I guess it took awhile to sink in…the fact that, for the first time since I was sent to the orphanage, I was well and truly alone. This wasn't just another solo mission that had to be completed; my best friends were gone…maybe for good. Without anywhere else to go, I headed back to our old hideout, our home from before the hunt for the Clockwerk parts… I'll admit, I was hoping someone would be there, waiting up for me... but when I arrived, it was just the way we'd left it, sans the extra thick layer of dust.

It…was a crushing blow

The familiar sights proved too much for me, eventually; I just spent all my time remembering events connected to the 'trophies' that remained there... Of all the memorabilia, though, it was the gear I'd rescued that held my attention the best.

In laying low at our first safehouse, I was drowning in the past; it wasn't long before I realized that, to accept the passing of time, I had to let go of our history together.

But…try as I might, it never worked. I'd try to distract myself, pull a minor heist here, make off with some artifact there, but I was always scanning crowds for familiar faces…the only one I found for the longest time was Carmelita's. Believe me, she certainly helped get my mind off of things, in that special way that only she can. It wasn't exactly what I was looking for, though, and before I knew it, I was checking each and every hospital in the area; there was no doubt that Bently needed medical help for his leg, so where was a better place to start the search? Where was the harm? I wasn't going to drag he and Murray back into the thieving business, after all, I just wanted to make sure that they'd made it out intact. True to form, though, I didn't have any good luck… until after a stroke of misfortune.

Okay, maybe attempting a spire-jump backwards hadn't been the best of ideas, Sly would admit that… but a blind spire-jump while dodging shots from a certain cop's shock pistol? Now that had been downright stupid. He'd just been trying to land on a gargoyle, he hadn't really stopped to consider the jagged nature of the statue, or the fact that it was already crumbling… Yeah, some master thief he was.

The raccoon knew that, without his gang to help out, he was in major trouble if he didn't take care of the nasty gash ripped through his shoulder… But, on the outskirts of France as he was, there was no way he could get to the supplies stashed away in the old safehouse. As much as he hated to do it, he'd have to get equipment from the local medical facility. The only comforting thought was that he'd only need some rubbing alcohol and a decent bandage…probably. Though he was many things, Sly Cooper was not a doctor… So, holding his cane stiffly in one hand, he went about looking for a way into the hospital.

The night was dimly lit; a combination of low moonlight, and a series of lampposts with cheap bulbs. It worked just as well, Sly supposed, since- for one thing- he was certainly not at his best right now- and secondly…well, more than one of those shock pistol blasts had connected after his slip-up… and burnt raccoon wasn't a very easily concealed scent. As the thief stole away into the shadows of the semi-busy building, all he could do was hope that the night wouldn't get any worse… but, of course, it did. He'd managed to sneak into the patient's wing, and without a floor plan or someone behind the scene, finding the pharmacy would be a matter of chance. Given his track record with luck, lately, Sly wasn't expecting to find it anytime soon… which was appropriate, since he soon ended up in a brightly lit hallway. Not only did the sudden illumination make his head throb, but it also set him on edge. A burnt raccoon wearing dark clothing in a pristine white hall? There was no way anyone would miss him.

Ears perking up at the faint echo of footsteps, Sly turned to the nearest door and tried the handle, finding it to be locked. For the first time that night, the obstacle proved to be no threat. The lock was picked and the noble criminal had slipped into the room before the other had even rounded the corner.

"Jen?" A small voice suddenly asked from one side of the room. "Jen, did you hear that?"

A snore trailing off into a purr answered the question. Briefly, Sly cursed his carelessness, but didn't move for fear of alerting the awakened patient to his presence.

"Jen? Jen! …I think there's something under my bed…"

"Sh'dap an' g'back t' sleep Taylor."

After a spell of silence, the intruder decided that it would be safest to just get out of the room; he could make a break for it if anyone pursued, which was unlikely, but it definitely seemed like the better option. It was either that or waiting for one of the room's occupants (at least one of which was a cat, he now realized) to give in and investigate the room.

Sliding out with a practiced ease, ("…Jen?") Sly went back to trying to navigate the labyrinthine halls with little interruption. There was a jolting moment when part of the staff passed through a hallway perpendicular to the one he'd been hiding out in, but no trouble came up until a bloodhound nurse noticed something amiss. Having (miraculously) forgotten about the pungent scent of burnt fur, Sly briefly considered why no one had noticed him earlier, but undid the nearest lock and snuck into the corresponding room before the nurse's curiosity busted him.

Soon enough, this proved to have been a mistake, since a (previously) resting patient shot up just a few minutes later, wheezing.

"Dima! Dima, please!" That patient gasped, clearly not completely awake just yet, "Dima, m' inhaler…"

Torn between two options, it only took Sly a couple of seconds to make up his mind. Soundlessly, he leapt over to the young gecko-like man's side, looking helpless.

"Oh man… what can I… Where's your inhaler?"

"It's on his bedstand." Said the room's other occupant.

Surprised by the fact that the other was so alert, and- indeed- the voice itself, Sly paused.

"I wondered when you'd show up… Give Jack his inhaler, would you? I'd do it myself, but I can't walk."

Being in this stupid hospital was so boring… he couldn't tinker, couldn't hack, couldn't invent… but it wasn't the monotony that was getting to Bently tonight, as was the case in the majority of his coherent moments, he was consumed with worry. He'd thought it was lonely breaking the others out of the Contessa's prison? That was nothing compared to this.

Murray had gotten him here in one piece, but the hippo hadn't looked him in the eye one time, and every other sentence coming out of his mouth had been an apology. Only a few days after they'd gotten there, he was gone again.

And Sly…they'd managed to rig the helicopter so he'd have a chance to escape, but what if Carmelita caught on before anything could be done? Just the thought of one of his lifelong friends in jail, without any ongoing plans to break them out, was terrifying. The recent robberies plaguing the area lifted his hopes, but they didn't necessarily mean anything.

That had been a terribly cliché thing for Sly to do, offering his capture for their freedom… but, the turtle supposed, it was the only thing that could have been done, or they'd all have been caught. What was currently wearing on his mind was the raccoon's expression when he'd realized that they'd left their gear behind. The three of them had been together for the majority of their lives, and the entire time- through disappointments, the Fiendish Five, this Clockwerk incident and more- he'd never seen such a shocked or hurt look on Sly's face.

Bently was ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent sure that, if he were able to, Sly would track him down… but the remaining fraction of a percent as troubling. What if he'd decided to follow his ancestors' examples and go solo?

…And where in the heck had Murray gotten off to?

These late night ponderings…Bently was really beginning to hate them. With the amount of sedative and pain reliever he'd been given, his sleep schedule was completely messed up. It was rare that he was totally awake, most of the time the world- which consisted of the sterile, white hospital room- was foggy, his cell- ahem- roommate never seemed to make any sense in these dazes, and his mind would wander aimlessly. Ironic… even if Sly had managed to escape that helicopter, one of them had ended up in a prison of sorts. He was simultaneously overjoyed and dismayed to be totally aware, even though absolutely nothing was going on… well, yet.

Almost as soon as the thought crossed Bently's mind, a quick flash of light from the direction of the door caught his attention, followed shortly by a new scent joining the overwhelming pine-cleaner's. Looking hard around the room, he could vaguely make out a dark shape right next to the door; what could only have been a bushy tail swished to-and-fro, but there was no other movement in the room… until Jack sat upright, the new scent having apparently made either his allergies or asthma- both of which were factors in why he was here- act up.

Even though it would have been a stupid move, Bently was about to yell at the intruder to grab the inhaler Jack kept on his nightstand, but the aforementioned silhouette seemed to be acting on his or her own.

"Oh man… what can I… Where's your inhaler?"

What a relief! Sly was alright! …But the lizard on the other side of the room was still hyperventilating…

"It's on his bedstand." The turtle said, surprisingly evenly; he watched as the shadow stopped suddenly, clearly caught off guard.

"I wondered when" if "you'd show up… Give Jack his inhaler, would you? I'd do it myself, but I can't walk."

After a second's hesitation- probably an attempt to locate the medical device- his friend's silhouette went back into motion, handing the semi-conscious lizard the inhaler.

"That bad, huh?" The shadow finally asked from clear across the room, once Jack had put his prescription to use and fallen unconscious again.

"Yeah." Bently responded blankly, reflecting briefly on his situation. He'd need a wheelchair, according to the doctors, and had arranged to get a manually powered one. You couldn't sneak around with a constant buzz giving your position away, after all.

"Can you come over here? You know that I'm not a snapping turtle, I won't bite… It's not very stealthy, holding a conversation like this, anyway."

There was a muted snort at the comment- who knew why- before Sly moved close enough to see a bit more clearly… though still not completely visible. How annoying… Bently had completely forgotten that the moon was still waning, and that it would be particularly dim tonight…

"Yeah, well, I've been having issues with stealth tonight." The raccoon offered wryly.

"Clearly" Bently replied, "I knew I recognized that smell. Run in with Inspector Fox?"

"You know it."

There was another brief pause, "I don't suppose you came to bust me out?"

"What?" It was odd that such surprise could be expressed in one word, but somehow, the thief managed it. "But your leg, and the gear…"

"Would you really want to spend anymore time here than you had to? Besides, they've already taken care of my leg, and I've got a wheelchair right over there." Bently explained shortly, watching as his friend turned in the direction he'd indicated. "I'm planning on modifying it later, I'll be able to store my gear more efficiently this way… With a little tweaking, I should be able to attach a hover pack well enough…it'll just take a little creativity."

"It's not electronic." Sly noted, slightly surprised, as he surveyed the seat.

Bently rolled his eyes at the comment, "I wouldn't be good for much except a distraction with one of those things; the noise would draw every guard within a three mile radius!"

With the raccoon's back turned, his expression was a mystery to the bedridden turtle (whose gaze was drawn to something else, instead). "You're serious about getting back into business."

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be serious about it?"

Sly shrugged, looking back at the brains of their operation, "I looked all over Paris for you and Murray; I thought you didn't want to be found."

Ah, well…that certainly explained a lot. What it didn't explain was that rip in the back of the thief's shirt.

"Sly?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you come here in the first place? You obviously didn't expect to find me here."

Sly paused, seeming to remember something for the first time since their conversation started. "I had a run in with Inspector Fox." He said simply, parroting the earlier non-question.

"As I recall, Carmelita only uses a shock pistol. Where'd the tear in your shirt come from?"

The raccoon shrugged, one armed, in the opposite hand, he still casually held his cane. "Like I was saying, stealth issues. It's…not the most flattering story."

"Mmm-hmm." Bently gave him an even look, "And I take it there's a cut on your back to match the one in your shirt?"

The look he received in response clearly said: "Duh".

"How were you planning on cleaning it up? Even with your skills, there's no way to efficiently treat something like that on your own." The rebuke failed to have an impact, so Bently tried something else, instead. "The pharmacy's at the front of the building, right next to the entrance. If you help me out, I'll help you out."

Even before he'd finished the offer, Sly was smirking. "Alright then, Wizard; I'll have us out before midnight."

Already knowing where this was going, Bently glanced over toward the digital clock on his bedstand. It read 11:50.

"You've got ten minutes."

"Which is nine more than I'll need."

They exchanged even stares; Sly was still smirking.

"What? I have to be fast. We still have to find "The Murray"."

And, in another quick flash of light, the raccoon was gone, leaving the (soon to be former) patient to ponder how to make it over to his wheelchair. It was just a moment before he noticed something beside him that hadn't been there before, and the question was answered. As he used the cane that had been left in his care to hook the wheelchair, Bently smiled for the first time in far too long,

I wrote this awhile ago...so I can't remember the specifics. If I screwed something up, give me a shout, okay?