Whose Idea Was This? Mine? Oh, Right

Sly sat in his new apartment, staring at the wall.

His ears twitched, his tail swung back and forth almost violently, and his feet tapped without rhythm or reason.

He was going stir crazy. And this was only the first night.

Interpol had provided him with an apartment temporarily until he could get things in order, and until he could meet with someone who would "remind" him how the process of renting an apartment worked.

He stood and paced back and forth, his tail knocking into an end table, rattling his lamp each time he passed it.

Interpol had found a cheap apartment, and cheap meant that only a tiny amount of work, thought, and decorating effort had been invested into the apartment- every wall was white. The tile and carpet were brown. He was going crazy.

He thought of Bentley and Murray and how hard they could make him laugh if they were there with him, and suddenly an ache gripped his heart inside his chest so tightly he could barely breathe. He stumbled back to the chair and sat down, his head between his knees. He would not regret this. He couldn't.

He stood suddenly and picked up his key to his apartment (he couldn't remember the last time he owned a key), and tried to think of something to do that didn't involve pick-pocketing or jumping from rooftop to rooftop. He didn't really have any hobbies…


Boy, was this city beautiful at night! He hadn't really noticed the last time he had been in Italy. The moon reflected brightly on the river, and gently floating gondolas glided smoothly on the water, leaving wakes and ripples in the shine of the moonlight on the water's surface. He walked past a small bistro, its open door shining a welcoming light onto the night-darkened sidewalk, and his nose immediately turned him around and led him into it. He had to find out what smelled so heavenly. He stepped inside and stopped in the doorway, eyes canvassing the walls covered in beautiful paintings. A Burmese cat behind the register was bantering playfully with a gray wolf through a door to the kitchen behind the counter. She saw Sly out of the corner of her eye and fell silent.

"Thief!" she shouted suddenly, making Sly jump. "You terrible, rotten thief! Get out of my store!"

"What? No, I'm not a thief! I work for Interpol!" Sly argued, desperately trying to calm her down. The cat shouted at him in Italian, and reached into the kitchen. She whipped around, her arm swinging forward, and Sly saw a flash of silver. He ducked, and a second later heard the sharp thunk of the projectile slamming into the wall. He turned and, much to his horror, found a thick butcher's knife sticking into the wall. Hearing quick footsteps, he turned forward and glimpsed the cat a moment before she swung a pan violently at his head. His knees pulled him down instinctively; he felt the pan graze over the fur on his ears (it was still warm- it smelled like butter) and caught sight of the name on her name tag: Bernardetta. Bits of whatever was cooked in it flew as Bernardetta brought it back around to swing again. Sly leapt back out of the cat's reach, and began running. Hearing her follow, he grabbed hold of a pole outside the bistro and climbed.

"Run, thief! Don't ever come anywhere near my store again!" she shouted and reentered the bistro.

Sly took a shaky breath.

"I guess the news needs time to spread," he muttered to himself.

He leapt onto the roof of the bistro and tip-toed to the alley, assuming the cat with the pan was still on high alert. He jumped silently to the ground in the alley. It was cold and wet and smelled like Murray after driving for a week straight.

Oh, there it was again. The chest ache. He squatted and lowered his head, breathing deeply.

"This will go away. It'll get easier. It's just an adjustment. It has to go away," he thought to himself, standing back up.

He walked out of the alley and wandered through the city, remaining in the shadows. The silence of the night mixed with muffled laughter and chatter from the insides of businesses open late. Wary stares of passersby and workers inside stores with views of the street followed him everywhere he went.


BANG-bang-bang-bang

Sly jerked awake with a gasp, rolling off of the couch into a squat, knees bent, muscles tensed. His hand rested lightly on the ground between his feet for balance and extra leverage. His eyes quickly scanned the room. He remained perfectly still.

The knock sounded again to his right. His ear twitched. It was only the door. He stood, feeling a bit ridiculous, and walked to the door. He peeked through the peep-hole and grinned- it was Carmelita, who was fussing with her braid. He opened the door, and barely managed to suppress a greeting of, "G'morning, Beautiful," instead sufficing with, "Good morning, Inspector Fox."

She took in his appearance, and felt the corners of her mouth tug up as she caught sight of his mussed up hair. No wonder he always wore a hat.

"Carmelita," she told him before she could stop herself.

He grinned, giving his eyes the most adorable crinkle around the edges.

"Okay. Carmelita," he relied softly, searching her eyes. His were the most luscious brown she had ever seen, and, standing this close, she could see flecks of yellow and gold around his dilated pupils.

Shit.

She tore her eyes away quickly, looking down at the ground, her smile disappearing. She cleared her throat. "Let's get to work, Sly," she commanded, suddenly all business. "We've got to get you checked out to make sure that Dr. M... cabrón," she spat, "didn't do any damage besides the amnesia. Then once we get the okay I want to start training you ASAP. I assume you're still in good shape," her eyes wandered over his chest and biceps, "but we'll have to teach you combat, self-defense, and how to shoot a shock pistol without electrocuting yourself. Hopefully we can turn you into a cop within a few months, if not less."

"Well, if our schedules are this straight-to-the-point everyday, I'd bet on less," he remarked with a taunting smirk.

"Then let's not waste any precious time," she teased. "Are you ready to go now?"

"Let's get to it," he said, closing his door behind him.

Carmelita gave him a strange look. She pushed past him into his apartment, and came out a second later with his key. She locked his door and began walking down the hall with it. "Are you coming or should my first lesson for you be how to harness and transport a resisting delinquent?" she asked over her shoulder.

He looked at his locked door with a grimace of forgetfulness and followed. "There's no off switch for your police mode is there?"

"It's my default setting," she quipped, glancing at him out of the corners of her eyes and grinning.


"Oof!"

The sound escaped from the back of Sly's throat as he hit the ground hard on his stomach again, the air in his lungs rushing out all at once. Carmelita lowered her athletic-tape-wrapped fists and walked over, trying to hide a scowl of disapproval. She extended a hand to Sly. He took it gratefully and stood, wiping his brow as sweat threatened to drip into his eyes. He rubbed his jaw; Carmelita could really pack a punch- but, then again, Sly hadn't expected her to actually hit him. This particular assault to his face had caused him to spin around in classic cartoon style, and land on his stomach, which was actually growing sore because he had landed on it so many times.

"You okay?" she asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was tense. Sly could see her frustration in the twitch of her tail, the tightness of her shoulders. He could tell that she was trying not to show her growing impatience for his inability to remain vertical while sparring. Carmelita watched as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm okay, but I don't think my stomach can handle one more attack from the ground today," he retorted with a pained smile.

She let out a short laugh, her shoulder loosening slightly. "Okay, Ringtail, we're done for the day. I'll find another way to kick you across the room tomorrow," she retaliated with a grin. She left the training room towards the locker room, and Sly rubbed his jaw again.

Pretending to know nothing about anything was becoming an exhaustion, especially after being punched around the room by Carmelita and being unable to defend himself. He could only do as much as she had taught him thus far so as not to raise her suspicion, and so far he had not done anything well. Damn, that girl was in good shape. After they had arrived back in Italy, it took about a week for them to get the okay to train, and for that entire week Sly had been poked and prodded in every possible way by every reputable doctor Interpol could come in contact with. Since then, she had been trying to teach Sly the basics for about two weeks, but she hadn't actually hit him until this practice. Maybe, he thought, it was time for him to "learn" some self-defense. This session "inspired" him to practice on his own. He wandered back to the men's locker room to change, rubbing his jaw.


Before I say anything, PLEASE any Spanish speakers that are reading this, please tell me if that word (cabrón) means something other than what I think it means. The translation that I found was bastard, and I checked multiple websites and legitimate websites to make sure that it was correct. But again, just in case it is wrong, please let me know! I would appreciate it so much.

Anyway..

Yay! Epic chapter. Okay, so again there's not much action in this chapter, but everything I wrote has meaning. I can explain what my thought process was for this chapter to anyone who wants to know, but I don't want to go too in depth.. I don't want to spoil anything for the future of this story (I myself am not entirely sure what that is, but I don't want to reveal too much of my thought process, in case it could give away any ideas I may have later!).

So as you can see from all the separating lines, I write my stories in little segments of action, location, etc. I read and reread a million times while editing, which is why it takes me so long to write a lot, and why each chapter has been so short so far. I've only got one more little section like this written out so it may be a while until my next post.. maybe.. hopefully not. I just wanted to get a bulky chapter up because my other two were pathetically short. Anyway, just enjoy what I've got and I'll try to plunk out some more!

BERNARDETTA: Feminine form of Italian Bernardo, meaning "bold as a bear."

(I thought that ^ was a bit funny ;) I didn't double check this one though, so let me know if I've got that wrong.)