Disclaimers: I don't own 3 ninjas realm or the characters. I'm penniless because I make no money from these stories I just write cause I'm a huge otaku fan for them. I also need to state all aforementioned or will be mentioned products I don't endorse or advertize for.

Author's note: I can't recall Arc's age, so if that changes it means I've double checked and found it. That's all. Enjoy!

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The metal tips of a pair of cooking chopsticks stabs into the deep yellow yolk of a bowl of eggs, the tool is briskly whirled and drummed to beat the eggs into each other so that yolks and egg whites are perfectly combined.

Tum Tum, age 5, took a moment to flavor the eggs with a dash of garlic powder and a crack of black pepper then turmeric. The egg mixture became even darker in color becoming a more glowing red orange than bright yellow, that is until a splash of milk is added restoring it to the light yellow it once was.

"He throws a look out to the crowd, giving his family a thumbs up." Says the young ninja, though his voice is a bit different.

"Asano-san?" Says a young female voice.

"Yes, miss Mikado, go ahead." Says Tum Tum playing the role of both chef and commentator.

"Iron chef Omi says he's making breakfast for the family this morning, and that he plans to do sides of bacon, fried potatoes, and freshly squeezed pineapple juice."

Omi, not young Tum Tum, laughed before correcting his twin sister. "You mean blended, you can't squeeze juice from a pineapple."

"You can if it's old and mushy," she sticks out get tongue.

"Whatever!" He pours the eggs into the hot skillet.

It's not your usual skillet, this one is shaped like a square with high sides. He's going to make a Japanese omelets. His dad, a chef at the 3 star restaurant 'Fourth', often makes omelets for his family using the pan; some mornings they'd have traditional Japanese breakfast and other mornings an American, once in a while they'd have a tasty Portuguese breakfast from their mother cooking- to the best of her abilities. Whenever their father isn't home, and neither mother nor son want to cook they'd indulge their tastebuds in the child-favored classic bowl of sugary cereal.

Omi, Mori, Douglas, age 5, wants to be like his father and become a chef- for right now, anyway; last year he wanted to be an exterminator. All those bugs to play around with, or even keep! It was ideal. But when his father was at home, attention focused in the kitchen on three pots at a time to churn out some delicious food he felt the urge to become a hero of the kitchen as well.

"Sophia how many times do I have to tell you to put my brush back in my bedroom when you're done with it?" Paige Douglas, age 24, postured as she entered the living room from the bedroom; her naturally crimped blonde hair is damp and tangled though its becoming manageable as she takes the brush through it.

She kissed each child on the cheek, seeing them for the first time this morning, having just woken up twenty minutes ago and began her morning routine.

"Mmm, smells delicious," she picked up a piece of crispy bacon that's sitting on a plate in the oven that's keeping it warm on the low heat setting which it's been placed. "Mm! Tastes even better!" Exclaimed the mini-chef's mother encouraging her son's budding interest.

"Mom, bacon doesn't count, I didn't really cook it."

"Sure you did, hot pan, careful eye to keep it from burning. Sounds like cooking to me. You didn't butcher your own pig, is what you mean,"

"Oh." Plating their breakfast, he then turns off the stoves while his sister walks their plates over to the dinette table for him.

"What d'you kids wanna drink? We've got yogurt, apple and grape juice."

"Yogurt, mommy," Sophia says as she climbs into her seat.

"Yogurt."

Paige poured herself a glass of grape juice then grabbed the kids yogurt drink pouches before closing the refrigerator. The three gather at the table, plates filled with a breakfast bounty.

"When's dad getting up?" Omi asks.

"Late. He didn't come home until midnight," replied his mother.

She reached across the table tousling the boy's hair in an attempt to fix the messy look of it, he takes after her that way, but it only served to make him look like his father but with severe bed-head. Oh well, he's still cute as a button. He lacks Tum Tum's spray of freckles but he looks very similar but his dark brown hair is more of a light acorn.

Sophia is all her mother's face; her features are pointed but petite, which means she's likely to be teased and called "rat face" as her mother sometimes endured growing up. Except for the eyes and freckles across her nose and collarbone, that she gets from her father. And, though it may be brown overall the little girl has natural blonde highlights like her mother's naturally blonde hair.

Omi put on a pout, but he understands. He actually stayed up late one night with his father when his mom was out of town and Tum Tum had to work. It was awesome! He and his twin sister got two desserts that night! One was for after dinner and the second was for being so well-behaved while daddy did his job. It wasn't hard, they had coloring books based on cooking; and The twins giggled the night away whenever they colored something in black and said it was burnt.

Still... They haven't all had breakfast together for five whole days! A person sure can miss a guy even when they're right under your nose. The twins can only imagine what cousin Arc must go though, considering his dad's job.

Meanwhile, in sunny Miami, Florida.

It's a scorcher outside on this mid-May day. People are enjoying the weather by taking to some type of wheel oriented activity like skateboarding, roller skating, or cycling outdoors or even indoors at a spin class. Others are gearing up for cookouts or picnics, some beaching while a few simply enjoy a good leap through the sprinklers in the front yard.

Rocky, age 27, supposed he'd be enjoying it, if he could. But at the moment, he's got a train to catch- well, a train-jumper that is. He inched quietly along the length of a rusty blue boxcar, standard issued handgun raised up at face level, but it lowered when he spotted the perp peeking at him from around the shoulder of the car causing Rocky to break into a run.

The unknown subject broke into a sweat awaiting the encounter with the FBI agent. One of them is going to be shot and it certainly isn't going to be him. What's taking him so long to round the corner he was six feet away, surely he didn't pass by him already? And he wouldn't really think he could get the drop on him by slowing his pace...

Rocky stood behind the peeking perp, and he waited until he returned to stationing his back to the car before making his presence known.

"Is he still back there?" He asked quietly.

"No, I think he might have..." Realizing then that he was supposed to be alone the shooter panicked with a jump and a yelp.

It was like a sort of dance that ensued then; Rocky disoriented him first with a karate chop to the throat which was followed up with a twisted arm, which caused the gunman to drop his weapon to the dirt as he saw white due to his arm going into a weird angle, then Rocky tripped him into falling backwards which earned the man a very painful knee to the back of his head where the ninja-skilled FBI agent made sure that's where the criminal landed.

Sobbing, the shooter dropped to knees and got cuffed.

"Morgan Sharp, you're wanted for the abduction of Christine Chaplain," Rocky states after shoving the cuffed man to the dirt.

He then read him his rites as the police showed up to officiate the arrest as, technically, agent Samuel Douglas jr. isn't allowed to. He works with the police and FBI but Rocky is part of the California's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Better known as the BAU.

It's always been a dream of his to join such a force, he'd wanted to become a psychiatrist in his earlier years to help the troubled mind, then later he wanted to be somewhat of a detective, admittedly he'd never admit it due to his father's elated boasting about him, but, he really wanted to become a detective because of his favorite fictional detective Mr. Sherlock Holmes. There is a firm difference between F.B.I. agent and detective. Then Quantico, Virginia opened the branch of workforce for those who work with a sort of early detection method, a sort of 'criminal mind' stopping, or even prevention, of problematic human behavior force. And Rocky thrived within the ranks. He's always been told that he's a good judge of character, it's nice that from time to time it can be useful for more than knowing who to talk to at a party or whom to make a lifelong friendship.

"Niiice work, Sammy," his partner dropped a firm one-armed hug around his shoulders, keeping the contact intact as he steered them towards the exit of the police station`s head office.

It was time to go home. They have, indirectly though- as this man is not the head of the organised law breaking, successfully stopped a man whose made millions in the sickening realm of selling human lives to the highest bidder, so that they could obtain and violate the innocent any way they saw fit. Their purchase was never to be sent back home by someone with a kind heart, who'd buy them, knowing that they were the missing persons only hope. Rocky and his partner of two years from the police academy, Lewis Ho went undercover posing not only as bidders in the online auctions but as sellers. The 'merchandise was never a real person, but rather a false life created by very good computer graphics. With the technology advances these days CGI can look as human as one's own reflection. A poorly lit background helped to disguise the mock human and when the winner arrived for pick up… Busted!

But 3 months of chasing this man's activities, and zero contact with the world outside of work... Phew. But Rocky never wanted his work-self to touch his true-self, despite the grisly past he's endured. Isolation was necessary. He's taken that injustice to his existence and turned the ugly stain positive by being able to help others. White into colors, night into day. One at a time he wipes the pain away for others who have or would have suffered the same.

It's supposed to be a big event, everyone is gonna be there to see him. Well, all of his old and new family that is. But, maybe a friendly face will swing by to greet him as well? It could happen.

"I know someone's a happy Sam'per,"

Brows furrowed, Rocky could scarcely hide the horror in his voice. "Did you just call me 'Sam'per'?"

Rocky, though his name is Sam at birthright, tends not to hear the name when it's used on him. He's gone by Rocky for so long it's kind of his creed due to its meaning. Strong and solid, cool as granite. All things he's aspired to be as more. So, he'll rearrange the many Sam's of his adult life into Rocky; kind of like how his other fictional idle idle, Bruce Wayne, only calls himself Batman when he speaks to himself in his head. Rocky doesn't often like to be in his own head. It's a very dark place at times, and getting out isn't always easy because he's not alone in there. She's sometimes there… waiting… talking to him… taunting him and his fears and self doubts. Maria. His teenhood nemesis but also the mother of his child.

Arc Douglas, as his name has legally changed, has become an unknown light of his life. He's bight, smart, quick-witted, and fun. All this with a cool head for such a young age of 11 years. He sure missed him these past three months. When he gets home he's going to make it up to him. Just as their father often wanted and tried, and sometimes had even succeeded in doing with them when he was away busting up some evil doers plans.

Men like Hugo Synder kept their father away for some time in their lives while he hunted him.

There were so many layers to that situation, it was consuming. Especially when finding out his father-in-law knew the man, was friends with him, business partners, even. His own wife was acquainted to the man because of this connection. Her family would have casual dinners! And for that to create a place for the man to abduct his three sons… Woo! It was no wonder he could become moody, a loner in his own home and to his own family. Samuel, Austin, Douglas took his job very seriously. And now, so does his son, Samuel, Eli, Renji, Douglas jr. BAU. agent of the California bureau. But, Sam Douglas sr., he is not.

He can almost see Arc's goofy smile. Sadly, he inherited his crooked grin. Maybe he should bring a present, too? Yeah, that'd be nice.

Rocky entered the hotel room at the Super 8, with a light feeling in his heart. It's over. 3 month's exhaustion tipped its weight over the bed and collapses with such a great force it was a small wonder the neighbor under his room hadn't banged on the ceiling in complaint. Rocky, the person, would rather a shower to celebrate his freedom, and the return to his personal life, that's invested so much into this case.

He groaned as he rolls over. 'I'm not even old and I'm making this much of a fuss just to move around. It really is lucky that it's concluded.' Because until they stop the head of these trafficking crimes, it will never fully be over.

"Congratulations." Whispered a familiar ghostly voice.

Rocky smiles from the warm feeling he always gets when his memories create the not-so-scary ghost of his deceased boyfriend Ivan, Robbie, Ballantyne. He can be there to comfort the troubles of his mind that cases, such as these, cause for him. The behavioral analyst is by no means still tethered to his ill-will feelings about what had transpired all those years ago in college, he'd recovered. A proper recovery. Now, he just chooses calming techniques as he sees fit: pasta with extra sauce, a good Kata form first thing in the morning, cheesecake, his deceased boyfriend whether vocal or physical...

"Thank you." He whispered out loud.

Having found his second-wind verbally prompts a physical recovery as well, and he's able to then get up and take that shower.

At the home of 26 years old, Jeffrey Douglas; he and his child and nephew are watching cartoons in the living room, after having had their breakfast in the kitchen. Well, the kids are watching cartoons while he's fixing a lamp that's got a ruined plug. The length of cord was stretched and torn in the middle exposing its innards becoming a fire hazard should it be turned on. Colt set the wire firmly in place then closed the base back in. His hazel gaze glanced at the clock, although he suspected that he could be in Antarctica and he wouldn't miss the leave time for the airport, because his nephew- who's been staying between the families of his uncles whole his father was away for three months, was likely to sound an alarm to get him moving- granted a well placed ninja kick would most likely also be involved.

One could say that the blue-mask ninja has given up the practice, but it's not that simple when his son, Elliot began noticing Arc doing techniques in the backyard and he wanted in on it. His fiery little clone was jawdropped when daddy entered the picture to spar a round with his nephew who, while very much his older brother Rocky in the discipline of 'Calm', could often project such a lonely air. So he'd engage in battles with him. Their late and great grandfather Morn would be proud of their children, and prouder still of the 3 of them for raising such nice kids, and such great aspiring ninjas. Even his niece and nephew Sophia and Omi practice ninja. They're all the same, the brothers Douglas. They grew up thinking it unlikely they'd need their childhood to follow them so far; however, as each of them had their lives evolve into their own personal family they found the tradition could never fully leave their existence... It's likely that not-so deep down, they're happy to have found a reason to continue.

"Uncle! It's time!" Arc was on his feet and to the front door at a speed that would make light and sound blush and giggle.

"I know, I know." He dramatically stretched his arms up over his head; standing from the armchair with just as much showmanship. "Now where did I put those keys?" He had to tease the poor boy a little, it was just too much fun. He has- and admittedly still does, give his brothers a hard time. Why leave it with just them when their kids are just as much fun to poke fun at?

Elliot, so much like his father not just in looks, smiled a cheeky dimpled grin at the mischief unfolding.

"I'll call a shuttle," Arc has his cell phone out ready to dial the number; he was none for teasing today, when usually for uncle Jeffrey's sake, he would play along.

"No, no, I'm only teasing."

Obviously. Thinks Rock's son. But he's still in no mood for the jokes. Heading out the door, his uncle and cousin in tow, he climbs into the far-reaching shotgun- and beams brighter than the sun. His father's gonna be at home!

It's 1:15 pm, and the Douglas family home is alive!

The backyard is heating up and not just from the wealth-of-heat smiling sun, but from the dance battles between the kids into the ever popular freestyle Soul Train dance line, with each participant sandwiching the center dancer who can go nuts busting a move until they've cleared the path. The backyard of the home has an in-ground pool, Colt insisted upon it when their mother announced over a family dinner that they, she and her husband, were moving out of the empty nest and into a new place. Being a realtor, Jessica Douglas was sure she could find something sensible, comfortable, but roomy enough that when their kids visited with their kiddies they'd have somewhere to stay and not feel estranged from their parents- well, just aslongas it's not all at once.

But Colt, upon sitting with his mother one afternoon during a visit, insisted wherever they move into that it has a pool.

Sam sighed in mock frustration. He's seated beside his son, at the grill a wonder in his mind rather than his heart over when the changing-of-the-guards happened? He used to man the grill during the cookouts, now here he is at 56 years old and waiting on the sidelines while his youngest flips the steak burgers. He prefers a good simple ground beef burger but Micheal insisted on bringing by his own blend of meats for them to feast upon. It's a combo of ground lamb and ground steak. His wife Paige prefers white meat and he made a few ground pork for her.

The proud father used his pinky finger to taste test the spice blend his son has prepared. "Micheal, do you think the kids can handle this level of spice?" He enjoys it, but he wasn't sure how big it would go over with the younger set.

"Its smokey sriracha; Sophia loves heat and Omi is trying to- he's not gonna lose out to his sister. It's a mild way to lean him into it."

"Aahh," he nods.

"The burgers are plain, I like to let food speak for itself before its played with. Make sure you taste it before you dress it, okay, dad?"

He gave Micheal an 'okay' sign then he wheels himself away to not only mingle with his other kids but to his grandkids as well. Sam lost the use of one leg during a raid, right before his retirement. It was terrifying to be shot in such an odd way, that his entire body just collapsed from holding him up. He was even more terrified during his time recovering. So many months of physical therapy, so much doubt, fear, regret, anger, and self-loathing for being weak. However, he discovered something through all that. And it was that his family truly does love him. There was not a day that they did not visit, not a session in physical, or verbal, therapy when they had been invited along but they did not come. And they never once looked at him as though he were anything or anymore than their father.

If he were being honest, it was the lack of being put on a pedestal that he appreciated the most. He was not turned into a hero for making a mistake, it would have been a farce. It would create a rift between them all, he knows it. And he knows that, oddly enough, because of their ninja training, that he can just be their dad... And that that's enough. So any teasing, any fighting, any dad let's do something... It's all sincere and from a place of love.

"Hey oldster," Elliot called out to his grandfather, "think fast!" then a football launched itself from his five year old hands. "And he makes the pass!" Jumping up and down, his arms up in the air, he then cupped his hands around his mouth to project in megaphone fashion. "Elliot, do you think you'll bring the Steelers to the Superbowl this year?"

"You're mispronouncing 'The Rams' Ell," he tosses the ball back. "You can't teach the kid to like baseball, you can't teach him to like an L.A.," this he says to nearby Colt. "Have I taught you nothing in the art of being pushy?"

Grinning, Colt's eyes glittered with mischief. "You've lived through first-hand how well your pushing worked,"

That was true. Sam laughed. No more ninjas. Every summer. No nicknames "Samuel, Jeffrey, Michael" the response "did you say something"? Bunch of little mites, they've been, and sometimes still are. Example being right now.

"I'm stealing your kids out for the next Dodgers game."

Rubbing his dad's shoulder good-naturedlly, Colt doesn't argue. "That sounds awesome."

"And how was school?" Rocky asks Arc.

The grinning 11 year old has his father pinned to the lawn furniture area, where he's been talking himself hoarse over all the things he's done in three months Rocky has been away. He's never felt so looked after, his father even stopped munching his favorite Bold flavor Chex Mix party snack to give him his full attention.

"I got a B in social studies, but every other subject is an A. The gym teacher says I should try out for a team because I have good stamina."

Nodding to the onformation, Rocky asks. "Will you?" He portrayed no care as to whether he does or doesn't want Arc to do so. It is his choice, in the end.

"Alright, guys," Tum tum calls out. "Burgers, homemade hot dogs, take your pick!"

His kids hurried to the call of food as if it was the antidote, and for them it often was: the end of the day, the end of a fight, during a story, starting a fight. The twins share their father's passion for the consumption of food.

"I want both!" They request in unison.

"Ohh, that sounds like a plan." Paula agreed to the twins' order, she was about to stand when Colt ushered her back down into the chair. "I will get it, you rest." He took his pregnant wife's plate and loaded it with all sorts of delicious edibles, a serving for her and a serving for the unborn Micah.

Everything seems so perfect right now. If only things could stay as good as they are.

In a shipyard where life is not as great nor as sonny, a tall young man walks the empty hull of the ship. He draws in a heaping lung full of air. The smell of rot and decay peppered his sense of smell along with his tastebuds. But, the scent of failure will fade, the decay covered and restored, and in its place there will a splash of violence, a dusting of victory, and a hard reconstruct of revenge.

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Commentary: oh my gawd, lol. So it's been a minute for me and 3 ninjas, I'll tell you that. But I wanted to get my hands into the dough because of so much inspiration after reading. I'd like to tell you this will be slowly updated, so if you'd like to hold off reading until completion that's cool. Or if you don't mind waiting, okay awesome. I have something I'm finishing but after that I'll speed up typing this. I just wanted to give a good teaser. Happy holidays. If it's not, I dig because mine isn't. Not being able to have sweets just ruins one's real zest for life. And my laptop said to hell with you and stopped working. So now I'm on tablet, and I don't do fast on a touch keyboard.