Work Text:
This is the worst, most infuriating day in Carmelita's whole life. More like week at this point, after spending so much time in mids of Indian rain forest in middle of the worst humidity possible, with her only company being Neyla and Contessa's men. She had been suspicious of how the warden had so readily been able to lend them more firepower after Rajan had proven himself threat, alongside with Cooper sticking his nose in their business.
Not to say about her own presence in gala, though she had assumed it to be cause of Interpol's paranoia after losing Cooper and his gang in Paris, despite getting not as big, but still same kind of filth, Lousteau, behind bars.
No, it wasn't that, she had learned in very harsh way when Neyla had turned against her, very intently offering photo of her dancing with the damned ringtail in that gala as evidence of her being corrupt. And Contessa buying it, even if she herself had watched Neyla dance with him moments before.
And so, as Contessa's men oh so helpfully to the tigress twist her arms back, Carmelita Montoya Fox, ex-inspector but not by her own choice, knows that this day will be immortalized as the worst possible day ever. Not even Krakarov, as much as she hates the ringtail for cuffing her to that railing by the mouth of active volcano, could top this off.
And speaking of that, even if she hates to think about him right now, she really needs to have her mind off the disgusting man holding her still. So she looks where the rest of troops have heaved up the two thirds of the Cooper gang.
Murray wears the look of betrayed same way he wears his heart. Carmelita doesn't know him that well, hasn't ever had the need, but as much as the hippo is the muscle, he to her understanding is also the one to worry the most, if anything about post-battle in Krakarov (again, that damned place) was true. He stands, eyes wide and avoiding Neyla's, who stands to the side. Hand on her hip she talks on radio with who Carmelita can assume to be Chief Barkley, her mouth thin line in satisfaction.
Hippo's eyes divert to ground next to himself, where he had laid his friend after hauling him up with himself from the pit.
Sly himself hasn't stirred from his wounds. Around him are few of the men, some grouched almost over his body, assessing the damage. Not helping, because if anything indicates their inability to do any good it's the way her arms are starting to bruise. But on the other hand, they aren't making him worse either, at least yet. Seems they want him alive after all.
And if the very visible lightning strike aimed straight through him hasn't killed him yet, she has to worry how much they will end up pushing the luck. Yes, she wants him behind the bars as soon as possible, but she wants him to face the justice, not the inability of making wise choices on prisoner care.
God, would it kill him to just loosen his grip slightly-
Neyla's at instant in front of her. She has to bite her tongue from stringing together very colorful variety of words that won't land her in any better situation. Instead the noise comes out as a mixture of growl and hiss, almost as irritated but much more tame. Neyla just stands and watches, all of the professional front collapsing to give a way for a smug smile.
"Well now Ironsides, I wouldn't irritate our audience."
The nickname falls flat, almost as she'd intended it to. Crowd of the men burst into cackles, howling from the side of clearing. Neyla lets them laugh on her expense, but silences them after few seconds with very intended flick. Had she been holding her whip, it wouldn't be surprise to see one of their faces get makeover.
She leans back into her space, her mouth opening to say something that will only add salt into her wounds. Low, almost silent groan catches their attention.
Sly has started to stir awake.
Neyla turns on her heels, approaching the thief. Carmelita breaths out, thankful that she didn't need to hear another round of Neyla's insults. The world didn't miss anything of worth, that is for sure.
Sly blinks his eyes open. Then he launches up, almost to his feet only to notice multiple crossbows aimed into his face. He falters, falling to lie down only propped up by his elbows. He looks around, panic shining in his eyes as he tries to understand what is happening. He finds first Murray, who tries to make himself as small as possible, and then his eyes shift on her, widening at the sight.
Neyla steps between them, not even bothering to address him on his level.
"Well well, isn't this a sight to wake up: Cooper gang at the hand of justice."
Sly's ears pin back as another round of laughter lefts surroundings ringing. His tail twitches.
"I wouldn't do anything," Neyla leans in, to stare him closer, "or the big guy gets it."
Like rehearsed, couple guards shift their crossbows to point at Murray. He glances at them, trying to put a brave face on but it falls almost immediately.
Sly stares, his muscles tense. One of the guard's lets his finger fall on the trigger. Murray closes his eyes.
Sly's shoulders sag.
"Just like I thought," Neyla straightens up, smug look on her face as the guard retreats his movement. Murray looks hesitantly at Sly.
Sly stares the ground, his fists tightening.
"Deal with them," Neyla waves her hand. Couple rush forwards, apprehending the thief, as Neyla walks back to her.
She really has to find the strength to only look up at her eyes, because she won't give the edge over herself easily to snake like Neyla.
"I looked up to you," she says, so quiet that it is clearly for her ears only, "So sad it came to this, am I right?"
She growls, as Neyla's fingers caress her cheek. She gives her vicious smile.
"Don't worry," her voice is like tar being applied over wounds, "Contessa will take good care of you."
Said warden looks over the procedures that are being finished. Her face is carefully indifferent, but clearly she is not plased with how fast her men move.
"Finally," Contessa's eyes are glued on the two members the instant things are done, "Now, get them over quickly. This operation has taken too long already."
Sly sways on his feet next to Murray. Neyla eyes them critically, before setting her eyes on her.
"She on front." Her eyes swivel to Sly. "Cooper in middle and the hippo behind. Catch him if he starts to fall."
Last part is directed at Murray, and layered in cruel sarcasm, seeing how their hands are behind their backs.
Murray's shoulders fall further down.
Only by the halfway of their trek Carmelita realizes that no one has read them their rights.
After long, infuriating walk of swinging between going too slow for their guards' liking and too fast for Sly's unstable legs, they finally exit the thick undergrowth of the rainforrest.
Two armored trucks wait them, along with normal troop transportation. The waiting men stand up straighter the instant Contessa appears, and ones on look out snap to attention. They're waved off, and they scurry away to make preparations for the long drive.
Neyla has started to direct where she wants everyone to travel. Carmelita is directed towards the truck that is on the left, with Murray standing next to it, multiple crossbows eagerly waiting for him to slip up.
"No," Contessa speaks for the first time after leaving the clearing, "put those two together. I need the hippo alone."
Only indicator of Neyla's irritation is the slight curl of her mouth and the fur starting to stand up. Then she looks at her and Carmelita truly hates the look she gets into her eyes.
"Sure," she meanders, "Let it sink in with Carmelita how low she has stepped down."
Now, that-!
She is yanked back by the guard holding her.
Neyla laughs at her attempt, "See you around, Ironsides. And by that I wish, never."
Meaning is not lost from either one.
She is wrestled into the armored truck, restrains tightened into her handcuffs and legs. No tugging can help the uncomfortable feeling.
Then she looks up and straight in front of her sits him. In all his beaten up glory. And the realization strikes almost as fast as the anger of how this is his fault yet again-
This is the first time she has ever sat directly across him.
How many times she has dreamed of this exact thing happening. Her, across him. They both sitting in interrogation room, both of their endings clear. She? Promotions. Her career's crown jewel in terms of arrests. He? Prison time, undecided amount but long sentence none the less. The world's at peace, thieves and robbers in far distance from the polices. Black and white strictly where they belong.
How dare Neyla twist that dream into the nightmare this moment is.
The doors slam close, leaving them into dim darkness. She can hear his breaths, still slightly labored from pain but getting stronger, as the truck rumbles to life under them.
First few minutes are shared in awkward silence, Sly testing his bonds and her sulking, staring very intently the bare walls.
After what she estimates to be over half hour, he too slumps against wall, unable to maneuver around the locks yet. She wonders if the hit to head affects him more than he has led on. And hit to shoulder. And back. His whole body is probably screaming from getting thrown around.
"Liking the view?"
Her eyes fly up to his face, not even realizing she'd been staring. One of his brows is lifted, sparkle dying in his eyes.
That reminds her that this must suck for him too.
Of course, as evasive as he can be, there have been couple times it's been close. He being caught up, surrounded, sometimes almost handcuffed too, but every time something goes wrong. He is again on the run, and Carmelita has to take the low life he dumps on them.
He hasn't been arrested single time when Carmelita has been on his case. Not before either, but it doesn't help her much.
Every time she focuses on something different, he appears. Every time she focuses on him, he evades. Carmelita loses.
She wonders what kind of game he thinks they are playing, from his acting and risking himself for her.
Then Neyla came and swept the carpet from under their feet.
Her silence seems to speak volumes to Sly.
"Not how I imagined this going. Our first sit down, I mean."
He must've thought the same as her. Or he has some telepathic ability from his ancestors. She doesn't care to guess.
"Neither did I."
Sly squirms little. Carmelita watches on and after couple minutes, how his latest escape attempt falls as flat as he did some hours ago. He slumps again, defeated. Then he glances at her, hesitating before tilting his head.
"Almost like a date," he jokes.
She levels a very harsh glare at him.
"What? Moonlit walk, good company, okay-ish dinner," Sly lists out, "Sounds a lot like date to me."
"You have really bad taste in dates then," she answers, keeping her voice carefully flat because last thing she needs now is the sympathy from him.
"Usually it's better. Don't get me wrong but this could really use some good wine and candle lit table for two."
"How romantic," she rolls her eyes, "add the detail of me not being arrested, betrayed and humiliated in the deal and I might accept your offer."
"I expected nothing more," he replies.
They lapse into long silence. Be it hour or three is a big mystery, that hangs between them both.
"You deserve better," she jumps at his voice, earnest and serious, "a do-over. Better lighting, better views, the likes."
His eyes stay completely serious too. She waits for the joke to land, him adding the
He's totally, completely, serious.
"Are you serious?"
"Totally," he swears, "on my honor. My family's honor."
Carmelita has no interest of finding out what that honor really entails, but right now nothing will make this worse, "Sure."
She'd shrug too, but she has found her arms are busy. Busy imaging Neyla's neck between them, as she squeezes the living lights out of her-
Deep breaths. Deep. Breaths. Save your strength for when you can do it for real.
Satisfying thought, none the less.
"I keep my promises," Sly nods, serious and no part hesitant.
They lapse yet again into silence, no part less uncomfortable or unfair, but one they can spend in some sort of camaraderie, however hazy it is. It eases the long time slightly.
"Hey, Carmelita?"
She looks at him, rising her eyebrow, because there isn't anything else to look. He swallows, action making no difference to his state. Instead he breathes deeply, calming only a slight sliver of rising action.
"You didn't see Bentley, did you?"
She has to think back, really go into the angering memories of past night. But no, she can't remember the turtle being anywhere to be seen.
She tells so to Sly. He leans back, as much as the restrains allow.
"He'll get us out. All of us."
He says it with so much hope, that it nearly sticks with Carmelita rest of the silent night.
They are both dirty from the battle, her hair windswept and his clothes having seen better days. But having standing there, at the dying remains of what was once the ancient cyborg, and more recently, Neyla, she can't let her thoughts linger back to her. Clockwerk, as immortal as he himself had claimed to be, was no more but a crumbling steel now, a memory sinking into the harbor. And for her actions, Neyla was dragged alongside him into the demise, her consciousness trapped in steel frame that could grant the immortality she thirsted over.
Good riddance, she thinks as she shakes Chief Barkley's hand, accepting the numerous apologies, as well the promotion. Neyla deserves only to fade into distant memory, cautionary tale. Meaningless story with nothing attached. Already forgotten.
That'll be her legacy, if Carmelita gets to decide.
Very fitting to rusted pile of screws in the bottom of ocean.
Sly comes without fight, as he had promised. He offers his arms, letting her close the cuffs and this chapter of her life. She doesn't know how much of it is from the acceptance of his decision and how much from the still lingering shock of seeing his team, his brothers, walking away with the freedom he had traded for them.
But Sly doesn't resist, and so Carmelita doesn't let it interfere her work. She tells him his rights, like apology stringed between her words.
Clock-la has already corroded beyond recognition.
Like in a dream she guides him into the helicopter, their ride to Interpol's HQ. She makes sure he won't fall, and that he is secure during the flight. They both have had enough of wild flying for a while.
She sits across him. He stares back at her.
They lift off the ground, helicopter swaying in take off before stabilizing. She leans back closing her eyes for moment, the feelings crashing over her. The fleeing, running across world.
Deception. Backstabbing. Blackmailing.
She opens her eyes into fleeing sunset over Parisian night sky but instead of watching it she finds her eyes settling on him. Only him.
First with hesitation, he shifts. Then his eyes twinkle, side of mouth rises to smile. Friendly. Comforting. Familiar.
Carmelita finds herself smiling back.