Sly Cooper: On Equal Ground ch 3

Author's Note: Sly 3: Honor Among Thieves, the events concerned, and the characters are all copyright of Sony Computer Entertainment America Inc., Sucker Punch Productions 2005, and any other groups/people who deserve the credit. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction.

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Sly Cooper: On Equal Ground
Chapter Three: On Equal Ground, Part One

In the dark reaches of semi-consciousness, Sly became dimly aware of himself once again. For a moment, he found himself debating whether or not that was a good thing—his entire world seemed to be nothing but a varied assortment of pain. His forehead throbbed in a pounding tempo; his muscles ached as though they were on fire; his mouth was desert-bone dry; intermediate bursts of dull pain blossomed from a collection of bruises across various parts of his body, and his side felt as though someone had struck it with a hammer coated in red-hot embers. Topping it all off was a deep-seated lethargy that left his arms and legs limp and useless, the heavy torpor threatening to pull him back into the sweet release of unconsciousness at any moment.

For a moment, the fog of half-consciousness filled Sly’s head, and he couldn't remember anything that had happened recently. A fight—he knew that much for certain. But he couldn’t remember with who, or over what. A few seconds passed…and then, like grains of sand cascading through an hourglass, the memories came flooding back...

...Breaking into the Cooper Vault...

...Making his way through the Ancestors' Gauntlet into the Vault's Inner Sacntum...

...The fight with Dr. M...

...Carmelita's unexpected arrival...

...Taking the blast that Dr. M had meant for her...

...And finally, passing out in the vixen’s arms...

Though Sly was half-dazed, he still had enough lucidity to be fairly surprised—when he had thrown himself between Carmelita and Dr. M, he’d half-expected the mandrill’s energy blast to kill him. But here he was, alive—badly injured, in pain, barely able to move…but miraculously alive. Moreover, as painful as his injuries were, it was nothing compared to the white-hot agony that he’d felt when Dr. M’s energy blast had struck him—as if something had deadened the pain since then, and begun the process of healing. That was something, at least.

At that moment, a strange sense of detachment fell over Sly as the mists of sleep started to crawl back into his mind, a silent promise of comfort and peace if he would only release his tenuous hold on consciousness and slip back into oblivion. It was a tempting proposition…but somehow, the master thief resisted. It wasn't just curiosity that kept him awake—wherever he was, he was practically helpless. So long as he was awake, he would be able to hear if his friends were nearby; he could call to them for help. If nothing else, at least he’d be awake for whatever fate had in mind for him.

Besides, it would be easy to just go back to sleep, to wait until he’d recovered completely—if he survived that long, wherever he was. And since when had he ever done things the easy way?

And so Sly willed himself to resist the lethargy that threatened to claim him, ignoring the aches and pains throughout his body as he clawed his way to full consciousness. After a long moment, he finally gathered the strength to open his eyes.

At first, things were dark and blurry. As the raccoon's vision began to swim back into focus, he realized that it was partially thanks to the fact that it was still night—he could make out the myriad luminous pinpricks of stars through the clouds that blended with the deep indigo-black of the night sky. To his right, a faint orange corona tinted the edges of the sky a deep umber-red, as though there was a large fire nearby. The cry of seagulls reached Sly’s ears, accompanied by the rhythmic crashing of the ocean’s waves as they met the shore in a foaming rush. Turning his head to the left and the right, Sly realized that he was lying on his back, reclining in soft, pillowy sand. From his current vantage point, he could see a couple of palm trees framing his field of vision, and colorful shells that were scattered across the sand.

However, what stood out the most for the master thief was that his head was resting in what felt an awful lot like somebody's lap, and a gloved hand was stroking his forehead with what could only be described as a hesitant tenderness.

"So you're finally awake, Ringtail."

For a moment, Sly didn’t almost recognize that voice, familiar though it was—it was soft and casual, as opposed to the bold, accusing harshness that he’d become so used to hearing. But there was no mistaking that spicy Latina accent. Despite the mild ache in his neck, the raccoon craned his neck…and sure enough, it was Carmelita. With a start, Sly realized that she was cradling his head in her lap, and that her gloved fingers were tangled in his hair. As he looked up at her, the raccoon couldn't help but find himself captivated by the expression on the Interpol vixen’s face…it seemed nonchalant enough, and yet—was it just his imagination?—Sly thought he saw a faint smile of relief curving those ruby lips, an emotion that seemed to be mirrored in her lovely amber-brown eyes as she gazed down at him. As he met her gaze, it occurred to Sly that he couldn't remember the last time he had seen her like this.

Come to think of it, he realized, this might be the first time.

Looking up at the beautiful detective that had hounded him for so long, Sly felt a surge of powerful emotions course through him. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but curiosity took the lead. "How long…?" he began, then stopped in astonishment at the hoarse, raspy thing that his voice had become. Swallowing a little, he tried again.

"How long was I out?"

Carmelita went quiet, her expression distinctly uncomfortable as she glanced away. "Long enough," she finally answered. "After you lost consciousness, the whole vault started coming down. I couldn't wake you up, so I had to carry you out. Dios Mio, it wasn’t easy—parts of the ceiling collapsing around us left and right, trying to find a safe path down the mountain, having to haul your ring-tailed culata the whole damn time—but I managed."

"Obviously." Sly paused to lick his parched lips, fighting to get his words out. "And…and you've been…watching over me ever since?"

At this, Carmelita's ears flattened, and she looked away again. "You're not getting away from me that easily, criminal," she huffed. Her voice seemed firm and certain, and yet…there was that subtle tone in her voice again; that softness which introduced a whole different meaning to her words.

Sly couldn’t help but smile as he looked at her. "Well, all the same, you saved my life. I'm grateful."

Carmelita didn't respond, but the raccoon could have sworn he saw the inside of her ears redden a little at his comment. Was she blushing, or was he just seeing things? Wanting to get a better look, the master thief tried to lever himself upright, but his limbs refused to obey him. Even as he slumped back to the soft sand, the sudden effort sent a stab of throbbing agony through his side. A faint gasp escaped from his muzzle, his features screwing up in a wince…and then suddenly Carmelita's paw was at his chest, both firm and gentle as it pressed him back down.

"Take it easy, Ringtail," the vixen admonished. "You're still hurt from that crazy little stunt of yours." Then she averted her gaze. "It's a miracle that you're still alive," she admitted softly. Another pause. "You want to sit up?"

Sly tried to answer, but his mouth felt too dry to work properly anymore. Unable to speak, he instead managed a small nod. The next thing he knew, Carmelita was grasping his shoulders and lifting him upright, gently easing him into a sitting position against what felt like a wall of solid rock. As if sensing Sly’s impending discomfort, the vixen took off her jacket and pushed it behind him, creating a makeshift pillow for the raccoon to rest his head against. As Sly shifted his neck to snuggle into the cushion of padded leather, he felt a strange tickling sensation running along his cheek—Carmelita’s paws, he realized; her slender fingers roaming through his cheek-fur. For a moment, their eyes met, and Sly felt his heartbeat quicken at the mixture of emotions in the vixen’s amber-brown pools—a veneer of stern disapproval that did little to hide the tender concern that lay behind it.

Then Carmelita’s paws withdrew; as they came back into Sly’s field of vision, he noticed that she was holding a small canteen marked by a badge-like star. Uncorking the flask, she held it up to the raccoon's muzzle.

"Drink this, Cooper," she told him. "You sound like you could use it."

The water flowed across Sly’s parched tongue and cascaded down his throat—despite being slightly lukewarm, it was the coolest, most refreshing thing that he could ever remember tasting. As the master thief drank gratefully, resisting the urge to take it in huge gulps, he let his eyes dart around to take stock of his surroundings. As the information from his senses had suggested earlier, they were outside, on the scenic shoreline of Kaine Island. Carmelita had found an outcropping of rock that provided some shelter from the elements, which was what he was now leaning against. It was a scenic spot—the ground was an endless expanse of soft white sand broken by multicolored shells; palm trees rose from the shore like curved, star-topped towers; and from where he sat, Sly found that he had a breathtaking view of the vast ocean and the star-swept night sky.

Swallowing the water, the master thief turned his attention from his surroundings down to his waist, where he had taken Dr. M’s parting shot. While the rich blue fabric of his shirt was still scorched away where the energy blast had struck him, the gray fur beneath was now wrapped tightly in pale green bandages. Lifting a paw to probe at them gently, Sly grimaced as another jolt of pain coursed through his abdomen—a jolt, he reflected absently, that didn’t seem anywhere near as intense as it ought to have been.

Carmelita seemed be reading his thoughts. "It's a new development from Interpol's R&D," she explained. "Field bandages laced with a mixture of aloe, painkillers, and clotting agents. It's no replacement for a hospital, but it can make all the difference in my line of work."

Sly managed a good-natured smirk. "So I can imagine," he noted, his usual velvet tones restored by the water. Closing his eyes, he chuckled wryly. "Who knew that your bedside manner would be so thorough?"

Carmelita blinked in surprise at his laughter. "What's so funny?" she demanded. "Don’t get the wrong idea, Cooper! I'm not letting you escape this time, you hear me?!"

Despite this, Sly's mirth proved infectious—before, Carmelita was fighting to stifle a giggle of her own, her shoulders shaking as she tried to glare at him in disapproval. The sight only fueled Sly’s own amusement, which seemed to break down Carmelita’s defenses even further…and before long, the two of them were laughing together. The exact reason for it escaped Sly—was it relief at being alive? Amusement at the situation he found himself in? Pent-up tension releasing itself? Whatever the reason, there was no stopping it, no matter how absurd it might be.

After a few minutes, their laughter gradually died down, giving way to an awkward silence that was broken only by the piercing cry of seagulls, the muffled crash of the deep azure waves as they lapped against the shoreline. Sly leaned back against the rock and let his gaze drift between the ocean and Carmelita—the vixen had started to busy herself with reloading her Shock Pistol, though the distant look in her eyes suggested that she wasn’t paying a lot of attention to her own actions. Turning his gaze skyward, Sly let his own thoughts turn inward, reflecting on his past with the Interpol Vixen. The strange thrill he’d gotten out of running from her whenever she chased him. Every time he’d flirted with her, only to slip back into the role of a criminal. It all led up to the revelation he'd had while facing death—both from Dr. M’s mutant, and from taking the bullet for Carmelita.

And now here they were. Alone together.

Inwardly, Sly took a deep breath. If he was ever going to act on his newfound understanding of what Carmelita meant to him—if he was ever going to make any kind of difference in their complicated relationship—it had to be now.

                                                                              ---==---

Carmelita knew what she should be doing right now. Sly was in no condition to run away, for once, and his partners in crime were nowhere to be seen. She had her Shock Pistol and her handcuffs. Her hired mercenaries were about ten minutes away, recuperating from their earlier battle with Dr. M’s giant monster. She’d never have a chance to finally bust the ring-tailed rata once and for all. All she had to do was slap the cuffs on him and call for backup. And that would be that—Sly Cooper, the one thief who’d eluded all her efforts to capture him, would finally be under arrest. It was that simple.

Except that she’d never seen him like this.

After all these years chasing him, some small part of Carmelita had started to believe that Sly was invincible—that no trap could hold him for long, that there was no danger he couldn't face. No matter what came his way, the thieving raccoon always seemed to walk away unscathed, as jaunty and confident as ever. It was as if all the bullets would always miss him, and he’d always find a way to escape no matter now impossible the odds. As aggravating as it was, Carmelita had to admit that maybe—maybe—it was a little comforting to know that her most elusive quarry could never die.

Until now. One look at Sly’s bandaged torso was all it took to remind Carmelita of just how close she’d come to losing him. Between the wound from Dr. M’s pulse cannons and the injuries he’d received from being flung into the catwalk, it was a miracle that the raccoon hadn’t been killed. Sure, no bones had been broken in the fall; and the chest wound had proven surprisingly shallow once Carmelita had gotten a good look at it—she could only assume Dr. M’s pulse cannon had been running low on power—but she was under no illusions. If she hadn’t had those field bandages on hand, it would have been an entirely different story.

Sly wasn’t invincible. He never had been. But he’d risked his life anyway.

For her sake.

She was still going to slap the cuffs on him, of course. Just…not yet. Not right now. She’d wait for him to recuperate. Thief or not, he deserved that much, even if she was going to arrest him.

Because she was. Really.

Shaking her head, Carmelita gave her Shock Pistol one last cursory glance, making sure that everything was in working order. Satisfied, she pushed her trusty sidearm back into its holster, then turned back to Sly. The master thief had been looking at the ocean thoughtfully—considering his options for escape, the cynical part of her mind insisted—but his ears twitched suddenly, and he looked back at her. There was something in those rich brown orbs that gave Carmelita pause—a quiet seriousness, instead of the witty charm and infuriating confidence she was so used to seeing. Something that silenced that cynical inner voice for a few moments.

For a few seconds, Carmelita almost forgot that Sly was a thief.

Without thinking about it, she reached out and gently ran her paws along his chest. "You didn't have to do that for me, you know," she said softly, her slender fingers moving of their own accord as they traced along the bandages that embraced his torso. "I’m sure I could have dodged that shot."

Sly shook his head. "You're wrong, Carmelita," he said quietly. "I did have to—and not just because Dr. M had you cold." Then he looked away, his expression somber. "I…owed you that much."

Carmelita blinked in surprise. "What are you talking about, Ringtail?"

"I'm talking about everything that's happened between us over the years," he replied. "We've been playing Cops and Robbers from the moment we first met—you've chased me all over the globe, and I've managed a narrow escape each time. In that respect, I've been as bold and cunning as any of my ancestors. But when it came to things between the two of us…" Closing his eyes, he sighed quietly. "…I've been a coward, Carmelita."

Carmelita wasn't quite sure she heard right. "A coward? You?" she asked incredulously. As far as she was concerned, some of the things that the ring-tailed thief had done had been pretty daring…

But Sly kept talking. "Sure, I've flirted with you," he mused quietly. "Sure, I've helped you when you were in serious danger. We even had an honest heart-to-heart after the whole Klaww Gang incident." Then he looked at her, his expression troubled. "But really, Carmelita…have I ever done anything to prove that I wasn't just toying with your heart?"

Carmelita blinked, taken aback by the question. "Well…" she began hesitantly.

The raccoon turned away, his expression one of genuine guilt. "I doubt it," he said softly. "And it's not like I haven't had the opportunity. There was that ten-second "head start" you offered back at the Krack-Karov Volcano. Then there was the dance in India. Both of those times, and more than once since then, I've had the chance to just…be with you. To be there for you. Rare, precious moments where our roles as thief and cop weren’t an issue…and did I do anything meaningful with them? Did I give you any kind of proof that I wasn’t just a thief taking advantage of you??"

Sly paused briefly, his features darkening as a note of self-reproach entered his voice. "Of course not. Instead, I kept messing with you, as though nothing would ever change and we had all the time in the—nngh!"

Abruptly, Sly doubled over and let out a sudden groan as he clapped a hand over his bandaged torso, eyes screwed shut and teeth clenched in a painful grimace—clearly, his rising agitation had aggravated his wound. Feeling a completely un-cop-like surge of concern for the master thief, Carmelita reached out to clasp his shoulder, holding him steady as he endured the pain. Instinctively, her other paw went to the one that Sly had pressed over his injured side, covering it gently.

"I told you to take it easy, Cooper," she admonished. However, there was no real force to her words—despite her hurtful memories of the incidents that Sly had mentioned, the vixen couldn't find it in her heart to berate him. Not when it was clear that he already felt so guilty about it.

Not after he had nearly died for her sake.

After a few seconds, Sly’s body relaxed as the pain subsided, and Carmelita released her hold. For a few seconds, an awkward silence reigned as Carmelita tried to think of something else to say. But Sly was ahead of her. Closing his eyes, he let out a rueful sigh. "I've been a fool," he finally admitted. "Until tonight, I was so caught up in the thrill of the chase that I didn’t see what really mattered all this time."

Carmelita felt her heartbeat quicken. "What do you mean?"

Sly opened his eyes and met her gaze. "You've always been unique, Carmelita," he said quietly. "I've been chased by the police ever since I took up my family’s mantle and became a master thief. But you, Carmelita, you’re different from the rest of them—you’ve always been hot on my tail, with the skills and determination to keep me on my toes. And believe it or not, you’re actually really unpredictable—I mean, I’ve always figured I’d run into you, but I’ve never been able to predict where or when. In a way, I owe you…I’ve had to hone my skills and improve my abilities just to stay one step ahead; and not being able to predict you was what helped me learn how to think on my feet. If anyone from Interpol could catch me, it'd be you."

Then Sly paused, his expression thoughtful. "But there's more to it than that," he confessed. "It's because of who you are, Carmelita—your fiery passion, your honest devotion to justice, all combined with your undeniable beauty…" The raccoon let out a wistful sigh. "It wouldn't matter if I'd just made the greatest heist of my entire career…things just wouldn't be the same if you weren't there to chase me. I just never realized just how much you meant to me…until tonight."

Carmelita felt herself blush beneath her fur. Despite the cynical side of her mind screaming that this had to be another of Sly's tricks—that he was just trying to weasel his way out of arrest, just like always—she couldn't help but be flattered by the ring-tailed thief's charming words. Unbidden, the memory of when the two of them had been alone in the Interpol helicopter after the Klaww Gang incident sprang to mind, reminding her that it wouldn't be the first time that the ring-tailed thief had been completely honest with her. And now? After the bold sacrifice he'd just made for her? Was it so hard to believe that he was telling the truth…?

"Sly…?" Carmelita asked softly.

With a slight groan, the master thief shifted again, leaning back against the makeshift pillow of the borrowed jacket. "That's why I had to risk my life for you back in the vault," Sly said quietly, his deep brown eyes reflecting a heartfelt sincerity as they met hers.

"Because I love you, Carmelita Fox."

To Be Continued…