Summary: Turns out, you can't ignore a thing to death. Even if you are Constable Cooper. No, especially if you are Constable Cooper.

A story in three parts.

Carmelita had, of course, thought of everything. She kept me in one place, haggled with her bosses, the countries, the authorities and anyone else who thought they had a say in the matter of me staying with her. She argued in my defense, saying that even though my memories were "gone", that I was an asset and was better served helping catch criminals rather than rotting away in a cell. I don't know what she said, or what she did, but somehow… Inspector Fox pulled through. On several conditions that she herself put down, but she still came through for me. She even got me, I mean, "Constable Cooper" a job. Or, his old job. I guess I'm a cop now, under those very specific conditions. For one, I don't think I'll ever be going back to Europe again. Ever. Just as well. Carmelita has us set up in nice little Washington D.C., a place she is certain I never hit and have no enemies in. Who am I to argue with that? It was harder to hold my tongue when she insisted I be followed and in the company of one other person at all times, but since that other person tended to be her more often than not, I couldn't really complain.

That Carmelita… She was almost as thorough as Bentley.

There it was again. That odd, empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. That gnawing, aching, empty feeling. It was there every time I thought about the guys. It was there every time I came across building schematics. It was there every time I saw someone eating a hamburger whole. It was there every time I thought I saw movements in the shadows. It was there when Carmelita got that spark in her eye, when I chased down a suspect, when I laid eyes on a safe, when I saw a case file, when I sat behind my desk, when I ate, slept, and breathed. There was no denying it, I missed being a thief. But what I missed more was Bentley and Murray. Sure, I was happy with Carmelita. She's great. She's a wonderful woman, and a brilliant cop. I just don't think I'm cut out for this. Lying. Pretending that my past just didn't exist. Never mentioning the pals, the brothers I had. Did Bentley and Murray, the family I found when mine was gone, mean more to me than Carmelita?

I think Carmelita suspects my dilemma, but she hasn't said anything yet. She's caught me staring fondly at a powerpoint presentation one too many times, to the point where a casual, "Oh, I was staring at you," didn't cut it anymore. I know a confrontation is coming. I can feel it in my bones, and yet I keep pushing it to the back of my mind, keep telling myself that I worry too much. I thought I'd made my choice when she held me in her arms, but I know now that what I'd done then was nothing more than impulse. I felt, in that moment, I wanted to be with her and I'd give up everything I'd ever known and loved to be with her. I'd thrown away being a Cooper without a second thought. Worse, I threw away Bentley and Murray. My best pals. My family. My gang. What kind of Cooper was I?

"In about three seconds, Cooper, I'm gonna throw something at you!"

I snapped out of my reverie at the voice, giving a full glare to the owner, pushing any thoughts of my past life away. Carmelita, it seemed, wasn't trusted with me all the time. So, her boss had dug up some rat named Morran to keep an eye on me at least twice a week. I hated Morran, and so did Inspector Fox. But, if dealing with the rat was the price I paid for being a cop, then I was willing to pay it, to make Carmelita happy. Even if Morran was fat. And lazy. And smelled worse than the Murray's socks.

Whoops. There I go again.

The rat blinked his beady eyes at me, currently munching on a doughnut, the pink frosting smeared around the fur of his lips. He'd even managed to stick a sprinkle to the end of a whisker somehow. Morran plopped the rest of the doughnut in his mouth before speaking, "Have you 'eard a word I've said, 'ooper?" He said around chunks of food. The rat also fancied himself my superior, something I was sure to correct whenever he was in my company. But he was so extraordinarily thick that it had yet to seep into his thick skull.

"First off," I said, rolling my eyes. "It's Cooper, not 'ooper. Secondly, no, I haven't." I didn't even remember sitting down and putting my feet up on the desk. It was slightly uncomfortable, as it always was in this uniform they had me wearing, but it was worth it to see Morran glare. Carmelita told me once that the only thing he'd passed on the first go of police training was etiquette. So, a la the Murray, I became as uncivilized as possible in his company.

There it was, the glare. There was a vein that bulged over his left eye as well. It was my primary mission in life now to see if I could get that vein to pop. I could actually see it beating this time, so I had to be close. "Bentley wants us to go give some backup to some local museum. Seems the security guards are too jumpy to do a proper patrol. Losers…" Morran rolled his eyes, deplorably, fishing out another doughnut from the box on his desk.

I barely heard him. "What did you say?" I demanded, sitting bolt upright, my feet planting on the ground, heart pounding so quickly in my chest I could have sworn it was trying to make an escape.

Morran looked like he wanted to rip my heart out himself. The vein bulged, and he growled, "For the love of all things holy, Cooper! Can't you pay attention for one minute?" He started, no doubt about to rant again about my incompetence.

I was having none of it. "What name did you just say?" I demanded, my fight or flight reflex berating me to hurry up and choose one. There was an air vent up above Morran's desk… the rat couldn't be that fast…

"Barkley."

The shock hit me like a boulder to the head, draining me of all the sudden adrenaline in a second. "Barkley." I repeated, feeling suddenly cold.

"Yeah, Barkley!" Morran all but yelled, looking irritated beyond all belief. At any other time, I would have found his glare coupled with the yellow sprinkled doughnut in his claw very amusing, but not now. He'd said Barkley. Not Bentley. Barkley. The boss. Carmelita's boss. My boss. Not Bentley. "God, Cooper, sometimes I don't know why I put up with you! You're too damned jumpy! All the time, it's something new with you!" So went Morran's tirade. But I tuned him out, sitting back numbly in my hard wooden chair, feeling… well, I wasn't sure what I was feeling. But I felt lousy. That much I knew. Maybe, just maybe, if I talked to Carmelita… That would… No. I couldn't think about that now. So, once again, I forcibly pushed the thoughts of Bentley and Murray, of my gang back into some dusty corner of my mind, pointedly ignoring them and the guilt they came with.

I had to go on patrol with Morran after all.

---

I hated Morran the rat.

It was so much easier to focus all of myself on hating the "cop" beside me than it was to think about either Carmelita or the guys. For one, Carmelita was off in Italy, tying up some loose ends there, leaving me in Morran's "care" for about a week. The only thing that comforted me about this was the knowledge that she hated Morran about as much as I did. "Just don't kill him," She'd said, in her delightful accent before boarding her plane. She'd noticed that I was a little more jumpy than normal and chalked it up to a hatred of Morran rather than the discomfort of being in an airport without a disguise. "And I'll be home as soon as I can." Inspector Fox had added, giving me a peck on the cheek.

I think this is Barkley's way of testing me. If I snap and beat Morran to a bloody pulp, would that prove that I was a thief still? Or would I be awarded a medal for heroism?

The medal was looking better and better with every step. First, Morran had casually dismissed and insulted the guards of the museum, all but vowing that he'd patrol the museum himself. Then, he'd managed to dislodge and almost break no less than three priceless statues and had the gall to yell at me when I leap in to save them. If that wasn't enough, it soon became apparent that the big, bad Morran was afraid of the dark.

"Are you sure they can't turn on the lights?" He whimpered for the umpteenth time.

I gritted my teeth and counted to ten, just as my father taught me. It wouldn't do if I lashed out at him now. Though, lashing out was the furthest thing from my mind. My keen eyes kept unhelpfully hinting at a handhold there, a pipe here, all too easy to climb to some unseen part of the museum and hid in the shadows while Morran drove himself crazy. It wouldn't be anything less than the rat deserved. Instead, I said, with exaggerated patience coating my words, "Yes, I'm sure."

"B-but…" Morran whimpered, causing one of my hands to clench into an involuntary fist. There was a perfect hiding spot, just a few meters up… "Wouldn't it help to see the thieves?" He tried to reason.

Now, I wanted to hit him. Not only had he insulted thieves everywhere and me personally, but he'd also brought back that empty feeling I was, until recently, ignoring. "No." I all but snarled. There was a statue of a fox holding a sword just up ahead, to the left. With a little work, I could pry it loose and whack Morran upside the head with it. "Thieves wouldn't hit the place with the lights on. Or, they'd go a way that would ensure they didn't have to come out in the open. You said that Ben-Barkley got a tip that this place was in jeopardy? Turning on the lights would make it that much harder to do your job." Slipped up twice there. I'd caught myself the first time, with Barkley, but not the second time. Your job, I'd said. Yours. As in not mine.

Carmelita would've been all over that slip up. But Morran simply nodded, clutching the borrowed flashlight as if his life depended on it, lighting areas I could already see perfectly. On we walked, Morran jumping at the slightest noise and illuminating perfectly lit places and me, hating every second I spent with the man. I tried to focus on dinner the last night, a farewell dinner to Carmelita. We'd had Italian, danced on the balcony and then watched a nice romantic movie. A pleasant evening that I engineered specifically so she wouldn't worry about me. I think that it--

Distantly, so distantly I could have sworn I imagined it, I heard it. A familiar voice, talking in soft tones as not to be overheard, terse with barely controlled nerves and hoarse with adrenaline. I stopped dead in my tracks, going rigid, and the idiot stopped too, beady little eyes narrowed nervously at me. "What is it, Cooper?" He hissed, tail twitching irritably. Morran was a coward, not fit to be a cop in my eyes. Then again, there was only one person fit to be a cop in my eyes… "Cooper?" He hissed again, and I could see, even in my distracted state, his fingers clench more tightly around his flashlight. But, like always, I paid him no mind, my eyes unfocused on the darkness, hardly daring to believe it. I had barely begun to seriously doubt my own sanity when I heard it again.

"No, Murray… I'll be… Would you just listen! I can handle myself… No, I don't need backup... My sources say that this place is deserted… Just a simple art encryption safe, easy as pie!"

Bentley.

By now, I was quite certain Morran was about a second away from hi-tailing it out of there, and almost positive that he would shoot me if I didn't respond. So, I responded. "I… I heard something." I managed to rasp, my voice sounding weak even to my ears. How long had it been since I'd heard that voice? Weeks? Months? Years? Time had seemed to blur together in the time I'd been with Carmelita, between profound joy and deep-cutting guilt.

"What?" Morran all but yelped, beady eyes now darting this way and that with fear, his worm-like tail picking up it's sporadic twitching to the point where I fully expected it to detach and crawl to safety. "Like a feral cat? Or a hawk?" He whimpered, one hand dropping to his weapon.

No, more like a turtle in a wheelchair.

I cleared my throat, trying to compose myself. It was Bentley, if it wasn't my imagination playing cruel tricks on me. And if Bentley was here, it meant that he was pulling a job. And I owed him to keep the cops off him. "It was over there, like a dull creaking." I lied, pointing in the opposite direction I'd heard Bentley's voice. How I'd heard it and Morran didn't was a mystery to me, but easily explained with the fact that Morran was an inattentive moron.

But even an inattentive moron could hear the unmistakable crash of pottery and the too loud, "Whoops" that followed it.

I don't think I've even been so still in my life. If it were not for my grey fur, I was sure my face would've been white. I could feel my fingers twitching beside my leg, aching to once again hold the Cooper staff, to dispatch this threat to my friends in an easy swipe. Instead, I heard Morran's yelp of fear and the shattering of the flashlight as he dropped it, whipping out his electrified nightstick. Instead of taking him down, right then and there, I watched him run off in the direction of the sound, tossing an urgent, "C'mon, Constable!" over his shoulder.

Some part of me woke up, and I ran after him as fast as my legs could carry me. I didn't draw my weapon, even though I had a nice little laser-pistol, courtesy of Carmelita. I just ran, catching up with the rat in an instant.

"Freeze!" Morran yelled, keeping back from the shape in the shadows. Slowly, the shape turned, the contents of the empty safe clutched in one hand, facing his assailants. I held my breath, standing just behind Morran.

To say that Bentley was surprised to see me would have been the understatement of the century. I could see his eyes widen in shock, the finger that had been inches—no, centimeters away from dropping a lethal bomb on us freeze. If I could liken his face to anything, it would be identical to the look on his face when he found out what the Contessa had done to Murray. You know, minus the rage. I think the two of us would have just stared at one another forever, locked in an unending mutual feeling of shock, if Morran hadn't been there.

"Well, well, well!" He harrumphed, the smug edge I hated returning to his voice in an instant. "What have we here? A wannabe thief? A broken-down little runt in a wheelchair? Pathetic!" Morran taunted, sliding his nightstick back in its holster and drawing his gun, aiming it at Bentley, at my friend. My brother. I never really took the time to look at Morran's gun, to really look at it. But I was now, and he didn't use lasers, like everyone else. He didn't use stunning beams like Carmelita. He used bullets. Live, wounding bullets. As in, something that could easily kill an assailant. I always knew he was a coward, but I had no idea. "Care to make a run for it?" He added, with a little wheezing laugh.

Now I know what always bothered me about Morran. He was both a coward and a bully. I hate bullies.

"Wait just a minute!" I started, quick to my friend's defense, heart beating urgently. Before Murray and I put a stop to it, Bentley got bullied a lot at the orphanage. People figure a tiny turtle in glasses was an easy target. And, looking at him now, I was willing to admit that Bentley really did look like an easy target. Huddled in a too-large wheelchair, small in the darkness, frail arms too small to be of any threat to a rat like Morran. "He's just a—"

Morran cut off my hasty defense. "A criminal?" He boasted, finger resting on the trigger too comfortably for my tastes.

I wasn't sure if Bentley was aware that there was a gun trained on him. His eyes were on me, wide and full of something I didn't recognize. Just because Morran was an idiot and underestimated Bentley didn't mean I was. I knew Bentley. I know Bentley. He could've blown us to bits and been on his way by now. Sure, he wasn't as strong as me or the Murray, but he was smarter than the both of our families combined. His chair was outfitted with more gadgets than I would know what to do with. He could have taken us out in a second and been on his merry way with the contents of the safe. But, he was still, frozen. And I knew why.

Bentley didn't want to risk hurting me.

I wanted to tell him to do it, just drop a bomb already, but my throat had constricted, my whole body as rigid as the cop's uniform wrapped around my muscles. I wasn't sure who was more shaken, him or me, but Morran paid us no mind. Morran just gave a cackle, throwing his head back so the dim light glinted off his yellowing two front teeth. I don't think I'd ever hated him more.

Easy, Sly, I tried to calm myself. Morran isn't that big of a moron to shoot Bentley. Just come up with some reason to leave so Bentley can take this guy down…

"Sir!" Morran looked up at me, started out of his gloating. I had never once called Morran 'sir' and probably never would ever again. But, if it got his attention off Bentley, I was willing to sacrifice belittling the rat. "Want me to get some of the other guards?" I asked, feeling like I should add a salute at the end. But I left it out, because I was sure I couldn't do it without shaking. I chanced a glance at Bentley, half to check that he got my poorly conceived plan and half to demand why he hadn't reacted yet. All I saw was the same stunned little turtle, so I flashed him a wink. It was a fair bet that Morran was still recovering from my show of respect earlier, and that Bentley would get the message. After what felt like days, Bentley gave the tiniest of nods. I tried my very best not to feel relieved all at once. We weren't out of it yet.

Morran stuttered for a moment, before composing himself back into the pompous, self-entitled rat I knew. "No!" He said, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He looked amused with himself for some reason… "We can handle this," He announced, looking back to Bentley. The look on his face looked somewhat…

…familiar. The last time I saw it, it was on an owl's face.

"No!" I heard myself yell, lunging forwards, aiming to tackle the stupid, stupid, stupid rat. I felt my shoulder connect painfully with something, and then I was falling in a tangle of body parts.

Somehow, in the back of my mind, I registered hearing the gun go off.

--

To be continued…

Soon.