work with. Her eyes rose, meeting the other woman's gaze properly for the first time.

"I didn't."

"You haven't contained the situation? There's something we've missed?"

She shook her head. "I didn't think I could handle it. I didn't have the luxury of thinking much at all. I just… put one foot in front of the other. Like I was taught. Ma'am."

It was an honest answer. That much was probably obvious. It earned a low sigh. "I see… I suppose that much is true. You did the best anyone could given the circumstances. If anything, your success is a testament to your dedication to training."

If Carmelita had been the sour, back-talking type, she would have asked if that was really so hard for the older officer to admit. Instead, she nodded. "Thank you."

"Even so… You do realise how much you were relying on blind luck here, don't you?"

"I do."

"As long as we're clear on that…"

There was a lull as they both watched a small squad of officers stomp through the village. Just like the mine it once served, this whole place was a relic. Somewhere that needed to be officially closed, so all the maps could be updated. Something about that turned Carmelita's stomach, just a little. The idea that what had happened here would be paved over. Then again, that might have just been the blood loss talking. It was easy to turn her stomach right now.

"I doubt," said the senior officer slowly, as though she had spent that entire pause readying herself to concede this, "that the other graduates of your academy training would have handled this quite as well."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"What was the name of that wolf you were saddled with for a while? Lang something? Him, for instance."

Carmelita allowed herself a thin smile. "If you say so, Ma'am."

"I do. You got lucky either way, no way around that, but that kind of officer would've gotten himself shot much sooner."

"I imagine so, Ma'am."

"Can we do a story about that guy next? Y'know, as a comedic change of pace."

"Not right now. But yes. Later."

"Hooray!"

"I'm surprised I didn't tell you about him sooner. Ridiculous man."

"A male cop who makes bad decisions? Revolutionary stuff. Definitely not something I've seen on every continent of this earth."

"You're right - let's finish this story first, will we?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Interpol knows you want more solo work, that you've been… gunning for it a for while, now." A rare expression of awkward uncertainty passed on the officer's face as she tried and failed to think of a less inappropriate phrase. "You've clearly demonstrated that you can protect yourself, and others. Commendable work."

If there was one thing Carmelita strove to be, it was commendable. Another teenage comment she managed to bite down.

"But you do realise that was never the issue, don't you?"

She squinted up at her superior. The wave of mild dizziness she felt didn't seem related to her injuries. "What?"

"You've always had exemplary scores for marksmanship, tactics… anything an officer needs to act alone. You've earned a bit of honesty, so I might as well admit to you: you've caught the attention of the commanders of some of the more… aggressive Interpol task forces."

Her tone made clear her thoughts on the best application of Interpol's time and funding. She had always stressed the need for fundamental initiatives which saw crimes solved and innocents protected… which was easy for her to say, as someone with one of the most dramatic careers in the organisation's history. Carmelita suspected sometimes that her appreciation for small, mundane operations was partly down to having to beat off movie deals with a stick.

"You've also earned a reprieve from my usual lecturing," she continued, "so I won't repeat what I've told you before about needing a wide variety of casework. You can handle dangerous situations. That's obvious. But still…"

The older woman's mouth twisted.

"Perhaps it would be best to rework your career trajectory somewhat. There's always a lot of activity around grand larceny. For as long as Interpol has been operating, and longer, so-called 'master thieves' have-"

"Wait." Carmelita's voice was still rusty, but she found what steel she could. "Thieves? But don't you think I can- Haven't I proven here that-?"

"Ssh." A warm hand found her own, easing her back into silence. "Now's not the time for that conversation. Or anything else, really…"

Her superior officer looked away for a moment, her hard brown eyes taking in the scene.

"The only thing that's been proven here," she said, "is that this job is no safer than it was when I was your age. There are terrible men out there who will do anything to gain power, and keep it. Anything."

Carmelita didn't need the reminder. Her thoughts were with Rosa and Hugo, being loaded into their own medical transports; with Aida and her children, who had come much too close to all this; and with Ramírez, Miguel, Edixon, and all those miners just trying to make a living. Dwelling on the last group felt more painful to her than her wounds.

"I'm proud of what you've managed here. But we'll have a long discussion about what comes next once you're on your feet again. Am I clear?"

"Yes," said Carmelita. "You are."

The older vixen nodded firmly. The way the sunlight framed her, lighting her face from behind and gleaming off her buttons and medals, gave her a somewhat unearthly look. It was like Carmelita was speaking to an old photograph, faded with time.

Then, with a final glance around just to confirm no-one was watching, Comandanta Zoe Hayek Fox leant down in a sudden but heartfelt hug.

"Get well soon, mija."

"Awwh…!"

"Mmh. Yeah."

"I guess only being soft behind closed doors is a family trait…" Sly notices her lack of enthusiasm. "Something the matter?"

"It's just… To this day, I'm not sure about my mother's reasoning. Was she really certain that pivoting to theft cases was the best thing for my career? Or was she just frightened about losing me?"

"You say that second one," murmurs Sly, "like it's a bad thing."

His hand finds her own. She doesn't pull away.

"I've always looked forward to having my own kids. And I'm sure, because they'd be my kids, that they'd be able to handle pretty much anything that came their way. Like me, like my folks, like all these incredible ancestors of mine I've read about. But…"

His eyes are serious. Sombre.

"Hearing a story from a different family, namely that terrifying adventure… Well, I do feel for your mom! You were nineteen years old and you went through all that, and almost completely alone too. You were clearly very talented - always have been, still are - but if your luck had gone another way, well…"

"Is that any different from the kinds of things you were doing at that age?"

"No," he laughs. "No, I was doing similar stuff, as you well know. Maybe I'm just being over-protective…"

He lays a hand softly on her face.

"But if your mom is anything like me, she was just worried about losing you. I certainly know my life wouldn't be anywhere near as enjoyable if that dirtbag had actually…"

He trails off, clearly unwilling to voice the thought.

"I'm glad you're okay," he says finally.

"You say that like I'm still recovering from all this. It happened a long time ago."

"Right. Sorry I forgot how you happily retired from the police after eight decades of service."

There's a pointed edge to his sarcasm, and she can tell that he won't back down. When she gives his perspective due consideration - something she's still learning to do, given everything - she has to concede he's got a point. "…I suppose it wasn't all that long ago."

"It's wild, right? How quickly everything you do can change? Granted, you and I haven't exactly led normal lives, but…"

"No. I see what you mean. For a while, it seemed I was going to be a junior constable in Interpol forever."

"Whereas I never even knew you as one. You were always Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox, hardened veteran." His smile is angelic. "Which made it much more fun to mess with you."

"Oh, of course. You would've gone easy on me if I was still just a constable, right?"

"Easier," he concedes, with a wide, wide grin.

She chuckles at that, and for a while they lapse into a warm silence. Carmelita reflects on where their relationship has ended up, which by definition means examining her own trajectory through life. That young, angry Constable with the hard eyes and the encyclopaedic knowledge of Interpol procedure, with the growling voice and no understanding of what drove men to evil… yes, even with her hair in a mohawk… She was recognisable. But she would never lie next to someone like Sly Cooper.

That's the first conclusion she comes to. The second is that while a great many experiences brought her from that point in her life to this one, few had been quite so… tense.

(There have been plenty, of course. But not all of them clear that high bar.)

"I should send them an email."

Sly sounds like he was almost dozing off. Maybe her initial joke about bedtime stories was on the mark after all. "Hmm?"

"Rosa and Hugo. It shames to me say that I lost contact with them pretty much immediately. I should let them know that I still remember what we went through, that I hope they've both been doing well."

She expects him to make some joke about how they could hardly be doing worse, or maybe needle the great Inspector Fox for going soft. Instead, he asks the inevitable question. "Just those two?"

"Just those two," she confirms.

"Damn."

"Edixon actually did get out of the mine. Some of the miners, too. But…"

She doesn't finish the sentence. Sly, in turn, doesn't ask about Ramírez, Miguel, or the rest of the mining crew. He's gotten more tactful over the years, and she appreciates it at times like these.

That's a necessary quality for him to hear a lot of her stories.

"Well. I can see why you were a little resistant to tell me any of this. Sorry if I pressured you, or anything…"

"No. Not at all. If anything, I'm glad I have someone who wants to hear about what happened to me. I… Mostly, I just carry around stories like this, remembering them without, you know, putting them back out into the world."

"You should take up writing," he says, and she laughs but he's fully serious.

"Wait, really?"

"Absolutely. I'm not about to make this into a contest, but as you know, I've been through plenty of unpleasant situations myself. You were there for a lot of them, something I am very thankful for, by the way…"

He really can't make a single point without detouring into a compliment. She finds it hard to complain.

"But putting pen to paper in the family book, trying to find the words to describe what happened to a future Cooper reading back over my life… I think it helped me process a lot of it. Didn't you ever wonder how I was so breezy about all the terrible things I went through?"

"I chalked that up to your boyish naïveté."

"I mean, that too, but…"

She sits on that for a moment. "I'll… think about it. It's fair to say that I'm, ah, a bit less introspective than you can be…"

"You are a brick through the world's window, and I love you for it."

"…but maybe revisiting these kinds of old incidents would be helpful, like you said. I certainly don't see the benefit of just dragging them around with me, like old weights. I'm getting too old to stay angry all the time."

"I hear that," he says, nothing playful in his tone.

For a few moments, they lie together in silence. Carmelita lets her memories settle in her mind. It's a mental drawer that she hasn't opened in some time, but now it's time to file everything away again. After one last intent examination, of course.

It had been painful. But painful experiences are necessary, she supposes. She never would have become Inspector Fox without the pain that young constable had pushed through. And without Inspector Fox, she wouldn't be the woman she is now.

"…Oh, hey," says Sly. "Out of curiosity - whatever happened to Lucero "delusions of devilish grandeur" Reyes? I'd never heard of him until today, so is he still in prison…?"

"Naturally. I made good on my promise. He had a fair trial, received multiple life sentences, and was transferred out of the country for his incarceration. Wound up in Russia, I think."

"Uh, wow. That'd do it, alright."

"It did. We didn't need to separate the rest of his cartel too much, with the ringleader removed… and humiliated. Hector and Rafael were both sentenced to general population jails within Venezuela. I remember Rosa talking about visiting him…"

"Huh? Who? Why?"

"Rafael." She sighs. "He was Rosa's brother."

"He was?"

"Yes."

"For the entirety of that story?"

"For as long as they have been alive, Sly. Yes."

"Was that what you were sometimes alluding to? The thing that fiery yet inexperienced Constable Fox totally failed to pick up on?"

She sighs again. "…Yeah."

"Wow. Everybody's out living their own dramatic story, I guess."

"Yes. Rosa's entire purpose in joining the police was to find where her brother had ended up, after he ran away from their childhood home as a teenager."

"And you just kinda… dealt with all that, by yourself. While Rosa was recovering from injuries. Without either of them having too much of a hand in things overall."

"Well," says Carmelita, "sometimes things end anticlimactically."