Disclaimer: Please keep in mind that this story is rated M for mature- and that is not limited to sexual content. It also includes coarse language, potentially offensive and descriptive situations (i.e. rape, murder, torture), and graphic violence.
I do not own the Ninja Turtles. I do not claim any rights over this material. I make no profit from this work of fiction.
Chapter fourteen falls conveniently close to Valentine's Day, does it not?
Chapter Fourteen: Confession and Heartache
xxx
"I want to watch Die Hard."
It was the first thing Theresa heard when she stepped into the lair. She was leading a blindfolded Corbin in by his hand (he'd gotten over the thrill of following the turtles to their lair once he'd smelled the sewers, and he was now frowning deeply). The two were following behind Raphael and Michelangelo who were carrying her brother long ways between them.
"… Yeah, ok. But the first one… I don't like the Second."
It was Leonardo, Theresa saw, who was answering Donatello.
Michelangelo's head snapped up, "You don't like the second Die Hard?!" He dropped Tommy's feet, and Raphael staggered a little with the sudden shift in weight. Tommy's head lolled forward, much like a top heavy rag doll, his chin resting on his chest. He hadn't made a sound the whole awkward way to the turtle's home, still completely unconscious.
"Damn it Mike, get his fuckin' feet," Raphael snarled, his grip tight on Tommy's upper arms. Then he too looked at Leonardo, "And you don't like the second Die Hard?"
Leonardo rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "Listen, Hans Gruber is a master villain; you can't follow that with some American prisoner hell bent on leaving the country," Leo looked uninterested as he said it, as though the conversation weren't worth his time. He was watching the clock on the wall, anxious. Theresa had the sudden insight that perhaps he was waiting to see his lady friend again, and she smiled a little. Poor Leonardo, he was probably more stressed than he let on.
Donatello was nodding now, "Yeah, Alan Rickman is a great villain… his accent is off though. He doesn't sound Russian."
Mikey made a face, Tommy's ankles safely in his grasp once more as he and Raphael maneuvered to the living room couch. "German. He's supposed to be German. And are you agreeing with him? Die Hard the sequel is just as kick ass as the original. They don't make movies like that anymore… except for The Notebook… that was a good movie."
Raphael let Tommy drop unceremoniously to the couch, and Michelangelo followed suite a moment later with his feet. Raphael's face looked slightly disgusted as he said, "Mike, what the fuck does The Notebook have anything to do with Die Hard?"
Michelangelo grinned. "I dunno… I just liked that movie," he shrugged.
Leonardo cut in after a moments pause, "Hey, I still like Die Hard two… I just like the first one the best."
"How about we stop talking about shitty ass Bruce Willis movies and get this fuckin blindfold offa' me? Can I take this fucking thing off now? Huh?" Corbin's voice was irritated and confidant all at once. It was the voice of someone who was obviously used to being listed to when he talked, and it was the voice of an alpha. Before Corbin's question could be answered he dropped Theresa's hand, and his own hands were reaching up to tug at the blind fold- which was really only a burgundy scarf Theresa had found in her closet back at the apartment.
It happened so fast that that if Theresa had blinked she would have missed it. Leonardo's katana was unsheathed and at Corbin's throat in an instant. And Corbin, knowing from experience what a blade felt like against his skin, stiffened and did not move.
Leonardo, however, looked calm, almost bored, as if this was an action he'd preformed a hundred times over.
"Guests who invite themselves should be more respectful with their words," the leader said, putting pressure on his blade without breaking Corbin's skin.
Corbin said nothing, but his jaw clenched and worked in fury. Then Leonardo made a deft movement with his blade and the scarf fell to the floor, cut from Corbin's face without even leaving a mark on him.
"Yeah… I didn't need that scarf or anything," Theresa said, looking at the ruined material and wondering how much it had cost. She also thought silently, 'so the struggle for male dominance begins… maybe it wasn't such a good idea to mix these guys together… Although, I'll put money on Leonardo being the one who comes out of it on top…'
"Sorry," Leo said to her, looking genuine. Then he looked at Corbin, who was still stiff because of the blade against his cheek. If the blonde was surprised by his first look at Leonardo, the largest and somehow most frightening of the four turtles, he made no show of it. The leader in blue radiated power and commanded respect. Just the look of him exuded authority, and to question or doubt him seemed, to Theresa, impossible. There was a reason he was leader, just as there was a reason that it was he, not the others, that had his katana to Corbin's jugular.
"You're here because you wanted to be with your friend," he said, quietly, calmly. "If you want to leave, you'll have to be blindfolded. If you want to stay, you'll have to be respectful. I don't want you here, but I'll put up with it," he paused a moment, measuring Corbin's strength, his determination, with his piercing brown eyes. Then he said, still calm but not in any way friendly, "You and your friend can have my room… it will probably be best if he just stays there… most people don't really take well to mutated turtles."
Leo lowered his weapon, sheathed it fluidly behind his back, and after a moment Corbin nodded. "Fine," he said, his voice hard. "I'll be a good boy."
'Round one to Leo,' Theresa thought, keeping a mental score.
"But," Corbin added, keeping his hands in fists at his sides, "I'm not leaving till Tommy does"
If it had been a movie, then Theresa thought that her brother would have hit his line perfectly. As soon as the words left Corbin's mouth Tommy was groaning, and all eyes shifted to the awaking man on the sofa. Michelangelo, who was still at the end of the couch by Tommy's feet, grinned broadly and leaned forward. He was almost gleeful to be the first, potentially horrifying thing that Tommy saw.
And that's when it happened. Tommy, whose eyes were still closed, sat up and put one hand to his forehead, and held one out, palm facing Michelangelo, as if to ward off anything that would make whatever pain he was feeling disappear. The devious smile on Michelangelo's face vanished gradually, as if in slow motion, and his eyes grew as wide as saucers.
Facing the turtle, tattooed on the palm of Tommy's hand, was the black ink of an intricate cross. A cross that was so familiar that for a moment Michelangelo thought he'd been sucked into the past. Or that he'd stepped into a dream that was somehow more distorted- yet so much more clear- than his dreams usually were. Only the dream he stepped into was reality, and it was a nightmare. A horrible, excruciating, nightmare…
xxx (…flashback…)
"Please! Please don't kill me!"
The man was already mangled, and the pleading words must have cost him a great deal of pain considering the fact that they came through a broken jaw.
Or perhaps Michelangelo just hadn't hit him hard enough…
A green fist collided into the man's face, and there was a sickening thud and crunch as it connected with his nose. Blood spouted from his new wound, and for the moment Michelangelo's prey slipped into unconsciousness, slumping hard onto the floor.
They were on the roof of Jade's apartment, and two floors below them Jade's body, naked and already in the early stages of rigormortis, lay unmoving and lost. Michelangelo had played with him for a while, let him believe that there was hope of escape. They had even been more than a block away form Jade's apartment at one point. But Michelangelo had dragged him back, screaming all the way; to the place where the man had murdered the one person who Mikey had ever felt truly understood him. Raped her, and tortured her, and murdered her.
"Did she beg you like that?" Michelangelo asked softly, his voice an insane calm.
The body below him did not move.
'Oh right… he's unconscious,' the turtle remembered. He knelt down beside him then, still as composed as ever. Under that composure though, there was rage. It was a quiet rage, to be sure, but at the moment Hamato Michelangelo was the deadliest being on the planet, silent or not.
"Hey, wake up," he said, cupping the back of the man's lolling head gently and slapping his face. The man didn't even flinch. Mikey looked at him closely. Was he a man? He was very young, nineteen maybe, with light brown hair and skin that looked pale through the smears of blood that covered his face. Handsome, possibly, although he had sharp features and pallid skin.
Michelangelo hit him harder, back handed this time, and the boy jerked and opened his eyes, groaning at the pain and immediately trying to escape from the now vice like grip Michelangelo was applying to his throat.
"Hey, focus for a second," Mikey said, still so calm that the man squirming beneath him had to stop and listen.
"You said 'please' a second ago. You asked me to please not kill you. I wanted to know if she begged you."
It was not a question, and some how the boy realized that through the tightening around his neck.
He nodded yes, just as much as the hands around his neck would allow.
Michelangelo brought the boy's head up off the pavement and then down again, making it smack into the concrete of the rooftop floor with a force that jarred. The boy gasped for breath, his eyes swimming in pain.
"Tell me," Michelangelo began, his voice the same even self-possession as it had been just moments before, as if this were any other day, and what he was doing was not anything that disturbed him in the slightest. "Tell me what she said to you."
The boy wheezed for a moment, and Michelangelo let his grip loosen, let sweet air fill his enemy's lungs.
"She… she begged me to stop," he choked. "She asked… she asked my why… Please don't do this, I'm sorry. I'll never-"
"Now," Michelangelo said, ignoring the boy's pleas. "She asked you why? …Well, did you answer her?"
There was a pause, and it was in that pause, in that cool and demanding gaze, that the boy realized he would not be leaving this experience alive. His mothers face flashed before him then, a clear image of her tear filled eyes and the shame she would feel once she found out what he had done.
"I didn't tell her w-why… I just t-t-told her to… to stay…quiet." Each word was a struggle for him, every sentence overflowing with sobs.
Michelangelo's eye twitched. "Stay quiet? That sounds very demanding of you. You raped her and killed her. Slowly. You wanted her to stay quiet too? You required that she didn't protest or question? You don't think that she deserved to at least know why she was dying?" A thread in Mikey's composure snapped for just a moment. In that moment he almost lost himself completely. He almost snapped the boy's neck as the full force of his rage nearly knocked him out. But he held back, let his heart slow its rapid beating, and he breathed; in and out, in and out. Calm. He had to be calm for this.
Michelangelo cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. "What's your name?" he asked the boy.
"Parker," the boy croaked, weeping now, gasping for breath. "Parker McCoy."
Mikey took another deep breath before continuing. "I won't be as cruel as you then, Parker. I'll tell you why I'm killing you. I'm killing you because you just murdered someone I love… You raped her and you killed her. You… you forced her into something that she gave to me willingly. You beat her and you cut into her and she just died in my arms. You deserve to die more slowly than I could ever kill you. And if I can find your family after this, if I can find your friends and your lovers, I'll kill them to."
The boy shook his head then. "Don't," he begged. "Please, I know… I know why you're doing this but…but I had to do it… for my gang… please don't kill them," Parker was thinking of his mother. Thinking of how he didn't want this to happen to her, didn't want this thing, this nightmare, this green abomination, to end her life.
Michelangelo stood, and he brought Parker along with him, releasing his neck and lifting him up by his shirt. "Gang huh? Initiation then. So her death was just random, then. You didn't know her, you just picked the first place you came to and decided she was the one you killed to be accepted into your little gang. Did you have to rape her too? Was that a requirement?"
"…"
Parker shook his head no. No. He didn't have to rape her. He'd thought of that all on his own.
He closed his eyes tightly because he knew what was coming. The fist to his ribs hurt, and it came crashing down to the same spot, like an anvil, over and over again until he felt the snapping of bones. They snapped like twigs. They snapped so much easier than bones should snap.
Michelangelo let him go then, let him crumble at his feet. Parker was gasping and wheezing and trying in vain to catch his breath. Michelangelo reflected that he hadn't even unsheathed his nunchucks yet, that the real pain hadn't even begun.
Parker was trying to crawl away, and Mikey watched him for awhile in disembodied interest. He realized, not surprisingly, that he was trying to make it to the edge of the roof.
"Trying to throw yourself off the roof? Trying to make it all end quickly?" The turtle called. He followed him, not in any rush because he'd broken the boy's leg earlier. "No, no, no. You don't get out of it this easy."
Parker turned as he heard Michelangelo approach, and he lifted his right hand, palm out, in a pleading manner.
A black cross was tattooed there on his palm.
"Please," Parker gasped. "Please… just kill me."
The boy was sobbing again. He looked so pathetic, his arms raised in supplication of mercy, tears streaming down his bloody cheeks, his nose leaking mucus, his face red and swollen, and his eyes black and blue. He looked very young, younger than he actually was. Childlike, even. Michelangelo just looked at him, his face void of any kind of emotion. There was no pity in his face. There was no compassion or forgiveness. There was no leniency.
"Oh Parker," he finally said, closing the gap between them and pulling the boy up by his short brown hair. "Don't you know that begging doesn't work?"
He smiled at him then, a smile that was unhinged and did not reach his cold blue eyes.
"We have so much more time together before you get to die…"
xxx
"You," Michelangelo said hoarsely, staring at Tommy, staring at the cross on his hand in shock and in fury. His mind was still going on with his thoughts, remembering everything that had happened that day in more detail then had ever been possible before. It had been a long time since he'd thought of the roof. Always his memories were of Jade, of her death in his arms, of her stiff body there on her apartment floor. He would remember flashes of Parker McCoy's face, of his sobbing pleas for death and God. But he never remembered the boy's torture so vividly. He never gave himself time to regret or remember. He never let himself think of the details.
But Tommy's tattoo, that black cross that was so skillfully inked onto his palm, made Michelangelo remember things that were monstrous. Made him remember that he was a monster.
"… Mike… Mikey are you ok?"
It was Theresa, and she was looking between Tommy and Michelangelo in concern and alarm. So was everyone else. Corbin, who was more confused than any of the others, had unconsciously slung a protective arm in front of Theresa. No one understood the anger on Michelangelo's face. No one comprehended the grief or the anguish. But Leonardo, closer to his youngest brother than the rest, saw him move.
The moment Tommy opened his eyes he also opened his mouth to scream. It was the normal reaction for almost everyone when they first saw a mutated turtle, more like a monster from a storybook, looking down upon them. And it was in that moment that Michelangelo sprang. His hands, huge and deadly (more a lethal weapon-really), were reaching towards Tommy's neck, his body lunging at him with deadly intent. The alarm it caused everyone made them late to react, made them shocked into stillness. But not Leonardo. He was, for maybe the first time in his life, faster than Michelangelo, who was without a doubt quicker than all of them. The leader's arms were around Michelangelo's waist in a flash and Leo was pulling him down onto the floor, scuffling with him until Mikey was pinned down, laying on his stomach, Leo's knee shoved firmly in between his shoulders.
This all happened in less time than it took to bat an eye.
"Calm down," Leonardo hissed at Mikey, digging his knee harder into Michelangelo's shoulder blades. The younger brother twisted and struggled for a moment, and then all at once went limp. Leonardo did not lessen his grip on the back of Mikey's head.
Mikey inhaled deeply. "Let me go… I won't do anything just let me go."
The room was silent, and Leo was breathing heavily because of the strength it had taken to bring Mikey down.
"What's wrong with you?" he began, shoving his knee more firmly into Mikey's spine. "Where the hell did that come from?"
Michelangelo took a deep breath. "Let. Me. Go."
Theresa flinched. She'd never, ever, heard Michelangelo that angry. Never heard him that serious or demanding. Leonardo moved slowly, cautiously, off Mikey's back, hovering over him as he stood. Michelangelo didn't move immediately. Instead he lay there, breathing, trying to push away the image of Parker McCoy. Trying to push away the image of the black cross. That fucking black cross.
"Tommy," Michelangelo ground out, and Tommy jumped and looked across the room to his sister. Theresa only looked back at him, lost, unable to explain anything. Corbin, however, moved to him, standing next to him by the couch, readying himself in case Mikey should decide to spring again.
"Tommy," Mikey said again, and his voice was frightening. "Where did that tattoo come from?" It was a demand.
Michelangelo stood. His body shook with rage, and it looked as though it was taking every ounce of his willpower to keep from attacking Tommy.
"Where?!"
Theresa jumped when Mikey yelled, because she had not expected it. Because it scared her more than anything had ever done so in her life, even more than her stalker. She inched forward to stand next to Raphael, and when she clutched his hand, he did not pull away. Instead, he held it tightly in his own, as if he were just as shocked as she by Michelangelo's outburst.
But Tommy, as commanding as Michelangelo's voice was, could not answer the large turtle. He'd been terrified into silence.
So Corbin answered for him, wide eyed and hesitant, but also clear and straightforward. "It's the brand that the South Sider's give its members. They tattoo it onto them once they join."
Corbin grabbed Tommy's hand and pried it open (he'd been clutching the sides of the couch), holding it out for Mikey to see.
Michelangelo leaned forward a bit, his eyes narrowed, his breathing erratic. No one said anything. There was something different about Tommy's cross, Mikey noticed. While Parker McCoy's had only been the outline of a cross, Tommy's was inked so that it was entirely black.
"Why isn't it only an outline? I saw one on someone once… it wasn't all black like that though."
Corbin, for once in his life, answered without thought of how it would best serve his own needs. "The cross is a map," he began. "On the South Side of Manhattan there's a place where two streets meet, St. Clair and 3rd, and that's what the cross is. When guys are first joining the gang, they only get the outline. It's sort of a way to show other members that they haven't been initiated yet. Then, once they pass the test, they get it inked so it's solid black."
"Please, I know… I know why you're doing this but…but I had to do it… for my gang…"
Michelangelo held his breath as he remembered Parker McCoy's words. Killing Jade had been his initiation, he'd always know that. But if Tommy had a solid cross, it meant he had already passed his test.
"Tommy," Michelangelo said through clenched teeth, his biceps flexing with the strain of his anger. "What did you do to get that black cross?"
Before Tommy could answer (and he made no move to do so), Corbin began laughing.
"Do?" he guffawed, "Ha! He didn't do shit! He promised ta kill Benito Escobar. Benito-Fucking-Escobar! Tommy's a fucking lunatic to even think he could do that. And the South Siders? They just as fucking stupid for believing it, which is why when they realized Tommy couldn't do shit; they fed him to the wolves. Fuck wolves' man, they fed him to the wolf. Cus that's what Benito is, turtle boy, he's a fucking wolf. And Tommy? Fucking Tommy is an idiot. He helped some guys jack a few cars and he sold some dope, but other than that he didn't do shit. Empty promises, that's all Tommy gave em'."
Theresa just barley held back from adding, 'that's all he ever gives anyone.'
Michelangelo did not see the humor in Corbin's assertion. Nothing was funny about that cross, which was now hidden under Tommy's thigh. For Michelangelo, it was as though Parker McCoy had risen from the grave.
"Still," Mikey said, and he didn't finish what he said but began to pace up and down the side of the couch. To watch him was to watch someone who the suddenly lost control of reigns that no one had realized were wound so tightly. Reigns that, when let go of, would be harder to gain control of once more. Harder than anyone in the room realized.
"Uh… Mike…" it was Donatello, and he looked nervous looking between both his youngest brother and Tommy. The Die Hard DVD was clutched tightly in his grasp.
Michelangelo stopped his pacing and looked up at his brother.
"Mike… what's going on? You're scaring us," Donny looked pointedly at Theresa when he said this, as if to say 'you're scaring her.'
Mikey's wild eyes found Theresa's, and when they met, Theresa flinched and leaned into Raphael. Michelangelo's face morphed instantly from anger to regret. To pain and sadness and remorse. His eyes, looking everywhere, seeing everyone, finally found Tommy's
"He… he's just in that gang… that gang that…" he breathed deeply, and his face lost the sadness and went blank. "He's in the same gang as Parker McCoy."
The room seemed to grow stiff with understanding. Only the three humans were unknowing of what this meant. The turtles, however, knew what Michelangelo was telling them. It hadn't been long after Mikey had made it home that night, only five short months ago, that the news had flashed Parker McCoy's face on the screen and implicated him in Jade's murder. Traces of his DNA had been found inside Jade's apartment (and her body); although it was a mystery to both police and special investigators how Parker had ended up murdered himself. It wasn't a mystery to Michelangelo's brothers though, who were quick to see what this meant their young, carefree brother had done. And it wasn't as though he hadn't admitted it when Leonardo had confronted him about it that same night, more angry than any of the turtles had ever seen him before.
CRACK!
Every head in the room whipped to Donatello, who was now holding the broken DVD case in his hands. His eyes were on Tommy, but he was in better control of himself than Michelangelo. He only breathed in deeply before he took a step back, looking down guiltily.
But it was enough. Enough for something in Michelangelo's head to start ticking. To start fitting together a puzzle he hadn't even known was in front of him.
"… Donny. What's wrong?" Michelangelo's voice was calm, but his head was cocked to the side, and his eyes were narrowed. He looked as if he were just seeing Donatello for the first time in five months. His brother was skinny. He'd lost weight. He looked tired and stressed. He looked… he looked like Mikey did. He looked depressed.
"Nothing," Donny mumbled, taking another step back, dropping the DVD case that was two separate pieces at his feet.
"Donatello," Mikey said, and Raphael flinched when he heard this because he knew what was coming. It was like seeing a movie and knowing what was going to happen before either lead character even had a clue.
"Donatello," Michelangelo said again, his voice firm. "What's. Wrong."
Donny was shaking his head, moving backwards, looking down, determined not to meet Michelangelo's eyes.
"Mike," Leonardo began, watching with confusion and unease as Donatello backed away and Michelangelo advanced, each step back causing the other to take a larger step forward. "Mike, maybe you should calm dow-"
"Shut up Leo! Just stay out of it!" Michelangelo sounded more out of control than ever, and he raised his hand to Leonardo in a motion that clearly said, 'don't talk to me.'
Leonardo clamped his mouth shut firmly, and Mikey focused his attention back to Donatello.
"Don. Tell me now…"
"…"
The pause made Michelangelo's eye twitch. "NOW!"
But the only thing that Donny could whisper, his hands shaking in sadness and fear and regret, was, "I'm sorry."
Mikey was breathing like he'd run a 10k. Heaving as though someone had punched him in the stomach, had ripped out his heart.
"You," he was finally able to say through the anger that was quickly blinding him to all things rational. "It was you. You were fucking her! You were the one she was seeing. You. You- you fucking- you… I'm going to… Ah!"
It was as if an explosion went off. Michelangelo screamed and leapt, and both he and Donatello went down in what sounded like two boulders colliding.
"I'll kill you!" Michelangelo was yelling. "I'll fucking kill you!"
Both Leonardo and Raphael were there in an instant
"Get off him Mike, he's not even fighting you back!" Leo yelled, trying to pull Michelangelo up by his shoulders. Raphael, cursing loudly, was trying to pull Mikey's fist away from Donny's skull.
Michelangelo shrugged them off, punching every part of his genius brother he could find, his fist colliding into his face with the force of a wrecking ball. Raphael and Leo both grabbed his shoulders then, yanking him up to his feet and pulling him back, struggling the whole way.
"Let me go! I'll kill him! I'll fucking kill him!"
Donatello got to his feet slowly, wiping his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. He looked sadly at Mikey through quickly swelling eyes. He staggered and limped back a step. Michelangelo fought with everything in him against his two brothers, and Leonardo and Raphael were having trouble keeping him away from Donatello.
"I'll fucking kill you, you bastard! Let me go! LET ME GO!"
Michelangelo's foot hooked around Raphael's ankle, and with an arm he had freed he elbowed him hard in the face. Raph fell backwards, and with his left side now completely liberated Michelangelo swung and hit Leonardo in the jaw. Leo's head snapped back at the force of the punch, but his grip did not loosen. Mikey leaned his weight into him then, and they both went crashing to the floor. It only took a second for Michelangelo to detangle himself from his oldest brother, and he was on his feet quickly.
When he hit Donatello in the face, his knuckles splitting with force, Donatello did not fight back. He didn't even raise his arms to defend or cover his face.
"Fight me you fucking coward!" Mikey screamed, and he punched Donny again; so hard that he collapsed to the ground. "FIGHT ME!"
He stood over his fallen brother and went to kick him while he was down, but Leo and Raph were there, pulling him back again.
Leo was angry. "You'll fight someone who won't fight back?!" he bellowed, panting at the effort to hold his brother back.
Mikey strained, ignoring him. "You'll fuck her?! You'll FUCK her but you won't fight me?! FIGHT ME! I'll fucking kill you! I'LL KILL YOU!"
Donatello got to his knees, spitting blood, holding his sides. He did not look at Michelangelo. Theresa, who had been too shocked and frightened to do anything but watch, moved forward and helped Donny to his feet.
The dramatic shift it caused in Michelangelo's behavior, to see Theresa, was unpredicted. He clamped his mouth shut and went stock still, allowing his brothers to get a firmer hold or him. Raphael seized him so tightly he left bruises on his brother's arms, the image of Michelangelo swinging at Theresa suddenly entering his mind. But Michelangelo went limp in his brother's grasp.
"… I won't do anything… just let me go so I can leave," Mikey finally said, his voice quiet and his breathing hard.
After a shared glance, both Leonardo and Raphael released their brother. Leo stayed close by his side, ready to spring in case he should happen to direct his rage at Donny once more. Raphael, however, went and stood in front of both Theresa and Donny, his whole body radiating possessiveness, his whole demeanor reading protector.
Michelangelo didn't do anything, however. He only stood there for a moment, looking at Theresa, his eyes pleading her for forgiveness, before he turned and stalked out of the lair. The stone door slid shut with a discouraging finality.
There was a moment of silence, a moment of unease, before Leo said commandingly to Raphael, "Call Amy. Tell her to get down here now. Donny need's help."
And at that, Donatello collapsed once more.
xxx
"He'll be fine," Amy was saying, sliding Donny's door shut behind her. Her lips were in a tight frown as she looked up at Leonardo. It was two hours later, past midnight now, and Amy looked tired and stressed. She ran a hand over her face, wondering if there was any instant coffee left in the turtle's cupboards.
"…Did you know, Leo?" she asked, and it wasn't hard to guess at what she was referring.
Leo shook his head. "I… I had no idea. I didn't think Donny would do that to Mike."
Amy clenched her jaw. "What about what Mikey just did to Donny?"
Leo looked down at her, sad. "Amy, nothing Mikey does anymore surprises me."
Amy bit her lip and nodded. "He was pretty angry then?" she asked.
Leonardo blew air from his nose, "You have no idea."
Amy sighed, "What are you going to do?"
Leo said nothing for a moment. "…I'll call April and Casey. We could use their help…"
Across the room, sitting between her brother and Corbin, Theresa turned her head and watched Leonardo and Amy's exchange of words. Felling eyes on him, Leo turned his head and met her gaze. He excused himself from Amy and walked across the room to Theresa.
"You ok?" he asked, standing in front of her, holding a hand out for her to take.
She took it, tentative, letting him pull her to her feet and away from Corbin and Tommy. The two only watched her go and remained silent, not protesting as she was lead away. Tommy still had yet to say anything, and Corbin was fighting to keep his eyes open, let alone protest as the large turtle led Theresa away from his side.
Once they were out of ear shot, Theresa said to Leonardo, "I can't believe that all just happened."
Leonardo shook his head. "It'll be ok," he said taking her shoulders and bending his knees so they were eye level.
Theresa nodded forlornly. "Do you think Raph will find Mikey?" she asked softly.
It was going on an hour that Raphael had been gone, looking for Mikey. He hadn't looked hopeful when he left.
Leo sighed, letting his hands drop from her shoulders and shaking his head. "If Mikey doesn't want to be found… there's nothing Raph can do. He'll come around eventually… and then we'll all work through this."
"Do you still want my brother here?"
Leo looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language.
"Why would I care if they stayed?" he asked, referring to both Tommy and Corbin.
Theresa shrugged, "I don't know… there's a lot going on right now, and if both Mikey and Donny aren't able to help…"
Leo shook his head and grasped her hands. "Stop. We'll figure everything out. It's fine."
Theresa pressed her lips together. "But… what about Splinter? Isn't this too much? To take care of him and my idiot brother and Donny and… Oh! I don't know if I can keep doing this!" Her eyes began to swim. "Leo, I'm hurting everyone! This is my fault. If I hadn't brought my stupid brother down here, none of this would have happened," she was crying now, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.
Leonardo opened his mouth to comfort her when he heard the lair's door slide open. He looked up in time to see Raphael stride in; shaking his head to indicate that he hadn't found Michelangelo.
"Here, Raph's back," Leo said, motioning his brother over with a jerk of his head. "He'll tell you the same thing I will. This isn't your fault Theresa. All of this had to happen eventually."
Raphael came up next to them, and when he saw that Theresa was crying his eyes widened and he pulled her out of Leo's grasp and into his arms.
"It's my fault," she wept into his chest, crying harder as Raphael's arms wrapped around her.
Raphael looked to his brother for help, completely bewildered, but Leo had already walked away, back to Amy, without a backwards glance.
"Hush," Raphael finally said, not unkindly, guiding her across the lair. "None of this is your fault."
He led her into his room, shutting the door behind him and setting her on the cushioned chair at the end of his bed. He bent down in front of her, resting on his heels and looking up into her face, which she had covered with her hands. He reached up and pulled them away.
"Hey… this aint your fault."
Theresa gulped and sniffed. "It feels like my fault," she said, taking her hands away from Raphael's to wipe her eyes.
Raph shook his head. "Nah, you just feel that way because you didn't know what was going on. If you had known Donny fucked Mike's girlfriend, you wouldn't feel guilty. But since you didn't know, and Don got his ass kicked, maybe you feel like you should take the blame for bringin' your brother down here. Well, don't. I told Donny this was gonna happen. I told him Mikey would be pissed. No one ever fucking listens to me."
"You knew?" Theresa asked, breathing deeply to keep the tears at bay.
"Don told me… well, I figured it out a week ago and made Don tell me. I guess they both realized they liked each other, and that's why Jade broke up with Mike… Don says they didn't get together until about two months after."
Theresa stopped breathing for a moment, her thoughts racing with a sudden realization. "Raph," she said, instantly in tears once more. "She was murdered three months after she broke up with Mike, that's what you said. …Raph, that means… that means they only had a month together before she died."
She fell forward, onto Raphael's shoulder, sobbing at the injustice of death. It had ripped apart the lives of the living. Michelangelo was a mess, a shadow of his former self. And Donatello? He'd only gotten a month.
Theresa cried harder at that thought. One simple, completely inadequate month.
"Please don't leave me," Theresa sobbed, clutching Raphael's shoulders, thinking of how short a month was. "Please don't go."
And Raphael, realizing for the first time how that one month must haunt Donatello, gripped Theresa close to him and did not leave.
xxx
Author's Note: Wow! Look how quick I updated! Aren't you proud? :)
Hope you enjoyed this depressing chapter. It's my gift to you all for Valentine's Day, which is an evil holiday and should be abolished… Yeah, I'm bitter.
More to come soon, although it may take a bit longed with an update this time. Thanks to all who reviewed, you know I appreciate it. And please, don't hesitate to hit the review button. You know you want to. ;)
Much love to you all, and enjoy your Valentine's Day (gags).