Despite how familiar Olive's part of town had become to Polly, nothing could stop the shiver that went up her spine when stepping on the elevator. Luckily, it was almost entirely overwritten by her excitement—finally, her assignment was complete, and she could spend time with Olive again!

Polly had been daydreaming since the plans had been made. She fidgeted restlessly on the elevator ride, twirling her ear fur and twiddling her fingers. Her face was a comfortable flush as the thought of being in Olive's apartment again kept crossing her mind.

She drifted through the hallway on light feet, the familiar feeling of butterflies in her stomach returning. Part of her wanted to ask Olive The Question—the rest of her was a familiar anxiety she always got during such a situation. A smaller, deeper part of her worried for Underdog.

Polly lifted her hand to knock on the apartment door. A small film of bile coated the back of her throat as the idea of dating Olive and throwing Underdog to the wayside crossed her mind. Quickly, though, she shook her head. She cleared her throat and swallowed it back. She had dated before, and… and she didn't stand a chance with the hero anyway.

Polly knocked on Olive's door, counting each lock as it unlatched. Then, the door flew open. Polly had expected Olive, of course; instead, she saw the white face of Sammy.

"Polly!" Sammy exclaimed. She waved Polly in with a beam on her narrow muzzle. Polly smiled back and gave her a polite wave, skirting between her and the knee-wall to make her way inside. The apartment was a warm orange with the light of the setting sun through the large windows. Polly felt even lighter than she had before.

As soon as she stepped into the living room, Sammy scooped her up into a hug. Polly squeaked, her flush getting even hotter, but Sammy merely laughed into her neck. Her arms slipped under Polly's jacket and pressed directly into her spine.

"I've missed you!" Sammy exclaimed, finally letting Polly go. "Oli said you've been stuck writing something for Miss Val."

Polly nodded, clearing her throat again. She let go of Sammy's arms to straighten her tanktop. "Yes," she answered, "A write-up on every criminal in the city."

"There's about a million of them," Sammy scoffed.

"Only about five thousand!" Polly replied chipperly.

Sammy tilted her head, scratching the ruff around her neck. Her hand sank into it like teeth through cotton candy. "That's about half the population, isn't it?"

Polly shrugged, "More or less."

"Damn."

Sammy's little expletive fell on deaf ears, Polly instead glancing around the room to search for Olive. It wasn't a difficult search, as it wasn't a big apartment—she was bent into the fridge. After a few more moments, she turned back to Sammy and Polly with a big glass bottle in her hands. She smiled at Polly, but she looked tired, in that sort-of dead way Polly had seen in Valentine's office. She closed the fridge with her hips and padded toward the knee-wall, offering the bottle to Polly without a word.

Polly hesitantly reached for its neck. It was a clear bottle, half-filled with a yellowy liquid.

"Is this that… vanilla-apple vodka you've been talking about?" Polly asked.

"Sure is," Olive smirked mischievously.

Polly took the bottle in hand. She glanced up at Olive, then cautiously up at Sammy. Both were smiling playfully. Slowly, she raised the bottle to her mouth and took a small sip.

Immediately, it burnt. Worse than most alcohols did. Sharp teeth across her tongue and a fire down her esophagus.

"Gahh—!"
she exclaimed, reaching for her throat. Her tongue fell out of her mouth, both trying to escape the burn while trying to swallow the saliva buildup.

Sammy laughed loudly beside her while Olive chuckled, turning toward the kitchen sink to get a glass of water. Polly took it graciously, returning the bottle with her arm stuck straight out.

"Bad,"
she muttered.

Olive snorted. "I never said it was good," she said, making her way toward their sofa. "Not Sammy's best choice."

Sammy raised her arms behind her head. "We're mostly used to beer anyway."

"Last time I had anything stronger, Sam made me get a stupid tattoo," Olive continued.

"I didn't make you do anything!" Sammy countered indignantly, "That was our good friend, Tennessee."

Polly briefly thought Tuxedo, Shoeshine's friend, before she remembered whiskey.

Olive sat down with a little groan. She crossed her legs, her arms stiffly at her sides. "So," she said, eyes dancing across Polly's form, "Any plans for celebration?"

Sammy elbowed her side. "I have a few," she winked.

Polly chuckled as half-faded memories of certain nights in their apartment flashed across her mind. She felt her face turn red, and she raised an arm to twirl her ear. "No, I don't have any," she laughed. She cast her gaze down to her feet. "I was kind of… wondering…"

She took a step closer to Olive, bringing her eyes up just quick enough to see her ears prick.

Polly gulped thickly. She took in a deep breath. Her heart was beating like a rabbit against her ribcage. She sighed her breath out. "Well, I," she said stiffly, "I know we haven't known eachother for long, Olive, but… I really like you," she twirled her fingers together, each word giving her more confidence to look at the pug. Olive's eyes were getting bigger and bigger. Polly continued, "And you kissed me, so I was hoping, maybe… we… could…?" She felt her mouth open in a massively awkward smile that strained on her cheeks. "...make it official?"

Olive stared up at her blankly. Then, her eyes flickered to the ground.

Polly continued to wring her hands. The tension in their apartment pressed down on her shoulders like two cinder blocks. A high-pitched ring and the pulse of her blood ran through Polly's ears, only growing louder with each silent moment that passed.

Finally, Olive lifted her gaze again. She closed her eyes as a gentle smile appeared on her lips. "Polly," she said slowly, "I would love to. You're a lovely lady," her pretty green eyes fluttered open. "But I have to tell you something."

Polly's head tilted slightly, but she tried to focus on the first part of her statement. "Okay?" she answered cautiously.

Olive's eyes lidded halfway again. "I wasn't wholly truthful," she said, "When I said Sammy was my roommate. Sammy's also my girlfriend."

Polly felt like her heart had burst into confetti. She whirled around to face Sammy, who merely raised a hand to blow a kiss at Olive.

"B-but!" she exclaimed, turning back to Olive. She spoke quickly, breaths coming in sharp inhales. "You kissed me! A-and we've… well," she let out a few exhales, calming down a small amount as she realized. She glanced back at Sammy, "Well, I'm here, so you must be okay with that, right?"

"Of course," Sammy smirked casually, "I like ya too."

Polly nodded rapidly, though a nervous sweat overtook her palms. She turned back to Olive. If Sammy was in agreement, then it was alright. Hopefully. Right?

"Then," she ventured, "We're…?"

Olive's head tilted, eyes flickering to the corner of her apartment. "Well…" she answered, "There's another thing I need to tell you. Remember when we were talking about the person who robbed the Kennel bank, and I told you Sammy thought it was her car?"

Polly felt her whole body stiffen. The nerves in her back flared as they expected a villain to appear, brandishing a gun at her spine. Polly glanced over her shoulder at Sammy.

"It was," Olive continued, but the sound was muffled in Polly's ears.

Sammy smiled at her, as casually as if they had passed eachother on the street. The warm sunlight sunk behind the last skyscraper outside, and the apartment quickly shifted to a cool blue in the twilight. Polly felt herself quiver, nearly felt her consciousness slip from her body, this had to be some sort of bad dream, right?

She turned back to Olive numbly.

"Wh-why," she gulped, "Why are you dating a criminal?"

Olive giggled, her face gaining that mischievous smile. For once, Polly didn't find the appearance of her upper fangs cute.

"Polly," she said kindly, "Tell me, please, why do you think Miss Valentine wanted a write-up on every criminal in the city?"

Polly was silent. The backs of her eyes were hot and dry. Vaguely, she felt her lungs expand and contract. Her fingertips felt tingly and detached.

"If I got Val what she wanted," Olive explained slowly, "I'd get what I wanted. But Val's plan is massive—it'll take too long for Sammy and I to get what we want out of it. So, here's what'll happen."

Polly's vision swirled. She still felt disconnected from herself. Her fingers shivered, they were cold to the bone, where had all her blood gone? Her teeth chattered against eachother. Her eyes started to dry out, but her tear ducts welled with dampness, when did she last blink? The room felt like it had gotten darker.

"Wh-what is this?" Polly managed to gasp out, the words a jumble in her mind.

Olive wrenched a crowbar out from under a couch cushion.

That was when Polly felt her mind and body reconnect. Thinking quickly, she dove a hand into her jacket to reach for her knife. But her fingers were still numb, and as she stumbled over the pocket, she couldn't feel the lump it made. Entering the pocket, she couldn't feel its rough grip either. Her mind started to rush with worry—had she taken it out? When did she last use it? When…?

Her mind didn't have to wander for long. Within a moment, she felt a small point dig into the soft spot on the back of her neck.

"Looking for something?" Sammy whispered into her ear.

Polly froze solid. Her mind ran off again, and involuntarily, her hands rose up defenselessly.

The sharp edge of her own knife curled around to Polly's front. It gingerly dusted over her jugular, her esophagus; it wasn't hard enough to cut, but it certainly made its presence known.

"What a silly girl," Sammy purred. "I remember how pretty your throat was when it was between my legs. I'd hate to ruin something so beautiful."

"You might have to," Olive piped up, smacking the crowbar between her hands as she took a step closer. "If it doesn't move how I want it to. Here's what's going to happen, Polly. You're going to tell us how we get Underdog off our backs. Then, you're going to tell us how we defeat Riff Raff."

"I-I don't—" Polly gasped.

"Sure you do," Olive cut her off, "You've only been hanging out with his little blow-up-doll every hour you're not with me."

Polly's mind and body reconnected again. Adrenaline flowed through her veins, a certain type of fear washed over her that she had only felt once before. When Taptap showed up in her television studio carrying a bomb.

Olive knew she had made amends with him. H-how did she…?

Polly started to pant. What was she supposed to do? She felt her heart shatter into a million little glass-pieces, scattering across a tile floor, and she wasn't sure she could meld them back together. With the crowbar in front of her and the knife against her neck, she wasn't wholly sure she'd have the chance to.

Her breaths were quick. Polly looked up at Olive. She wanted her to glance away—give her some sort of sign that this wasn't right; Sammy had put her up to this; someone had put her up to this. Some sort of sign that it wasn't a facade—a sign that the woman Polly had fallen in love with would emerge at any moment.

Something to show her that Olive was hurt about doing this.

But Olive's gaze only hardened. And if the crowbar she clutched wobbled slightly in her grasp, Polly didn't notice in her blurry vision.

"So start talking," Olive said gruffly, a voice Polly had never heard nor expected to come out of her.

Polly whimpered at its impact on her eardrum. She sniffled. When did she start crying? She shut her eyes tight and clenched her jaw and tried to steel her nerves in an attempt to swallow back all her heartbreak. The Olive she had loved was gone—it had never been there in the first place. This was a criminal, Polly could deal with those… maybe. Hopefully, right?

"If you want to know how to defeat Riff Raff," Polly said, her voice shaking with each word. She gulped back the lump in her throat and met Olive's gaze—the sickly green of a witch's cauldron. She continued, each word giving her a little more strength, "You can ask him yourself when you're in jail."

"You and what officer?" Sammy giggled.

Polly bit her lip, squaring her jaw, and dropped her gaze to her feet. "You know who."

Sammy laughed boisterously, "You're a smart girl. You aren't dumb enough to call for Underdog with a knife at your throat."

Polly gulped. She felt the blade's edge scrape it as it slid down her esophagus.

"N… no," she softly muttered, losing all of her resolve in one fell swoop. Her hands trembled, bitter cold. Truly, there was nothing at all that she could do…

…except move her foot gently backwards… hook it around Sammy's ankle… and kick out with all of her might.

Sammy yelped. The knife grazed Polly's neck again as the dog behind her stumbled. She fell to the ground with a woody thump. Polly heard her knife scatter somewhere across the floor.

Polly took in a deep breath and started to sing. "Where… oh, where has my Underdog gone—?"

"That's enough from you," Olive snarled, her upper lip rising to show her teeth. She tossed the crowbar in her hands before she swung it, aiming for Polly's ribs.

Polly yipped. She reached out, managing to catch the crowbar's other side in her hands. The force on her palms burned so intensely that her fingers went a different kind of numb.

Olive growled, trying to yank her weapon back. But Polly kept her grip steady. Her claws dragged across it, she felt it straight to her quick. The rough surface slipped and cut against her sweaty palms. She grit her teeth, her wrists straining to keep hold on the crowbar. Olive mirrored her.

Behind her, Polly heard Sammy scuffle to her paws.

On her side, she suddenly heard and felt many things. The first was the blast of a gale-force wind. The second was the smash of glass being broken. The third was little glass shards digging into her legs and cheek. The fourth was the mixed sound of a squall and a jet engine.

The fifth was the triumphant cry of: "There's no need to fear; Underdog is here!"

Polly's brain slipped out of her with a gasp. The crowbar slipped out of her hands. The force of Underdog's entrance knocked her to the ground. She glanced up, but the world was a cloud of dust and colorful ribbons around her. She caught sight of the odd fist and the odd snarling face here and there. The whole scene only made her vision swirl worse. She closed her eyes, burying her face in her hands. Polly felt her chest jitter with sobs. Her palms became wet as tears streamed down her face. After a few moments, she felt two arms take hold of her by her hips. Then, she felt a chilly wind whirl around her.

Polly cracked open her eyes briefly. She was high in the air. The bottom half of her vision was blocked by a flowing blue cape, but she caught the shadow of the cityscape below light up with neon. Everything was blurred in her teary eyes. A velvety ear tickled her wet nose.

Underdog had come for her.

She wrapped her arms tighter around him and sobbed into his shoulder.

Underdog flew Polly back to their apartment. He did not ask. Polly didn't give him the chance. She had started muttering from the moment he placed her on the couch.

"H-h-how am I supposed to go to work tomorrow after that?" she gasped, raising her hands to her cheeks. One palm caught a shard of glass, and she winced. Underdog started to pull out the little chips with gentle paws. "Sh-she… she said my boss was some kinda… evil mastermind! Am I supposed to look at her after that? Is she still working there? How am I supposed to look at her? She—"

She turned to Underdog, staring down at his hand as he placed a shard of glass in his palm. Polly took in a shuddering breath.

"I," she whimpered, the tears welling up even stronger, "I loved her!"

Underdog nodded silently. He brushed his palm over Polly's hot cheek. His hands were hotter. Polly didn't feel the wetness of blood transfer to his face.

"Don't go to work," he said kindly. It was Shoeshine's voice. "You've done it before. You need a day to recover from being assaulted."

Polly gulped thickly. She nodded rapidly, but her whole body was on edge with everything that had happened—that she'd learned.

Was Olive telling the truth about Valentine? Why did Olive use her? How could she ever enter the studio again? Each worry became more and more familiar. She had felt a million similar ways when Taptap brought in that bomb.

She glanced back up at Underdog, one worry suddenly overwhelming her mind. After everything, there was only one thought that remained clear.

What was she going to tell him?

Underdog's first agenda was to clean up Polly's injuries. Soon enough, colorful little band-aids covered her calf and cheek. His feverish thumb brushed over the mark the blade made on her neck with the gentleness of a sheepdog nuzzling his flock. Polly wasn't bleeding.

After that, Polly tried to help Underdog clean his wounds. It was nearly worthless with the tears in her eyes. Eventually, Underdog convinced her to get to bed while biting off a piece of gauze. Polly weakly agreed.

The hours passed. Polly watched them all through the daylight shining through her curtain. Soft gray with the sunrise. Bright white with the sunlight. Soft orange in the sunset. Her mind was dull... numb... she didn't have the energy for her thoughts to race anymore. She hardly rose from her bed for longer than ten minutes, and certainly did not leave for work.

Despite her exhaustion and her nearly empty mind, she hardly caught a wink of sleep. Even if she had, she scarcely felt it. The only thing she thought of was herself and Underdog. He was still there for her... and she hadn't even been thoughtful enough to tell him where, exactly, she was spending all those evenings.

She didn't want to know the actual hour it was when the sunset streamed in. She felt miserable enough without the depression that spending all day in bed entailed. Whatever time it was, that was when Polly decided to formally get up. Her back cracked the moment she took a breath while upright. Then, she slowly padded into the living room.

The living room was dark, illuminated only by the kitchen light and a table lamp. Shoeshine sat on the couch. Polly spotted a shoebox on the coffee table, but rather than cleaning it, Shoeshine had his leg kicked up and was watching television. Polly caught a glimpse of Colleen making some report before the program cut to commercial. She quietly sat down on the opposite end of the couch. Shoeshine's ear twitched as she did.

"Morning," he softly greeted.

P
olly grumbled, bringing her legs to her chest.

"Are you okay?" Shoeshine asked.

Polly glanced over at him. He was staring at her sweetly, with those gentle eyes of his, his brows upturned, and his mouth a concerned smile. Polly sighed dreamily. She could've lost herself in his expression.

"Okay enough," she answered noncommittally.

Do you…" Shoeshine ventured, "Want to talk about it?"

Polly ran a hand through her hair. "I…" the word

love

felt like a bitter poison on her tongue, especially while she was sitting across from
the person who had rescued her
. "I

really

liked her. She was the one I was visiting on all those nights out. I'm sorry I never told you."

Shoeshine's gaze returned to the television as Colleen returned on screen. "It doesn't matter now," he answered.

Polly pursed her lips. It didn't. She scooted a few inches closer to him. "It's all so much," she muttered, "I mean, she… my boss, a-and that report, and…"

She trailed off, her eyes bringing themselves to Shoeshine's face. His ear twitched as her voice fell.

All of her thoughts rushed to Polly's head so quickly she thought she might fall over. She pressed her fingertips to her temple with a small groan. Then, she stretched over and settled to sit right beside Shoeshine. The seam of his old jeans pressed against her sore thigh. The fleecy texture of his threadbare hoodie tickled her arm.

I feel like I should tell you something," she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, her anxiety kicked into high-gear. Her face and fingers both turned to fire, her heartbeat thumped like a cornered rabbit, and her toes tapped nervously on the couch cushion.

Shoeshine ripped his gaze from the television to her face. He smiled kindly, his ears and eyebrows slightly raised. Polly was sure it was a reaction to how red her face must have been.

Yes?" was all he answered with.

Polly broke their eye contact roughly. She scratched the back of her neck, swallowing thickly and clenching her jaw to try and steel her nerves. She had been through worse in the last few hours than this.

Don't make fun of me, okay?"

Shoeshine snorted, "Sure."

Polly blinked open wet eyes. She drummed her fingers on her knees. She took in a deep breath, willing herself not to ramble. With a final crack in her spine, she started to speak.

"I've… been thinking about you for a while," she started, "Mostly since my new boss and… she came to town, but it's been a while before that, too."

She stole a glance over toward Shoeshine. His eyes had gotten bigger.

Polly continued, "About how you're so lovely, a-and protective of me, and you're just… everything." She was staring back at him now. Her nervous senses numbed as she lost herself in his eyes. She lifted a hand for emphasis. "I… think I love you."

Shoeshine's face was as red as Underdog's sweater. His eyes were as wide as they could possibly go, his mouth had fallen slightly open, and his lenses were a little foggy.

He gulped, ducking his head back. His neck shrank into his hood. Polly hunched as well as she watched his reaction, scooting back an inch.

I-I," Shoeshine finally managed to stammer, "I thought you only liked girls."

Polly twirled her ear. "I thought I did too," she admitted, "But, I… I fell for you, so I guess I was wrong."

He had turned away from her, staring blankly at the floor, his hand half-pressed through his hair. Suddenly he whipped back around toward her, a small scowl on his lips.

"It's not because I'm transgender, is it?" he accused, his voice too rough to be Shoeshine's but too soft to be Underdog's.

No!" Polly yelped, waving her hands in an attempt to shake the thought. "Having Taptap around hasn't helped! And he drips

man

like water!"

Shoeshine seemed taken aback
by
the comment about his brother. Though quickly, his scowl turned into a wry smile. His flush had faded
to a soft pinkish-orange on his creamy fur
. He scoffed a small laugh. "I can't believe him," he said softly, "Getting

you

of all people to be attracted to him."

Polly pursed her lips to one side of her mouth. "I'm not jazzed about it either."

Shoeshine laughed a little more, then returned to the television as if the conversation hadn't happened. The silence stung Polly's ears,
sending a high-pitched vibration straight to her brain
. She couldn't stop looking at him, drumming her fingers, twitching her legs
any small movement to distract herself. Nothing worked. She gulped, worrying he wouldn't say

anything.

After what felt like an eternity, Polly finally saw his gaze drop again. He took in a small breath but didn't move as he spoke.

I think I… love you, too," he admitted. His voice was nearly inaudible. "Ever since you blew that lightbulb from Simon's Phoney Booth off my head with your fire axe," he giggled. His head
toward the wall,
the opposite
direction
of
where
Polly
sat
. "There was something about it. Your defensiveness, or something, I suppose."

The corner of Polly's mouth twitched into a smile. "I thought you didn't like that romance stuff," she teased.

Shoeshine finally glanced over at her. "I didn't think so, either. But I fell for you, so I guess I was wrong."

Polly scoffed. She scooted toward him again, leaning her head atop his. He stiffened up, but slowly, Shoeshine's arm lifted from the back of the couch to over her shoulder.

This time, when the silence settled over them, Polly found it comfortable. No ring or heartbeat played in her ears. However, Shoeshine didn't let it last for long. Polly felt the heat radiating from his face on her neck.

Should we…" he ventured carefully, "…date?"

Polly moved just far enough away to meet his eyes. Shoeshine did the same, snaking his arm off of her and down against his side. Polly caught his warm hand in hers, the roughness of his palm sending sparks of excitement through her. She felt her hips tense, longing for his embrace.

I'd love that," she answered earnestly. She had on a beam so wide that it made her cheeks start to hurt.

Shoeshine let out a small breath and a smaller laugh.

Ha, okay,"

he murmured. "Sh-should we… kiss?"

That question was much more strained than his first. Polly glanced at his lips. They were cracked, and one of his fangs was biting into his lower lip. A crusty bit of blood hadn't been completely cleaned from his nose.

Polly bit her own lip, but didn't expose her fangs. She could still remember her last kiss—with Olive, she still remembered the taste of her mouth and the way her hands explored her body. The memory sent a pang through her heart. Olive kissed her with such passion and hadn't meant any of it. Polly wasn't sure if she was ready for another one so soon after that.

More importantly, she looked up Shoeshine. His shoulders were tense, his jaw seemed clenched, and he anxiously rubbed Polly's tendons with his thumb like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

He didn't want to kiss.

Polly squeezed his hand, and his thumb stopped. She tried to smile politely, twirling her ear.

Let's not move too quickly," she said coolly.

Shoeshine let out a breath so deep that it rattled his shoulders. "Okay," he gulped.

Polly nodded and rustled to snuggle into him again. Still, Shoeshine didn't let the silence last.

I-I can't promise I'll be any good at this," he admitted. "I don't know if I love you the same way you do. But I'll try to be the best… boyfriend I can be, alright?" He lifted his head against hers.

Polly giggled. His proclamation made her feel lighter than she had in a long time. Her fingertips tingled.

"Don't worry," she answered, "We can still be us, but…" she started to mumble as she felt another flush rise to her cheeks, "…hold hands in public, and maybe kiss… ah, eventually."

Shoeshine squeezed her hand. "Okay," he reassured her, "I can do that."

Polly sighed dreamily, sinking into him. Her insides felt like cotton candy. His fur was soft and warm on her neck. She had never expected to tell him how she felt, let alone have it work out so well. His thumb started to rub the back of her hand again.

Polly Purebred, lover of the great hero Underdog.

They could work out the particulars of their public images later, Polly concluded as the warmth of his love seeped onto her. That statement always held a certain rightness about it.