This story refers to events detailed in "Prey". It can be found on my profile, towards the bottom.

This story contains adult material and is not suitable for under-18s. Those who are sensitive to depictions of drug use, violence or references to rape, please read with caution.

ooo

"Yo bro, catch!"

Raphael raised an arm and caught the beer can without looking as he crossed through the den on his way from the dojo to the kitchen. He ignored the whoops and applause that followed and popped the top, chugging back the icy cold drink as he yanked open the fridge door and eyed the shelves critically.

Fuckin' nada.

He took another swig and slammed the door shut before turning to the pantry. Ramen. Cereal. Rice. Pasta. Jars of crap. Cans of crap. Packets of crap. Not a single appealing thing in sight.

He flicked the pantry door shut with a little too much force and it made a loud bang as it hit the frame. Raphael huffed out in irritation and took another swig of the beer. It felt good in his mouth; fresh and tangy, and for a moment he glanced out to the den where a low babble of gossip and laughter could be heard even beneath the din of Halo 3.

Then his lip curled and he turned away, towards the stairs that led to the bedrooms. Fuck it.

"Hey Raph! Come hang out!"

The voice gave him pause and he hesitated in his stride, casting another look towards the pile of cushions and beanbags clustered in front of the television set, and the bodies that occupied it.

His grip tightened on the perspiring can in his hand.

"Yeah, come on bro!" Michelangelo, the can tosser, spoke up, concealed behind the barricade of couches.

And the first voice spoke again. "Ain't seen you in ages."

It wouldn't hurt just to have a look. He didn't have to stay.

Slowly, he turned towards the elevated platform designated their communal space and cautiously approached.

Weirdly, his heart beat harder as he stepped up and came to the edge of their makeshift nest. He hadn't been doing a whole lot of socialising lately and was embarrassed to find himself nervous and awkward at the thought of plonking himself down and behaving like a normal person with a group of friends.

"Chill, it's just your bros and Case," he berated himself testily as glances and smiles of greeting were thrown his way. "And Angel."

Angel, holy shit.

Angel who was seated close to Mikey, the two of them watching as Don and Casey battled it out on the consoles, offering light-hearted narrative on the gameplay. Don and Casey were intent on the game, only nodding to him briefly, though Casey grinned in a pleased way. But Mikey had sat up straight and waved to him eagerly, and Angel…

Angel was beaming as though there was nothing in the world that could make her happier than the sight of him and holy shit, when had Angel gotten so hot?

Immediately he felt traitorous, even though there was no good goddamn reason he should, and he took a quick swig of his beer to quash his guilt and rip his gaze away before it could officially be dubbed an ogle.

Truth was, he'd had a bit of a thing for Angel when they were kids. She'd been thirteen and he'd been fifteen when they met and she'd been so cute and tough and the first girl even close to his age he'd ever been around. The first flutter in his chest when she'd scowled with all that irresistible bravado had knocked him for a six and after that he'd been torn between the desire to hang around her like a bad smell and get as far as fuckin' away from her as was humanly – ha – possible.

He'd opted for staying away. He was no fool, not like his dopey orange-masked brother. He knew there was no chance and that crush, or whatever it was, was a fool's game. Sometimes he'd even been a little mean to her when she came around wanting to hang out, rejecting her offers brusquely and storming off to be alone and damned if he didn't hate himself for it, but it was better than giving himself away. There was no possible way she could return his interest after all. She didn't need to know and he didn't need to be a chump. Mikey was always ready to hang out with her. He never understood why she always asked him first anyway.

And then years had passed and all kinds of shit had gone down and they just hadn't seen Angel much for a while. And his life had crossed paths with another girl. One who'd consumed all his thoughts for a time.

One who still did, if he was gonna be honest.

He realised he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen Angel, but staring at her then as she grinned up at him from behind curled locks of purple hair, he was profoundly aware she had grown up.

Well, he was almost twenty-four, after all. That made her – twenty-one.

Twenty-one and gorgeous.

"Whaddya say, bro?" Michelangelo was saying, a note of excitement barely suppressed in his voice, and despite himself Raphael felt flattered his baby bro wanted him to hang so bad. "Wanna join us? We got beeeerrrr!" and he held up a six pack and waggled it invitingly at his brother.

"Yeah, c'mon Raph," Casey said, not looking up from the screen. "Take a load off. You been too much a stranger lately."

"You haven't even tried Halo 3 yet," Donatello spoke up, and Raphael knew that was as close as Don would get to welcoming him. Things had never been quite the same between them since Leonardo returned. But he knew if Don didn't want him there, he wouldn't have said anything at all.

But still Raphael hesitated, thick fingertips indenting the thin aluminium of the can in his hand, his heart skittering beneath his plastron. Christ, this hadn't been the plan for the night. The plan had been – what? To take a shower, shut himself in his room and play a video game alone. Then lie awake for hours thinking about her and wondering if she were even still alive. Hating her. Hating him.

Yeah, a whole lotta laughs.

Then Angel was scootching closer to Mikey and thumping the beanbag next to her, her smiling mouth lipsticked in dark purple, her soft brown eyes sparkling. "C'mon, drop that tail down over here," she coaxed him and he glanced at her again and his heart tugged at the sight of her smile.

Then he obeyed.

He would never have joined them if Angel hadn't been there, he knew that much, but it ended up being kinda fun. To start with he'd stayed mostly silent, unsure of himself and slightly ill at ease. In recent months, he'd either been spending all his time alone or one on one with Mike or Case. Four people at once was a lot, especially when three of them had big mouths fuelled by beer – or, in Angel's case, mixers, "lolly drinks", syrupy sweet shit he wouldn't touch on pain of death but that was somehow endearing. And that reminded him, with a little stab of consternation every time she took a swig, of her girliness. Just like the scent of her shampoo when she tossed her hair or the rattle of bangles on her wrists, the stain of lipstick on the neck of each bottle she got through.

He felt kinda disgusted with himself for being so preoccupied with her, but at the same time it was a welcome distraction from the bleak track his thoughts were usually on these days. There was no harm in looking, right? And he was barely looking. Just glancing now and then.

And with every can of beer he downed he relaxed a little more and bantered a little easier and Michelangelo just couldn't stop grinning like the idiot he was and Raphael found himself regretting how distant he had been even as he inwardly rolled his eyes, knowing Mike was quietly congratulating himself for throwing that first can of beer, sure he'd helped his brother turn a corner.

Donatello and Casey had clearly had plenty of practice on the game because by the time Angel yawned and stretched and announced she was going home, they were still hogging the consoles. Raphael didn't mind, to be honest. It might've been easier to adjust to the whole social interaction thing if he'd been able to focus on the game and restricted his conversation to smack talk, but then he wouldn't have been sitting so close to Angel the whole night. Angel, who touched his knee lightly and often, smiling and shaking her hair back, each featherlight caress like a mild shock. Angel, who shot him frequent and quick glances from thickly lashed eyes. And it was kinda nice to team up with her and Mike in trying to psyche the other two out. It was nice just listening to her and Mike natter on about shit. He didn't have a whole lot to contribute – his life lately had been composed largely of training, working and brooding in his room – but damned if just being there wasn't like coming out of a long, deep sleep, his foggy brain suddenly suffused with pins and needles of feeling. He was profoundly aware of just how out of touch with reality he had become – even the rustle of the bean bag as it shifted beneath his weight, the texture of the threadbare rug beneath his toes, the slick flavour of butter on his tongue as he munched fistfuls of popcorn all seemed newly vivid and stark. It was fuckin' weird.

Michelangelo was pouting at Angel with eyes as big and moist as Bambi's, but to her credit, Angel resisted. Girl was still tough.

"Nope," she said firmly, standing up and pulling on her bomber jacket, her tank riding up to reveal a patch of soft belly he quickly glanced away from. "It's past midnight already and those game hogs are still goin'. I'm outta here."

Michelangelo whimpered loudly like he was a fuckin' puppy left outside in the rain, but Angel had already turned to Raphael, her lips quirking in an inviting little smile, the lipstick rubbed away from the centre of them to reveal the soft brown flesh beneath. "Walk me home?"

And when Michelangelo abruptly stopped whining and turned away with a conspiratorial smirk to pay exaggerated attention to what Casey and Donatello were doing, Raphael felt heat collect in his cheeks. But it was past midnight and Angel lived in a rough neighbourhood. There was no question of what his answer could be.

"'Sure," he mumbled, and went to suit up.

Despite the oversized sweat suit and beanie he wore, they took the back route as much as possible to avoid the people who inevitably strolled the streets in the city that never slept. Once away from the others, Raphael found himself frustratingly tongue tied and more than a little giddy from the beer, and he hoped to Christ he wouldn't be completely fuckin' useless if trouble did find them. An oppressive apprehension crept over him as they quietly negotiated the way, managing not much more than a grunt or two in response to Angel's stilted efforts at conversation. It was mortifying, and drove home again how isolated he had become, unable even to work up the guts to talk to an old friend.

"How you been anyway, Raph?" Angel tried again, and Raphael pulled up short and just stared at her, because wasn't it obvious, completely fuckin' obvious, that he had fallen apart.

She stopped too and turned to face him, shrugging a little with a wry set to her mouth. "You ain't been around much."

Fuck, he didn't want to talk about this. A lump formed at the base of his ribs and began steadily to expand upwards over his chest and right into his throat, making him feel suffocated and light-headed.

Angel continued to gaze at him from those soft, brown eyes. "Mikey's been worried."

And abruptly he started into motion again, striding forward, leaving her behind. "Mikey ain't my mother," he snapped and immediately regretted his terseness, recalled to their teenage years when he'd treated her with similar asperity for no good goddamn reason other than discomfort with his own feelings.

"Okay, okay", she said testily, jogging to catch up, falling in beside him. "Forget I said anything."

They walked in silence for a while and he kept the pace swift, forcing her to keep up with him, wanting to get her home and get away again, get alone again, except even as he thought it, even as he yearned for it, pain punched his heart as he realised exactly what would happen once he were alone, where his thoughts would go, who he would think about in the bitterly empty darkness of his room or whatever little hole he found for himself. How, no matter how hard he poured over and over again all the things he coulda done different, not one single damn thing would change and he would still be alone and he still wouldn't know if she were alive or dead.

When they reached the stoop of her building Angel turned to him with a fiercely defiant tilt to her chin and gazed him right in the eye.

"Come inside for a drink?"

And though she tried to make it sound like an order, her voice wavered just a little and it was that that made him unable to refuse.

"Okay," he replied. And his stomach lurched violently when the little pout of her lips was replaced with that brilliant beaming smile, a beringed hand lifting to push a lock of purple hair back over her ear, her cheeks flushed from the late autumn chill.

Fuck, she was so beautiful.

And nausea erupted in him so quick he very nearly turned and puked right there on the street. Because even though she was beautiful and sweet and vividly alive and right fuckin' there, Angel wasn't her and it was her he really wanted.