Chapter 25 - The Will of Necessity
April stepped into the infirmary. The lights were off except for one in the corner and that one was dimmed. There was the faint scent of antiseptic and a harsh bitter fragrance that usually filled hospital wings, more strongly near the areas where surgeries were performed. Don had operated on Michelangelo, there was no doubt. Her eyes flew to Mikey, laying on his stomach gazing dully to one side with heavy-lidded eyes as Master Splinter read to him from where he knelt on a pillow. His voice was hushed and soothing. Splinter turned his head and stopped reading when he saw her standing there. He closed the book and slowly rose to stand. Old bones popped.
Though he wanted to stroke his son's head in an affectionate gesture meant only to give him support and love, he refrained; understanding now that such an action would only serve to make his son more uncomfortable and uneasy. Any physical contact he'd observed after the surgery between his son and Donatello left Michelangelo shuddering and pulling towards the wall. Withdrawing and scowling at times; snapping angrily and uncharacteristically at them to leave him be if they crowded him or handled him too much. Though he did not want to admit why this was happening, his heart understood with painful clarity. His son had been molested and worse, raped.
He held the book tightly under one arm. The natural thing for a parent was to offer comfort; to hold and protect their child when they've been hurt or frightened. And though Mikey was nearly fully grown, he was Splinter's youngest; his baby. To be cut from this basic interaction was breaking Master Splinter's heart. That the ability to offer physical comfort had been taken from his relationship with his child infuriated Splinter. This infuriation was tempered with a deep sadness. He did his best to funnel it into productive energy. But his mind was set to one purpose: Leonardo's success. He wanted the abuser's head. He wanted the man responsible for his son's torture to be skinned alive. His rage was a living thing inside his body, vying for dominance over a usually peaceful and rather contented soul.
But it was for the best that he remained calm. Outwardly so, at least. He could sense his son's own impotent fury simmering below the surface. He could not imagine the suffering that his most innocent child must have endured to cause such rage to fire within his otherwise tender, loving, gentle nature. That his pain was morphing into anger at this point seemed like a natural course to Splinter and so he gave Michelangelo the space that he needed; while remaining, as ever, nearby should his boy need him. Near but not too close. The last thing he wanted to do was cause his boy any further discomfort.
"Miss O'Neil has stopped by, Michelangelo," he announced softly to break the awkward silence in the room.
Mikey's eyes raised to see her but he did not greet her. She felt the weight of his vacant stare and could not read his expression. Something between disinterest and sadness. She'd never seen the light in his eyes so low. Splinter stepped to her and gave her a stiff nod in greeting.
"Good morning, Ms. O'Neil."
"Hi, Master Splinter." She looked back to Mikey, he was not looking at her any longer; weakly pulling at a long loose thread from the edge of the cotton blanket draped over him. "Hi, Mikey." She saw him wince at his name and she frowned. She noted he said nothing in response to her greeting. Usually the one to come bounding to her whenever she'd come over, even after the disaster with Donatello, his lack of response only made her feel nervous and fearful. Master Splinter turned to him but, as though deciding better of it, he twisted back around, gave her a pat on the arm.
"He is tired," he explained away his son's reticence. "Do not linger too long. He will need his rest." With that he left the room.
April rubbed her hands together and clasped them tightly, then folded her arms protectively across her chest as she stepped closer and moved a chair over to sit. Mikey shot several glances between her and the thread before settling on simply closing his eyes. He felt her taking in his condition. Though she didn't say anything it was as though her silent examination was filled with exclamations.
"Oh, honey," she sighed. He kept his eyes closed. She reached out to him but he cringed away from her before she could touch him. Her hand hesitated then dropped away. "I'm so-"
"I'm fine."
She blinked and chewed her lip, noting that he was certainly not fine. But feeling surprised at the tone and the uncalled for animosity that seemed to be slowly filling the space between them.
"Leo told me what happened."
This had him opening his eyes. He peered at her over his shoulder, without moving his head off the pillow his opposite arm was bunched beneath.
"You saw Leo?"
She nodded. "Last night."
He considered that. Then, "Is he . . . is he home?"
She shook her head and his eyes dropped. "Oh."
"Did you want me to tell Splinter you want to see him?" she offered.
He shook his head quickly, "No. I don't want to see him." He felt a mixture of relief and dread that his brother was not home. On one hand, he yearned for the comforting presence of his gentle older brother, but on the other hand he knew that Leo seeing him like this, so weak and beaten, would be too hard to take. He would no doubt gaze down at him with pity and that was something Mikey could not deal with right now. "I was just wondering where he was at."
"He's . . ." she paused and decided that telling Mikey that Leo was hunting down his captor might not be the best idea. Instead, she switched tactics and topics. "You had an operation." It was a statement, not a question.
His eyes glanced away. He gave her a slight nod.
"Are you doing okay? Uh, do you maybe want to talk about it?"
He shook his head morosely. She noticed then that his bottom lip puckered a little as if he were fighting the urge to cry. Her heart pinched. She reached out again and he flinched this time before she even touched him. She adjusted her movement and shifted the blanket further up onto his shoulder instead of embracing him.
"You were gone for a few days," she said and felt stupid for stating the obvious and something that he really didn't need her to point out.
"Yeah," he croaked. He gave a soft huff and her eyes snapped to him. He peered at her before dropping his eyes. "It's stupid, but I thought I was gone for a week." Then softer, he mumbled, "Felt like it."
Seizing the opportunity, she ventured, "I'm sure it did. But you're home now. Safe."
He closed his eyes and nodded, pressing his cheek a little harder into his arm. Though what she said was true, he was indeed home, he felt the continual crush of needing to flee; of wanting to escape. Maybe it was just to get away from the pain, or perhaps to run from the half-hidden pity he caught in Donatello's eyes when he thought Mikey couldn't see him staring; the outright pity painted clearly on Raphael's face every time his brother looked at him made his stomach hurt. He knew that Leonardo would have that same look. He wouldn't just be the useless baby of the family any more, now he was the broken one. The one that had been used.
Tears stung his eyes and he burrowed his snout deeper between his folded arms. He wished April would leave. He really wished he could just go to his room. He never thought you could be so homesick surrounded by your family members just because you couldn't move from point A to point B in your home. He exhaled and gave a little moan that April must have mistook for him asking something because she scooted closer. A little too close. He could smell her perfume and though it was a pleasant thing to breathe in after all the sharp scents that filled the lab, he felt the all too familiar surge of panic go through him with her proximity, his eyes snapped open and he frowned.
"What?" The sharp edge was in his tone again.
Maybe it was knowing Raph all these years, but April was not easily intimidated by anyone's gruff responses. Her answer was soft and full of caring. He felt a twinge of regret for snapping at her. Really, it was nice to see her friendly, loving face after what he'd been put through. He felt the panic ease back; something comforting edging inwards to fill the gaping cracks left behind. Yeah, he was happy she was there.
"Can I get you anything? Anything at all?"
He considered this and his eyes went to the shelves and the long low table propped against the wall out of his reach where Donatello stored all the necessary medical equipment and tools. A sink was fitted between two counters and beneath that were bins filled with first aid materials, things like bandages of every shape and size along with plaster for mixing casts and the heavier equipment used for serious emergencies. Next to the sink was a line of plastic containers. His mouth went dry.
Don had given Master Splinter and Raphael strict instructions for the administration of the painkillers. He'd listened as Don told them the timetable between giving him the meds. He'd droned on and on about side effects should they mess up the routine. Mikey didn't care about any of that. What could be worse than what had already happened to him? He lay there in his disfigured body, aching while his emotions continued to dive and surge between despair and fury.
On top of that, Don had told him there'd be at least two weeks of bed rest, maybe more, because of the amputation. Then there'd be some physical therapy and then he zoned out the rest. Everything Donatello was telling him amounted to what sounded like a lot of pain and struggle for something as stupid as having a useless piece of his body removed. As he thought this, though, a pang of grief followed by a sinking sort of dolor. The comfort that April had brought to his heart was iced over with his despondency.
What he wanted was to feel nothing. Like just before he fell asleep last night. Before Don lobbed off the part of him that should have been tucked safely away until the time he was ready to be intimate with someone. His jaw clenched. He was so stupid. He had to forget about that. Forever. Everything was different now. There was no going back. Because he wasn't strong enough to fight Malcolm. Because he'd allowed the man to take him and use him however he wanted.
He wanted to forget. He wanted to be numb. He wanted to escape. His heart was thumping against the mattress below him. His palms grew sweaty. He knew there was a chance that Don had told April about the painkillers and how much he should and shouldn't have. Then again, she and his brother hadn't really been speaking lately. Perhaps he didn't say anything to her at all.
"Actually, April," he began and she perked up immediately. He looked at her but dropped his gaze away. "I'm really sore. From the operation. Do you think you could get me something for the pain?"
"Oh, sure." She stood up and paused, her eyes scanning the line of unfamiliar containers. "Oh, uh, maybe I should get Donatello."
"N-No," he replied. "It's okay. Don't bother him. He worked on me all last night . . . I'm sure he's beat."
Her face crushed into a look of sympathy. Here he was having gone through a nightmare and he still was concerned about his brother's welfare. She always knew that the guys were close, but she never really respected how they looked after each other until things like this happened to them.
A feeling of having lost something precious gripped her heart then. It made her inhale sharply for the force of the recognition. For in that instance, she knew that tender, yet fierce, devotion had been given to her as well, coupled with a vast immeasurable love from Donatello. She had once been given something rare; a treasure that she did not fully comprehend or appreciate; only to have been forced to set it aside. Forced onto a path that was best for her. For her health. Doctor's orders. Doctor's command.
But in the end, she had made her own decision, hadn't she? When she stood in front of him and coldly told him it was over, that she had moved on and he was nothing to her now. That he'd been fun. As though he were a game she had played and then tired of. Her therapist had explained in no uncertain terms that April end things with this boy and make it perfectly clear that there was no hope for resumption of their relationship. For her future. For her health. Things had to be completely severed.
Knowing his adoration of her, remembering his fervent promises of a love that would endure beyond all space and time, she knew what had to be done in order to fulfill her doctor's stipulation. She had decided to be cruel. And she had been. As wounding as she could never imagine ever having to be to someone who loved her more than he loved himself.
The hurt; the anguish on his face; the terror and denial in his eyes as he fell to his knees before her . . . Her own soul crumpled with his begging; it crouched and fell to the floor, there with him, clinging to him, despite her remaining standing. It was there still. Just behind her. In the space where he'd fallen before her. Where she pretended not to be bleeding to death on the inside from a shattered heart.
Her eyelids fell closed. The lump at the center of her throat strangled her. Her hands fluttered over her face before she wrapped her arms around herself. She came here for Michelangelo. Right now was not the time to revisit this. Right now, she had to remember how to breathe.
Mikey raised his head from his arms. She hugged herself but made no move to get the painkillers that he was growing more desperate to have. He knew he needed to say more if he wanted to get the meds.
"M-My tail, it hurts so much," he admitted and dropped his face into the crook of his arms. This was no lie. The earlier painkillers had taken much of the edge off, but the aching throb of his phantom appendage was slowly growing stronger.
She glanced between the medicine and him. "Your tail?" she asked uncertainly.
He nodded, still with his face hidden. But then he raised his head and his expression was so desperately sad that her throat tightened around the lump remaining there.
"He had to take it off. The guy who had me . . . didn't like it." His face grew more and more gray as he spoke. "He tried to cut it off," his voice dropped to a whisper. "B-But it was too th-thick or something and Donnie couldn't . . . he couldn't fix it."
Her hand flew to her mouth; stomach flipped. She understood from her physical explorations of Donatello years before that his tail, and she could only guess it was the same for all of them, had been an extremely erogenous zone. Before she'd been torn away from her love affair with the young mutant, she'd spent countless moments stroking Donnie's private appendage; enjoying the exotic feel of it as it curled around her hand and fingers from the attention; the look of earnest bliss on his face; and the near instant climax it brought to him should she pull it and pet it just a certain way while working her mouth over his rigid flesh; the deep churring sound he could not withhold; the way his tail grew thick and trembled when he was aroused. The memory brought a flush to her face but her stomach clenched in pained sympathy for Michelangelo. To lose that. It was monstrous. Worse than that. It was unfair.
"Oh, Mikey, that's so –" she shook her head. There were no words to express her mortification, her sympathy and her misery for him. Determined now to do something for him, she turned back to the plastic containers and picked one up, examined it and set it down, then chose another and crossed to sit next to him again. She carefully opened it and spilled one into her hand.
"Thank you, April," he said quietly. "Two. I need two."
She frowned. "Are you sure, Mikey?"
He rolled to one side and grimaced and gasped. Through the discomfort, he nodded. "And could you not call me that, please?"
So that's why he flinched earlier when she had greeted him. She could not guess why he suddenly no longer wanted to be called by the endearment. But se was not going to upset him by questioning him over something so frivolous. "Oh. Oh, sure. Mike. Is . . . is Mike alright?"
He took the pills from her and swallowed them both with some effort. He settled into his arms once again, and said, "He's going to be."
A smile, half-hidden, broken and somewhat sardonic graced his features, making April frown. The smile was so unlike his usual happy, sincere grins. This was tainted, somehow and so foreign and misaligned to his innocent features it left her feeling uneasy. A tremor of worry mixed with fear worked its shivery way over her spine.
Hours later, April watched Raphael go into the infirmary with a bowl of broth only to come slinking back out again a moment later, shoulders down, bowl in his grip. He set it down next to April at the kitchen table. She cradled a cooling mug of tea in both hands, twisting it back and forth with an anxious energy that she hadn't been able to shake since she had seen that strange smile on Mikey's face after swallowing those pills. Raphael leaned against the back of the chair next to her with two hands. He glanced at her then the clock.
"Where's Sensei?"
"Master Splinter's resting in his room. He looked exhausted earlier. I think he might be asleep."
Raphael nodded and pulled the chair out to sit. He ran a hand over his face and propped his cheek against the heel of his hand. He blinked and stared at the bowl of broth. He pushed it away from himself with one finger.
If he wondered where his brother was, he didn't ask. April wouldn't know for sure. Donatello was either in the garage or his room. She hadn't seen him since she had interacted with him so briefly that morning. It was for the best. She could think more clearly without him around her.
"Is Mikey, er, Mike, still out?"
Raph noticed the switch in his name. He dropped his hand and crossed his arms, leaning back. He nodded. Then shook his head. "I can't believe Don took off his tail."
April stared at him then to her mug she said, "I'm sure he didn't have a choice."
"Nah, you're right. I just . . . I just wish he didn't have to do that to him." He leaned forward now and picked at an indention in the table. "It's like . . . he suffered enough, you know? To have to do that on top of what he went through . . ." he trailed off and April could see the tears in his eyes, the anger beneath the sadness. He slapped the table, but it was without much force. He shifted, agitated. "I want to go," he said earnestly and stared at her so intensely she sat back.
"Go?"
"Yeah. Go get the fucker that did this to Mikey. But . . ." he struggled. "I can't leave 'em. Not yet. I left him and lookit what happened. I feel like if I turn my back . . . somethin' worse is gonna happen. I know it sounds stupid. Even to me, it does. But . . . I just can't."
She reached over and covered his hand with hers. He shook his head miserably.
"He's going to be okay, Raph. He's home. Don did what he needed to do to keep him healthy," her voice caught on the hated word but she plunged on, hoping that Raph didn't notice, "really. He just needs a little time to heal after what he's been put through. And I'm sure there's a lot more to it than we can even know at this point." He gave her another miserable look and her heart hurt for him.
Out of all of them, he'd been protective of her, those years ago, when her life had been turned upside down by people trying to keep her on a straight and narrow path; doing his best to take her side whenever he could. Where Leonardo was silent on the matter, deferring to their father's thoughts and decision on the situation whenever it came up, Raph was fiery and adamant that there was nothing wrong with the relationship. That everyone was overreacting. It wasn't just for her happiness that he defended the situation between her and Don. She knew that he wanted Donatello to be happy as well. It just wasn't meant to be. Not for her. Not for Don. Not for any of them. Happiness was for other people. Ordinary people. Healthy people.
She thought suddenly of Leonardo out there alone. Hunting. Hurting. Feeling his grief for someone that never loved him. Feeling his failure and his father's disappointment.
"I'm sure Leonardo could use your help out there."
He gave her a bleak look. He huffed, "I'm the last person that Leo wants to be around right now."
She frowned slightly. Squeezed his hand. Arguments between the eldest son and Raph were a common occurrence. It was a sad fact of their lives. But surely what the family was facing would rise above any petty bickering that had caused this latest rift between the two young men.
"Raph, it isn't like that. Whatever you two are fighting about can be put aside. He needs your help. When he came to my apartment last night he looked terrible. He had this . . . haunted look in his eyes. He told me he couldn't come home until he caught the guy responsible for Mikey." She cleared her throat and amended, "Michelangelo."
"That's right. And he shouldn't come back here 'til he at least knows where ta find the bastard." He slid his hand out from under hers. He looked to the side and shook his head, bouncing one knee in irritation. But the initial anger she felt come off him as she brought up Leonardo faded back to some other emotion. It felt ugly and thick. Like regret. "And, uh, I don't think we're ever gonna get over this one, April."
She gave him a puzzled look. The returning expression on his face was one of so much remorse that April felt afraid of what might give the strongest of them such a defeated, sorrowful look.
His voice was rough as he said, "I really fucked everything up." He rubbed the bridge of his eyes hard and added, "I didn't mean ta, though. I didn't. That's the worst part of all this. I-I thought he was over his little crush." He spat out the last word as if it tasted bad on his tongue. The anger was coming back to the surface. "And I was so fuckin' stupid. Heh, no surprise there."
He shook his head again as she opened her mouth to protest his proclamations of such self-hatred. He started, "I thought she . . ." He bit off what he had tried to say. He chuckled and it was a hollow sound. He shook his head, dropping it. He said quietly, "Doesn't matter. Not anymore. It's done, now. Done. Over."
Things were falling into place and the finishing picture that was forming was disturbing no matter how she tried to frame it in her mind. She decided to approach it in the best manner when dealing with the forthright mutant. The best way with Raphael was the direct way.
"You were seeing . . . Karai?"
He raised his guilt-filled eyes to her and swept them away. He gave her the smallest nod.
She took in a long deep breath and blew it out, raising her brows. Oh, boy. She felt the sting of anger at Raphael for hurting Leonardo in such a way, but she just couldn't believe he'd be capable of doing that to Leo. It wasn't part of who he was. No. There was more to this picture. More to the puzzle. She considered what he just told her against what Leo had told her last night, which wasn't much. Except that he was clearly still deeply in love with this dangerous woman who had apparently given her life to save Michelangelo. Something she was still trying to wrap her mind around. And now this revelation. Her head was spinning. Raph was in a relationship with Karai. How did that even happen? Now she realized with a sinking feeling why Raphael felt that Leo would not want to see him or be anywhere near him. Through everything that had happened between Mikey's disappearance and Karai's death, the truth must have come out. She swallowed dryly. It must have been terrible. For them both. But she had to clarify something.
"You thought . . . you thought that Leo was past any feelings for her."
He nodded and then before she could condemn him or offer her condolences and support, he swore in a low growl and stood up. He paced and threw a punch into the bricks near the stove. Then pounded them with the meaty part of his opposite fist. April rose up and moved towards him, giving him enough space, but wanting to stop him before he hurt himself worse.
"Raph. Stop. Raphael."
He swore again and spun around. He kicked the chair and sent it skittering across the floor. April jumped to one side. Then he picked up the bowl of broth and launched it into the bricks he'd just been pummeling with a brief scream full of anguish. Chest heaving, face flushed he turned, looking for something else to unleash his inner turmoil upon. He looked around, furious and lost until his eyes landed on April. She held up her hands in a placating gesture.
"C'mon Raph. There's no point."
She watched something crumble inside of him and he pitched forward; his face pained with grief. She caught him with clumsy effort and then struggling more than a little, she led him to the living room couch. She sat him down like a drowsy, over-sized toddler. She dashed back to the kitchen and returned with a small first aid kit. Without a word, she set to wiping his bleeding knuckles with an antiseptic soaked cotton ball and then set to wrapping them.
Minutes passed without a word being said between them. Both lost in their thoughts. Raph's was a bleak tangled mess. April's more focused and determined. Her earlier consideration of just going home to give them all some space to recover from this fled like a scattering of frightened field mice. She was not leaving here. Raphael . . . Michelangelo. They never needed her more than now. She had to be strong. She had to mine her will for the steel that deep down she knew was inside of her. It was necessary for her to remain. That much was clear to her. Perfectly clear. Her eyes glanced in the direction of Donatello's room and she swallowed. Whether he needed her or not was left to be seen. And maybe it was for the best if she saw nothing at all. Despite her wanting to. Irrationally, so.
Turning her mind away from that dangerous train of thought, she said, "I know a better use for this negative energy, Raph."
He sniffled despite no tears falling from his overly bright eyes. She gave him a pointed look. He knew what she was inferring. To go aid Leonardo in the hunt. He fidgeted where he sat.
"I can't leave 'em. Not yet." He shook his head stubbornly, again, looking more like a big kid than a grown man. "Not yet, April. Not yet."
And she wondered if he meant he couldn't leave Michelangelo's side just yet, or face his brother struggling in the midst of his own torment and grief. She nodded and continued to wrap his hands. There was no need to push him now. When he was ready, he would go. She'd help him get there. Hopefully soon so that Leonardo, the brother left on his own, out in the cold, uncaring world, fleeing his father's brutal disapproval and anger; his own grief and failings; hunting a monster that nearly killed his little brother; wouldn't have to go too long thinking he was alone in this.
Because she knew that Raphael wanted to be there with him. He wanted to help bring justice for his little brother's injuries and torment. He wanted to fight alongside his brother, the one she always saw him looking up to, despite the feigned irritation, the fights, and the sarcasm. She could feel it in her bones, in her soul. But he was afraid. So afraid. Beneath the anger there it always was, the fear that drove this amazing person named Raphael to act so brazenly, to behave so caustically, so hardened against the constant terror that ran his life. She knew the source if not the name. The fear of losing his only family. The fear of being the last one standing. The gaping chasm of loneliness that gnawed at him. She understood that piece. Too well.
He was still shaking his head. She patted his hand and she felt his fingers tightened around her own.
"Okay, Raph. It's okay. I'm going to help you guys. However I can. And . . . it's going to be okay."
He sat there, trembling, listening to her murmur to him that everything would be okay, wanting desperately to believe that what she was saying could somehow miraculously become reality. Despite his heart pounding, so full of self-hatred, so pained with grief and regrets for so many things that he could barely sort through it all. The only thing he saw clearly was that he needed to stay close to Mikey. Something told him that he needed to keep watch over his younger brother.
The image of Mikey seeing him come into the room, then watching helplessly as the light went out of his eyes as he swept the blade into his forearm then brought it up to cut his own throat seized him with an icy unnamed terror. No. He could not leave Mikey's side. Not yet. He would face Leo and his older brother's disgust and hatred of him, deservedly so, when he was sure that Mikey was not going to harm himself like that again. Then he'd go to help Leo. If he'd have him.
A/N: I love hearing from my readers, so keep those amazing reviews coming! You give me a lot to chew on and consider and sometimes things get fired into my imagination and find themselves worked into my stories. This journey is nearly complete, we still have a few chapters to go, but it is nearing a finale, slowly but surely. Ah, I had such a hard time with the title for this chapter. I hope it works. :D
I hope you continue to enjoy this tale and that you take a moment to consider the stories that have been nominated in the 2013 Adult FanFiction Awards - I am most humbled and filled with gratitude to be counted among the fine authors listed there. The entire list of the Ballot is on my Deviantart profile page - link on my profile here - but also on the stealthystories II website. Check it out! TheincredibledancingBetty is manning the ship and I am happy to be assisting. But we need your participation to really make it a success!
P.S. - I love you guys and gals. :D You ask me wonderful questions, you listen patiently as I wax poetic about the boys as if they were as real as you or I and never once do you call me out on being completely insane and obsessed! What a great fandom to be part of! What an honor to have such readers as you!