He leans over, kissing the sleeping head goodnight. She shifts and mumbles something, throwing her tiny paws in the air. He catches them gently and sets them down, tucking her under the covers. His heart swells with love for the small, curled form.

"Goodnight, Leesha."

Tiptoeing out he is met by Filly. She places a loving paw on his arm, which he seizes and kisses. Her paws are wrinkled and calloused from work at the laundry but he doesn't care. They are beautiful to him.

She pulls her hand away and circles her arms around his waist, burying her face in his shoulder. He brings his arms up behind her to hold her close. He can smell the soap in her fur. They stand in the hallway, just holding each other…

The view shifts. He still holds her, but she is not holding him, she can't hold him. Her arms lie limply by her side and her eyes are vacant. He is crying… crying…

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Blast!" Basil looked up from the breakfast table to see who had shouted. He wondered why the housekeeper and Dawson were staring, until he realized that he was the one who had yelled.

"Ah.. ahem… excuse me, my deepest apologies." He blushed. The housekeeper's brows were drawn together in a deep frown.

"Basil, you've been acting strangely lately," said Dawson cautiously, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He hastily assured. "And everything," he mumbled to himself. Dawson shot him a sharp look, having heard the last part as well. Basil dropped his gaze back to his plate.

He chewed on his muffin quietly, but in his mind a thousand curses raged. No! He corralled his emotions, You are NOT in control, you will NOT take over! Oh blast, I have to distract myself or I'll slip and lose it again. I cannot, I will not go back to that black hole again. Get ahold of yourself and think, Basil! What is the opposite of emotion, what can obliterate emotion… Logic! Yes, Logic. I need a case, that will calm me down, pull me out of this. But a case isn't just going to knock on the door because I need one, I might not get another case for weeks. That would be too late! I'd be sucked down into that pit again. NO! There must be something I can concentrate on. Let's see, Puzzles? No, I finish them too quickly. Hmmm… Chemicals? But what would I make? Maybe painting would---

The housekeeper's shriek snapped him out of his reverie. A quick glance at the table revealed I'd been lost in thought for quite a while, for breakfast had been cleared away and he was alone at the table. He sprang to his feet, overturning the chair, and rushed toward the screams.

He found her in the kitchen, in Dawson's arms. He was consoling her as best he could, but the poor mouse was overwhelmed himself. Catching Basil's eye, he motioned to an open note on the counter. Basil picked it up and scanned it.

To the scum-sucking second-rate detective it may concern,

Guess who?

Basil's last shred of confidence left. He sagged against the counter. "So," he whispered, "He's still alive." After a moment, he crumpled the note in his hand and shrilled at the ceiling, "God in heaven, haven't I endured enough already?"

"Basil!" Dawson's tone brought his gaze back down. His housekeeper was trembling and sobbing.

He threw his paws in the air. "What do you want me to say to her, Dawson? That everything will be alright? That I can catch him for sure this time? Nothing is certain anymore, Dawson. Do you hear me? NOTHING IS CERTAIN ANYMORE! He was supposed to be dead, but somehow he's not, HE'S NOT! He's still roaming the streets and plotting from the sewers. I've expended every effort I have, Dawson. There's nothing left to throw at him! So I'm sorry," He seethed, directing his attention to the quivering housekeeper, "But I can't assure you or calm your fears or anything of the sort because I've got too many bloody fears myself."

She sat weakly and tried to stifle her sobs.

"Oh take the day off." Basil snarled. "I want to be alone." Without waiting for a response, he fled upstairs, ignoring her tears and Dawson's outraged indignation.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

He curled into a ball, trying to give their fists and claws a smaller target. Pounding and scratching from all sides. A large paw found his shirt collar and snatched him off the ground. He gasped, trying to breathe as the nightmarish figure thrust his face into Basil's.

"Wha'ssa matter, Bashil? Can't put up yer dukes?" Basil could smell Rodent's Delight on Ratigan's breath. He held his silence. He knew Ratigan was in perfect control, the rat could always hold his liquor, but was putting on a drunk act to frighten him

"Awww, Bashil, not even gonna put up a fight? That'sh okay." He clumsily patted Basil's head with his other paw. "Everyone knowsh that meeses can't fight back. Too shm-shmall an' weak." Basil refused to respond. Ratigan frowned and flung him against the wall where his head cracked against the smooth stone of Oxford's dormitory.

"Shee you 'round the good ole campush!" Ratigan giggled over his shoulder, waving at his gang to follow.

Basil lay stunned for a while, then slowly picked himself up and crawled to his dormitory, where his roommate, Dormas, helped him clean himself up.

"Someday, Dormas," Basil winced as his friend helped clean his cuts, "Someday Ratigan will be—umf—a wanted criminal."

Dormas laughed good-naturedly and asked, "And what will you be?"

His eyes narrowed to slits as he whispered, "The detective who puts him away."