o O o
------------ I N F L U E N C E ------------
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--- C h a p t e r -- N i n e ---
He has faith in me. The words were still thundering around in Raph's skull. Looking at Mike with new determination, he rallied himself into action. So what are you standing around here for?
Hauling himself to his feet, he scanned a window sill that he would have to reach to make it up onto the next roof. From there, he could drop down to the fire escape and descend to street level in the alley on the building's opposite side.
Raphael held himself poised and ready to spring, but froze at the sound of a voice.
"Come on, Gelly… pick up!"
Mikey was making another call.
Raph swore under his breath and hurried back to his previous perch, although he was torn. He'd been compiling a mental list of names so far, people his brother had mentioned – which ones he'd tried to reach. Flip, Gelica a.k.a. Gelly, Chez, Pyro, Ton-Ton, Zen, Trojan… He kept going over them in his head, committing them to memory. He had them sorted by most to least dangerous, based on who Mike had tried to reach first, how familiar he seemed to be with them, and how many of their best guarded secrets these strangely named humans seemed to know. Flip --even if Mike hadn't been able to get a hold of him-- was the one name Raph had known already. This "Flip" character was Mike's dealer. Which makes him enemy number one, he thought dourly. And from what he'd gathered hearing one side of Mike's phone calls, Gelly seemed to be closely linked with the dealer. They lived together and were potentially an item.
And this Gelly person is who he's calling now! This one could be telling.
But despite the need for patience, Raph was sick of waiting. Leo's call had filled him with new courage, and now he was feeling restless as hell and ready to do this. But he couldn't just charge in. He had to do this right. He had to be smart about it.
He'd opted not to bring his bike earlier, afraid that he would lose sight of Mikey. Now he needed it, especially if "Gelly" agreed to come and get his brother with some sort of vehicle. If that happened, he'd have no hope of keeping up with them.
After this, it's time to move, Raphael decided resolutely. After this one last call…
o O o
The phone was ringing. Again. Gelica scowled at it.
They kept interrupting Full House.
It was a dirty, well-kept secret that she even liked the show. She didn't want to like it, but she did. She loved the cheesy plots. She loved the swelling 'family talk' music when it was time to learn today's moral lesson. She loved the slice of life glimpses into the peaceful, milk-white, upper-middle class suburbia that she herself had never known.
Gelica narrowed her eyes at the insolent telephone, very tempted for a moment to ignore it. But even though they weren't supposed to call the home phone, Flip would probably be pissed if she snubbed his customers. There were definitely downsides to being a dealer's girl.
Sighing, she stretched for the phone and caught it on the fourth ring. "Flip's not here, I don't know when he's comin' back, and I don't pass messages for nobody. So whaddya WANT?" Might as well make it clear right off the bat.
"Gosh, Gelly. You'd make the worst administrative assistant EVER…"
There was only one person in the world who called her Gelly. She brightened immediately. For his sake, she could definitely miss Steph and Danny's heart-to-heart.
o O o
Michelangelo was in the middle of writing a Very Angry Letter to Donatello. In gamer slang, it was dripping with serious aggro. Not that he could actually share his clever term with anyone, since Donnie was the only one who would have gotten it. And he couldn't speak to Donatello right now.
A motorcycle just ahead of him revved like a beast, but Mike didn't look up. Just some dick showing off, he thought. He didn't care to be distracted. It had felt good to be so absorbed in his work, caught up in a muse fueled by his brief, indignant fury. Normally he wouldn't use his tagbook for something like this, but it was the only paper available.
Now he was chewing on the cap of one of his nicer art pens without realizing it. It still wasn't quite right, but he was starting to grow concerned that his endless revisions were causing his words to lose the heat necessary for a properly harsh flaming like the one Donnie-boy deserved.
Suddenly, white light flooded the alleyway, blinding him.
He lifted his hand instinctively to shield his eyes, before realizing that he was exposing a very green hand to that penetrating glare. Quickly stuffing it back into his hoodie's front pocket and out of sight, Mike squinted into the intrusive light and griped, "Hey! Can ya watch the high beams, jerk-off? It's the middle of the freakin' day!"
The blinding light blinked out abruptly. For a moment, he only saw spots, and he had to fight against the urge to scrub at his eyes. When his vision finally cleared, he jolted with recognition.
The motorcycle growled and shot forward.
Mike girl-screamed and dropped his tagbook, rolling instinctively to the side, but the figure didn't keep gunning for him. The bike leapt up onto the sidewalk and then the rider cut the handles sharply, veering it sideways and to a quick stop. One huge, chrome-lined boot stomped down the kickstand.
After climbing off, the figure began a slow and tromping approach. His voice was hollowed and muffled by his helmet, but otherwise it was so very familiar. "Now, I know you didn' just call me a jerk-off."
The Nightwatcher. The NIGHTWATCHER was looming over him! Pulling out of his cringe, Michelangelo straightened. His eyes became pale blue saucers.
"Holy crap, Raph. Nearly pissed myself." The younger terrapin broke into a huge fanboy grin. "Gah, I still might! You look SO wicked!"
The Nightwatcher seemed to stare hard at him. After a moment, he heaved a sigh and came to sit on the curb next to Mike, pulling up the glossy black visor on his helmet so he could look Mike in the eye directly. "Yeah, well. You look like a damn criminal."
Michelangelo was not even phased by this. It wasn't like he hadn't heard it from Raph before. He continued to ogle the body armor with undisguised amazement. "Oh, man. I've never seen it up close before. Which is kind of funny, cuz I've drawn it so many times, right? But the only reference I ever had to use was what they could get in the newspaper photos. And they were usually blurry, or there'd be, like, tons of obstruction…"
Now Raph was eying his brother dubiously and leaning away slightly from his over-eager scrutiny. "Well, I wasn' zactly stickin' around to sign autographs."
"Oh, right. 'Course, I get that." Mike met his gaze and beamed. "I'm just sayin! Like, I'm seein' there's all kinds of parts I got wrong. You should totally pose for me."
"Hmph. So much for the intimidation factor," Raph muttered under his breath. Giving his head a slow shake, he looked back at Mike and demanded, "You're not serious, are ya?"
"YES! Pose for me! Dude, you HAVE to!"
"No!" Raph snapped, incensed by this request.
"Not for like the whole drawing! Just lemme snap some pictures! Like a front view and a profile, at least! Just enough so I can get some basic character models down. Come on, Raph!"
Raphael stared at him like he was speaking another language. "No," he tried again, but this time it sounded more like growing horror.
Turning it up a notch, Mike widened his eyes further and clasped his hands together in front of him. "Dude, please? I'll love you forever. Pleaseplease? Triple please?"
Raphael stared him down stubbornly.
"I'll just keep counting pleases at you 'til you do. Quadruple please! Um. Quintruple please!"
"Pentuple," Raph supplied, rather desperate now to change the subject.
"Huh?"
"It's pentuple," Raph stressed, embarrassment making his voice rougher. Upon seeing Mike's baffled expression, he set his jaw and looked away. "What? Don stopped makin' me smoke pellets, okay? Said I shouldn't need 'em anymore. So… I asked to borrow some of his chemistry shit to read. Told him I'd just figure it out my own damn self. And he gave me this cocky stare and says, 'bullshit'. Then he laughed and handed em over, sayin' he'd like to see me try. And so. It's like… the molecules. When there's five of them bonded, it's pentuple."
"Ew," Mike sympathized. "So you actually read it?"
"Wasn't so hard." Raphael's chin came up with pride. "Just no point to knowin' it, before."
"Oh, I know. Dude, I'm so not pulling a Don on you here," Mike rushed to assure him, putting up both hands. "Just, like, I know I'd have been bored to tears by it."
Raph canted him a brief look. "Yeah, I was sometimes. Truth is, I never been real good at learnin' what I wanna know by readin' it out of a book. If you tell Don, I'll have to kill you, but… I had Leatherhead walk me through a couple of the parts that were confusing." His gaze tore away and drifted off across the street somewhere. Folding his arms over his knees, he mumbled, "And he made me memorize some charts and basic principles n'shit before he'd work with me, and yeah, that part sucked. Was all worth it, though. Can't tell you how many times those damn things've saved my life."
A flashbulb went off from Mike's shell cell, causing Raph to look up from his reverie with a snarl.
"Dammit, Mike! I said no pictures!"
He had a newer model phone than Raph's (on account of Raph breaking his so often) and it included a built-in digital camera. Mike felt he put more creative use to this new feature than anyone else in the family by a long shot. "That's the profile!" he piped happily, eying the image in the view screen with pride. "Now if I can just get a front view, preferably with you standing— hey! Don't touch that!"
Raphael had reached back and grabbed his tagbook up off the concrete where it had fallen and landed face down. "Why the hell not? If I'm gonna wind up some cartoon in one of your funnybooks, the least ya can do is lemme see –" His rant trailed off.
The street got real quiet suddenly. Mike squirmed where he sat, waiting as Raph read the unfinished letter to Donnie.
After what seemed an eternity later, he lowered the book and looked at Michelangelo very seriously. "Don't give 'im this," he suggested, his voice very quiet.
"He majorly fucked me over," Michelangelo pointed out in a growl.
"Yeah, I guess he did. Sorta. But I mean, the gig's up, Mike. Leo knows. Anyway, bein' at war with Donnie – ain't all it's cracked up to be. He remembers the shitty things you said to him for a long time."
"Then maybe I'll just kick his ass instead," Mike scowled. "Why'd he have to change so much, Raph? I know you've seen it, too. Lately he – hey! I didn't say you could look at those!"
"Why not? Did you make me look dumb?"
"You aren't even in there! Give it back, kay?" He made an attempt to swipe the tagbook back, but Raph deflected it easily and turned back another page. "Dude, I'm telling you! Those sketches are in a whole different book!"
"Back off, wouldja? I don't invoke my rights ta be a nosy big brother very often. In fact, I'd say as big brothers go, I give you a lotta goddamn room. So gimme a break here." He flipped the book toward Mike and stabbed a finger to indicate one of the more recent tags. "What's this one say?"
"A.V.A.," Mike admitted, speaking under his breath now and unable to hide all of his nervousness.
Raph nodded and went back to flipping through the book. "A lotta these say that, huh?" he mumbled, "This one's good."
"That's just the draft," the younger terrapin admitted. "All of these. I mean. I put the real one up at the 7-yard… Willet's Point Station, on the 7-line."
Raphael knew New York City pretty well, and still it took him a moment. He knew the train tracks by their underside rather than by its topside stations. "In Queens?" he blinked.
"Yeah." Michelangelo didn't understand the look of surprise that Raphael was leveling at him now from under the shadow of his visor. He decided to take offense. "What? Is that too far from home for such an inexperienced kid like me to be playing, Raph?" he protested. "Yeah, you're one to talk!"
"No!" Raph snarled back. "That ain't it at all!"
Then – miraculously – Mike watched his hotheaded brother fight to compose himself. The helmet shook slowly, and his gaze went out ahead of him as if in concentration. He repeated quietly, "Just… ain't like that."
"What's it like, then?"
"You go there alone?" Raphael wondered quietly, not looking at him. "To Queens?"
Michelangelo stared at him. For a moment he was very tempted to lie to his brother's face, but then he remembered that he was raised better than that. It seemed like a much better idea to say nothing at all.
Raphael waited, then bobbed his head once it was clear Mike wasn't going to respond. "Guess I don't 'spect you to answer questions I already know the answer to," he rumbled. "Hate it when Splinter does that shit to me…"
Mike swallowed hard and told himself to stop staring, but he couldn't. His stomach wanted to crawl off and die in the gutter somewhere.
"Guess the question I really wanna ask, is—" he paused and looked over to meet Mike's gaze tensely, "you some kinda gangster these days, Mikey?"
"No!" Michelangelo denied vehemently, sitting up straighter and looking at Raph earnestly. "Gah, don't even say that! We get such a bogus rep from the media already. Please, don't be one of Those Dudes!" He paused to notice Raphael's blank, uncomprehending stare. Mike huffed and folded his arms, making sure his green hands were tucked firmly into his armpits and out of sight from passersby. "Taggers aren't the same as gangsters, bro. Like, at all. Eesh, and you're supposed to be the 'streetwise' one in the family…"
"Uh-huh," Raph responded, lowering his chin a little but still managing to use that slow, quiet voice, "so what yer sayin' is… yer a tagger. Like, a punk-ass criminal wannabe who runs around with a backpack and a mask, fuckin' shit up with spray paint."
"Okay," Michelangelo grumbled. "So maybe you still get to be the streetwise one. But we aren't criminals, Raph. And we sure don't wanna be criminals, either. That's mental."
"Destruction of public property?" Raphael suggested. "Pretty sure NYPD's still callin' that a crime."
"Oh, well sure. If we're counting the BULLSHIT laws!" Mike stabbed a finger at Raph and observed, "Last I checked, you were kinda familiar with breakin' that one yourself, bro."
"Yeah," Raph actually grinned, just for a moment, "gotta point there." He paused, his brow ridges furrowing as he went on sternly, "How 'bout drug trafficking? That a serious law to you?"
Mike's mirth evaporated quickly. "Depends."
Raphael strongly disagreed on this point. Mike could tell by the face he made and the heavy way that he shook his head. But he let it go, moving on to ask, "What about guns, then? You tellin' me none of these friends of yours are packin' heat?"
"Some of them do," the smaller terrapin admitted, his eyes closing up further. He looked away. "We carry concealed weapons, too, Raph."
"The difference is, we're trained to do it."
"And what makes you think they aren't?" Mike shot back hotly. "You don't even know them!"
"Hunh," Raph grunted doubtfully, "F'ya say so, Mike." He popped his knuckles, looking out across the street. "Y'know, there's also gotta be a crime against runnin' around in a damn paint mask. Tell me you skip that part of the costume."
Mike knew an out when he saw one, and he latched onto it gratefully. "Sorry, bro..." He dug into the bag and produced his mask, holding it out sheepishly.
"This is one of Don's," Raph noted, recognizing the paper mask. He turned it over in his hands thoughtfully. "Does he know ya swiped it from his medical supplies?"
"Probably not," Mike admitted, shrugging and looking down to avoid Raph's gaze. "But I mean, he's got plenty of spare ones! Regular painter masks just don't fit me right." His lips quirked wryly. "I'd offer to give it back, but somehow I doubt he's gonna want it now."
"Yeah, looks kinda… colorful for his taste," Raph agreed, rubbing one thick thumb over the specks of paint covering the front of it. He passed it back to Mike, who stuffed the mask back into his bag and out of sight.
"So you're not gonna tell Leo, right?" Mike asked with a flinch, not lifting his eyes from the concrete.
"Are you?" Raph returned pointedly.
"I dunno," Mike sighed. "I guess it's stupid to drag it out, huh? Might as well get in trouble all at once… The only thing I'm worried about is the ranting, really. You know how Leo can get. You've gotta come check on us if it starts getting ridiculous, okay? 'Specially if he's making me miss dinner…"
"I can see all the ones that say A.V.A., now that I kinda know what to look for. But I'm still lost on some of these."
"Huh?" Mike's head snapped over to see that Raphael was no longer paying attention to his urgent pleas. He was looking through the tagbook again.
"Like, what's that one supposed to be?"
"Hype," Mike supplied at a glance, his blue eyes guarded.
"Eh?" Raph cocked his head a little, then turned the tagbook at various angles trying to see the word Hype. "Just not seein' it. You tellin' me that isn't an N right there?"
"That's what I'm tellin' you, dude," Mike couldn't help a faint smile, watching him puzzle over it. "That's part of two of the letters, right there."
"So where's the P?"
"Uh, between the Y and the E?" Mike returned, now grinning like a smart-ass. Ducking forward, he righted the tagbook and traced his first finger over the letters, one by one. "Look. H… Y… P… E. See? Hype."
"Oh yeah," Raphael mused. "Yeah, I'm seein' it now." He turned the page. "More A.V.A. ones. What's it stand for, anyway?"
"Artists Versus Authority," Mike confessed.
"That's your crew, huh? Guess it's kinda clever," Raph allowed, turning through the pages again.
"Heh, I thought so too. They – oh." Mike stiffened where he sat, his whole chest going tight with embarrassment when he saw which piece Raph had turned to. Annnnd now he's stopping on it. Crap!
"What's this one say? It's kinda crazy."
"Um, no," Mike hedged miserably. "Actually, that one's kinda stupid." He could see why Raph might have trouble with this one. The lines behind it were heavy and jagged, drawn to look like electricity. One had to concentrate on the image to tell where the background stopped and the chaotic lettering began. "And by stupid, I mean completely retarded and n00bish. Seriously, give it here. Lemme' find you a better one!"
He reached for the book, but Raph held it away from him. "Ain't stupid, okay? S'kinda dark and… sick, really. Think it's my favorite so far. Okay, I know that's an 'A' right there. But what's the rest say…?"
"Raph, please?" Oh, man. Mike suddenly hated his voice, which betrayed him by going all scratchy and high like a little kid's. "Just turn the page, okay? I really hate that one."
But it was too late. Raphael seemed to have noticed the message fitted into the upper left-hand corner of the piece, squinting at the small, bold lettering.
I DON'T NEED THEIR
COMPANY ANY
MORE THAN
I NEED
He watched Raph's eyes widen and look back at the tag. He could read it clearly now, it was painfully obvious. Put in the proper context, it must have jumped off the page at him. His lips even shaped the word: AIR.
He could feel Raph looking at him now. For a while it was really awkward, because he couldn't bring himself to look back.
Raph had never been good at saying he was sorry about anything. He hoped it was an unspoken understanding between them by now, that Mike would never make him say it. Mike would normally much rather exact payback via any number of pranks or cheap shots while they were sparring (made to look accidental, of course) and call it even after a day or two of abuse.
But when it was something this big, it couldn't always be solved that way. Sometimes Raph would do this instead. Just look at him. They would share a silent moment and be done with it.
But lately Mike had been – sensitive, somehow, to just these sort of moments. Sensitive in ways that were starting to feel very X-Files. Sensitive in ways that kind of scared him.
Normally he had to be looking them in the eyes to feel differently, and that was partly why he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew how strongly Raph felt things, and so it didn't even surprise him very much when it started to happen anyway. Even with his head curled down toward the concrete he could feel his own feelings start to crumble away at the edges, giving way to the heat of fierce guilt and fury turned inward. The haunting chill of his fear. The massive, steadfast pressure to do the right thing, to take active measures and help make things right, somehow. The vast well of his devotion.
He does care. He cares so much. About me. About all this.
When Michelangelo looked up at last to meet his brother's gaze, tears had stung his eyes bright. He cowered there, unable to look away, unable for a moment to sort his own emotions out from Raph's. For a moment, he was nearly overcome by the absurd urge to explain himself, to reassure his brother somehow, and to apologize for ever having wondered how Raph felt about them. Somehow he managed to keep his wits together enough to hold his tongue.
Thank god he was Raph. He didn't need to drag it out. Didn't feel the need to say anything that would make the situation even more mortifying for both of them. He just swallowed and gave a nod, looking back down at the book and turning the page. "So what's that one? Gotta K up front, right?"
Quick as that, the strange sensation was gone. Mike blinked down at the tagbook. His feelings were his own again. He blinked some more and finally broke into a smile. "Dude, that does not look even slightly like a K."
"Yeah, it does! Check it. Here's the back of the K, and then this sweepin' part comin' in here – oh. Hold up. Crud. That part's a whole different letter, huh?"
"'Fraid so."
"Then… oh. It says 'I.O.U.', am I right?" Raph gave a smirk at his brother's expression. Mike's look of surprise was clearly an affirmative. "There, see?" he said, gesturing at the tagbook with one chrome-gloved hand. "Finally getting the hang of it!"
"Pssh," Mike scoffed. "Lucky guess!" He snatched the book back, leafing through it quickly and mumbling, "Let's just see you figure out this one..."
"Mike! Who – ohmigod!"
Both heads shot up at this, honing in on the newcomer who was staring at them, hands plastered over her mouth. She was probably getting purple lipstick on her fingerless gloves, but was too surprised to care.
"Hey, Gelly," Mike greeted her casually, getting up and expecting a hug from her. She attacked him instead.
"Ohmigod. Ohmigod, Mike! You asshole! Your BROTHER is the NIGHTWATCHER?" The flat of her hand pummeled him harmlessly. "And just how long have you known, you -- you stupid jerk?"
"Hey – HEY! Not long, actually." Mike had his elbows up in vague defense. "Sorry, okay? I shoulda told you."
Raphael was still staring at her. "Why, so I could kick your ass for bein' such a loud mouth? All those comic books you read, and ya can't learn to keep a lid on a damn secret identity?"
"I DID keep a lid on it, didn't I?" Geez. He never got any credit.
"Ohmigod, this is so crazy!" She stopped assaulting Mike and took a step back, bouncing in place with barely checked excitement. "And we can't even post it on the forums, can we? They would FREAK THE FUCK OUT! Can you imagine?"
"Forums…?" Raph repeated, looking positively ill.
"Yeah, heh, let's-not-do-that," Mike agreed hurriedly, shooting his brother an uneasy glance. "Anyway, Raph - what's it matter if SHE knows? It's not like you two don't already know each other."
Gelica looked almost bashful now. She scuffed one toe into the concrete. Mike fought back a surge of unreasonable jealousy at her suddenly coquettish body language. "Hi, Raphael. It's been a while, huh? I musta been – what, thirteen?"
Raph stared, looking between Mike and the girl with dismay. "Uh… yeah. Guess it has been a few years now. Uh… S'up, Angel?"
Mike opened his mouth to explain that she hadn't gone by that name in ages, and how she had to be careful because social services was still looking for her, and all of that stuff. "Actually…"
He only got out the one word before forgetting the rest of what he'd planned to say. Gelica had dashed forward and thrown her arms around Raph's neck in an exuberant hug. "You have no idea, I've got like this whole wall plastered with newspaper clippings and some of Mike's drawings and, like, pictures I printed off the internet… Flip's even been bitching that one of these days I'm gonna run off with the Nightwatcher, ha-ha!"
Beneath the black motorcycle visor, Raphael's eyes had gone huge with surprise. He looked to Mike as if begging his assistance in removing this clinging, fishnet-wearing, patchouli-scented thing that had attached itself to his neck.
Mike smirked, put at ease somewhat as he took in Raph's obvious discomfort. He gave his big brother a helpless shrug.
"Oh, Raph…" she continued to gush, pulling away enough to give him a sparkling, radiant smile. "Of course it was you all along. I should've known!"
o O o
