#Carmen Santacruz | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sasspan · 4 years

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summary: what happens during the six-month evil-carmen timeskip. canon compliant.

part 1: after rejoining VILE, crackle is approached with a special request.

wordcount: 2.5k+

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All operatives had the misfortune of seeing VILE faculty angry at one point or another, but when Countess Cleo had returned from Cairo, it was another thing entirely.

Crackle was lucky enough to be off-base at the time; he was holed up at a safe house in Tel Aviv, planning his first solo caper after his return to VILE. It was a low-stakes job, a straightforward heist at a diamond exchange, and he would have been offended that the faculty was wasting his talents on something so simple, except he could intuit the reasoning behind it.

One, child's play like this meant there was less chance of him flubbing it up; and two, more importantly, it was not high-priority enough to catch Carmen's attention.

He didn't know how to feel about that. One venomous part of him bristled at the faculty's lack of faith; he'd chosen VILE of his own free will twice! Crikey, how much more did they need?

A larger part of him was relieved. He'd meant what he'd said in Nepal. He never, ever wanted to hurt her again. He never wanted to be asked to hurt her again. He knew, upon rejoining VILE, that the risk of that happening was real. But he'd take every chance he could to postpone that moment for as long as possible.

And the last, most traitorous part of him was disappointed. Standing outside Dr. Bellum's ruined lab, watching her glider shrink to a speck and then to nothing, had been a punch to the chest if there ever was one. Yeah, they'd both made their choices. It still hurt. He still wanted her.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Gray was interrupted from his brooding by the arrival of Tigress.

“Ugh,” she said, upon who she would be sharing quarters with.

“I could say the same,” he replied mildly. “What happened to you?”

She’d clearly had a bad time of it; she was covered in red bumps, like mozzie bites, and her usually sleek hair was frizzing around her face.

“What do you think happened?” Tigress threw her bag on the floor and then threw herself on the sofa next to him. “Fedora the Explora happened.”

Gray’s heart leapt. “Carmen?”

“Duh.” Sheena shot him a baleful glance. “You could at least try not to sound so excited, you know.”

He didn’t reply, instead looking back down at the table in front of him, papered with the blueprints of the diamond exchange’s layout. The labyrinthine design of the building’s hallways and vaults were nothing next to the twist of emotions in his chest.

“Anyways,” Sheena continued irritably when he remained silent. “Of course she had to show up to rescue her little dork friend. And that gross old French guy came with her and pushed me into a frickin’ coffin filled with bugs! Eeughh!”

The detective from Poitiers… and the organization in Iceland with the mind-device. Gray tapped his pen against his leg, pensive. Had Carmen officially joined forces with some higher agency, then? It seemed unlikely.

“Then, if that wasn’t bad enough, they apparently broadcasted our location on the way out, so we had to leave before the place was swarming with cops. What a waste of time.” Tigress dragged one razor-tipped finger against the tabletop, leaving a thin scar in the wood. “All that sand and sweat just so Santacruz can swoop in and steal our score.”

“Yeah, well.” Gray cleared his throat, torn between pity and an inexplicable pride. “Better luck next time, pussy cat.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s gonna be a next time.” Tigress’s despondent expression flickered into something indecipherable. “You should’ve seen the Countess. It was...I mean.” A shiver rolled down her back, like a cat’s, even as her tone turned admiring. “Ice-cold. I swear, I thought she was gonna turn the Cleaners into statues, Medusa-style. The other faculty, too. I totally eavesdropped on their call and oh my God, they are not happy. Little Red Riding Hat went way too far with this one.”

Dread crept up Gray’s neck; Tigress’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and he knew she wasn’t lying.

Carmen, what did you do?

As expected, the Tel Aviv caper was laughably easy for Crackle. Cut the lights, grab the rocks, out. He was finished in under an hour.

He passed off the diamonds to Dash Haber right on schedule, then flew to Jordan to lay low at another safe house. A week after his heist, he returned from a coffee run to find an unwelcome visitor sitting in the lounge room.

Gray froze as soon as he stepped through the front door. His blood was ice in his veins; his hand tightened around his paper take-away cup.

"Crackle," greeted Professor Maelstrom.

Damn it.

"...Professor," Crackle managed to return after a moment. "I didn't know anyone would be waiting for me." His eyes flickered from side to side, nearly as quick as his thoughts. Damn it, damn it! I won't go quietly, he thought, tamping down the spike of fear; not again. He extended the arm holding the cup, even as his free hand curled into a fist, knuckles brushing against the holster of his rod. “Can I offer you a cuppa?”

Maelstrom’s lip curled at the smell of the strong coffee. "No, I don’t think so. Not quite my taste.” His face smoothened, and he lifted his eyebrows in the approximation of a pleasant expression. “I happened to be in the area, and thought it only polite to see how your return to VILE was coming along. I suppose I should congratulate you on a successful caper."

Crackle knew better than to take the words sincerely. "Nothing to it," he said instead. "Did the Countess like her diamonds?"

"Yes, yes." Maelstrom dismissed this with a wave of a pallid hand. "I suppose you already heard about our recent misfortune in Cairo. She was quite displeased to lose such an abundance of treasures...more than enough to restock VILE’s depleted stores. Luckily, we have recently gotten hold of something even more valuable.” He paused for a moment, his lip twitching ominously, then pressed on. “I must say, Crackle, that the faculty has been very impressed by your recent behavior. Your loyalty to VILE is admirable, despite your... prolonged absence."

Crackle let out a slow breath. "I'm glad to hear that." So they didn't want to wipe him again. The rush of relief in his chest was tempered by apprehension. Maelstrom was not the type to travel thousands of kilometers just to dispel a few words of praise. "Was there something else you needed from me, Professor?"

And there it was, that slow, deliberate smile, crawling onto Maelstrom's face. Crackle’s memories of before were still blurry, the edges not quite fitting together, but if there was one image that was branded into his mind, it was that smile. That smile, in the moments before his head was wiped clean, in that room that had smelled of antiseptic and bleach.

It was the smile of a spider.

"As a matter of fact, yes."

He’d thought through it a thousand times, all the things he could have done differently. Rolled each scenario over and over in his head until it was smooth as sea-glass.

In Casablanca, he could have been firmer. Should have been firmer. With Black Sheep, yes, but with the others too; Tigress, and the Cleaners. There hadn’t been any need for that caper to have ended the way it did.

In the train to Paris, he could have used a gentler touch. That was his own pride and hurt getting the better of him. He’d been so sure that she would come back with him, that the outfit and the name were just some strange version of criminal growing pains.

(In Nepal, he could have--what? Gone with her? As if that were ever an option.)

Or, going back even further-- at the island, during their academy days, he could have been more truthful. A school for thieves was hardly a place for honesty, but she’d been so clueless about the outside world, approaching capers like they were a game instead of life or death. He’d found it endearing at the time, but looking back, maybe he should have been more frank about the reality of the kind of life they were preparing for. Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a shock to her then; maybe she would have stayed, maybe she would have joined him...

Maybe, maybe, maybe. In the end, that was all they were. What-ifs and maybes, pointless daydreams that didn’t change anything.

But this.

We have in our possession the operative formerly known as Black Sheep, Maelstrom had said. Our very own Lady in Red.

This was real. An actual do-over.

Some of Doctor Bellum’s finest work, from what I’ve seen. Sandiego has been...persuaded to shift her allegiance back to VILE.

He’d no idea how VILE had managed to get the slip on Carmen, but considering how catastrophically she had interrupted their plans to access the Cairo vaults… like Sheena had said, it had only been a matter of time. Hadn’t it?

Yeah. Of course it had. The whole thing, her whole-- Robin Hood gimmick-- had been temporary. Carmen had to have known that, right? She couldn’t have actually thought that she would bring down VILE by herself. The organization was older than the Crusades, for Christ’s sake.

Black Sheep had always been a bit naive.

Well, none of that mattered now. They could...put it all behind them. Start fresh. Maybe even laugh about it some day. Remember the time I tried to kill you? Ha, ha…

Sure, the circumstances weren’t the greatest. He’d been on the other side of Bellum’s mind gizmo, and it wasn’t something he’d recommend just for a laugh. But it was for the best. She wouldn’t be a thorn in VILE’s side anymore, and he’d never have to go against her. Just the opposite. They’d be the greatest team-up in VILE history. Like it was always supposed to be.

This could--

This could be a second chance.

He’d do everything right this time.

The old headquarters were gone. Blown to bits, from what Sheena had told him. The classrooms where they’d taken their lessons, the dorms they’d shared, the dock that Black Sheep had launched water balloons from; all gone, sunken to the sea floor. Just an empty spot in the ocean now.

The location of the new HQ was a closely guarded secret. When the Cleaners came to pick up Crackle, a few days after Maelstrom’s visit, they blindfolded him and bound his hands, then kept him that way for a disorientingly long time. What felt like nine hours at least. Still, he could tell they had flown him someplace cold, where the air clung to his skin with clammy stubbornness.

Black Sheep would’ve hated this place, he thought. For all her dreams of leaving the old island, she’d still loved the warmth of it, the sun and the sparkling sea. You’ll love Sydney, he’d promised her once upon a time. Best beaches in the world. We’ll go as soon as we graduate.

His bindings were removed soon after arrival. He was in a small, plain room, with only one door to go in or out; next to this door was a long dark window, the contents of the neighboring room undecipherable.

Maelstrom and Doctor Bellum were standing in front of him, their gazes sharp with anticipation.

“Hello, Crackle.” Bellum smiled a little too widely. “How is that pretty head of yours?”

“Doing well, thanks. Doctor.” Once upon a time, he’d been one of her best students. Now, the sight of her had the hair rising along his arms. “And you?”

Maelstrom cleared his throat pointedly. “If we could save the niceties for afterwards…” He indicated the window with an impatient flick of his wrist. “Shall we get started?”

As if on cue, the lights in the adjoining room flicked on, illuminating a larger space. This room was...clinical, fluorescents and sterile surfaces, but Crackle didn’t care about any of that.

No, all he cared about was the figure in the center of it.

Two swift steps to the window. He was so close that his breath was fogging the glass.

She looked so small in that chair. No coat. No hat. He hadn’t realized how little she’d changed, actually changed, since their time at the academy. Her shoulders pulling into her body, defensive, reminded him of their combat lessons. Always protect the face.

His breathing had quickened; in the corner of his eye he saw the faculty members watching him hungrily, and he reined back, forcing himself to turn towards them. “What does she remember?” he asked instead.

Bellum’s goggles glinted. “Whatever we want her to, dear boy.”

“Whatever we thought was necessary,” amended Maelstrom. “Her memories up until the end of your time at the academy are mostly untouched. She is under the belief that Shadowsan is the one who is responsible for VILE’s recent...downturn in luck.”

Gray nodded vaguely, the words barely registering. So she’d remember him...but not Casablanca, or Poitiers, or Nepal. It was almost too good to be true. “Who else knows?”

“We thought it prudent to keep this limited to a small circle,” Bellum answered. “Familiar faces only, at least at first. Perhaps the operatives Black Sheep was closest to during her school days?”

The usual crew, then. Le Chevre, El Topo, Tigress. Just like old times.

He couldn’t wait a minute longer. He started towards the door.

“A word of caution, Crackle.” Maelstrom’s voice had him pause. “While your recent performance has been adequate, keep in mind that the only reason you have been granted this task is due to your experience with handling this sort of...situation.” The professor’s tone grew colder, though his words remained deceptively even. “You are a handler. Nothing more, nothing less. Do you understand?”

Gray stared down at the tile floor. The seconds stretched on. Finally he said, “Yes, Professor.”

The room next door was lit a sickly green. It leached the color from everything, threw the shadows into harsh relief. The smell of it made him shudder; antiseptic and bleach, like before.

Crackle approached the chair in the center slowly, with halting steps. She looked asleep; as he got closer, he saw bruises darkening her wrists and her temples.

Restraints, said a little voice in his head. Like they put on you, once. He pushed the thought away and just looked at her instead, drinking in the dear, familiar face. The stubborn brow, the curl of her fringe, and…

Her eyes. They opened slowly, like a kid waking up from a nap. Those eyes, staring at him upside-down (Nod if you understand.), locked onto his as the world spun in freefall (Don’t let go!), crinkling with a small, sad smile (Then, I’m sorry too.)

They could wipe his head a hundred times, but he never wanted to forget those eyes.

She was watching him warily. He lifted his hands to show they were empty, then figured he should probably say something.

“Bla...” No, wait, that wasn’t right. “Carmen.” He swallowed thickly.

There was a long silence.

“Gray,” she said.

#carmen sandiego netflix #red crackle #graham calloway #carmen sandiego #first time writing these characters so feedback would be very appreciated!! on characterization pace or even spelling lol #ty for reading!#my fic

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