Archive of Our Own ^beta

He doesn’t know how much time passes, exactly, before his earpiece crackles suddenly to life. “Hope you’re comfy. Looks like your flight’s been pushed back a half hour.”

Shadowsan glances up at the electronic information board. It hasn’t been updated yet. 

Impassive, he waits another two minutes. The display flickers, and the words ON TIME change to DELAYED. 

He nods, satisfied. In the short time he’s known him, Shadowsan has already come to trust in how reliable Player’s intel is.

He’s seen the boy, over video-call. He’s… so young still. (They all are, really.) Yet, armed only with his keyboard and his skills, Player seems to know and handle everything remotely.

Shadowsan can respect that.

“How is she?” he asks. Succinct and rather more terse than he intended.

But Player seems to bypass his brusqueness and pick up on his underlying concern. There’s a pause as he, presumably, checks in with Ivy or Zack. Then: “Still spending most of her time asleep, today. Appetite’s a little better though.” 

Shadowsan grunts and re-crosses his legs. The main thing he dislikes about these missions is having to leave Carmen’s side for so long.

Not that he doesn’t trust her friends. They would clearly do anything for her. But he’s used to watching over her. From the moment he carried her out of that burning house, he’s felt somehow accountable for her. Responsible. 

As if Player has hacked into his thoughts, too, he speaks up just then. “Thanks again for taking over. I know you didn’t ask for this.”

Shadowsan hesitates. He could respond with a noncommittal sound here, and shut this line of conversation down. But he’s been up for hours. And this departure hall is empty of people, and full of sunrise colours coming in through the glass. Pinks and yellows. Reds. When he looks at them, he gets a curious hollow feeling at the bottom of his chest.

“Not in the way you mean,” he says, before he realises he’s even made the decision to. “But I did ask for this.”

Player’s keyboard has been clacking away in the background, but now it stops. “What do you mean?”

Shadowsan stands up and goes over to the tall windows, so he can watch the planes taxi to their positions. From this distance, they look so small and slow-moving. Like gentle giants with rounded edges, swimming through the air.

“All the things I have done, or condoned. I may have been on Black Sheep’s — Carmen’s,” he corrects himself, “side. But I was only protecting her from the very pit of vipers I brought her into.”

His hand drops reflexively to his side, where the sword he stole from his brother used to hang, until recently. His eyes blur and distort the peaceful scene before him, intensifying the soft hues into hot flames burning bright in the Argentinian night. 

He seems to only ever do the right thing belatedly.

“If this can be my penance,” Shadowsan says gravely, “it is already more than I could ask for.”

He closes his eyes and rubs at them. He must be more tired than he thought, if he cannot discipline his mind, stifle his thoughts before they reach his tongue. Or perhaps he just wants someone else to hear them.

“Oookay,” Player says. “Not to make light of you actually opening up for once, but… I think someone needs to take a nap.”

Shadowsan huffs, almost laughing. “You are probably correct.” There are too many secrets in him, welling up too near the surface. 

But he remains where he is. Just for a minute longer, he tells himself. Just to soak in that atmosphere of benignity and grace. 

“You know,” Player adds after a moment, “Carmen gave me direction, too.”

Shadowsan tilts his head, even though he knows Player doesn’t have a visual on him. “How so?” 

There’s a little squeak, probably from Player’s chair as he spins away from his computer screen. “When I hacked past V.I.L.E.’s twenty-seven layers of encryption — uh, yeah, sorry about that…”

It’s hard to resist a smile at the boy’s casual mention of this feat. “Go on.”

“Heh. I was still starting out as a white hat hacker. I didn’t know what I would find under all that encryption, obviously. I just did things like that, because it was a fun challenge. Because I could, and because it paid off sometimes.” Player sounds sheepish but otherwise matter-of-fact.

Then his voice turns warm: “I didn’t have a cause that I was fighting for. Not until I met Carmen.” 

Shadowsan cracks a smile. That, he can relate to. “Sometimes I think we are all just caught up in her slipstream.” 

Player hums his agreement. “She is kind of a force of nature.” 

They stay in mutual silence for a few minutes. Shadowsan continues to watch the planes, and the sky as it brightens, until they both hear the announcement that his flight has begun boarding. 

“See you on the other side,” Player says. He sounds lighter now, less guarded.

Shadowsan waits until his false passport has been cleared, to reply. “How long until I reach home?”

Player has the answer for him in two keystrokes. “Yikes. You’ve got a solid sixteen hours ahead of you. But hey, at least you’ll almost miss the rush hour traffic jams…” 

Shadowsan grumbles good-naturedly. He doesn’t really mind. The hollowness in his chest is rapidly disappearing at the thought of heading back. However tediously.  

It’s only later — after he’s followed the flight attendant’s instructions and switched off his earpiece with a quick word of goodbye to Player, after the plane has taken off and he’s flying high above the clouds, now surrounded by those melting colours — it’s only then, that he mentally replays his words. 

Home, he muses. It’s an unfamiliar, incongruous word. But he likes the sound of it.

Ivy suppresses a shudder and finishes her drink, making a mental note to work on the lighting situation next. She gives the glass a quick rinse, fills it with tap water again, and then leaves it by the sink.

The new flooring squeaks under her sneakers as she pads over to the couch and kneels so that she’s level with Carmen. “Hey,” says Ivy quietly, and waits for her friend to rouse from sleep.

Carmen’s eyes flutter open and focus on her. Ivy tries to sound matter-of-fact. “Time to brush your teeth. Come on. I’ve got you.”

It says something about how weak she must still feel, that without a word Carmen just accepts Ivy’s help to stand up and shuffle over to the kitchen area. Ivy has also laid out a toothbrush and toothpaste for her.

She waits within arm’s reach, and offers the glass of water when Carmen needs to rinse the foam out of her mouth. When she leans forward to spit, Ivy holds her hair back. 

“You think of everything,” Carmen teases, when she’s done. Ivy knows she means Thank you.

But if Carmen needs their usual banter to feel normal right now, then sure, she’ll play along. “Except for lamps! Are you sure you wanna stay here for the night again?”

Carmen’s already shaking her head no. “It’s fine, Ivy.” She pushes off from where she’s been leaning against the counter, and Ivy hurries to help her back to the couch.

As she’s heaping the thick blanket over Carmen, she suddenly speaks up again.

“I don’t think I can make it up the stairs.”

It’s not that she’s too proud to admit weakness. Not to Ivy, at least. But Carmen’s still embarrassed enough about her present state that she quickly adds, “For now.”

Instead of tempering the tide of sympathy for her friend, these words make Ivy feel worse. But she mustn’t let pity show on her face. Not when Carmen’s decided to be honest and vulnerable with her.

So Ivy tilts her head, as if gauging. “Bet I could carry you.”

She actually probably could. Failing which, she could get Shadowsan — she knows he can. When they first got back to San Diego from Sweden, with a basically unconscious Carmen in tow, he wordlessly scooped her up and carried her indoors. Ivy remembers trailing behind and seeing how he cradled Carmen close as they went through the doorway, so that she wouldn’t bump her feet or head.

She doubts Carmen remembers that, actually. 

In any case, Carmen knows she’s offering only half-seriously. “Oh, you don’t need to prove yourself to me, Muscles,” she says. Her wink is ever so slightly clumsy.

Ivy reaches out and brushes a lock of hair out of her face. “You’re kinda clammy,” she notes. She watches Carmen shrewdly. “More nightmares?”

A look of surprise crosses her face. “Can’t hide anything from you, huh.” 

Pursing her lips, Ivy tugs the blanket even more snugly around her, as if that could protect Carmen from the memories of what she’s so recently been through. “I could stay with you? If it’d help?” 

“You’re tired, too,” Carmen points out gently. “I hear you and Zack working on this place all day. And you look after me. Go get some rest, Ivy.” 

Ivy decides to bring her fresh clothes in the morning. Also a sponge bath — they can go to the ground floor bathroom for privacy. Out loud, she just says, “Alright. Then I shall leave you to your boudoir… Milady.”  

They don’t revive that old inside joke often, but each time they do, Carmen’s reaction is delightful to see. Ivy even throws in a little bow and flourish as she leaves. 

And then a last, lingering look from the stairs.

At the top of them, she turns not into her bedroom-in-progress — it needs work, like everything around the place — but into her workshop-in-progress. She flicks on the lights and blinks rapidly, waiting for her eyes to adjust. 

Things aren’t properly set up in here yet. She has a workbench and some tools, but not the materials she’ll need for the project she has in mind. 

She does have graph paper, though, and lots of it. Ivy perches on the bench and pulls the nearest sheets toward her. They’re already covered with pencilled sketches. At the side, she’s provided measurements, plugged numbers into formulae, and listed pros and cons of different designs she’s come up with so far. 

She reads over her most recent idea, nodding to herself and becoming rapidly engrossed. Yes, it’s taking shape. It just needs a little more work over here — but she has to be precise about this. Wait, where’s her protractor gone? Under these papers, maybe…? 

“Is this what you are looking for?”

Ivy jumps nearly out of her skin. “Geez, where’d you come from?!” 

Shadowsan has somehow materialised in her workshop. Right across from her, no less, and holding up the mathematical instrument in question.

He stares at her, deadpan. “You know where my mission was.”

Most of the time, Ivy thinks the guy is okay. He’s clearly as loyal to Carmen as they are. But other times, he says stuff like that with an utterly straight face and such a reproving, disciplinarian tone that Ivy just cannot deal. Is he cracking a joke on the assumption that she knows that he knows her question was rhetorical? Is ninja laughter silent, and communicated entirely through the faintest crinkling of laugh lines? 

Gah. She reaches forward and snatches the protractor from him. She has the disquieting impression, though, that it would be more accurate to say he lets her snatch it. 

“Isn’t it way past midnight?” Ivy points out, to regain lost ground. “What’re you doing up so late?” 

“Jetlag,” Shadowsan declares, “or so Player tells me is the term. And you?”

Ivy slides one of her sheets over to him. “Upgrades on Carmen’s glider,” she explains. “I’m thinking a backup tracker in the main spine here, in case her earpiece ever breaks like that again. And some sorta failsafe or panic button. Something for if she knows she’s losing consciousness and can’t control her path.”

Shadowsan’s eyebrows have raised in surprise. “You are her engineer? An inventor?”

“Just... a mechanic who’s branching out,” Ivy hedges. 

He considers her silently for a moment. “This safety precaution you are thinking of adding — it will allow you to take control of the glider remotely, perhaps?”

“Thought of that, but odds are about even that one of us’d be able to land her safely, even with practice.” Ivy taps the tiny box she’s drawn. “Your standard GPS tracker might do fine on latitude and longitude, but altitude tends to be dodgier, and even if I put in a tiny camera or something, we’d be at the mercy of patchy or laggy signal.”

She pauses before articulating her worst fear: “Besides, anything that high-tech can also be hijacked by someone who isn’t Player.” 

There’s a new expression in Shadowsan’s eyes now, one of admiration. “You have really thought about this. What is your recommendation, then?”

“Something she can activate to alert us when she needs help, basically. I’m also thinking about the material and shape of the wings.” 

Ivy rifles around until she finds the variations she drew up the other night. She splays them out across the table. “With the right fabric, I could make it so her glider doubles as an insulating blanket in an emergency. Or even a makeshift tent if she’s grounded.”

Cold temperatures and wind chill are the reason Carmen is downstairs on the couch right now, instead of itching for her next caper. Ivy refuses to let something like this happen to her friend ever again.

Shadowsan seems to read her resolution in the look on her face, without her needing to say anything. He nods, solemn as always.

Then he says, equally gravely, “I am sorry I called you an amateur.”

For a split-second, the thought crosses Ivy’s mind that maybe she should be offended. The thought is rapidly drowned out by the urge to laugh. So she does. 

It doesn’t help when Shadowsan starts looking confused at her reaction. In fact, it makes her laugh even more.

“I am not familiar with your youthful slang,” he says, wrinkling his nose at the newfangled word, “but I am quite sure laughter still means what I think it means.” 

Ivy points at him, huffing as she tries to stop cackling. “You look like Grumpy Cat when you do that,” she exclaims. “It’s not helping!”

Shadowsan immediately schools his expression, and eventually Ivy peters out — despite his also-very-amusing air of riding out her bout of temporary insanity, and trying not to provoke another.

“When did you even say that?” Ivy says, when she finally catches her breath.

“In Dubai,” Shadowsan answers. Then he adds helpfully, “You and your brother had just landed yourselves in jail.”

Ouch. That was mostly on Zack, but it was an amateur move. “Okay, fair.” 

At least Shadowsan tacitly agrees to let it drop, returning his attention to the sketches strewn across the table.

“Oh right, I should get back to this,” Ivy says. Then, in case he’s being his awkward ninja self and needs an excuse to leave: “I’ll let you get back to… being jetlagged, I guess.” 

Unexpectedly, though, Shadowsan remains where he is. Slowly, hesitating, he says, “If you are not opposed to the idea, I would like to keep you company while you work. It is a lonely task you have set yourself. But it need not be.”

Huh. Ivy raises an eyebrow at him. Too casually, with a smirk, she asks, “Learned that recently, have you? Mr. Lone Wolf, Ninja Disappearing Act?” 

It takes him a moment, but then Shadowsan narrows his eyes at her. “I feel like you are laughing at me again.”

“Don’t worry, old man,” Ivy tells him. “It’s a good thing.”

Tap.

Sighing, Zack stops tapping his foot and closes the front door again. Not yet, then.

He gives it another moment and then grabs Carmen’s laptop off the kitchen counter — knocking over a stack of bowls as he does.

Quicker than Zack’s eye can even follow, Shadowsan’s arm darts out and stops them from rolling off the counter. The next thing he knows, he feels the whole, formidable weight of Shadowsan’s stare settle upon him. 

“Yeesh!” Zack backs away, holding the laptop protectively to his chest. “It was an honest mistake. Please don’t turn me into sashimi.”

Shadowsan grunts, carefully replacing all the bowls but for one, into which he starts ladling some of the soup he’s been preparing. Instead of reprimanding him, he only says, “Do you not have anything to occupy yourself with while you wait?”

That’s kind of exactly why Zack’s at a loose end. Until the new delivery of wood planks arrives, he’s run out of things to do around here. “Uhh,” he says, and holds up the laptop. “I was thinking maybe a few rounds of Mario Kart with Player?” 

He pauses, realising who he’s talking to. “Sometimes we play racing games on the computer,” Zack explains, speaking slower than usual as he mentally filters out any references Shadowsan might not get. “You know, since I’m a driver, and he has those wicked gaming reflexes?”

Shadowsan hums like he’s listening, which is good enough for Zack. Then he says, “Sit,” and places two steaming bowls — one filled with fragrant rice, the other with miso soup — in front of one of the bar stools. 

Oooh. Food, yes. Food is good. Good enough to make Zack obey the order without another word. As he gets settled, he also video calls Player.

Who looks quite preoccupied, actually. Although that’s not unusual for him. It seems to Zack like Player is doing five things at once, all the time.

“Oh hey,” Player greets him. “Hang on, let me put you on my side screen…”

“Whatcha researching?” Zack asks, digging into his meal. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Shadowsan give him an approving nod.

“Super-fabrics,” Player answers with some relish.

Beyond the screen, Shadowsan opens the fridge and retrieves a plate of chicken-and-leek stir fry — probably leftovers from Ivy’s midnight cooking. She often gets snacky, but all their lives she’s preferred hot food to whatever’s convenient. Unlike Zack, who will insist he has standards but secretly knows that he probably does not.

Shadowsan waves to get Zack’s attention, and hands him the plate. “Heat this up for you and your sister. I cannot watch the stove while I attend to Carmen.”

“Sure,” Zack says, a little confused. “But I’d just pop it in the microwave.”

The look his statement elicits... can only be described as one of quiet horror. “If you must,” Shadowsan finally replies. He sounds somewhat strained.

Zack shrugs it off. He nukes the leftovers for about a minute and a half, then divvies them up, and arranges Ivy’s food on a tray. As he walks up the stairs with it, he sees Shadowsan perch on the end of the couch, near Carmen’s feet. She sits up slowly, but by herself — she’s getting a little stronger every day — and accepts a bowl from him.

He finds Ivy in the workshop, muttering to herself over a table covered in graph paper. 

“Whoa, sis. Where can I even set this down?” 

Ivy’s hair looks more frazzled then usual. Probably from the number of times she’s run a hand through it. “Oh, over here? Thanks.” She picks up a pile of papers and waits while Zack puts her lunch down in the free space.

Then she pauses. “Okay, now I dunno what to do with these.”

“Well, do you need ’em?”

“Nah. They won’t work.”

Zack has a sudden idea. “I… I could take ’em off your hands.”

He tries to sound innocuous, but naturally Ivy sees right through him. “What are you planning?” she asks, suspicious.

“Nothing at all, just gotta get back to my ninja training — I mean ninja food — I mean, oh look at the time, the delivery van’s gotta here by now, bye!” He grabs the pile of papers and darts away with them before she can react. 

Back downstairs, Zack pointedly ignores Shadowsan’s lifted eyebrow as he walks past the couch, his arms laden with papers. Carmen smiles like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Zack,” she greets him, her voice slightly hoarse from having just woken up.

He acknowledges her with a nod. “Carm.” 

“You are not going to question…?” Shadowsan asks her, trailing off as Carmen presumably shakes her head. 

Zack dumps the load all over the counter. Now he can commence his master plan.

Behind him, Shadowsan quietly urges Carmen, “Have a little more, if you can.” Her spoon clinks against the bowl as she tries.

Zack makes two final folds and then holds his creation aloft triumphantly. “Ta-da!”

From the open laptop in front of him, Player squints at the object. “I gotta be honest, dude. That doesn’t look much like a boat.”

His shoulders slump. He tilts the paper boat this way and that, comparing it with the picture in the online instructions he’s been following. “Maybe it could be one of those gold things instead? Eagles. Tots.” 

Player stares. “Are you trying to say ‘ingot’?”

“Aha! Yes. That.”

Immediately, the screen fills with images just like Zack is picturing in his head. “Wow, these actually have a really interesting history,” Player says. Zack fiddles with his ingot-boat as he listens to Player summarise whatever website he’s on. 

“It looks like ‘ingot’ is just a general term. The Chinese sycee or yuanbao were currency made by goldsmiths during the Qin dynasty. They varied a lot in size, shape, and details.” 

That makes Zack perk up. “So what you’re saying is, it’s okay if every one of these I make looks wonky, because it’s handcrafted?”

Player opens his mouth like he’s about to object, but then stops and shrugs. “You know what? Sure. Make some flowers, too. That’s another ingot shape.”

Zack doesn’t even hear Shadowsan approach until his voice is suddenly booming from just behind him. “If this is another asinine attempt to commence your ninja training…”

He nearly falls off the bar stool in his surprise. As he recovers, he clutches his chest dramatically. “You know, Ivy warned me, but I was not ready for that.” 

Shadowsan is unfazed, and peers over at Zack’s work while he washes the bowls he and Carmen were using. “I am not sure origami will help your sleight of hand,” he judges. “You do not strike me as… subtle.” 

“Hey! I’m a good actor in the field,” Zack protests. “Countess Cleo thinks I’m a duke.”

It sounds unconvincing, even to him, but Player chimes in. “She probably still does, actually.”

Shadowsan blinks in confusion, looking from Player to Zack, and then back again. A long minute or two passes as he sets the bowls on the draining board, and checks on the remaining miso soup that’s keeping warm in the slow cooker. 

“Nevertheless,” Shadowsan finally says, evidently deciding not to open that can of worms, “must you litter the area with your attempts?” 

He jerks his head at the boats, flowers, and numerous unidentifiable blobs that Zack has — excuse him — carefully laid out.

“They’re for Carm!”

Zack pauses, glancing over at his friend, who seems to be dozing off again. He lowers his voice just in case.

“You know. For when she next wakes up. I just thought…” He shrugs. “I just thought she might like seeing them.”

When Shadowsan doesn’t respond for a while, Zack looks up. Surprisingly, the man’s expression has softened. “I see,” he says. He checks his watch abruptly. “I have some time before I must leave for my next mission. Come.”

And he sweeps along upstairs, with Zack following helplessly behind. 

He never thought he would be invited to cross the threshold into Shadowsan’s room. There isn’t much decor up yet — the man’s been too busy with capers and Carmen — but there is a low, Japanese-style table in it. Shadowsan sits by it and indicates, with a hand gesture, that Zack should join him.

Atop the table, he places a stack of papers, small, fine and precisely square. Zack’s only just locked eyes on them when Shadowsan begins speaking.

“You have been using scrap paper thus far, but origami is best with appropriate materials. Not too flimsy, not too firm. Responsive.” He picks up one sheet and demonstrates a diagonal fold.

Zack copies the motion, checking that the corners line up before running his finger along the fold. When he looks up, Shadowsan is nodding at him approvingly. 

“Next, open, and fold again in the other direction.”

The next steps get… complicated. Zack has no idea what he’s doing at any given moment. He just looks across at Shadowsan’s work and tries to make the same thing happen with his.

Shadowsan is patient with him, though, and for the first time since knowing him, Zack can see that he actually makes a really good teacher. He knows when to wait for Zack to figure something out himself, and when to reach across the table and help him. His voice, usually stern, is pleasantly neutral.

The next thing Zack knows, there is a small, bright red origami crane sitting delicately in front of him.

“This is so cool!” he exclaims. “I made this. I can’t believe it.” 

Is it just him, or does Shadowsan look genuinely pleased with his progress?  

“We call these orizuru,” he says, placing his crane in the centre of the table. It’s neater than Zack’s — but not by a whole lot. “In Japanese tradition, folding one thousand paper cranes and stringing them together into a Senbazuru, grants you one wish. People commonly do this to show support when someone close to them is ill.”

He looks meaningfully at Zack.

“Oh.” 

Zack sighs. “I was wondering why you were teaching me. It’s not like I’ve shown much promise as a novice ninja.”

Shadowsan doesn’t patronise him by contradicting him. Instead, he hums and muses, “But that is not your role on this team.” 

Zack nods, agreeing but a little glumly. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m the getaway driver.”

“That is your utility, yes,” Shadowsan concedes. “However. You also keep the group going with your levity and good heart. You would not deny that Ivy and Player are more than just mechanic and hacker? Then neither can you claim to be merely our driver.”

He’s stunned. “Wow. Anyone ever tell you that you give really good pep talks? Unexpected, but… good.”

Shadowsan only watches him, with his customary poker face. “Would you like to make another?” he asks, glancing at the cranes.

Slowly, Zack places his orizuru in the centre of the table, next to Shadowsan’s. “No way will we make it to a thousand of these before Carm’s better, though,” he points out. 

“Hm.” Shadowsan picks up another square of paper. “Then she can help us with the rest herself.” 

Zack likes that thought. 

They fold in silence for a while, uninterrupted except for when he forgets the steps and has to double-check with Shadowsan. Which Zack is comfortable doing, now. He seems so much less growly and disapproving. 

Zack doesn’t try to go fast. Not yet, at least. For once, it’s enough for him to stay in the moment, helping to make a decoration that might make this warehouse feel more like home for his friend. 

Then, while trying to picture what a thousand of these cranes even looks like, Zack has a sudden epiphany. He gasps loudly, breaking the serenity. “I know what else we can make!” 

Shadowsan raises an eyebrow at him. Then, as Zack explains, he starts to smile.

“You got her?”

Ivy responds while Zack concentrates on the icy road. Her voice is soft, nearly sad, and yet she sounds like she’s smiling. “Yeah, Player. We got her.”

Relief isn’t an adequate word for what he feels. But he doesn’t have time for that. He’s still on call.

Player’s fingers fly across the keyboard. “Finding you the quickest, clearest route to the hospital, Zack. And… sending.”

Even as Zack thanks him — sounding uncharacteristically grim as he does — Player’s already shifting his attention to his other screen. Fluidly, he mutes his mic input on one channel, and switches on the second.

“Shadowsan, come in,” he says tersely.

His tone must alarm the man, because the first thing he says in return is, “Player. What is wrong?”

Player answers absently, but urgently. At the same time, he’s also making a minute adjustment to Zack’s route based on updated local traffic data, and hacking into a private company’s database to put Shadowsan on the manifest of a direct flight to Sweden. That... isn’t, strictly speaking, legal. But the company is dodgy to begin with, and flying commercial from Malaysia would simply be too slow.

“You’ll be there by the morning,” he guarantees. Shadowsan grunts in assent. Player suspends the line for now, to let him focus on hurrying to the airport.

He sits back in his chair, feeling suddenly drained. “And I’ll be here,” he tells the empty room.

On any given day during Carmen’s recuperation, Player’s routine goes something like this.

He video calls her laptop and asks the first person to notice him — usually Zack or Ivy, as they look up from their work to wipe sweat off their brows — how Carmen is doing. He continues trawling through the data on the second V.I.L.E. hard drive, while also keeping an eye on Carmen if Shadowsan is away on a mission and Ivy is up in her workshop instead of downstairs. 

Every so often, Zack will come in over comm link to ask for another bulk order of construction materials. A little less often, Carmen will jerk awake, her breathing harsh and her eyes wild.

The first time this happens, Player says, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, you’re safe,” over and over. Soothingly. Impotently. Then he comms Ivy to go over to Carmen — the same thing he would do if they were on a mission. Call in local ground support.

Except for one time, of course. The time he told Zack to go after Ivy, leaving Carmen to freeze nearly to death in a ravine.

That still haunts him.

And so the second time a nightmare wakes her up — cruelly, they come more often as she recovers physically, because exhaustion is no longer keeping her sleep too deep for dreams — Player comms someone again. This time, Zack’s the nearest. He runs over in a panic, still holding a hammer he was using. Carmen looks very unimpressed.

The third time, Carmen almost immediately holds her hand up, shaking her index finger at Player in warning. He stops with his finger over the hot key for Shadowsan’s comm.

“I know what you’re doing,” she rasps, then clears her throat and looks at him more steadily. “It’s not exactly subtle.”

Player shrugs, the picture of false innocence. “What am I doing? I’m just… hacking this hard drive.” He pats it.

Carmen raises an unconvinced eyebrow at him. “You’re hovering,” she accuses.

Then she tilts her head at him and sits up properly, pulling her blanket around her. Her voice softens. “Wanna tell me why?”

Player pauses for a second. “Sorry, Red. Not really,” he says frankly.

He glances at his other screen so he won’t have to see her face if she looks hurt. He toggles among his tabs. It’s a nervous habit, of sorts. The result of being used to multi-tasking, and entirely unused to thorny questions.

“I should get back to this,” he lies. “And you should get some more rest.”

There’s a not-too-distant thud as Zack or Ivy — but let’s be real, probably Zack — drops something.

“That is, if you can get any rest with all the construction going on around you,” Player adds, trying for levity.

Carmen hums. “It actually helps me. It’s… familiar. Comforting.”

Player likes working with the background audio of his friends up to their respective shenanigans. So he couldn’t agree more. 

Which is maybe why he misunderstands the thoughtful look Carmen gives him then.

He’s just starting some research for Ivy’s glider upgrades when Shadowsan’s voice comes in. “Player. I must request your assistance.”

Reflexively, Player pings the tracker in Shadowsan’s comm. “Woah, you’re a long way from the warehouse. What’s up?”

Silence from the other end. Player zooms in on the virtual map.

Hang on. He can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Are you lost?” he asks, because that’s the only logical explanation for why Shadowsan… is in a mall.

“I am…” Shadowsan trails off, and sighs deeply before finishing his sentence. “Shopping.”

Player covers his mouth with one hand to stifle his laughter. He blinks rapidly and looks skyward — or what would be skyward, if he weren’t content in his dark cave of a room. He thinks the gods of comedy must be smiling on him today.

“Mmhmm,” he says, mustering the discipline to speak in a normal-sounding voice. “And what exactly do you need help with?”

“Blue with stripey race-cars,” Shadowsan intones gravely, “or yellow with red race-cars?”

Player inhales through his nose. He never thought he would hear Shadowsan pronounce the word stripey.

Also. “Please don’t tell me you’re buying Zack boxers.”

“What? No.” Shadowsan sounds appalled. Ah, apparently nobody told him about Trey Sterling in Dubai. “Bedsheets. It is unhygienic for the boy to be sleeping on a bare mattress. Which he will, if left to his own devices.”

Player silently concedes the point, and backtracks a little to the original question. “Yellow with red,” he suggests. “It’ll remind him of pepperoni pizza.”

There’s a thunk as Shadowsan presumably adds the bedsheets to his shopping cart.

“I am also buying groceries. And spare electronic parts for Ivy. Her room is well-furnished; she does not need help acquiring basic amenities.” He pauses. “Would you like anything, Player?”

It takes him a moment to realise Shadowsan isn’t kidding. “Uhh, no, I’m good.” He doesn’t want to explain another mysterious package so soon.

He leaves Shadowsan’s audio on, and goes back to his research with the sounds of quiet shopping going on in the background. For a fearsome ninja and alleged mastermind thief, the man is almost ridiculously mild-mannered. He thanks people when they make way for him, and he greets store assistants and asks how their day has been, before asking if the fresh corn is locally grown.

Player can’t help but smile as Shadowsan gets treated to an impromptu, meandering lecture about corn varieties and ideal methods of preparation for each. Sometimes he really wishes he had a visual on his friends. As it stands, he has to imagine Shadowsan’s expression as he solemnly agrees that butter is a good complement, but shouldn’t be the star of the show.

Finally, Shadowsan is allowed to select his corn and leave. As he does, he muses, “Do you know what I am thinking about, Player?”

Player’s half-surprised he isn’t grousing about overly-friendly Americans. Although… that might still be on the cards. 

“Lemme guess,” he says. “Does it start with a C and end with N?”

Without missing a beat, Shadowsan replies, “I suspect you are referring to the vegetable about which I now know… a fair amount. But I mean Carmen.”

Obligingly, Player checks on his other screen. “She’s asleep,” he reports.

Shadowsan goes on as if he hasn’t spoken. “Carmen tells me something is on your mind.” 

He sounds cautious, like he’s treading gingerly. That’s what clues Player in to what he’s talking about. Go get your sister. Red knows how to fend for herself in a pickle.

“Huh. Is this what it’s like to have a sibling rat on you?” he wonders aloud.

“Perhaps,” Shadowsan admits. “I would not know.” 

There isn’t any real grief in his voice. But it still makes Player go quiet for a while.

Shadowsan continues, “To be fair to Carmen, I already knew about the guilt you carry, Player. You all but told me yourself.” 

What…?

“Do you not remember what you said, when you called to tell me what had happened?” 

Shadowsan must be standing in a deserted aisle. It slightly tickles Player to think of him having such an intense conversation in front of breakfast cereals or laundry detergent. But he doesn’t crack a smile.

“You said you made the wrong call, and put her in danger. You said you had failed her. You did not,” Shadowsan asserts. He sounds firm yet gentle. “You made the only possible call.”

“But was it the right one?” Player asks, before he can help himself. That’s the question he keeps circling back to these days.

Shadowsan answers it with a question of his own. “Was it right of me to save Carmen, in Argentina?”

Player’s startled into blurting out, “Yes. Of course it was.”

Shadowsan’s voice darkens. “And was it right of me to bring her to V.I.L.E. Island? To steal a normal life from her by bringing her into a world of criminals?”

For all that he’s usually quick on the uptake, that stumps Player.

“Sometimes, there are no right calls,” Shadowsan says quietly. “You think you are making one decision, but you are also making another. At least, that is what I tell myself. Now, I have one other question for you, Player.”

Oh, no. “If it’s another moral quandary, I’m about tapped out.”

“It is nearly as important,” Shadowsan warns him. 

Player tenses involuntarily. Then he hears: “I have a gift in mind for Carmen. Would you look up a store directory for me?”

Player smiles, recognising an out when he sees one.

“I gotcha,” he says — and knows, in a flash, that his friends have got him, too.

The next time Carmen wakes up, it’s to a sea of origami detritus all over the table.

Player watches as she blearily takes in the scene. Then she asks, “Why does it look like Paper Star had an off day in here?” 

“Zack’s learning to be a ninja,” Player replies enigmatically, not wanting to spoil his surprise. “And on another note: I know what you did.” 

Carmen has a moment of confusion, but then a sly look crosses her face. “Oh? And what was that?”

Player’s had some time to think. To realise how Carmen has turned his own gesture against him. So without hesitation, he says, “You called in local ground support.”

He can feel Carmen watching him closely, still concerned. “So. All good?” she checks.

“Getting there,” he says, nodding.

Something else is still bothering him, though. “Wait, so… I know you put Shadowsan up to the talking bit, but how did you swing making him go to the mall?”

Her eyes widen and she leans forward to grip the laptop. He has the feeling she would be shaking his shoulders if he were there in person. “That wasn’t me! Player. You have to tell. Me. Everything.”

Slowly, eventually — he does.

Of course it is. They’ve known each other the longest. While she was training at V.I.L.E. Academy, he was the tinny little voice in her ear. Her lifeline to the outside, ordinary world. And now that she’s left Black Sheep behind to become Carmen Sandiego, Player’s still here, looking out for her, providing intel or banter as needed.

He’s always been able to give her perspective. And right now, after her world has just been rocked, she desperately needs that.

The warehouse door shuts behind Carmen with a soft click. She shoves her hands in her pockets as she crosses the road and goes to stand by the water. Earlier, when Player was breaking the news to her about Dexter Wolfe, she found the constant sibilance and motion soothing. She’s hoping it’ll help again.

Carmen sighs and calls.

“You okay, Red?” Player asks, the moment he picks up.

“I spoke to Shadowsan,” she says. Unnecessarily — Player already knew she intended to confront him.

She bites her lip. And then it all comes pouring out of her. How Shadowsan was sent to kill her father. How Wolfe hid her when Interpol arrived, pacifying her with the Matryoshka dolls to stop her cries from giving her away.

How he was shot in cold blood by the current Chief of A.C.M.E., after promising to come back for Carmen.

There are tears in her eyes as she recounts this last portion of the little she now knows of her father. Even though she was too young to have any memories of him, it matters that he loved her. Enough to want to leave V.I.L.E. and plan to start a new, more peaceful life with his family.

Player seems to have come to the same conclusion, because he quietly says, “It helps, doesn’t it. Knowing you weren’t abandoned somewhere. Not willingly.”

Carmen nods, then remembers that he can’t see her on a voice call. “A little,” she says, and clears her throat when her voice wobbles.

“And do you believe Shadowsan?”

His story fits what we know, she immediately thinks, but then counters herself. There’s no physical evidence to back it up. Only his word.

She hesitates for a second, grappling with these opposing impulses.

“I want to,” she says at last. Even to her own ears, she sounds like a child. Vulnerable. Betrayed, yet hopeful that this time… this time will be different.

Carmen brushes it off by asking, “You changed your mind about him — does this change it back?” 

Player’s silent for long enough that she worries the connection has dropped. Just as she’s about to check, though, he speaks up.

“While you’ve been benched — or couched, I guess?”

Carmen rolls her eyes. It’s obligatory for a pun that lame, despite the serious subject matter. 

Player continues, unrepentant. “I’ve had a couple of conversations with Shadowsan where he seemed… so full of guilt over you. And I could never understand why.”

Her brow furrows. “What did he say?” 

“He talked about how saving you was the right thing to do, but not bringing you to live among criminals. And another time, he called joining the team his penance.”

The pieces start to slot into place for Carmen. “He knew the only way to keep me safe was to bring me back to V.I.L.E. Island,” she says slowly. “But he also knew that’s the opposite of what my father wanted for me.”

So where does that leave us? 

Before she can stew in that thought, Player interjects. “I’m gonna tell you something Shadowsan told me not too long ago. He said, sometimes there are no right calls.”

Player hesitates and then adds, “But you still have to make one. And then live with it. Shades of gray, you know?”

The word triggers a recollection. Gray. Or — Graham, now, she corrects herself, echoing all the times he had.

She made a call about him for his own good, didn’t she? She decided to lie by omission, in order to protect her friend. To give him a fresh start, away from the world they both came from.

It’s not all that different from Shadowsan’s choices regarding her.

Even though Player’s question was rhetorical, Carmen nods to herself slowly, and answers it. “Yes, Player. I think I do know.”

She stays by the water for a while after hanging up, letting the tension leach out of her muscles. Then she goes inside, where she finds Zack and Ivy in their workshop.

Ivy’s fiddling with something or other — Carmen leans to one side to get a closer look, but the next thing she knows, Zack is leaping up at her and obscuring her entire field of vision with what seems to be… paper curtains?

“Don’t peek! It’s a surprise!” he shrieks.

Ivy calls out from behind him. “Oh, it’s fine, bro. I’m almost done.”

Muttering and slightly disgruntled, Zack pulls back.

Which allows Carmen to finally realise what he’s holding. “Are these cranes?”

More importantly: “How many are there?”

“Not even close to a thousand,” Zack replies, with equal parts mystery and rue. Before Carmen can ask, though, Ivy shoves past him, holding up something that would look like giant bat wings, if it wasn’t also bright red.

“It’s your new glider,” she says excitedly, unfolding the wings to demonstrate the smoothness of their motion. “I made some upgrades on the old design.”

Carmen blinks, momentarily speechless. “Ivy, it’s amazing!”

She listens and nods along as Ivy starts to explain the specifications. The properties of the cool new material Player found and ordered. The dimensions, the way the flexible spines will fold along hidden joints for multi-functionality.

After a while, dizzy from all the features, she raises a hand to stop her. “Ivy, when did you even have time to do all this?”

“Well, it’s not like I was busy with you all the time. Shadowsan was watching over you pretty much whenever he was here and conscious.”

Ivy’s too occupied with the new glider to notice the change come over Carmen’s expression at the mention of Shadowsan. Small mercies.

“So that’s this baby!” Ivy exclaims, concluding her glider spiel. “With her, you’ll know we’ve always got your back.”

She winks. “Literally.”

All her friends are incorrigible punsters. Carmen turns her attention to Zack. “And dare I ask about the origami?”

Grinning, he rustles the curtains of strung-together cranes at her. “Shadowsan showed me how to fold ’em. We figured they could go in your room.”

There’s too much going on in those two sentences for Carmen to parse in that moment. Shadowsan… voluntarily teaching Zack origami? And folding several hundred cranes with him? And— 

Carmen blinks at the real showstopper. “I… I have a room?”

Her room is… bare.

But then, it’s not like she has particularly high standards. Her bed at V.I.L.E. Academy was one cot in a huge, shared dorm, and even before she enrolled, her quarters were always a sparse, utilitarian affair.

From just over her right shoulder, Ivy says, “We did up the basic furnishings and flooring, but the customisation’s up to you.”

“Yeah, maybe you can start a souvenir collection from the places we go on our next capers!” Zack chimes in. He’s somewhere to her left.

Carmen lets her eyes rove over the room, seeing it anew in terms of its potential. She inhales. It smells faintly of wood varnish and citrus — there’s a small air freshener by the window, which is open just a crack to let in the breeze.

“It’s perfect,” she declares. “Thanks, guys.”

“You haven’t even seen the best part!” So saying, Zack squeezes past her and gestures toward the corner, where they’ve put in a bed, still bare, and a night stand.

On it, there’s a huge world globe.

In a daze, Carmen crosses half the room and reaches out to trace the landmasses. They’re divided into different countries, each in a distinct shade. The blue of the oceans is rich and deep.

“It was Shadowsan’s idea,” Ivy says, coming over to admire the globe too. “He thought it might help you adjust to having a home base.”

Somehow, that doesn’t surprise Carmen. Shadowsan seems to be getting glowing testimonies all round from her friends today.

On a sudden impulse, she spins the globe, causing the colours to blend together into a rainbow. She watches it for a while, until it starts to slow down, and when she puts out a hand to stop it entirely, she sees with a smile that Argentina happens to be marked out in red.

“Where do you want these, Carm?” Zack calls from the other side of the room. She looks over. He’s holding up the paper cranes. “Over here?”

“Sure,” she answers, distantly.

Ivy nudges her. “You okay?”

That’s right; in the rush of things, she hasn’t yet told Ivy or Zack about confronting Shadowsan. Carmen realises this with a pang of guilt. But right now, she doesn’t feel up to rehashing the whole business with them. She needs to be by herself for a while, listen to her gut.

“Not really. But I’ll tell you about it soon,” she promises.

Ivy watches her for a moment, then nods. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Carmen doesn’t look up, but she just knows when Ivy starts hustling her brother out of the room. After they’re gone, she sits on her new mattress, bouncing a little to test the springiness while she thinks.

She can’t put her finger on what she’s feeling, exactly. The emotion is almost like grief, except it’s for someone she never knew. Dexter Wolfe. She repeats the codename in her head. Will she ever know who he really was? Did he ever get a chance to be that man? It seems to her that his life was cut short just as he was about to reinvent it. With her. For her.

And her mother…

Carmen lifts the globe and sets it on the bed in front of her, sitting cross-legged to make room. She spins it idly.

Growing up on V.I.L.E. Island, each of the instructors took it in turn to teach her something about the world. Shadowsan told her about Japan using a globe quite like this one. He told her the legend. And later, the truth.

Is that the case this time round, too?

Ever since finding out that Shadowsan, not Coach Brunt, was the one who saved her in Buenos Aires, she’s had this mental image of him finding her as a baby by the side of the road somewhere. She pictures tall, yellowed grass. She hears his clogs scuffing the dirt. She feels the hot and dry wind, abrasive against her young face.

But that’s the legend. The truth comes to her in a flash. What was it he said? You were the only loose end I was thoroughly unprepared to tie off. 

The truth is thwarted hopes, and a fire that consumed everything her family had. The truth… is that she lost her father that night, because of a cruel mistake. But she was always loved. Always cared for. Always watched over.

Abruptly, Carmen stops the spinning globe. 

“I can hear you lurking.” She speaks quietly, but she knows he’s heard her.

Shadowsan appears in the doorway as silently as ever. Even Carmen doesn’t quite know how she sensed his presence.

She meets his gaze steadily, and he reads her thoughts from her expression. So he only bows his head slightly, in deference, and asks, “What is your next move?”

She lets one corner of her lips lift in the beginnings of a sly smile.

Preparations happen speedily.

With Player’s tracker on the hologram of Chief, it doesn’t take them long to figure out where her apartment is. Then they take it in turns to observe and log her daily routines. 

Chief gets a latté practically every morning from a café just down the block. Player does his white hat hacking thing, Zack approaches the owners in the guise of a businessman representing Duke Vermeer Beans (his idea, obviously), and they take two days off to celebrate winning an exclusive deal to sell an award-winning yet top-secret new blend. And to start spending the considerable advance payment.

Carmen will pick the lock, Zack will pretend to be a halfway competent barista, and on Carmen’s orders, Shadowsan will stay far, far away from Chief’s clutches. Ivy has already engineered a hard disk that looks exactly like V.I.L.E.’s, which will give Player his way in to A.C.M.E.’s servers. 

The plan is all coming together.

The night before they have to travel to their Ocean’s 5 Heist (again, Zack’s idea) is, by unspoken consensus, family dinner time. Or, in Player’s case, weird middle-of-the-night snack time.

Between Carmen’s recuperation, and now their new caper to plan, they haven’t all gotten to have a meal together yet. Carmen is especially fascinated by how quickly Ivy and Shadowsan are able to throw together enough food for everyone.

She’s quiet for most of dinner, choosing to listen to everyone else’s conversations. While she does, she picks up the most brilliantly yellow ear of corn she’s ever seen, and begins nibbling it. It’s sweet and juicy.

Shadowsan is nodding along as Zack describes some sort of game involving a goose. The man is wearing his most intensely solemn look, which Carmen knows means he’s utterly lost. Ivy is haggling with Player over his music choices, since he seems to have appointed himself unofficial DJ for the duration of the meal.

“Dang, Carm!” Zack exclaims suddenly, breaking her serenity. “How’re you so neat?”

Everyone’s attention is on her now.

“Uhh.” Carmen holds up her partially eaten corn. “I’m just… following the rows?”

“Forgive my brother,” Ivy drawls, in what amounts to a common refrain from her. “He thinks corn is made purely to stick between your teeth, and not come off the cob properly.”

Zack scoffs. “Okay, but can you beat that?” He indicates Carmen’s corn.

“You know I don’t back down from a challenge,” Ivy warns him. “And I bet I can figure out Carmen’s technique.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “You’re on.”

Mysteriously, Shadowsan turns to Player and says, “Patience and stillness are crucial in stealth, but I do not have enough of either for another protracted discussion of corn.”

Carmen observes them all in bemusement.

“I can referee,” Player offers, which earns him an exasperated look.

That, in turn, makes Carmen smirk and say, “You should be the impartial judge, Shadowsan.”

He looks appalled at her. Which means he’s going to act like he’s tolerating their childish behaviour, while secretly enjoying it.

How was she ever intimidated by this man? Now it seems like she can see through, and even anticipate, every one of his affectations.

Still holding her gaze, Shadowsan addresses everyone else. “Would you like to hear about young Carmen’s favourite dessert?” 

“Yes,” Ivy says fervently.

“This’ll be good,” Player remarks.

“Is it gelato?” Zack asks, hopeful.

Okay, maybe Shadowsan won’t just let this one slide without an act of petty revenge.

“Once, I smuggled Kashiwa-mochi back to the island for Carmen. They are a type of rice cake containing a sweet filling, such as anko. That is red bean paste.”

Carmen tilts her head at him. “I remember you swearing me to secrecy. And the oak leaf wrapped around it — the island didn’t have leaves like that,” she says, smiling. “You never told me why I was getting a treat. What was the occasion?”

Shadowsan hesitates ever so slightly before answering, “Children’s Day in Japan.”

“It’s celebrated on May 5th,” Player adds, apparently reading from a website, “to wish them growth and happiness. Oh hey! Fun fact: the oak leaf is symbolic of the prosperity of one’s children, because oak trees don’t shed old leaves until new ones grow.”

Carmen raises an eyebrow at Shadowsan, who looks faintly embarrassed. He recovers by saying, “Well, you ended up hyper from the sugar and the thrill of having a secret. So much so that you nearly gave it away immediately.”

“I’m sure I wasn’t that obvious,” Carmen defends herself.

His face and voice are both deadpan as he replies. “You ran around my rooms for two hours, climbing everything and intermittently chanting mochi, mochi, mochi. You were fascinated by the sound of the word. I could not let on that I brought you something from the outside world, so I had to tell the rest of the Faculty I was indisposed. To this day, I know not what they thought was happening to me.”

“That’s adorable!” Ivy leans forward in her seat. “Please say you have more stories about li’l Carmen.”

“If it will get me out of judging a corn-eating contest,” Shadowsan says, sounding exaggeratedly put-upon, “I have plenty.”

(He does, and he tells them throughout the rest of dinner. He even plays things up, re-enacting scenes for the entertainment of the others. But he always glances at Carmen at the conclusion of each tale. He holds her gaze as he gives her the childhood stories she assumed were lost to her, didn’t belong to her, conceptually. Here, Shadowsan seems to say. This is proof. This is you.)

Later, as they’re washing up, Carmen ends up on dish-drying duty. Shadowsan is washing, while Zack ferries items from the draining board to Carmen, and Ivy puts the dry plates and utensils back in their respective cupboards and drawers. It’s a system. 

And they’re a team.

It’s weird how this is hitting her now, and not when they were putting their heads together to plan the heist they’re about to execute. But her family — and that’s what they are, really, that’s what they’ve become — her family is weird. It’s two redheads from the Boston racing circuits, a Japanese ninja who’s now a traitor to basically the entire criminal world, a kid with a keyboard in Canada, and her: an orphan saved from a burning villa in Argentina. Saved again, every day, by these people.

Carmen watches them, and finally feels strong again.