#constable neyla

The second kind is when he completes a particularly long or harrowing case. Most times, it takes two weeks on average, then he has a day or few of down time. Usually, that downtime is spent filling out paperwork and getting his work suits freshly dry-cleaned – the mundane bane of every professional spy’s existence – before another call comes in about the latest scheme from a dastardly do-no-gooder.

Evil never stops, so rarely does Spy Fox. But sometimes, even he needs a break. That time he spent almost two months tracking down a penguin across both the North and the South Poles, who was determined to turn the whole world into one giant slushie, for example. He had practically forgotten what warmth felt like; every part of him down to his very DNA had grown icicles. He still has the medical test results to prove it.

And the final one, of course, is –

“Spy Fox, communication incoming from Paris, France. The caller has invoked the secret code word, “Cece”, for personal contact with you.”

“Thank you, Monkey Penny.”

The secret agent finds a quiet corner of the Spy Corps Mobile Command Center to tap at his Spy Watch. Sure enough, there is an incoming call waiting for his approval. He recognizes the number and answers without any preamble.

“Spy Fox receiving Inspector Fox. To what do I owe this interruption?”

“Yes, it’s so nice to hear from you, too,” comes the sarcastic response as Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox’s face appears on the tiny screen. It’s impossible to see whether her arms are folded, but he knows they are, anyway.

“Forgive me the formalities, Inspector. I’m technically on the clock.”

She clears her throat and glances away, seemingly embarrassed. “I thought – sorry. I must have misjudged…I just returned from a long stint across three countries with three different timezones; I’m still a little mixed-up. You know how it is.”

He does. “No apology necessary, Inspector. You’ve caught me in a slow period, so I’m not yet pressed for time. What can I do for you?”

“What’s your schedule look like this upcoming weekend?”

The question has Spy Fox raising an eyebrow at her even as he automatically whips out a pocket calendar from within his suit. He scans forward to the dates in question. Blank boxes…for now.

“Forgive my short-circuiting short-term memory, but did I forget something significant? If I recall, the family reunion isn’t planned for another two months at least.”

“It’s not related to the reunion,” she says, perhaps a little too curtly for what he considers to be a perfectly reasonable inquiry. “Do you have the weekend free or not?”

“Currently, yes, but one never knows for certain in this line of work. I’d have to check in with my usual villains to ensure they don’t accidentally collide with my as-of-yet free schedule when they next wreak havoc. I'm sure they'd understand.”

The Inspector snorts, then visibly sighs as if she’s mad that she found that relatable. Spy Fox’s natural, passive smile grows a little wider.

“Well, if you are free that weekend: would you be willing to join me at my upcoming Interpol party as my plus-one?”

His passive expression drops so suddenly into surprise that Monkey Penny gives him a sharp look from across the room. He quickly regains his composure, but not before Inspector Fox is already hurrying to explain herself.

“I know it’s super short-notice, and I’m sorry.” To her credit, she does indeed look genuinely apologetic. “I wouldn’t have sprung this on you at all, but they changed the location of the event last-minute to some swanky club, and I wouldn’t have attended at all except I already promised my boss that I would make an effort to be more social with my coworkers, and –”

“Caught in quite the conundrum, it seems,” he cuts her off, though not unkindly. “While I can’t guarantee my schedule will remain free, I’ll do my best to make time for my favorite sibling.”

“I’m your only sibling, you clown.” There’s annoyance in her tone, but her shoulders slump with relief. “Thank you. I owe you one.”

“Indeed you do! Until Saturday, Inspector Fox!”

Spy Fox offers a gleeful grin and a chipper wave goodbye. He ends the call on the tail-end of her rolling her eyes, then turns to look at Penny who is still watching him with raised, expectant eyebrows.

There are very few things that make Spy Fox take time off of work. But family supersedes them all.

“Monkey Penny, forward all my calls to voicemail ‘till Monday. I’ve a sister that needs saving.”

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The Social Serendipity is not a place Spy Fox has personally been to before, but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest as he steps out of the taxi and adjusts the crinkling corners of his recreational black tuxedo just outside of its doors. Expensive lifestyle clubs like these are a dime a dozen, in his experience; once you’ve been to at least three, you’ve been to them all. If this venue doesn’t have a ballroom with an overhead crystal chandelier at the very least, then he will eat his nonexistent hat.

Hm. “The Nonexistent Hat” sounds like the beginnings of a potential spy gadget. He’ll have to pass the idea along to Dr. Quack.

Another car pulls up and finds a proper parking pace not far from where he’s standing. He instantly recognizes the fancy red convertible and casually settles his hands in his pockets as a familiar set of curly blue hair pokes up out of it. Inspector Fox opens the driver-side door, curses quietly to herself, and leans over just out of his line of sight.

When he circles the car, she is fighting for dominance against a set of black stilettos that don’t seem to want to stay on her feet.

“Having some trouble?”

“Zip it,” she growls. “Unless you’re wearing similar shoes tonight, you don’t get an opinion about it.”

He gives a noncommittal hum and leans against the doorframe to watch her slowly regain control over her formalwear. Once the shoes are properly wrestled into submission, she double-checks her up-do in the car’s rearview mirror before stepping out onto the curb alongside him. The dark dress she’s in, although quite lovely, is probably not very well-suited for field work. He would know; one does not become an expert spy without having mastered many forms of attire, after all.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“You’re already writing the night off? It hasn’t even begun yet,” he lightly teases her, offering an arm which she takes with mild grumbling. “I, for one, am ecstatic to spend my evening enjoying the heights of high society without the stress of spywork. Not to mention finally meeting your closest companions; all the people to whom you entrust your life and safety with every single day.”

“I do not understand why you’d ever want to do that.” She wrinkles her nose as they approach the club’s entrance together. “The fancy stuff? Sure, fine. It’s nice enough. But all that bullshit, the vapid socializing for stupid reasons? I’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Which is precisely why you brought me along.”

“Exactly.” Carmelita hands the doorman their invitations, then smooths the fur along her arms without looking at him. “…Thanks again for doing this. I know I already said it, but I really am grateful.”

“Anything for my dearest baby sister.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They head into the club proper, where many people are already moving about from one event to the next, and only a third of them from Interpol. It seems the Social Serendipity is a particularly popular establishment. As the two look about for what exactly to do or where to go, an older badger comes up in an old-fashioned suit and with a cigar in his mouth. Although said cigar is clearly unlit, it’s garnering quite a few judgemental looks from the crowd around him, which he seems to easily ignore.

“Inspector Fox! Glad you could make it,” he exclaims, juggling the cigar expertly between his teeth alongside every word. “Who’s this with you? I’ve never seen him before.”

“That’s because he’s incredibly hard to pin down unless you know how.” Carmelita takes a step back so she can gesture to each of them. “Sir, this is my older brother, Jaime Fox. Jaime, this is my boss, Inspector James Barkley.”

Jaime gives an airy smile as Barkley offers him a hand to shake. He takes it and manages not to wince at the way his fingers are almost immediately crushed by accident. This man could put nutcrackers out of business if he ever chose a different career path.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, sir,” he says, and means it. “I’ve heard so many stories from both my sister and my father. Your reputation precedes you!”

“A good reputation, I hope,” Barkley mutters. “I know what I’m known for, and it isn’t exactly my record-breaking years on the force.”

Jaime’s smile doesn’t so much as waver. “Nothing but the best.”

Carmelita relaxes minutely out of the corner of his eye. Barkley doesn’t seem to notice it as he finally cracks a smile and releases the fox’s definitely-bruised hand.

“Well, I’m off to find the open bar. You kids have fun.” The badger accompanies this with a pointed look at Carmelita before sauntering off.

“Your boss is quite the character,” Jaime says as soon as he’s out of earshot.

“That’s an understatement. The last thing we all need is his temper going off while he’s drunk. A sober, angry Barkley is already enough of a headache.”

“So I’ve heard.”

The next hour or so passes in the kind of blur that only exists when one is a stranger at a party. Carmelita is approached by coworkers, superiors, and subordinates alike, who all seem more interested in petty office gossip than holding real conversation. She introduces her brother to all of them, to which he is immediately the center of their often-inebriated attention so that she can hang back for a snack or a drink or simply a breather. Jaime doesn’t mind. He’s much better suited to these types of social sambas; in fact immensely enjoys being the point of interest to people who aren’t sniffing out spies.

And besides, this is exactly why his sister asked him here. He’d be happy to do it for her regardless of his own inclinations.

It seems to be working, too – he sees Carmelita switch from irritable apprehension to actually having a good time. As time ticks on, they slowly move from the lobby to the dining area, and then finally to the back of the venue which boasts an enormous, open-floor ballroom.

“Why are you smiling at the chandelier?”

“Just an inside joke of mine.”

The ballroom is so large that it could easily hold everyone attending this party with room to spare. Jaime is scanning the scene, with an impressed whistle on the tip of his tongue, when something gives him pause. Something within the crowd at the opposite end of the room that catches his attention.

For a brief second, he sees a familiar flash of blue and red. It almost looks like –

His sister suddenly stiffens beside him, derailing his train of thought and diverting all of his attention towards her. Before he can ask what’s wrong, however, there is a hand placing itself on his shoulder.

“Why, Carmelita, I never expected to see you here, of all people.” The tigress now at his side is practically holding him in place as she offers a syrupy-sweet smile at Carmelita. “Barkley must have really had something to hold over your head to make you show, hmm?”

“Hello, Constable Neyla.”

Jaime has never heard so much venom drip from his sister’s mouth towards anyone before – not for harsh bosses, dangerous criminals, or even that raccoon fellow who’s been giving her the runaround for quite some time. She says her name like it’s not worth saying at all. He raises an eyebrow, supremely surprised by the hostile display.

“Pardon the interruption,” he cheerfully interrupts, “but I’m afraid I’m at a bit of a disadvantage as the resident outsider. A pleasure to meet you, miss…?”

The tigress finally, actually looks at the person she’s holding prisoner. The smirk on her face does not so much as twitch at his own placid poker face; a commendable skill, if he says so himself.

She also doesn’t take her hand off of his shoulder.

“Neyla,” she says. “Constable Neyla, as you’ve already heard, but I wouldn’t get too attached to that title if I were you. It’s going to change very soon.”

“Ah. A fellow go-getter in life?”

“Of course. I like to aim as high as possible.” Neyla glances back at Carmelita. “And ‘Inspector’ has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? It really commands respect. You’re probably familiar with that.”

She pauses, giving the fox a long calculating look over. There’s something a little too barbed in her expression to be general workplace pettiness anymore.

“Then again, maybe not.”

Carmelita flushes red with anger through her fur, mouth dropping open with some no-doubt scathing responses on her tongue, but Jaime beats her to the punch.

“Not just a go-getter, but a pot-stirrer! It must be either a twitter or a terror to work with you.” He deftly pulls himself just out of Neyla’s reach, and she gives only minor resistance to it. It’s probably because of the way his own smile is now sharp in the way he usually reserves for the criminals he confronts.

“Where are my manners? I didn’t ask for your name.” She doesn’t let him say a word before she continues. “But I’m fairly certain I already know it. You must be Jaime – the big-shot elder brother, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope. Or at least partly good. I might even settle for ‘controversial’.”

“With the track record that you have? Please. Carmelita will be lucky to accomplish even half of what you have over the course of her career.”

Jaime’s smile finally vanishes for real, but Neyla only pats his arm and saunters off, throwing one last “nice to see you, Carmelita. It’s been fun as always!” over her shoulder. The siblings watch as she disappears into the throng of partygoers. Neither of them speak for a solid few seconds.

After another moment or two, he fixes the crinkles in his suit that the tigress’ iron grip left. “…Vaya. With friends like those, who needs enemies?”

“You’re telling me. She’s been here less than a month and I already can’t stand her.” His sister pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers and closes her eyes. “Ugh, I have a headache now. I need a proper drink; not all this tiny wine glass bullshit.”

“Well, Carlos, it's a risky play for sure. Let's see if it pans out in her favor.”

“I did not ask for the color commentary.”

“I’m afraid you did when you asked me here, Cece. Color commentary and I are a packaged deal. A pair of prose partners, if you will.”

“I’m leaving now,” she says louder than need-be, albeit with an exasperated upward pull at the corners of her mouth. “You can keep yourself and your dumb commentary company for a little while, I’m sure.”

“Boredom has no definition in the dictionary of a master-class spy.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks. I’m trying to watch my wine weight.”

“Suit yourself.”

Carmelita walks off, probably to find her boss which will lead her to the open bar she so desperately wants. Jaime is left to find a side wall of the gorgeously gaudy ballroom where he can people-watch to his heart's content and stay out of the way of those drunk or carefree enough to dance in front of dozens of judgemental eyes.

Now that he’s really looking around, this room has more civilian guests in it than Interpol ones. It makes sense, he supposes – buying out an entire social club for a single event is more a pastime of wildly wealthy individuals than wildly wealthy organizations. Most of the officers and office workers he’s been introduced to were all in the dining area, and haven’t migrated elsewhere. Barring certain exceptions like Constable Neyla, of course, or his own sister.

As he continues to scan the crowds, the music begins to pick up and change from a waltz-like tempo to something a bit faster yet still classical. More people wander out onto the floor to dance in proper pairs. Jaime taps his foot in time with the funky beat.

It's been a while since he's danced recreationally. He's nowhere near Carmelita’s level – she has the awards and accolades to prove it – but he can certainly cut a rug when he wants to. Maybe the two of them can show off their skills together when she gets back. It would be a wonderful way to unwind, and –

There's a new yet dangerously acquainted presence at his side.

“Spy Fox.”

Jaime freezes.

“How fascinating that we find each other here. How…serendipitous.”

“Russian Blue.”

How did he not see her? Has she been here this entire time, coincidentally, or did she follow him? What does she want? When he turns his head, the cat is right there waiting to catch his gaze. Her expression is as no-nonsense as always, but it's clear how pleased she is to have caught him off guard.

She is dressed as decadently as the last time he saw her. Long red dress, faux furs draped over her shoulders, hair so picture-perfect that one would almost think it was plastic. A diamond bracelet is wrapped over one of her elbow-length gloves; a new addition, he’s sure. It’s hard not to let his eyes linger on it.

“To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?” He asks instead of the million more pressing questions swirling in his head. His mask is back in place in a blink. Cool aloofness.

“The Social Serendipity is the most lavish club in the country for upscale dancing. Didn’t you know that, Mr. Spy Fox?” Russian Blue does not smile, or even smirk. The flick of her tail is what betrays her amusement. “Perhaps your skills are not quite what they were the last time we met.”

“You seem to have caught me on an off-day, I’ll admit.”

Somewhere around them, the music is still changing. It is a familiar sound, rhythm and tempo and tone all too similar to his brief time on her boat.

A tango.

Jaime feels his whole body twitch as she grabs his suit collar and pulls him close. Anticipation; though what kind he cannot guess and is not sure he wants to.

“Shall we dance, Spy Fox?”

Before he can say no, or even think of doing anything at all, a third person is very suddenly pushing between the two of them. Jaime doesn’t realize he’s stopped breathing until Russian Blue is forced to release him and step out of his space by the intrusion.

Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox to the rescue.

“Excuse me,” she asserts, turning her back on her brother so that she can fully face the startled cat. “But if you’re going to dance with anyone here, it’s going to be me.”

Russian Blue locks eyes with him briefly over her shoulder. For a moment it looks as though she’s going to protest – he can see her frustration at her plans being thwarted – but the pull of the music and a promising dance partner are too much for her to resist. She takes Carmelita’s not-so-kindly-offered hand, and they march out onto the dance floor like they are going to war.

Perhaps they are. The looks on both of their faces certainly seem to suggest it.

Jaime falls back into the crowd that begins to watch the duo, instinctively following his spy training to make himself less noticeable on the heels of that infelicitous interaction. It gives him time to collect himself while everyone is enamoured. Then, when he feels properly in control again, he looks out at the floor to see how they are both faring.

It is nothing short of riveting.

Russian Blue dances as if in a trance. Every movement, every click of heel and sway of hips is in perfect time to the music that guides her. She is a woman wholeheartedly obsessed with the art of tango, and so molds herself to that art when given the opportunity. One would almost think she is hypnotized to do so against her will, if they did not know her. But Jaime – Spy Fox knows her, and he knows how she is at her most dangerous in her element.

Carmelita, whether she recognizes that danger or not, is not fazed by it in the slightest. She allows her partner to take the lead only because she chooses it. Her style, aggressive yet graceful, shows both her skills at dance and her inability to settle for anything less than perfection. Whereas Jaime was very passive, letting his partner choose the steps for him to simply follow, Carmelita challenges Russian Blue at every turn. It is as if she is saying “prove to me that you can lead me. Prove that you even deserve to dance with me at all.”

By the end of the nearly five-minute song, both women are visibly breathing harder but have not wavered in their bid for supremacy on the dance floor. Russian Blue grabs the inspector by the hips to dip them both at the very last few notes. Their noses are practically touching as they stare each other down. There is a moment of silence; then, the audience cheers around them, breaking them both out of the power play.

The cat lifts Carmelita back to her feet with all the grace and respectability of a practiced socialite, gives her an acknowledging curtsy, then heads off. She sends one quick glance over her shoulder at Jaime, but the earlier malicious intent is all but gone. It seems his sister has thoroughly danced it out of her, along with her metaphorical pants.

Jaime watches her disappear out of the neighboring door, presumably out of the club entirely, as Carmelita comes over to rejoin him.

“So,” she huffs, brushing a sweat-soaked stray curl back behind her ear, “who was that?”

He looks at her in surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“I knew something was wrong from the way you looked like you were about to faint when she grabbed you, but that’s about it. You could really learn to be more assertive, you know.” The side-eye she gives him almost makes him grimace. “Is she an ex? Someone from work you’ve got bad blood with?”

“She’s a criminal.”

Ah, wrong thing to say. Carmelita tenses up like he just told her Russian Blue steals candy from babies for a living. Which, frankly, might not be beneath her.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?! I would’ve arrested her instead of dancing with her!”

That is his own fault, he supposes. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that. Her name is Russian Blue, and she’s one bad kitty. Unfortunately, very good at sweeping clean any evidence that links her to the villains I go after. Not to mention, it would have caused quite a scene if you arrested a civilian at your Interpol party.”

His sister grumbles a few choice Spanish curses under her breath. Jaime is almost inclined to do the same despite his personal distaste for dirty words.

“Well, at least I got her to leave. More than I can say for some of the people here I’d rather not see anymore.” There’s a pause. Then, softer than most would assume she could go, “is she to you what Cooper is to me?”

It’s asked a little sheepishly, but without judgement. Jaime considers the question; what Carmelita has said to him about the man she’s been chasing for years, and what she hasn’t said. How he might feel about Russian Blue in comparison. What is being asked out loud versus silently implied.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” he answers honestly. She nods in understanding. “But whatever the case, I think we can call your timely interruption a proper rescue on my behalf. You may now consider yourself debt-free.”

“All it took was one dance, huh? I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need a favor from you.”

Jaime flashes her a broad smile. “You’re not too tuckered out for a second round, are you?”

“With someone like you? Please.” Carmelita places her hands on his shoulders. “I’d like to see you try to keep up with me.”

They dance. And, much to his relief, it is not a tango.

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