The tires screeched in protest as Mikey took the corner hard. Ordinarily, Donatello would have protested the abuse on the chassis, but at the moment, there were bigger things to worry about. His eyes remained glued to the holodisplay on his wrist, integrating the feeds from the helicopter overhead into his tracking system. There.
"Mikey, another left!" Donnie shouted. Bracing his feet against the dash for support as Mikey obliged and took the next corner on two wheels, Donnie fumbled for the radio. "April, they're heading west!"
"You know," Vernon's annoyed voice crackled over the open channel in response. "When I got my pilot's license, I don't think this was the use they intended."
"It's a news chopper, Vern," April's voice joined his on the channel. "This is news. Now go west, we gotta keep the van in sight. It's heading for that industrial complex."
Leo reached over Donnie's shoulder from where he crouched in the back and plucked the radio from Donnie's hand. "April, you can't report on this."
"I'm not going to give any details Leo, relax. Let me do my job, and you guys do yours."
"Right!" Donnie yelped.
Mikey yanked the wheel, and there was an answering thump and a string of cursing from the back as Raph slammed into the side of the van. Mikey floored the gas, and the van crashed through the electrified gate barring the access road in a shower of sparks, and Donnie winced as he calculated the damage it would have done to the fender. He had a lot of work ahead of him later. "They're right ahead of us!"
"I got this," Raph said. Over the roar of the motor, Donnie heard the whine of hydraulics, and he spun around, his eyes wide in horror.
"Raph, no! Irma's in there!"
"I know that!" Raphael snarled at him. "I ain't gonna hit the van. Just slow 'em down a little."
"No!" Donnie shrieked, but it was too late. The rocked flared, streaking through the darkness toward the fleeing van. Seconds later, the night lit up in a ball of fire. Its tires gone and a hole ripped in the side, the Foot van careened out of control before smashing sidelong into an empty warehouse.
The radio squealed as April and Vernon both shouted over each other, demanding to know what had just happened, but there wasn't time to answer. The driver's side door of the Foot vehicle swung open, falling off its hinges to land in next to the van, and disoriented but distinctly angry Foot commandos began to pour out. As bullets thudded into the front of their own ride, Donnie heard the singing of metal behind him as his brothers drew their weapons.
"Remember," Donnie said, "she's still in there."
"We got it, Donnie," Leo assured him, the passing street lights gleaming off his katana and illuminating his feral grin. "We're professionals."
"Hit it!" Mikey called, and hauled hard on the wheel.
The van spun in a complete 180. The second it stopped moving, Leo and Raph burst through the back doors, with Mikey hot on their tails. Donnie held back only long enough to fire off a targeted EMP to take out the lights before he followed, melting into the ensuing darkness as he set his visor to night vision. Gunshots peppered the air, but dazed and blinded, the Foot didn't last long. The rattle of chains followed by a series of hollow thuds to Donnie's left heralded Mikey's takedown of the one with the automatic rifle. Leo and Raph had already dealt with the driver and the two who'd been with him, as the human sized hole in the plyboard of the nearby storage shed could attest. That left only the one standing next to the hole in the side of the van and firing indiscriminately into the dark. Donnie thumbed the switch on his bo, extending it to its full length as he sprinted toward the gunman, running up the warehouse wall and throwing himself into a flip to get himself out of the way of the spray of bullets. His anxiety giving way at last to anger, he brought his bo down hard on the hand holding the gun.
How dare they. How dare they do this to her. To take her from her home, like they had some right to her….
Bone cracked beneath the force of his blow, but it wasn't enough. Eliminate the danger. Take all the unknown variables out of play. His bo caught the gunman's ankles on the backswing, and as the commando went down, the crack to the head finished the job. He looked down at the motionless thug, his visor taking note of the man's weak but steady vitals, and a part of him was almost sorry that they registered at all. Then he glanced back at the van, and his stomach dropped.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no," he breathed, racing toward the back. The twisted metal screamed in protest as Donnie yanked open the doors of the singed and battered vehicle, peering desperately within.
A still, huddled shape lay on the floor of the van, blindfolded and gagged, zip ties cutting into her wrists and ankles, . But as he stood at the door, frozen in dread, she twitched and groaned into her gag. Donnie sagged against the wreck in relief, his breath leaving him in a rush. With a trembling hand, he cued up the medical feeds on his visor. Pulse high and thready, BP and anxiety levels through the roof — expected — but no signs of major trauma or any tracking technology. His clinical mind took over as he quickly scanned her, taking note of the cuts and abrasions that would require attention later — no significant blood loss, good. His eyes widened a little as his once-over reached her chest. "Oh, cool, is that an N7 top?"
"Nerd later," Raph snapped, shouldering Donnie aside and reaching into the van to grab Irma. Ignoring the protests she howled into her gag, he tossed her over his shoulder, holding her firmly in place as she struggled. "Cops are coming."
Donnie could hear it now, the cry of the sirens swelling over the ambient noise of the city. Quickly, he grabbed the bags lying on the floor next to where Irma had been and keyed up the tracking systems on his wrist display, calculating the best escape route to avoid the authorities. An aggrieved grunt summoned him back to the present, and he looked up to see Irma, despite the zip ties, doing her best to kick her way out of Raph's grasp. Against his brother, it was about as effective as kicking a brick wall, but Raph's face was a mask of annoyance as he pointed at her with his free hand, his expression speaking volumes. Do something about this.
"Irma, it's me, it's Donnie." Hesitantly, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
She stilled beneath his touch, a noise of desperate query making its way past her gag.
"It's okay. You're safe. I promise you're safe. But we've got to get you out of here. Now." Setting his jaw, he nodded to his brother.
Raph didn't need any more encouragement. He turned and sprinted back toward their van, Donnie following hard on his heels as the headlights of the cop cars cut through the darkness at the far end of the access road. Mikey gunned the engine as soon as the back wheels rocked beneath Raph's weight, leaving Donnie to leap into the fleeing van and yank the back doors closed behind him.
He shoved his way to the front, his holo luminous in the dark as he plotted the fastest way out of the industrial complex, calling out instructions to Mikey. It was a measure of his little brother's anxiety that he complied without question or comment, and slowly, the sound of sirens faded behind them. But Donnie continued to keep his eyes fixed on the holo, providing directions that Mikey no longer needed, until Leo put a hand on Donnie's arm.
"Don," Leo said quietly. "We got this. Go take care of your friend." He glanced over Donnie's shoulder, his gaze darkening. "This isn't going to be easy for her."
"But if we can just get her to a populated area," Donnie protested. "Drop her off in front of a police station, she doesn't have to see—"
He trailed off, his shoulders sagging. Leo didn't have to say anything, though the look of sad sympathy he'd turned on Donnie spoke volumes. Donnie knew enough to do the math.
"The Foot know who she is." Leo's soft voice confirmed Donnie's unspoken conclusions. "Whatever they want her for, we know they're not going to let a little thing like a police station stop them. Until we know why they wanted her, she's not going to be safe above ground." Leo exchanged a quick look with Mikey. "And it's going to be a lot easier on everyone if we don't have to keep her blindfolded the whole time."
"Leo's right, brah," Mikey added under his breath. "Better make sure the first thing she sees isn't Raph. That'd give anyone nightmares."
"I can hear you."
Switching off the holo, Donnie turned to face the inevitable. The others were right. As much as he wanted to put the moment off, he really couldn't any more. But it wasn't fair. He'd liked having a friend, and though the extent of their interactions had been through the internet, that is what she was, no matter how much his brothers teased him about it. He just didn't know if the friendship he'd come to value as much as his tools or his mainframe would survive the removal of the blindfold.
Irma was huddled against the side of the van, vanishing as much as she could into the shag he'd used to line the walls, and even in the dim light, Donnie could see that she was shaking. Raph had made himself as small as he could against the opposite wall, but the look he'd turned on Donnie told him clearly that he was on his own. Taking a steadying breath, he crept over to where they waited, and softly called her name. She didn't stop shaking, but she tensed, turning her head toward him. She was listening.
"I know you're hurt, and you're scared," he said. "And I know none of this makes any sense to you. But I promise, nobody's going to hurt you any more. Just… hang on, okay." He turned, holding out a hand to Leo. Wordlessly, Leo slipped a knife free of the sheath hidden in his belt and handed it over. "Let me get you out of this."
His hand had barely brushed her bare feet before she jerked them away, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Hey, hey, it's okay," Donnie soothed. "I'm just going to cut the tie. That's all. Okay?" This time, he waited for her nod before proceeding. He hadn't thought she could tremble any harder, but the shaking he could feel through his palm as he steadied her feet made his stomach churn. The pale line of the plastic cut cruelly through a delicate, swirling tracery of a tattoo around her ankle, and even in the middle of the chaos, he couldn't help but admire the artistry. He knew she'd been inked — they'd talked about it when he mentioned tattooing as one of his hobbies — but he hadn't imagined they'd be so extensive. Or so delicate. It seemed somewhat at odds with her customary dry sarcasm. Carefully, he angled her feet and sawed through the plastic tie until it parted with a snap.
She jerked her knees up against her chest almost immediately. He couldn't blame her for her mistrust even as it stung, and he shifted a little closer. "Can I get this thing off your mouth, now?"
Again, he waited for permission before reaching out to carefully cut through the cloth that silenced her. The ragged lavender strands of her hair brushed against the back of his hand, and it startled him a little. He hadn't expected it to be that soft. Irma coughed as he pulled the gag off, and now he could see that her teeth were chattering too.
"Donnie, please." The fear in her voice hit him like a roundhouse kick to the gut. "Please, let me go."
"Oh, we will," he said, exchanging a helpless look with Raph. "I swear we will. It's just… kinda complicated."
"No it isn't," she said, yanking on her bound wrists. "Cut me loose, stop the car, let me out. Really simple. Please." Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip. "Donnie, I'm scared."
"I know," he sighed. "I— I'm sorry."
"For what?" she said. "Why won't you untie the rest?"
Silently, he cursed the fact that he was her friend and not Leo. Leo was so much better at this kind of thing. "Because I don't want to make you any more scared than you already are."
A sharp, desperate laugh broke from her. "Not much chance of that."
"Irma." Something in his voice reached her, and she stopped trying to free her wrists. Donnie let out a frustrated breath. "We're not… I look…. I'm not…" He trailed off in a soft grunt of frustration. It had never been this hard to articulate meaning before.
She shifted, pressing further back against the wall. "Not what?"
"…human," he admitted at last.
Irma went very still; even the harsh sounds of her breathing went silent. Well, at least she's not hyperventilating anymore. But somehow, that was even worse.
"That's not funny," she whispered.
"That's it," Raph's voice came from over his shoulder. "This dragging it out is killing you both." Before Donnie could stop him, Raph reached past Donnie and tugged the blindfold away from Irma's eyes.
They're green, was all Donnie had time to think, before he was met with the full force of them, helpless to do anything but watch as they widened in horror. Screaming, he might have been able to handle. Fainting, they'd already dealt with once. But she just stared, her mouth open on a silent gasp, taking in the full extent of… him.
He adjusted his glasses, and gave her a regretful shrug. "I'm sorry I'm not pretty," he murmured.
She blinked in recognition, and the tears that welled her eyes and spilled silently down her cheeks were a thousand times worse than screaming. Donnie reached for her again, and she flinched away from the knife in his hand before realizing what he wanted. She turned to make it easier, but as soon as he'd cut the ties from her wrists, she turned her face away from him and wrapped her arms around her knees, retreating into a silent ball of fear and misery in the corner.
"Irma…" He reached to touch her shoulder, but she jerked away sharply, and his hand fell, limp, to his side.
With unaccustomed tact, Raph tugged Donnie away. "Give her time, man," he said under his breath. "We got more'n enough of it coming up."
Regretfully, Donnie had to admit that Raph was right. He shifted to join his brother against the other wall as the van sped toward home. Of one thing he was certain — getting Irma back had been the easy part. Now the real fight was about to begin.
Donnie heard the whispered arguing begin from the front seats almost as soon as Mikey turned off the van.
"But I wanna—"
"No, let him deal with—"
"—I talk to her too—"
"—more than enough for her to—"
"—look at her she's—"
"—get overwhelmed and make things worse—"
"—at least if someone cool lets her—"
"…Raph!"
At Leo's hissed appeal, Raphael rolled his eyes and kicked open the back door — Donnie made a mental note to yell at him again about that later, because seriously, was it that hard to use the handle? — and hauled himself out of the van. In the front, Leo continued to do everything he could to physically restrain Mikey from vaulting over the seats until Raph yanked the driver's side door open and bodily dragged Mikey out, despite his vociferous protests. Freed from Mikey's enthusiasm, Leo met Donnie's gaze with a sympathetic look. "Call if you need us," he said quietly, and followed the others.
"Oh, boy," Donnie breathed, and turned back to the grad student cowering in the corner. "Uh…it's just us now."
"Great," she said, brushing damp hair off her face. "Does that mean you're gonna take me home?"
Sighing, Donnie shifted forward and let his feet dangle out the back of the van. Without the intermittent light of passing streetlamps to illuminate the interior, it was hard to tell, but he was pretty sure she was still crying. "It's kind of complicated."
"Complicated." Her voice was flat with disbelief.
"We've encountered the people who tried to take you before. I don't know why they want you, exactly, but now that they've got their sights set on you, odds are astronomically high that they'll do it again once they know where to find you."
She uncurled a little from her huddle, her fists clenching. "So I'll hide out at the police station or something. Armed guards and the lot."
"They're pretty persistent," he said. "They once took Broad Street station hostage and wired it with a ton of C4 just to get me and my brothers to come out and fight. It worked, too."
"That is persistent," she whispered, and rubbed her face with her hands. "Oh god. This isn't happening."
"If it's any consolation, this is not how I expected the night to end either." She lowered her hands to glare at him; if he'd been human, he would have been blushing. "Okay, maybe not so much of a consolation." With a small groan, let his head fall against the side of the van. "I'm really bad at this."
There was a small moment of silence before she answered, "you could be worse."
"Look," Donnie turned to her. "The whole sage dispensation of wisdom thing is so not my strong suit, and there's more backstory than the Silmarillion to go over at this point. I promise we'll explain everything eventually, but you can't be comfortable in here, and you're bleeding into the carpet, and I'd really like to patch you up and make sure you're not hemorrhaging internally." He toyed absently with his holo, unable to watch her reaction. "…please?"
For a long, impossible moment, the only sound in the van was that of her breathing, sharp with tears. Then, there came the slightest squeak of the shocks as she shifted, rising unsteadily to her feet. Donnie turned to watch her, casting a clinical eye over the way she was favouring her right ankle. When she attempted to put weight on it and stumbled, he reached out to help, but she jerked away from his touch.
Fair enough. Disappointed, but understanding why she did it, Donnie stepped out of the van and straightened to his full height.
Belatedly, her startled gasp clued him in to the fact that this was the first time she'd really had a chance to look at him. The light from the lair was weak by the time it reached where they'd parked the van, but it was enough. Pushing his glasses back up from where they'd slipped, he looked over his shoulder to where she waited with a hand over her mouth and her shoulders shaking.
…wait. Was she laughing?
Something in his expression must have shown his bafflement, because she shook her head, bracing herself against the frame of the doorway for support. "I'm sorry," she squeaked around her hand. "It's just… your multiplayer profile tagline." She snickered again, her voice straining as she held back the laughter, and there was only a thread of hysteria in it as she pointed at him. "Mutant chelonian technowizard engineer."
A shy grin crossed his face. He'd never really thought about that line much — it had just been something he'd thrown into a field in his profile. The thought that anyone would ever have the opportunity to find out he'd been completely factual had never crossed his mind. His grin widening just a little, he bowed. "At your service." Then, emboldened by her laughter (and if he was being perfectly honest, taking more than a few cues from her favourite in-game romance arcs), he held out his hands.
She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, and sighed. "This is insane," she pointed out to no one in particular, and held her hands out to meet his.
The were small, Donnie mused. Smaller than April's. She'd painted her nails blue, with silver stars and moons, though the polish was chipped now, and across the back of her right hand ran the delicate black lines of a tattoo: branches bearing a multitude of blossoms, with two birds perched on the limbs, their heads thrown back in song. He tugged, gently encouraging, and as she leaned forward, he grabbed her by the waist, lifting her easily to the ground. Her breath hissed through her teeth as her foot met the concrete; before she could take another step, his arm was around her waist, his other hand holding hers for support. What he really wanted was to pick her up and stop her from putting any more weight on the injury before he could get a decent look at it, but since it was frankly a miracle that he'd gotten her to trust him this far, he wasn't about to push it.
"Just a little farther," he said. "Twenty five steps, at our current velocity."
Or it would have been, had Mikey not chosen that moment to break free of his handlers and appear in the doorway.
"Dude, what are you doing?" Mikey cried. "You can't let her walk!"
Irma had stopped moving, and her hand clenched on his. "Is that—?" she began.
"Unfortunately," Donnie sighed.
Hurricane Mikey advanced unabated as he crossed the remaining space toward them. "For real, brah. A girl's feet are the delicate cushions on which she navigates the world—" he gestured sharply at Irma's bare feet. "She can't just walk across the garage. Do you know what our tires drag in?"
"Delicate cushions?" she murmured incredulously.
"I'm sorry," Donnie whispered back. "He's been reading a lot of teen magazines. He thought it'd give him insight into how to talk to girls."
Irma winced. "Oooh. Questionable methodology. Is he at least reading the good ones?"
"Mostly they're the ones that wash down the sewer drain. I'd say that's a fairly predictable gauge of their quality."
There was no time for a response as the storm broke over them. Deftly, Mikey darted between them and swept Irma into his arms. "I got this, girl. You take a load off and we'll get you fixed right up. Get you a snack, maybe some of that nice fruity smelly stuff girls like so you can have a bath—" Since he couldn't exactly hang on or try to pull her back without hurting her, Donnie was left staring helplessly after them as Mikey carted her off to the lair. Irma's pale, startled face peered over Mikey's shoulder, one hand reaching out toward Donnie. Groaning, Donnie raced back to the van to grab the bags out of the back before slamming the door and setting off in pursuit.
By the time he caught up with them, Mikey had perched her on the edge of Donnie's desk and retrieved the first aid kit. He stood, staring at the cuts and abrasions that marked her arms with a panicked look on his face before he caught sight of Donnie. The panic eased, and Mikey wordlessly ceded the field to the brother with more expertise, turning his attention instead to things more in his comfort zone. "Daaaamn, girl, that is some nice ink."
Irma glanced down at the tattoos covering her arms. Now that they were actually in the light and he could see clearly, Donnie was inclined to agree. The dark branches and blossoms on the back of her hand went on to twine halfway up her arm. An intricate, abstract feather adorned her other forearm. Up close, the barbs and veins of the feather were made up of patterns that hid ocean waves, delicate leaves, dozens of hidden patterns amidst the splashes of colour beneath the dark lines. There was more, but she hugged her arms to her chest before he could make them out. "Thanks," she said. The uncertainty in her voice still stung, but Mikey continued unabated.
"Check mine out," he said, proudly displaying his arm. "Pretty sweet, right? Donnie did it, but I totally drew it out for him first." Neither of the brothers missed the moment her hand twitched, and Mikey's grin widened. "Go on, I know you wanna touch it. Who could resist all this rippling manly muscle, right?"
Donnie groaned as he fished the antiseptic out of the first aid kit. "Mikey, she's been through enough. Could you try not to make her barf, too?"
That won a small snicker from Irma. Encouraged, he smiled at her and held up the disinfectant-soaked cotton ball he'd grabbed with a pair of sterile tweezers. She offered her arm in silent answer, only flinching a little as he began to clean the dirt away from the scrapes. While he was occupied with that arm, she slowly raised the other. For once, Mikey actually managed to hold still — surprisingly still, for Mikey — as her fingers traced over the edges of one tattooed scale.
On the periphery of his vision, Donnie was aware of Leo's presence in the doorway, keeping his distance but keeping an eye on the stranger they'd just brought into their home. It wasn't her fault — out of everything that had happened, Irma was probably the only one who'd actually had nothing to do with any of it — but bringing her here was still a risk, and Donnie couldn't blame Leo for being wary.
Irma hadn't noticed Leo yet, still intent on Mikey's tattoo. And, more likely, the opportunity to examine a biology completely alien to her. "It's great," she said at last, and she glanced at Donnie as he began to bandage her arm. "How'd you manage to find a tattoo gun that inks through scales?"
"I had to make it," Donnie admitted. "And I broke a lot of needles testing them on old tires." He moved to her left, and there were more tattoos here. A tracery of abstract swirling lines and dots that evoked waving grasses grew up her back and trailed over her shoulder and her upper arm. As he began cleaning up the cuts on this arm, he watched her take in the tech surrounding them.
"You build a lot of stuff, huh?"
Donnie gave a self-effacing shrug as he wrapped more gauze over her cuts. "It's no Cerebro, but I get by."
"Okay, now he's being modest." Mikey broke in. "He builds some sick stuff! I gotta show you my rocket board!"
Irma blinked in astonishment. "Wait, the rocket board exists? I thought you guys were kidding."
"Naw, it's off the hook! Only I'm not allowed to use it in here anymore on account of all the stuff I sorta broke. But I'll totally show you later. Oh, and hey, hey, check this out!" Mikey dashed over to the central computer bank, tapping a few keys, and one of the monitors switched to a video of a white cat, startled by a paper bag, arching its back and waddling out of the frame on two legs. Mikey pointed at it proudly. "Eh? Eh?"
And for the first time since the whole ordeal began, they were rewarded by her true, heartfelt laugh. It was brief, and short-lived, but it was real.
"Yeah," she said. "That is a good one."
Irma may have been watching the screen, but Donnie was watching Irma, and he didn't miss the moment when her lip began to quiver. Quickly, she looked away from the screen, which meant that she was staring straight at his chest; he could see the tension run through her as she fought her instinct to recoil. Instead, she tilted her head to look up at him, and finding him watching her, she wrapped her arms around herself again and shrugged. "'S'cold in here."
"That's one of the unfortunate drawbacks of subterranean living," Donnie admitted. "And as incredibly cool as your tank top is, I can't imagine that it's helping." At that, Irma glanced down at her combination of Mass Effect tank top and flannel pyjama pants covered in what appeared to be small cartoon kittens dressed as sushi, and she covered her face with her hands to hide her groan. Donnie wasn't exactly a qualified judge when it came to matters of fashion, but he gathered that particular ensemble wasn't one she'd counted on anybody seeing. Pulling his goggles back over his eyes, he took a seat cross-legged on the ground in front of her. "I just need to take a look at your ankle, and then we can probably make you a little more comfortable."
"Hey, I may not be fixit nerd scanner guy," Mikey added, drifting back over. "But that's one thing I can fix." He untied his hoodie from around his waist and flicked it out with a flourish, offering it to her as though it was a fur coat. Irma gave it a dubious look before slipping her arms into the sleeves, and it dwarfed her like a small tent, but Mikey looked delighted. "See? Stylish and warm!"
"Thanks," she said, holding up a sleeve that reached long past where her hand actually was. "It's certainly pungent."
"I know, right?" Mikey said. "That's a man smell." He straightened with a gasp. "Oh! That reminds me. Wait right here."
'Where would I go?" she answered weakly, but Mikey was already out of the room.
"Sorry. He's like that. You get used to it." Donnie shrugged sheepishly. "We'll see if we can do some laundry tomorrow." Gingerly, he took hold of her foot and turned it until she let out a small cry. Frowning, he tugged his goggles back down over his eyes. He was pleased to note that while her anxiety levels were still understandably high, her pulse and blood pressure were back down at levels that didn't signal an imminent cardiac arrest. Her ankle, however, wasn't quite so optimal. "It's showing definite signs of inflammation and probable strain, but I think it should be okay in a couple days."
"Days," she repeated. "Great."
Donnie paused, tensor bandage in hand, before taking hold of her ankle again. She had another one of those abstract, vinelike tattoos running down this leg, around the ankle bone and across her foot. He almost regretted having to cover it with the tensor bandage. He worked in silence for a moment, acutely aware of her eyes on him, before she broke the silence.
"Donnie," she asked softly. "What— what are you?"
He sighed, securing the bandage, and rose to his feet. "A long story," he said. "I was born a red-eared slider, but I didn't stay that way for very long. There was a lab that did some experiments with a secret mutagen, etcetera etcetera, now we're ninjas."
She raised a brow. "Did you just cut-scene becoming a ninja?"
"Well, it took a long time, and I'm not so good at the story part." He lifted his goggles and readjusted his frames. "Anything else hurt?"
Hesitating for just a moment, Irma nodded before reaching down and lifting the hem of her tank top. She had another tattoo over her ribs, but halfway up, her skin was marred by the ugly marks of an electrical burn. Donnie winced in sympathy and pulled some sterile gauze from the kit. "I'm afraid there's not much I can do for that other than cover it so it stays clean."
"What is it?" she asked. "It felt like I got kicked by a horse."
"Cattle prod," Donnie answered tersely.
In the doorway, Leo shifted. He still appeared at ease, arms folded and lounging against the wall, but Donnie didn't miss the narrowing of his eyes. Mikey had appeared at Leo's shoulder just in time to overhear it, though his expression was more distressed than Leo's cold anger. "Harsh," Mikey breathed, slipping back into the room as Donnie taped the gauze down and Irma yanked her top back into place. "Those things were made for someone our size, and you're all, like, tiny and stuff."
Irma snorted. "Okay, that was almost worth it for the fact that you called me tiny."
"I'll call you lots more stuff," Mikey said. "But first!" He whipped a bundle out from behind his back and presented it to her. "To welcome you to the turtle cave!"
Irma stared at the shriveled, blackened roses he held out to her. "Are those rotten?"
"Noooo," he said slowly, taking another look at them. Defeated, he let them drop to his side. "Yeah. Kinda."
"Well, it's the thought that counts," Irma said. "I guess."
"Yeah, if the thought is pestilence," Donnie said.
Irma covered her nose with a sleeve. "I'm sorry, it was a nice gesture and all, but they kinda smell worse than this hoodie."
Mikey drooped as though she'd cut his strings, but before she had a chance to do anything more than look at him with a stricken expression, he was up and running toward the door again. "Just hang on, I got a better idea!"
"Mikey," Leo finally spoke up, stilling Mikey in his tracks. "Where did you even get those?"
"I've been saving 'em, just in case," Mikey answered.
Evidently, the waiting had been too much for Raph, who appeared in the doorway like a small, angry mountain, foiling Mikey's attempts to do whatever it was he was intending to do next. Donnie forgot sometimes how intimidating Raph could be to people who weren't used to him — and who had never seen him hunched together with April trying to decipher a particularly complicated crochet pattern — and Donnie tried to resist the thrill of pride as Irma edged closer to him, keeping her wary gaze on Raph.
"In case of what?" Raph demanded, planting a hand of Mikey's head as their younger brother attempted to wriggle under Raph's arm.
"In case we ever got a chance to use my plan."
Leo and Raph exchanged identical looks, each one daring the other to speak first. It was Leo who finally took the bait. "Plan for what?"
"Oh, here we go," Donnie muttered.
Mikey bounced on his toes. "My plan for the next time a girl stumbles on to our secret!" He gestured at Irma with the fetid bouquet, sending a waft of stench in their direction. "Remember the last time? I wanted to kill her with kindness, but no, you—" he jabbed a finger in Raph's chest "—had to go and do the Batman thing, and look how that turned out! Since I want to keep my blood in my body this time, we're using my plan. Give her some flowers—" Unable to take the activity any longer, the bouquet finally gave up and broke apart, oozing to the ground in a trickle of black sludge. Mikey stared at it, then dropped the other half and shrugged. "—earn her trust. You know. Not make her run straight to the bad guys before she finally realizes we're okay."
"I am so lost," Irma whispered.
"That's okay," Donnie whispered back. "So am I, and I was there."
"Besides, we gotta do something to make her feel at home," Mikey continued. "It's not like she's got anywhere else to go after they blew up her house."
"Mikey!" The other three shouted, but it was too late.
"…they blew up my house?"
Donnie watched the news rip through her like a magnesium fuse. He didn't need his goggles to tell him that her heart rate and blood pressure had spiked again — or maybe her pressure was dropping, because her face was turning an alarming shade of grey as her breathing hitched and tears spilled from her wide eyes.
"Oh nonononono! I didn't mean to make her cry!" Mikey leaped forward, his foot coming down in the flower sludge and sending him sprawling on the floor as Raph and Leo both started yelling at him. Above their reprimands and "what were you thinking?"s drifted Mikey's plaintive "I take it back, I take it back, how do I make her unhear it?"
Donnie turned to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Irma?" He snapped his fingers in front of her, but she was unresponsive, her eyes fixed and her pupils dilated. "I think we broke her!" he called back over his shoulder. Wringing his hands, he stared at her helplessly. He could build a rocket skateboard, a military-grade security system, and a solar-powered battle van, but he had no idea how to fix this.