Okay, I didn't really intend to write a story like this when I started in the Sly Cooper category. However, as I have heard a little support for this pairing, I am going to write this story, a crack pairing in a fanfic that doesn't sound like crack. So, yeah, Murray/Contessa, I don't necessarily support it, but I'll write it. I'm just gonna call this a shout-out to A. Fox. So let's get things started...

The Only Mental Help I Need

Sly, Bentley, and Murray had chased the Contessa to the top of her own prison. The hypnotist warden was standing there as if she were waiting for them to fall into a trap.

Murray jumped in front of his friends and pointed at the Contessa. "You lousy, no-good head shrinker!"

The Contessa gestured ever so smoothly, and her voice was completely honey-coated. "Oh, come now, Murray. We were making such progress during our sessions."

Murray scowled. "The only mental help I need," he paused in thought, placing his to his chin, "is to never... be reminded of you again."

The Contessa placed her clawed hand against her cheek, shaking her head ever so slightly. "Such displaced hostility. If you insist on getting angry, why not be psychologically productive and channel it at your so-called friends."
Murray's fists tightened as he threw aside the very thought of hurting his friends. He frowned fiercely, his brow furrowing deeply. "I'm done talking with my mouth." He threw his fists in the air. "Now I talk with my fists!!"

The Contessa placed a hand on her hip, frowning with displeasure. "Sorry, but our time is up." She turned tail and ran.

The Cooper Gang gave chase all around the prison, Murray in the lead. Some curious magical explosives in the form of spiders ran towards them, and Murray even took a couple of explosions head on, but he never stopped running after the Contessa.

The chase continued until the Contessa was trapped on the top of a tower. However, with absurd power and surprising nimbleness for an intellectual, she jumped into a nearby blimp, cut the rope, and began flying away.

Murray watched the blimp fly off. "Gah! She's getting away."

Sly crossed his arms and nodded towards Murray. "Don't worry, pal. We'll find her. With the three of us back together, she doesn't stand a chance."

Despite Sly's words, Murray just continued to stare after the blimp.

---

Murray sat up in the bed in the back of his van, panting unevenly. He groaned and rubbed his head. "Oh, wow. I need to quite eating pepperoni pizza before bed."
He looked around his van/racing vehicle. It was littered with hidden pizza slices and half-eaten sandwiches. Several emptied cans of soda rolled around the base of a mini-fridge.

Murray sighed as he rubbed his head. He threw off his sheet and turned to place his feet on the floor. "Oh, who am I kidding? I haven't eaten in hours!"

It was true. The dream had been recurring in Murray's mind for years. It had stopped for a while, when he was training under his guru, but it was back, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried everything: eating before bed, not eating before bed, eating less or more before bed, warm milk, ice water... Nothing worked.

Murray smacked his lips as he looked around the back of his van. He picked up a slice of leftover pizza and munched on it. He let some cheese ooze a bit before throwing the whole slice into his open mouth. After swallowing, he sighed again. "What am I going to do? I'm going to go insane."

For the longest time, Sly had been faking amnesia to work more closely with Carmelita, and Bentley was working with Penelope on some thieving tour around the world.

Besides, Murray would have never talked about the dream with him. As far as he knew, they were part of the problem. Or, more specifically, Sly. Sly was Murray's best friend, definitely, but Murray could never shake the fact that he had been upset about the operation at the Contessa's castle. Why did Sly have to be the one to fight the Contessa? It wasn't like Sly had a bone to pick with her. Sure, she had Sly in The Hole, took the Clockwerk eyes, and she had tried to manipulate Carmelita's mind. However, it wasn't like the Contessa had gone into Sly's mind. No, the Contessa should have been Murray's fight.

Then again, Murray wasn't one to hold a grudge. He just shook his head slowly and stood up. He picked up a couple of random pizza boxes and slammed them into the mini-fridge. He walked over and opened the side door of his van.

Murray stepped out of the van and into the darkness of the night. He scratched his head. "Man, I wish Bentley was here. He's smart. He'd probably know what to do."

He looked up into the starry sky and just sighed. He may had gone into the thieving business happily, but he was still pretty religious. When you spent your life on the run, it was hard not to learn to be prayerful. Murray spread his arms out wide. "Come on, Man. What am I supposed to do? Give me a sign."

Suddenly, the wind slapped Murray in the face with a newspaper. The pink hippo spluttered as he pulled the newspaper out of his face. He held it out in front of him and looked at it. "Let's see... blah, blah, blah... big fancy words... some righteous-sized jewel is being shown off at a nearby museum."

He skimmed on a little further before stopping and turning back to the front page. "Big fancy words! And big jewels! Man, that's totally something Bentley would try to steal!" Murray ran towards the driver's door of his van. Before he got in, he pointed at the sky. "Thanks a lot, Man. You rock!" He jumped into his van and turned swiftly out of the racing track's parking lot.

---

Murray sat on the stairs of an old library, adjusting his mask ever so slightly every few minutes. He cracked his knuckles a few times in wary impatience. It wasn't like him to be on edge, but even after his work went straight, he felt uncomfortable sitting still in the open. Between being a thief and racing, tighter and out of the way places felt more comfortable, even for someone his size.

Soon, several clunks could be heard on the rooftops.

Murray tightened and loosened one fist uncomfortably, unsure what to expect. With all the freaky guards and bizarre security measures he had to encounter in the Cooper Gang, Murray knew that it was always a good idea to expect a fight, even if you weren't planning to get into one. When something dropped to the ground, he jumped.

Bentley held up his hands. "Whoa. Murray. Calm down. It's just me."

Murray dropped his fists. "Sorry, Bentley. It's just this place." He looked up at the library. "Couldn't we have met at a malt shop or something? This place is creepier than the Contessa's castle."

Bentley shrugged. "Well, if we were just meeting for the sake of the good old days, it'd be one thing, but I believe you called my cell phone due to a problem." He paused, adjusting his glasses. "Speaking of both your problem and the Contessa, that would be why we're here." He hopped over to the library's door in his wheelchair. A device popped up and started fiddling with the lock. "Like most problems, I look to the library."

Murray turned around, scratching his head. "I thought you looked to the Thiefnet."

Bentley wheeled himself backwards as the large doors opened. "Well, if I could take you to the safehouse, I would. However, Penelope and I have had a recent rash of successful robberies, so we need to lie low for a bit. I'm afraid I can't risk it with the heavy number of cops in this town."

Murray followed his small pal into the dark hallways of the library, Bentley's flashlight leading them. He rubbed the back of head as he walked. "Well, I guess that's a good point. So what kind of book are we looking for?"

Bentley wheeled his way down the halls and aisles slowly, humming quietly. He flashed the light over the many shelves. "I'll know it when I see it."

The two quietly stalked through the darkness of the library. Murray would pick Bentley up every once in a while in order to let the turtle see the higher shelves. The search lasted for quite a while.

Suddenly, Bentley stopped. He pressed several buttons on the arm of his wheelchair, and a mechanical arm shot up and grabbed a book. He pulled the arm in and grabbed the book for himself. "Here we are." He flipped through a few pages.

Murray leaned down next to the genius. "What is it?"

Bentley flipped through a few pages. "This book should be about the psychology of dreams." He flipped to the index in the back of the book. "Let's see... what page describes repetitious dreams?" After a few minutes, he flipped back into the book. "Okay. This should be it."

Murray took a firm grip on the back of Bentley's chair, leaning over his shoulder. "What does it say?"

Bentley turned to the uncomfortably close hippo. "Murray, would you, please, give me a little space to read?"

Murray paused. "He raised his hands defensively and stood up. "Sorry, pal."

Bentley turned back to the book. "Okay, let's see, it says here that repetitious dreams usually signify unfinished business or a need for some other form of closure."

Murray raised an eyebrow. "Does it say anything about how to get rid of them?"

Bentley skimmed over the page. "Well, the best way to end the repetition of the dream is to resolve the problem or unfinished business by some means."

Murray shrugged and shook his head. "But I don't know what sort of business I have that needs to be closed."
Bentley shut the book and placed it back on the shelf. He turned to Murray and sighed. "I really don't know what to tell you. My specialty is computers and mathematics. Dreams really aren't in my expertise."
Murray swallowed. "Then what am I supposed to do? This dream is driving me crazy!"

Bentley pushed his glasses up. "Listen, I can't help you with this. I really don't know what to tell you."

"But you have to tell me something." Murray held his hands out weakly. "Come on, Bentley. You're smart. You always have an answer."
Bentley nodded, lacing his gloved fingers together. "Listen, I only have one answer for your problem. Try and find a psychiatrist or something. They studied how to deal with this."
"A psychiatrist?" Murray rubbed the back of his head. "I don't know. Head-shrinkers usually want you to come back for multiple sessions. I don't know if I can do that. I have a traveling job."

"Yes, speaking of traveling jobs," Bentley pushed his glasses up, "you're not the only one who reads the newspaper. Don't you have a race overseas in America in a couple of days."

Murray stared blankly at Bentley for a moment, blinking unconsciously. "Hot fudge! You're right." He shook Bentley's hand roughly. "Thanks for the thought about the psychiatrist. I'll look into it." He turned and rushed towards the front hall.

Bentley rushed in his wheelchair. "Hey, wait for me! It's not like I live here."

---

Murray took a last look over his van as the audience filed their way into their seats for the race. He looked over and some of his opponents and gave them a friendly smile and a wave. Most rolled their eyes and stepped into their vehicles, but at least one of them took the time to wave back at him.

The race was like Murray's usual. It started with everyone steering their vehicles to the starting line. Everything became fast-paced after the starting gun fired. Of course, Murray's van wasn't designed for speed, but for endurance. He didn't have to worry about crashing around with the other racers in the first lap or the pack, leaving most of the other competitors to have to deal with some serious damage to their vehicles.

After the first ten of the two hundred laps, the racers were already reduced to one third. Murray had sustained a few dings, but he could repairs those with his bare hands. He had had help from Bentley when designing his van for races, so not only could the van take a battering, but it didn't make a lot of wear and tear on the tires, meaning he only had to make pitstops for gas. Even if he did have to take a stop for anything else, he had trained to repair any problems in less than three minutes. He had put in a lot of effort for his new life.

A hundred and fifty laps gone, things were getting pretty rough. Though Murray's van was designed to take a beating, the driver didn't take advantage of it. Of course, some of the dirtier players had caused some serious accidents and needs for repair, leaving only about six racers out of the original thirty making for real competition.

Things were down to the wire. Fortunately, because his van didn't have the greatest top speed, Murray didn't have to worry about other racers trying to smash into him. Of course, he had a special speed boost saved for the last few laps. Bentley had helped him add the special nitro engine. It was made for a controllable speed, even with the boost it added, so it wouldn't really be noticeable until that critical point.

Finally, the final lap came. Murray was caught in the midst of the pack, and he was working the nitro with balance. This was his zone. Sly and Bentley might have been experts in some more critical fields, but they weren't built for the tension of the home stretch on the race track. The cars zoomed towards the finish line. The flag was swung.

Murray got third. It was his comfortable place. The prize money paid the bills, and there was none of the needless paparazzi like the first place winner always got. No, if Murray placed, he always wanted third. Second, in case he needed to pay for serious repairs or anything, given how he, unlike the other racers, he didn't have a sponsor to pay all his bills for him, but third was his favorite, all the same.

On the winners' stand, Murray graciously accepted his prize money and clapped kindly for the other winners. His claps slowed though as he looked into the cheering stands.

In all his experience in racing, Murray had seen all kinds of fans. He had seen deer, elephants, alligators, tigers, cats, dogs, penguins, pigeons, even mantises, sharks, and bats. However, never before had he seen a spider. It struck something in his mind.

Murray jumped down from his stand and began running through the crowds. Reporters and civilians were shocked by the sudden burst, but noone made complaint or stood in his way on purpose.

Murray tensed up his muscles and jumped into the stands. As soon as he landed, he ran his way up the stairs, racing towards the back of a spider who was talking to an opossum. He reached his hand out to grab the woman's shoulder to turn her around.

The woman froze as she turned to face Murray. She had blue skin, cropped black hair, and red eyes. Her clothes were even similar, but she didn't look like the Contessa. Where the hypnotist had angles, this spider had soft, gentle curves.

Murray paused as he began to turn. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone else."

The spider placed one of her hands on her hip and tapped her chin with her free claw. "Vell, if it isn't the weak-minded hippo... Murray, wasn't it?"

Murray paused and turned back to the woman. "Contessa?" He raised an eyebrow. "Peanut butter brownies! What happened to you?"

The opossum tapped the Contessa on the shoulder. "Um, miss, about that house you were talking about?"

The Contessa raised a hand to silence him. "Just give me a few moments, Mr. Lorant. I seem to have received a surprise session with an old client."

Mr. Lorant nodded and turned back to the insanity that was the celebration of the first place winner.

Murray rubbed his head and pointed at the Contessa. "Right. You're doing that whole house-selling thing now, huh?"
The Contessa nodded. She threw her arms into the air. "Of course, Interpol scolded me for trying to use my hypnosis to... simplify the real estate process." She sighed. "So, they said they would throw me into jail if I continued the practice."

Murray looked the Contessa up and down, unable to pull his eyes away from her new look. "But what's with this?" He stretched out an arm to gesture at the spider. "You look all soft and squishy... and young!"

The Contessa raised an eyebrow, placing her hands on her hips. "Well, I know I might have looked a little sharp-edged before, but that seems a bit blunt, even for someone like yourself."

Murray rubbed his head. "Sorry, but still."

The Contessa crossed her arms and sighed. "I suppose that there is no reason be upset with you. You see, my employer and associates have given me comment that a "youthful, attractive appearance" helps to sell houses." She placed a hand on her forehead and shook her head solemnly. "I'm not exactly old, as you might call it, but I took their advice. A little botox, a little plastic surgery here and there, and there you have it. I am stuck as the creature before you." She held her arms out, looking around the stands. "Besides. places like this draw in good crowds for real estate. Everyone wants to move closer to these sorts of places. Of course, vy I am telling this to the likes of you, I do not understand."

Murray shook his head, drawing his gaze away from the spider. "Right. Um, I'm not one for the real estate stuff, but my friend said I needed to see a psychiatrist."

"A psychiatrist?" The Contessa smiled amusedly. "Well, I don't leave my day job for a while now." She poked Murray's broad nose. "However, if we were to meet a little later, say seven-thirty, I suppose we could work something out. I have been wanting to get back to my original business."

Murray simply nodded. "Yeah. I suppose I could do that."

"Very good." The Contessa turned around. "Now, I will be seeing you later, then. For now, I am working."

Murray turned and walked down the stairs. "Right. I guess." He rubbed his head as he took the stairs down to his van. "Yeah. This has to be pretty much the weirdest day of my life." He let his palm slide down his face. "Seriously, I don't even like her. This is just too weird. Even Bentley wouldn't understand this."

---

Murray drove around all the big hotels in the area. He pounded himself on the head. "Right. I totally need to think about where I'm meeting people when I decide to meet them." He drove around some more, looking at all the buildings. "Seriously, I don't even know if she travels around or lives here or what."
Suddenly, Murray turned the corner and nearly what he saw nearly made him pound his brakes through the floor of his van. The street led to a broken bridge. Just past the bridge was a tall, thin, black house with copper shingles. It seemed the only cloud in town was big, black, and floating over the old house.

Murray drove towards the bridge cautiously. He didn't know what to expect. Yes, it was broad daylight, and it wasn't like there were any turret guns or spotlights or anything, but Murray couldn't help but feel on edge.

Without warning, a loud thud came from the roof of the van, and the entire vehicle shook. Murray jumped in his seat and began looking around wildly. "Hot fudge! What was that?!"

A heavy groan sounded as weight was removed from the top of the van. Everything was quiet for a minute until there was a tapping at the driver's window.

Murray turned quickly to see the Contessa standing right next to him. He quickly lowered the window. "Don't do that! I was totally freaking out."

The Contessa raised an eyebrow in amusement, but she changed the subject. "I am impressed to see that somevun like yourself was able to find where I was staying." She reached her elongated hand past Murray and tapped the van's clock. "And ten minutes early, no less."

Murray swallowed. He didn't know whether it was from the fact that the Contessa was so close, the difference in the Contessa's appearance, or the fact that it had he had never expected to see the Contessa again. Whatever it was, Murray was simply uncomfortable, and the Contessa seemed to be enjoying every second of it.

The Contessa stepped slowly over to the other side of the van. "It seems that, despite the modifications you have made to your vehicle, it is not exactly designed for someone like myself."

Murray's eyes grew wide, taking an awkward hold on the steering wheel. "Um, I'm sorry. Are we going somewhere?"

"Well, unless you think that your vehicle could make it to my residence."

Murray looked over at the broken bridge. Though it took him a minute, he could see a few strands of spider silk traced between two of the posts. He smacked his lips. "Um, no. Not really."

"Then there you have it." The Contessa walked over to the side of the van and opened the door. She looked at the voluminous back. "Now this looks far more accommodating." She crawled her way inside.

Murray swallowed as he looked in the rearview mirror.

The Contessa smiled as she noticed Murray's discomfort. She slid between the seats, her upper body still being particularly thin compared to her large abdomen and long legs. She poked Murray in the side of the head. "Now, Murray, let us go somewhere public. I'm sure you'll feel much more comfortable in a public place."

Murray shrugged and leaned his head from side to side. "Well, that sounds a little weird coming from you."

The Contessa frowned. "Murray, as a certified psychiatrist with several doctorates, I am telling you that things will go much more smoothly in a public area." She tapped one of her temples. "That is, unless you prefer our old hypnosis therapies."

Murray swallowed and shook his head. "All right. But I have to tell you I'm on a budget."

The Contessa shrugged. "I am not onw to be very choosy."
Murray performed a U-turn and drove back towards the main town. "By the way, why do you want to go to a public place. Back in prison, you seemed to like taking prisoners one by one. And don't shrinks usually take patients into an office."

"We are not in my prison." The Contessa frowned and paced her clawed hands on her hips. "Besides, my business practices in the prison were for confidence. That, and the secrets I learned through hypnosis were delicate, not something for all the prisoners to hear. As for standard psychiatrists' practices, I am not using psychiatry as a main occupation, so I have no official office to take you into."

"Yeah. I guess so." Murray looked around. He tapped on the steering wheel, humming uncomfortably. "So... how's the, um, house-selling thing going for you?"

"Quite fine, thank you for asking." The Contessa moved her many tiny feet away from the mess on the floor. "Speaking of residency, Murray, you may want to think about cleaning up every once in a vile. According to most psychological understanding, such a sloppy living space as this could lead to a rather disorganized and easily confused mind."

Murray chuckled nervously. "Yeah, well, after Sly and everyone left, I guess I sort of let the place go."
The Contessa nodded. "Speaking of Mister Cooper, where is he? I believe the lot of you belong to a "gang"."
Murray took a deep breath. "We split up a little over a year ago. Sly went amnesiac police officer on us, and after raiding the Cooper Vault, there really wasn't much use staying a thief except for the infamy."

The Contessa raised an eyebrow. "Really? You mean to tell me that you have some sort of millions or something hiding somewhere, and you live in all but poverty?"

"Not exactly." Murray pulled up to a burger joint. "You see, Bentley stuck my share in some sort of savings bond thing so I wouldn't go and spend it all in one place or something. And it's only a little more than a million, not millions."

The Contessa nodded, walking towards the van door. "Very well, Murray. Let us go inside this mediocre establishment."

Murray hopped out of his own door. "Um, yeah, like I said, I'm on a budget."

The Contessa held her hands up to sway the argument. "It is nothing to worry about, Murray. I admit that I, myself, have been living on little lower standards than usual due to how much the surgery had cost me." She walked nimbly towards the door. "However, once we have passed through these doors, this is for business only. I don't want you dodging the problem, seeing how I am taking my time to help you through this."

Murray walked in before the spider. "Um, right. You know, I'm not even sure why I would choose you to be my psychiatrist. It's not like it turned out so well last time."
The Contessa nodded, holding her chin. "Yes. I do believe that the last we actually spoke to one another, we were not on best terms. Something about the only mental help you would ever need was to never be reminded of me ever again."

Murray swallowed and blanched a little as they walked into the joint. "Um, you mind if I get something to eat?"

The Contessa held up her hands. "You are the client. Spend your time as you wish."
Murray rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably. "You want anything?"
"I will take water, thank you." The Contessa walked off to a table.

After Murray had waited in line and ordered, he walked over to the table with several burgers, a large box of fries, and a couple of glasses."

The Contessa watched the pink hippo sit, crossing her hands. "Not to sound as a bother, but eating so much could mean that something in your life is unsettling you." She waved her hands out and shrugged. "Of course, there is nothing wrong with a healthy appetite either."

Murray looked at the food he had laid out on the table. "Yeah, it might sound a little strange, but I guess I never got used to eating by myself."

"Explaining the many leftovers in your van, I presume." The Contessa raised an eyebrow and smiled a little half smile."

Murray rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah." He looked between the food and the Contessa. "You want any of this?"

"I will think about it." The Contessa furrowed her brow. "But let us get down to business. Like you said before, I am not your first choice for a psychiatrist, for supposedly obvious reasons." She spread her arms out invitingly. "So tell me vut sort of problem would bring you to me."

"Right." Murray picked up a burger and spent a moment weighing it in his hand. "Well, it's this dream I've been having lately."

"A repetitious dream?" The Contessa crossed her claws. "Well, you are certainly not alone. Many people often have repetitious dreams. Tell me, how long has it lasted?"

Murray rubbed his head as he swallowed the rest of his burger. "A couple years."

The Contessa's eyes widened, and she raised both of her eyebrows. "Every night?"
Murray rolled his hands around each other. "Not every night, exactly. While I was with my guru, I didn't have it. And I didn't have it every one night out of a month or so."

The Contessa stared intently at the pink hippo as he started on his fries. "Murray, I realize I have not been a perfect person with my life, but you're going to have to trust me when I tell you that this is getting to be a pretty serious case. You should have sought help a long time ago. Having a dream this repetitious could prove disastrous to your health."
Murray swallowed uncomfortably, staring back at the spider. "Is it that serious?"

The Contessa held her hand out to express that she wanted direct attention. "Murray, as a psychiatrist, I have to tell you that this is at least on the same level obsession, even if it is the subconscious mind. This could lead to life-destroying grudge or a disastrous despair from an unfulfilled desire." She used one of her claws to slash a burger into sixteenths and stabbed one of the pieces. "I need you to tell me exactly what your dream is about."

Murray tapped the table roughly, eating fries like a sawmill. "Well, this is going to sound totally weird, but it kind of concerns you."
"Me?" The Contessa had eaten several pieces of her burger. "Well, I do suppose we never finished our sessions with onw another."

Murray held his hand up. "No, that's not what I meant. It was that night when I was chasing you along the wall after Sly and Bentley broke me out."

"Oh, so it is a grudge." The Contessa took a deep breath and pondered. "I do have a possible solution. However, I'm afraid I do not have one of those rage dolls." She pointed to herself. "And quite honestly, if it weren't for the fact that I had paid five thousand dollars for this face, I would have given you a free punch."

Murray covered his mouth. "Oh-no, I couldn't do that."

"I realize I'm a slighter woman, but I would prefer a single hit to an eventual grudge that could lead to my death." The Contessa looked around the restaurant silently. "And letting you hit me anywhere else vould very likely be frowned upon by the parents in the family-based environment."

Murray stared blankly at the Contessa. "What?"

The Contessa covered her eyes with a claw. "Never mind, Murray."

Murray finished the fries and had started on his next burger. He swallowed roughly. "I mean, yeah, the jail was rough, but I don't really feel like beating you up now or anything."

The Contessa put down her claw. "But there is still that wall between us, isn't there?"

Murray threw his arms up in the air. "Ice cream with sprinkles! You pumped me full of spice and took a crow bar to my brain."

The Contessa twirled her claw flippantly. "It was all business. I was the thieves' thief, you could say."

"Yeah. I guess so." Murray rubbed the back of his head, the table having been cleared aside from his milkshake. He picked it up and started slurping. After a moment of diverting his gaze, he looked back at the spider. "But now... Ugh! I don't know! You just seem so much nicer than in that prison. You know, when you're not forcing spice into people's gullets and hacking their brains and stuff."

The Contessa smiled amusedly. "Well, I may hack brains, but you do have to realize that I sent quite a few convicts on the straight and narrow. I didn't do anything to be truly malicious. Just with the intent of taking plunder for myself." She took a drink of her water. "But I will admit that I shouldn't have had so much spice given to someone with such a weak mind as yourself." She spun her straw around and stared intently at Murray. "To me, business was business, no emotional attachments needed."

Murray placed his hands on the table and sighed. "Listen, it's great that you helped people and have become all nice and stuff now, but I still don't know what to do about these dreams."

"A good point." The Contessa thought for a moment before standing up. "Well, all I can say to try to solve this is something I probably should have said during our last session." She turned and placed her hands on the table. "Murray, this is our final session. I will not need to see you ever again, and you vill not need to see me ever again."

Murray paused. He looked down at his hands. "So, what? That's it?"

The Contessa took a deep breath. "That should be it." She turned and walked towards the door. "Now, take care of your trash and take me home. I can climb walls without need of assistance, but I am not enticed vith the idea of crossing highways."

Murray took the lid off his milkshake and finished the rest with a swallow. He collected all the garbage off the table and threw it in the nearest trash can, rushing his way to the door afterwards. He jumped into the van and started the engine.

During the drive, the van was uncomfortably silent.

As he rounded the last turn to his passenger's home, Murray tapped the steering wheel uncomfortably. "So, do I owe you anything for this."

"You would have, but business is business, and thanks to Interpol, psychiatry is not my business anymore." The Contessa placed one of her claws beneath her chin. "To be quite honest, it could be a problem if Interpol were to find out I was taking clients, especially a Cooper Gang member. I don't know about you, but I would prefer to not go to back to prison."

"Yeah. That's true." Murray parked near the broken bridge. "So, why do you live here. I mean, as a home selling person, that seems a little weird."

The Contessa stepped out of the van. "I simply like my privacy. I have not found much use for others, so I found it better to choose out of the way residences. I also rarely stay in one place at a time." She walked over to Murray's window. "You see, the real estate agency I work for has locations all across this nation and in most of Western Europe. I travel with ease, needing only research to help me."

Murray frowned slightly. "Gee. That sounds kinda lonely. I don't think I could live like that."

"Perhaps. But enough about me." The Contessa poked Murray in the nose. "I believe you should be free of that dream for now. But if you find you are having any problems, you can find psychiatrists just about anywhere. Just check the phone book."

Murray held his chin. "Yeah. I suppose that's true."

The Contessa nodded and began walking away.

"Wait!" Murray leaned out of his open window. "I'm not sure that anyone else could deal with this sort of problem." He rubbed the back of his head. "I mean, the dream does concern you."

The Contessa stopped. She sighed. "Murray, like I said before, repetitious dreams are common."

Murray sat back in his chair. "Maybe."

The Contessa turned around, placing a hand on her hip. "Well, I suppose there is one possible proposition." She walked back towards the van. "Now, there is just one simple question. Do you happen to have a sponsor?"

Murray shook his head. "Never got around to it. All the racing guys always get people like oil companies and grease manufacturers."

"What about real estate?"

Murray rubbed his head and looked up at the sky. "Can't say that I've heard of that before."

"Intriguing." The Contessa rubbed her chin gently with one of her claws. "It may take a few calls, but I suppose I could get my agency to sponsor you."

"Sweet action! A real sponsor!" Murray nearly jumped through the window. "Man, that'll cut down on costs."

"Yes, I suppose it would." The Contessa held up a claw. "But this proposition will benefit us both. For you, a sponsor, funding, and access to psychiatric help. For me, transportation, advertisement, and easy access to an ample supply of customers."

Murray held his chin. "Doesn't sound bad."

"I will see what I can do." The Contessa back to her house. "Just don't leave town for a few days." She smiled slyly. "We may even be able to renegotiate those saving bonds of yours." She nimbly crawled her way across one of the silk threads.
Holding his chin, Murray turned around in his van, speculating.

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Okay, the point wasn't to be romantic. The point was to hint at an association. I hope I did all right. Tell me what you think.

Please enjoy and review.