Sly Cooper headcanon:
Okay so, Sly is romantic. Not just in action and giving, no: he is a deeply romantic and lovesick soul. When he met Carmelita? She turned his whole world pink whenever they encountered. The Cooper lineage has had its share of romantic raccoons, (hello, Galleth), and Sly inherited that sighing heart and enamored soul. It goes deeper than what is shown on screen.
When Carmelita returns his flirtatious quips, his stomach flutters and he almost chokes on his next delivery of banter. At times their hands touch, when she’s actually successful in briefly catching up to him, his hand jolts with electricity—not from a shock pistol, but the warmth of Carmelita’s touch. He would return to the Safehouse after escape, dazed and flustered and wearing a big smile that all has Murray amused, and Bentley confused. They would catch him curled on the desk or sometimes, in the back of the van, weaving blue roses together with silent concentration. Eventually making so many strings of flowers that would pile up in the corner or wherever he had them, littering the van or the Safehouse.
Bentley is irritated as his allergies act up, Murray tries his best to find safe places for all of the roses. But Sly keeps making and adding to the collection. Eventually Bentley tells him to just go drop them all off at Inspector Fox’s, that he’s only going to keep filling every available space with the creations of his lovesick hands. Sly is almost immediately out the door with as many as he can carry.
He leaps and runs and slides in shadows through Paris, lit by the city and the white moon, until he spots a window, orange light glowing through it to catch his eyes. He lands, arms doing all they can to contain so many flowers. Some trail behind him, draped over the balcony rail and hanging in soft darkness. Faint jazz floats through the air, muffled by the glass separating him from the one who’s almost always on his mind. As Sly realizes with a joyful start, ‘she’s here,’ he makes to open the window. However, gives pause when remembering how determined Carmelita usually is to capture him on a daily basis. Although they were both off the clock, would she still try to seize him?
Alternative plan: Sly knocks once, twice, gives a few light raps to the glass. A short moment barely passes, and his ears feel the catch of a record as the music halts. He sets the flowers down, every one nearly overflowing on her small balcony, and prepares to break. Confusion grasps him, though, when new music enters the air.
Had she not heard the tapping? Sly actually pushes into the room this time, seeking just a little peek at whatever Carmelita was doing. He doesn’t get far before her shock pistol shoves underneath his nose.
“Cooper,” her voice is soft, but clear. His heart immediately melts. “What are you doing.”
Everything around them drowns in her presence. All he can see is her sunset eyes, the soft wefts of indigo curling against her fiery fur. But her gaze pins him, and his heart races to get away from him like he often did her, joyful in their familiar game. He wants in that moment to crawl into her arms without worrying that she might draw his own behind him with cuffs. But her expression is tired, not all there. Brilliant brown orbs fight to stay awake when her dense lashes flutter over them continuously. The grip on her pistol is tight, but has to keep regaining itself. Though she doesn’t sway, her tail does not flicker hotly as it did whenever their paths crossed; it was limp behind her, exhausted. It was all so unlike her. It scared him.
Sly said immediately what sprang into his mind out of instant concern.
“Are you okay?”
His voice jumped urgently into his own ears. Carmelita was just as startled, gun faltering slightly to Sly’s collar as her shoulders sagged.
“What?”
The two stare at each other, trying to figure the other out. Sly draws a slow breath. “Are you okay . . .?”
When his question sinks into her mind, Carmelita all but drops the shock pistol. “What are you talking about?”
He feels himself shrink, worry driven further when she leans against the window frame for what looked like support. Meekness breaks his voice mid-sentence. “You’re not yourself.”
“Not my . . .” She seemed to really take in his trepidation, eyes narrowed in confusion, then contemplation. A moment passes between them, silence only kept at bay by the activity of late-night Paris below them. Carmelita pushes off the wall, and Sly is immediately tense.
Instead of snatching him, she steps aside. “Get in here.”
He’s frozen in a crouched position, body wound in preparation to make an escape. She had never invited him in. Ever. Their gazes held for a few seconds, hers worn and his alarmed. She seems ready to repeat herself, but finally notices his predicament. Her shock pistol falls to the floor, and is kicked aside.
“I’m not gonna try anything if you don’t.”
Oh. Relief and trust slowly return to Sly, pushing him to lean against the window more. He finally steps into the room, tentative in his feet, eyes never straying from hers. Once his tail curls inside, the window is clicked shut behind him, and he’s immediately enveloped in the warmth of her home.
I think that strayed from the initial headcanon, but I love these two! Their little encounter doesn’t actually end there, I’ll likely post another part once written. My love for this franchise grows more and more every day.
