Glad you guys are enjoying my fic! Thank to all my reviewers, including the ones for this story and my other Sly fics!

A quick note: I am planning three more sequels after Strangers Like Us. One of the final sequels will be really big and involve a lot of characters. Therefore, I am going to need the help of my readers. Throughout the remaining chapters and sequels, I am going to place little Easter Eggs, if you will. These will be references from various movies, books, shows and games. If you spot them, let me know in your review, and let me know where they are from. Anyone who gets the most the fastest, wins. Then I will use an original character of their creation in my final story. There will be a new contest each chapter, so please remember to keep an eye out and leave a review as I do like hearing your thoughts on my work.

Your hints for this chapter: There is 1 Easter Egg in this chapter. It deals with numbers. This one deals with shape and size.

Disclaimer: Sly Cooper and other related characters are formerly the property of Sucker Punch, inc. and currently the property of Sanzaru, Inc. except for Beatrice Montreal, Bryan Moliere, Desiree Mallery, Desiree Monroe, Nautica Macavity, Aubrey Lancaster, Ann Monret, Armand Jaeger, Phillip Dumont, and Claire Bennet which all belong to me. Carmen Fox, Carlos Diego Fox, Kitty Petro, and Ling Chu belong to Kitty Petro.

Season 1: "When Strangers Meet"

Arc 1: "Shattered Past, Broken Present"

Episode 1:

Hints of Trouble

This is a mature scene, so if you don't want to deal with it... you have been warned.

Sly moaned as he came to, again. His head was still sore; the dull ache in his head beat a syncopated and halted rhythm against the sides of his skull. How long had he been asleep? It probably wasn't very long since the pain that radiated all over his body made sleeping a real herculean task. They had beaten him black and blue... thankfully nothing was broken as far as he knew, but at this point, the images and memories swirled around in his head at such a dizzying speed that the abyss seemed to wrap around him like a straight jacket, choking him. All around, he could only see darkness. However, nothing stayed still long enough for any concrete information to register in his head, so he felt like he was drowning and free falling at the same time. The black miasma seemed to twist and twirl around him, as if he was caught in the inky eye of an F5 tornado. His body longed to rebel and expel everything that was in his stomach, but he had not been fed in a while, so he doubted that anything besides the stew of acids from his stomach would come up.

The moon was full... at least it was the last time he looked up at the sky. That had been... actually, he couldn't remember how long ago that was. He could hazard a guess that he had been locked in "the hole" for about a week and half, or was it two weeks now, or had it only been a few days? Regardless of how long ago it had been, he was in this miserable place because he was being insubordinate to the Contessa. He had mostly been lost in his own head... and for him; that had always been dangerous. It was a blessing that he was nocturnal, as the specters of his past did not seem so scary during the semi-lighted hours of sleep he got during the day. At night, however, they seemed to grow...as if they drew their very essence from the night's shadow and tarlike marrow. For the last few days, he had become increasingly jumpy and agitated despite the pain he was in. Maybe it had to do with the small space he was in.

"The Hole", as the locals called it, was a literal hole in the ground; it was specifically 6 feet wide and 6 feet deep. Sly could walk a little ways, but not far. He could sit or lay down somewhat, but that was all. The hole was covered by a metal tent-like structure that shut him off from the rest of the world. The cover was a rectangular prism shape with rounded off corners, with the door and walls were at least 5 feet thick and no sound got in or out, except through the air holes. The metal contraption had small pores along the ridge where the front and back of the shape met, allowing not only the wind, but whatever the weather was doing in. He was sure the weather was also meant to help persuade the occupant to be on his or her best behavior once allowed back outside. He had attempted to climb the walls of the hole multiple times, but he could not make it any further than from one side of the hole to the other as his body was too injured to make the attempt, or motion, of climbing up. Besides, he vaguely recalled, the door was too heavy to move, and the eyehole slot was locked shut from the outside. At least from what he could remember from when he was first thrown into the dingy fissure, but that thought soon slipped away like oil poured from an Indian oil jar. Sly was still too physically broken from his previous torture at the hands of the twisted and demented Contessa and her henchmen. His nose twitched in derision as the smells of stale, sordid fur and skin mixed with the thick, sharp metallic stenches of congealed and dried blood, moist dirt, old vomit, and other wastes.

He tried to mentally regain his bearings once again, but it was soon interrupted by the unusual twitching of his hands and feet along with the pain the involuntary actions caused. He was not entirely sure what was causing it. Maybe, it was from the lack of food, or maybe it was just that he was not used to being immobile for so long. The last time he had been in a space like this was when his father died. Sly instinctively swallowed with that thought. Then the sound of the eyehole cover sliding out of place caused Sly to jerk in surprise, quickly biting back a cry, in case it was a guard. He would not give them the satisfaction of hearing his weakness. A horizontal rectangular strip of light fell into the hole and bathed the center of the pit prison with a few rays of blessed light. Sly resisted the urge to crawl towards it like a starving man towards water. For one, his pride would not allow it, even if he could not put two and two together to get four at the moment, and secondly, his bruised and battered body gave him extra incentive to stay put. However, what he heard next shocked the young raccoon.

"Or maybe, you're suffering from shock. Large amounts of physical damage can cause mild to severe shock. You may need to be seen by a healthcare professional," the voice sounded strangely like Bentley, although something seemed off about his voice, or maybe it was a weirdly pitched version of his own voice?

"Bentley?" he questioned softly, before being startled by how awful he sounded and how much his throat hurt. A brief snippet of memory crossed through him as he remembered screaming while a thug beat him mercilessly with a night stick.

Sly shifted slightly, trying to move closer to the light so that he could look up and see out of the small slit in the door. He shifted only a little, his back screaming in protest as a pitiful whimper crawled out of his throat. Various scratches and lacerations that had fused to his shirt via his dried blood pulled and stretched causing stabs of pain to rip through his back. Some of the dirt that had loosened during his sleep began falling onto his fur and nose, due to him changing positions. Some also landed on his nose, causing him to sneeze. It was then that Sly had seen his second glimpse of light since being incarcerated. The bright white light blinded him, as all the pain sensing nerves in the raccoon's body fired at the same time, creating an illusion of light in front of his eyes. Collapsing from the overload of pain, Sly succumbed to an entirely different abyss, the one of unconsciousness.

All too soon though, a terror inducing chimera nightmare, made up of terrifying memories of death and near misses, wrenched him from the arms of unconsciousness and threw him back into the hellish pit that currently held him captive in its gaping mouth. This time, however, he did not hurt as much, but he was still very sore and achy before realizing that he was able to move around a little more freely. He grimaced slightly as he realized that bandages were wrapped around his wounds and that he was shirtless. There had been several bruises and lacerations decorating his back and sides. his hands, arms, knees, and feet also held injuries: minor burns from the several amounts of "shock therapy", patches of skin that wept small droplets of blood from where the henchmen had ripped out his fur, and other injuries that Sly couldn't remember. They were also bandaged. Sly snorted in derision, the Contessa was keeping him barely alive for the simple fact that he was her only chance of gaining a lead on the location of his gang's spoils. He must have been in an awful state for them to remove him from the hole long enough to treat him. Now that he wasn't delirious with pain, he could finally start thinking again. Concentrating, he tried to recall what happened.

The whole problem started because Sly had been chasing after a dead owl. Clockwerk haunted Sly's ancestors, both in the living and dreaming worlds… the demonic bird had claimed a number of Cooper clan members, including his father. He had been tracking down the owl's robotic body parts that had been used in a mish-mash collection of crazy schemes that made little sense when looked at as a whole. However, Sly continued to pursue the stolen parts in the hope that he could finally put his messy past behind him. Initially, the need to regain his family's honor back, and prove himself worth of their name by getting the family's legendary tome back consumed the raccoon. Eventually, he managed to do just that, and in the end it brought him face to face with Clockwerk, the metallic maniac. They fought and Sly came out on top, but a few years later the parts were retrieved and displayed in the Cairo Museum of Natural History. Before the Cooper Gang could grab them, however, the Klaww Gang got to them. They managed to grab the Clockwerk tail feathers, heart, and wings before they were captured. The members of the Klaww Gang were captured because they were betrayed by their, well his, informant, Captain Neyla Saxena. Bentley lucked out as the turtle had not been in the same area as Sly and Murray. Sly's heart constricted momentarily in guilt as he thought about the trouble this mission had brought to his two companions, especially since the two of them were the only family he had.

After his father's murder, he had been sent to the local orphanage and it was between there and the streets that the young raccoon thief grew up. Sly moaned as he felt another headache starting to build. He reached up slowly, being mindful of his tender and still healing state, and rubbed his temples with both bandaged hands. As he rested his head in his hands, he mentally checked his body to get a better assessment of his condition. He could smell that his injuries had been thoroughly cleaned. He felt the pull and strain of some of his muscles. But there was not much that he could do about those as he would have to let them heal in their own time. His left ear twitched when a drop of rain landed on it. A few moments later, a steady rain began falling, causing small streams of water to cascade down into the pit and soak the raccoon, as well as the ground beneath him. Sly groaned miserably as he slowly leaned over to his right and crawled out from under the porous ridge. Eventually, he reached the wall again and sat down once more with his back resting against the wall. The crawl into the darkness had unnerved him somewhat as he still could not see anything in front of him, so he had to feel his way around. Furthermore, the short trek had exhausted him. He was still recovering and as a result, was very weak.

He continued to check over his body, making note of the subtle shivers running through his frame at the moment. They were probably an indicator of a fever. It had already been freezing in the pit during the night, but if you added in the rain and the shock he suffered from earlier, he might be fighting this fever for a while. Sly rested his head against the wall, listening to the rain drip into the pit. After a while, a sleepy lassitude worked its way into Sly's bones. He shifted and shook his head, trying to fight the heavy blanket of weariness that settled on him, but before he knew what happened... the scenery had changed.

He was back in the orphanage; the three cots with frayed thin blankets, so thin that they barely held a breeze at bay, were still in the same places they were in when the boys left. It was still Spartan in its decoration, and the one window in the room was still crooked at the base. Sly remembered having to use dirty clothes to block the cold air coming in from the crack created by the bad positioning during the winter and how insufferable the heat was during the summer. He also remembered being able to practically see the thermal waves rolling up from the wooden floorboards and practically smelling the sweaty and humid stench that hung in the air during summer months.

But before he could get immersed in his memories, a sharp uneasiness raced down his spine. Despite the familiarity of the room, Sly was sure that something wasn't right about this scenario. Sly remembered his torture and subsequent incarceration in that hellish pit vividly. He continued to ponder on this predicament for a moment longer before he deduced that he was dreaming. Then, his mental musings were interrupted when a creaking sound entered his ears. Turning around quickly, Sly tried to squelch his rising fear and panic as the trap door to their room was slowly opening of its own accord. A sanguine red light was slowly oozing out from under the sluggishly growing opening. As the trap door slowly slid into its open position, the raccoon just sunk to his knees as the oppressive weight of helplessness and terror bore down on his mind, body, and soul. The raccoon could only moan in resignation as he realized with an anguished, and defeated, heart that he was in the sordid throes of yet another nightmare.

What horror would he have to remember now he wondered, as all the old memories came back to him? Would it be the bloody death of his father, and the subsequent fire that burned his remains beyond recognition? Or what about that creepy, yet terrifying, fight to the death with Clockwerk? Or maybe it would be his turbulent adolescence at Happy Campers? His head had no shortage of traumatic and dark memories. At this point, the raccoon barely had a chance to scream his denial, before the reddish-brown light engulfed him. The light faded away and the thief was surprised to find himself in the middle of a jungle, the same obscure Indian jungle that Rajan was hiding in, to be exact. He would always remember this perilous and lush ground as the site of one of his biggest mistakes. He let himself be fooled and betrayed by Neyla, and it had cost him his freedom. Even worse, it also cost Murray his freedom as well, and Carmelita lost her reputation as an Interpol Officer. As Sly ruminated over the many consequences of his terrible decision, he practically heard Bentley's admonishing voice in his ear.

"I told you so, Sly!"

Then the thief's heart skipped a beat when he realized one traumatizing fact: he had not seen Bentley when they were loaded up like cattle for slaughter. His poor little brother was lost in the savage jungle all alone! Panic set in and removed any sense of coherent thought as Sly tore through the thick foliage, screaming the turtle's name. Sly finally happened upon a path that had not been swallowed up by underbrush and boreal fodder.

He surged forward with a fresh burst of speed, moving much faster now that his progress was not being hindered by ensnaring vines and roots. The path looked liked it had been carved by the efforts of many persistent wanders. As Sly came over a hill, he thought he saw a short figure a little ways down the path. Getting closer, the raccoon noticed that the figure was hunched over and hobbling in his direction. Despite the lack of lighting, Sly immediately recognized his teammate. Initially sagging in relief at the sight of the turtle, his heart sagged when he finally saw the damage done to his brother. Bentley was hunched over because he was clutching at his cracked shell, as if someone had tried taking a large bite out of the turtle, but instead only damaging the hard protective shell. There was a short gash in the yielding green flesh as blood dripped from the wound. Bentley's legs finally gave out and the turtle crumpled to the ground at Sly's feet. The raccoon quickly knelt down next to his friend and gently shook the reptile's uninjured shoulder. Bentley moaned. The reptile slowly opened his eyes and looked at Sly. Sly, in turn, reeled back in horror. His friend's eyes had been ripped out of their sockets. The empty slots oozed blood and fluids, the putrid mixture slid down Bentley's cheeks like tears. Sly was trying not to retch at the sight before him. After a valiant effort, the raccoon managed to swallow the bile in his throat before sprouting out apologies.

Bentley only gurgled in response, and then the turtle began to gasp for air. Panicking slightly, Sly rolled his friend onto his back and tilted the turtle's head back slightly, hoping that opening the turtle's airway would help his injured sibling breathe easier. Unfortunately, it was to no avail as Bentley's gasping and gurgling only grew worse. Sly could only watch in horror as his friend's condition deteriorated, until Bentley drew his final shaky breath. Sly called for Bentley over and over again, but he got no response. Despair crashed into Sly as he howled his denial to sky...

This mature scene is complete.

Sly was startled awake by his own his voice. He looked about in a weary, yet panicky, manner. It was pitch black still and his back was resting against something solid. At first, he convinced himself that he was still captive in "The Hole". But as his anxiety and ill-at-ease faded, Sly began noticing subtle differences that said otherwise. First, the air wasn't thick with all the disgusting and stale scents he smelled earlier, it was clean and warm. Second, although he ached all over, he wasn't in the agony he was earlier. Also, the bandages were missing, and he was wearing a shirt once more. He also noted that he was wearing pants, too. Sly cautiously ran his hands down his body, frowning in confusion when his hands hit a comforter. A bed? He asked himself before Sly remembered where he was; the home of his childhood friends Beatrice Montreal and Bryan Moliere. They had brought the distraught and exhausted thief home with them after his breakdown last night. Sly ran a frustrated hand through his unkempt hair. It was now obvious that he had been suffering through a flashback from his time in the Contessa's clutches; he had actually had a few nightmares about Bentley dying during his imprisonment. Even as the thought of the witch crossed his mind, the raccoon shuddered. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the room was suddenly flooded with light.

Beatrice took in the sight that met her eyes with a sigh. Shaun was hunched in the corner of the bed, his back pressed uncomfortably against the walls that formed the corner the bed rested in. His eyes were scrunched together; no doubt the light was hurting his eyes. His tail was wrapped around his middle, a clear sign that he was distressed. Probably a nightmare... she mused to herself. Instead of speaking, she moved to his bedside, her clawed feet clicking softly on the cherry hardwood floor. He hunched over in the bed as he began coughing. She waited for the episode to cease and then proceeded to put Shaun back to bed. She gently pulled at the twisted covers, uncoiling them from around Shaun's legs, holding them open so that Shaun could get back into bed properly. She waited for the teen to lie back down and then covered him up again. She then sat on the edge of the bed and started running her fingers through his hair, mildly noting that his natural onyx color was starting to grow back in at the roots. She doubted that the teen had noticed.

"S'rry, Bea." he mumbled apologetically.

"No need to be. Everybody has nightmares," she assured him, smiling softly at the nickname. The raccoon moved closer to her, unconsciously soaking up as much of her comfort as he could. "Want to talk about it?" The young man shook his head, refusing to abandon anymore of his pride. She sighed but remained by his side. After a few moments of companionable silence, the teen sighed.

"I just- feel so guilty about everything," he finally admitted. Beatrice nodded, but kept silent. "They lost everything, because of me. We got kicked out of the orphanage, because I lost control. They then lost what little they had left chasing my problem!" Beatrice frowned at that as Sly finished his rant.

"What happened at the orphanage was not your fault. That man had been tossing kids out of that home left and right. He just wanted to line his pockets with the extra money!" she snorted.

"If I hadn't attacked him, he would not have had a valid reason to kick us out!" protested the barely 18 year old. Beatrice sighed in frustration. Why, oh why, did Sly insist on punishing himself for things he could not control?

"I know, but if he wasn't messing around with Murray... you wouldn't have attacked him," she said scathingly. Sly winced at her tone, but decided to drop the orphanage topic, but Beatrice wasn't finished yet, "And as for this recent disaster, they chose to follow you. They have as much blame as you do, which isn't nearly the amount of blame that this so-called Neyla does!"

Sly decided not to argue any further. He instead let his mind wander, while she stroked his hair. For the first time in a very long time, Sly felt safe. The bed was soft and warm, while Beatrice's presence calmed his agitated spirit. Even after that awful flashback, Sly could feel his eyelids starting to close. He yawned softly, before finally surrendering to sleep once more. A mere few moments later, however, Sly was shocked awake by his mind cruelly shoving the image of Bentley's eyeless sockets into the front of his mind's eye. He took a few deep breaths as he tried to slow his heartbeat down. Beatrice was now rubbing his back. He groaned miserably wondering why he couldn't get over this. It had been almost two months since the Clockwerk parts incident, and here he was, still cowering like a child! He had been way more composed during the nightmarish event.

"Why can't I get over this whole Clockwerk parts mess?!" he yowled in frustration.

"Easy, kid. There's no rush," the bat soothed. "You will heal in your own time," she decided not to mention that lots of the abused kids, as well as a few of the adults that she worked with at the shelter she volunteered at constantly, had nightmares about their abusers constantly. She figured at this point, he would just dismiss it.

"Really? What makes you so sure?" he practically whined. Beatrice almost laughed at hearing the normally aloof, Mr. Cool himself, Sly Cooper whining like a little kid. But then it hit her, he was a kid. Sure, he was mature for his age, but he was still just a kid.

"Trust me, you will." she assured him. He huffed, but said nothing else. Beatrice continued her ministrations as she felt Shaun starting to drift off again. She finally began to relax as Shaun's breathing evened out after a few minutes. She made sure that the raccoon was covered up properly, turned on the bedside lamp, and turned out the main light before heading back down the hallway and into her own room. As she walked through the door, a voice drifted out of the darkness.

"Is he asleep?" Bryan asked. Beatrice answered an affirmative as she closed their door behind her. She began to elaborate as she climbed into the bed before snuggling into his embrace once more.

"He had a nightmare," she said as she felt Bryan nod.

"I figured as much, we heard his scream from in here. Did he mention what he was dreaming about?" He asked. Beatrice shook her head.

"No, he wouldn't talk about it. It must've been pretty bad because something else scared him awake a second time before he finally went back to sleep," answered the female bat.

"No wonder he took to running at night, he was trying to outrun the nightmares," muttered Bryan. Beatrice hummed in agreement.

"He was probably also trying to keep his trouble from bothering his friends," She added. Suddenly, she was reminded of how late it was when she yawned loudly. Bryan pulled her close and muttered sleepily,

"Let's try to get some sleep, love. Tomorrow will be another day."

Beatrice didn't say anything as she just laid her head in the crook of Bryan's neck. She knew that they both needed sleep as their new charge was definitely a wily one. Therefore, she would have to be up with the sun in order to make sure that he couldn't give them the slip in the morning...

The next morning...

Sly blinked slowly as he started to wake up, taking a moment to reorient himself before slowly sitting up. Once the memories of last night came back to him, he began looking around the spacious room he was in. The room's walls were a soft tan color and had cherry flooring. The walls were not decorated, and it lacked any other furniture aside from a side table near the door, the lamp that rested on the table, and the bed. The bed was a simple twin size with a cherry headboard. The bed was covered with plain white sheets and a simple dark blue comforter. There was a door on the wall across from the bed, which he believed probably led to a closet. Sly looked to his left and blinked at the sunlight that was streaming through the window. Sly leaned forward so that he was looking directly out the window. The house seemed to sit on a rather steep hill. Sly couldn't see any recognizable roads from his window, but what he did see amazed him, as he saw nothing but trees; however, they were far enough apart that sunlight had no trouble shining through them. Sly also noted that the trees seemed to get denser further down the slope and that there was at least six inches of snow covering the ground. He found it strange that the last two observations had not bothered him. It registered to the raccoon that he was, for the most part, trapped alone with two people that he only knew marginally well. While his only chance of help, or escape, was 5 hours away in Paris, on the other side of dense trees and snow. However, none of that information seemed to really phase the teen. He just felt numb. As far as he was concerned, it was an improvement over the tumult of emotions he cycled through yesterday. After a moment, Sly decided to face his fate like man and finally got up.

Unfortunately, his knee was not quite ready to forgive him for that misstep the other day. As soon as he put weight on it, pain shot down his leg. Sly bit back a cry and a curse before sitting back on the bed, massaging his knee. He then slowly lifted his knee and lowered it again as he tried to work the stiffness out of the joint. After about fifteen minutes, Sly stood once more and slowly made his way out of the room. He found himself in a long hallway, with the same color scheme for the walls and floor as in his room. These walls were also bare, but the space was clean. He looked behind himself and saw another door, assuming that it was another bedroom. There were two other doors as well before he continued on down the hall and entered into a rather spacious living area. There was furniture in this room, but there was still plastic covering them. Boxes were still strewn about the room in clusters, Sly figured that they had recently moved in. A set of French double doors led to a porch and a small backyard. Sly looked to his left and saw an opening into another room. Moving towards it, he was surprised to find the kitchen. The kitchen was fairly spacious and the rest of the room's space was devoted to a dining room table and a few chairs. Sitting in one of the chairs was Beatrice Montreal and in another was Bryan Moliere. The two mammals were quietly enjoying their breakfast. Before Sly could leave them to their breakfast, Beatrice spotted him hovering in the doorway.

"Good morning, Sly," greeted the woman, "Why don't you have a seat?" She gestured to the chair beside her. Shaun debated internally a moment before making his way over and sitting down. Sly absent-mindedly glanced at Beatrice's bowl of coffee and plate of tartines. The thin slices of bread were covered with what looked like blackberry preserves. Immediately, his stomach rolled and Sly put his head down on the table. This had recently developed and his stomach had become rather picky as of late. He could barely keep any food down, if he had managed to even get it in his mouth. The thought, or sight, of food would sometimes make Sly so ill that he could not even bring food to his lips. He found that he could stomach whole fruits and some vegetables if they were unseasoned but that was all. He slowly raised his head when he thought he heard someone call his name.

"Yes, madam?" he said by rote. The few hours of sleep he got the night before helped him to recall the manners Madame Barre drilled into him time and time again.

"No need to madam me, Sly. I was asking if you wanted anything. Despite our moving mess, we do have a fully stocked kitchen," replied Beatrice. Sly mulled over the decision. It was considered bad etiquette to refuse the hospitality of a person of whom you were a guest. On the other hand, he doubted that his stomach would take anything.

"Do you have any fruit, by chance?" he asked tentatively as the female bat nodded.

"Yes, we do! Apples or grapes?" she asked as she got up from the table.

"An apple is fine," he replied. The bat opened a single-door stainless steel refrigerator and began rummaging around in it. Sly was watching the bat apathetically, when he was startled by a sound coming from his right. He whirled around in a panic, and immediately felt foolish for it. The rustling of Bryan's newspaper had spooked him. The bat was reading what looked like Les Échos, the French daily business newspaper. Sly slipped further into a trance like state as his eyes zeroed in on the red line and subtitles on the front page. They were an intense red, just like the blood that littered the floor of the Contessa's "session rooms" after one of her "therapy" sessions with a stubborn patient. The room grew colder, and the thief could feel the moisture from the damp cell walls as if he was still in one. His body started shivering Whether it was from the cold or dread, he didn't know. Suddenly, Sly's attention was drawn back to Beatrice when she called out to him.

"Red or Green?" She asked. Sly came up short. What was she talking about? Red or green what? The raccoon fought to sort through the sensory information that was bombarding his mind. His past and present had merged for the moment, and he was failing to distinguish one from the other. He began panicking, frantically racking his brain for the correct answer to the bat's question. Because at this point, he was convinced that answering her correctly was a matter of life and death. Just like when the Contessa used to ask him trick questions during their sessions where one wrong answer could cost him everything. In his mind, he was back in his cell with his back against the wall with the Contessa and her men looming over him.

"Come on now, Sly… it's simple. Answer my question. If you get it right, you get a break tonight. However, you get it wrong, and we may have to have an extended session," the Contessa's cold voice taunted. Sly whimpered helplessly. What was the right answer? Suddenly, it all became too much and Sly reverted back to the helpless prisoner he had been almost five months ago. He began repeating a litany he perfected during his imprisonment.

"I – I don't know. I don't know. I don't know…" The raccoon chanted over and over again.

Bryan had started eyeing the teen inconspicuously after the kid nearly toppled the chair he was sitting in over. He guessed that the loudness of his newspaper startled him. The bat then returned most of his attention to the paper when Beatrice asked Sly another question. After a moment of silence, Bryan looked around his paper as Sly was sitting rigidly in his seat. His posture was rim-rod straight and his face was pale. His fingers were twisted in his shirt tail, and he was trembling. Suddenly, his hands abandoned their hiding place in his shirt and instead buried themselves in his hair. Bryan could only watch in horror as Sly seemed to crumble right before his eyes. The kid began swaying in his chair and moaning something unintelligible. Bryan was completely at a lost as to what happened and didn't know what to do. Did he try and wake him up, or would that make things worse? Before he could begin to make a move, Beatrice had moved back to the table. She had a green apple in one hand and was placing the other on Shaun's shoulder. The teen flinched away from her touch, but his lover remained undaunted. She placed her hand on the thief's shoulder once more. The raccoon flinched again, but did not move away. Bryan watched as Beatrice gently took one of the boy's hands and removed it from his hair. She then placed the cold apple into his hand, and let go.

The teen grasped the apple and brought it his face. He seemed to study the apple bewilderedly as if he wasn't sure what it was. Both of the bats continued to watch in wary fascination as Shaun slowly turned the apple over and over in his hands. The raccoon's hair now hung limply around his eyes, obscuring part of his face. He then lifted the apple to his nose and sniffed at it. Finally, Shaun placed the apple against his lips and took a small, hesitant bite. Both bats sighed in relief as Beatrice slowly returned to her own breakfast, while Bryan tried, and failed, to return to his own coffee and paper. Why hadn't she done anything more? How could she be so calm? He looked over at his fiancée, who was currently gnawing on a tartine. His own stomach was still clenched with anxiety, and his heart rate was still a little high. The kid had practically been having a nervous breakdown at the table. Yet, she was acting as if nothing happened. His eyes were then drawn back to Shaun when he had noticed the raccoon take another bite of the apple. Bryan began to relax a little more as he realized that Shaun's posture had relaxed. He was still eating the apple slowly, but it was not with the same robotic movements as he did so a few minutes ago. Bryan was beginning to wonder if they had gotten in over their heads on this one...

Done and done! So, what did everyone think? Unfortunately, things will get worse before they get better. So hang onto your hats folks, because it's going to be a bumpy ride. Please review!