When Polly finally got back up to the studio, OJ greeted her. Calmly and coolly, but still maintaining his wide smile and his eccentric hands. He informed her that Valentine had informed him of her assignment—The Guide to Crookery.

"So," he said, "While usually I'd send you out for interviews at this time of day, I want you to focus all your energy on that report!" He patted her shoulder. Polly stared down at his hand blankly. Or, more so, as she balled her hands into fists, angrily.

"Are you… sure, Mr. Skweeze?" Polly ventured.

"Of course!" he answered, flattening his lapel. Then he muttered, "I would hate to disappoint Miss Valentine."

Polly sighed. But, nevertheless, did as she was told. When she finally managed to settle down at her desk, she opened a document to type in. Staring at its endless whiteness, she held her head in a hand and pursed her lips.

What was there to say about criminals, really?

They stole, they shot, they tried to take over the world, from time to time… Polly sighed, and instead of typing anything, opened a tab in her browser to find Simon Barsinister's mugshot.

All throughout the day, Polly kept trying to work on her write-up. Eventually, she fell into the format of giving a physical description, what to do during an encounter, and any weaknesses one could use against the criminal. Alas, even then, she didn't get much written. After a few more hours, she packed up her things and headed toward her apartment.

She always had a break in the middle of the day—for a nap, or errands, or anything she needed it for, and the studio would see her again in the evening time for more news. In the meantime, the station broadcasted the daytime television sitcom drek that Polly never cared for. Today, she intended to use her time to get some real work done on her essay.

There was no sound behind her apartment door. Sighing with relief that it was empty or only Shoeshine, she unlocked it and padded through. She caught a brief glance of cream-and-black on the couch, but paid it no mind. Instead, she set her computer bag on the dining table with a noisy whump.

After that, she sighed dramatically and turned toward the couch, ready to complain to her dog... then, she noticed that the man on her couch was not Her Dog.

Instead, it was Taptap Raft, staring wide-eyed up at her. He was clutching a cup close to his chest, and his legs had kicked up in the air slightly in surprise. Looking around the apartment, Polly couldn't spot Underdog.

Taptap cleared his throat awkwardly and unscrunched himself. "You're home early."

Polly grumbled, "You're here early. I'm always here at this hour."

Taptap scoffed and moved to drink from his cup. It was a kid's cup Polly had bought on her last shopping trip—a cloudy one with a little ladybug pattern across it.

Polly rolled her eyes and sat down at the dining room table, beginning to take out her computer equipment. The silent tension in the room drove a buzzing sound through her ears. She shook her head and glanced over the back of the couch. All she saw was the stupid back of Taptap's head and a dark blue glow from the television.

Despite herself, she cleared her throat. "So, what are you doing here?"

Taptap shrugged, leaning his head over the couch so he could look at Polly through the tops of his eyes. "Underdog just wanted to talk about something. I was just about to leave, but then he shot away, and… well, that would be rude."

Polly hummed with disappointment. "Where did he go?"

Taptap shrugged again, turning back to the television. "He said there was some robbery somewhere."

That made Polly jolt up. "What?" she exclaimed. A robbery? And she was stuck writing her dumb assignment? Dammit!

She rushed to the back of the couch, spotting the remote on the middle cushion. She bent over it, the hard back digging into her ribs and the pillow pushing up against her boobs. When she finally reached the remote, Polly glanced over to see that Taptap had gained a cocky little smile, partially hidden behind his cup. Polly held back an eye roll and flipped to WTTV. When she reached the channel, she pumped up the volume.

It was an aerial view—it must be Baldy's chopper—of the front of the Kennel Bank downtown. One of the windows looked smashed in. A few bank goers ran out the door in horror.

Then, suddenly, a short dog ran out, holding two sacks of money in one hand and a little gun in the other. They were fluffy and white, with a big ruff around their neck. Polly squinted, leaning forward. The crook wore a leather jacket alongside a black face mask. A toothy grin was plastered across it.

The crook ran across the street and threw the sacks of money into their red convertible. Polly squinted a little harder. After that, the crook leaped across the door and settled into their seat. The camera moved around to the backside of the car as it kicked up a big cloud of exhaust. The cloud was so big that it almost covered the camera's view. Despite watching from the safety of her apartment, Polly felt her lungs clench.

But, as quickly as the exhaust had come, it sizzled away. In front of the car was a different shade of red. Polly's ears pricked. The reporter in the helicopter started to speak, but Polly wasn't listening. Underdog was here— and the crook had rammed their car straight into him. Their hood started to smoke.

Despite that, the crook pointed their gun at Underdog. Instead of taking it as a threat, Underdog crouched down beside their car. The crook tried to stand up in their seat... only to stumble backward as their entire car was lifted off the ground. It trembled slightly, but ultimately, Underdog and the car started to fly away.

The scene cross-faded back to OJ in the studio, the helicopter film still in the corner.

Polly crossed her arms on the back of the couch, staring pointedly down at its cushions. The crook— their car— they looked like the person who had picked Olive up from their coffee date. She sighed. But on the other hand... they were just a fluffy white dog with a red convertible. Their muzzle and arms were covered, and Polly wouldn't have been able to make out their muzzle shape or tattoos from the distance anyway.

Taptap's hum broke her out of her spiral. "Another one down the drain~" he chimed. He turned toward Polly with a bemused look on his face. "They don't make bank-robbers like they used to. That square only came out with two sacks."

"They were only one person," Polly answered, but she couldn't stop herself from awkwardly scratching the back of her neck. She sighed again and threw herself away from the couch, stomping back over to the dining room table. She rubbed her eyes and pretended like she was only annoyed about the fact a robbery happened while she wasn't there to report on it. Then she opened her laptop.

The document she was working on immediately appeared on-screen. One small, eleven pixel tall word stood in the corner.

The…

This time, the grumble came out before Polly could swallow it away. She pushed her hands up her face and through her bangs, sighing as she slouched in the chair.

That was when she heard the couch shift. A few moments later, she felt a presence above her shoulder. The same kind of presence as a lurking villain. The nerves in her back flared as they expected the muzzle of a gun.

Instead of that, Taptap took a noisy slurp from his cup and asked, "What's wrong with you?"

Polly's head snapped up at him. "You can't just ask what's wrong with me!" she snapped.

Taptap rolled his eyes and his shoulders. Then he padded in the direction of their kitchen. He laid one hand on the wall and threw his cup. Polly heard the plastic rattle pathetically against the ceramic of her sink. His smile got a little wider.

Polly started to type. That was something for her report: Taptap Raft; why put something in the sink when you can throw it? Prick.

"Hey!" Taptap's voice appeared behind her. Polly jumped. She snapped around to see Taptap staring down at her computer screen. He moved to cross his arms. "So that's what it is, eh? A study of me?"

This time, Polly didn't hold back the roll of her eyes. "It's not a study of you. It's a report on all the criminals. Just because you're buddy-buddy with Underdog now, it doesn't mean you're not one of them."

Taptap ducked his head and moved his lips in one direction. A small smile fixed Polly's expression as she knew what he was remembering. Eventually, he scoffed and said, "Well, looks like you have a new one for your list."

Polly grumbled, turning back to her laptop. "Sure do." Little white greaser. She turned back up slightly to find Taptap rounding the couch again. "What do you think?"

Taptap pointed to himself, eyes getting big in the way they often did. "What do I think?" he asked incredulously, "About the little guy?"

"About my criminal report."

"Oh," Taptap slumped, "Yeah, sure, whatever you have to do to make yourself feel better, right?"

"I'm not writing it for me," Polly muttered coldly, "My boss told me to."

Taptap waved his hand, "Whatever your boss makes you do to make himself feel better."

"Herself."

"Your boss is a woman now?" Taptap beamed cruelly.

"It's a different boss," Polly sighed.

"Your boss got fired?"

Polly shook her head and grit her teeth, giving up on Taptap to return to her document. Taptap; prick prick prick.

Taptap stood up straight. "Stop typing about me! What else do you expect from criminals?"

"I expected a little more from someone related to Underdog," she replied, throwing an arm over the back of her chair.

Taptap crossed his arms with an indignant snort."Fine," he said, "What do you want from me?"

Polly blinked, any annoyance sliding off her face. She didn't think Taptap would actually offer to help her. She thought for a few moments, raising a hand to her mouth. Then, as she started to speak, she circled them around eachother. "If you were… doing this, as a criminal, what all would you say?"

Taptap's dark blue eyes turned up to the ceiling. Another moment of silence passed over them as he calculated his answer. "I think whatever thewanted listings say are perfectly serviceable."

Polly's brows flew up as the light returned to her eyes. She flew back to her computer screen and immediately searched for Simon Barsinister's. Clicking open a few of them in new tabs, she slowly straightened as a thought occurred to her.

"Say…" her gaze steadily turned back toward the criminal, "You're here. How would you like an interview about some of your colleagues?"

Taptap growled slightly. "I'm not a rat," he scolded, "I took an oath!"

"Taptap, be honest," Polly leaned over her chair again, "What can you say to me that Underdog and the prison wardens don't already know?"

Taptap's lips moved to one side of his face again as he stared down at his feet. After a few moments, he sighed dramatically and threw his hands up. Then, he padded over to Polly and pulled out the chair beside her. "Fine. Who are you looking at? Simon?" He shifted as he spoke, crossing his legs and tossing an arm over the back of his chair. "He used to be married before he went evil, you know."

Polly squinted as an image of his mugshot crossed her screen. She stopped scrolling as it appeared. She pointed at it as she looked up at Taptap. Taptap just threw his hands up.

"Don't ask me," he answered, "I wasn't the one married to him."

Polly rolled her eyes, then switched back to her document. "I had a few ideas about what to do…" she muttered, beginning to type.

Simon Barsinister, a male hairless cat in his seventies. One could probably stop him by simply kicking him in the knees, given that they are faster than the ray-gun of the week…

Ultimately, Taptap's little inputs were not all that helpful. His additions of "Cad was adopted by cats, that's why he smiles like that!" or "Eel has a daughter, she's a cyber-crook, you can put that down," and "Last time Riff tried to cook anything, he almost burnt the hideout down," were nothing Polly thought would help the public… but they certainly got the juices flowing. Especially Taptap's funny tidbits.

"Fishie used to be one of Riff's, back when Boston was in charge," he said, pointing at the trout's mugshot, sitting right next to The Electric Eel's. He continued, "He left because, when he first saw Eel's mugshot, he thought he was hot."

Polly snorted out a laugh. "He wasn't hot yet," she added, "That was when he was just Slippery."

"Sylvester," Taptap said with a little nod.

"Huh?" Polly tilted her head at him.

"Sylvester," Taptap repeated, "Sylvester Eel. That's his legal name. Call him that, and he'll get so embarrassed he might forget to shock you." He rested his head on his hand, a cocky smile twisting his face. "Or he'll shock you more. I'll ask Sandy to test it out."

Polly snorted another laugh, and wrote that down despite herself.

"Can't do it to Spinny," Taptap said with a laugh, "You call him his legal name, you are getting hit by a car."

"Tell me."

"Giuseppe."

Polly laughed through her teeth, the noise almost sounding like a hiss. "That isn't so bad," she said.

Taptap beamed, sitting up straight. "I don't think you know how many Guiseppes there are in Little Italy!"

Polly scoffed, "Oh, yeah, alright."

She typed a bit more to catch up as a silence settled over them. The report was turning out as well as it could, Polly thought. It was definitely nowhere near final. It was a good thing she'd given herself so much time.

Taptap clicked the claws of his pointer finger and thumb as he watched her. "So, what's the deal with this, anyway? Most people here already know about the criminals."

Polly sighed, ceasing her typing for just a moment as her frustration flared up. "Apparently the owner of my studio came down, and since she's new, she wanted me to write this for her. Since I know the crooks so well."

"Supposedly~" Taptap chimed, loosening his tie.

"Anyway," Polly grumbled, "She's the owner, and my boss doesn't want anything to go wrong while she's here, so I'm stuck doing this."

"You wouldn't think it'd be too hard," Taptap said unhelpfully.

Polly paused typing again, momentarily balling her hands into fists and closing her eyes. "You'd think," she snarled, "It's just… I guess it's so ingrained in me that I can't explain it. Like how to broadcast a good report. Or… milk a cow."

"You could probably explain that one."

"It's just so obvious."

"There's a particular technique, isn't there?"

"There's…" This time, Polly stopped typing to point aggressively at Taptap's chest. He raised his hands with a dull smile. "You aren't distracting me by making me explain how to milk a cow."

Taptap chuckled, his chest rising and falling with its dryness. "If I recall, you were determined Earth's best cow-milker."

"I wasn't," Polly rolled her eyes, "I was just the first broadcaster they tuned into."

"Same thing," he answered.

Another silence settled over them, but this one was brief. Taptap broke it by asking, "Are you putting down Under? He's been convicted a few times."

"He's not a career criminal," Polly replied.

"I thought this was a guide to all of the criminals in Biggers?" Taptap cocked an eyebrow, his stupid smirk only getting bigger.

Polly rolled her eyes. "It will ruin his reputation." It was then that Polly glanced down at her computer's clock. It had been just over an hour and a half since she'd gotten home—plenty of time for Underdog to return from his own criminal excursion. "Speaking of…" she ventured softly, "I wonder where he's gotten off to."

Taptap snorted a little laugh, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head. "He's a big boy, he can handle himself."

"I know that." This time when Polly stopped typing, one of her hands snaked itself up to the back of her neck. She had no doubt about the superhero's ability to defend himself. She had some doubt about his ability to return home without a bloody nose, a busted lip, and head trauma. The glazed-over look in his eye and bloody knuckles reaching out for her, the dumb smile on his face—it was a scenario Polly had lived too many times to remember. When that dreamy little sigh came out of her nose, Polly didn't hear it.

But Taptap did.

He had the decency to make his laugh a little quieter. The sound broke Polly out of her rose-tinted thoughts, and her head snapped to him. "What?" she barked.

Taptap covered his mouth with a hand, still laughing. He fanned the other one at her. "You don't see yourself right now. My! You look like my husband when I catch him staring."

Polly straightened up as she felt all of her blood rush up to her head. One of her hands was holding her head up by her cheek, and her palm became sweaty with the heat. It didn't take a genius to understand what Taptap meant.

"I—!" she exclaimed, though it was fruitless. No other words came out.

Taptap sat up straight in his chair. He cleared his throat and bluntly asked, "Under?"

"I…" Polly's fingers quivered over her keyboard. Her head felt as stuffed up as a box of tissues, between the visage of Underdog in her mind's eye and his stupid brother teasing her in her physical ear. "…am… exercising my right to remain silent."

"I," Taptap countered, "am not a policeman. That won't work on me."

"You know!" Polly suddenly exclaimed, focusing all of her senses on her computer screen. "You're pretty cocky for a guy who tried to kill me!"

Taptap was silent. Polly didn't look over to see what his face was doing.

After a few moments, he finally answered.

"This is your apartment. You could kick me out if you wanted," he replied coolly as he kicked back again. Polly heard the wooden chair shift.

She seethed slightly at his response. She should! Absolutely, she should! In her head, she grabbed him by the back of the shirt collar and threw him out right there.

In real life, she… kept sitting there. Beside him. Silently. She tried to tell herself the same thing Taptap had—it would be rude if Underdog returned and he was gone. She didn't believe it.

Polly dragged her hands up her face and slumped over her keyboard.

Taptap scoffed. Polly parted the fingers over her eye to glare at him. If Taptap noticed, he didn't show it. Instead, he covered his smile with a hand, as if he were thinking… and suddenly, he bolted straight up and whipped around toward Polly. The smile on his face was more lopsided, and a soft pink dusted his cheeks.

"Is it me?!" he exclaimed, "Oh, Sweet Polly Purebred, after I tried to kill you and all! My, what a strange one you are!"

"Will you cut that out?" Polly snarled at him, waving her arms in his direction as her face only got hotter.

Taptap laughed boisterously, so excited that a few of them were snorts. He covered his nose each time one came out. Polly stopped attacking him as soon as she heard… Underdog laughed the same way.

Polly blew a raspberry and bit her tongue. "Yes," she spat out, "It's… it's Underdog. Alright?"

Taptap scoffed. "Figures. All those hugs you give him, and you're just now getting a crush?"

Polly gulped thickly. She rubbed the back of her neck quietly, then moved to twirl her ear as her opposite hand held her head up. She shouldn't be telling Taptap any of this, the bile in her stomach was bubbling at the notion. For all she knew, he'd tell Underdog the moment he arrived back home…

…but none of her reservations stopped her mouth from opening.

"No, it's… it's not just now," she admitted quietly. Her stomach and her heart both felt like they were doing flips inside her, tangling her organs into knots. "And I've never said this to anyone," she clarified, pointing an accusatory finger at Taptap.

His expression changed. From cocky and carefree to serious and sincere. His eyes got big and his mouth got small and his ears turned forward. Something about it made Polly feel better.

"It's not like I was keeping track of when it happened," she explained. "I don't even think I noticed. It's just… one day, he saved me as his friend, and the next day, I wanted to kiss him. You know?"

For a moment, Taptap was still and silent. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Polly quickly turned away from him as the heat inside her reared its ugly head again. His big eyes and dumbfounded expression looked far too much like Shoeshine, and… Polly could not say this stuff to Shoeshine.

"I mean," she added, "You aren't helping."

Taptap's laugh caught him off guard, coming out as a little huff. "Oh, so it is me too. You are a strange one."

Polly gestured up and down him. "You fooled the whole city into thinking you were Underdog, you're fooling my brain too."

Taptap grumbled. "You're just as bad as Riff is." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I hope you aren't looking for dating advice. Under doesn't care about that stuff, and I'm off the market."

Polly groaned, the sound reverberating through her apartment. "I knooowww."

Taptap waved a hand aggressively in front of himself. "Underdog is so averse to all the romantic mess, he doesn't even like Romeo and Joliet!"

"I don't either," Polly muttered.

Taptap huffed, cutting his eyes up at her. "Well, at least you'll be perfect for eachother."

Polly rolled her eyes. She returned to holding her head up and staring blankly down at her carpet. Her calf knocked against the footrest of her chair as she crossed her ankles. Her insides felt… light, almost like whipped egg whites. She tapped her foot against the ground and turned her head away further.

"There's also this girl at work—"

But before she could say much else, she heard and felt the rush of a gale force wind through her ears and across her back. Both Polly and Taptap turned around. When the light blue stardust faded, standing behind them with a slight wobble, sure enough, was Underdog.

Polly looked up him slowly. His knuckles were a dark red, his ribs moved jaggedly from under his sweater, his head was tilted slightly to one side, and a dark trail of red ran from his nose to his upper lip.

"Polly!" Underdog blinked open bloodshot eyes, raising his shaky arms. Despite his appearance, he sounded only excited to see her. Polly stood and rushed over to him. She laid her hands on his shoulders while his hovered uncertainly around her hips. "Sorry I left you two on such a cliffhanger."

"You look like you got crunched," Taptap said unhelpfully. He, too, had stood, but kept a good distance away from the hero.

"I did," Underdog chuckled dryly. It shook his wounded self even more. Polly tried to steady him.

"Why don't you sit down?" she asked.

Underdog gave her a lopsided smile, pushing up the edge of his worse-off eye. It was the blue one. The one the same color as Taptap's. With a little grunt and hop, he levitated to her eye level. He spoke to her softly, "Y-yeah, I will, don't worry." He grabbed one of her hands, rubbing the back of it gently with his thumb. The warmth of his injury mixed with the warmth of her flush, and Polly couldn't tell what went to her hands.

"What happened? We watched you stop that robber at Kennel," she said.

"Oh," Underdog laughed slightly again. "Well, I went to drop them off at the precinct for the night, and while I was talking to the wardens, they and all the other guys there decided to have a little revolt."

"Oh," Polly muttered darkly.

Taptap had a finger curled to his mouth. "And I guess they won?"

Underdog gave one solid nod.

Taptap hummed, shutting one eye. "I guess that little guy was good for something."

Underdog floated past him in the direction of their couch. He punched his shoulder as he passed. It must have been a gentle one, Taptap only stumbled. Then he pulled on his suit's sleeve to see if the blood had transferred.

He rolled his eyes as Underdog slumped. "Well, glad you're back. I can finally get out of here. Your lady's been torturing me for hours."

"I'm not his lady!" Polly scolded, the flush on her hand immediately jumping to her face. She almost felt like throwing up—that whole serious talk with Taptap, and he still had to go and ruin it! Prick. Polly didn't know why she thought he could be anything else.

"Be nice to her," Underdog defended, "And you could've left whenever was fair."

"Bad rhyme."

"You try rhyming with a concussion."

Taptap scoffed, his shoulders shuddering. He glanced back up at Polly then, but said nothing. His only goodbye was a raise of his eyebrows and smile turning a little softer. Polly slumped her shoulders and rolled her eyes, but luckily, she felt the redness on her face start to fade. Taptap's smile parted to show his teeth—the mischievous sort where the top fangs are always the main focus. With no other words, he turned on his heel toward the apartment's door and left. Polly followed behind him, spring in her step, to lock it.

Underdog made a wheezy little whimper. "I really figured he'd leave," he muttered softly. He was too beat up to sound like Shoeshine. "I hate to strand you with him for so long. I'm not that naive."

Polly sighed. Not her dreamy one, this one shut her eyes and stopped slightly short of her nose. She padded slowly toward the couch, leaning over it. Underdog was sprawled across two of its cushions, his knees propped up on the arm and his feet hanging limply in the air. His arms were raised and his hands covered his eyes. His muzzle was twisted in some kind of snarl—a pained one, Polly thought, but she couldn't tell if it was the emotional pain or the physical.

"It wasn't so bad," she reassured him, backing away. She rubbed her elbow with an arm as she rounded the couch—the same one Underdog had rubbed earlier. "I actually sort of…" she sighed again as she opened the bathroom door. Her mind was racing with all that Taptap had told her. "...well, I didn't mind it."

"Really?" Underdog asked incredulously.

Polly glanced over her shoulder. The fingers over his eye parted, and she could see the green one. It… really wasn't that close to Olive's.

She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat at the idea. She nodded.

Underdog sighed. Polly almost thought it sounded like her dreamy one. She ignored it, and instead, flicked the bathroom light on.