Sweet Sins
by kc
Summary: A hidden candy stash, a guilty thief, and a mystery.
Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles. Duh.
Warnings: dub!con
Other Info: I imagine Splinter is passed in this, but no real mention is made of it. Considering how much angst and bother they go through for that in other fics, I imagine that they're well over it by now. Their therapy is done with, they've had their group and family counseling, and they're moving on with their lives.
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The trap is so amateurish this time. I'm lucky to spot the candy stash behind the loose bricks, but the mousetrap is obvious at best. The lair is silent, everyone is asleep, and the light from Donatello's room doesn't reach down here by the kitchen.
Butterfingers are the best.
I shouldn't do this, but Mikey shouldn't be devouring candy like he's starving, either. True, we exercise a lot anyway and it's normal to be hungry most of the time, but he's starting to get heavier than Raph. And besides, I don't ask for rewards for being in command, ordering them around and keeping them alive. A little off the top of his stash is my fair due.
Kit Kats--ideal when no one can bug you for any.
Sorry, Sensei, but green tea and rice and fish only go so far. I don't know why you frown on sugar so much--I don't think I ever saw you put sugar in your tea--and I get that Mikey's been eating way too much, but a handful of chocolate every week can't possibly affect us that much.
Sweet Tarts are barely a mouthful. Not my favorite.
And honestly, if he'd just train as much as I said to and didn't keep trying to skip out on practice, this wouldn't be necessary. If I knew he'd burn all these calories in the dojo, there wouldn't be a problem.
Damn tight cellophane--opening this silently in the dark without waking anyone up is a true test of ninja skill--but a green Jolly Rancher is worth the effort.
So this is really in Mikey's best interest. I'm doing him a favor. And protecting him at the same time. If he's laid up a second time because he crashes through a board that couldn't take his weight, his whining will make one of us snap. I don't care how bad he feels, daily comic book runs don't make the pain go away.
Willy Wonka Scrumdiddlyumpcious bars! That might have a golden ticket inside! He swore there weren't any left! One of those is rightfully mine. He's lucky I'm even leaving him the rest.
*
There was no golden ticket. All the noisy plastic wrappers are safely disposed of, and at breakfast I add the empty cereal box and milk carton to the trash can. When Michelangelo gets suspicious, he won't hesitate to search the trash, but he'll balk at wet stuff inside.
Practice is like pulling teeth, as usual. It's infuriating. Michelangelo has all that raw talent and ability that lets him get away with doing katas backwards and on his head. He could easily learn the higher forms Splinter taught me, but instead you have to beat the moves into him. Sometimes I think he just loves the attention.
After practice, he's the first one out. At least I can count on Donatello to help me put things away and Raphael to help keep our edges sharp, after a little grumbling. Michelangelo wonders why we keep calling him the baby of the family.
"Thief!"
Michelangelo runs in with his stash, an old Darth Vader toy case he found on a scavenge run. It's beat up and scuffed almost beyond recognition, but it's waterproof and the clasp is still good. Right now it's open so we can see the layer of candy inside.
"Thief!"
"Now what?" I grumble, barely glaring at him as I sharpen a shuriken.
"Someone stole my candy!" Michelangelo wails, holding the case out as if we could tell the difference. "I'm missing Kit Kats and Sweet Tarts and a whole bunch of Butterfingers, and--"
"Hey!" Raphael snaps, noticing the important thing. "You do have those Wonka bar things. You said you couldn't find any."
"That's not the point," Michleangelo says and snaps the case shut. "I was gonna give you those today. And now there's one missing and there's lots missing and--someone stole my candy! There's a candy thief in this lair!"
"Maybe that's a good thing," Donatello says, giving the case a look. "That much sugar can't be good for you."
"Oh, so you think it's for my own good, huh?" Michelangelo theatrically peers sideways at Donatello. "Maybe you're the one who took my chocolate. You're always awake late at night. I can just see it now--you're up at your computer, your coffee's gone cold, and you desperately need an energy boost when you remember your little brother's got a stash hidden away."
"Unless you get proof," I say firmly--you have to be firm or else he won't stop. "Don't accuse anyone."
"Of course!" he cries, pointing at me. "You did it! The saintly leader no one would suspect. There's no one better for sneaking downstairs and unwrapping a bar silently!"
He's right. Donatello's usually too focused on his work to do anything quietly and Raphael doesn't do stealth. Except for that one time last week when we accidentally went through the dimensional rift, and it's funny how he turns super stealthy when I'm pissed off and looking for him.
Speaking of Raphael, he's snickering. He loves seeing Michelangelo turn melodramatic on me, but he takes a step back in surprise when Mikey turns on him.
"The laugh of the guilty!" Michelangelo says. "It explains why so much candy was stolen. Enough to satisfy even your hunger!"
Raphael's face is a great mix of wounded indignation and confusion. I squash my laughter.
"Mikey," I say, putting all the weary patience I can into my voice. "You probably just miscounted. It's not like any of us knew where you hid that junk."
"Aha," he says. "Trying to shift the suspicion, huh? You're right, I don't know who did it. But I'm gonna find out! And when I do..."
He puts his finger to his throat and drags it across with a terrible "krrrck" sound. With another flourish, he turns and walks out, nursing his wounded candy case.
"Hey," Raphael pipes up. "He didn't even give me that Wonka bar he owes me."
*
There's no living with Mikey when he gets an idea into his head. Where'd he even find a Sherlock Holmes cap? Or a smoking pipe? I don't wanna know where that pipe's been. At least it doesn't fill the lair with smoke, but that's only because it blows bubbles instead.
He's busy dusting for fingerprints, which means that he's brushing powder make-up over everything. I hope April never finds out what he did with the foundation she forgot here. At least I hope it's April's. Mikey's always been the eccentric type.
We're safe so far on the couch. Even Michelangelo wouldn't dare disturb us here. Donatello's put in a week of fixing the fridge and the oven and the plumbing and a host of other things, and he's finally resting on top of me.
"Mikey, we don't even leave fingerprints," Donatello sighs. "We don't have those skin oils, remember? We've been over this."
"How suspicious of you to want me to stop," Michelangelo says, jotting it down in his notebook.
Donatello looks at me plaintively, but I shrug and look back at the tv. Michelangelo's being annoying, but he won't stop until he finds something more interesting to do. Until then, at least he's being annoying over there. Much better than the time he wouldn't stop asking to paint our shells.
"He'll get bored eventually," I assure him. "He's got that new game anyway."
"The true culprit would be happy if I gave up looking for the candy thief," Michelangelo says. "Unless..."
We both look up in anticipation.
"Unless you were in cahoots together!"
Donatello sighs in disgust and lays back down on me, closing his eyes.
"Of course!" Michelangelo keeps going. "The brains to figure out my traps egged on by fearless leader's tyrannical anti-candy crusade. Poor Donatello, the shy genius forced to a life of crime."
"Stuff a sock in him," Donatello mutters. "Please?
"Mikey," I ground out. "What if we just buy you a bunch more? Would that make you stop?"
Obviously he's already rehearsed this answer, because he recites it way too fast and even strikes a super hero pose as he says it.
"Justice never stops, especially in the face of such blatant bribery!"
Damn it.
I'm starting to get worried.
We love to tease Michelangelo for his short attention span, but in truth none of us are so tenacious as him when he really wants something. All of us can get focused, unhealthily sometimes, but Michelangelo is like a puppy. all playful yips and wagging his tail, but then he'll clamp down on your finger and lock his jaws and then you find out that this puppy has never lost a game of tug of war in his life.
Brushing make-up on the door handles is ridiculous, but he hasn't stopped yet. Worse, I know it's not his real attack. Mikey's a lot more psychologically subtle than that.
Poor Raphael. Mikey clearly suspects him the most, and if I knew I hadn't done it, I would have suspected him, too. He loves chocolate with nuts. He'll eat it while he's drinking, which I don't pretend to understand. He's looked the longest and hardest out of all of us for Mikey's candy stash.
I stumbled over the stash out of pure luck. Michelangelo sets traps on everything, and his trap this time--a hidden mouse trap baited with candy and set to an air horn--was particularly nasty. But the candy itself was a giveaway. Who'd leave candy in the crevice betewen two loose bricks, let alone reach blindly for it in a family full of ninjas?
Clearly Michelangelo thinks Raphael would. He follows him out of the shower, telling him that confession leads to a clear conscience, and wouldn't Raphael like to get the guilt off his shoulders? Once again Raphael's face is a mix frustrated confusion.
"Look," Raphael finally turns and bites back. "I didn't take the damn candy but I'm starting to wish I did. Maybe you stashed it away where you used to keep your brain."
"All I'm saying is confession is good for the soul," Michelangelo says, but with the air of no longer worrying about Raphael.
And why should he? Raphael's going to crack soon. If he doesn't give in and say that he raided Mikey's candy, then he'll confess something else he's done, Michelangelo will have his revenge, and that'll be that.
I don't feel guilty. Raphael loves preening every time I make a mistake and arguing whenever I tell him anything. I figure he deserves this. Besides, I don't know what Mikey's revenge might be. Better Raph than me.
*
Mikey's slowly forgotten about the candy. I earned that forgetfulness. A marathon of Techno Gumshoe Jubilee would keep the most frenetic six year old absorbed, an endurance test of exploding lights, cute anime characters and rhythmic dancing as I tried to catch all the fireworks in my butterfly net. Not easy when your character is a kraken and Michelangelo plays a calamari chef.
My eyes hurt. I close them as I remove my bandana, and the cloth falling away from my face signals to my body that it's time to rest. One by one, elbow pads, knee pads, the ankle and wrist bands and finally the belt, all land in a pile by the futon.
No one likes sharing my bed. Raphael complains that the futon is too flat, so he often tries to fit us both into his hammock. Not fun. I wouldn't mind trying to sleep on him with one arm around me except both of us fidget. Donatello and Michelangelo both have comfortable beds, but Donatello's room is lit by the constant nightlight of his sleeping electronics and Michelangelo's bed has action figures under the covers. I sit down, hand on the pillow, ready to lie down.
"Leo?"
Michelangelo's voice is soft, completely different from earlier. He comes in quietly and sits beside me, staring at the floor for a moment. I would be annoyed that I can't sleep yet except he's so cute like this, the pensive puppy sad because everyone's miffed at him.
"Sorry I bugged everyone today."
I shake my head. "Raph's the one you should talk to. You didn't let up on him at all."
"I know," he nods. "Already did. And to Don, too. You know it wasn't about the candy, not really. Right?"
Curious, I glance sideways at him.
"It was my trap," Michelangelo says, laughing ruefully. "I was getting so good at hiding that case and that trap was perfect. So perfect. It had bait, a spring-loaded attack and an alarm on top."
He looks at me with a rueful smile.
"So what I'd do wrong?"
I sigh and ask myself the same thing. How long has he known? And why didn't he say anything until now?
"It was too perfect," I say. "You sealed the case. I could see the clasp was locked and nothing had spilled, so why were those two candies on top? Once I suspected a trap, the spring was easy to spot."
"Damn," he grumbles. "Next time I'll remember to leave the case cracked open."
Heaving my own sigh, I ask, "and what did I do wrong?"
"Huh?"
"How'd you figure out it was me?"
Michelangelo grins. "Oh, I figured it was you after I went running in screaming 'thief' and you didn't tense up and get all fight or flight. That was too calm and collected, even for you."
He kisses me around my growing irritation. I use my annoyance to mask my embarrassment.
"Then why'd you act like Sherlock Holmes all day?" I demand. "You almost drove us nuts."
"'Cause your guilty conscience let me," he laughs. "And 'cause I got to bug Raph. And 'cause you'd never play Techno Gumshoe Jubilee with me that long otherwise."
"Rotten brat," I mutter.
"Candy thief," he replies.
"You eat way too much sugar."
"I guess I can let that slide," he says, similarly sliding over me. "Got you to indulge a bit, you health nut. And you'll pay me back, right?"
"Depends." I stretch out, soaking up all his body heat as he pulls the cover over us. "I figure I already paid for it from what you did today."
"Hardly," Michelangelo answers, kissing along my throat. "You worked off one Sweet Tart. And unless you want me telling Raph you let me ride his ass all day..."
"That's blackmail," I argue, but I'm laughing as I say it.
"Yup," he says, snuggling hard against my side. "You already know the best things in life are stolen."
end