Bentley fiddled with his tie endlessly. He pulled its wings gently and sharply, moved it left and right across his collar, and on a few occasions unravelled it entirely to tie it again. It was only on the fifth unsatisfactory attempt did he accept the futility of it all.

"Gah!" he grunted.

He hurled the tie back onto the bed and collected the other one lying there, the traditional one. He wrapped it around his neck and fiddled it into a knot, but stopped before he could pull it tight and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Something didn't feel right. That tie with this suit, it felt…off. He couldn't elaborate on it, he just knew it felt wrong, but then the only alternative was the bow tie he had spent the last fifteen minutes being unsatisfied with. He slumped forward in his wheelchair.

"It's no use," he whined. Deep down he'd always known that, but it made it no less painful to have it confirmed. What was Sly thinking? It was great they were getting together again after so long apart, but why did he have to make it a formal setting? Pompier was probably the only restaurant where the diners had to meet stricter rules than the staff when it came to dress. Their best times together were the times spent crushed in the van or lounging around whatever house they'd commandeered that week, and to celebrate that they'd go out and spend a ridiculous sum of money on food they could balance on their fingernails? Then again, finding a takeaway to pull in at afterwards to fill the rest of his stomach was the least of his problems right now.

He picked up the two ties and held them in front of his eyes. His powerful brain whirred and calculated, but it came no closer to finding an answer than it had done in the countless attempts before. It didn't upset him – fashion had never been his strong point. He hadn't even worn a suit as a disguise, let alone owned one. How was he expected to pick up something immaculate enough to impress at Pompier with a resume like that? Then again, he could live with not impressing a bunch of snooty aristocrats. It was what was down the hall that worried him.

He deflated at the thought of Penelope. He straightened his spine as best he could and smoothed out his shirt, but his shoulders refused to come out from their sag of defeat, and the longer he stared at his reflection he couldn't help but agree. The shirt was too big, and the collar too wide. His jacket was marginally better, but the colour just seemed too shiny, like it was made of plastic. He'd made the wrong choice in the shop, and if he could see that what would she think? What would she think of seeing her boyfriend who, having had a good week to prepare for this special occasion, had picked a horrible outfit to wear? What would she think seeing her boyfriend unable to dress himself properly? Her short, four-eyed, wheelchair-bound boyfriend? Her dorky, ugly, useless…

He shook his head vigorously to try and rid himself of the thoughts, but when he observed his reflection again he only sunk deeper into his seat. What did she see in him? Alright, they had a shared interest in technology, but he was hardly the only techie out there. There'd certainly be techies taller, stronger and more handsome than he. She deserved better than him – that wasn't self-deprecation, it was just a fact. She was smart, talented, beautiful and she meant the world to him, but there was only so much he could offer her. If she asked him to build her a time machine or a teleporter he'd slave away night and day to make it happen, but if she asked him to dance or carry her home he was beaten. For all his talents there was more to life than hacking computers, and once he was away from a workbench that was where his ability fell down.

He prised his glasses from his face, wiping the steam from them with one hand as he rubbed his eyes with the other. What little appetite he'd had for going out tonight had gone completely. Going to a stuffy, formal restaurant was a pain that could be endured, but having to present himself to Penelope, upstage her with his terrible dress sense and complete lack of airs and graces compared to Sly, was a thought he didn't want to bear.

His phone buzzed on the bed behind him. He cursed to himself. Time to go, no matter how much he didn't want to.

"Penelope, are you ready? The taxi's here," he called down the hall in his best impression of his usual voice.

"Er…just a minute," she called back to him, "I'll meet you at the door."

The sound of her voice made his heart flutter, and then squeezed his chest tight with fear. He forced it down and grabbed the first tie his hand could reach, tying it hastily into place. Did it look good? He didn't care anymore. He was never going to be satisfied with appearance no matter what he did. All he could do now was swallow his pride and get on with it.

He rolled his wheelchair backwards and angled it to face the door. His heart pounded as he twisted the handle and peered at the door at the opposite end of the corridor. Closed for now, but soon it would be open and she'd see him looking far from perfect. His nerves screamed at him to slam the door, change into his bedclothes and hide beneath the covers for the rest of the night, but instead he sighed and grabbed his wheels.

"Let's get this over with," he said gloomily, and propelled himself out of his shelter.

I'm back! With something new this time! :D

Some devious soul convinced me to play Sly Cooper over Christmas, and suffice to say it was love at first sight. I fell particularly for Bentley and Penelope, so it was only natural I churn out some scribbles involving them. ^_^

In Sly 3 in particular Bentley seems like a bit of an insecure soul around Penelope. I'm just following that up like the monster I am. Let's hope things work out okay for him. :)

Reviews are always appreciated!