This week's chapter is also early, because I'm doing GISHWHES and it starts tonight and there's no way I'm going to remember to post this in the heat of The Hunt. That said, I hope you enjoy!

"Jinx, if I go deaf, I am blaming you." Sly said firmly after we returned the Jeep to the airport.

"You're exaggerating," I said, doing my very best to keep a straight face, "It wasn't that loud."

Complaining, the Guru repeatedly pressed a hand to his ear and glanced at it.

"Okay, no offense, Guru, but I'm pretty sure you come from a time before the magnificence of the car stereo, so your opinion isn't technically valid."

"But mine is," Bentley said from under his typical disguise, "And I'd be surprised if you don't have permanent damage to your ears if you always listen to music that loudly."

"Come now," I said, taking great joy in the conversation, "I'm perfectly fine."

"Brain damage," Sly said definitively, "It's got to be brain damage. No way has she taken that many hits to the head and come away unscathed."

"Drama queens, the lot of you," I said, finally breaking my façade and cracking a smile before striding away, breaking up our conspicuous group and entering the queue for security first.

A few minutes later I was browsing one of the gift shops and looking for a little trinket to purchase, as was my custom. I was in the midst of deciding between a little plush kangaroo and a coffee cup when there came a firm tap on my shoulder.

I turned and did not even bother trying to hide my reaction in any way.

"Oh there's no reason for that," Kristian said to my loud, obnoxious groan.

"Inspector Garter," I drawled, thumbing the mic on my binocucom so the gang could listen in and there wouldn't be any misunderstandings if Bentley wheeled by and saw me chatting to the tall, sharply dressed cougar, "To what do I owe this dubious and unwanted pleasure?"

"A very put out Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox," he said, matching my dry tone and giving me the impression he didn't think too highly of his fellow Interpol agent, "She's having her mercenaries comb every inch of that landscape searching for the Cooper gang. I believed I would have more luck here. So tell me, Ms. Jenks." His speech was mockingly formal, "What reason do I have not to apprehend you today?"

Was he serious?

"Is he serious?"

"I believe so. I suspect that he has an ulterior motive for requesting your case, Kaia; one that cannot be achieved if he solves it."

I squared my shoulders and tilted my head up to meet teal eyes, "An illegal mining operation on a protected Aboriginal sacred site."

"So I've heard. An abandoned drill and mine at Ayer's Rock is not a very enticing red herring." The unspoken message was clear: 'You'll have to do better than that.'

I mirrored his razor thin smile, "Is that so? Inspector Fox must have taken quite the blow to the head if that's all she has to offer." Or a healthy cocktail of sedatives. "The main operation is at Wave Rock. Buildings, equipment, even a makeshift bar. If you hurry, you might even catch a few of the miners before they do away with the decisive evidence."

His not nice smile widened until I was curious if he'd cut himself, "That's more like it. I'll be seeing you, Jenks." He strolled away as if he was a generous man and his footsteps were made of gold. His place was taken by Sly in under a minute.

"All good?"

"Meh, a little sleep deprived, but I can't complain really." I held the little plush and the coffee cup up for his inspection, "Well, which ridiculously expensive and useless trinket do you think I should get?"

He smiled, seemingly pleased, and suggested the coffee cup, as I knew he would. I bought the little kangaroo, tucked it into my backpack, and we hurried toward our gate as it began to board.

I was beginning to wonder if this 'come home, flop on bed, don't move for twelve hours' thing was going to be a permanent fixture to the end of a job. It was worrisome, considering how much time I'd spent asleep on the plane. Then again, have you ever noticed that no matter how much you sleep on a trip, you're always exhausted at the end anyway?

It was eleven in the morning before I stirred and it took a good deal of mental coercion to convince myself to actually get out of bed. I couldn't quite bear to part with my comfortable pajamas quite yet, so I searched around in my closet for a jacket until I came across a robe I was pretty sure I didn't own and pulled it on.

I didn't bother with shoes or socks, instead making my way down the stairs barefoot and as quietly as possible. The Safehouse at midday was as still and silent as the average house was at three in the morning.

However, there's always that one eccentric insomniac that stays awake far later.

"Bentley, you seriously need sleep," I said, shuffling through his workspace purposefully on my way to the kitchen.

He smiled at me through some strange contraption that seemed designed to magnify his eyesight to the microscopic level. "I got a solid eight hours; I have no idea what you're talking about. You, on the other hand, I was worried would go into a coma."

I flapped my hand dismissively at him, returning soon with a cold can of carbonated caffeine (coffee took too long) and situating myself in a chair next to his, "Is it always like this at the end of a job?"

"You mean everyone going comatose for ridiculous amounts of time? Yeah. I usually don't do it so much, but Murray attaches himself to his pillow and Sly sleeps until the sun goes down, no matter what time we get in. The longest I've seen him sleep is nineteen hours."

I whistled, "Impressive."

"Indeed. He's gotten better, though. It used to be much worse."

"How long have you guys been doing this?" I asked, waving a hand to encompass The Safehouse and symbolize their thieving past.

"We started just as soon as Sly got out of the orphanage. They kicked you out when you turned eighteen, so Murray and I were out for quite some time before Sly was. Things were a lot different then."

I was intrigued, "How so?"

He seemed to be getting into a storytelling mood himself, "How much do you know about what happened with Clockwerk?"

"Just the basics," I admitted. I'd gotten them when I barely knew the gang and it seemed insensitive to bring it up to satisfy my own curiosity.

He nodded to himself, "From the beginning, then. When Sly was eight, a group known as the Fiendish Five with Clockwerk at their head broke into his house, killed his father, and divided up the Thievius Raccoonus. He witnessed the whole thing," Bentley dropped his voice to barely a whisper for the last sentence, in respect. "He met Murray and I at the orphanage where he was sent."

I opened my mouth, then shut it, not knowing if there was a correct way to phrase my question.

Fortunately, Bentley is a genius and picked up on my question. "Murray never told us how he came to be in the orphanage and we never asked. I was at the orphanage before I was ever really born, I showed up on the doorstep one day as an egg. We pulled our first heist later that year, stealing cookies from the office of the orphanage's headmistress. By the way, best cookies ever."

"And from there it was history?" I asked, mouth twitching at the idea of the little thieves.

He laughed so hard I thought he was going to hurt himself, "Not hardly," He gasped out finally, "We had a lot of pitfalls. You hear often people saying they're like siblings to describe a degree of close friendship. We were really like siblings in that we sometimes drove each other to distraction, but knew that we were all we had and the idea of not having each other was terrifying. In the time between when we became adults and when Sly did, Murray was a pizza delivery driver and I got myself a job doing computer repairs. We probably would have gone on to live very normal lives if it weren't for that one little brother waiting to get out into the world.

"Sly was a happy kid, but a lot of that was because he had no idea what to do with the trauma of what he had seen, so he repressed it. He did a really good job, too. It didn't surface until he got to high school. Now, don't get me wrong when I say this, but between puberty and when he dropped Clockwerk into a volcano, Sly was a prick."

He waited patiently for me to stop choking, then continued, "I know, hard to believe, isn't it? Especially now. High school was the worst time for him because not only did he have all that anger and pain to deal with along with being a teenager, but he was pretty much trapped at the orphanage and unable to do anything about it. The second he turned eighteen he wanted to dive headfirst into the underground and find the Fiendish Five. I never thought he'd forgive me when I kept him from doing that."

"So what did you guys do?" I asked, drawn in.

"Well, things were a lot different then, you have to understand. First off, I didn't do fieldwork. At all. Second, Murray had never hit anyone in his life, he was the getaway driver. And aside from some impressive climbing skills, Sly didn't know how to be a thief. We spent eight months becoming a team. I'd say, on the whole, six of those months we were at each other's throats."

"I cannot imagine you guys fighting." I said, dropping my head on the wooden surface in front of me, padded by several inches of blueprints. "It hurts my head to imagine it."

"Sure you can. Remember back in Australia, when we were trying to figure out what to do about Carmelita and Sly snapped at Murray? They mutually diffused that situation, but imagine they hadn't. Now add me, multiply that by several hundred and cram it into a one-room apartment over a Laundromat and you have a rough idea of those eight months."

It physically pained me to imagine that, so I pictured a field of pretty flowers instead.

"We pulled a few jobs to work out the kinks and that's where we came across Carmelita for the first time, before she was even an Inspector. Our first step to getting to the Fiendish Five was actually to steal the file the police had on Sly from her office. We found the location of only one, by the name of Raleigh, but through him found another, Muggshot. We went from Muggshot to the voodoo priestess, yes, I'm serious, Mz. Ruby, and from her to the Panda King, stealing their shares of the Thievius Raccoonus along the way. We finally learned Clockwerk's location from the Panda King.

"Clockwerk had a lair in the heart of a volcano. Inspector Fox had gotten there before us and I hacked her out of a gas chamber, after which she helped Sly take down Clockwerk."

"After which was the infamous ten-second head-start," I chimed in with a grin.

Bentley laughed, "Oh, it certainly was infamous. I got months of entertainment from the emails flying around Interpol about that little incident."

"And things got better after that?" I asked, curious what had happened to turn them into the gang I knew and loved.

"They did, but it was a process. I kept scheduling heists because I knew leaving Sly with only his thoughts would be a terrible idea and Murray was just starting to gain confidence. Sly had some serious issues with closure. He'd hung on to that idea of reclaiming the Thievius Raccoonus and avenging his father like a life preserver and he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself once he reached his goal. The anger left after a couple of weeks, but he was depressed for a while. The reason the lot of us are so close now is probably because we're all trying to make up for when we couldn't stand each other, especially Sly. The only time he ever seemed to get any better was on a job. I'll never forget when he asked us to go to his father's grave with him."

I felt like my perception of the gang had been stripped away and rearranged all weird. They were still the same people I knew, but there was more to them. Murray had gone from being an utter coward and klutz to "The Murray". Sly had been one of the few able to walk away from a quest for revenge. And Bentley had held them all together with a subtle tenacity that was nothing short of an art form.

"I'm glad I met you guys when I did." I said with complete honesty.

That cause Bentley to start laughing again, "And not one second sooner? I can just imagine if we'd met a few years earlier. You and Sly would have killed each other within an hour."

"What are you two talking about?"

The question was overlaid with a yawn, originating from the doorway. Bentley and I both turned to behold Sly, bed hair in direct rebellion against gravity, eyes still glazed with sleep, wearing the same clothes he'd worn yesterday, having evidently not bothered to change.

I reflected on the story I'd just been told, applied it to the person in front of me, and was faced with two choices. I chose to laugh.

Several weeks later we were nearing the end of August and Sly, Murray, the Guru, and I were huddled in the kitchen, peering warily into Bentley's workspace, from whence came the sounds of tearing paper, the squeak of an over-abused marker, and growls of frustration.

"How long has he been in there?" Sly asked with reluctant awe.

"He was in there when I went to bed last night. Given how much coffee he's been through," I peered into the half-empty bag of beans, "I'd say he hasn't moved."

The Guru mumbled something, peering warily around the door frame.

"I agree, Master. He might be getting a little obsessed."

"Just a little?" I asked as a scrunched up blueprint rolled plaintively out into the hall. "I'm thinking this is bordering on 'Intervention' levels."

"I think you might be right," Sly said, poking his head into Bentley's workspace and then immediately pulling back to dodge the RC chopper that had been doing laps of the room on and off for the last few hours.

Just as we were putting the finer points on our plan for Intervention, a loud, heavy sigh and a thud came from the next room. A quick glance revealed Bentley unmoving, forehead resting against the many and varied blueprints he'd been working on.

A mini paper-rock-scissors tournament sent me into the room, stepping as lightly as possible. "Bentley? Something wrong?" I called softly in case he hadn't simply passed out from stress.

"These blueprints," he raised and dropped a hand on them in indication, not lifting his head, "They're impossible."

I edged around him as though he were a live landmine and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, they were the blueprints to Dr. M's fortress, drawn over with marker several dozen times in comments and planning. "What makes you say that?"

Bentley took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and replaced them, "I've been over every inch of these blueprints and have come to the conclusion that, with our current skill set, there's no way we can get in to the vault."

"Okay…" I said slowly, sitting on a nearby stood, "So, what do we need?"

He rubbed his forehead, "An RC specialist. No, don't look at me like that, I'm not shortchanging myself, I'm serious. My skills in radio control come from a simple hobby, we need someone who has mechanical and piloting skills specialized for it."

"Well, okay," I said, "You think you can find one?"

Bentley turned to look at me and we had a brief moment of silent communication. He didn't look like he wanted to bring someone new onto the team any more than I did. The Guru was one thing, he'd looked after Murray when he needed it, but someone totally unrelated to the gang joining up for the sole purpose of getting a cut of the loot? It made me a little nervous and he seemed to feel the same. But we needed to get Sly into the Cooper vault. So it was worth it.

He turned to his computer, "I'm sure I can, but it may take some time. I'm not bringing just anyone onto the gang."

"No one wants you to," Sly said, leaning against the doorway, looking like he knew what we were thinking and disapproved, but also didn't want to give up the opportunity to get into his family's vault, understandably.

Bentley nodded, "I need to start stalking the RC chatrooms and find out just who knows what they're talking about- Hey!"

I skipped away, holding his laptop, "Not until you sleep!"

He came after me, "Get back here!"

"Keep away from Bentley!"

Bentley spent the next week integrating himself into the various RC chat rooms and forums on the internet. He found plenty of people who specialized in one form or another of RC vehicles, but he needed someone a little more flexible than that, so he started searching for RC specialists who were also members on ThiefNet.

Finally, just when the rest of the gang and I were plotting another intervention, he found someone.

"Check out these schematics!" He was practically drooling on his laptop keyboard, "They're genius!"

I stared blankly at said schematics and looked over at Sly, who shook his head as if to say 'just go with it'.

"You think we found our guy, Bentley?" The raccoon asked.

"I'm not sure. Let me log into the chat room and see if they're online." A few keystrokes later, he was in and a greeting popped up.

"'Air_Heart_Babe'?" I asked, looking at the pink text, "'Penelope'… are we getting another girl?"

"Don't worry, Jinx, you're still our favorite."

I casually reached over and punched him in the stomach. It wasn't that I was against the idea of having another girl on the team, really. I mean, sure, there was that cool feeling of being the only girl in the Cooper gang and I wasn't going to pretend there wasn't, but I also wasn't shallow enough to get upset over another one joining. Besides, the way Bentley was salivating as he typed, it looked like he'd finally found someone who could keep up with him intellectually, which was just short of a miracle.

Of course, there was always a catch.

"We have to win a dog-fighting tournament to prove we're better than her boss?" I asked, "Does anyone here even know how to fly a plane?"

"Give me an hour and I'll have a pilot's license."

"Having a pilot's license does not mean you can magically do everything the license says!" I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation.

"It can't be that hard."

"Bentley, help."

"The ACEs Tournament in which we'll be competing takes place in the last week of September." He said, consulting the internet, "We have little more than a month to get a plane and get everything prepared. It would actually be easier for me to create a virtual trainer than for Sly to take traditional classes."

"What?"

"Told you."

"Besides," Bentley said, readjusting his glasses, "Traditional classes don't teach you in a biplane equipped with a small turret and a rear gunner." Here he looked pointedly at me. It took a second for me to understand what he was implying.

"NO."

"Jinx-"

"No."

"You have to come out sometime."

"No I don't."

I had retreated under my bed with my fluffiest pillow, a flashlight, and a book to revel in my cowardice. Sly was determined not to let me do so, much to my chagrin. The rest of the gang had been no help, Bentley had simply returned to his chat, Murray pretended to be taking a nap, and the Guru said something about building character.

"Jiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinx…"

I looked over and shone the light directly into Sly's eyes.

He leapt back automatically, narrowly avoiding hitting his head, "Not cool!"

I sighed, noted my page number, and closed my book. I was scared of heights. Well, not really, I was scared of falling, not flying. Petrified, really. But if I couldn't do this, how could I claim to really be a part of the gang? They'd all overcome something much greater. When looking at that, my little tantrum seemed really silly.

Growing up is no fun. But maybe I could fix that…

I pulled myself halfway out from under the bed, looking up at Sly, who was still rubbing his eyes.

"I'll be your tail gunner if you let me teach you how to swim."

He blinked, grimaced hard, thought about it, then extended a hand, "Deal."

I took it.

"How you doing back there, Jinx?"

"Oh, I'm… fine… I'm just… peachy."

"Remember, Kaia, deep breaths…"

"I said I'm fine!"

"Maybe you should open your eyes, then."

It was six weeks later. We were on our first practice flight, heading for Holland in three days, much to the surprise of Penelope, who hadn't thought we were serious, but seemed pleased nonetheless. This chick better be worth it…

"Jinx, I have enough gas to keep us airborne for hours. But we can land just as soon as you hit those targets."

I was currently hunched over as much as possible in my small seat in the tail of the plane, resting my forehead on the top of the turret I had in a death grip. Sly and I both had used Bentley's virtual trainer (I hadn't thought he was actually going to make that until he took my book away and told me to get to work), but that didn't quite capture the reality of flying three hundred feet above the blessed earth in an open-air cockpit with only a flimsy leather seatbelt and a parachute which probably wouldn't have time to deploy before you went SPLAT.

I opened my eyes the barest crack, though they were protected by Ahanu's goggles, and peered down. I felt at once like I was falling and like the ground was getting farther away. I snapped my eyes back shut, "Vertigo…"

"Maybe, we should see if I can do it-"

"No," I interrupted, forcing my eyes open again and aiming at the fluorescent orange balloons bobbing pleasantly in the dawn sunlight, "I can do it."

In the end, the single stupid thing that calmed me down was that the tail of the red scarf Sly wore blew over the back of his seat and draped itself on my shoulder. After that and a few deeps breaths, I took aim and, in three short bursts of fire, sent thick orange scraps fluttering toward the ground.

Sly whooped and probably would have done a flip or some other nonsense if I hadn't threatened to steal his hat and chuck it into the Seine River if he did.

When we landed, I unceremoniously unbuckled my seatbelt, clambered out of the plane, and laid down on the runway.

"Land…"

Over the next few days, we did the same thing every morning, increasing our airtime and the amount of targets I had to hit exponentially every day. I'm not going to say that this caused me to get over my fear of heights, because that would be a dirty, dirty lie, but I got to where I didn't feel like throwing up at the sight of the plane, at least.

Then it was time for the ACEs tournament.

And there we go, one more chapter for you lovely readers! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you thought!