Denim opened her eyes, and was relieved to find her vision had returned to her left eye. But it was near swollen shut and blurry from her migraine. She groaned, raising a swollen hand to her face, felt the blood dried to it pulling her skin taut. Her lip felt swollen too and as she tested her limbs her entire body ached. The dirty tile floor she was laying on was cold, hard, and she didn't remember how she got there.

"Don' moob arounb to mubch," Mikey's voice was a strained sound that hurt to hear. "Bey beabt bou beven baffer bou babbeb out. Bows bour bibs?"

She inhaled, then let out a wince and a grunt as pain recoiled through her ribs. She tried to focus on something close to her as her heart began to pound. Damn adrenaline it never knew when to quit.

Something silver and blurry became clear, bars, a wall of them in front of her, letting her see into the room next to her where Michelangelo leaned against a cell wall, his lip swollen, his eyes black and mostly closed. His exposed body parts were covered in big dark bruises. Beside him Raphael looked at her, his own face well beaten but again most of it taken to his arms and legs.

"You are one crazy chick. Don't you have any sense?" Raph shook his head. "You don't have a shell to protect you. Your ribs have got to be broken."

She took another breath and decided she agreed with him. "What happened?" she felt a split in her own lip and winced.

Michelangelo didn't say anything, instead crawled over to her and lay down facing her. He reached a finger through the bars. Denim lifted a purplish hand and held onto him.

"Bou bave bot bo bet away brom be. Book bat bou. Bou're ba bess," he managed to speak but it looked like even the effort was painful.

It hurt to frown, but it was even worse when she tried not to. "I don't have to get away from you, Michelangelo. I don't want to be away from you." Her eyes filled, but it was the single tear that slid down his battered cheek that steeled her resolve. She didn't need to be away from him, it was everyone else that needed to leave them alone.

They stared at each other drifting in and out of uncomfortable sleep for hours, and neither said another word.

XOXOXOX

"Denim Sanders you are being arraigned. Stop touching that prisoner!" A corrections officer opened her cell door and marched inside kicking her legs.

"Stob! Stob! I bon't bouch ber abain, blease. Bust stob!" Michelangelo protested, drawing his hand away from her and sitting upright.

"Shut up, Mikey." Raphael snarled, grabbing his brother and wrapping a hand around his mouth.

Denim was pulled to her feet and as they hit the ground her head reeled and her knees buckled. Her stomach lurched and she lost sight in her left eye again.

"Bhe's bot ba betal blate bin ber bead. If bou bon't stob berking ber aroub bou bould bill ber!" Michelangelo kicked the bars of his cell and the cop jabbed at him with a nightstick, missing when Raphael jerked him back while glaring at the cop.

"What do I care what happens to her when she fucks the likes of you?" The cop hissed, then he spit at Raphael who clenched the bars of his cell and Denim half expected him to either bend them or rip them from the wall he looked so pissed.

The cop jerked Denim and she stumbled into him then struggled to right herself as he led her down a series of halls, past a booking area, interrogation rooms, then through a set of doors and down another series of halls. She could only see out of one eye and her entire body was shaking from the effort it took to keep her upright.

Where did such hatred come from? Fear? Jealousy? Ignorance? All of the above? No wonder Michelangelo and his brothers fought at night. There was no justice for them by the law, none that she had seen and none for her while she was associated with them.

The cop led her through a door and she found herself in a courtroom, placed at a table marked Defendant.

She'd just sat down when the bailiff called, "Please rise."

The cop that led her to the courtroom tugged Denim to her feet.

A man approached her and held out his hand. "Adam Dawson. I'm your public defender."

Denim glared at his outstretched fingers and he closed them.

"How long have I been here? Isn't this kind of quick?" she asked as the judge entered and everyone returned to their seats.

"Two days. You didn't know that?" The attorney looked baffled.

Denim groaned at the throbbing in her head. "Do I look like I knew that?"

"You look like you should be in a hospital," the attorney whispered.

Denim glanced around the courtroom, found it empty except for Leo, Donatello, April, Karai and Connie… who was sitting on the Plaintiff side and refused to look at her. Shit. Where was Alli?

"What day is it?" she asked her public defender.

"Thursday."

Thursday. Denim glanced at the clock above the judge. Lunchtime. She was at daycare.

"Ms. Sanders, please stand to hear the charges." The bailiff ordered.

Denim stood, leaning heavily on the rail in front of her.

"You are charged with three counts of assault of an officer. Two counts of assault of a citizen. How do you plead?"

Denim looked at the judge through her good eye. "What? I didn't-"

The public defender grabbed her arm and she flinched as pain shot through it. "You had a physical confrontation with three officers and attacked two citizens in a restaurant. Don't you remember? What, were you drunk?"

"Jesus, fuck that is it!" Denim yelled. "We were harassed by that asshole! This is his fault! And I was getting molested and beaten by the cop! Forgive me for defending myself!"

"Order! Order! I will have order in this courtroom!" The judge slammed his gavel then pointed it at her. "Those are some serious allegations, Ms. Sanders. And I will have order in this courtroom."

"Yeah, well I'd like to see justice in this courtroom," Denim fired back.

"Ms. Sanders, one more word out of you and I will hold you in contempt of court." The judge threatened.

Denim glared at the wrinkled old man holding a gavel.

"Good. Now. How do you plead?" he repeated.

"Not guilty." Denim snarled.

What had she fought for? What had Kyle lost his life for? Not for this. This wasn't freedom. This was a witch hunt… no a mutant hunt.

"I see here that you have a daughter, Ms. Sanders." The judge flipped through a file and looked at her. "Allison. It says here that her grandmother entered a petition for custody this morning. In light of the nature of your charges this court hereby awards temporary custody of Allison Sanders to her grandmother Constance Sanders."

Connie what are you doing? Don't do this. Not this. Denim's cheeks burned as hot as her blood boiled, but she didn't look away from the judge.

He flipped through some pages then pointed to one. "I understand you were a war hero, Ms. Sanders, and see that you have no priors. This court recognizes your service to your country and despite your behavior today has elected to reduce your charges to two counts of assault of a citizen. This case will be reviewed in criminal court. The custody of your daughter will be revisited in family court. Until then you will have supervised visitation. You will be contacted with both court dates. Your bail is set at ten thousand dollars. This court is adjourned." The judge banged his gavel multiple times as if once wasn't enough and she wanted to hit him with it.

Allison.

What had she done?

XOXOXOX

It took most of the day to process her out, but at last Denim was escorted from the building. She walked out and found Michelangelo and Raphael were being released right behind her and waiting on the courthouse steps were the entire Hamato lot, well all the family members she knew about anyway. There could be more of them, and it wouldn't surprise her at this point.

She looked at Donatello through her one good eye, felt some relief that colors were starting to appear in her left again. "They said you posted my bail."

He nodded.

"Thanks."

He looked at her. "You should see a doctor. And, Denim, it's us who should be thanking you."

She shrugged, her muscles throbbing, her ribs sending a jolt through her that almost took her breath. "For what?"

"A cop had a gun to the back of Mikey's head." Raphael appeared on her right side. "You mean you don't remember disarmin' him and beatin' him with it?"

Denim shook her head and her world spun. She put out a hand and found Michelangelo holding her up. "No, I just remember counting five, five guns cocked at the same time."

"Bou baved my bhell, Blue Jeanb," Mikey mumbled.

"There's something I don't get though." Denim lifted her fingers to rub her temple, but finding it painful she wrapped her arms around herself instead.

"What's that?" Leo asked.

"Why did they drop the three counts of assaulting a cop? That's a felony. Why let those go? Not that I'm complaining, of course. It just seems, odd." She looked at Leo, but it was Donnie whose mouth curved into a little smirk.

Leo pointed a finger at him. "Thank Donnie for anonymously emailing the police chief, and the judge on all three of your cases, video footage of police brutality." Leo looked at Donatello. "How many cameras did you say showed the entire incident?"

Donnie cracked his knuckles and exhaled. "Ah, let's see, two traffic cams, three security cameras, one from Mikey's apartment building, one from the building across the street, one from the building beside that, oh, one of the cops was wearing a cam, and there were cameras in three of the squad cars. They couldn't hold up those charges because they'd have a high profile police brutality case on their hands and I had copies." He grinned. "They'd lose."

Denim snorted. "I wonder how often it goes down like that? I mean it's not like those cops didn't know there were cameras in their cars, or the one that you said was wearing one. So why do it at all?"

"Because they don't care if it gets blown up." Karai shrugged.

Donnie shook his head. "I think they care if they lose. They just hope you don't file charges against them sighting police brutality. They're hoping you'll keep quiet in the interest of not drawing attention to whatever it is that you did." Donnie frowned. "Which, there's not much I can do about the video someone took at Murakami's. That's a mess all over the internet and the news."

"But we didn't do anything wrong. That guy and his friend were drunk. They walked up on us." Denim looked at Donnie. "I'm guessing the video doesn't show that though, does it?"

"No," Donnie replied, "It could've been edited or maybe they didn't start filming until you pulled your gun."

"Yeah, about that," Raph pointed to her. "Can you not carry a gun when you're out with my brother?"

Everyone looked at her and Denim refused to answer. She was too tired to argue with all of them in defense of her weapon choice. And she had more to worry about that wasting her efforts trying to change their views. Although she still didn't understand them. Later. It could wait.

As if sensing that the subject needed changing, April motioned to Denim and Mikey. "You should tell him your story, Denim. You deserve way more than what you think." She looked her over and frowned. "But we should get you to a hospital first."

She supposed April was right. Not that she deserved more, but that Michelangelo deserved those answers he'd asked her for. But she had two things burning a hole in her brain.

One, how had her life spiraled so out of control in such a short amount of time? Was this how every day was for mutants and their human counterparts? Constantly on tiptoe, harassed then assumed guilty until proven innocent? No damn wonder they were vigilantes. Her bruised jaw shifted. Hell she might even join them. This was bullshit. And if they wouldn't have her she might go out on her own. Maybe her war hadn't ended when Kyle died and the mutants were liberated.

No, because the real war was just beginning when she'd checked out.

She believed in messages from the universe, maybe even from Kyle in the great beyond. She wasn't afraid to fight, she'd done it before, and she'd do it again.

What she was afraid of led to number the two item that was tearing her up… losing a loved one in any way shape or form…

What about Alli?

"I lost my daughter today," Denim said in a daze.

"Be'll bet ber back," Michelangelo assured her.

If only she had his confidence. And if only she believed that was what was best for her little girl.

XOXOXOX

"How are you feeling?" Mikey asked her for the hundredth time. He handed her two prescription strength ibuprofen as Donatello shined a penlight in her eyes for the twentieth time that day. The hospital had released her after a bout of x-rays, stitches and bandaging, now it was up to pain meds and rest.

Just beyond Donnie and Mikey, Leo and Karai were talking while Raph watched both her and Michelangelo interchangeably. April was doing something in the hall closet and Denim half wished she'd quit working so hard to help. She'd already cleaned her kitchen, and made everyone soup, what else was there?

"I'm fine," Denim assured them, taking a shallow inhale, her taped ribs throbbing with every breath. They hurt worse than her bruised body.

"How's your vision coming along in the left eye?" Donatello asked, his brown eyes darting back and forth between hers.

"Fine. It cleared up. It's just the swelling making it weird now. Look, I've been through worse. I'm okay, you guys really." Once she'd showered and eaten, what little energy had left was fading fast. She sat on her couch holding Alli's pink turtle, fighting sleep.

Alli had carried it with her everywhere since Mikey gave it to her, but Connie wouldn't let her take it with her and her daughter had cried for it. Damn near broke Denim's heart. She looked away from Donatello, pulled the turtle under her chin and stared out the window.

April brought Michelangelo a blanket and he covered Denim with it. He stood there staring at her but she kept her gaze on the window. The sky was a perfect clear blue, bright like his eyes the way they'd shine, vibrant and happy. If she looked in them now they were bruised and his mouth was set in this terrible frown that hurt to see.

It wasn't fair. What he put up with. What was happening to her, to them. It sure as hell wasn't fair her daughter was taken from her. Was she making the wrong choices? Or did she just need to tweak them a bit? Did she give up Michelangelo or did she stick with him and fight by his side? But if she did, could she get her daughter back? Should she?

"Denim," April's hand appeared over her wrapped wrist. Denim didn't look at her, but April went on anyway. "You will get her back. With your military record, and this being your first encounter with the law… you will get her back. But you need to decide some things and none of us here can tell you what to do."

Denim gave a dazed nod. "I know." She sighed then hissed as pain shot through her ribs. She looked at Michelangelo who hadn't taken his eyes off her. She envied his healing ability. The swelling was gone from him, only bruises remaining. She pushed her thoughts aside and put a hand to her side, trying to support her ribs but not making any notable difference. "Can you guys leave us? I need to talk to Michelangelo."

Without a word the apartment quickly cleared of lingering Hamatos.

Her eyes flittered over Michelangelo but they couldn't stay. The look on his face, she couldn't stand it.

"Sit with me, Mikey," she said softly.

He sat beside her and she reached out, taking his hand. She took a pained breath and turned toward him.

She couldn't remember ever telling anyone her story, except Constance because she needed her to know the truth. It was her fault Kyle was dead and it was her fault Connie hated mutants. The papers, they'd gotten it all wrong, she wasn't a hero and Mikey was going to know that. She needed him to know, she wouldn't live a lie. The question was how would he feel about her once he knew what she'd done?

"I was in the Mutant Liberation War with Kyle. But he didn't die on the front lines like I said. I'm sorry, but that part wasn't true." She hesitated, took a breath and continued.

"He was my spotter." She looked in Michelangelo's eyes, found his expression blank. "I was a sniper. We work in pairs, and he was my partner. When we were kids his dad, who was retired military taught us how to shoot."

A sad smile came and went. "We got really, really good."

She paused for a moment but Mikey seemed frozen. Since he wasn't stopping her she decided to continue her story. "Before Kyle and I were together, like romantic together, we were just friends. When we were fifteen he started dating a mutant in secret. I was the only one who knew about her, but he never actually let me meet her." She shook her head. "And God I was jealous as hell."

"She was killed in some strange incident," Denim made a face, "I- I still don't get what happened, but Kyle was devastated. He said it was murder and because she wasn't recognized as a citizen there was nothing to be done about it. So when the war started-" her lip quivered and Michelangelo gave her hand a squeeze.

She put her battered knuckles to her mouth and took a breath.

"He was going to enlist and I'd been," she let out a pathetic laugh, "I'd been in love with him for so long. I would've followed him to hell if he asked me to." She tried to wipe her eyes, but they were swollen and it hurt. It hurt like knowing she was Kyle's second choice, and that he didn't love her, not the way she did him. But he'd been her best friend, her family, and whatever he gave her she'd been willing to take.

"It was like he was seeing me for the first time. It all happened so fast. We were married and enlisted, made it through training then-" Denim stopped, stuck for the lump in her throat, for the memories flooding her…

"You're aimed too high, adjust your sights. Check it again, Denim," Kyle whispered, peering through his scope.

"Stop snapping at me," she grumbled.

"You shouldn't be out here. You should've told the CO this morning. You don't wait until we're in the field, sighting a target to tell me something like this, Denni." His hands were shaking as he huddled close beside her, checking them again.

"You've checked my shot five times, Kyle. I've got it, and I just found out this morning. Excuse me if it hadn't quite sunk in until just now while shit is getting blown up. I didn't think it would be this bad today."

"It's war, Denim. It's bad every day. And you're wrong, your shot is off. If you take it now you'll miss."

"I won't miss. Look, check my scope. I'm taking out the supply truck. What are you aiming for?"

"For getting us both out of this alive when you hit the mark. Fuck, Denni, the minute you saw the results it should've sunk in."

"Well, I'm slow that way, Kyle. And the shots good, I'm taking it."

She rolled onto her belly, looked, aimed, squeezed the trigger… and missed.

The enemy scrambled, firing a spray of bullets into their cover. One grazed her head and Kyle threw himself onto her, then next shot was a direct hit to the middle of his face.

"I radioed for emergency evac and dragged his body to the rendezvous point. But he was gone… already cold and stiff." She struggled to swallow her shame, and regrets. She was a soldier, she was Kyle's friend. She was his wife. And he was her family. She owed it to him to be honest and own her mistakes. But they hurt like a thousand beatings. That pain never went away. "And gone, he was gone. I knew it," she pushed the words over the knot in her throat, "But I couldn't leave him."

She gnawed on her lip, trying to press down the pain in her chest, couldn't tell if it was from her tears or ribs but it hurt. She took a few shallow breaths before she could continue.

"The shot I thought grazed me was worse than I realized. A fracture or something, I've never been able to focus when they talk about it. I'd collapsed when I reached help. It was all choppy when it was happening, like I was blinking in an out of reality." She shook her head, staring at their intertwined fingers, pink and green. Almost exactly what Kyle had fought and died for… "I woke up in the hospital a few days later. They'd put the metal plate in my head. It's all fuzzy, after Kyle died all of it was just a blur."

Denim rubbed her fingers over the hard piece of metal just beneath her skin. "It messed up my vision in my left eye but it doesn't affect my shot because I'm best with my right." Her throat hurt. Somewhere along the way a tears had slipped away from her. Her face ached from the beating she'd taken and that mixed with the pressure that built in her sinuses from her weeping made her head throb.

She sniffled, and glanced at Michelangelo. "So there you go. I'm no hero," she shrugged, "I'm a murderer, a crack shot used to kill people. And I got my best friend killed by going into a fight and telling him that I just found out I was pregnant." Her jaw trembled and her shoulders shuddered. "I destroyed our lives, and it only took seconds. One mistake… and it was over."

There was a long moment of silence before either of them spoke.

"Denim," Michelangelo began, but she wiped her swollen eyes and looked away.

Two large green fingers slid under her chin and gently guided them around to face him. She closed her eyes, tried to stop the tears from falling, struggled to keep her chest from shuddering for the pain in her ribs matched that in her heart.

"I wasn't finished talking to you, Blue Jeans." He kissed her cheek and she gasped, her eyes opening on his breathtaking blues. He nodded. "That's a hella mistake. I feel ya. I really do. And I'm sorry it happened. But I need to know, do you want to be here with me right now? With all of that behind you, with all of that as part of you, and all we've been through since we met, is this," he frowned but didn't look away, "is this what's best for you and Alli? Because it's not going to end in my lifetime, and I know that."

Denim reached up and grabbed his hand, guided it from her chin to her cheek and leaned into it, the rough spots, the scars, she didn't care. She just felt comforted by him. "Michelangelo, can I not decide right this second? Can you just hold me for a while? I'm really, really tired."

He said nothing, simply guided her around so her back was against his shirt covered plastron, and she lowered her head to his thick bicep, inhaled the scent of pizza, felt his cool skin soothe her bruised cheek and closed her eyes.