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Act III
After breakfast the turtles got a half-hour break before morning practice. The meal had gone relatively smoothly after that first little incident. The boy had been mostly silent after that, watching this strange little family—and they really were a family, he could tell—with fascinated curiosity. Nobody had asked him any questions about his past, which was a relief. Maybe they believed him about the amnesia, though he reflexively doubted that. The turtles and their rat father had chatted on comfortably, and it all looked so warm and natural, and they were even real nice to him, letting him pick his own cereal and all. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he found himself staring forlornly at the bottom of his bowl. He was shocked when Splinter nudged the cereal box in his direction. "You may eat until you are filled, little one," Splinter had said softly, looking at him with those warm, shiny black eyes. "You must recover your strength. If you are still hungry, eat."
The boy had watched the rat warily, scarcely believing what he was hearing. A free meal with seconds? He slowly refilled his bowl, eyes darting around to see if anyone would take it from him. No one did. He grinned. "Thank you, sir." He looked at Donny. The turtle had grinned back at him.
The human had been aware of the different pairs of eyes on him throughout the meal. Mostly Donny and Leonardo and Splinter shooting little occasional glances his way, which made sense. He was a stranger. They should keep an eye on him. But the red-wearing turtle—Raphael—he never looked at him. Well, except if the boy spoke. Then Raphael would glare at him. It was like the turtle was trying to pretend the human wasn't really there and was mad at the boy for the reminder that he was. He sighed. Raphael hated him. He told himself that was okay. Lots of people hated him. Why should this turtle be any different? Besides, the others were so nice there looked like there was a chance that he might be able to make them like him if he tried hard enough. In fact, he was kind of glad Raphael hated him. He thought it sort of proved that he wasn't just dreaming or something. 'Cause the rest of this place seemed almost too cool to be true. He wondered idly how long that would last.
"Little one." The boy was startled from his thoughts as he realized the big rat was talking to him. He almost smirked at how weird that thought was but shook his head slightly and shot nervous eyes up to Splinter.
"Wha…yes. Um. Yes, sir?" It flustered him that he hadn't been paying attention. He didn't know what would happen if he got in trouble here. What would these strangers do if he messed stuff up…
Splinter smiled his peaceful, disarming smile that seemed almost to make the boy relax a little whether he wanted to or not. "May I speak with you privately for a little while?"
The boy swallowed. This couldn't be good. Not like he could really refuse, though. "Um…shouldn't…shouldn't I help…clean up?" But then it couldn't hurt to try to stall a little.
He jumped as a green, three-fingered hand landed on his shoulder. Donny. The turtle pretended not to notice his reaction, which raised him up a few more notches in the boy's eyes. "Don't worry. We got it covered, little human." He leaned down slightly so he could whisper, "Really. Don't worry. Master Splinter just wants to help you." The turtle winked with a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder and straightened, clearing more dishes and heading for the sink. Leonardo poked him on the way there, causing Don to nearly drop a glass. Donny mock-glared and threw a rag at his brother who chuckled. They sure did touch each other a lot here. Shoulder squeezes and little familiar smacks and pokes and nudges that didn't ever hurt—just enough to let the other know they existed and were important and comfortable. That they were family. The boy didn't think he'd ever be able to get used to something like that. But he thought it was the coolest thing.
The boy turned back to Splinter, still sitting at the head of the table waiting patiently for an answer. The little boy nodded mutely.
"Come." Splinter stood, taking up a dark wood, slightly gnarled-looking stick. Biting his lip, the boy carefully managed to stand his body up. The medicine Donny had given him helped some, but he still hurt. Still, the giant rat with the stick said to come; he'd come. Splinter made it to the entryway and turned back, frowning slightly with a look in his eyes that seemed familiar but the boy couldn't quite place. Uh-oh, he thought. He's probably getting annoyed. Splinter was strict; Donny had said so. He wouldn't want to be kept waiting. But the boy had twisted his knee the day before, and it was so stiff and sore now, and in his desperation to make his legs go faster, to catch up to the rat, the knee buckled. The boy sucked in a quiet breath as he felt himself falling.
He managed to stretch the painful knee out and land on his hands and the untwisted knee, biting back a cry as the sudden move jarred all those places in him that hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he saw the rat's hand—or paw, whatever—coming at him. He immediately shoved himself backward, away from the attack, twisting between the kitchen chairs to slide beneath the table, bracing the chair between himself and the rat with his feet. His breaths were coming in short gasps that made his ribs hurt real bad, and it seemed all the movement had awakened every last bruise on his body, not to mention his knee. He wanted to cry. He couldn't do this. It was gonna get worse now. Any second these chairs would be ripped away. He'd have no protection and no excuse for his stupid klutziness. He waited one second. Two. Three.
He counted to seven before he heard the soft voice. "Little one."
"I'm sorry," he choked. He wasn't gonna cry, though. Crying made things worse.
The rat lowered himself to the floor on his knees, using his stick to help with the descent. Hand on the stick; hand always on the stick. "I promise I will not hurt you." The rat could see him now, was looking right at him. He kept his eyes on the stick. He'd heard those promises before. This voice sounded so sincere, though, making something in his chest ache.
"Please don't," he whispered.
"Why are you frightened, child? It is not my appearance that troubles you." It wasn't exactly a question.
He shook his head, eyes on the stick.
"Then what is it? Have I given you cause to fear me with such intensity?"
"No," he whispered numbly. But still, all his eight-year-old mind knew was exactly what kind of marks that stick would leave on his body when it hit him. He swallowed. This would be bad. Splinter was a ninja master. But maybe he could convince him to go easy. "You don't gotta. Please?"
"Mikey."
Donny was standing by the door of the car, watching him flutter about the room picking things up and putting them down and fiddling with this and poking that because he didn't know what would happen if he did. So far he hadn't broken anything, which was good, especially since his mind was jumping every which a-way, way quicker than his body could move back and forth across the room. Trying to walk off the physical sense of dread that had clamped onto his chest. Trying to think past the pounding in his head, the tightness in his shoulders. Trying to think of anything other than…
"Mikey."
Donny said his name a lot. He could say his name a hundred times and it would mean something different every time. I think you're funny. You think you're funny. You're getting on my nerves. I wish you'd listen to me. Are you okay? Love you, little brother. I'm glad you're here. This is a bad idea. Are you completely insane? He liked that, though. It was kind of nice. Mikey was his name. It was a nickname his brothers gave him, and he liked it and thought it fit. Michelangelo Hamato. Mikey. Mike. It wasn't what Shehad called him. She'd named him something else. That had fit, too, but now she was dead, and that name died with her.
"Mikey." And suddenly Donny was right in front of him, snatching some technical doohickey he didn't remember picking up from his fingers and grasping him by the chin, tilting his head up to look at his eyes. "Would you slow down and look at me?"
Mikey blinked. Shrugged him off. Kept talking. Because talking was a great way to keep from saying anything. "You look great, bro. Like a million bucks. Hey, in England they use pounds, right? Instead of dollars? So if you had a date, and she was really hot, and you were in England, would you say like, 'Hey, babe, you look like a million pounds'? 'Cause I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that could probably be misconstrued…"
"Mikey."
"Then the next thing you know, she thinks you think she's fat, and she's crying and you're trying to explain and she's super ticked, and suddenly you're like in favor of switching to the euro or someth…"
"Michelangelo!"
"What?"
"Stop!" Donny wasn't going to leave it alone, though. Donny never could leave anything alone when it needed fixing, and Mikey was pretty sure he needed fixing. But he knew this time there wasn't anything Donny could do, no matter how smart he was.
"Stop what?"
"Stop pretending you're okay!" He lowered his voice. "You're not as good at it as you used to be."
Mikey sighed, turning away and scratching the back of his head. "And whose fault is that?"
"I take full credit. Thank you." Donny leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. "Something bad happened tonight. It's okay to not be okay all the time."
"Call me a crazy but extremely charming head-case, Don, but I don't think talking about it's going to help." He hated the way his voice sounded when he was upset. He hated being serious. Serious things got too real and too hurtful. It was better to not talk about them. "It's not going to bring it back." It's not going to bring her back.
"No," Don said evenly, fixing him with a penetrating stare. "It won't."
Mikey shook his head. "It's late," he hedged.
"I know."
"I'm concussed."
Donny gave him a look, eye ridge raised. "You want to go to sleep? Bro, be my guest. I'll be here for you when you wake up screaming." Mikey looked away guiltily. "That's what happens when you don't talk about it, Mikey. You can't deal with this kind of heavy stuff by yourself. You just can't. And I don't get why you keep trying, because you don't have to anymore."
There was a moment of silence from both brothers. Mikey shifted his weight from foot to foot. He'd never really told Donny about his life before. Hadn't told anyone. Heck, he hadn't even shown his family the locket until two years after they'd adopted him. He didn't do pain well—not the emotional kind. If he were honest with himself—something he'd prefer not to get in the habit of doing—his insides felt a little like they were going through an ice shaver. He'd never empathized with ice before. He sighed. "I'll never eat a snow cone again." For his part, Donny tilted his head to the side, but didn't say anything. He was probably used to Mikey's runaway train of thought by now. The younger brother sighed again, toeing out of his shoes. He leaned back against the desk next to Donny. Head down. Eyes on his hands. He shrugged a shoulder just for good measure. "I just…I don't remember her real well anymore," he said softly. "I don't know what her name was. Maybe I never did. I just always called her Mom." He bit his lip. This wasn't helping. This hurt. But Donny was right next to him, and Donny could fix anything. Even if he really couldn't. "She died when I was real small. I'd just had a birthday. Five, I think." He swallowed. "Donny, I don't…I don't know what happened to her. We were together for a long time, and happy, and then she was just…she was gone, and something happened in between, and I know it was bad, but I can't…can't remember." His throat hurt and his eyes stung and his breathing was too fast and hitchy. And he hated this. And Donny was there. "But I had the necklace, and I had her picture inside; so I knew I wouldn't ever forget her. And I held onto it through everything bad that came after she was gone, 'cause it was all I had from before, the only good thing, and it's gone now, and I shouldn't have worn it outside, but why would that guy take it like that? It's nothing to him. Donny, he could've…could've chucked it the minute he left for all I know. And I gotta find it, but what if I…" he finally raised his eyes to meet his brother's as he spoke the fear that was gnawing at his guts. "What if I can't?" His voice caught on the last word, and he found himself pulled against a solid plastron, two arms wrapped tight around him.
"Mikey." I'm so sorry you hurt, little bro. "Listen, we track that guy down, and we find out what happened. We'll get it back."
"But what if it's gone? What if we can't get it back?"
"Hey. You remember the picture?"
"Yes." He knew every line and tint and color on that little photograph. The red curls on her head, the blue eyes, the faint trace of freckles. He knew it like he knew the face that looked back at him in the mirror each day.
"So make a new one."
Mikey let out a quiet breath. He could draw it. He could match it, make it perfect. It'd be the most perfect thing he'd ever drawn and he could even make it bigger. Frame it. Put it in his room. Why hadn't he done that before? He hadn't needed to. He'd had the locket. And he still wanted it back. He worked his jaw. "Okay," he whispered. "I can do that. I'm gonna do it. But…"
Donny gave him a little squeeze. "We're still going to find it. Then you'll have both—the one she gave you, and the one you made. Okay?"
Mikey nodded. And if a couple tears finally lost their battle with gravity, it was mostly because it was late and he was concussed. It was ironic—not in a funny way, but in a stupid way—the last time he'd cried had been when Splinter was lost. The Foot had taken him, and that deep down part of Mikey where he hid everything that truly terrified him had kept whispering he might never see his father alive again. Donny was there then, too. They'd gotten Splinter back. This time the Foot had taken the last piece of his mom. And they'd get that back, too.
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Splinter stole a glance at his youngest son for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour. Actually, hundredth was probably more of an estimation than an exaggeration. Michelangelo was sitting at the table, painstakingly working on recreating the picture from the locket that had been stolen, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Raphael had been very distraught at the events, blaming himself as he often seemed bent on doing when things went wrong. The red-banded turtle had vowed to get the locket back whatever it took. Leonardo had gone with him that morning, braving daylight to collect any leads they could find on the whereabouts of this missing Foot thief. Michelangelo had wanted to go, but Splinter and Donatello had been firm in their orders for him to rest. Head injuries were not to be taken lightly, especially when even a little dizziness could spell disaster when navigating the city by their usual means—alleys and rooftops.
Still, the youngest of the Hamato clan probably would've pitched a fit if his two oldest brothers hadn't promised him they'd come back and tell him about anything they found. And the teen was definitely not happy about being left behind, something he'd vocalized quite loudly. But the fact that he had eventually given in was evidence enough that the boy knew he wasn't feeling a hundred percent physically just yet.
Michelangelo sighed loudly before grabbing up an eraser and roughly scrubbing out whatever he'd just done. The boy was frustrated and hurt and angry. It didn't take a ninja master to sort that out. The young human sat and scowled at the offending sheet of paper for a moment.
"What troubles you, my son?" Splinter asked.
Michelangelo gave a small humorless laugh, looking up at his master. "You really want that list?"
Splinter merely raised an eyebrow.
"Well, besides mimes, Raph belting out the lyrics to 'Moondance' when he thinks no one's around, and the ending of Castaway…" He sighed, shooting a sudden vulnerable look up at his father as he admitted, "I can't get the eyes right."
Before Splinter could answer, Donatello popped his head out from behind the chair he was currently repairing. "Hold that thought for a second." The purple-banded turtle shot up and disappeared inside his room.
Michelangelo glanced at Splinter. "Should we be nervous?"
Donatello reappeared at that moment, and when Splinter saw what his son held in his hand, he smiled. "I should think not." He believed he had an idea where Donatello was going.
The turtle set the object on the table next to his brother's work-in-progress. Michelangelo stared at it. "It's a mirror."
And it was. It was set on a base and could swivel back and forth. Donatello grinned. "Yes, it is."
"Hm." Michelangelo nodded sagely. "Yeah, no idea what you're goin' for here. Either you're trying to make me feel better by reminding me how righteously handsome I am, or…what? Is this like some kind of brilliant, geniussy exercise to stimulate some kind of neuro-some-odd cortex-or-other thingy in my brain to make me be able to remember whatever I'm missing so I can draw it better?"
"Um. Kind of." The turtle smiled again, tilting the mirror so that Mikey could see his own reflection. "Remember when you showed me her picture?"
Michelangelo tilted his head. "Yeeah," he said slowly.
Donatello nodded. "Her eyes," he said, and pointed to his brother's eyes in the mirror, "they looked just like that."
Mikey was quiet for a moment before flashing a brief, rare, shy smile that reminded the rat of the much younger child his son had been. "Thanks."
"No prob." Donny nudged him and moved back to his own project to let his brother work.
The young human studied his eyes in the mirror for a moment, considering. A second later, pencil was once more sliding across paper.
Splinter followed the quaking child's gaze to his walking stick, and the ninja master suddenly felt ill. He spared a look at his youngest son, Donatello, standing rooted by the counter, watching with worry-filled, too-bright eyes. Splinter looked back at the terrified little boy beneath his kitchen table. The ninja master set his walking stick down on the floor and rolled it away. The boy's eyes followed it all the way to the wall where it came to a stop. Then those eyes so full of fear and mistrust and pain shot back to look at him.
Slowly, Splinter extended one hand, palm out. "Come here, little one."
"Are you mad?" came the soft reply.
He was indeed very angry—at whoever could infuse this child with so much raw fear. But he knew the real question the boy was asking was, Are you mad at me? "I am not." He doubted then that he ever truly could be.
"Sure?"
Splinter sniffed at the question, perhaps to cover the sound of his heart breaking. "Of course. Hm. It is unwise and unsafe to stay down on this floor as you are. You will catch a cold. You certainly do not need an illness on top of your injuries. Come now." The no-nonsense tone coupled with genuine concern seemed to get through to the boy. He reached out slowly and took the offered hand and let Splinter gently help him out from under the table.
"I'm sorry," the human whispered, daring to look up at him.
"You have no need to apologize, young one. Indeed, it is not you who should be sorry. Now. Which side of you is the least injured?"
The boy blinked up at him. "Um. Sir?"
"Which side feels better? You are unable to walk. I would like to know on what side it will be most comfortable for me to carry you."
The blue eyes nearly popped out of their owner's head. "What?"
"Which side?" he asked for the third time.
The boy shook his head, completely nonplussed. "I can walk. You don't hafta…"
"Would you prefer I pick for you?" he leveled a firm look at the youngster. He had no doubt the child would find a way to manage to walk on his own if his legs fell off. That wasn't simple stubborn independence. The boy was too afraid to know how to accept help.
"This side," the boy spit out quickly, indicating his right side.
The ninjitsu master scooped the boy up gently. The child's body was stiff, every muscle, it seemed, tensed. He looked down at the wide eyes. "Now," he said kindly, "are you all right?" The boy nodded quickly.
Splinter carried him across the dining room. Donny grinned and waved at the boy. The boy returned the wave, still too shocked apparently to gather a smile. Master Splinter brought the child to his own room and set him carefully on the old recliner. He stepped back and sat down in the wooden chair a few feet away. The boy had been watching him unblinkingly, but now suddenly dropped his gaze to his lap. He picked at a seam on the sleeve of his shirt. It appeared he wanted to say something. Splinter waited.
"I'm really sorry," came the soft voice a little later. "I didn't mean to…" he trailed off, shoulders hunching together slightly. He didn't look up.
"You were afraid."
"Maybe." A tiny shrug. "You guys are kinda…different. A lotta kids'd probably be scared."
Splinter almost smiled. For one so young, this boy had some well-tuned powers of deflection. "But it is not what is different about us that frightened you, was it? And if you are not afraid of different, perhaps you are afraid of what may be the same?"
The boy winced but looked up. "What do you mean?"
"What happened to you, young one? Why do you carry so much pain?"
Eyes dropped again. "I can't say. Um, didn't Donny tell you?"
"He told me you had informed him that you could not remember your past."
The boy nodded. "Right."
"It is true then?"
Another vigorous nod. "Uh-huh."
Splinter paused. "It is true that this is what you told him or that you cannot remember your past?"
"Yes," the boy said decisively.
The elderly master looked into the nervously shifting eyes, seeing clearly how this quick young human boy was managing to lie to him while not really telling a lie at all. Blue eyes begged him to change the subject. "You, young stranger, are entitled to your secrets," he soothed. "I will not attempt to pry them from you." He saw tense shoulders relax a little. "However, a path traveled without trust is a lonely one. And the burdens you bear, I think, are heavy. So while I would not suggest you give your trust lightly, little one, please hear me when I tell you that you need not walk through life alone."
The boy was quiet and tense for a long moment, blue eyes averted and roiling with emotions just beneath the surface. Fear. Pain. An unimaginable loneliness. But Splinter believed he saw something else in this young human. Hope. This boy was…an optimist, wasn't he? Somehow in that scarred heart, a seed of hope had survived. The boy blinked and nodded once. "'kay." Then the moment was gone, and the boy sat back, looking at the ninja master with a very serious expression. "And you can trust me, okay? I won't ever tell anyone about you ever. No matter what. I promise. 'Cause Donny said that no one can know, 'cause people would be scared of you. And people hurt things they're scared of, even if it doesn't make any sense to be scared of it." The boy stared at Splinter with impossibly solemn eyes that suddenly seemed way too old. It was as if he was speaking from experience. Splinter wondered how that could be possible. "I won't let you get hurt. 'Specially not 'cause of me. You got my word on it, even if my word's not any good to you yet. I'm real good at keeping secrets. I'll keep yours, too. Promise."
Splinter bowed his head in acknowledgment. This small human suddenly seemed more rare and precious. As strong as he was fragile. A paradox with a heart and a soul and no name. "I believe you, little one," he said seriously. "Now will you take me at my word when I tell you something?"
The boy thought it over carefully, chewing his lip as he hesitated. Finally his eyes caught Splinter's. "Okay." Then he quickly changed it to "Yes." He looked nervous.
Splinter stood and crossed the space between them, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. The child instinctively flinched, but looked up. "I will not harm you," Splinter said slowly, firmly. "Do you believe me?"
The boy swallowed, suddenly looking vulnerable. He nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. "I do." Then he winced. "I don't…I kinda...um…react sometimes to stuff. When people…when anybody…gets too close. It…it doesn't mean I don't still believe you…"
"I have noticed these reflexes in you, little one. I do not fault you for possessing them." That was true. Those instincts were obviously instilled by someone else—a fact which made the father in him burn with anger. But he had also been amazed at the speed with which the young boy had been able to react, especially in light of his injuries. In retrospect, the ninja master in him saw a quick mind with reflexes that could make him a tricky opponent given the right training. He reigned in that thought. It really didn't even merit consideration given the circumstances. "I will know to be more considerate of them in the future."
The boy gave him a funny look. "This is your house. You don't gotta be considerate. I won't be around long, anyway." This last part, he almost made into a question. Almost.
It was a question Splinter was still unprepared to answer. What could he do with this child? What was the right thing? He supposed in this instance, time would have to tell, though even this made him cautious. The longer the boy stayed, the harder it would be when it was time for him to leave. "You are injured and exhausted. Let us talk about your next step after you have recovered."
The little boy looked at him, trying to chew down a hopeful smile. "You mean…I can stay here today?"
Splinter nodded once. "You may."
The boy ducked his head, doing a poor job of hiding a full-blown, much-relieved grin. Then, spur-of-the-moment it seemed, he just decided not to try to hide it at all. He looked up, with that huge, almost painfully grateful smile lighting up those eyes. Oh, for crying out loud, thought the old rat in protest, and he wondered how anyone had ever denied this child anything he'd asked for.
"Thank you! Thank you a lot. For everything, Mr. Splinter. And if you need something…like anything, like if you need something cleaned or moved or something…or I can cook a little bit! I can make pasta pretty good. I don't know if you guys eat pasta, but, I mean, you eat cereal, so…"
"Calm down, little one," Splinter said, having to smother a smile at his enthusiasm. "You need do nothing but rest. You may use my bed. The sheets are clean. I must go now for morning training. If you need anything, call."
"Um, actually…" The boy hesitated, craning his neck to look through the doorway. He looked rather unsure whether he should say what he so obviously wanted to say.
"Go on."
"Um…would it be okay if…I watched? Morning ninja training?"
Splinter tilted his head to regard the young boy. Donatello must have told the boy about their ninjitsu training. The child had his hopeful face on. Splinter remembered the incident in the kitchen, the way the boy could move, and he had to remind himself that he could not afford to have ambitions for this boy. Whatever promise the boy showed, it would not be good for him to have Splinter be the one to tap into it.
"I'll rest. Promise. I'll just sit there and watch. And I won't move or talk or anything." He flashed a sudden winning smile. "Please?"
Splinter knew the young boy needed the rest, but he couldn't step on the child's obvious interest. It surely wouldn't hurt for the human to spend some time observing Splinter's favorite art form.
The youngster must've mistaken Splinter's silence for a negative answer, however, because he suddenly stopped and looked down to hide the obvious disappointment. "But that's okay. I don't wanna be in the way…"
"You will not be in the way."
A slight wince. "Yes, sir."
Another misunderstanding. The ninja master mentally shook himself. "You will not be in the way because there is a place for you to sit and watch from a distance. If that is what you wish."
A sudden blinding smile. "That's what I wish. Thank you."
Splinter nodded. "Then I will carry you." He waited until the boy nodded his permission before he picked him up on his right side. The young human still seemed uncomfortable with the idea of the physical contact and the kind of dependency that came with being carried around, but he didn't offer any protests. He was quick enough to see that he wouldn't win the argument. Or maybe he was too worried he'd lose the sensei's permission to sit in on the training session.
"You know, you're really soft," the boy told him confidentially, the hand that had automatically latched itself onto the collar of Splinter's robe able to feel the thick, dark fur.
Splinter had to hide a smile. Having raised three sons with big brown eyes, he often felt like he was going soft. He thought the fact that he currently had his arms full of the world's cutest eight-year-old human confirmed it. "Thank you."
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Leonardo swung down to the alleyway next to his brother. It was near dusk. "Raph," he said quietly, "we've been looking around for hours. And from the start, we haven't even known what exactly we're looking for. Maybe we should head in. April knows to call us if she hears anything, and we should probably check in with Splinter."
Raphael's shoulders tensed, eyes narrowed behind the red mask. "Yeah? So, what then? You givin' up? You wanna go back empty handed and tell that to Mikey?"
"No," Leo said in that slow way he did when he was struggling to hold onto his last shred of patience. Raph heard that tone a lot from him. "No, I don't. Because I'm not giving up. But a blind search isn't going to get us anywhere, and you know that. As hard as it is, we have to wait for the Foot to make a move. Look, I know you feel bad about what happened…"
"Oh, do ya now?" Raph rolled his eyes. "I forget sometimes that you know everything. Why do we even have conversations? Why don't you just read my mind? It'd save us a heck of a lotta time. Now, for instance. Know what I'm thinkin' now, Leo?"
"It wasn't. Your. Fault," Leo told him shortly. "And the sooner you figure that out and quit blaming yourself for something you had no control over, the more useful you'll be when we do find the guy who snatched it."
Raph turned away. "See, actually, you're a little off, because what I was thinkin' is that you need to keep your opinions to yourself. Not in the mood for a pep talk, Fearless. Now come on. I ain't goin' back there without some kinduva lead."
"You saved Mikey's life, you know…"
"Yes, I did. I'm the big hero. When we find the guy who almost killed him and I bust his head in, then you can throw me a parade. How's that?"
"Raph…"
"Leave it alone, Leo," Raph warned. It was his guilt, and he was going to hold onto it until he made it right. He didn't want understanding. He just wanted to fix it. As his eyes scanned the area out of the alley, though, he caught sight of smoke rising in the distance. Too much smoke. "What the shell is going on?"
Leo took a step forward. "We should check it out."
"We ain't exactly the fire brigade."
"Look where we are. That fire's on the south side. It looks like it's near where you said you and Mikey were last night. There's something going on down there. Let's just make sure it's a coincidence. Unless you have a better idea."
Raph didn't.
The two took off, picking carefully across the couple miles separating them from the blaze, extra careful in the waning sunlight. As Raph realized where they were going, he felt that same bad feeling in his gut. He stopped, watching the inferno. "This is feeling less and less like a coincidence."
The place that was on fire was the same store the Foot had robbed the night before. The fire department had already arrived and was battling the orange flames billowing from the windows of the two-story building. The scene looked surreal against a pinkish/purple sky.
"I'd say less so than you think. Look." Leo pointed, and Raph barely caught the hint of movement east of the building. Black fabric. Two katanas. A Foot soldier. He knew it couldn't be the same guy. He almost didn't care.
"Close enough." Raph sucked in a deep breath. "Come on." And without waiting for a response from his brother, he tore off after the man.
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"Mikey, that's not how you spell 'blood'."
"So? It sounds the same."
"Phonetically it sounds the same, but you can't play a word that's not really a word."
"I'm still trying to figure out why you needed to use the word 'phonetically' at the beginning of that sentence."
Donatello looked at his own tiles and tried to look annoyed. "Fine. Go ahead and count it."
Mikey smirked. "Thank you."
"Okay. So I'll take your b-l-u-d and add…g-e-o-n-e-e-r. Bludgeoneer. That's a 50 point bonus for using all my tiles." He finished laying out the pieces in time to look up and catch his little brother's wildly incredulous look. "Ooh, tough luck, bro."
" 'Bludgeoneer'? No way that's a word!"
"Actually, it is. More of a word than your creative version of 'blood'."
"Geeze." Mike nearly pouted. "This is worse than the time Leo got me to play Risk."
"Your turn."
"Let's see. I've got…'the.' "
Just then, the trapdoor was noisily flung open, and Raph slid down the ladder. "We found 'em!"
Leo was right behind. "Mikey, we found the guy! It was the same guy!"
"What?" Mikey was out of his seat in a second. "How? Where is he? Did he still have it?"
Raph grabbed him by the shoulders, which Donny figured probably hurt, considering the young human's arms were probably still sore from holding up that Foot Tarzan-wannabe the previous night. But Mikey wasn't complaining. "The guy was in the same place," Raph explained, and he was excited the way Raph got excited. "Same place as last night. That liquor store. It was all up in flames; the Foot guy probably set it, and we saw him slinkin' away like the weasel he is, an' we followed him. Punk changed into his civvies and slipped into a pawn shop on Harris. Me an' Leo got close enough. He hocked the locket, bro. Got a friggin' ticket for it and everything, and it's just sittin' there in that pawn shop. We just gotta go get it!"
"A pawn shop?" Mikey was shaking his head and grinning. "You saw him…Dude, I can't believe you found the guy!" He threw himself forward, squeezing a surprised Raph around the ribs hard enough to make the older turtle let out a short huff. "Trackin' down the bad guy, solving the crime. Dude, you're like a green version of Kojak. I mean, you've already got his haircut. All you need is the lollipop."
"Hey." Raph was obviously trying to look offended at the bald crack, but it didn't take a genius to spot that he was really just trying not to let some sappy smile take over his face. He pulled his little brother off. "Yeah, I know. I rock. Hug Leo or something. He was there." Donny knew Raph well enough to know when he was relieved and when he was happy. Right then he was both at an extremely high level.
Mikey smiled. "'Kay. Thanks, Raph. 'Who loves ya, baby'?" Then Leo got squished, too.
"Whoa. Mikey. Ow. You've been…doing those exercises I showed you…huh?" the oldest brother practically gasped.
"Naw, dude. Adrenaline." Mikey released him and practically bounced. "So what're we waiting for? Let's go." He was already headed for the ladder.
"Uh, Mikey?"
Donny watched the boy swivel around to look at him. "What? We gotta go tonight. What if someone buys it before I can get there tomorrow? The locket's not worth much, I'll slap a few bucks on the counter, call it even."
"I know, but…"
"And my head feels fine. All better. Whatever pills you gave me worked like a whole bowl full of Lucky Charms. I'm fine to go out."
"Yes, I realize that, but Mikey…"
"'Cause I gotta go tonight, Donny. I just have to. With or without you guys, I…"
"Mikey," Donny said sharply. "You forgetting something?"
"Wh…" The teen looked down. Then he looked up. "Oh," he said simply. "I'll go grab my weapons and my mask." He darted back to his room.
"And your shoes," Leo called after him, shaking his head. The three brothers left standing on the platform grinned at each other. "Man, I still can't believe we found it. How crazy are those odds?"
"Astronomical," Donny answered, mind boggled at the thought of it. "You said the guy was committing arson at the time?"
"'swhat it looked like," Raph said.
"Whoa." Something on the table had caught Leo's eye. He whistled as he picked up the frame Donny had fit together earlier. "That's her."
Careful strokes and expert shading. Delicate features and smiling blue eyes jumped off the paper. Donny smiled. "Kept him busy today. Kept him from running off after you at least."
"Dang," said Raph. "Kid's good."
The aforementioned kid appeared a second later, hopping on one foot as he tied his sneaker. He'd pulled on a black hoodie and his mask was scrunched up on the top of his head like a knit cap. "Let's go, bros. Last one there gets to tell Splinter we're going. Leo, I'm predicting it's going to be you." He pulled down his mask and wiggled his eyebrows.
Leo rolled his eyes as he went to inform their Sensei they were headed out. The three turtles then followed their little brother up the ladder. Donny looked at Raph. "You know he's going to be almost impossible to keep up with, right?"
"I swear I'm gonna get that kid a leash."
They heard Leo yelling at the young ninja to stay quiet. Donny winced. "I'll put in for half."
TMNTTMNTTMNTTMNTTMNT
Mikey could hardly contain his excitement as they neared the old shop. The words King's Pawn were painted on the sign over the door, and there was every kind of odd and/or end anybody could ever think of displayed in the windows. They weren't going in the front, though, of course. They'd circle around and go in the back through the alley. Less chance of being spotted, less chance of being caught. Mikey tapped his foot as Donny disabled the security system. The purple-banded turtle held up his screw-driver in triumph.
"I think they have a better system down at Buzzy's Beer and Tackle," the tech-head jibed.
"What are you doing breaking into Buzzy's Beer and Tackle?" Mikey's question went unanswered—other than the eye-roll—as Donny made short work of the lock. They were in.
It was dark inside the building. They'd entered through the stock room in the back. Mikey clicked on a mini mag-lite and shone it around. "Okay. Where's the jewelry section? Hey, we should pick up something for April while we're here. She loves old junk." He picked up a nearby bust of Pythagoras. "Don't know who this dude is, but the beard is wicked cool. Paint him blue, and he could be related to Papa Smurf."
"Mikey, would you come on."
"Hey, dude, don't gotta tell me why we're here." Mikey set the statue aside and continued making his way toward the front part of the store, shining his light on the trinkets, big and small that lined the shelf. He found himself feeling a little nervous. What if it wasn't here? What if the owner had moved it or taken it home? What if someone had already snatched it up? What if?
"Stop." The command came from Leo, and his voice held an edge to it that brought all three of his brothers up short.
"What?" Donny asked.
"I…thought I heard something."
"No wonder. This place's probably got cockroaches the size of ballpark…" Raph suddenly froze, hand going to his neck. He pulled out a long, thin dart. "…hotdogs…oh, shell." The red-banded turtle suddenly fell.
The other three brothers had their weapons drawn. "Donny, get the lights! It's a trap!" Leo called, and he managed to block two darts before one planted itself into the skin at the base of his neck. He bounced off a shelf, sending items scattering before he hit the floor.
"Leo!"
Donny found the switch and hit it, flooding the place with light. Atop the highest shelves, hanging from the ceiling, gripping to the walls…the place was crawling with black-suited, silent-as-death Foot ninjas. Mikey swallowed. Two brothers down. And they were surrounded.
Donny lashed out with his bo at the nearest members of the Foot, knocking two of them in the head. "Mikey, run! Umf!" The dart pierced his skin, and he had barely a few seconds before Mikey saw his eyes slide shut. "Get out…"
"Donny!" There was no way he could get out, no way he'd really try to bail anyway. He wouldn't leave his brothers. His nunchucks were spinning, and his heart was pounding. "Hey, kids. Don't guess you guys'd consider lining up to fight me one at a time?" The surrounding Foot soldiers took a step forward. "Didn't think so." He expected to feel whatever had laid out his brothers bite into his skin any second. Didn't mean he couldn't try to take some of theirs down with him. He leapt forward, chucks flying and feet striking in a whirl of energy and emotion. Whatever had been in those darts…it wasn't gonna be lethal. They were asleep. They had to be. And the sooner he took out all these Foot, the sooner he could check on them.
Someone kicked him in the back, and he lurched forward, and a pair of hands latched onto his left arm. He tried to yank free, and punched the guy in the face, but still the guy held tight. Someone else leaped forward, and grabbed onto his leg. "Get off, you little leaches!" he grunted.
"Enough." The voice came from somewhere above, and things seemed to pause. It was a voice Mikey recognized faintly. He looked up to see a Foot ninja sitting on one of the high shelves. "You will surrender now."
Mikey glared at him. "You seem awfully sure."
"Your brothers are still alive. They are simply sedated and will wake up soon. You will surrender and come with us."
Mikey shook his head. This didn't make sense. They had him. They didn't need him to surrender. "Why?"
"I have my orders, foolish boy."
"What about my brothers?"
"They will not be harmed."
"How do I know? You could kill them the second I walk outta here with you."
"I could kill them now," the man stated simply.
"Got me there." Mikey took a deep breath. He pulled out of the nearest Foot soldier's grasp and went to kneel beside Donny. The Foot let him check his brother's vitals. The turtle was still breathing, his heart still beating. He looked okay. Same story with Raph and Leo. Mike looked up at the man who'd spoken. "Why do you want me?"
"My master wishes to speak with you." Suddenly, Mikey knew where he'd heard that voice. It was the assassin. The one from last night. He suddenly felt his gut clench. This was all a setup…to get me here? What could the Foot possibly want with him? Especially when they had all three of his brothers right there at their disposal?
Mikey swallowed, looking around at all the featureless faces. Looked at his brothers. There was no way out of this. No choice. Even if there was, the only way to figure out what the heck was going on was to go along with them. "Fine," he resolved. "Let's hit it." His arms were pulled behind his back, a zip tie pulled tight but not painfully so. A black hood was slipped over his head, mask and all, "Hey, dude, is there polyester in that? I'm allergic to polyester," and he was led forward. It struck him that They waited for my permission. Since when do Foot clowns ask nicely? They were being kind of…nice. Forcedly polite. And it scared him. He'd much rather them knock him around a little. What the shell is going on?
