Chapter 11

So, she was here. For a moment, he wondered why she was in the infirmary. Was she hurt? Confusion settled like ashes through his mind. Then he realized. They hadn't a room for her. Not yet. They would need to decide where she slept. They'd need to give her a room. A spike of dread hit him and for a second he wondered if Master Splinter had given her his room. It would make sense. There had been an agreement. He remembered. Honor clad, no refusal without tarnishing the clan's identity. His master had agreed to it. His sensei's honor was at stake and so there was no choice. And yet, here he was.

He thought back, before the nightmares came to be reality. His forehead pinched as he frowned with the effort of trying to remember. So much had happened. So much he wanted to forget.

Through the fog, the memory emerged. Splinter had explained that it was in the best interest of the clan to bring his daughter home, where she belonged. That her years of suffering under the lie of her birthright could not match his upcoming years of servitude under the Foot Clan. He remembered Splinter carefully avoiding mentioning the Shredder here. His master made it sound as though he'd be an exchange student. Studying abroad in a foreign country while his daughter, his blood, his true family, was returned to him.

Raph had teased him before, too many times, about his fears; of heights, of failure; naming him Fearless. He'd never felt such a surge of acute terror as he had when his sensei, his father, informed him that he was to replace the Foot clan's loss. He was to be exchanged for Karai's release. He was not to argue. Not to shame himself with questions dealing with the inevitable.

And obediently, Leonardo accepted it. All of it. As much as he could. On the outside he'd struggled to show his father how very willing he was to do as he was told, how very dutiful and honorable he could be. He would make himself understand what could not be comprehended: that he was something to trade. A freak, an accident, for something far more precious; a daughter. There was nothing more to it. He had made it all so reasonable. Spoken these terrible words with a calm, easy voice; like discussing the weather or the turn of seasons. The inevitable. The unquestionable.

He coped with the announcement as best as he could. He wanted to show his master how very stoic he was; how he could remain at ease and accept his fate. It was a game, almost. A challenge. That was how he framed it in his mind. He was being tested. His master needed to know how strong his student's spirit was; that was what this was. It had to be.

So, until the moment they dragged him away, Leonardo had done his best to wrestle back the doubts, the edge of panic that was beating at the horizon of his mind like a scattering flock of birds. When the reality of the situation hit him; full and terrible; he had never felt so lost, so broken, as he did in that moment. Little did he know that his fleeting experiences with terror and pain where about to be expanded upon and deepened; fine-tuned at the hands of experts in suffering, humiliation and horror.

And now he sat here, looking at his counterpart. He wondered what it had been like for her. Was she lost? Did she feel the sharp abandonment by those around her that she once called family? Strangely, the initial fear he felt at spotting her faded. That he was not alone in part of this situation gave him some much needed comfort; little that it was. He read her expression cautiously. Her own doubt and remorse, her own fear clearly exposed. He had his answer in the way she trembled. The dart of her eyes, wild and cornered. She was as cast aside and wandering, baffled and emotionally strained as he. He was not alone in this betrayal and abandonment. But he wasn't sure if he was strong enough to show her they were together. Adrift, but together in the same place. He suddenly felt an odd calm come over him. If you were not alone, could you truly be lost?

The soft response came before he could really consider her words or his feelings beyond that fleeting calm, that strange center in the eye of the storm of confusion, fear and doubt.

"I don't hate you."

After he said it, he knew it was true. He didn't need to examine his heart or search his mind. This was not Karai's doing. She was not behind this. But his mind slipped into the dark as he considered the responsible party. As he thought of Splinter, his mind forcibly rejected the image, nor could he think of the Shredder. Not now. It hurt too much. And yet, the two were tied, merged, morphed into an awful specter of deceit, betrayal and imposing cruelty. He could not think of one without the other emerging into his mind's eye. He was not ready to consider what this could mean. It loomed distantly, that dangerous comprehension, just out of reach. It would wait for him there. When he was ready to face it, it would be there; just as severe and shocking; just as appalling and soul crushing. For now, he had to turn away from it; turn his mind, his heart and his spirit in a different direction. Hoping, still so childlike, that if he did not look directly at it, then perhaps, it would vanish and he'd be spared of the dreadful anguish; spared of the monstrous truth.

Silence fell between them. They existed in a strained bubble of what they both knew; what they were both unwilling parties to. Karai ducked her head and with disinterest, she picked up the sliced ham and placed it back between the slices of bread; rolled the potatoes back up onto her plate. As she did, the short chain of her handcuff chinked. His gaze swept to the metal around her wrist. A soft frown formed around his eyes.

He sat up and winced. His bottom was sore. His limbs ached and burned behind the bandages. In places where his gashes were too deep and needed stitching, his flesh itched. But at least the pain killers had taken away the terrible pain in his left hand. His missing limb. The stump lay on his lap and he stared at it, with a mix of curiosity and sodden acceptance. He brought his right hand over and cradled it. It felt wrong to have nothing but space where his hand and arm should have been. He felt off balanced and ironically enough as if he were missing a piece of himself. Which he was. A humorless smirk played across his face before falling away.

Karai watched him carefully, warily. Unsure of what was going through his mind. Not trusting that he wasn't going to hurt her in some way for vengeance over what was done to him.

Her mouth opened, the words died before they emerged. She licked her bottom lip and tried again, "I'm sorry," it was a croak, a gasp. It wasn't worth saying for the weakness in its pronouncement. For the feebleness in light of the severity of the situation. But he was owed that. And so much more. More than she could give him. She had nothing now. Not even a proper name. Was she Karai or Miwa? Hamato or Oroku? Foot or . . . what?

He looked up again, and this time, there was a smile, brief but not imagined; a genuine smile. Sad and fatigued. Resigned. It stunned her into open-mouthed shock. It left her feeling strangely exposed. Nothing he could have said to her could have caused her to feel as guilty, as worthless, and as shameful as that delicate look. The lump came hard and huge into her throat, strangling her. She trembled and was frightened. Not for fear of herself coming to harm, not of his judgment or his anger. But the promise of forgiveness in that smile. Of washing away culpability, cleansing her of sin. She shook her head. She didn't want that. She wanted him to be angry with her. She deserved him to hate her. She deserved cruelty and punishment.

"No," she said in weak protest.

He continued to gaze at her with distant, but clear eyes. A storm that has blown over; leaving her shaken, laid bare but alive.

"You should . . . you should hate me," and the tears came into her voice, breaking it and she damned herself as she swallowed at that lump.

The urge to push him away rose up. To hurt him, to make him hate her, because that's what she deserved. The evil words were on her tongue, the acid pooling in the back of her throat; she planned on throwing it in his face that he'd been the Shredder's plaything. That he'd probably enjoyed himself. It would have been something she'd have flung in his face a few days ago, easily and without regret or remorse. But the wicked words shriveled, unable to thrive in the environment of her cleansed soul. Unable to stand in the light of that brief, but beautiful smile of forgiveness or understanding or whatever it was that emerged for a moment. Though it lasted less than a fraction of a second, its very existence shattered her. Changing everything.

Instead, she muttered to herself, "Fuck."

She had been ripped from everything she'd ever known. What she understood to be love was lies. What she thought was fealty was deception. What she'd known as family was a trap. What she had left was nothing. Nothing except . . . Her expression changed from angry and defensive to anxious as he brought one leg and then the other over the side of his cot. He bunched the blanket up in his fist and tossed it aside. Then, with a grimace he eased himself off the bed.

"H-Hey! What are you doing?" she asked in a hushed voice and stole a glance towards the door. Somehow she felt she'd get blamed if he'd managed to hurt himself. "Get back into bed. Right now!"

He cocked his brow to her before looking away, dismissing her concern as well as her order. He took several wobbling steps over to the counter and leaned heavily on it. He took in a breath and then another. His head swam and the edges of his vision darkened with frightening speed. He gulped and waited. His vision cleared. He began opening and closing the cabinet doors. Quietly but quickly. Then finding whatever mysterious item it was he'd been searching for he turned.

In his hand was a small dagger. Karai's heart leapt into her throat. She could not move as he limped across the room to her cot. Her eyes darted between the short gleaming blade to his face. He was not looking at her, but down. If she didn't know better, she'd have guessed that he was staring at her cuffed hand. She was sure then that he was about to cut her wrist. She braced herself, biting her bottom lip and even twisting it over to expose the soft white flesh of her inner arm. She deserved this. No one wanted her. She was nothing. Her existence brought only pain. At least she would be honorable, giving her blood in payment to this one's suffering and undeserved pain. Yes, she could give him blood in exchange for his suffering at the hands of her clan; at the hands of the man she once called Father.

"Do it, then. Make it fast," she bit out from between gritted teeth. She only hoped he'd hurry before her natural self-preservation kicked in and she fought him. Her opposite hand had already curled into a fist. It was taking all of her control not to strike him. Her entire life had been dedicated to survival and killing. If he didn't act fast, she would fight to live, despite her own desires to finally be honorable in this pathetic last attempt.

He sat next to her and said nothing. The moment stretched out, tense and foreboding. Holding his bound arm up against his body, he moved suddenly. He jabbed the tip of the blade into the key post of the hand cuff. With a grunt and a shove, he twisted the blade and the cuff clinked and then popped open. Karai stared at him, unable to move, as the metal fell away, dangling from the support of the cot. He took in a breath and set the blade to one side of his body. Out of her reach.

"Why did you do that?" she asked him, in wide-eyed wonder. Again, her eyes went to the door then back to him. She felt like a conspirer to a secret and dangerous plot.

"You're not a prisoner," he said in his tired voice. He added with a slight shrug, "You're home."

And again, the lump formed in her throat. And again she wanted to hit him. Strike him. Knock him off the edge of the bed and kick him over and over again. For being so foolish. So stupid. So stubborn. So very, very good. Her head dropped and she picked up her wrist and rubbed it. Michelangelo's bandage had helped. She was grateful for his kindness. And again the guilt assaulted her. Why were they all being so nice to her? She thought of the black look that Raphael had given her. The way the hair on the back of her neck had stood on end. Well, most of them.

But Leonardo's actions, she could barely comprehend. He was a mystery. He was in obvious pain, still. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out over his neck and head. The exertion of just getting up and prying the cuff loose had taken a toll. But that was all. He really didn't intend to harm her. She couldn't grasp his motivations. Though the truth lay in the center of her mind and her heart, she just couldn't wrap her cunning mind around the fact of it.

He was so noble. So righteous. It made her head hurt. It made her feel unbalanced. It made her sick. It fascinated her. Intrigued her. Drew her to him. Because if the roles had been reversed, she knew, she knew without a doubt, that she would not have been so merciful. She would have taken her advantage and cut his throat. Once. When they were enemies. Weren't they? Weren't they at one time on opposite poles for some reason? Her mind grew fuzzy. What was the reason she hated him so much at one point? Was it all based on the Shredder's poisoned words, turning her against them, against everyone that were not aligned to his whims? Turning her against her true family . . . this thought made her dizzy.

The world continued to grow wider and more foreign the longer she stayed among these mutants. It had once made perfect sense. Clear and irrevocable in stark black and white. Now everything was vivid; awash in colors that had no name. No identity. She was drowning in them. But alive in them. Alive in a way that was so real she could barely withstand the pressure of it. It made her skin prickle. She shivered.

He noticed.

"Are you cold?"

"No," she snapped, but it was without teeth. "I-I just don't understand you . . . why would you help me after . . . after what happened to you? I-I thought . . . I thought you were coming over here to . . . to . . ."

"I know what you thought," he said to the floor. "You were taught to always think the worst." He cradled his wrapped arm.

"And to do the worst," she murmured, staring at his arm.

She huffed and shook her head, dropping her hands into her lap. What he said wasn't entirely true. She was not taught to think the absolute worst. No. Not the worst. She had believed in the man posing as her father. That he could not be anything but gracious and god-like. Believed that he was perfection even with his cold demeanor towards her, always believing it was she that was not good enough for him. Not a strong enough warrior. Not a skilled enough fighter. But the Shredder, ah, he was her father . . . he was . . . her hero. Her chest pinched. All her heroes were dead now. And then, without bidding her eyes went to Leonardo sitting next to her and a voice whispered like a caress against a stone wall, not all of them.

Her eyes burned suddenly and she shifted. She cleared her throat. Her gaze went to his arm. "Do you want . . . I dunno, to talk about what happened . . . to your . . . your . . .?" she trailed off.

He glanced at her then at his arm. He shook his head. She nodded. Then she scooted back to make more room for him, moving the plate aside. He slowly leaned back until his shell hit the wall. She bunched her knees up and rested her chin on the top of them, wrapping her arms around her legs and hugging them tightly to herself. She let her eyes rove over the multiple bandages covering his arms and legs.

She was not good at this, having no prior experience to draw on. She was never called upon to offer comfort, to give aid. To speak gently, to be tender. There had always ever been that which is hard. Be hard, inside and out. That was all that was needed. Cold. Emptiness. A void that had driven in her a need so fierce and terrible that she had become numb to it. She never even recognized it until the day she laid her eyes upon him. So beautiful and strange. So perfectly out of line with all of reality wrapped around him. And him standing there, glorious, and in perfect defiance of that very reality. The world had first shifted for her; had first become . . . new. Alive. Before the taint. Before the choice of darkness over light.

And here she was once again bathed in that glow of his defiant perfection and feeling eager to remain there. Since the moment her father announced she was no longer needed, she felt she could breathe again. And she did. She took in a deep breath and let it out, blowing out all the knotted confusion, all the old prejudices, remembering the joy of that first sighting of him. Recalling the grace of him. The light in his eyes that now was dimmed but still remained. She licked her lips and decided to try, at least, to begin to mend things between them. Hoping that somehow they'd find that path that they'd started on in the very beginning but lost. It was not an easy thing to do when traveling unknown territory, rife with danger and doubt and hatred and fear at every turn. She had to try, though. She owed him that much.

"So . . . he brought you back. That's a good thing, right?"

He cracked open one eye, then the other. He looked at her, then stared out in front of himself into the room.

She chewed on her bottom lip. "No one wants me back. He made that clear."

Leo turned his head and frowned. "Splinter?"

"No. My, uh, the Shredder. He said that I had served the Foot clan to my full potential and the time had come for me to go home. I was no longer useful. No longer needed," her voice caught and she shook her head.

"He said that?"

She huffed. "Yeah." She picked at the bandage on her wrist. "So, does this make me your, uh," she snickered a little, "sister?"

Leonardo closed his eyes. "I don't think so. You're my . . . master's daughter. I'm just . . . his student." His face darkened.

She quickly tried to salvage the moment by attempting to joke, "Oh, so the big rat isn't related to you turtles, huh?"

The joke sank as Leonardo was already lost in his thoughts. The shadow on his face looming, blocking out the light that she had just glimpsed. She didn't want the moment gone so quickly. This strange, bonding, if that's what it could be called. She reached out to him and with her fingertips, she brushed the side of his bicep. He jumped.

He gasped, "Don't!"

"Get away from him!" The bowl shattered against the floor as Donatello dropped it and rushed to Leo. He shoved Karai back and wedged himself between Leo and her. Raphael and Michelangelo ran inside the room a second later, brought by the sound of the breaking dish.

"The fuck is going on . . . Leo!? What are you doin' up?" His face shot around. Then he noticed that Karai was free. He marched over to them. Donatello turned to explain what he saw when he was shoved aside as Raphael grabbed Karai. She kicked and thrashed as he dragged her off the cot to the floor. He brought his fist back but was grabbed by Mikey.

"No! Stop! Stoppit, Raph! Stop!"

"She was gonna hurt him! I knew it! The little bitch!"

Michelangelo pulled Raph off him as Karai scrambled backwards until her back struck the cot. She felt hands lifting her and she looked into the startled face of the purple banded brother. His grip tightened and for a moment there was a flash of fury in those blank, chocolate colored eyes. A spark of molten danger.

"I didn't do anything to him!" she shouted, voice cracking. "I-I swear! He came over here and unlocked me and we-we were just talking!"

He didn't look convinced but glanced at Leonardo as he released her down onto the cot.

"She didn't," Leonardo's weak voice had everyone suddenly freeze. "She didn't do anything wrong."

Mikey clambered off Raph and Raphael sat up. There was a beat of silence and then all three brothers were closing in on Leo. Their voices talking over one another, they volleyed questions and worry towards him. "Leo!" "How ya feeling?" "Why are you up?" "Leo, what are you doing out of bed?" "Do you need anything? Are you hungry?"

Leo held his severed arm close to his body, feeling overwhelmed and shaky by their proximity and their aggressive concern. He just needed a moment to catch his breath. Karai had startled him. That's all. That's all.

"I-I'm okay. Yeah, I'm . . . I could use some rest, I guess. No, I'm good. I-I don't know. Yes?" He gulped and did his best to calm his racing heart. He stepped backwards, towards his cot, knees knocking. His brothers followed, a mix of happiness and worry on each of their faces. Crowding close to him.

Leo put up his hand. "R-Really. I just . . . I didn't think Karai should be cuffed to the bed," his voice rose and there was anger within the tone. His brothers froze at the sound of her name and the change in his tone. "I-I mean, she's supposed to be living here, right? This is her rightful home. Sh-She shouldn't be tied up like . . . like some criminal. Or . . . or something . . ." he felt faint and sat heavily on the edge of the cot. His brothers exchanged wary glances.

Splinter had come into the room at some point. When he spoke, Leonardo's younger brothers jumped in fright.

"You are correct, Leonardo. But you should have allowed me to set her free when the time was right."

Raphael's face snapped towards Splinter. "You can't be serious."

Splinter turned his head away from Raphael. "You should be completing the chores assigned to you as punishment for disobedience and disrespect, Raphael. Why are you here?"

"I heard a crash and came to check on my brother!"

"Don't start yelling, Raph!" Mikey hollered and shoved Raphael back. Raph smacked his hands away and growled at him. Donatello stood immobile, watching, detached, with a slightly confused look on his face.

"You think it's a good idea to leave her loose!? The first chance she gets, she's gonna hurt Leo, I know it!"

"No she isn't," Mikey insisted.

"Why do you trust that little bitch!"

"Raphael!" Splinter snapped.

Mikey yelled again and stood between Raph and Karai, he pointed at her behind him, "This isn't her fault!"

"You know what, Mikey. You're right!" He turned his snarling face to Splinter. "This is your fault!"

"No! Raph! Don't!" Mikey shouted and his voice was pleading, now. Desperate.

He lunged towards Splinter and in a flash of motion, Splinter gripped Raph by his wrist, pivoted and twisted it up high behind him up onto his shell. Raphael cried out in pain and Splinter knocked his legs open and he went down with Splinter bracing one knee on his shell. Raphael's growl turned into a startled whine of pain. His free hand clawed at the floor, knocking against Leonardo's foot. He jerked at the contact.

A soft whimper came from Leonardo, "S-Stop." He stood shaking; face gray, eyes wide as he watched them. "Please. Please, don't."

Splinter twisted his defiant son's wrist and Raphael bit back another cry of pain. He screwed up his face and panted between his gritted teeth.

"Enough, Raphael. I will tolerate none of this disrespect. To me or to my daughter. She is here to stay. You will respect my authority and do as I tell you. Now, again, to the dojo."

"No! I-I . . . hate her! This is all her fault!" he cried out, voice thick with tears and fury.

Splinter pressed down harder, trying to get his aggressive son to submit. They would not be able to move forward if Raphael continued on this path. Chaos lay ahead if he could not control his temperamental student. Michelangelo and Donatello had come to grudgingly accept the situation. It was Raphael that continued to be the source of upheaval. He did not want to hurt his son. But he had to make it clear that his authority would not be compromised. Not with Karai's life at stake. Not with the future of their family at stake. As Raphael struggled again to free himself, Splinter struck a pressure point in the join between his shoulder and neck.

Raphael's body constricted and he let out a broken yelp of surprise and pain.

The sound of it was too much for Leonardo. "No! Let him go! Let him go!" Leonardo's shouts were followed by him barreling into Splinter. Splinter's shock was overtaken by instinct as he brought his knee up and took the weight of his battered son up and over his body. He threw Leonardo head over heels, flipping him across the room where he landed with a pained grunt into the shattered bowl and dripping pool of soup. He skidded forward on his shell until his legs smacked against the wall, stopping him. He rolled to one side, moved to get up and collapsed with a groan; curling on his side; making that mewling sound that hit Raphael like a steel pipe.

"Leo!" Mikey's scream was pure anguish.

"No! No! What the fuck!" Raphael sat up on his knees, trembling all over from the nerve pinch and the horror of what just happened. He could not stand up, but crawled quickly over to his brother.

Donatello stood by, frozen, unable to think, unable to process the mess that was his family. Feeling his heart hammering physically in his chest, but strangely disconnected from his mind which seemed to be far away, viewing this all through a long tunnel. Splinter gathered his wits and rolled to his elbow and knees then he dashed to Leonardo's side. Raph grabbed the sleeve of his robe and yanked at him.

"Why'd you do that!? Why!?" His eyes were wild and glassy.

Splinter shoved him to one side. He fell back with a moan. Mikey crouched next to him, tearful and shaken.

"My son, I'm so sorry. Are you okay? My son," he murmured as he helped Leonardo sit up. Leo moaned, eyes clamped shut, mouth in a grim line of pain. Splinter gathered him into his arms and held him tightly. Leonardo squirmed in his embrace, fighting to free himself, but unable to do more than writhe in pain and distress.

"Be still, my son. Be still. Forgive me, Leonardo." He rocked his son, unaware of his embrace being the furthering of Leonardo's terror and panic. Over his shoulder he snapped at Donatello.

"Clean this up. Raphael, to the dojo, immediately. Michelangelo, help Miw- . . . help Karai."

Everyone turned to look at Karai who sat on the cot, fists in her hair, shaking and upset. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Raphael climbed to his feet. His legs shook and his neck ached, but instead of brushing away the pain, he absorbed it, adding it to the rage he felt building inside of him. He wiped his jaw with the back of his fist. He veered close to her as he exited the room. Under his breath he snarled, "I'm gonna make you sorry."

Mikey caught part of what his brother had whispered and frowned. He didn't like the animosity that was steadily building inside his brother. He knew that Raphael was switching between being mad at their father and being mad at Karai. He wished he would just go pound the heavy bag for a while and let everyone catch their breath. But he knew that wasn't going to happen. He looked at Karai. And felt protective. He climbed up onto the cot and knelt next to her. He sniffled and wiped an eye, doing his best not to break down and add to the emotional upheaval going on around him.

"You okay?"

"He wanted to get the cuff off me. I-I didn't ask him to. I-I didn't want him to-to do anything for me. And I didn't do anything to him," she said and didn't even care that her voice was shaky and carried a whine-like quality. Sounding like a child fighting tears. She didn't care that she wasn't being strong and mean and tough. She just wanted Leonardo to be okay. When he tackled his sensei and Splinter sent him flying through the room, Karai could barely believe her eyes. Mikey pulled her into a tight embrace. She stiffened and then gave up; melting into his warmth; realizing that a hug was exactly what she needed most at the moment.

"I know. I believe you, Karai. It's okay."

Behind him, Leonardo and Master Splinter were standing. Donatello knelt into the broth and started to pick up the broken pieces of the bowl. He felt only regret that he didn't have a chance to give some to Leo. Vaguely, he felt the ghost of the regret morph into something like sadness. He considered it for a moment before the fleeting feeling left him. He blinked, feeling nothing at all. It was safer that way. Not to pick sides. Not to feel all the pain and fury that was steadily being buried beneath layers and layers of mindless, numbing activity. Better to be busy. More helpful that way. He stacked the cracked glass onto one palm. A brittle edge caught the thick part of his thumb. A line of red appeared. He stared at it, feeling the sharp bite of the cut physically; feeling only mildly curious, emotionally.

"I cut myself," he said distantly.

Master Splinter glanced at him then turned back to Leonardo.

"I-I'm okay," Leo told him through a face that was pinched with obvious pain. His wounded arm throbbed. His thighs trembled and he felt the first trickle of blood tickling along his tail. He wanted to go to the bathroom before anyone saw it. He blushed and shook his head. He took a step back, but Splinter caught him by the shoulder. He turned him and escorted Leo back to the cot. Meekly, Leo followed, limping alongside him. He laid him down and covered him.

"My son. Things will settle down. Change . . . Change of this nature is not something that comes easily. There are adjustments that need to be made. But I promise it will return to normal again. Raphael has always been . . . temperamental . . . emotional. You must set the example in remaining calm in front of your brothers."

"Hai, Sensei," came the automatic response.

"In the morning, I will explain everything to you and you can tell me what went wrong at the Foot headquarters. Not that it matters, now. For you are home." Splinter patted his shoulder.

Leo gazed up at him with wide blue eyes. Beneath the blanket, he held his stump. Sharp shooting pains were lancing through him, from his bottom up through his stomach. He felt the heat spread as the torn wounds inside him bled. He wouldn't be able to hide the evidence from them, he realized with some shame. There would be blood on his blankets tomorrow but there was nothing he could do about that now. He would have to face all of his humiliation in the morning. All of it.

And a tremor went through him as he digested what his master was saying to him. He was expected to get over this. To move on and be like he was before. But he wasn't like he was before. He was broken and disfigured. He'd been the sexual toy of a monster through the long hours of the night. He'd called him father as he was raped. Begged him to stop but climaxed into his abuser's hand over and over again. Each time, the shame was like a burning brand searing into his soul, burning holes through it. But there was something that was eating at him, a question he needed the answer to. One of many, but those could wait.

"M-Master Splinter?"

Splinter turned back to him. "Yes, Leonardo?"

"The Shredder told me . . . you signed . . . that there was an contract. Honor bound." Splinter shifted where he stood. "That you were to hand me over in order to bring Karai home."

Splinter nodded feeling irritated. "You need to rest now, my son."

"B-But I just . . . why did you . . . you told me that I could not . . . that honor clad agreements could not be broken without bringing dishonor to-"

"Enough," Splinter snapped and his eyes flashed. Leonardo quailed, but did not break his eye contact with his master. This in itself, an act of will, an exhibition of a spirit not quite broken. Splinter did not know whether to feel ashamed or proud. He sighed heavily. "Some things the strict confines of honor cannot be applied to."

"Like . . . family?" Leo asked quietly.

"Yes. Like family."

Leo nodded and after another moment Splinter turned to Karai. "If you wish, you may spend the night in Leonardo's room."

Behind him, Leo closed his eyes.

Karai stared at him, a long level look. "If it's okay . . . master . . . I would prefer to sleep here."

"Very well. Michelangelo, come."

He moved from where he was crouched, placing a band aid on Donatello's hand. He picked up the rag that he'd used to mop up the spilled broth. Don stood up behind him. Hands full of broken pottery. The three of them left the room. As soon as they were gone. Karai scooted to the edge of her cot, then raced over on the balls of her feet to Leonardo's bed. Tossing quick glances in the direction of the door. She pressed on the mattress. He turned his head and opened his eyes.

"Hey," she said softly. "Do you need some pain killers or something?"

He shook his head.

"That was kind of crazy." She let out a nervous laugh. He blinked at her. "Do you think you can, um, walk?"

He frowned.

"Well?"

"Why?"

"Why do you think? I'm going to help you escape."

A/N: Don't forget that the Adult Fanfiction Awards are now taking nominations - through March 8th 2013 - the email to send the noms in is on my deviantart profile page and also in the Naughty Section of the Stealthystories website - Stealthystories DOT prophpbb DOT com. Both links are on my ff profile page if you want to check them out. This is a great chance to nominate stories that couldn't make the regular competition due to mature content, such as sex, rape, dubcon, etc. All the rules and categories are listed, so please check it out! You don't have to be an author to send in noms or vote!

I appreciate all the wonderful and interesting feeback I'm getting. I'm so happy you're enjoying this ride! Much more to come - so stay tuned! xo