My universe

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The Only One in His Thoughts. ❤️

The misty Stockholm evening draped the embankment in leaden light as Carmen Sandiego, concealed on the roof of an old warehouse, saw them. Below, at the pier, Agent Chase Devineaux in his rumpled beige trench coat was talking animatedly to his new partner. Zari. Slender, with a flawless bun, she stood almost motionless, listening to him or pretending to. Carmen couldn't see Zari’s expression; her attention was wholly absorbed by Chase. He gestured, spoke with that familiar intensity Carmen had seen so many times, but now... now he seemed different. His usual stubborn zeal was mixed with something Carmen struggled to define – an attempt to please? He leaned slightly towards Zari, spoke with exaggerated energy, even smiled a couple of times – that wide, captivating smile of his, which Carmen... which Carmen had thought was reserved only for her in their eternal game. Zari merely tilted her head slightly in response, her reaction hidden from Carmen. But for Carmen, it was enough: Chase was clearly trying. He was flirting. A sharp, prickly feeling, cold and burning at once, tightened her throat. She jerked back from the roof's edge, her red coat swirling behind her like the wing of a startled bird. Stupid! Pure stupidity! But she couldn't shake the feeling off.

Their next encounter occurred a week later in the alleys of Lisbon. Carmen, merged with the shadow of an arch, watched as Chase searched a deserted tavern alone – obviously following the false trail she had carefully laid. When he emerged, shuffling his feet irritably on the cobblestones, she allowed him to glimpse her. Just for an instant – a flash of scarlet coat hem at the end of the street.

Chase lunged after her with a growl, familiar stubbornness burning in his eyes. The chase was swift but short: Carmen easily led him into a dead end – a quiet courtyard, draped with grapevines. She stood with her back to the wall, her hat slightly tilted over her eyes, not running. He stopped three paces away, breathless.

“Sandiego,” he exhaled, more a statement than an address. His gaze slid over her face, lingering on her tightly pressed lips, on her eyes slightly averted to the side. “You’re… tense today. What happened? Did someone actually outpace you in the art of vanishing? Or…” He took a step closer, studying her. “Or is it something else?”

Carmen forced a smirk, donning the mask of her usual bravado: “Concerned about my mood, Devineaux? Don’t get ahead of yourself. Maybe I’m just tired of watching your little show. Especially with such a partner.” She deliberately drew out the last word, unable to suppress the sting of jealousy. “The new nanny from ACME… Must be very comforting during those long night shifts.”

Chase froze. His eyes, usually full of the fire of pursuit or irritation, suddenly became intensely focused. He didn’t laugh, didn’t snap back. He looked at her. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the corners of his lips twitched not into a smirk, but into something else – understanding? Insight?

“Zari?” he asked quietly, and there was not a trace of anger in his voice, only a strange, unaccustomed softness. He took another step, closing the distance. Carmen felt her back press against the cool stone.

“That arrogant idiot?” Chase said it calmly, without malice, as a statement of fact. “She considers me incompetent trash, Sandiego. Every look from her is a scalpel, every word a reminder that I’m a hindrance to her flawless career.” He shook his head, and a familiar stubbornness flared in his gaze, now mixed with something frank. “Stupid. Just stupid to think that someone like her could occupy my thoughts for even a second. Especially when they are all, every single one, occupied by you.”

The silence in the courtyard became resonant. The city noise vanished somewhere. Carmen felt heat rush to her face beneath the wide brim of her hat. She hadn’t expected such bluntness. He hadn’t been flirting. He was… clarifying. Removing an absurd misunderstanding. Because he saw it mattered to her? That realization made her heart pound wildly.

“Occupied by me?” She tried to inject a mocking note, but her voice betrayed her with a tremor. “Dreaming of my handcuffs, Agent? Of the cell? Of the triumphant report to the Chief?”

“Dreaming of understanding you, Carmen,” he answered seriously, and there was not a trace of play in his eyes. “Why do you do it? Why steal from thieves, play cat and mouse with me and ACME? What cunning plan lies behind it all?” He took another step closer. Now only a meter separated them. Carmen could see the creases in his coat, the shadow of stubble on his cheeks, the warm, intent gaze. “You’re not just a thief. I know that. Feel it. But this… it drives me mad. Because I have to stop you. Have to arrest you. It’s… my job. My purpose.” He uttered the last word with a kind of fatal heaviness.

Carmen forced herself to straighten up. Fear (of his words, of VILE, of her own inexperience) mingled with something sweet and unsettling – his admission that his thoughts were filled with her.

“And your purpose, Devineaux,” her voice sounded slightly husky, but she steadied it, “as usual, is twenty minutes behind me. Just like your new car, which I’m sure you’ve already managed to wreck somewhere. Or is it still intact?” She cast a quick glance down the alley behind him, assessing her escape route. She needed to run. From him. From these feelings. From his dangerous sincerity.

Chase only smiled – wide, warm, sparkling, without a trace of embarrassment. That smile held all his spirit, his indomitable will, and… a challenge.

“Intact, Sandiego. For now. But don’t kid yourself about twenty minutes. Or about my purpose.” His gaze became piercing, hot, full of the promise of pursuit. “I will find you. Always find you. Never stop. You are my life’s work. And not one icy Zari or a hundred headlights I smash along the way will change that.”

Carmen didn’t answer. She spun sharply, her scarlet coat swirling around her. One light leap onto a dumpster, another onto a low wall – and she dissolved into the labyrinth of rooftops, vanishing from Chase’s sight before he could make his lunge. Only for an instant, before disappearing, did she glance back. Chase had already lunged forward, but was a fraction of a second too late. He froze by the wall she had jumped to, sharply tilting his head back, his figure sharply outlined against the twilight sky. In his gaze, fixed on the emptiness where the scarlet shadow had just vanished, there was no anger, no disappointment – only the familiar, fierce resolve and… something else. Something that sent warmth flooding her cheeks and set her heart beating in a strange, anxious rhythm of hope and fear. Their game continued, but something new had invaded it – dangerous and incredibly desired. Chase Devineaux would never give up. But neither would Carmen Sandiego.

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The midday sun of Buenos Aires generously flooded Tres de Febrero park. The air was thick with the scent of blooming jacaranda mixed with the smell of damp earth after a recent rain. The shadows of the alleys were cool, and ducks glided on the lake, reflecting the azure sky. Carmen walked beside Chase along a quiet path, away from the noisy groups of tourists. Chase walked beside her, seeming focused, almost tense. His usual, albeit ridiculous, chattiness had evaporated somewhere. He didn't joke, didn't try to take her hand first, didn't make silly compliments about the flowers they passed. He just walked, immersed in his thoughts, his profile serious.

This silence, so contrasting with their meeting in the café where he had also been quiet but tiredly candid, felt different now. Here it wasn't fatigue, but resolve. Carmen felt it like electricity in the air before a storm. She didn't rush him, giving him time to gather his thoughts, but her own heart beat a little faster. Something was brewing. Something important.

They emerged onto a small clearing surrounded by tall plane trees. Sunspots danced on the grass. Chase stopped, turned to her. His eyes, usually so bright and expressive, looked at her with incredible depth and focus. Not a trace of his former flirtation or bravado. Only naked seriousness.

"Carmen," he began, his voice low, slightly raspy, but absolutely clear. "I can't do this anymore. Can't walk in circles, hide behind hints, play in half-tones." He took a step closer, not invading her personal space but minimizing the distance. "I'm tired of games. Tired of masks. Even the one I took off recently. Because underneath it… underneath it there were still doubts, unspoken things. There remained this… damned ambiguity between us."

He ran a hand over his face, gathering his strength. Carmen froze, sensing that something fundamental was about to be said.

"I was a fool, Carmen. A blind, stubborn, arrogant fool." Real pain rang in his voice. "I only saw a villainess in you. An image created by my pride and stupid belief in a black-and-white world. Instead of seeing you – seeing your kindness, your incredible strength, your… lonely struggle – I only got in the way. I hunted you, tried to put you behind bars, ruined your missions that were aimed at good. I was… your enemy when I should have been…" He paused, searching for words, and fire flared in his eyes. "An ally. A protector. Someone who stands beside you, not opposite. Someone who guards your back, not aims handcuffs at it."

The words fell like heavy stones into the clearing's silence. Carmen listened, motionless, feeling a lump rise in her throat. He was saying things she hadn't even dared dream of hearing from him. An admission not just of his mistakes, but of his desire to completely turn the page. To become who he should have been.

"And I know, Carmen…" Chase continued, his voice quieter but no less intense. A new note appeared in it – searing guilt. "I know what you had to go through. What they did to you in that… place. VILE." He spat the name like a curse. "They stole you. Brainwashed you. Made you do things that still wound your soul. I see it. See the shadow of it in your eyes when you think no one's looking. See how you still struggle with that time, with who they forced you to be." He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "And I… I am so sorry, Carmen. Sorry I didn't know sooner. Sorry that instead of helping you bear the burden of your fight, I only added to your pain with my pursuit. I was just another tormentor, in a different form."

Carmen gasped, almost soundlessly. She had never told him directly about the depth of that trauma, the nightmares, the guilt that sometimes washed over her like a wave. She hid it deep, behind a mask of confidence. And he… he had seen it. Understood without words. This insight, this deep understanding of her unhealed wounds, touched her more profoundly than any words of love.

"Chase…" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"I want to make it right," he interrupted her, not harshly but with burning conviction. His hands lifted as if wanting to touch her, but he restrained himself, lowering them. "In your eyes. In my own. I want to be the man who deserves to stand beside you. Not as a hunter. Not as a pesky admirer. But as…" He took a deep breath, and the next step was the most resolute. "Carmen Sandiego. I want to be with you. Truly. Not just your boyfriend. Your… man. Your ally. Your shield. I'm offering you not a fleeting romance, but… everything. Seriously. Forever. I'm tired of half-measures. I want clarity. I want you. And I'm ready to do anything for it – become better, stronger, more patient. For you. For us."

He fell silent, his chest heaving. His whole appearance – his tense posture, burning gaze, trembling hands – spoke of how much this monologue, this naked plea, meant to him. He had laid bare his soul, shown all his pain, guilt, hope, and offered her not just a relationship, but a complete intertwining of lives and purposes. An alliance. Devotion. Protection.

Carmen looked at him. At this agent who had transformed from a stubborn pursuer into a man ready to break himself for her. His words about her pain from VILE resonated deep within her soul. His desire to atone, to be her support… It was incredible. Terrifying. And infinitely touching.

She saw his sincerity. Saw the fire of resolve in his eyes. Saw the vulnerability with which he stood before her, awaiting her answer. And her own defensive walls, erected over years of loneliness and struggle, trembled and began to crumble.

"Forever…" she repeated his word, as if tasting it. It sounded both frightening and incredibly desirable. Then she took a step forward, closing the last centimeters between them. Her eyes looked directly into his, without a trace of fear or doubt, only with acceptance and… tenderness. "That's… a very serious word, Chase Devineaux. A very big responsibility." She raised her hand and cautiously, almost weightlessly, touched his cheek. He froze, not breathing. "And I… I believe you. Believe in this sincerity. Believe you want to change. Become my ally… my protector." A light, genuine smile touched her lips. "You were quite the fool, that's a fact. But now… now you're different. And I… I want to give you a chance. Give *us* this chance."

Relief, joy, and incredible tenderness mixed on Chase's face. He swayed slightly, as if his legs might buckle from happiness.

"But," Carmen continued, her fingers softly touching his lips, stopping the impulse. Her gaze became serious, honest. "There are things… I'm not ready for. Not yet. I need time. Trust… it comes gradually. Especially after… everything." She didn't elaborate, but he understood – VILE, the brainwashing, the violation of her will. "Kisses… tenderness… a little more – yes. I want that. With you. And recently made that very clear. But the rest… please, give me more time. Understand."

Chase grabbed her hand, pressed her palm to his lips. His kiss was hot, moist, full of adoration and… boundless respect.

"All the time you need, Carmen," he whispered against her skin, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I will wait. I will learn to wait. The main thing is that you are here. That you gave us a chance. That we… are together." He raised his eyes to her, and they shone with such devotion and happiness that Carmen caught her breath. "Allies?" he asked, and the word now held not just an agreement, but an oath.

"Allies," she confirmed, smiling freely, genuinely now. And for the first time in a long time, the word "we" sounded not as a threat, but as a promise. A promise of something new, fragile, but incredibly important.

He didn't push things. He simply embraced her, cautiously, like something infinitely precious and fragile. She pressed against his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. The scent of his skin mixed with the jacaranda, the warmth of his body… It felt safe. It felt… right.

"So… kisses are permitted?" he whispered into her hair, and a familiar, but now warm and free of its former ridiculousness, playful note sounded in his voice after the long seriousness.

Carmen laughed, a light, happy laugh that rang out in the clearing's silence.

"They've been permitted for a while now, Inspector," she replied, lifting her face to his. Her eyes shone. "But without the frenzy, like yesterday. We're allies now, not enemies on a battlefield."

"I promise! I'll try to be more... careful now." Chase bent down, and his lips found hers. It wasn't a swift capture, but a slow, tender exploration. A kiss full of promise, respect, and the very clarity he had craved so much. Clarity that they were together. That the path would be long, difficult, but they would walk it side by side. The agent and the thief had vanished. Only Chase and Carmen remained. Two people who had found each other amidst the wreckage of the past and decided to build a future. Forever.

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The French Code of Tenderness.

Poitiers, Chase Devineaux’s Apartment.

Wisps of steam still curled in the bathroom as Carmen, wrapped in a white towel, cautiously cracked open the door. Her damp hair fell onto her shoulders, leaving wet streaks on the fabric. She paused in the doorway, watching Chase sort through documents at his desk. His apartment resembled an ACME agent’s hideout—maps marked with annotations, folders brimming with reports on recent operations against remnants of V.I.L.E., and even an old Interpol badge he’d kept, perhaps as a memento of his past.

“Chase…” Her voice came out softer than she’d intended. He turned, his eyes glinting with familiar mischief.

“Sandiego. Walking out like that isn’t a provocation anymore—it’s sabotage,” he drawled playfully.

Carmen adjusted her towel, warmth blooming across her cheeks.

“I just wanted to borrow a shirt. My clothes are still in the bag…”

Chase rose, closing the distance with deliberate steps, each movement calculated, as if this were another mission. At thirty-seven, he carried himself with more composure than during their globe-trotting chases, though that trademark smirk still lingered.

“Sure that’s all you want?” He stopped an inch away, his cologne mingling with the fresh scent of her shower.

She didn’t answer. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her close as his lips found hers with a hunger that stole her breath. The kiss was greedy yet tender, as though he feared she might vanish like she had so many times before. His fingers tangled in her wet hair, while she gripped his shoulders, acutely aware of the towel slipping loose.

“Chase…” She tried to pull back, but he only deepened the kiss, laughing against her mouth.

“You know I always finish what I start,” he murmured, that infuriating confidence—once maddening, now electrifying—lacing his voice.

Her body responded instinctively, even as her mind clung to reason. They were opposites: him, hardened by years at ACME; her, still learning to live without schemes or sprints. The age gap loomed in his experienced touch, his control as precise as any mission.

“You’re… too arrogant,” she breathed as his lips trailed to her neck.

“And you’re too stunning to resist,” he countered, tracing her collarbone.

Yet a flicker of his old clumsiness surfaced—he bumped the desk, nearly toppling a lamp. It reminded her of the Chase who’d once bungled missions with comic flair. Now, it only charmed her.

She bit her lip to stifle a smile. “Maybe let me get dressed first?”

“Rushing an ACME agent is a bad idea,” he quipped, but relented, grabbing a black “Poitiers-2024” shirt from the closet. “For you, though? Exception made.”

As Carmen changed, Chase returned to his papers, though his gaze kept drifting her way. Beyond these walls, Julia, Zack, and Ivy hunted V.I.L.E.’s remnants, and Carmen, despite stepping back, still felt adventure’s pull. Yet here, in the hush of a French evening, all that mattered was the tremble in her hands as she buttoned his shirt, and the way Chase smiled—like he knew every secret she’d ever kept.

Years of chases, betrayals, and battles paled against this moment: the most perilous, and the most real.

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The Game the Sun Won.

Sunbeams danced across the chessboard set on a stone table in the square near Poitiers' old town hall. Carmen, leaning back in her chair in a ripe-cherry-colored dress, lazily moved her bishop. Her stomach, rounded in her sixth month, rested peacefully beneath the soft fabric. Chase, in his favorite sand-colored jacket, frowned, tapping his finger on the edge of the board.

“Sacré bleu, Sandiego...” he began, then corrected himself with an exaggerated sigh: “Excuse me, Madame Devineaux. And how do you manage to turn a classic defense into... into a minefield?”

“Because I wear it with grace, mon agent,” Carmen smiled, propping her chin on her hand. Sunlight played in her burgundy hair. “And you? You wear it like a service badge – straight and on display. Knight to g5. Threatening.”

Chase snorted and moved a pawn. His strategy was like himself: aggressive, direct, aiming for a quick victory through the center of the board. He attacked the king like he had once pursued criminals – single-mindedly, almost recklessly.

“Straightforwardness is an operative’s virtue, ma chère. Why complicate things when there’s a clear path? Rook to e8. Check.”

Carmen merely raised an eyebrow. Her gaze slid over the pieces, as if assessing not the battle on the board, but the possibilities. Her mind worked differently: winding, calculating several moves ahead, seeing traps where Chase saw only the target. She took his bishop, which he, caught up in the attack, had left unprotected.

“A clear path?” She laughed softly, moving the captured piece aside. “Is that when you charge ahead, darling, and I just... clean up after you? Knight takes pawn on f7. Double check. The king feels awkward.”

Chase froze, staring at the board. His king was cornered by two pieces simultaneously. The escape route was cut off. He ran a hand through his hair, then laughed loudly – a resonant, genuine laugh that startled a pair of pigeons from a nearby branch.

“Incroyable! You’ve stolen not just my name, but my entire attack!” He raised his hands in playful surrender. “I yield. As always. Your devious mind is my personal Waterloo. For the champion – a prize?” He pulled a small box from his jacket’s inner pocket. Inside lay two perfect chocolate truffles dusted with cocoa. “Safe,” he added, seeing her questioning look. “And personally approved by me after the strictest inspection.”

Carmen took one truffle, her eyes laughing.

“Straightforward but thoughtful,” she noted, taking a bite of the melting chocolate. “I admit, that combination... is charming. Especially when it brings me chocolate. And an admission of defeat.”

“Defeat?” Chase moved his chair closer to hers, pushing the chessboard aside. His hand covered hers on the table, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. “This isn’t defeat, Carmen. It’s... a strategic retreat before an irresistible force. Before your beauty in that red dress. Before your mind that drives me mad.” He leaned in, his voice quieter, more intimate. “And before the fact that I absolutely adore it when you win. Especially against me.”

They sat like that, fingers entwined, under the generous Poitiers sun. The chess pieces, king and queen, stood peacefully on the board, forgotten in the rays of that moment. The game was over. Victory belonged not to cunning or directness, but to something larger that hung in the warm air between them – a simple, sunlit happiness that needed no moves or strategies.

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Carmen's Smiles for Chase

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Carmen sees in Chase's stubbornness not just a character trait, but a living reflection of her own flame. He, like her, fights for what he believes in with a mad, almost suicidal devotion. His pursuit of her is not just professional duty, but a personal crusade, fanatical and relentless. And in this fanaticism, Carmen recognizes that same fierce resolve that burns within her when she challenges the monolith of VILE. His refusal to admit defeat, even when she foils his plans again and again, echoes her own rises after falls, her returns to battle when logic and fear whisper "give up." In his eyes, burning with the thrill of pursuit against all odds, she sees that same unquenchable fire that blazes in her soul when she steals from thieves. His stubbornness is a mirror in which she recognizes herself: a fighter for whom the word "impossible" is just a challenge, not a verdict.

It is this similarity that makes his persistence so compelling. She battles the shadowy Leviathan of VILE, he battles the phantom "villainess" he has created in her image. Neither cares about setbacks. Every miss for Chase is just a reason for a new, more elaborate capture plan. Every VILE threat for Carmen is just a signal for a new, more daring operation. They are two lonely lighthouses of persistence in a world of compromise. Carmen doesn't just see her own struggle reflected in his persistence; she feels in it a kindred spirit. His endless chase reminds her that she is not alone in her obsession with justice, however paradoxically expressed. His stubbornness is an acknowledgment of her significance, her strength – even if expressed as a desire to lock her in handcuffs. In his unwillingness to give up, she finds a strange comfort and affirmation: her fight, however insane it may seem, is worth it. Because if he, her eternal pursuer, can burn just as brightly and stubbornly, then her own flame is no illusion. It is real. It matters. And it's worth it.

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Red Threads.

Carmen lay nestled against Chase under the wool blanket, her gaze tracing the familiar board in the room's semi-darkness. The faint light of a streetlamp picked out pins, photographs, and red threads stretching from Tokyo to Paris, from Cairo to Sydney. All roads led to the center – to where Chase had once furiously drawn a scarlet cross in the middle of the ocean. VILE Island. The place where she was raised to be a thief and from which she escaped to become herself.

Chase felt her body tense. His hand resting on her shoulder involuntarily tightened.

"What?" His voice was hoarse from exhaustion and something deeper – an old pain.

"You found it." She didn't look at him; her eyes burned in the dark, fixed on the intersection of the threads precisely at the point of the cross. "That island... You found my island, Chase."

He sat up abruptly, the blanket slipping to the floor. His breathing quickened; his eyes darted to the board, to that cursed cross drawn in red marker so hard the paper had torn.

"I found a pile of rocks and ashes!" His voice cracked, the familiar stubborn bitterness surfacing. "I sailed there in a tiny boat because they threw me out of ACME, dumped me in the Interpol archives like useless junk! Thought I'd finally prove... But there was nothing there. Just wind and charred wreckage. I didn't even understand what it was at first. I spent weeks, months, hunched over those maps..." He clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. "All for nothing."

Carmen gently but firmly took his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her large grey-violet eyes, usually so mocking or determined, were now full of tenderness and pride.

"For nothing?" She whispered so softly he could barely hear. "Chase, the VILE base was blown up before you got there. ACME agents, Interpol – they'd all been searching for that island for years! No one could calculate its coordinates. VILE masked its tracks flawlessly." Her fingers softly brushed his cheek, smoothing away a furrow of anger. "And you... you alone, with no resources, no support, sitting in a dusty apartment, found it. By following my trails. Following these threads." She nodded towards the board. "You found what was a legend, a fairy tale for everyone, including yourself. And you call that a failure?"

He froze. Her words struck his mind like birds against glass. He remembered those sleepless nights in the archive, mountains of papers, satellite images he'd studied until his eyes burned. He remembered the furious anger and resentment when he was sidelined from real work. How that anger had driven him, forced him to dig deeper, to search for something he didn't believe in, but which was the only thread leading to her. To Carmen. And he had found the point on the map. Found it... and seen only ruins.

"I was too late," he rasped, and his voice held not anger, but a vulnerability he rarely showed anyone. "I sailed there and saw... that there was nothing. That my chase, my obsession... they meant nothing. I was where you were, but always after. Just like with this board."

Carmen laughed softly, but there was no mockery in the laugh, only warmth and something wet at the corners of her eyes.

"Fool," she pressed her forehead to his temple. "You didn't find ruins. You found the truth. Proof of VILE's existence. Proof that everything I said was true. And you did it alone. When everyone else had written you off." She drew back slightly, looking into his eyes again. "Do you know what I feel when I look at that cross? Pride. Wild, crazy pride for you. For this stubborn, impossible, amazingly persistent man."

She kissed him. Slowly, deeply, as if trying to convey through touch everything the words couldn't express. He responded, his hands gripping her back, pulling her closer. In that kiss was gratitude, acknowledgment, and a long-held pain that finally began to thaw.

When they parted, their breathing was uneven. Carmen looked back at the map, at the tangle of red threads converging on the island.

"You found my past, Chase," she whispered. "When I was too afraid to look at it myself. You found the place where they broke me... and you found it not to catch me. You found it for me. To understand."

He silently pulled her close, his face buried in her hair. The anger and resentment that had lived in him for years over that "failure" on the island began to dissipate, replaced by a strange, new feeling – acceptance. His stubbornness, his obsession, which had often brought him to the brink... they hadn't led him to emptiness, but to her. To the truth about her.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair, "that I didn't find it sooner. Before the explosion. Maybe then..."

"Then you would have walked into a VILE trap," she interrupted him softly but firmly. "Or died. They wouldn't have left a witness. You sailed there at the right time, Chase. To see the end of one chapter..." She turned and placed her hand on his chest, right over his heart. "...and the beginning of ours."

They silently looked at the board, at the web of threads and pins, at the red cross that now signified not failure, but the triumph of persistence. Carmen knew the memory of the island, of VILE, would always be a part of both of them. But now, under this blanket, in the quiet of the Poitiers night, that memory was not an anchor, but a bridge. A bridge that Chase Devineaux, stubborn, emotional, imperfect, and hers, had built himself – thread by thread, against all odds.

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“Time to save the world? Game on!”

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— Is that your way of saying I’m under arrest?

— No. It’s my way of saying you’re…

— You know I can open this in a second?

— I know. But I hope you won’t want to.

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Under the Rubble.

The Sydney Opera House, usually gleaming under the southern sun, was today shrouded in acrid smoke. Chase Devineaux, ignoring the screams of the crowd and the sirens of police cars, raced through the chaos. His brown jacket was covered in soot, and his gaze, stubborn and furious, was fixed on a glimpse of a scarlet coat in the distance. Carmen Sandiego. *His* Carmen. The one whose arrest had become the meaning of his existence, an obsession that had eclipsed even his career at Interpol. He saw her slip inside a half-destroyed wing of the building and hurried after her.

“Sandiego! Stop!” His voice, hoarse from tension and smoke, was lost in the roar of a new explosion.

The ground shook beneath his feet. A fireball exploding somewhere above blew out the windows, and a fragment of the facade collapsed right onto the spot where the red figure had just vanished. Chase's heart clenched with an icy grip, unknown before. Logic, caution, even his own assignment—everything faded before a blind, animal impulse. He lunged forward, not thinking about the debris raining down, about the tongues of flame licking the carpeted walkways of the foyer. The only thought drilling into his consciousness: "She's there."

He plunged into a cloud of dust and smoke, stumbling over broken marble. And he saw her. Carmen lay unconscious at the foot of a pile of collapsed beams and concrete, her famous red coat coated in whitish dust, and a scarlet trickle oozed from beneath her disheveled burgundy hair onto the stone. She wasn't moving. Next to her lay a gadget that had fallen from her hand – something like a compact drill. Apparently, she had been trying to defuse something.

“Carmen!” Chase broke into a shout, his voice alien, full of unfamiliar panic. He rushed to her, forgetting his own safety, ACME protocols, his sacred desire to slap cuffs on her. In this moment, she wasn't the enemy, not the elusive criminal. She was simply a girl, fragile and defenseless under a pile of rubble. He fell to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he tried to lift her slightly, checking for a pulse on her neck. A weak but distinct throb under his fingers brought relief as sharp as it was unexpected.

And then came an ominous grinding sound. Chase jerked his head up. A massive concrete slab, hanging above them on twisted rebar, shuddered. Dust rained down. It was falling. Right onto them. Onto her.

Instinct worked faster than thought. Chase didn't plan, didn't weigh the risks. He simply acted. With a crash that drowned out his own groan, he threw his body over Carmen, shielding her with his back, pressing his head to her shoulder. The impact was monstrous. The world dimmed, exploding with white pain in his back and shoulders. He was bent double, pressed against Carmen, as a hail of smaller debris and dust crashed down on top. He heard the crack of his own ribs, felt something hot and sticky spreading down his side. Air burst from his lungs in a rasping moan. They were trapped, pinned in a tiny, suffocating space under the slab, which lay on his back with unbearable weight. Carmen was beneath him, her breathing shallow, ragged.

The pain was a fiery wave, washing over his consciousness. Every breath was a struggle, as if ground glass had been poured into his lungs. But the thought of easing the pressure, even for a moment, was unthinkable. The weight of the slab bore down on his back and shoulders. If he faltered, it would crash down on Carmen. On her head, already injured.

“Hold on...” he rasped, not knowing if she could hear. His voice was weak, but it held the old stubborn resolve, only now directed at something entirely new. “I... won't let... it fall.”

He braced his elbows and knees against the uneven floor, straining every muscle, every tendon. Sweat mingled with blood and dust on his face. Time lost meaning. Seconds stretched into an eternity of agony. His world narrowed to the weight on his back, to the fragile warmth of the body beneath him, to Carmen's ragged breath he felt against his own back. His own goal – to arrest her – seemed absurd now, a distant fairy tale. All that mattered was not letting the slab kill her. His refusal to give up, so often landing him in absurd situations and wrecked cars, had now found its true meaning. He wouldn't break. Not for himself. For *her*.

Consciousness began to waver. The pain became less sharp, more blurred, as if he were being submerged in icy water. The darkness called, promising peace. He bit his lip until it bled, trying to regain clarity. Suddenly, Carmen stirred weakly beneath him. Her eyes, when she opened them with difficulty, were cloudy with pain and concussion, but a flicker of awareness shone through. Awareness of who was shielding her. Who was holding back hell.

“Devineaux?..” Her voice was a whisper, raspy from smoke. In her usually confident, slightly mocking eyes, a flicker of anxiety passed. He saw it. Saw her gaze sweep over his face, distorted by pain, over his bloody side.

“Quiet...” he forced out, catching his breath. “Save... strength.”

She tried to twitch weakly, but he only held her tighter, preventing her from moving under the dangerous weight.

“You... idiot...” she whispered, but her voice lacked the usual teasing note. There was something hesitant, almost tender, something deeply buried that she had never allowed herself to show. Fear not for herself, but for *him*. For this stubborn, insufferable, kind-in-his-fanatical-righteousness man, whose persistence she secretly found... admirable. Chase, who always chased her with burning eyes, heedless of danger, who wrecked cars and ruined V.I.L.E.'s plans, didn't believe in their existence, and was for her simultaneously a threat and the most annoying, most interesting person. And here he was, dying, but protecting *her*.

Suddenly, voices came from outside – young, urgent.

“Carmen! Carm, where are you?! Say something!”

“Look, movement! Under that slab!”

Ivy and Zack. The redheaded twins, her loyal helpers. Chase heard their quick footsteps, the scrape of debris being moved aside. Help was close. Relief, sweet and dangerous, almost made him loosen his grip. The slab shifted on his back. He groaned, gritting his teeth, and strained to the limit again. No. Not now. He had to hold. Until the end.

“Just a little longer...” Carmen whispered, looking into his eyes. Her gaze held a storm – gratitude, anxiety, something else, deeply buried and frightening even to herself. Love? To admit it was impossible. Not out of pride. Out of fear. Fear that V.I.L.E. would find out. Fear that his connection to her would be a death sentence for him. Fear of her own inexperience with this feeling. She could tease him, could romanticize his chase, but crossing the line... it was too dangerous. For him. For her. For everything she protected.

“Devineaux...” Her hand moved weakly, touching his cheek, brushing away dust. The gesture was awkward, clumsy, devoid of her usual confidence. Genuine flirtation was foreign to her. “Hold on...”

He focused his gaze on her, eyes that were already starting to blur. The pain was receding, giving way to icy numbness. But his hands, braced on the floor, his back, arched in an impossible effort, remained firm. Stubbornness. His defining trait. His curse and his salvation.

“Sandiego...” His voice was barely audible, rasping like stone grinding. “You're... under arrest... I'll... catch you... anyway...”

Even now, on the edge, his primary goal wouldn't release him. But these words held none of the old fury. There was only an exhausting, fanatical devotion to duty, mixed with something new. With an awareness of the fragility he shielded with his body. With admiration for her resilience that he would never voice. He wanted to catch her to prove himself right to ACME, to the world, to himself. To put an end to this obsessive game. But in this moment, under the ruins, protecting her life at the cost of his own, he, without understanding it himself, had caught something else. Something far more important and dangerous for them both.

The light of Ivy and Zack's flashlights broke through the gap. Hearing their cries of relief and shouts of urgency, Chase finally allowed the darkness to engulf him. His body went slack, but the slab didn't crash down – the twins' hastily inserted jacks took its weight. The last thing he felt before losing consciousness was Carmen's faint movement beneath him and her fingers still touching his face. And then – only silence and the knowledge that he had held. For her.