A/N: Thank you everyone for taking the time to share your feedback. I made a few corrections (winks at Bubblyshell and Dragonchild157). Special thanks to Illusionna for beta-ing this story.

~POLL: Be sure to cast your vote on my poll question which pertains to this fic (top of my profile page). Please do not answer in a review…but please do review, you guys inspire me. :)

XOXOXOX

Denim stared at the empty toddler bed across from her queen, in the single bedroom she and Allison shared. Denim suspected that her baby would simply crawl into bed and sleep with her, and told Alli so, but her sweet girl had wanted the little bed anyway. The edges of Denim's lip attempted to form a smile.

"I'm a big girl, Mommy. Big girls have their own bed," Alli insisted, her eyes bright but the set of her mouth serious.

As expected, from the first night she'd had it Alli climbed from the little bed, tugged on Denim's comforter, and every night Denim's heart had filled as she pulled her under the covers. She'd breathe her in, sniff her, and remember the infant she once was, the memories triggered by the scent beneath her shampoo, one that was unique to Allison.

But Alli hadn't slept in either bed in two weeks, and each time Denim visited her, it became harder to leave. Alli took to crying, and throwing fits, begging Denim not to go. And part of her worried that Connie was making negative remarks about mutants, because Alli asked about Michelangelo right away in the beginning, but with every visit her daughter seemed more confused.

"Mommy, why does Nana say mutants is dirty and stinky? Mikey smells good. Like pizza. And pizza's good."

Denim's lip quivered, tremendous pressure building in her healing ribs. "Mikey is good, Alli. Don't let anyone tell you different, okay? You listen to your heart."

"My heart says Mikey is good," Alli frowned. "I miss him."

"Me too, Al. Me too."

Denim did miss Michelangelo.

She pulled her pillow under her cheek, oblivious to the tears slipping onto her sheets as she remembered waking up on the couch alone with a note on her coffee table…

I guess the world is against us, Blue Jeans. Yeah. We were going to be epic, so big they knew it and no one could just leave us alone…

I know I promised I wouldn't bail on you again. I guess I lied and that's so not my style, sorry for that. But I hope you'll understand. I can't let you keep going through this. Not for me. It's not fair to you or Alli. I need you guys to be safe and I want you to be happy.

Love, Mikey

She'd reread the damn thing again and again. She'd read it and cried, read it and felt abandoned, read it and gotten pissed so, so pissed. She'd crumpled it and thrown it the garbage only to fish it back out five minutes later and read it again. It just wasn't like him. Not when he'd promised her.

So she'd texted him.

And he didn't answer.

Then she'd called him.

No answer.

After just a day of not talking to him, or hearing from him, emptiness settled in and it hurt. Then with each passing day the pain grew. Alli was with Connie, Mikey was gone, and she was on bed rest with broken ribs and four bare walls to look at.

She sent him a text in the morning.

Blue Jeans: Good morning, Mikey.

Then mid morning…

Blue Jeans: What do you call birds that stick together?

Nothing.

Blue Jeans: Velcrows.

Then in the afternoon…

Blue Jeans: I hope you're doing better than me.

By evening…

Blue Jeans: I wish you'd talk to me about this. I miss you.

Nothing.

She kept it up for the first week. By the end of it she was beginning to feel like a dumped girlfriend, unwanted, forgotten and discarded. But the ache in her chest, the grip he had on her heart, that kind of pain couldn't be one sided. It just couldn't. Not when all the problems between them weren't about them, but what everyone else kept doing to them. They never even had a real chance to know what it could be like for them if all of that wasn't happening.

They never stood a chance.

Then at some ungodly hour of the night she got a random text …

Raph: Just focus on getting Alli back.

What did that mean? Obviously she was going to try to get her daughter back. Was this his nice version of 'leave my brother alone?' Well if it was, it was a 180 from 'Are you just gonna let him go like that?' Of course he'd said that to her before she'd taken a beating in the interest of saving his little brother. Things had changed. Now it was 'leave him alone.'

She'd looked at her phone and tried to think of something to say back to him, but everything felt desperate. The more she thought about that text though, a little inkling of hope stayed with her, that maybe Mikey didn't want to be away from her. Maybe, just maybe, his brothers had encouraged him to let her go.

This made more sense. His breaking a promise, well that just wasn't Mikey. But if his family insisted on it, if they'd convinced him that this was for the best…

This brought her back to rereading his note, which had sent her through the whole cycle all over again. Then she decided that if he hadn't been replying to her texts and he didn't really want to be away from her, then she was hurting him by reaching out again and again. Maybe that was why Raph texted her.

So she stopped.

She rolled to her back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. It was Monday of the second week when her thoughts had shifted. She was alone. The apartment was sadly quiet and unusually clean without her daughter and she was tired of waiting for something to change.

What if she made things change? But how could she? If the fight at Murakami's hadn't been filmed the whole thing arrest might never have happened. But it was out there. What if Donnie could at least figure out whose phone it came from? Her jaw shifted as she fluffed the pillow under her head. She'd sure like to have a word with them.

Why were anti-mutant civilians even at Murakami's? Everyone knew it was mutant friendly. She tossed and turned, her mind circling around with unanswered questions.

She flipped onto her back then slapped the mattress with her hand. "I need answers," she announced. A cursory check of the time on her phone put her at midnight. She'd been tossing and turning for two hours. Well, she was through.

"Mphf," she grunted, sitting upright and placing a hand over her ribs. She took a few shallow breaths then inched off the bed. A casual dress would be the easiest thing, comfortable and non-confining. She made her way to her closet and pulled the chain attached to the single light bulb inside it. She perused her clothes, found a nice black tank dress and managed to get it over her head without tears. Damn broken ribs. They'd take forever to heal.

Shoes. Damn it. She wasn't wearing heels in this condition. She looked at the shelf overhead, her gaze settling on one long box in particular. "Not tonight, Pretty. But if things keep going this way, chances are good you'll see action again."

In the meantime, Pretty, your little brothers could tag along. Of course they hadn't released her nine millimeter to her. Holding it as evidence or some bull. She hadn't even fired it! She pulled over her stepstool and with gritted teeth, stood on it, reaching for a pair of black Converse and a small case. She opened it, studying her Beretta then her Smith & Wessen .38's. She opted for her Smith & Wessen and put the box back on the shelf.

"To Murakami's we go," she murmured, strapping her gun to her thigh.

XOXOXOX

As she stepped inside the restaurant, a sense of unease crept over Denim. Would Mr. Murakami be upset with her? Would he call the police and demand she leave? Her heart jerked. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"Too late now," she told herself, approaching his hibachi.

The corners of Mr. Murakami's mouth tipped up ever so slightly and he sniffed the air. "Denim?"

She gripped a barstool. "How did you know it was me, Mr. Murakami?"

"Ahhh, a blind man never reveals his secrets." He motioned a hand toward the bar. "Come, sit. I am glad you have returned. I am most upset over what transpired the other night. I had worried you might not be back." He inhaled again. "Where is Michelangelo this evening?"

Denim snorted, then winced at the pain in her ribs. "We broke up, I guess." She pulled out a stool and sat down, tapping her fingers on the counter.

Mr. Murakami reached under the bar and pulled forth a small glass and a bottle of sake. "On the house," he said, filling it up.

Denim accepted the drink, turning it with her fingers. "Mr. Murakami, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he smiled.

Denim glanced around the restaurant, spied a few late nighters. On one side, a wolf mutant and a bird sat together, on the other two humans, and somewhere in the middle was a table of college kids, both mutant and human celebrating a game win. Sharing the bar counter with her were two men on opposite ends, one glanced at her, then picked up his glass and shot the rest of his drink. She sighed. What she didn't see anywhere, was a human and mutant flirting with one another.

"What is it, my friend?" Mr. Murakami asked.

"You know those guys that attacked us the other night? I don't understand what they were doing here. They knew this place is mutant friendly. It just, it doesn't make any sense." She looked around once more, then eyed her glass of sake. "You don't by chance know who took the video, do you?"

"Hmm, no," he reached for a towel and began polishing his bar. "They were not regulars. And I would ask them to leave if they ever return."

"I thought you might say that. Not about them leaving, but about them not being regulars." I can't even ask him what they look like. Ugh. This is going to sound stupid. "Forgive me if this is the dumbest question anyone has ever asked you, but you don't happen to have a security camera in here do you?"

Mr. Murakami leaned over the bar, whispering, "You do realize I am blind, don't you?"

Denim's face heated. "Y-y-yes, Mr. Murakami. I'm sorry. That was a stupid question. I'm so sor-"

He reached out and put a hand over hers. "But this is New York and my customers are unique people."

Denim straightened. "Wait, are you saying?"

Mr. Murakami kept his voice low, "I had footage, but the police took it as evidence."

What? Why hadn't anyone mentioned this? This would've cleared her and Mikey. "Mr. Murakami, did Donnie ask you if you had any footage?"

Mr. Murakami chuckled. "No, I'm sure he either assumed I didn't have a camera since I am blind or that the police took whatever I did have."

The man with the empty glass held it up then scooted down until he was beside her. He flashed her a superman smile and she offered him a polite one in return.

"Mr. Murakami," he said, although he was looking at Denim, "I need a refill, and I'd like to buy this lady a drink."

Denim cringed. "That's not necessary, thank you." She held up her sake. "I already have one."

Mr. Murakami took the man's glass and went to the other end of the bar, refilling his drink. The man leaned closer to Denim. "You're the girl from the news, right?"

She tipped back her head and shot the sake, keeping her eyes on Mr. Murakami. Great. She was about to be harassed, again? "What do you want?" she demanded.

The man rose out of his seat, reached for his wallet then opened it, flashing his badge. "I'm a cop. A pro-mutant cop. And I know what they're saying went on here the other night isn't how it really went down."

Denim stared at his badge then her eyes lifted to his sharp features. His eyebrows were thin wisps of brown, his hair would be curly if it weren't cut so short, she could tell by the swirl of it, and his eyes were a deep brown that she thought resembled the horse shit he was probably feeding her. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. Not all cops are bad. Not all cops are bad.

"I'm Detective Greg Kemp. I investigate hate crimes, like yours." He accepted his drink from Mr. Murakami, took a sip, then exhaled. "You do know it would just be easier to date within your own species, right?"

Denim huffed then drew a hand to her ribs. "Well, I've never chosen the easy path in life, and it doesn't so much lead me down it, either. Michelangelo is one of a kind. I'd do it all over and not change a thing." Even as she said it, she thought of Alli.

"Even losing your daughter?" Detective Kemp asked.

She would like to change the outcome of that.

She glared at him. "You know an awful lot about my case."

He took another sip and raised his eyebrows. "Well, it's part of a much bigger one. Trouble is, I can't seem to find Murakami's security footage in the evidence locker." He grinned. "I did manage to get a copy of the security footage showing my fellow brethren attacking the three of you, though. I'm holding on to that for later."

Who was this guy? "Do you come here a lot?" Denim asked, tapping on the counter. Mr. Murakami walked over and poured her another shot.

"Not until the incident." He took a long swallow, draining his glass until the ice clinked within it. "I was hoping one of the two of you would come back and we could talk in a low profile setting, like we are right now."

Was he following her? What were the chances of her or Mikey returning after what happened there? Except that she had. She turned on him. "What do you want from me?"

"Hm," he mused. "I'm ready to settle up," he said to Mr. Murakami, then reached in his pocket and handed Denim a card. "It's not over, you know. That attack was just the beginning. Call me, not the station, when whatever they decide to do next goes down."

Denim's mouth fell open. "W-w-ait, what do you mean it isn't over? Are you saying this wasn't random? What's going to happen next? Who, who are you talking about? Who are they?"

Greg inhaled, checking his bill then tossing a wad of cash on the counter. "I don't know how you did it, but you caught the attention of an extremist. Then that video the other night, it put you out there like a beacon." He looked Denim in the eye. "If I were you, I'd end things with the mutant, and shit, if you can, move. Now let me walk you home. I can't believe you're out walking around New York by yourself after having your face all over the news."

There wasn't much left for her to lose. Mikey was gone. Alli was taken from her. What else was there for them to do to her? Her heart lashed her ribs, and her hands shook, but she was determined to at least attempt to look calm. She controlled her breath and forced a smile to her face. "I hate to break it to- whoever they are, but I'm not going anywhere. And I can get home just fine on my own."

Greg shook his head. "Well, be sure to call me when you need help. I'll do what I can. In the meantime, try to hang in there until I get my case together." He winked at her and she wanted to smack the egotistical grin off his face.

She slid from her barstool and turned to leave before he could. She suddenly wanted to be as far from him, and there, as she could be. But he said something that stopped her in her tracks.

"Was he worth it?"

She spun around to face him, her blood sparked hot like a flame. "Your damn right he was."

He held up his hand and wiggled his ring finger on his left. "Yeah, my wife is, too."

Denim stared at the platinum band. "Mutant?"

He nodded. "Cat." He motioned her closer. "Look, I'm sorry if I've come off as a jerk. It's just a lot of humans treat them like experiments." He looked her in the eye. "You seem like the real deal, though."

Denim glanced at the clock over Mr. Murakami's hibachi. "It's late. I should go."

"Good luck." He nodded.

Denim left, but not without the blanketing sensation that she was being watched. She tapped her fingers over her thigh just above her holster, Greg's words lingering in her head…

"I don't know how you did it, but you caught the attention of an extremist. Then that video the other night, it put you out there like a beacon."

She'd found some answers, only they led to a whole slew of new questions.

If I put myself on an extremist's radar before the video… is someone I know an extremist?

Denim was grateful for an uneventful walk home, but as she slid her key into the lock she noticed a curled piece of paper tucked between the handle and the frame. Her insides sunk as she reached for it. What now? She unrolled it and groaned.

ATTENTION TENANT: We have received a complaint that there has been a mutant related disturbance in your residence. As you know we do not rent to mutants. However they are welcome to visit, unless a complaint is issued.

Pursuant with your lease agreement, section 9, item 1:

Mutants are permitted to visit the premises. However in the event of a complaint tenant agrees to cease and desist bringing mutants onto the property.

As a result of the complaint your privileges have been revoked and NO MUTANTS will be permitted in your apartment henceforth.

Failure to comply will result in EVICTION.

Sincerely,

Clarence Abbott

Superintendant, Hi-View Apartment Homes

"What damned disturbance?" She crumpled the letter in her fist and pressed her brow against her door. She hated her apartment and its policies, but it was all she could afford by herself. Everything that was mutant friendly had been out of her price range. Her teeth ground together. Those same 'friendly' apartments were out of most mutant's price ranges too, and many of them ended up in run down tenements just like hers, only on the worst streets in the city. "I'm so sick of this shit."