CHAPTER THREE

"What the hell were you thinking, Mike?"

Leo's tone was even, but Mike's was just plain dead. "You know what I was thinking."

There was nothing more to say. Leo did know. And every fraction of anger drained from his eyes, replaced by helpless fear that he tried desperately to hide. It took him a moment to pull himself together. Then he turned to Ivy.

"I think that perhaps it is time for you to go home."

She nodded enthusiastically.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you to keep this place a secret."

"Oh, no. I won't say a thing. To anybody. I promise."

"Good. Don? Make sure she gets home safely. She's not dressed to meet with strangers."

Donatello stood, and offered her a hand. She took it hesitantly and rose, making sure her coat was kept tightly around her barely-dressed body. After a moment of struggling to get her shoe back on, Don led her to the door, one arm around her waist to support her as she limped.

Mike watched them go. Behind him, he heard a faint click, and turned just in time to see Master Splinter's door close. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered how much of that he'd heard. Probably all of it. His hearing was better than any of theirs.

Once the front door closed, and Ivy was gone, Mike finally took a breath. "You know if you'd stepped in, somebody would've been hurt."

"And it could've been you," Leonardo answered harshly. He was pacing. Mike's eyes followed him, though he remained perfectly still.

"Could've been. But it wasn't."

"Do you even understand what -"

"I understand, Leo," Michaelangelo interrupted, eyes narrowed. How dare Leo imply that he didn't. "I saw more of it than any of you."

"He could've killed you."

"He wouldn't kill me."

"Then you don't really understand."

"He's not that far gone, Leo."

"Really? What changed?"

"He's not."

Leo was losing patience. "Bullshit!"

"And even if he was!" Mike suddenly yelled back. "Wouldn't it be better for you to know so you could get him off the fucking street?"

"Not if it costs your life," Leonardo answered through his teeth.

Mike breathed in deep, and pulled his anger under control again. He was good at that. He'd had a lot of years to practice. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, Leo. Because I disagree."

"I am not willing to sacrifice a member of this clan for -"

"Raphael is a member of this clan!" Mike cried. Anger and temperance were apparently two different things. Even void of the anger, feeling nothing, Mike couldn't keep his voice down.

"Raphael has walked away from this clan."

"So have I!"

Leonardo stopped talking, shut his eyes, and set his jaw. When Mike continued, his voice was lower.

"And so have you. You're just as guilty as he is. As we all are. And you know it."

Very slowly, Leonardo opened his eyes again. "Who the hell do you think you are, Mike?"

"I think I'm the only one who gives a shit anymore. Every single person in this clan is dying! Because not one of us can lay our lives on the line, and willingly die, to see this family survive."

"You think I wouldn't give my life to bring this family back together again?"

Mike shook his head. "No, it's not that simple, Leo. You don't get that kind of guarantee. You just get to die. And maybe it'll accomplish something. Or maybe everybody'll just hate you for it."

Leonardo stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he turned away. Mike watched him retreat to his room, and finally relaxed his stance as the door shut behind him.

*X*X*X*

Ivy wanted to say something. But she didn't really know what to say. Anything, really, to break the silence. Anything to calm that uneasy feeling as he led her through the sewer tunnels. "Um... are you sure you know where you're going?"

"Yes."

It was the only answer she got from him. And it was the only thing he'd said since they left his home. She shut her eyes, and swallowed back her fear. She had nothing to say. Instead, she let herself drown in her thoughts.

No wonder why Raphael had lied about his family, told her he lived alone. If his home life was so violent and hateful, it was no surprise that he would want to deny it. The insults still rang in her ears. The fear was still real; she could still taste it even though she'd stopped shaking a while ago. Men had fought over her before. But never like that.

She couldn't help the wash of pity that came over her when she thought about just how angry Raph had been. All of those accusations and mean words had put him into such a terrible mood. She never wanted to see him angry like that again. She wanted to help him. Somewhere underneath all of that anger... she knew there was a sensitive, caring person. She'd seen him. But his anger distorted that image.

He was not only angry, but now she realized that he was also very unhappy. She'd never in her life seen someone so unhappy. She totally understood now why he'd avoided questions about his family, and why he'd lied to her when he'd told her he lived alone. They were so quick to blame him, so quick to judge him!

And it wasn't even his fault. He knew that. She was the one who'd gotten him drunk. She was the one who'd followed him. But instead of throwing her to the dogs, he'd protected her, taking the brunt of his brothers' anger on himself. And the way his brother had fired those insults at him... It was verbal and emotional abuse no matter how she looked at it. Raphael was the scapegoat in this family.

A surge of anger rushed through her as she considered that. All he wanted was to be understood. Why was everyone so mean to him? That one brother of his in particular... He was such a bully. Not just toward Raphael, but toward her, and toward the others, too. When he'd barked an order, Raphael's brother had jumped up to obey. How could anyone bear to live under such a constant tyrannical oppression? She had to come back. She had to help him.

"Your apartment should be right above us," Raphael's brother suddenly announced, cutting through her thoughts. She stopped and waited as he started up a rusted ladder, wreathed with trash. "Wait here."

She watched as he went up and pushed the manhole cover aside. He disappeared for a moment, then looked back down at her. "Okay. Come on."

It was difficult to climb in heels. Especially when her foot still hurt quite a bit. But she made it. He helped her up as she reached the last few rungs, and blinked as she looked around. "Right there," he pointed for her, gesturing across the street. "Will you be okay making it in?"

"I should be fine," she assured. She turned and forced a tight smile. "Thank you. For walking me home. It was really nice to meet you."

He answered her smile with a matching one - forced and uncertain. "Good-bye, Ivy," he nodded. She hesitated long enough to watch him descend back down into the hole in the ground. A moment later, he pulled the cover over it again, leaving her alone in the dark alley.

*X*X*X*

Leonardo stared at the flickering flame of the candle as it blurred and swirled through the haze of tears. His jaw was still set in an effort not to cry, but the tears had been flowing for some time now. Where his attention had been focused almost entirely on keeping them from falling, he now let his mind wander over all the reasons why they were.

"Fuck all of you! You fucking want me to leave?"

"You let her follow you..."

"She ain't a danger now, Leo..."

Leonardo's eyes slid closed. Every time he thought the pain was subsiding, he realized the wounds would never heal. They cut too deeply into the heart of what the clan was. What it had been. They'd been a family once. And since then it had all gotten so wrong. The most crushing thing about it - the thing that made him sick - was the fact that he'd caused it.

"You are like a spoiled child, do you know that?"

The words, echoing in his head, made him shake violently, and he brought his knees up to his chest, curling into a ball. That wasn't his voice. It couldn't have been his voice, calling his brother back when he would've walked away. It couldn't have been his voice saying those words. It was the Enemy's voice, calling out a resounding victory for everything that he hated with every fiber of his being. And the killing blow could not have been more directly aimed.

He could feel himself crumbling inside, broken by feelings of remorse and confusion... and self-hatred. He despised himself for allowing the Enemy to use his mouth. He should be stronger than that. He should be able to recognize the sound of its voice. God knew he was well enough acquainted with it.

"What makes you think I'd wanna come back?"

He would come back. Not because he wanted to, but because he had nowhere else to go. They could resent each other, even hate each other, but they were bound by common circumstance. Live together, die alone. They all knew that. It was what kept them all coming back to the remnants of a life that had ended long ago.

"You're just as guilty as he is."

Leonardo heard the knock on his door, but he didn't answer. He turned his head away, resting his cheek on his kneepads. Something primal inside of him still felt, like he had as a child, that if he could just make himself small enough, insignificant enough, the Enemy would simply pass over him and not kill him. Because even though he realized there really wasn't much to live for anymore, that same primal instinct saw survival as a necessity.

"Leonardo."

He heard the voice. He heard the door open, and he shut his eyes hard.

Go away... Please just pass over me...

He didn't hear or see the approach, but he felt it. Across from him on the worn rug, his sensei sat down. Leo didn't look at him. He couldn't. That aching part of him that felt so wrong knew that he had failed again. And he couldn't stand to face that in the presence of his sensei.

"I'm so sorry."

He didn't think, just spoke. And as he spoke, he felt himself breaking down even further. Soon there would be nothing left of him, he knew. Maybe then he could just cease to exist and be at peace.

"He will return, Leonardo."

Leo shook his head slightly, still resting it on his knees. "Why? It isn't like he has anything to return to."

Silence fell on the room. What could possibly be said to make tragedy less tragic, to make death less final? Whatever it was, Leonardo desperately wanted to hear it. But there was nothing to say. He felt exhaustion sweeping over him, and his thoughts wandered to what it would feel like if he just put his head down on his pillow and never woke up again.

"It is not over yet, Leonardo."

"But there's no end in sight. And certainly not one worth living for."

"If you give up, there may not be."

Very slowly, Leonardo looked up, meeting his sensei's eyes in the flickering candlelight. "I need some kind of hope, sensei. But there is none."

"You fail to see hope because you fail to see the true problem."

"What problem?"

"That you feel no different now than you did at sixteen, and so you expect that Raphael is no different."

"Or maybe I expect that he's no different because he really isn't."

"If that were the case, do you really think I would allow him to continue living here?"

Leonardo studied his sensei for a long moment, considering that. Then, finally, he lowered his gaze. "Why do you?" he finally asked, barely a whisper.

"He has fought his demons, Leonardo," Master Splinter answered quietly. "And he has won. But you still struggle with yours."

Leonardo was quiet for a moment, watching and considering. "You really believe he's changed," he realized. "That he's not like he was back then."

"Yes, Leonardo. I have to believe it."

"Why?"

"Because if I do not," Master Splinter smiled faintly, sadly, "then there is no hope left for this clan."

*X*X*X*

Michaelangelo stared down at the small metal box on the floor in front of him. He'd put a lock on it, knowing it wouldn't stop him if he really wanted to get into it. He'd put the locked box under his bed, knowing that the Hudson River would be a better place to put it. But he wanted it here. He wanted it here to remind him that he didn't want what was inside of it. That he'd chosen not to want it. He wanted it here because it would stop him from obtaining its contents somewhere else. He had some at home, after all, and his was better. He wanted it here because it was hard to get into, because it would take time and effort, and a deliberate action. It wouldn't be an accident, something that just "happened". It would be a deliberate choice to destroy his life.

His fingers brushed the lock, feeling the texture of the cold, smooth metal. It would take him thirty seconds to get it open. Once he got the lock off, he'd have to pry the box open. It had been super-glued shut two years ago. And in all the times that he'd stared at this box, he'd never opened it since. He shut his eyes, and took a deep breath, letting it out slow.

Beside the box was his phone, and he reached for it slowly. Six hours since Raph had left. It would've been long enough for him to get drunk. It wouldn't be long enough for him to calm down. He probably wouldn't answer the phone. And when he didn't, it would only take five minutes for Mike to get the box open.

But he did answer.

"What the hell do you want?"

Mike swallowed hard, running his finger along the edge of the box as delicately as if he was caressing a lover. Hang up on me. Please just hang up... "Just tell me one thing, Raph," he whispered.

"What?"

He didn't allow the angry tone to make him feel anything, one way or another. He shut his eyes, sliding his hand over the top of the grey box. There was no dust. It had found its way to the middle of his bedroom floor many times in the past two years.

"Would you have killed her?"

Silence answered him. Raphael wasn't in a bar. A bar wouldn't be that quiet. Mike couldn't guess where he was, and he didn't really care. He was interested in only one thing: Raphael's answer. In this moment, it was the difference between life and death. It was the decision to open this box or shove it back under the bed. And while he hated to admit it, Mike knew what he wanted the answer to be. He was just so tired of fighting.

Just tell me it's over, Raph. Just tell me I can stop hoping that you're anything like my brother.

"No."

Mike's heart sank, and he felt tears burn at the backs of his eyes. He pulled the phone away and closed it, dropping it on the floor. He wanted to throw it against the wall. "No" meant that he couldn't give up yet. It meant that it still mattered if he gave up. It meant that this box needed to stay closed, because there was still a chance that life was worth something.

Maybe he's lying.

But he wasn't lying. And Mike knew that. He hated it - it infuriated him - but he knew it. And at the same time, he was horrified at how selfish his thoughts were. Shouldn't that have been the answer he wanted to hear? Shouldn't he be glad that his brother's anger was under control? Shouldn't he be glad that there was hope? But he wasn't glad. Because whatever else it meant, that answer had also meant that he had to let this pain continue for now. Maybe it would go away someday for real, not just because he put an end to his own suffering.

Mike grabbed the box and threw it under the bed so far it hit the wall. Then he flopped down face-first on the mattress, buried his face in his pillow, and sobbed. Damn it, Raph... Why can't you just say it's over?