A little under a week had passed, and with the intermittent help of Taptap and Underdog, Polly had managed to scrape together a bare-bones report. Miss Valentine had insisted on checking it this morning, and Polly—both feeling much like she was being graded by a professor, and that Valentine did not know how to use a computer—had it printed out and stapled. She thumbed through the pamphlet as she padded slowly up to the door of her studio.

"Five thousand, two hundred-and-eighty," she muttered to herself, adjusting the strap of her laptop bag. Then, softer, added, "Jeez."

ost of them were nothing more than a name, mugshot, and criminal record. The poor library printer. Luckily, Polly only had to put actual thought into about fifty-five. She had even included the mystery criminal that had robbed the Kennel Bank, though no amount of her research revealed anything about them—Polly figured it was their first crime.

Polly had just started to reach for the studio door when a light voice came from behind her, crying out her name. Polly gripped her papers tighter in surprise, and glanced cautiously over her shoulder. Seeing who it was, she turned around fully to hide her wagging tail.

"Olive!" she exclaimed, "Good morning!"

Polly had seldom gotten the chance to catch the woman alone after their coffee-date. Polly had been too dedicated to her work, and Valentine had Olive running around doing heaven-knows-what all day. Luckily, this morning, Olive looked cheerier than Polly was used to her looking. She held a cardboard cupholder in one hand, all four slots containing paper cups of hot coffee. It didn't seem to be branded with any Mooncalf logomarks. Olive raised her free hand to wave.

"Hi, girl!" she answered. Polly held open the heavy door for her. "Val told me she's grading your assignment today," she said as she walked into the studio.

Polly sighed, but tried to smile despite it. "I hope it's not a grade," she admitted, following closely behind Olive. "It's not complete yet. I hardly even like the first draft."

"Isn't that what first drafts are for?" Olive elbowed her with a light chuckle. Polly couldn't help laughing back. Then, Olive raised her hand to scratch behind an ear, and her voice dropped an octave. "Did you, um… hear anything about that dog who last robbed the Kennel Bank?"

Polly touched her knuckles to her pamphlet with a frown. "No," she answered somberly, "When I asked Underdog, he said that they led a break-out as soon as they got to the precinct, so the police didn't have a chance to find out anything about them."

Olive placed her coffees on the first somewhat unoccupied desk she found. Polly thought her breath got a little heavier as she slowly answered, "That's… unfortunate. I've been wondering about them. Their car was so much like Sam's, I almost thought hers was stolen."

"Sam?" Polly cocked her head.

Olive made a circle with her hand, smiling up at her casually. "Sam, Sammy, yeah."

Polly's head tilted a little further.

Olive was silent for a moment. Then, she straightened up with a start. "Oh! You don't know who that is!" She laughed awkwardly to herself and turned around to lean on the desk. "That's my roommate—you met her."

"Ohh,"
Polly breathed, "Of course. I thought it looked like her car, as well."

Olive snorted a laugh, "Yeah, when it came on, she yelped so loud it woke me up."

Polly politely laughed alongside her. When she cracked open her eyes again, she saw a figure approaching behind Olive and the desk. It was Miss Valentine, hunched over slightly
with
her tail twirling behind her. Her eyes were lidded into
green
half-circles.

"Morning, cadet," she stated.

Olive jumped with a little
yip, then turned around quickly to face her boss. Polly swallowed back a laugh at her expense, but Olive's smile remained firm.

"Val!" she greeted, lifting a coffee from the cupholder and handing it to her. "Here you are, ma'am, one hot black coffee."

Valentine murmured something and lifted the wooden stirrer, staring down into the lid's mouth opening.
As she took a sip of it, Olive turned back to Polly.

"I would've gotten you one, but you weren't here yet," she said, then pointed to each cup to indicate whose it was. "That's mine, OJ's, Cluck's…"

Valentine hummed, cutting her off. "Anyway, Miss Polly, good morning."
A
small smile parted her mouth as the coffee worked through her. "
How is that criminal report going?"

Polly flushed, stiffening up. "W-well," she answered anxiously. She extended the arm that held the pamphlet vaguely in Valentine's direction. "I have it right here."

Valentine nodded and took it from her. Though her soft paws didn't touch Polly's, she still felt the tingle of anxiety dance across her fingertips. Valentine took another sip of her coffee and leaned against the desk as she started to read over the pamphlet.

"Hefty, isn't it?" Olive commented.

"A little over five thousand," Polly answered.

Polly watched Valentine's coffee hesitate in her mouth. Her eyes widened only a hair-length, and finally, she swallowed her drink. After that, she set her coffee cup on the desk and went through the pamphlet with both hands.

"Right, yes," she murmured to herself, "Simon Barsinister… that's the man from last week. Riff Raff—oh, yes, Boston's little ward!"

Polly and Olive were both silent. The pattern continued, Valentine would skim through the pages with a wry comment every now-and-then. Polly twirled a curl on her ear, pulling down the tanktop under her jacket with her opposite hand. Olive flicked the cardboard of the cupholder back and forth. Eventually, OJ and Cluck collected their coffees, but even the moment's intrusion of the two men did not break Valentine's concentration on the Guide to Crookery—nor did it break Polly's concentration on Valentine.

Polly could tell when the pages swapped from known criminals to the one-offs. Valentine flipped through even faster than she had been, hardly spending a second on each page.
Finally, she reached the last page.

Polly sucked in a sharp breath through her nose. Valentine readjusted to hold the folded-over papers, and reached for her coffee again.

As she skimmed through, her eyebrows started to furrow. Swallowing the sip of coffee, she stiffly moved the cup away from her mouth and back to the desk she leaned on. The skritch-skritch of the cardboard ceased. Polly spared a glance to her left to see that Olive had frozen, her shoulders a little stiffer than Polly remembered them being a few minutes ago. Her expression was dark—lifeless, her eyes were narrow, and she focused intently on Valentine.

Valentine's tailtip twirled in a circle. Then, it flicked from side to side to side to side.

"No name for this one?" she asked coolly, but she didn't look up.

"No," Polly answered, reciting what Underdog had told her about the break-out.

Valentine hummed noncommittally. Polly's ear twitched of its own accord. The chif-chif-chif of her boss's tail against the plastic desk was getting to her. After several more moments of silence, Valentine finally answered.

"...well," she muttered. Finally, she cut her eyes up at Polly, still the half-circles they had been earlier. "Alright. Keep an eye on… this one, so everything's all complete, yes?"

Polly's head started to nod before she could control it. "Yes, ma'am," she answered quietly.

"Right," Valentine replied, stopping her tail. She stood up from the desk and took her coffee. "Do you still have a copy of this? May I keep it?"

"Oh, yes," Polly nodded sincerely this time, "It's all digital for me."

Valentine stopped the coffee cup just short of her lips. She rolled her eyes, "You kids and your technology these days." Then, without another word, she turned fully around and started to pad back the way she had come.

Olive let out a sigh. Polly turned to face her. She was wiping her temple with the ball of her hand.

"H… haha," she said, "Man, that wasn't even my assignment and I was scared to death for you." The hand on her forehead moved to clutch her chest. Her eyes had regained their liveliness.

Polly let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and untensed muscles she didn't know she had stiffened. "Do you think she liked it?" she asked cautiously.

"I'm sure I'll find out in just a few minutes," Olive answered. She took the last cup from the cupholder and lifted it to take a drink. She shrunk back after she did so, shaking her head dramatically. "Mmm, bitter!" she exclaimed.

Polly scoffed, pushing her ear behind her shoulder. Now that her boss had left, Olive's presence made her face heat up. "Hot coffee today?" she tried to ask casually, but she felt her voice tumble in her throat.

Olive shrugged, replacing it in the cup holder. "Why not? Everyone else was getting one, I figured I'd make it easier on the barista."

Polly hummed.

"Anyway," Olive continued quickly, "We should catch up sometime."

Polly swallowed back
the

"oh!"

that threatened to gasp out of her. She pushed back her ear again, despite the fact
that
it hadn't moved, and felt the blood rush up to her face. "That would be nice!" she answered
earnestly
, "I feel like I haven't seen you since our last outing."

"Me too," Olive looked up at Polly with her kind, green eyes. "Maybe you can come up to my apartment sometime, watch a movie? Only thing is, I live in Adams, and Sammy might be around."

Polly snorted at the warning. "I've dealt with worse than

Adams,"

she
coyly
answered. "And sure, that'd be alright." Sam
my
had seemed quite alright the first time Polly had met her—a bit shy, if anything. Though, something pulled on Polly's heartstrings… she remembered the dog who robbed the Kennel Bank. They looked so much like
each other

Olive beamed, "Consider it a date," she said,
before rattling off her address. Polly tried to internalize it, but it was difficult while staring at Olive's beautifully delicate face.
Polly thought—or at least pretended—that she saw a soft pink coat her
apricot cheeks.

Unfortunately, neither got the chance to say much else. Across the studio floor, on a faraway wall behind the desk the two women stood at, Valentine's office door creaked open. Neither heard it under the hustle and bustle of communicating cameramen and rehearsing reporters.

What they did hear was Valentine's voice—a scalding one, half-yelled across the studio.

"Olive,"

it announced, echoing off the tile floors and glassy walls.

Olive jumped. She and Polly turned in Valentine's direction as the studio quieted around them. All Polly saw was the glowing green of her eyes as the door slammed shut again. Olive picked up her coffee cup, made a peace sign to tell Polly goodbye, and like a good dog, followed the call of her master.

Polly caught up with Olive again after she had finished her film reels for the morning. Though Olive seemed a little nervous, with shifting feet and a lopsided smile, the two eventually concluded on a time for their movie night. And this time, Polly actually made mental note of Olive's address.

The sky was in twilight by the time Polly taxied up to Olive's apartment building. Adams was as run-down as ever, with rocks and car parts littering the roadway and sidewalks. Polly stepped over a puddle of mysterious ooze that lay between the sidewalk and the stairwell. When she jumped on the first step, Polly turned around to thank the driver one last time. She could see that they shifted nervously behind the tinted glass, but despite that, were courteous enough not to drive away yet. When Polly gave the final wave, they sped off in a yellow blur, splashing up another wave of odd liquid. Polly ducked, but it didn't quite reach her.

Shaking herself despite her dryness, she hopped up the rest of the steps. She buzzed in, entered the building after Olive answered, and headed for the run-down elevator. Even just the entryway was dark, one of the hanging lights above her blinked on and off and swayed like it was being blown despite the stagnant air.

Polly wrenched open the rusty steel door of the elevator and stepped onto its cold floor. The springs of the door snapped behind her, almost smashing in her tail. She yelped with fright, but was unhurt. She pressed the button to a middle floor, and the elevator immediately sprung to life with a rattle so intense it nearly knocked her off her feet.

Polly pressed herself into one of the elevator's corners, swallowing back the bile of anxiety rising in her throat. The oily walls she slid past only made things darker, the only light arriving as she passed by each floor. Looking out the lattice door frame, she almost felt like a dove in a birdcage.

The elevator stopped with another rattle. Polly stepped out quickly, intent to get away from the spring-loaded door, and to work the blood back into her wobbly legs. She walked to the very end of the carpeted hallway, taking note of all the discolorations on the old-timey, wainscoted wallpaper.

F
inally, she reached the proper door, and rang its bell.

Polly could've sworn ten clicks came from behind it.

Despite that, the door opened with a creak, and Olive greeted her excitedly. "Hi!" she exclaimed before stepping back to open the door a little wider. "Come in, come in!"

Polly felt her mouth curl into a smile, doing as she was told. She padded through a short pseudo-hallway, then turned back to watch Olive. Sure enough, Olive was latching back a handful of barrel, chain, and rim locks before finishing with the deadbolt.

She turned back to Polly with a slight sigh. "Did you have trouble finding the place?" she asked.

Polly scoffed and turned to glance around the apartment. "As much trouble as any other place in Adams," she replied. Olive giggled.

It was a studio apartment, well decorated to separate the different areas from eachother. On Polly's left, separated from the doorway by a knee-wall, was the kitchen. It had maybe two countertops and a fridge barely taller than she was. She could hear its hum. Stepping forward was the living room, which despite the dingy wallpaper and dirty baseboards, had big windows on its outer wall and a gray sectional in the corner. The carpet underfoot was dry and starchy.

The room continued past the wall that the couch was pushed against, though a big curtain hid that section. Polly figured that was where Olive and Sammy's beds must lie. Olive ushered Polly further forward, motioned to the couch with a sweep of her hand, then padded into the kitchen to fiddle with her microwave.

Polly did as gestured, sitting on the couch's very end. She settled back into its pliant, scratchy surface as she took her purse off her shoulder. Against the opposite wall—just to the left of a door which Polly figured led to a closet—sat a small television console and boxy television set. Olive moved in front of it after a few moments, her groan of settling on the floor accompanied by a pop-pop-pop from the kitchen.

Olive grabbed a
n arm
ful of VHS tapes, then stood up with another groan, and grabbed a separate handful of DVDs that stood atop the television. Rounding the coffee table
between the two sides
of
the sofa, Olive sat beside Polly and put down her videos, some on her
legs
, some on the table.

Polly tried not to jump as Olive sat. Her thighs brushed against Polly's as she did, and Polly could feel every rip and tear of the denim against her tights. She felt the blood rush up to her head, and all the video titles became blurs. She heard her heartbeat pulse in her ears and felt as if it was well on its way to leaping out of her chest.

"So, I mostly have horror movies." The ring in Polly's ears faded slowly into Olive's voice. She leaned over to look at her face, just in time to watch her eyes get big and a flush cover her cheeks. "Sooommee of these are Sammy's," she muttered, shoving away a VHS with a black cover, featuring a human pointing upward at the title, dripping with blood.

Polly chuckled at her embarrassment, then glanced over the numerous videos she had brought over. That stilled her beating heart slightly. She recognized quite a few, both box-office hits and more obscure releases.

"I've seen a few of these," she told Olive.

Olive straightened up. "Really?" she asked incredulously, "I didn't think you'd be the type."

Polly laughed a little louder, turning toward her with a smile. She nodded, "Yes, believe it or not, I used to be goth."

Olive's head tilted a little, though her lips eventually curled in a cute, lopsided grin, her upper teeth showing more than her lower. Then, she scoffed and laughed alongside Polly. Polly felt her smile get bigger and her face get hotter, not to mention the flips her stomach was doing. She turned toward the coffee table and pushed an ear behind her shoulder. She glanced over the videos again, and eventually pointed out a DVD. Its cover was black and red, with a green clutching hand in the center.

"That one doesn't seem so bad," she commented.

Olive looked over at it, then reached for the case. "It's less a movie and more of a serial," she told her, "A fifteen-part serial, too. We probably won't finish it."

"That's alright," Polly answered. She sort of doubted her ability to focus on a movie in Olive's presence anyway. She glanced away as she felt a blush cover her cheeks and moved to twirl her ear. "Maybe I can come over another time to finish it?"

"Sure," Olive huffed as she stood up, laughing slightly. She headed back toward the television to start the film. "And if it gets too scary, we can always make out."

Polly yipped. She felt like her bones jumped out of her skin.

The film was in black-and-white, and being so old, not horribly scary. Despite that, Polly eventually found herself snuggled up against Olive. Polly had her knees to her chest, while the popcorn rested atop Olive's crossed legs. Olive had her arm wrapped around Polly—she hadn't even pretended to yawn to get away with it.

As Polly suspected, she couldn't really focus on the movie. From what she gathered, the lead actress was pretty and the detective had similar mannerisms to Underdog.
But Polly… Polly couldn't let herself think about him right now,
not in Olive's embrace.

Olive grabbed a handful of popcorn, biting into the chunk one kernel at a time. Her chest rose and fell sharply with every breath, and her eyes lit up every time that vaudeville villain showed up on screen. Polly ran a hand across her thigh with a sigh. She was a lovely lady, Polly thought. Whatever she did to end up in such a position, she was glad she'd done it.

Olive glanced down at Polly's hand, then snorted. She pulled her arm a little closer.

"This movie is soo scary," Polly teased her with a little laugh. "If only I could look away!"

Olive's snort turned into a little chortle. She went to move her arm off of Polly's shoulders, and Polly froze. She stared wide-eyed up at the other woman, and that was when her noisy heartbeat returned.

As soon as the movie started, Polly's fearful senses had been relatively quiet. Maybe a jump of nerves here and there each time more of their skin made contact, but overall, she had been calm. Warm and safe, somewhat, a very pleasant feeling to have. Now, it all came crashing back—the arm that had held her made its way to the side of the popcorn bowl. Had she gone too far?

Olive swallowed the last of her handful and wiped the salt off on her jeans. She leaned forward slightly, and looked over at Polly with narrow eyes. Polly sat up from lounging on her lower back and met her gaze.

For a moment, Olive's claws drummed on her jeans. Her pupils moved down slightly. Polly couldn't tell where they landed, but her chest suddenly felt hot. She started to raise her hand to touch the area when Olive's lips finally parted.

"Aww,
I'm sorry," she cooed.

She reached out her popcorn hand, gripping Polly's chin between her thumb and forefinger. The heat from her chest spread out to the rest of her—most of all her face, especially the part Olive held. Her whiskers twitched from the closeness and her nose twitched from the salty, savory smell of the buttery popcorn residue on her fingers.

Olive continued, "Don't worry, you don't have to look
if you don't wanna."

Polly blinked. She wasn't so certain she was breathing anymore. Her mouth was dry. She felt like she was inside a drum, feeling her pulse in her brain like the beat of the pedal and the
beating
in her ears like its rhythm.

Olive's eyes fluttered shut. Polly gulped, but it didn't help the lump in her throat. When
Olive
started to lean in, Polly felt her body move on its own accord. She took a deep breath and matched
Olive,
her
eyes slowly closing and leaning forward gently.

Polly sucked in a gasp through her nose when her lips met Olive's. They were soft and warm and thin and moved gently against hers. Polly's mind fogged over. She tried to control herself, she moved her arms around Olive's shoulders gently instead of slamming them around her. Polly felt like Olive's breath was drifting straight into her lungs, she hardly dared breathe it.

Polly heard one of them give a small moan, hardly feeling the reverberation in her own throat. Olive's hands matched Polly's, gliding over her shoulders before sliding down to her hips. Polly shifted a leg under herself to turn more in her direction. It deepened the kiss. Olive pulled back for half-a-second to catch her breath, then came back at Polly with her lips slightly parted. Polly was lost in the sensation of her.

She tasted and smelt like buttery popcorn and cigarette smoke and mothballs and
strawberries
. Polly didn't
take her for a smoker.
It sucked her in deeper. Like a gentle ocean wave lapping at her paws, Olive's kiss
pulled
her in like a riptide.

Polly didn't know how long they kissed. At some point, her hands reached up to hold Olive's cheeks, and Olive pulled her over her lap so that she was resting on her shins. In her head, it felt like a mere few moments, but the pain of the rug-burn on her knees told her otherwise.

Olive pulled back for air for what had to have been the hundredth time. Polly was just about to go back in, when she heard the sound of a drink being slurped, and a gruff voice speak.

"...hot."

Polly's anxiety flared. She whirled around as the heat of her nerves burned under her jacket. Standing across the way in the apartment's kitchen, leaned casually against the fridge, was Sammy. She held a green pop bottle in one hand and made a finger gun in Olive's direction.

Olive cleared her throat and raised an arm to wipe her mouth. "Damn, dude, you could've told me you came home."

"And interrupt something like this?" she answered, gesturing at Polly. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Polly rapidly got off of Olive's lap, smoothing down her clothes with a fury as if her mother had caught her. She felt a flurry of emotions, unable to describe them all. Her face was on fire and her palms were sticky and her heart beat out of her chest and her intestines were collapsing in on themselves.

Sammy sauntered casually over, sitting on the opposite side of the sofa. She took another sip of her beverage. "Hey, don't worry about it," she said, spreading her legs, "Olive's walked in on me doing worse."

Olive scoffed, letting out a long breath between her teeth. "Yeah, Sammy never makes out with cute girls."

"Never," Sammy drawled. Her voice echoed slightly within the glass bottle on her lips. She set it down with a smack, then extended an arm stiffly in Polly's direction. Polly froze as it neared her. "Anyway, I never introduced myself. Sammy. With a Y. Don't forget it."

Polly blinked. She looked up Sammy's arm—her oceanic tattoos were as bright as ever, and her biceps showed rigidly beneath her fur. She glanced quickly at her other arm, which was gently holding the neck of her bottle. That arm was just as muscled and just as covered in tattoos, however they didn't form a big piece. Polly could make out knives, a scary-looking mask, a bat, a flower… across her knuckles read the word OUCH.

There was nothing to indicate any sort of danger from the woman, despite the intensity of her body art. Finally, with her fingers shaking and her heart still threatening to thump out of her chest, Polly met her handshake. Sammy gave her one solid shake before letting go, then she turned toward the television and took another drink. Polly's gaze turned down to the coffee table, moving to twirl her ear fur and push it behind her shoulder.

The movie kept playing. Polly couldn't hear it beneath the blood pulsing in her ears. The three sat there in silence for a while, Olive and Sammy both seeming engrossed in the film. Polly felt like the tension was about to choke her.

She cleared her throat and reached for her purse. While making out with Olive, it had started to shove itself between the couch cushions.

"M-my roommate is probably wondering where I've gotten off to," she said quickly, her voice shaking.

"Alright," Olive answered, rising from the sofa. Polly followed her to the door, sparing a glance back over her shoulder at Sammy while she unlocked the locks. Sammy didn't notice. Finally, the door opened with a creak, and Olive stepped to the side of it.

Polly padded slowly out, pausing in the doorway to look back at Olive. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Olive grazed a gentle hand over her side and pulled her close to kiss her cheek.

"Don't worry about Sammy," she chuckled, "She doesn't mean much. I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

Polly glanced past Olive, staring at Sammy for a moment. Then she sighed, and forced herself to smile. "Of course," she answered softly.

Olive smiled back, giving her a small nod. Polly pushed her ear over her shoulder and quickly turned to survey the state of the hallway. It was empty. Then, she gave Olive a small wave and moved to walk away.

The door closed behind her. Her face still felt like it was on fire, and on half-numb feet, she started down the hallway. Polly reached up to grip her chest as hundreds of images swirled within her mind. Olive and Sammy and Olive and work and Underdog and Olive… how could she ever focus on anything ever again?

The elevator door slammed shut on her tail.