Chapter 4 - Bad Mojo


He ran the length of the tunnel, heels chased by an uncharacteristic giddiness, until the brick walls gave way to rusted metal pipe. Leaping over the break where the water churned and rolled in a whirlpool fifteen feet below, he landed without a pause in his stride. His arms pumped and his legs moved onwards of their own accord, following the well-memorized path back to the new lair from one of many exits that he and Donatello had scouted once they'd moved in. His body ran on auto-pilot as his mind lingered in sweet repose, locked on the earlier scene with his lady-fair. Going over the vision of the sublime curve of her calf as she threw her kicks, but more heatedly on the gleam of interest in her eyes as he stepped into the light, allowing her to take him in, exposed and open to her scrutiny. I think she approved, he thought with a smirk. Leonardo chuckled as he turned the sharp corner and moved west towards the abandoned pumping station.

"Then when I am stronger, I will want to test your skill," he mouthed Karai's words and felt the delightful tingle rush over him, starting in the lower segments of his tail and spreading rapidly through his shell and over his flesh. He shuddered and ducked to reach through fallen pipes to grasp the rusted metal handwheel. Any earlier trepidation over seeing her again melted away with his youthful self-assurance that there was nothing that she could do to cause him any trouble. The handwheel squealed as he turned it; his bicep bunched with the effort. He yanked it forward with a soft grunt to reveal a number plate; he punched in the code and immediately the hidden gears groaned all around him and the hatch opened to his right.

He was immediately hit by a jangling, upbeat wave of blaring music. Wincing from the loudness, he slipped through the door and closed it firmly behind him. He stood with his mouth hanging open as he took in the scene.

Michelangelo was in one corner, sunglasses over his eyes, working the turn-table that Donatello had built him years ago for a Christmas present. His face was split into a huge grin as he pressed a pair of headphones to the side of his face and scratched a record back and forth, setting Leo's teeth on edge. On either side of the living room, party globes spun, casting a multitude of colors spinning across the walls, ceiling and floor. The couch and floor cushions were shoved aside near the wall, making a large space in the center. Half-empty bowls of popcorn and chips covered the low coffee table near the television. He frowned at the sight of beer bottles nestled between the snacks and stashed beneath the table. But most surprisingly was Raphael – in the center of it all – dancing his shell off to the ecstatic delight of April, who sat upright on her knees, with her back to him, clapping in time with the bass.

What the hell?

Leonardo crept along the perimeter, one arm trailing along the wall as if he were loath to venture further into the madcap scene before him any deeper than he absolutely had to. His eyes searched the room for any sign of either his father or Donatello. Which was preposterous, because there was no way, aside from New Year's Eve parties and Fourth of July, that he allowed his sons this level of revelry. Leonardo froze for a moment, realizing his error. If Splinter had left the lair, then there was no way he could hide the fact that he wasn't home when Splinter left. He'd need an excuse. A good one.

That unpleasant thought swirled in his mind as he made it to the doorway to the kitchen and ducked inside. Over the sound of the music, he thought he heard Mikey's voice calling out in greeting, but he chose instead to find Donatello and ask him about Splinter. As he hurried across the room, he noted the mess and scowled. Bags of chips and chili-popcorn spilled their remnants all over the table and floor. The sink was full of unwashed dishes and more empty bottles of beer lined the counter next to the sink. He moved out of the kitchen back down the passageway to Donatello's lab, feeling more put out by the second. The music thumped along the walls but it grew dimmer as he came up upon Donatello's door. He frowned at the sign posted eye-level which read:

'Do Not Enter Under Penalty of Death'.

With a huff, he pushed his way inside his younger brother's sanctuary.

He was met with a shout of irritation as Donatello wheeled around from the work-table, welding mask covering his face. "I said not to bother me! Go back to your -" he started and twisted the torch off and flipped up his mask. "Oh! Uh, oh, Leo, what are you doing home?" He shifted his feet and looked nervously behind him and then adjusted where he stood to shelter what he'd been working on from Leonardo's view, all while smiling encouragingly and failing miserably to act natural. His hands worked along the edge of the table, fidgeting and restless.

"What do you mean? I told Raphael I'd be gone an hour, at the very most," he said and stalked into the room, ignoring Donatello's immediate twisting to cover the amalgam of metal parts laid out across the surface of the table and something that looked suspiciously like an assault rifle. He pulled a heavy tarp over the bulk of it which Leo instantly took one edge of and peeked beneath. "What's this?" He cocked his brow at Donatello just as his brother's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"It was going to be a surprise."

Leonardo covered it again. He eyed Donatello and glanced at the lump hidden by the tarp. He spoke slowly, "I really don't think Raphael needs a rocket launcher."

Donatello huffed in irritation. "It's not a rocket launcher, Leo. Why would I build a rocket launcher when we have sufficient fire power equipped on the van?"

Leo ran a hand over his face. "Master Splinter said no weaponry within the confines of our living space."

Donatello's frustration gave way to a sheepish look. "It's not. My lab doesn't count as communal living space."

Leonardo stared at him. "Don, you sleep in here more nights than not. And if it's not a rocket launcher, then what is it?"

Donatello shrugged and his face looked guiltier than ever. "Don't get mad."

Leonardo listened intently, his features hardening.

"I said don't get mad!"

"Donatello," Leo started in a warning tone.

"Okay, So. I-I, uh, sort of borrowed some of the weapons I accidentally stumbled upon at Sack's compound when we went back to collect and destroy any remaining containers of our blood."

Leo blinked. "What?" he breathed with incredulity.

Donatello started talking animatedly as he moved from the table to a stack of small long crates that only now Leonardo noticed.

"How could I resist? I mean the technology here is incredible. I'm sure you've read stories about guns propelling sabots through magnetic fields, but there hasn't been too much actual progress. Well, if you consider the rail guns currently being tested by the navy, that's actually more along the lines of what I've found here, only these babies," he said as he pried one lid from the topmost crate, "these are closer to Gauss Guns." He twisted to look at his brother. "I'm sure you've read about them." His face dropped at the look Leonardo was giving him. "Er, maybe not. They're often featured in science fiction books." He cleared his throat and carefully replaced the lid. "But what I found most fascinating is the sound fields these create, even at low settings."

His shell was to Leonardo as he stroked the top of the crate. He spoke more to himself than Leonardo, as he often did when thinking aloud. "My theory is that they're a prototype of some sort of electromagnetic or possibly extreme focused wave particulate firing . . . no, most likely sound waves –I'm going to have to find a field to test it. Away from the city, of course."

"Donatello, of all the foolhardy things you've done . . ."

Don straightened as he twisted to face Leonardo. He pulled the welding helmet of the top of his head. He threw it to the table where it clattered and rolled and fell to the floor.

"Foolhardy," he hissed, insulted. "I'll have you know that if it wasn't for my," he shook his head from side to side with his fists at his hips, mocking Leonardo's voice, "foolhardy experiments and inventions that I spend most of my waking hours working on and near all of my sleeping hours, as if you didn't already know, only to make our subterranean dwellings as comfortable and tolerable as possible, we'd be turtle-sicles with the first hard frost."

Leonardo did not back down, "Think! There could be tracking mechanisms on these."

Donatello bristled but then relaxed. He crossed his arms with slow ease and leaned back until his bottom met the desk's edge. He eyed Leonardo with an air of condescension. "Please. I checked," he replied slowly and firmly. He dropped his head and chuckled. "What kind of amateur do you take me for, brother?"

Leonardo huffed and shook his head. "Fine," he conceded.

But Donatello was not about to let this chastisement and unfair accusation of neglect go unchallenged. "And you're no one to talk when it comes to doing something foolhardy."

Leonardo went completely still. His immediate thought was, 'He knows!' followed by 'Don't be stupid, there's no way,' then, 'oh crap'; all while maintaining an utterly neutral expression.

"Who was the one that went out into the woods only to return with a Foot soldier," Donatello adjusted his glasses and raised his finger, pointing it up to the ceiling, "and not just any Foot Soldier, mind you, one of their captains. The very same woman who nearly killed you out on the battle field."

Leonardo's jaw jumped. "That doesn't matter."

Donatello frowned at this unexpected reply. "It doesn't matter that she almost killed you?" He glanced around from the floor to the walls back to his brother as if looking for an explanation to this preposterous response.

He straightened up as Leonardo stormed from the room without another word. He followed close behind and nearly slammed into his brother's shell as Leo came to an abrupt stop. He twisted around and Don jumped back. Watching him suspiciously.

"Where is Master Splinter? That's why I came back here in the first place. What the heck is going on?" He pointed towards the source of the thumping music.

Donatello eyed him and answered, "Splinter told us he was going to be gone for a few hours, most likely the entire night. One of his meditation walks, as far as our younger siblings," he paused and looked over Leonardo's shoulder then met his eyes once more. He shrugged. "When the rat's away . . ."

Leonardo sighed. So, he missed Splinter telling them he was going out. He'd need to think of something to tell his father.

Leo turned but Don knocked one knuckle against his shell, making him look over his shoulder. "So, uh, where were you all evening?"

But to his sibling, he felt he owed no such explanations. "Out."

He stormed down the passageway. Donatello watched him go, pressing his mouth into a line, going over the conversation in his mind and cataloging his brother's behavior when he brought up the soldier's rescue. The change in his demeanor and the way he tried to mask his emotions by giving him that blank look which worked so well with Mikey and Raph, but Donatello could see through almost as well as Master Splinter ever could. It was a low thing to do, in all honesty, bringing up that event. His brother was merely playing the hero. And they had settled that situation weeks ago on the ride home.

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he moved slowly after his brother. Leo playing hero. It wasn't unlike him. When they were children he always chose to be the knight that rescued princess Mikey from the Raph-ogre or the Raph-dragon. He'd always chosen to be the wise wizard instructing the knight on how to go about dispatching the gruesome beast in the most effective and horrible manner. The beginning of a smile at the fond memory faded, replaced with a grim shadow.

They were no longer children. And innocent games were a thing of the past. If his guess was correct -and he really hoped, perhaps for the first time in his life, that he was wrong - Leo could be in the middle of a very dangerous game. With the one cast in the role of damsel in distress happening to be a commander or captain or some type of higher officer in their clan's enemy forces. He wouldn't put it past Leonardo to be so naïve. Out of all of them, Donatello frankly felt his older sibling to be far too innocent in some respects to the nature of reality.

He heard Leo's angry voice tell Michelangelo the party was over and to get busy cleaning the kitchen. The music cut off and the silence left a ringing in his ears. He moved through the kitchen and peered through the plastic strips into the living room.

Mikey was grumbling and packing up his records and Leo was standing rigidly in the center of the room, looking towards the exit. Donatello's eyes followed his glare and he held his breath. April was kissing Raphael goodnight. And not in a peck on the cheek. His eyes darted from the two entangled in the heated embrace to Leo and wondered how long he'd just stand there and watch. He expected Leo to clear his throat or shout or order Raph to finish kissing April and sweep the floor, but instead, no instead, Donatello frowned. He stepped back, chewing more upon the tender inner cheek as his mind raced. Leonardo had dropped his head and with a saddened expression had hurried from the scene to his room.

"What are you getting yourself into, Leo?" Donatello wondered aloud just as Mikey burst through the plastic.

"He's being a party pooper as usual, bro," Mikey answered him with a grunt. He started grabbing empty bags off the counter and table and shoved them into the waste bin. "Peh, I thought he was going out all night with Splinter."

Donatello blinked. "Is that what Raph told you?"

"Uh," Mikey rolled his blood-shot eyes up, thinking hard before dropping them. "I can't remember. It's been a long night."

"You better hope Master Splinter doesn't find out you were drinking."

Mikey laughed and brushed his hand through the air. "Nah, it's fine."

"You won't be saying that in the hashi."

Mikey leveled a look at him. "Bro, I can last longer than any of you chumps in the hashi on any day, with no sleep and my hands tied behind my shell."

Donatello shook his head in disgust, then he peeked back into the living room, only to duck into the kitchen again. "Eesh, they've got to come up for air sometime, or risk damage to brain cells," Donatello mumbled as he started to help Mikey clean.

"Did Leo seem a bit off, tonight?"

"Yeah, man. He seemed uber pissed. Did you guys have a fight or something? Cuz when he snuck in he was all in stealth mode and buzzing like he was all excited about somethin'."

Donatello considered this information. "Hmm."

"Mhmm." Mikey raised his brows and swept the rest of the crumbs into the waste basket that Donatello held against the edge of the table.

Raphael sauntered into the kitchen. "'Sup?" he asked generally, and grinned wide enough to make Donatello's face drop in disgust.

He tossed a garbage bag at Raphael's chest, which he caught with one hand. "You keep grinning like that and your face is going to get stuck that way, you know. It's a scientific fact."

Raphael merely smirked at him. "Jealous," he grunted under his breath and Donatello ignored him, though his face burned.

"You know, you don't have to rub it in," Mikey said morosely from the side of the refrigerator where he emerged with the broom.

"What," Raph asked, arms outstretched, still grinning like an ape.

"Get the bottles out of the living room," Don barked.

"Yes, mom."

"Hey," Donatello called as an afterthought, ignoring the jibe. Raph paused. The look on his face was guarded but relaxed the moment he realized Don was not about to grill him about his relationship with April. "Where did Leo say he was going tonight?"

Raphael frowned, thinking. "He didn't."

"But we know he didn't leave with Splinter."

Raph and Mikey exchanged glances. "That's right. Why?"

Donatello felt a flicker of real worry stir in the back of his mind. Pieces were falling into place and the puzzle taking shape was a disturbing omen. The way Leo had gone all stiff and strained at his mention of the Foot soldier earlier, how his eyes had changed. It wasn't because he was angry with me for bringing it up, was it? Oh for Newton's apple. Donatello's heart picked up the pace. His mouth became cottony and he worked his tongue against the back of his teeth, side to side, side to side, as his mind raced.

Could he have sought her out? Would he be that reckless? Don't jump to conclusions. Build a theory and test it. Only then can you discover facts rather than make assumptions.

"It's nothing." He looked at Mikey who seemed unsure. "Really, I'm sure he's just in a bad mood because Splinter isn't home to give him extra chores."

Raphael snorted at that and left the room. Mikey continued to look uneasy. Donatello jumped as his youngest brother whistled, low and haunting.

"You can't fool me, Donnie. Somethin's up, ain't it, bro? I can feel the negative vibes."

He shuddered melodramatically and Donatello, had he not been feeling the exact same uneasiness would have scoffed at him, but remained still.

"Bad mojo, Donnie. Me no likey."

"Me no likey either," Donatello mumbled without realizing it.

And Michelangelo moved to stand next to him where both boys stared through the plastic curtain to their older brother's bedroom door.


A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I plan on keeping this story more or less light-hearted - at least in comparison to what is going to go down with Tender Trap III: Sins of the Fathers.