Summary: Carmen could escape from anything, except the life she had chosen.

Standard Disclaimer: I'm just a fanfiction writer. All hail the rightful owners.

Content Disclaimer: There is some violence and some misuse of power in this work of fiction, and not of the cartoon variety. The characters as portrayed here are neither invincible nor morally flawless. In my opinion, the creators of the earth cartoon opened this door for me with the content in some of the later episodes of the series. However, if you are too young or attached to "beloved childhood" versions of the characters… you've been warned.

"What are you going to do to her?" Zack asked in a nervous tone.

"Nothing." Johnson answered, not very reassuringly. He smiled down at Carmen. "We're just going to talk. Now, leave us alone or I'll go over your head and have you ordered out."

"Traitor."

Antoine Hart was a kind man by nature, quiet, good to his wife, son, and calico kitten.

"Hedonist."

Violence came unnaturally to him and only a firm conviction in the ultimate morality of his fatherland kept him in his current profession at all.

"Criminal."

He didn't believe himself capable of hate.

"Lunatic."

However, if he were, it would be for the contemptible woman in front of him.

"Villain."

Even if the world were burning in front of him, Antoine Hart would protect his own.

"Fiend."

This woman had deliberately, intentionally, done just the opposite. She had turned her back on her friends, country, and duty, for no better reason than that she wanted to.

"Turncoat."

He enunciated every syllable, but the woman seemed unaffected by a word that would have left him begging to explain himself.

"Traitor."

If this hurt her, if they killed her, Antoine Hart would be sure she deserved every pang. He did not pity people like her.

"Who helped you, woman?" He growled.

The red thief grinned. "No one." She whispered, as though seductive.

Antoine's so-called partner, Agent Johnson, was frowning, almost as though he believed her. Antoine almost screamed in frustration. Didn't the agent have any brains?

"That's impossible." Antoine announced.

"Not for me." The thief answered arrogantly. "I wanted to win that standoff. I always get what I want eventually, boys."

"You broke into ACME?" Antoine growled.

"What, like it's difficult?" She derided. Only a devil like her would have the gall to steal from her own agency.

"And you switched the bullets so that you could live." Perfidious cowardly scum.

"Brilliant deduction." She mocked.

"I know…" He snarled, "Someone helped you. You're going to tell me who."

"You have a very overactive imagination," the felon answered condescendingly.

"What caliber bullet was it, if you switched it yourself, Miss Sandiego?" Stanley abruptly asked, and Antoine could feel himself smile. Maybe this partner wasn't a complete idiot after all.

The thief blinked, and her mouth worked slightly. Antoine's smile grew to a triumphant grin. She didn't know. Somehow, this red fiend didn't know.

"Twenty twos?" She answered, as if in question.

Antoine nearly cursed. Lucky guess. However, her simple unsurety confirmed for him that she had not acted alone.

The criminal realized immediately that she'd guessed correctly. "Stanley, Johnson." She addressed his useless partner. "C.I.A. However he," She jerked her head towards Antoine, "Is neither C.I.A. nor American."

This was getting infuriating. That had to be another lucky guess. It wasn't as if he had a giveaway accent.

"How does it feel…" She asked Stanley, "To know that the law you're giving your life to defend protects me but that Mr. Hart is here, probably with the blessings of your superiors, expressly to do what you know is illegal?"

"You've got some nerve to talk about agents breaking the law, you piece of filth." Antoine snapped.

"It's horrible." Stanley answered frankly, and Antoine hissed in frustration.

"You like games, woman?" He asked. "Here's mine. You can tell me who helped you. When I'm sure you're telling the truth, I'll leave you to my American friends. They'll place you in some cushy prison you can break out of with your eyes closed, and they can blather about your constitutional rights until the world ends."

The Sandiego woman looked bored.

"However, if you don't start saying something interesting I will take you to my home's prison instead."

Antoine pushed up one of the sleeves on her jumpsuit, trying to conceal his disgust at touching someone so… less than human. He circled one of her scars, a circular burn about a quarter inch across, with his thumb. "Whoever did this…" He crooned "Was careless….careless to leave a mark. We wont be… for example…"

He double-checked that the cameras were off, the door locked, the tape recorder paused, and the blinds drawn. Then Antoine opened his knapsack and took out a sealed Tupperware container. "I think I'll just eat my lunch. You are… acutely allergic to bell peppers, aren't you Sandeigo?"

Her eyes widened and she tried to lean away.

"In fact, Antoine said, "I've heard, never mind where, that you have a reaction just to having them near you… to just breathing their air. However, since I've never officially heard any such thing, I think I'll just have a snack."

Her face was ghastly pale and her pupils dilated, but she didn't say a word. Perhaps his information was incomplete. Cowards like her usually folded quickly at the threat of pain.

Antoine shrugged and, ignoring Stanley's uncomfortable foot-shifting, opened the container. He took a bite of the sandwich, and then casually rolled a slice of pepper between his thumb and forefinger releasing juices in tiny sprays. Then, holding her head in place with his other hand, he dragged his damp finger across her cheekbones and lips.

Their captive's breathing increased in speed almost immediately, and Antoine knew that his information, gleaned from an imprisoned VILE employee, must be correct. He was almost impressed by how quickly her body rejected the air. He watched her struggle, halfway between excited and disturbed by severity of the allergy

"You'll kill her!" Stanley exclaimed suddenly and Antoine realized abruptly that the thief was turning blue.

With a long suffering sigh, Antoine took an epi-pen and stabbed it into her leg, wondering, coldly and idly, if he'd calculated the right dose. He'd never be called to task about this; it was a convincing enough accident. The traitor deserved far worse, but he'd never know what fool she'd duped to help her if she died now. The space-time continuum needed to be secured.

Stanley, bleeding heart that he was, had turned on the ventilation system and was crouching by their prisoner, wiping her swollen face with his sleeve, with a hand on her shoulder as if to comfort her. Antoine snorted in derision. Let him save his pity for someone who deserved protecting.

The thief looked up at him, comprehension dawning across her features as she realized, no doubt, how far Antoine was willing to go.

Antoine had watched more people than he could remember, as they realized he had the power of life and death over them. He thought he had seen every emotion imaginable from those wretches, fear, panic, anger, insanity, hate. However he never expected to see this. The emotion lighting Carmen's face was, inexplicably…joy.

When their prisoner could speak again she gasped, "I… acted… alone."

Somehow, the dynamic had shifted. Until this moment, Antoine had been in control, and he had known it. Her smirks, sarcastic comments, and death glare had all been reactions, a conformation of his power. However, now she looked totally different.

Her smile seemed to scatter yellow sunbeams across her inflamed face, making her look undeniably beautiful. Carmen looked as though she had seen the answer to all her prayers, some kind of long buried redemption. She looked like some sort of supernatural being… an angel rather than a devil.

Antoine was confused, thrown off balance. There was no way she had any business looking so serene…. so liberated… so triumphant.

Why had the dynamic changed? What happened?

"Tell me who helped you…" He stammered, "Or I'll make you wish for death."

"Salem, Massachusetts" Carmen said peacefully.

"What?" He said.

"She err…" Agent Johnson managed, "She says we're on a witch hunt."

Antoine understood, with more clarity than he cared to admit, that a witch-hunt was exactly what they were about, but the knowledge only made him angrier.

"I'll teach you to answer in riddles," He growled, ripping off her icepack and hitting her full-armed with the heel of his hand, right over her injured eye. Even those ACME fools would never be suspicious of a bruise there.

Though her eyes rolled back for a second, Carmen recovered from the strike and stared at him with deep calm eyes… as if she had no particular objection to what he had done.

For some reason Antoine was failing to dissociate. He was beaten.

"I'm really worried Chief…" Zack whined.

The CGI head frowned. "I'm not feeling so hot about this either, Zack man, but the orders came from way high up. ACME's a small fish in this pool…and it looks like the higher ups aren't too thrilled with us this time." He said, swimming around a little to emphasize.

"Player," Ivy said quietly, "Infoscan CIA Agent Stanley Johnson."

"Well…" Chief said, sounding a little optimistic as a page scrolled quickly by on his screen. "This guy's got a good record. A couple parking tickets when he was younger… no substantial violence complaints, at least that I can access. Our Stanley has gotten good reviews from the administration almost every year. He's also got a reputation as really clever guy…gets confessions by catching criminals in their own lies."

"That's good, Ivy…" Zack suggested hopefully. "He's just the sort of person Carmen likes to match wits with. She's probably having a great time."

"What about his partner?" Ivy inquired.

"What partner?" Chief asked. "He doesn't have one."

Ivy glared at the screen, "Well, he came in with one Chief."

A siren suddenly sounded. "Oh my!" Chief rattled off, "Crimenet says Carmen's being transferred to some kind of high security prison. Only… and don't get mad at me gumshoes… I can't find its location."

"I take it we don't administer it Chief?" Ivy asked.

His eyebrow's furrowed in concentration. "I don't think it's American… or British… or French…or German…or Canadian…"

"So… not the CIA either?"

"Not the CIA…" The chief stated empathetically. "OK… now I'm worried."

"She taking the rap for something we did," Zack said, sounding sick.

"It can't be worse than bleeding to death…" Ivy said, as if she wasn't sure she believed herself.

"We gotta tell someone Ivy…" Zack said.

"Now look gumshoes…" The Chief said sternly, "I don't know why the agencies picked now to get involved, but Carmen's been racing around time-space before this. They're not going to let her go just because you go jump into trouble with her. I hate to see this happen, but she choose to let them blame her. That's how it's going to stay and you can consider that an order."

The knock at the door sounded hesitant. Agent Johnson entered the room.

"What do you want?" Ivy snapped.

"I…" He said quietly. "I want to talk to you, off the record."

The siblings looked at Chief. "Fine," He said suspiciously… "talk…"

Stanley looked at them uncertainly, "Is it true that Miss Sandiego… refuses to do violence…. Even to the people who chase her?"

"She's saved our lives…" Zack said sternly. "All the time."

"Because she didn't want to risk killing a cop?" Agent Johnson asked.

"Carmen hates violence." Ivy answered. "She won't shed blood, even in self-defense."

Stanley shook his head in frustration.

"Is she safe in this other prison…" Chief said guardedly, "I know she's a criminal but…"

"But it's difficult not to respect her…" Stanley finished, nodding.

Ivy blinked in surprise… "Yeah."

The agent smiled sheepishly "She kind of reminds me of my wife."

"Dude," Zack said, "You must be seriously henpecked!"

"Don't remind me…" Stanley joked.

"Where are we going with this?" Ivy asked.

"Miss Sandiego…err… Carmen is not safe in the other prison…" Agent Johnson said with conviction. "And the orders are from over my head. I shouldn't be telling you this but If I were you…." He looked at them significantly, "I'd find some excuse to have them produce her… frequently."

"And don't believe them if they claim she was injured by accident." Ivy elaborated quietly.

"Or killed trying to escape…" The agent finished darkly.

"We never talked…" Chief said, understanding, "But Zack and Ivy want to see Carmen now. She's a material witness in the Maelstrom case."

"Oh course…" Stanley answered, with a knowing smile… "Right this way, detectives."

Zack braced himself as he flipped open the door to the interrogation. He knew that there were not likely to be any visible signs, even if something had happened, but he had something of a sympathetic headache coming on, and he expected this to make it worse.

However, whatever he was expecting, it wasn't what he saw. The chair remained where they'd left it, with the bindings barely disturbed. However, its occupant was a seething… Antoine Hart.

The red bandana had been neatly fashioned into a makeshift gag, but the agent was struggling and (if one could tell through the cloth) cursing.

The detectives looked at each other. "She's long gone." Zack said with a smile.

"Well Antoine," Stanley said, with scarcely concealed merriment. "I told you that you couldn't match her alone. We should supervise you better in the future, yes?" He unpinned a piece of paper from the other agent's shirt. "For you, I think, detectives."

Detectives,

Possession is nine tenths of the law. Flight is nine tenths of a confession.

P.S. Agent Johnson is a worthy adversary, and he's welcome to join the game any time.

Ivy looked at the paper for a moment "You're right," She said. "Carmen's long gone."

Player: So you're not a thief after all, Carmen.

Carmen: We are what we repeatedly do, player.

Player: Aristotle said that.

Carmen: You're catching on, player. Even more fun for me.

Player: Hey Carmen… are you OK?

Carmen: Don't worry player. My next heist will prove just how happy I am. Until next crime…