Author's Notes: Hey, guys. Well, it's the time all English majors at UCLA loathe: paper time. So I have been working extra hard to get these chapters done as quickly as I could. I'm sorry these updates are so slow… But this chapter is nice and long, and the next one is almost done and equally as long, so enjoy. Here's hoping my Milton paper is… cohesive. Unlike my brain. And that I don't choke on my Japanese creative skit. Weee, Mikey happy fun time for all you fans who missed him in the last two torturous chapters!

For the year and a half that Leo was gone, Mikey became an early-riser. He worked himself into a habit, listening in the dawn hour for a familiar sound downstairs. His ears attuned to it, the rhythm of the den door sliding open, and the slow, heavy tread, of his tired and secretive older brother. He would pretend to be sleeping until Raphael climbed up into own his bunk, dreaming before he touched the pillow. Then the world was Michelangelo's, like a passing of the baton, after he heard his brother breathing, and watched his shell for a half-hour, as the morning dragged on.

It was Mikey's suspicion that since Leo's departure and elevation, Raph had been out somewhere training himself to close the gap, to make up for not being chosen as well. His musculature almost doubled, and even in walking, he seemed always at the ready. Splinter had a vigilant eye, but never stopped him, never asked, as though he knew or had some idea. Mikey, who was a younger brother, had some idea as well. Raph missed Leo, and the only way to connect with him was to follow his shadow, obsessively, focused insanely on the task. Michelangelo wished his brother could let it go, or walk the path with he and Donnie, though he supposed Donatello's choice of dealing with the absence did not jive well with Raph's. Mikey followed Donnie. Raphael, in the back of his loyal, opaque heart, followed Leo.

A morning came when Raphael did not come back at his usual hour, just as the sun was rising. Mikey waited, breathing and stopping himself from thinking about the stomach-eating emotions dragging through his system like a slow-working drug. Raph would come back. He always came back.

An hour slipped by; Donnie would be waking up soon, to eat breakfast, train, and jump on the IT Tech Support line. Mikey still did not get out of bed, listening to his brother breath in sleep below him. A ticking bomb, that Raphael must preclude to avoid getting a lecture.

At long last, the door below slid open, and he listened for those familiar steps; but they fell this time unevenly, heavier than usual—steps of pain. Instead of moving towards the bunkroom, they stopped, swerved, and fell upon the tile in the bathroom instead. Mikey swallowed, coming to a decision; quietly, he rolled off the top bunk, landing catlike beside Donatello, and deftly turned off the alarm. Then, light steps, he padded to the bathroom door, only half-shut, and stood, to see Raphael.

He was breathing unevenly through teeth gritted against making sound, the tap on, washing blood and dirt away from a slash running from inner forearm almost to the shoulder blade, where it stopped abruptly. The cut was at an awkward angle, on the back of the arm, running around it as though the inflictor had been trying to avoid something—the slash of Raph's sai, no doubt. The amount of blood Raph was losing looked exorbitant; Mikey gasped, making his brother's head turn.

"Mikey? ... Shoulda known you'd be up right now…"

Getting past his shock, Michelangelo walked straight into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He wasted no time grabbing a wad of towels and putting pressure on the gash, ignoring his sibling's taken-aback expression.

"Whoa, dude, what happened? You get in a nasty fight with a lawn mower or somethin'?"

Raph cringed. "Very funny. I just… wasn't bein' careful an' I ran into a buncha punks on my way home. I was tired and I just got sloppy. Let 'em knife me like a Thanksgiving turkey, right in my blind spot."

Mikey had a feeling Raph wasn't telling the whole truth; he figured, with an inner snicker, that the whole story was either less than flattering or so reckless and stupid Raph didn't want to tell it. Didn't matter. He'd probably looked cool doing it. "Well, my brother, you're lucky you're not gonna need stitches, 'cuz you gotta get in bed before Donnie wakes up and figures out what time you dragged your butt home. I'll get the towels in cold water an' he'll never know by the time he's awake."

Raph frowned; he'd been expecting some teasing in exchange for the help. "It's 'bout seven—isn't he usually awake by now?"

Mikey chuckled, putting adhesives on the wound to keep it from splitting with Raph's movements. "Not this morning, bro." He looked up to see a strange expression on his brother's face, Raphael opening his mouth, as though to say something.

A creak down the hall, Master Splinter's door, the shuffling sound of their father's footsteps walking almost silently across the floor, past the bathroom, peering in the bunkroom. Raph shut his eyes tight. "Shit."

"Relax, Raph—Master Splinter would've said somethin' by now."

Raphael blinked, trying to flex his muscles, and wincing. "Damn this arm… Can't believe I got caught like that…"

Mikey laughed quietly. "You should think about stayin' in more often. Now Donnie's got the IT line, I could use help in my Cowabunga Carl business."

Raphael sighed; Mikey hadn't heard him sound so tired in a long while. "You likin' the clown business, Mikey?"

"I'm likin' the free pizza and the cash. Kids aren't too bad either, usually."

"Yeah," Raph said after an interval, vaguely.

"You're gonna go back out tonight with this huge thing, aren't ya?" Mikey asked, sounding a shade colder. Maybe Raph was imagining it.

"Ever stopped me before?"

Mikey grinned, weakly. "No. Usually Leo's job."

Raph's eyes hardened, and his brother regretted it, but pushed a little further.

"Maybe… you should call or somethin', in the middle of the night, just to tell Donnie where you're at"—

Raphael interrupted him, his voice harsh. "So Leo gets to disappear ten thousand miles away without a word for months, and I still gotta check in every few hours? Get real, Mikey. Not gonna happen."

Leo isn't the one who courts Death every night.

Though none of them really knew that... but it was Leo. He was probably fine. Mikey bound the upper arm, and Raph bound the lower. At length, Raphael sighed.

"Thanks, little bro."

Mikey grinned, less fulsomely than usual. "It's what we're here for, dude. Leo's not your only brother, ya know."

"Yeah," Raph said again; noncommittally; almost sadly, not matching Mikey's eyes.

It was the closest Raphael ever came to telling his little brother the truth, telling him about the Nightwatcher. But kids and pizza, rising early, didn't mix well with the world of shadows and violence into which he'd sunk. The slash Mikey helped him bandage and hide was an act of retribution, for a death at Raphael's hands. The life had been a murderer's and a rapist's, but still it was a life, with family, and the Nightwatcher had taken it, smashing in the skull, sending bone fragments flying, mid-act as the criminal finished his pleasure and began to choke the life out of his victim. The rage that had overtaken the face behind the vigilante had a power of its own, and in a moment that terrible existence was snuffed out, never to rape or murder again. Raphael would do it over and over, until one day by some magic no bastard would endeavor to unzip his pants or pull out a knife again, struck dumb with fear. It was the only weapon that worked.

Raphael was working against the universe, and someday, something had to give—or something had to break. And he could not be proud, not when he looked into his little brother's innocent face. The next time he was injured, he didn't come home to nurse the wounds—he stockpiled first aid supplies in the abandoned garage where he hid his gear, and slept against his bike, not knowing what else to do, trapped and facing the clinch alone. The first time, Mikey laid in bed for a long while, staring at the ceiling, and at his brothers' empty bunks on the other wall. Raph's on top, Leo's on the bottom, one messy and the other perfectly-made. They could both be dead, somewhere out in the world, choosing, by some sixth sense, to give in at the same moment, separate and together. Selfish, secretive pricks.

His eyes fell on the dusty old action figures on the shelves above his brothers' beds. Wolverine above Raph's, Beast above Leo's. They must've held onto them for ten years, the dramatic nut-jobs. Once he saw them, Mikey suddenly turned over. Easier just not to care. He was not a liar by nature, but then, his brothers had never left before. Not like this.

Easy to lie, and tell himself he wasn't jealous that Raphael, who held himself at arm's length from Mikey, who wanted his notice and his attention, was controlled on puppet strings by Leonardo a half-a-world away, who exerted no effort to do so. Raphael revolved around Leo, whether in spite or love or a mixture thereof, while his other brothers might as well have been shades, despite standing so close to him and experiencing the same doubt, the same restlessness. Mikey knew how Raph felt especially. Yet he doubted his brother knew or would even care. Too many years, perhaps, of telling mean jokes because he was jealous, and wanted Raph to know that his little brother saw him, and liked him, and thought he was cool. Too many years of Raph and Leo living in their own world of adventures and rivalry. Too many years of always being two and two, instead of four.

Easy to lie again, when he leapt at Leo upon his return, dying of happiness to see him—to lie once more, forgiving Raph nearly every time he saw him for his own dishonesty. Mikey was the clown. His life was a mask, to see and not affect. He supposed that was his and Donatello's affinity—eyes without opinions, perceiving without a voice. Endless daily deceptions.

---------

The four brothers returned from their defeat on the surface, and without speaking knew they would be pulling an all-nighter. Fatigued yet full of restless, itching energy, feeling the failure creeping upon them like a worm. Donnie went instinctively to his computers, scanning in all Lizzie's drawings to try and figure out what it was exactly she had seen that the Foot wanted. Leo and Raph got out a map of Manhattan, trying to agree on where the messenger had taken them when they'd been "invited" by Karai for a friendly chat. Mikey marched ahead, concluding his conversation with Donatello—from the sound of it, not on the best note—to make coffee.

"Raph—I'm telling you, we did not go that far east!" Leo argued, erasing the pencil line almost as soon as Raphael made it.

"Hey, Jungle Boy, I know the Eastside like the back a' my own fist, an' that warehouse was"—

"How the hell would you know the back of your own fist that intimately if it's always in someone else's face?"

"Oh ho—look who thought he grew a sense of humor in the Amazon."

"I was in Costa Rica, not the Amazon, Raphael."

"Guy givin' me geography lessons when he probably can't even tell me how far past Canal street we were the other week…"

"Well, Raphael, I'm sorry if my scope of Manhattan has been experienced mostly below ground while you saw fit to waltz around up top for eighteen months, but I'll thank you to know that I do not remember crossing Canal, and I think I would have noticed."

"Don't even start gettin' hoity-toity wi' me on this, Leo—we were past Canal already when we started trainin', remember?"

Leo whirled on his other brothers. "Donnie, help me out here."

Donatello gave him a deadpan look. "Well, actually, if either of you had thought to have your cell phones on and with you that night, I could've checked your GPS records and this wouldn't be a problem. Moreover, you could have hit your distress buttons for me and Mikey, and Raphael wouldn't have nearly got his shell caved in, to say nothing of your infection. But since you both insist on being cowboys"—

"Do you three ever shut up?"

Leo, Raph, and Donnie all turned, in slow surprise, to look at the kitchen, and Michelangelo's angry face.

"Raph does know Manhattan like the back of his hand, and we all know Donnie's right about the stupid cell phones, so what's the stupid point?"

Raphael sighed, but sent Leo a look to keep him from answering. He stood with the map in his hands. "Bro, the point is we're a little freaked out and this is a better way a' blowin' off steam than much else, so if you wanna add t' the pool without givin' yourself a brain aneurism, be my guest."

Mikey snapped his mouth shut, glaring. "Does anyone even have plan?"

Raph scowled. "Do you?"

Mikey blinked a few times before looking away. Donnie spoke from the alcove. "I don't have a plan per se, but I'll say this much: we can't do anything unless we have some way of protecting ourselves from those poisoned weapons. Raph's chains may have worked when you guys had Lizzie with you, but something tells me they won't if we go in without something valuable."

"Sounds like we need armor," Mikey muttered, staring at the kitchen floor.

"There is no armor that fits us, Mikey, and we have pretty limited time here"—

Leo cleared his throat. "Well, I don't know about four of us… but I do know there's full armor that would fit one of us."

Raph folded his arms, almost responding, but Donnie preempted him. "You are not suggesting what I think you are, Leo."

Leo shook his head. "There's nothing mystical about the armor, Donatello, that turns someone into a vigilante the moment they put it on."

"They was not my point"—

"No."

The answer came from both Raphael and Michelangelo, simultaneously.

Mikey spoke first. "Ya can't just dress one've us up like the Nightwatcher and go walkin' around—people'll think he's come back, and they'll think… they'll think he'll fight bad guys again. That's not fair."

Raphael, after staring gape-jawed at his little brother before shaking it off, had a slightly darker response. "The Nightwatcher made a lot a' enemies, Leo. The last coupla months they been crawlin' out a' the woodwork again, marchin' around like roaches, an' the revenge talk is startin' up. They see my helmet in the wrong part a' town, the turtle wearin' it can kiss his ass goodbye."

Leo smiled. "Yes, but Raphael, the advantage here is that you know precisely what parts of town those might be, don't you?"

Raph chuckled sardonically. "It's pretty much the whole town, Leo. All a' Manhattan, half a' Brooklyn, part a' Queens, eastern part a' Staten Island and even a few parts a' Jersey. Even if I haven't been there, they've seen me on the news puttin' a cousin or a homey in chains and hangin' 'em from a telephone pole. No one's goin' out in that armor."

"And here I thought you stuck to Harlem," Donnie said, dryly. "At least now I know nearly all the boroughs want your head on plate."

Leo became serious, looking between Raph and Mikey. "I'm surprised at the two of you. I wouldn't think something like the Nightwatcher's past life would stop you from wanting to save Liz."

Mikey and Raph almost exchanged a glance, before the former remembered how angry he was and glared at the fridge instead.

"Raph's probably just afraid a' putting the suit on again, like it has some mind control powers and he'll go all berserker on us…"

Raph closed his eyes; Donnie finally snapped at his brother, rolling his chair out with a hard expression.

"Maybe you're just scared of seeing your hero again, Mikey, and remembering it's your brother."

Raph cut in, exasperated. "Hey! I'm not talkin' about some psychoanalysis bullshit—I'm sayin' it's dangerous to wear that suit in Manhattan these days—which means the only one who's puttin' it on is me, and not a word about me goin' berserker or whatever else, ya got it? An' you make one more crack about it, Mikey, an' I swear to god I'll deck ya. The fact I nearly skewered Leo ain't something t' throw around lightly in conversation."

Mikey grabbed his arm as he went past, eyes flashing. "You—you just said how dangerous it is to wear the armor, dude. So why're ya doin' it?"

Raph wrenched his arm away. "To save Liz, ya freakin' schitzo! Tell me what ya want me to say!"

"You don't… you don't have the right to wear that armor anymore!" Mikey spat, daggers in his eyes. There was something hauntingly desperate about him. Raph made to break away, but his brother was still blocking him—both Leo and Donnie were on their feet and coming closer.

"You act like we're two different people or somethin', Mikey," Raph almost whispered, stamping down his fury.

"You are!" Mikey continued, heedlessly, almost out-of-control. "The real Nightwatcher wouldn't let the Foot take some helpless little kid. You—you're just"—

"I'm what?" Raph asked, voice even quieter. "I'm King a' sayin' and doin' things I'll regret. Hope you thought this through before you make my mistakes all over for me."

Michelangelo's face hardened. "Your mistakes? I've always been able to say things that could get under your skin, bro."

Raph sighed, at a loss. "Just… just tell me what ya want me t' do, Mikey."

Leo had had enough, however. "He's not going to, Raphael, because I've already made my decision. You or I will go into Foot headquarters in the armor, disarm as many of the poison-carrying soldiers as possible, and the rest will follow in the ventilation systems. Don will help you rig up the helmet with a transmitter. If Michelangelo wants to be a petulant child, then he can stay here."

Mikey's anger did not abate; Leo's words flared it into life, just as Leo thought they would. "I'm coming with you to save Lizzie, whether you like it or not, dudes. Not her fault Raph didn't think she was worth it to protect like the rest of the city is…"

Donnie scowled and tried to pull Mikey away from a seething, closed-eyed Raphael. "What is with you? The angst-ridden teenager shtick is Raph's, remember? You're hardly making sense anymore—I mean, do you want to save Elizabeth or not?"

Mikey snorted. "I'm the one not making sense, here? Master Splinter always taught us to do the right thing and protect people… and you all turned on her the moment things got tough. Even Raph, Mr. Vigilante Hero himself—the guy who NEVER takes orders"—

"Oh yeah, punk?" Raph cut in. "Master Splinter also taught me to protect my brothers—especially my little bro—and that's supposed to be what's most important. Don't pretend like just cuz ya thought Nightwatcher was a hero that he wasn't wrong, too. Cuz I put you all at risk… an' I had to learn that the hard way."

"Yeah?" Mikey muttered, seething himself. "S'always 'bout putting us at risk. You're never sorry to almost kill yourself."

"Michelangelo"—Leo said with a warning voice; but Mikey had already stormed away and out of the room. The three older brothers watched him, and all flinched when they heard the bunkroom door slam shut.

Leo looked at Donnie. "Just our luck. Raph finally grows up and Mikey jumps to take his place on the angst coaster." Donatello here grinned; but Raph glared at them both.

"What—the clown face isn't allowed to be pissed off once in a while? Give the little idiot a break. He starts doin' this every day, then maybe he'll fill my boots—but those're big boots." He glanced at Donnie. "Helmet's in the trophy closet, bro. There's already a police radio I installed—you should be able t' alter that to our coms." He then went towards the door. "Gotta go get my gear—Leo, gimme a hand, huh?"

Leo smiled and followed. "Of course."

It was a little run-down warehouse several streets from the shop, and Raph had never taken any of them there yet… too ashamed, or perhaps because he wished to put it as far behind him as he could. Or perhaps because of the blood.

From the look of it, Leo judged that Raphael must have stumbled in here at least thirty or forty times trailing bucket loads of crimson in his wake, and many of those times must have been when he was injured. Rivulets of watered-down rust ran off under the warehouse door, away from a hose in the corner, where Raph probably cleaned his gear. Shelves upon shelves of first aid supplies where easily accessible—if his brother could get back to the warehouse. If he could get on his bike. If he could walk away from the scene.

The leather suit lay in a duffle bag; the armor hung from pegs on the wall, the entire complicated apparatus Raphael must have altered and expanded upon in order to fit it over their awkward animal bodies, and his in particular, ribbed with smooth, bulky muscle. Leo couldn't help but stare around the place in wonder. His brother had a bare cot set up, also stained with blood, and a small supply of granola bars and water. Enough to survive. Survive. Is that what his little brother had done in his absence? Not lived, but survived. Traveling out in the world, it seemed natural that the focus of Leo's existence was to subsist, and learn through the experience; but here again he could see his sibling echoing him, following his shadow, staying in step by whatever means he could.

Raph began to unfold the leather suit, and look over the armor appraisingly, but Leo stopped him with a firm, gentle hand.

"I'll wear the armor, Raph. I don't want you to have to do this—especially not with your shell still mending."

Raph smiled. "What, an' give Mikey more ammo? No thanks, bro."

Leo tightened his grip. "Forget him—this is between us."

Raph's eyes twinkled ever so slightly. "Isn't everything?" Leo snapped his hand back quickly, as though he'd been burned. Raph sighed. "We'll have to do a lot of adjusting jus' to make it fit me, Leo. I've lost a lot a' muscle mass since the last time I put this thing on—compliment's a Donnie's experiments an' getting' injured 'n all. Don't know if we could fit in on ya. 'Sides, I gotta lot a respect for the man I got this armor from… seems kinda not right to pass his gear around, ya know?"

Leo sounded very sober. "You're more important to me than a dead man, Raphael."

Raph chuckled. 'Well, glad t' hear that. But a dead man's more important t' me than a little pressure on the shell. So gimme a hand wi' this."

Raphael had himself clad in the leather suit and steel boots with a quickness formed by over a year of habit, his skin and shell covered from jaw to feet, while Leo worked on shortening the straps that would hold the metal shell case and the armor panels in place; looking up, he could see Raph had been right—the leather was loose around his shoulders and biceps. He felt amazement creep upon him—Raphael was still noticeably bigger than the rest of them. He measured the weight of the armor with his hands—steel, the entire thing, and not for the half-hearted.

"I can see how your muscles got so big. A year and a half with this on your shoulders must've really bulked you up. Must've been a real work-out for the first couple of months."

Raph chuckled again, easily. "Man, you have no idea. First few days I couldn't even move when I woke up… whole body felt like one huge Charlie horse. Went out once every few nights till I could move faster with it… slowed me down pretty bad, an' I'm already th' slowest a' the four of us. That's when I knew I needed the cot there… had to rest for an hour or so sometimes 'fore I could get back to the den. Plus bein' slow meant I took more injuries—got knifed pretty bad a couple a' times, an' I had to stay here for a few days."

Leo half-smiled. "So I take it you're not that surprised Mikey's angry with you? I wondered why you didn't seem to mind it so much."

Raphael laughed. "Oh, I mind. Guy can drive burnin' pokers through my skin wi' the shit he says—makes me crazy, always has. But I been expectin' it… wouldn't accept nothin' less. I'm just surprised how long it took… we were close again bein' injured and wi' Liz around. Her gettin' taken was just the last straw." Then he sighed, amusement utterly evaporated. "He expected me to act like a hero, I guess. Me bein' a hero makes runnin' out on him like I did kinda okay. Maybe now he gets that I'm no hero and never was."

Leo considered him, finishing with one strap and allowing Raphael to come in and help him with the other. "You know, Raph… I went most of our lives letting Mikey act cruel because I thought that by being so innocent and having a good reason it wasn't a problem. Being the baby can't always be fun, after all. And I suppose there's a difference between cruel jokes and trying your hardest to hurt someone in retaliation for something… but it was never okay when your words were poisonous after you held them in for so long, and it's not okay for Mikey either. I meant it when I said it—if he keeps acting like this, he can stay here."

Raph shook his head. "Sticks an' stones, bro. Years a' takin' his jokes an' fightin' with you've made me pretty tough."

They worked in silence for a few minutes, then went back to the first strap after realizing they were uneven—as they did so, Leo looked up, on a sudden thought.

"Thank you, by the way. For… for not ganging up on me with Mikey out in the alley—and for defending me. It took me by surprise."

Raph chuckled again and met his brother's eyes. "I'd never gang up on ya, Leo—means I'd have to share ya. And I can take you on my own."

Leo sent an appraising look out at the blood spatters and rivulets. "Yes, I can see that," he teased.

Raph grinned. "I'm surprised ya haven't lectured me yet, big brother. Blood doesn't bother ya?"

Leo shrugged, and echoed his brother's words. "It bothers me. But I was expecting it."

"Smart turtle," Raph said with a smile, taping his temple; the gesture made his face melt into a non-expression, and his eyes went slightly far away. Leo knew automatically why, and reached out to gently take his brother's upraised hand.

"She'll be okay, Raph—we'll get her back."

----------

Donnie was puzzling over Raph's jury-rigged police radio when a heavy, metallic footstep made him look up; his jaw dropped. He might have drawn his weapon had Raphael's face not been perched on top of the bulky, heavily nicked black vigilante armor. Slowly, Donatello removed his goggles, without realizing how far open his mouth hung.

Nonplussed, Raphael strode into the den, eyes flickering; he never thought his home and this way of life would collide so awkwardly. Leo followed him, waiting for Mikey to show up and whatever reaction that would enjoin. Leonardo couldn't lie; seeing it for the second time, the armor still amazed him—even more so getting Raphael into it, the multiple buckles and attachments, the different ways Raph had tried to protect himself. The deep gouges in the armor, so like his brother's shell—the bullet hole crudely pounded out of the shell plating, making it slightly uneven, which had made Leo shudder. It was a story all on its own, told through a body that had lain just around his brother's flesh, a second skin, a deception that could not tell a lie. His brother had been shot, and stabbed, and bludgeoned. He had been trapped, and beaten, and jumped. He had been pained, and alone, and bleeding. All while his brothers slept.

He had already lectured Raph about all of this; simply because the magnamity of it was finally hitting home didn't mean he could just lecture again. Raph knew, and would not do it again. Something in this felt hollow. It was all that could be done, but the need to do more was there, an unresolvedness. It was enough to almost make Leo understand why Mikey felt the need to get revenge by saying hateful things, to give Raph more pain in return for what he'd inflicted. Because the Nightwatcher represented something different to them than it did to Raphael—for Leo, Mikey, and Donnie, it was the ghost of a kind of failure on their part, in one form or another. Something Donnie couldn't fix, something that resulted from Leo's example, something which Mikey's humor could not smooth out. They had spent months trying to scrub the vigilante from their brains and from off their brother's body, and none of them truly knew what the Nightwatcher had meant to Raphael, nor did they care to ask. It was something to be cleaned away, polished, grown out of. But it was a year of their brother's life. A year that they sought to bury, in a casket of the mind. Yet somehow it seemed to control them, refusing to be ignored and forgotten, a being unto itself.

But it was just… Raph. No monster and no ghost, just their brother in leather, trying, lost, to do some good. It all seemed… somehow anticlimactic.

But Leo had had enough. His brother deserved some compassion—at this point Raphael had been putting up with them all dealing with the Nightwatcher for months, and it was time to stop. It was because Leo had let his own fear best him that Raph now had a cracked shell, and there was no way of knowing the damage Donnie's experiments could have done. If Mikey added to the pool they might lose their brother for good. And as things progressed, Leo had a sinking suspicion that Master Splinter would point out how much worse they were acting than the vigilante who affected all their actions.

Mikey turned around, now standing in the kitchen; a barely perceptible emotion flitted across his face when he saw the Nightwatcher armor so close, and Raphael's piercing eyes watching him. Leo glared, daring Mikey to start another tirade, before Raph strode over to Donnie.

"Radio workin' out for ya? Sorry it's such a jury-rigged disaster… I sorta played it by ear. Nothin' you'd whip up, even in your sleep."

Donatello swallowed his shock and chuckled. "Yeah… yeah, it's uh… it's actually very functional. Just a little strange. Not sure where you found some of these components. And I'm having some trouble locating the power source."

"Same one's the lights," Raph responded, then looked at Donnie's computer, which seemed to be working through dozens and dozens of the sheets Lizzie had drawn. "Any luck?"

Donnie sighed. "It's been trying configuration after configuration, and nothing lines up completely. It's some intricate mathematical drawing—a computer model. I'm trying algorithms of the equations she wrote to make sense of it." He finished tweaking the helmet with a satisfied sigh. "There. I've installed a camera like the one in Mikey's Carl head, so I have direct linkage to whatever you see—just in case. You'll hear my voice just as you would the radio—the controls are all the same, we're just on a secure channel."

Raph took the helmet, looking it over. "Seems kinda ironic, doesn't it?"

But Donnie was gazing at Mikey; he was looking at the back of a marshmallow package studiously, seeing nothing, and listening to everything.

"Hey, Mikey… you know, this is your big chance. You can really see the armor and everything—closest you've ever been, isn't it?"

Raph scowled. "Aw, Donnie, c'mon… he finally gave it a break…."

Mikey looked slightly abashed; it was plain he was fighting between the desire to be near his hero's gear and see it up close for the first time, confirming it's reality, and being furious with the disappointing person who wore it.

Leo folded his arms. "Michelangelo… you can't blame people when they fall off unrealistic pedestals… especially if what they did was mature and saved your life."

Raph shrugged. "You can come see it, Mikey… it's nothin' special, never was. The real person who was special's the one who gave it to me… this is just… some bashed up metal and leather n' stuff."

Mikey locked eyes with him at last. "That's not true, dude… there's a buncha people who think it's special. You never even met 'em… but they probably keep wishin' he'll come back."

"Yeah, well… he's not," Raphael responded, simply. But Mikey came forward, and Raph lightly handed the helmet over to his brother.

Mikey sat on the arm of the couch, tracing the line of the front ridge and the numerous gashes in the thick metal with a finger, seeing himself reflected in the dark glass of the visor; the face of justice to some, a demon to others. His hero, who had stolen away his brother. The others watched him, apprehensively.

"Hey, Raph? What's my favorite ice cream?"

Raphael frowned deeply, blinking several times, too shocked not to answer. "Uh—rocky road, an' ya always pick out all the damn marshmallows, too."

Mikey continued tracing the helmet's edges. "Batman or Superman?"

Raphael chuckled. "Dumb question—Batman, duh."

Mikey almost smiled at that. "My favorite movie?"

Raph rolled his eyes. "Godzilla—what the hell's this all about now, ya nutjob?"

"I don't know any of that stuff about you."

Raphael blinked several more times. "You—you what? What the"—he stomped forward, and smacked his brother lightly over the head, making Mikey look up sharply. Raph made a rather impressive sight, standing with arms crossed in full leather and black, battle-scarred armor. "First of all, none a' that shit's important, ya got me? And second of all—why the hell would I notice ya ate all the marshmallows if rocky road wasn't my favorite too, huh? And if you don't know I'll take Batman over Superman when I ran around New York in this getup for eighteen months, you're a moron. Lastly, ya don't know my favorite movie cuz I watch it with Casey. What, you think ya don't know me or somethin' jus' cuz I was Nightwatcher? That's just… I don't know, Mikey. It's too much, even from you. Maybe you should watch somethin' other than TV more often if ya feel like you don't know me."

Shocked and gripping the helmet, Mikey stood up, as Raph paced a bit. "You're the one who's always… gone off and, like, doin' your own stupid thing, and never talks about it… I mean, here you are livin' with me and I still don't know much more about the Nightwatcher than what I heard on TV… an' you've always been like that… you 'n Leo both. I don't know where Leo went or what he did or…"

Raph sighed. "Not everybody's like you, Mikey… Leo an' I aren't really the type to go around tellin' people what we like and what we do…" He gazed around, searching. "Okay… what's the first bone I broke and who did it?"

Mikey shrugged. "Femur. Leo. Kick practice."

"What sound drives me the craziest, other than your voice?"

Mikey actually smiled at that. "Whistling. You just hate happiness in the world, especially at seven AM."

"Damn straight. Only acceptable motorcycle engine?"

Mikey chuckled. "V-twin or bust. On a Harley, in a perfect universe."

"Good," Raph said, as though he were proctoring an oral examination. "Now stop bein' a moron. You're my goddamn brother… the last thing ya gotta worry 'bout is not knowin' me… even if I'm not always the type to jus'… out and out say things. That's just who I am, I guess. An' there's stuff I'll outgrow, Mikey, but I ain't gonna ever really change, so… I guess you'll have to accept it at some point, man."

But Mikey was gazing again at the helmet, looking hard at the visor, and a dark spot that looked like deep crimson; he examined it—then, very quickly, turned the helmet over and looked inside.

"There's… there's blood inside," he said, blankly.

"Nightwatchers bleed too, Mikey," Leo said, gently.

But Mikey swallowed hard, and shoved the helmet back into his brother's hands—Raphael reached out, however, gripping his arm to stop him, and they matched gazes once again.

"Mikey—I was alone for a long time out there. And I really don't wanna be anymore."

Michelangelo wrenched his arm away. "You're not, dude—you've got Leo back again, doncha?" There was an edge to his words—as always, he was capable or worming his way under his brother's skin.

Leo and Raph straightened up, with twin looks of surprise, as Mikey backed away and went back to the kitchen, giving them a final, burning blue glare.

There was a sudden crash, and Donnie was backing hurriedly away from his fallen chair, out of his alcove, staring with stunned, frightened eyes at his many flickering monitors, and his brothers rushed towards him, holding his arms and turning their eyes on those many variegated screens. They gave a collective gasp.

The computer had finally cracked the code, and put all the drawings together—they were staring at a giant model of the Shredder, genetically remastered, restored, and regenerated.

The only voice capable was Raphael's, and he had one word that could get past their utter dismayed astonishment.

"Liz…"