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When Graham had permitted the head of ACME to pass on his regards to Carmen, he had expected nothing more to come of it.
He went back to work in Australia—odd jobs as an electrician, none that provided him with the thrill that VILE had.
But he could never regret giving that up—for Carmen. For her, he would have done near everything. Give up everything.
And he had.
For someone who likely hated him, or just as likely, did not at all think of him.
While his thoughts were plagued by her constantly.
No one was going to call him Gray anymore, he thought with a pang.
He'd hated the nickname. Still did, honestly.
But from her, Black Sheep, Carmen. . . .
"A little daring, using your actual name," came the voice of exactly the person he'd been thinking of. He spun around, wide-eyed.
She wasn't in her typical red coat, rather in a tracksuit that would have made Coach Brunt proud. "Getting sloppy, Gray."
"What are you doing here?" was what came out of his mouth.
Her brows furrowed. She looked good—healthy. He wondered what she'd been up to. "Some of us don't bother keeping up with our criminal skills," he continued levelly.
"You're alive," she breathed as though unable to believe that.
He frowned. "That woman didn't tell you?"
"Chief did, yes, but I wasn't sure. . . . I used the rod at full power after all."
"Let's just call it payback for the train in Paris, eh?"
"Not funny, Gray," she said, unimpressed. She hesitated—she didn't often do that.
Or maybe she did.
He didn't know her anymore, if he ever had.
"If you don't want me here. . ." she said softly.
"Of course I want you here!" he exclaimed shocked. "But why would you want to be here?"
"Player hacked into ACME and found out what happened. You saved me." Her voice was emotional.
He shrugged uncomfortably. "I chose a life of crime. You—very showily—did not."
"So you saved my life," she started.
"Not your life," he protested. "You were having a fun time as one of the faculty."
She flinched. He realized she still hadn't come to terms with all that she'd done.
Including what she'd done to him, apparently.
"Yes, you saved my life," she said firmly when she recovered. "What I was doing—who I was, that was no life."
He looked at her. That was the thing they had always disagreed on.
For him, crime and VILE had been natural.
It had never been that way for her.
"Okay," he prompted.
"And then you disappeared." Her voice was thick with hurt.
He was struck by it. "I didn't think you'd want me around."
"You didn't even stick around long enough for me to apologize for the—"
"You don't need to apologize for anything," he declared firmly. "And I didn't stay there because. . . because you'd be better off without me."
The vulnerability sickened him. His former best friend considered him. "I thought the same thing," she admitted, finally. "When you'd lost your memories—I thought your life would be easier without me in it."
"Didn't stick to that long, did you?" he smirked. She shot him a look. "I could never be better off without you, Carmen. You were my best friend."
"You were mine too," she said softly. "Practically my big brother."
He swallowed. He could hear the same words being thrown at him like an accusation on that train to Paris.
She put a hand to her ear and then laughed. "Sorry, Player," she muttered.
"Is he listening? Your online friend?" he asked.
"Turns out, after being in one another's pockets for so long, it's hard to stop," she shrugged.
"What are you up to?" He drew away from the console, walking towards the workers' entrance, the one she had probably used.
Once you broke the law, you never got back fully to the light side.
"I met my mother," she said with a smile. "I help her run her orphanage."
"That—that's great, Black Sheep." He winced at using the wrong name. She didn't seem to mind, though.
He had to admit however, he was jealous. He didn't have any family left.
She seemed to recognize that; drew back. He hadn't meant for that to happen. "I'm glad you're happy," he added, softer.
"I am." Her face lit up. "I really am."
They stood out in the Australian sun together. "What about you, Gray?" she asked finally. "Are you happy?"
He laughed wryly. "I don't know. I've lost. . . pretty much everything."
She frowned. "Gray. . ."
"It's not your problem, Carmen."
"Of course it's my problem!" she burst out. "You will always be my problem."
"Carmen. . ."
"What did you think, when you left? That I would shrug my shoulders about having killed you and move on?" Her voice trembled; she sounded close to tears.
"We've been enemies a lot longer than we've friends," he pointed. "We've used each other, we've hated each other."
"I've never hated you. Did you hate me?"
He hesitated. "No," came out finally.
She didn't seem satisfied. "Really?" she demanded. "You really had to think hard?"
"You know me, Black Sheep—I'm deficient in that way."
"Don't joke," she said, unimpressed.
"I tried to kill you," he reminded her. "Then I stood by and did nothing while they reprogrammed you. I shouldn't be able to say 'no' with a straight face."
Carmen snorted. "You barely tried. It was pathetically easy to stop you."
"Hey," he protested half-heartedly.
"This, you and me, is permanent," she said with a look of fierce determination on her face—the one that reminded him of the young Black Sheep he'd first met.
Gray smiled. "Then how about some coffee down at that cafe? Unless you want to stand me up again, of course."
"Let's just say we're even and leave it at that. Shall we?" she laughed, and her eyes glittered with joy.
He took the arm she mockingly offered. "I can work with that."
"You'd better," she warned. "I'm not letting you walk out of my life again."
"I've got no plans to," he promised. "This, like you said, is permanent."