Six months since the last update, geez! Here's a short chapter to get things rolling again...
It was a shame, all the torn fabric. Hard to find good clean textiles. The jumpsuit gutted, revealing five more of the beetle-looking darts, needles sheathed, and an embedded network of gossamer thin cables that Leatherhead gasped over. Raphael's good mask, the color of fresh blood, cleanly cut. Michelangelo stroked the silk gently with his finger, never having touched his brother's most intimate garment. Seated with his shell against the door he watched the prisoner, and was careful not to fray the open edge of Raph's forgotten mask.
Don and Leatherhead were stationed in the lab, trying to solve it all. Splinter had been moved into the lab, put on the oxygen condenser, mask sitting awkwardly in his mouth. Leo waited in the lab, bearing silent witness. Raphael's angry stomping could be felt through the concrete floor as he was pushed and pulled by Splinter's eerily prone form. Once again, Leo and Raph two sides of the same frustrated coin.
And the alien, cowering in the corner.
Mike was well acquainted with fear, and couldn't help but feel his sympathy reaching out of his body to embrace the suffering thing. But more than that, it reached to his brothers. It reached up in prayer to a god he didn't believe in to fix everything, to have sympathy for him. Don't take his father.
There was a deceptively soft knock at the door, and Mike stood to let Leatherhead in. He stooped low to pass under the doorjamb, and remained looming in the room, resting a gentle but heavy hand on Mike's shoulder.
"Didju guys figure it out?" He tried and failed to keep the desperation out of his voice. But Leatherhead, thankfully, did not look at him with pity.
"We have cracked one of the devices, and safely extracted the toxin. Donatello's spectrum analysis is underway now, and will reveal what we are working with." He squeezed Mike's shoulder before sitting down slowly on the bed. "It will take some time for the analysis to complete; in the meantime I thought I might visit with you and your guest."
Mike snorted. "Our guest?" He turned back to the intruder, their eyes wide and locked on the giant crocodile. "Don't you have to invite a guest?"
"For whatever reason, he's here." Leatherhead's big maw swung to the black turtle, who pushed himself farther back against Leo's shelf, a couple of books tipping over. "The Utroms taught me several languages in my time with them. Perhaps we could communicate."
"Go for it." Mike knelt back down, hoping to take up less space in the now claustrophobic room. He worried the fabric between his fingers again. Leatherhead smiled with his lips closed, his eyes crinkling in a sign of peace.
"Leatherhead." He spoke softly, placing a clawed hand to his chest. The turtle stared at him owlishly. "Michelangelo." He extended his hand to Mike, and waited.
"…Maybe he's brain damaged."
"He is afraid. If only the situation were different." Leatherhead sighed. "A first encounter ought to be handled with more delicacy." He gave his peaceful smile again, and spoke a few words in a clacking dialect. The turtle continued to stare. Another few words, hissing like steam. It seemed to be an easy tongue for the croc, but the turtle shrank away. "It's been a few years."
"No rush." Mike slid the mask between his fingers, not wanting to tell his friend: yes rush, crack that cashew! Instead he watched, imagining how Leo would assess their guest's posture and plan a strategy for attack. Crouched, ready to bolt, hands stabilized on the ground and shelf, head slightly retracted. Defensive, alert. His black skin looked was a deep charcoal where the light saturated, and soft to the touch. Creamy brown speckles ran down his bicep. As Leatherhead continued to roll marbles out of his mouth, Mike imagined them tasting like coffee, or caramel candies. He rubbed the silk between his fingers, the fresh end fraying, and had to swallow back saliva. Mike realized he was being stared at. Defensive, alert. He blushed.
Leatherhead sang a short tune, his tenor pipes rumbling. The gold eyes darted back, and the alien sang back a few notes. Leatherhead burst into a toothy grin, the turtle to his credit didn't flinch, and the lair's alarm began to blare.