A/N: Sorry for the really…long time between this and the last chapter. I took time off for the holidays and finals are coming up in school. In short, life happened again.

The last chapter came out a bit Penelope-heavy. Too much Penelope and not enough everyone else, though that's not necessarily a bad thing, it was supposed to be Penelope-centric, just more than I intended it to be. So here's a Sly chapter for everyone, dive into the mind of our hero, who seems to be having problems of his own, followed with a touch of Murray at the end. I can't neglect him for too long…I'm still a Murray fan.

An optional, alternate title for this chapter could be the chapter of awkward silences.

London Operation

Day Two

It was an old, run down place. The floorboards were popping up and creaked under their steps, and the windows were shattered. The place was cold and it literately had a carpet made of dust.

To put it bluntly, it was perfect.

A few miles away from the original site, the new safe house already felt like home. Always on the move, the Cooper Gang had always been able to settle down into new surroundings quite easily.

Of course, Bentley muttered and moaned, regarding the place with disdain. He never really did get over his mild obsession over cleanliness, and he griped about how unsanitary the place was until he was reminded by his girlfriend that he was the one who insisted that they choose this location as the new hideout. Said girlfriend was in a bad mood lately, lashing out at him for just about anything with such a fierce female fury that Bentley decided it would be best not to argue with her until the foulness passed. Then it would be back to their regular routine of disagreeing, threats, and Penelope eventually coming out as the winner.

The turtle shook his head. He, Bentley, brains of one of the most prominent thieving gangs, master strategist, demolitions specialist, and self-proclaimed criminal genius, was, as Murray had once so eloquently put it, "totally whipped."

Moving was relatively quick and painless, as everyone was quite used to carrying only the bare essentials with them. Planning their next move, however, was far from it.

Plugging in a space heater, Sly silently prayed to every deity he knew of (and he knew of quite a few) for the electricity to still be working. He let out a sigh of relief when the small appliance roared to life, adding a bit of warmth to the otherwise frigid place. It was comforting in more ways than one, as if the low humming was telling him "It'll be okay. You'll get to the bottom of this and everything can go back to the way it was before."

Except that things couldn't go back to the way they were. Sly knew it, and he was certain that the others knew it as well. It was silly of him to think that life could stay that way forever. Perhaps it was even selfish to think that. Things change. Bitter, he didn't say anything as a visibly weary Bentley got his projector slides in order.

Sly allowed himself a soft snort as he felt the blood rush to his head. He bit down harder onto the handle of his cane as he felt his patience wearing thin. He stared down at the two bantering guards below him, chattering about everything under the sun and taking their sweet time doing it, as well. He literately felt himself drifting halfway between the waking world and sleep as he forced himself to regain focus and tried to mentally will sentries away. How long had he been up there on the ceiling, clinging to a thin pipe barely strong enough to support his weight? Ten minutes? Twenty minutes? How about an hour? He straightened himself out to try and get rid of the light-headed feeling. And he was still injured, for crying out loud.

Bentley better appreciate this. He thought as he tried to ignore a pain that decided it absolutely needed to resurface at that very moment. I'd like to see him hanging onto this thing for who-knows-how-long…

Sly's disgruntled train of thought pulled to a complete stop as he heard the slamming of a door, signalizing that he could finally move. Dropping down, he landed, noting that it was rather…efficient. While he had no qualms about it, Sly was well-aware that he was always a bit of a show-off, even when nobody was around to see it. While he didn't necessarily like this aspect of himself, he accepted it as a part of who he was. He always had to add a bit of his inherited Cooper finesse to his movements, and it came to him naturally. So why was he breaking this habit now? He frowned.

Work now. Ponder later.

It was then when Sly mildly regretted shutting off his communicator. He was sick and tired of Bentley constantly asking what was taking so long, (and not being able to tell him, for doing so would jeopardize the whole thing) he had rudely cut the connection while the turtle was in mid sentence in sheer annoyance. Now that he wasn't being frustrated or pressured, he realized how curt he was being to his friends. He had been more sarcastic than usual, and was growing more and more distant by the day. By now, his gang was just leaving him to his own devices and if they wanted to speak to him, it was mission-related only.

In fact, they all seemed to be drifting a bit. Not a single one of them could honestly say that recent events weren't bothering them. Bentley and Penelope seemed to be on a sort of a silent treatment sabbatical with each other. Murray spent more and more time just sitting in the van, away from everyone else, and Lucas? That freak would just keep to himself, roosting on top of the safe house, watching for danger and twitching his large ears around like some sort of satellite dish, listening for whatever it is he thought needed to be heard. Sly did not like him; something seemed off about that guy. Strange or not, the team needed the bat and the Cooper told himself that he would just have to tolerate Lucas and the flier had already made it clear that he had no intention of staying with the gang permanently.

This was one of those changes that he mused about earlier in the safe house. And he hated it. The tension was so strong he could practically smell it, and a putrid odor it was. Sly would have given just about anything to go back to the good old days. He didn't care if he was being childish anymore. Maybe he could have taken it if it was gradual and there was time to get used to it, but no. This stupid Alliance group pretty much shoved everything into his face. He and his gang can't adjust to this in such a short span of time. Sly could only hope that things would sort out over the next few weeks. Now he just wanted things to be familiar again.

It was only then when Sly realized that he was just standing there stupidly for a good ten minutes or so. How careless of him, he could've been discovered and knocked out ten times over without even realizing it. He dragged himself out of his self-induced daze and raced to find cover in case somebody did decide to come in. When he found himself safely hidden in the shadows, he reached up to his ear and felt around for the small button on the device clasped to it.

"Hey, Bentley, are you there? Sorry I had to cut you off like that, but…"

When Sly returned to the safe house, he found that the mood had lightened a little. Not much, but the change was noticeable. He was relieved to see Bentley back to his old routines, typing furiously at his laptop and making all sorts of chicken scratch over maps and blueprints and them making even more barely legible notes over them. Bentley looked up long enough to greet him and thank him for getting what he had asked for and returned to his work. Sly blinked. Usually, Bentley would blabber on about how crucial it was that he got whatever it was Sly was bringing him and offer a word of encouragement or praise. Not just…take the thing and continue on as if he wasn't even there.

So, it wasn't completely the same routine, but it was a start.

Sly was no psychological expert or anything of the sort, but he knew that he had some kind of effect on his gang. As their leader, their morale depended somewhat on him. If he was troubled, they became worried and uptight. If he was cheerful, they were laid back and more likely to argue over what restaurant they were going to order from. (None of them had any culinary talent whatsoever) And now he realized that if he was sulky and remote, they were depressed and moody.

For the sake of his gang, then, Sly would just have to contain himself and put on a front that was more of himself, despite the fact he was still feeling sulky and remote, and certain that he would be for quite a while.

After constructing his elaborate disguise, he decided to push it aside for later. His friends may depend on him for leadership, but they weren't stupid. Something was bound to be wrong if Sly had a sudden mood change.

It was silent for a few minutes, save for the rhythmic way Bentley typed at the keyboard, stopping periodically to check on something or other. It was too quiet. Sly could just not stand it anymore.

"What are you doing?" He asked his turtle friend at long last.

"Accessing the files of an old associate of ours." Bentley answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sly peered over his shoulder and could not make odds or ends of all the technological jargon on the illuminated screen. In fact, he could barely even see them. They moved so fast that Sly had to wonder how it was possible for anyone to read that fast and enter in the required codes. Was Bentley even thinking, or was all this a second nature, like Sly's artistic flair for movement, Penelope's superior hand-eye coordination prowess, or Murray's driving ability?

Speaking of the destruction-obsessed hippo, where was he?

Probably spending more time alone in the van. Sly thought with a spike of regret shooting down his spine.

"Who?" Sly asked, his answer a bit delayed by his wandering mind.

"Arpeggio's." Bentley replied in the same tone of voice.

Interest sparked up in Sly. What would Bentley want with the data of the poor, deceased parrot? Although he never said it, Bentley always did hold a high amount of respect for Arpeggio – the bird was a genius and quite possibly could have been smarter than him. What was Bentley after, specifically? Arpeggio's technical designs? His brilliant ideas? Or maybe his…

"Success!" Bentley cried out, earning himself a cold stare from Penelope, who had been half asleep on a couch clutching her remote controlled car as if it were a teddy bear. The reptile promptly quieted down. Sly turned his attention back to the screen and raised an eyebrow as high as it would go.

…his list of favorite plays and operas? Sly stared in disbelief.

"Bentley, you are insane."

"There's a fine line between genius and insanity, Sly."

There was a strange moment of silence between them and Sly knew not to dignify that with an answer. Despite the raccoon's sharp wit and tongue, Bentley managed to come out on top every time they mocked each other in jest, and Sly always had to resort to sarcasm one way or another.

"Right. What exactly are you doing with Arpeggio's list of favorite plays and operas?"

"Even you should be able to get it, Sly. This isn't rocket science." When Sly just stared at Bentley's glasses for a full minute, the turtle shook his head and muttered something about how the world was deteriorating mentally and so on and so forth. When he finished his quiet miniature rant, he regained his composure and decided to explain things nice and slowly…so that when Sly finally did get it, it would be like rubbing salt into the open wound. "Other than building things and…you know…trying to gain immortality by reassembling a metallic owl that had been alive for a few millennia, what was Arpeggio's hobby?"

"Going to see plays and operas." Sly answered, wondering where this was going.

"And our current target that we're trying to exact some kind of revenge on for ruining our lives is…?"

"A stage actress." Sly replied.

Another awkward moment of silence.

"Oh, for the love of…put two and two together, Sly! Arpeggio was an admirer of the arts! And he lived here, in London! He's sure to have some valuable information on England's top actress!"

Sly blinked, and all he could do was nod dumbly and respond with a long, dragged out "ah."

And Bentley resumed his tirade about the sad state of the world. Quietly, of course. He was still afraid of Penelope's wrath, after all.

"Have you come to relieve me of my post?" The winged mammal asked without moving the slightest bit.

"Hardly." Sly responded while leaning against the frail chimney of the broken down place they called the safe house. How could anything so fragile be called safe, anyways? "I needed to get some fresh air."

"Hmm, fine. It's rather nice up here, anyways."

"I said I came out here for a chance to breathe, not conversation." Sly snapped, instantly regretting it. Sure he didn't like Lucas, but that was no reason to be rude.

"Suit yourself." The other shrugged.

"…sorry for yelling." Sly apologized after a moment. When he got no reply, he took that as a sign to continue on. "I find it hard to trust you, you know. You've barely been with us for a day."

"Understandable." Lucas seemed indifferent. It seemed to Sly that he was always indifferent. He'd always have no opinion and would take things as they came and went, as if he were some kind of observer watching the gang. "I only asked to be allowed to come with you, not join your gang. You're the ones who interpreted it that way."

"Will you be leaving once we're finished?"

"Most probably, yes. That is, if it is ever finished and we all don't die horrible and tragic deaths in the process."

"Listen, if you're going to channel Bentley, I don't want to talk anymore. He's part of the reason I came up here in the first place." Sly groaned.

"I most certainly agree."

"About what, channeling Bentley, or not wanting to talk anymore?"

"The part about if I was channeling the spirit of Bentley the turtle, that we should stop talking."

They sat in near silence a sort of mutual understanding had formed between the Cooper Gang leader and the mysterious newcomer. Of course, Sly still had his doubts – they weren't going to go away immediately, but he thought he could get around them in time now. The majority of the discomfort he felt around the enigmatic bat was the strange atmosphere he had around him, the one Sly had sensed earlier, and the raccoon didn't know how to approach him or deal with it. It was only instinct to be wary – fear of the unknown or the mysterious was a natural notion. It was a survival tactic that had been planted into the brains of living beings since they first appeared on the Earth's surface.

All the while, Lucas's large ears continued to twitch and turn systematically, still listening and still watching for danger.

"You're not lonely up here?" Sly asked, finally.

"Not at all. I've worked alone most of my life." There was no hint of longing in the voice. It was simply…placid. "On the off-chance that I do feel a need for company, I just have to stick my head into the safe house for a minute and all desire for companionship of any kind is promptly erased."

Sly laughed dryly, catching the subtle insult hidden in that comment. He couldn't tell whether Lucas was joking or not.

"You said you're good at hiding your expressions and feelings, right? Well, what if you're so good at it that you've tricked yourself into believing you can go on by yourself forever?" Without waiting for an answer, Sly decided he had enough fresh air for the time being and slinked away from the bemused brown bat, silently proud that he managed to get some kind of reaction out of him.

Murray slouched over and rested his head on the steering wheel of the van, his safe haven, where he went to go to think. Yes, despite all the jokes about it and his tendency to, as Bentley had once so accurately described, "punch first and not bother asking questions later," Murray had his own thinking spot. And that was his beloved van. Like the others, he could see the downward spiral the gang was going through, but it was more of himself he was worried about.

He could hear Sly and Bentley banter and play-argue, and for that, he was glad. It was a small sliver of hope these dark days. But Murray still worried for his own self. He usually didn't let matters of the mind bother him. Not because he didn't have the capabilities or interest for it, he just felt that he wasn't up to the task. It was a well-kept secret of his, but the main reason he went under the Aboriginal spiritual training with the Guru was for the willpower and mental strength to do that kind of stuff. He had always been aware on how weak he was on the inside, and the horrible week he spent in Prague with the Contessa and his own guilt over Bentley's paralysis only magnified that weakness.

Murray wasn't stupid or anything, at least, not as dumb as he appeared to be. It's just that his mouth and his fists kept going even though his brain decided it would have been best to stop. It's just that he always lost control when it came to his emotions, be it anger or sadness. After spending time with the Guru and heading for Venice, Murray thought that he did have more restraint, until he lost his temper and pounded down rather brutally on Octavio.

During the few months the Guru was traveling with them, Murray felt better and more relaxed, as if the lapse back in Venice was only a one-time thing. He wasn't going to let his feelings get away from him again.

Except they did, multiple times. And it frustrated the hippo to no end. Fighting was his release, and that was why he enjoyed them so much, because they relieved him off all the stress, anger, and everything else that built up inside of him. Murray's way of dealing with is emotional distress was by going out and beating the snot out of someone or something. Why couldn't he be like Sly, who could keep his head level even when his mind was being messed with? Better yet, how can Sly manage to hang onto his cool when Inspector Fox was involved? Murray could only barely comprehend his very short-lived crush on Penelope back in China. That had been easy to get over, the girl obviously had a thing for Sly, and later on, Bentley after the daring rescue they pulled in Bloodbath Bay.

Matters of the heart were something Murray did not want to deal with at the moment, especially when he couldn't handle basic sentiments. So he pushed them all away, as far back into his mind as he could.

And suddenly, Murray felt very, very alone.

He was surrounded by his friends, but everyone was on less friendly terms with each other, and on top of that, Murray was alone in the emotional hole he had dug himself into.

He had come to his van to cope and think over his problems, but he had succeeded in nothing more than increasing his misery. Opening the door, he could only hope that there was going to be some fighting in the near future.

Because he desperately needed it.

Closing Notes: Stress gets to everyone, and this is my theory on how Murray handles it, by immersing himself in fighting, breaking, destroying, and possibly driving, too. He's almost always cheerful in the games, and the only times he seems to show other feelings is either during a fight or right before one. So that's how I think Murray copes with things. I'm not saying I'm right or anything, it's just my ideas.