Hey all! Okay I give fair warning, this chapter is a monster. It is huge and I had no way to cut it down, so I guess...yay for you guys! LOL
Thank you Emilyninjaturtle, I love kittens too, redxcanary, Mira Manson, Diana Fay, XxRepublicBlastxX, AlexWolfGirl, Lyja-chan, rinpup14, Kimmie98, SleepingSeeker and Marie Allen for all of your wonderful reviews.
Also a giant thank you to Marie Allen for beta reading the monster and getting it back to me at lightning speed, thank you so much!and now, please enjoy:D
Chapter 28
Leonardo didn't stay too long at Catherine's. He wanted to, yet at the same time, he felt as if he needed to run as far away from Catherine's acute gaze as he possibly could.
When Leonardo had read this morning's paper, he couldn't believe that Stuart had been murdered. Leonardo quickly read the details and noticed that although Stuart had been arrested, he had not remained in custody long. And no other possibility had crossed his mind that anyone other than Catherine had orchestrated Stuart's death.
Fury burning through him at what he believed were Catherine's reckless actions, he had stormed over to the Brownstone, intent on making Catherine see the folly of her decision, and the consequences of it.
Only instead of being the murderer, Catherine had figured out who had actually killed Stuart, and in the process, uncovered Leonardo's darkest secret.
She had looked into his soul and easily plucked this hidden, blackened, sinful fruit from a tree of a thousand tainted apples, and exposed it to the light of day.
Horror, guilt and fear had all assailed him, clamouring for dominance, as he stared into Catherine's eyes, trying to find the will to deny her accusation and not being able to. Eyes shifting away with guilt and shame he tried to gather his fragmented emotions and thoughts and pull them together. But then Catherine asked him a question that he had a hard time understanding. Looking to her in confusion, he voiced this emotion and she repeated herself, her question dumbfounding him with the whiplash turn in conversation as she asked him what he had thought to find in her art room.
He struggled, not knowing if he should allow her to sweep her accusation of murder under the rug as if it had never been made.
Looking into Catherine's eyes, he saw that they did not contain any understanding or comfort, but instead clearly told him that she was not his judge, or jury, and that his sins were his own, and if he could live with them, then so could she.
Elizabeth had chosen that moment to excuse his actions, absolving him of all guilt and placing the blame on Leonardo's victim, to which Catherine whole heartedly seconded this observation.
Waving off any need for an explanation, Elizabeth took up her sister's lead, and began teasing him and turning his mind from the dark memories of his past, and pulling him again into the light.
Appreciating what both women were attempting to do for him, he managed to turn his mind away from the past. And even as he did this, old feelings of helplessness, guilt, and fury swirled and danced within him.
Forcing his mind into the present he apologized to Catherine, who waved his words away. She was not angry with him and understood. He thanked her for this with his eyes, because he was grateful that she was so understanding.
Elizabeth leaving the room caught their attention, but Elizabeth smiled and said she had things to do, and Leonardo glanced at Catherine who was looking at the door her sister had exited with a thoughtful look on her face.
For some reason Leonardo felt tempted to go after Elizabeth, to make sure that she was okay, but he forced his feet to remain where they were. He would not make that error again.
Turning his gaze back to Catherine he suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if just realizing that they were alone together, but at the same time, being thankful for the easy silence that had fallen over the room. Reaching out he gently took Catherine by the wrist and pulled her close, wrapping her in an embrace which she returned. He didn't say anything, and neither did she, just enjoying the comfort of each other's presence and company.
Pulling back he caught her lips in a kiss that turned hungry. Breaking away from the temptation of her, he hastily explained that he had to go, and quickly left the room. He ran into Elizabeth who seemed surprised that he was leaving so soon, but accepted his explanation that he had things to do.
Before leaving, Leonardo made sure that Elizabeth was okay, and when she assured him that she was, Leonardo gave her shoulder a quick squeeze of encouragement, but found himself pulling her into his arms. There had been something in her eyes, a vulnerability that plucked at his heart and made him want to comfort her and erase that vulnerable look from her eyes.
Elizabeth accepted his hug but only briefly returned it, pulling away and giving him a smile, reassuring him that she would be fine after she had 'processed everything.'
Accepting this, Leonardo made his way home, his mind turning from the women at the Brownstone, to his traitorous younger brother who had been colluding with Catherine.
Finding Donatello in his lab, he angrily approached him.
"Going behind my back once was bad enough, but twice, Donny?" he accused his genius brother who looked up from where he was rapidly typing on his keyboard. His younger brother's cheeks grew dark with embarrassment, and he did not deny the accusation, but instead offered up his reasoning.
"I only went behind your back the once, Leo," Donatello defended.
"You did it this morning when you texted Catherine to say that you found Stuart's murderer."
Donatello sighed and stood, stretching out his back before he walked around and stood in front of his desk. Crossing his arms over his chest he leaned against his desk and began to speak. "When Catherine came to me with her plan, I had my reservations, but went along with it because she had already thought of every eventual possibility that could occur. And besides this, I thought you would rather Mikey and I be there in case something happened, rather than just letting her go into it all alone."
Anger flaring through him again at the remembrance of his brothers' perfidy, Donatello continued before Leonardo was able to object to Donatello's words.
"And as I said, she thought of the consequences of her actions. She knew that Stuart wouldn't spend much time in jail. A good lawyer would get him released and as the police investigated, building their case against him, Catherine figured that there was a strong possibility that Stuart would be killed. She drew up a list of suspects and gave them to me in case she was right. The Governor was her strongest suspect and I did my best to make sure that if he killed Stuart, that I would be able to bring him down, because if the Governor didn't go down, Catherine's life would be forfeit."
Leonardo blinked at his brother in surprise as he tried to understand what his brother was talking about.
Pushing away from his desk Donatello approached him. "The Governor would have begun to systematically remove any and all evidence of his and his son's crimes. Catherine was in the video that tipped the police off. The police would find Catherine eventually, and when they did, I'm not sure whose side they would have been on; the law's, or the Governor's. So I followed the money and got all of the evidence needed to keep Catherine safe."
Donatello stood there, challenging Leonardo, daring him to say he had done the wrong thing, but Leonardo couldn't, because Catherine had chosen her partner-in-crime well. Donatello was the only one of the four brothers who would have been able to help her with taking down the Governor.
Swallowing roughly he let out a pent up breath. "Thank you, Donny," he said to his brother, realizing that Catherine had been one step ahead of him. He had thought that everything with Stuart had been over, but she had seen further ahead and realized that it wasn't, not yet. And now it was, and Leonardo could admit to feeling rather...useless. She hadn't wanted or needed his help, and instead had gone out on her own, formulated, strategized and projected the consequences of her actions and dealt with them accordingly; all without his input or his involvement, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.
Raphael was going to kill someone.
He didn't know who it was going to be, but he had a few names at the top of his list.
It had been two weeks since his late night text messaging conversation with Catherine and he found that he couldn't seem to get her out of his head. She had been at the lair six times in the past two weeks, which meant that he either had to suffer her company, hide in his room, or leave. Usually he chose to leave because watching Leonardo and Catherine together was infuriating.
Yet he would find himself, sitting upon the rooftops, looking over the Manhattan skyline, wondering what it was that Leonardo and Catherine were doing. He would wonder if his brother made her laugh and smile that bright, sunshine smile that had never been bestowed upon Raphael. Or if they were doing something else, something that involved closed doors and heated exchanges of warm breaths and the touching of exposed, fevered skin.
These thoughts would torment him, until he found himself inexplicably returning to the lair, where he would watch Catherine and Leonardo, heads together, talking about something that seemed to hold each other's attention and cause them to forget everyone else in the room; and he hated them both because of it.
His brother was not funny. Leonardo had no sense of humour at all, and yet Catherine would burst out into peals of laughter at something Leonardo had just said. And he despised himself for being pulled -like a moth to a flame- into their vicinity to eavesdrop upon their conversations.
He knew he should be happy for his brother, and he was. He had never seen his brother so content and cheerful. It had been what they had wanted. They had wanted Leonardo to unwind, to smile, to have fun, and to realize that there was more to life than just patrolling the city, and training.
Unfortunately, Raphael hadn't realized that watching Leonardo with Catherine would fill him with so much fury, confusion, and frustration.
He would occasionally feel her eyes upon him and he would ignore her, snap at her, or be as disagreeable as possible towards her because he couldn't seem to help himself. The happier she and Leonardo were, the angrier and angrier he became.
He felt as if he was two separate beings that were constantly at war with each other. He was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions which caused his actions to be just as confusing and contradictory.
But one thing he did know for sure; it was all Catherine's fault.
And if this wasn't bad enough, added to his emotionally unstable state, was severe sleep deprivation; which only exacerbated his already foul and volatile mood.
His nightmares were relentless, ravenous beasts that would not allow him more than two or three hours of rest and he began to feel like he was a trapped, barely functioning, and feral creature. He had been used to having little to no sleep for years, but that one night of uninterrupted, restful sleep had cause him to remember what it was like to be his normal self again, and he couldn't deal with the reality of his situation again.
So frantic had he been for sleep and a return to normality, that he had dug out his old sheets, still containing the hint of Catherine's scent from the closet, and placed them upon his bed, wondering if it was something to do with Catherine's scent that had allowed him to sleep that one night. There was part of him that was terrified of what the answer to this would be, and he wasn't sure if he actually wanted to sleep through the night because he didn't want to examine if that happened, what it meant.
But he was desperate and so he had curled into his sheets and for good measure, he had placed the cat statue back upon his desk.
And he had slept.
For three glorious nights no nightmares dared to slither into his unconscious mind. However, his dreams were haunted by Catherine and he truthfully didn't know which was worse.
But after three nights Catherine's scent had worn off, replaced by his own and the nightmares had returned to rip and tear into his mind and cause sleep to once again become a precious, seemingly unattainable commodity.
Dragging a weary and frustrated hand down his face, Raphael exited his bedroom. He hoped that his family wasn't around because at the moment, he wanted to be left the hell alone so he didn't do something stupid, like pick a fight, get into a fight or just lose it on any member of his family who happened to look at him funny.
Intent on pulling some leftovers out of the fridge -since he hadn't come out of his room for dinner- he made his way to the kitchen. He hadn't felt hungry and truthfully still didn't, but he felt as if he had to put the effort in anyway.
Walking towards the kitchen he passed Michelangelo, who was playing a video game while sitting on the couch in the living room wearing his headphones. Michelangelo practically leapt from the couch as he passed by, ripping off his headphones and calling out his name.
Grinding his teeth together in irritation he was tempted to walk past his baby brother, not in the mood to suffer whatever inanity Michelangelo was offering, but stopped anyway because his baby brother was vibrating with excitement and looking pleased with himself, which tempered Raphael's foul mood by piquing his curiosity.
Brow furrowing, Raphael asked Michelangelo where Donatello was, not even bothering to ask where Leonardo had disappeared to, because he already suspected that he knew. And this thought just infuriated him beyond measure.
Michelangelo seemed impatient but answered that Donatello and Leonardo were both at April and Casey's apartment picking up a few things that April had bought for them.
Feeling his muscles relax slightly, and the knot that seemed to be permanently twisted in his gut loosen, he felt more inclined to humour his baby brother by listening to him.
Michelangelo gave him a huge grin. "Okay, two things. First, I got the new issue of Harbinger and it is EPIC!" Michelangelo gushed, pulling the comic from where he must have placed it beside him on the couch.
Raphael reached for the comic, glad of the distraction from sitting in his room and throwing shiriken at the dartboard that was affixed to the inside his door.
Michelangelo gave Raphael the comic and he looked at the front cover, wondering who the new character, cast in shadow, was.
"Second," Michelangelo continued, but Raphael was only half-paying attention to his brother's words. "Brace yourself. I've been wanting to show you this for a few weeks now, but I gave it to April and she got it framed for me, and I just got it back a few days ago but you've been so cranky and hiding in your room..." Michelangelo's words trailed off as Raphael threw a quick glare at his brother who only smiled in return.
Turning his attention back to the comic in his hands he was aware of Michelangelo walking towards the wall and grabbing a frame that had been resting on the floor, the picture turned towards the wall.
"Anyway, El gave it to me and it is beyond AMAZING!" Michelangelo crowed with excitement. "And I have been wanting you to be the first one to see it, besides April of course, 'cause you're the only one who would really be able to appreciate its awesomeness."
In resignation Raphael looked at what was no doubt going to be some lame-ass horror movie poster.
His gaze was first caught by the signature in the corner, but then it was arrested by the image in front of him and his breath caught in his throat and a strangled, choking sound slipped past his lips.
A woman languidly sat with her bare legs crossed upon a throne of bones; severed heads and mangled corpses lay at her feet. In one hand she held a heart, her lips stained red with blood, a single trickle of crimson dripping from the very edge of her full lower lip. A crown of black spikes adorned her head as black raven's wing and crimson locks flowed down and over her shoulders like an onyx waterfall, her face obscured by a black feathered half -mask. Pale alabaster flesh was exposed to his eyes, barely covered by the tight, black, corseted dress she wore. Delicate, ethereal wings that looked as if they had captured a piece of the night sky within their depths projected back and away from over her shoulders.
Her head was cocked slightly to the side, as if she had just caught something out of the corner of her eye, which she had. There was a mirror that hung in mid-air and on the other side, was another woman. A peaches and cream complexioned face was surrounded by blonde waving locks that tumbled forward as she reached her hand out towards the mirror, her body wrapped in a tight blue and white corseted dress.
"Isn't it awesome!" Michelangelo gushed happily as Raphael took in a deep shuddering breath. He could hear his baby brother talking excitedly, but he couldn't seem to make sense of his words. Instead his gaze was locked upon the woman on the throne.
"Alice in Wonderland and the Queen of Hearts," he thought numbly to himself, but then he realized that the words had slipped out of his mouth.
"You got it," Michelangelo beamed happily.
Raphael couldn't tear his eyes away from Catherine, who was dressed as the Queen of Hearts. Even if she hadn't told him that she had been at an Alice in Wonderland photo shoot and told him her sister had worn a wig, Raphael would have know that the Queen was Catherine. He had long ago memorized the soft curve of her cupid's bow lips, the delicate line of her jaw and the look of mischief that somehow managed to project itself from behind a mask that completely obscured the upper half of her face. She was the Fairy Queen all over again, only this time, instead of being created from the silver twinkle of a falling star and the blue tint of moonlight, she was draped in darkness, forged by violence, honed in blood and imbued with the dark temptation of carnal pleasure.
Dangerous, seductive lust wrapped itself around her. The men at the feet of the Queen , some human others not, knew that only danger and death awaited them if they neared the beautiful woman, but were unable to turn away, offering themselves up to her insatiable bloodlust, violence and sexual need because a moment of her attention was worth the inevitability of their death.
The look that was captured on the Queen's face was a mixture of raw sexuality, mixed with a vicious mischief thrown towards the mirror, where innocence stood in frozen tableau; caught between the horror of the scene in front of her, and the fascination that rose unbidden within her.
Alice was about to step through the looking glass and the Queen of Hearts, the Dark Queen of the Fairies, was waiting to devour her.
Raphael had always heard that a picture was worth a thousand words, but he had never really understood the saying until now. He wondered why Elizabeth hadn't been the Queen. Her attitude and bad-girl vibe should have been perfect for the role of the bloodthirsty Queen as opposed to the vulnerable, innocent role of Alice. But as he gazed at this, raw, sensual, commanding and violent vision of Catherine, somehow he felt as if Catherine's true spirit and nature had been captured perfectly.
Catherine gave off the impression of a woman carved in ice, but behind the shiny façade she presented to the world, there was, at her very core, a burning flame that was incendiary; held in check by a will of iron and a strength as strong as the toughest steel.
"I think this is going to be an amazing graphic novel, don't you?" Michelangelo asked. "I can't wait to see the other pictures."
Raphael felt the blood drain from his face. "Other pictures?" he asked hollowly, managing to finally pry his eyes away from the poster.
"Sure. The novel is going to be made up of both real life photography, photoshopped by El, as well as illustrated portions done by the Raven himself!" Michelangelo explained enthusiastically. "Maybe I should put it up in the living room."
"No!" Raphael blurted out in horror. He would lose what little remained of his sanity if he was forced to walk past that poster every day. It showed too much of Catherine's bared flesh, and her overt sexuality which practically dripped from the poster.
"It's not that bad. It's a little bloody, but compared to the zombie posters, this one's nothing. And the Queen and Alice are fully clothed," Michelangelo argued. "Besides, it's art. Leo can't object to art, even if the chicks were wearing less clothing. But they're not, so I don't see what the big deal is," Michelangelo huffed.
Raphael stared at his usually perceptive baby brother in shock. How could Michelangelo not see that the Queen of Hearts was Catherine and Alice was Elizabeth? And that poster was not innocent. Catherine's breasts were practically being forced from the restrictive confines of the corset she wore, her lithe legs exposed from a slit in the skirt that was cut so far up that Raphael was pretty sure that she wasn't wearing any underwear. And Catherine's body language and the general vibe she gave off screamed sexual temptation.
Debating filling Michelangelo in on who the characters in the picture really were, and the obvious sexual ambiance of the poster, Raphael closed his mouth tightly and decided to keep this information to himself. "Hang it wherever you like, Mikey," Raphael told his brother because if he put up a fuss, Michelangelo would begin to ask questions that Raphael himself wouldn't even be able to answer.
Saying a few more words on how great the poster was and how excited he was for the new graphic novel, Raphael made his escape. Clutching the comic book to his chest he made his way to his bedroom, the attempt at dinner forgotten as he closed his door behind him, and flopped down on his bed, trying to get his breathing, his heart, and his traitorous hormones under control.
Unfortunately, it was as if the image of Catherine as the Queen of Hearts was seared into his brain, and truthfully, it was only one of many images of Catherine that seemed to have been etched permanently into his brain.
Realizing that he was still holding the comic book clutched to his chest like a shield, he attempted to distract himself by opening the pages and learning the fate of Harbinger, who had previously been skewered by a large sword and pinned to a wall.
Eyes scanning the pages, Raphael saw Harbinger saved from what was a demon by Gabriel. The demon had looked human-ish, but the longer it had talked, the more and more inhuman its visage had become. And before Gabriel killed the demon with a nice shiny sword of his own and sending the demon back to Hell, it had warned Harbinger that 'he' was coming.
Raphael didn't know who 'he' was, but had a strong suspicion he wasn't friendly. Flipping quickly through the nausea-inducing part where Gabriel confessed his love for Harbinger, and she admitted that she loved him as well, the two shared a passionate kiss.
"Blech," Raphael vocalized his displeasure. Of course she fell for the goody-two-shoes- too-good-to-be-true Gabriel; with his blonde curls and his pretty-boy good looks. Okay, he could admit that Gabriel could be pretty bad-ass when he needed to be (he had killed the demon and a bunch of other creatures) but generally, the guy was a do-gooder, kind of like Superman. Personally, he preferred Batman. The guy had his code, but he was dark, gritty, and got his hands dirty when he needed to. Batman always walked that line where you wondered how far from the line he would go before he couldn't go back.
Getting back to the good parts, Gabriel finally left Harbinger in the apartment he had set up for her, the wounds inflicted by the sword healing on their own leaving her no worse for wear but tired. And so a pleased and love sick Gabriel strolled happily down a back alley.
Suddenly, a sword protruded from Gabriel's chest, a man, the one from the front cover, standing close behind him. The shadowy figure whispered into Gabriel's ear, 'Hello, Gabriel.'
Gabriel gasped out in pain. White wings burst loose from his back as the blade was twisted cruelly.
"Hah, called it, angel," Raphael murmured smugly.
'L…Lucifer,' Gabriel said, looking over his shoulder at the man who emerged from the shadows. He looked human, had black hair and was as pretty as Gabriel.
Raphael blinked in shock. "Well, crap, nothing like getting ganked by the devil. Guess you know who 'he' is," Raphael murmured with a grin.
'Trying to steal my Queen from me, Brother?' Lucifer accused dangerously.
"Holy shit," Raphael exclaimed looking at the comic and sitting up. Harbinger was the Queen of Hell and was married to the DEVIL!? Okay, he hadn't seen that one coming. So what exactly did that make Harbinger, a demon, something else?
Eagerly he turned the page and there was nothing. "Damn it!" he swore. Of course it was a cliff-hanger. The Raven enjoyed those, the bastard. He tossed the comic away in frustration. Now he would have to wait until next month for the next issue to be out to find out what the hell was going on.
He let out a sigh, he looked at the comic with a mixture of irritation and wariness. The caption of, 'Trying to steal my Queen from me, Brother?' did not sit well with him for some reason. He suddenly felt guilty and uneasy, only there wasn't a reason for him to feel either emotion.
"Stupid Queens," he grumbled under his breath, suddenly feeling inundated by them.
There was a knock on his door and he glared at it. "Go away!" he yelled, more out of habit than anything. Grabbing the comic back up he rolled over and lay back on the bed, head away from the door. Turning it back to the beginning he began reading it again, and enjoying the artwork.
The knock came again and he swore under his breath. It was probably Michelangelo, wanting to talk about what he thought of the new issue of Harbinger and truthfully he didn't blame his brother one bit. Things had taken an unexpected and interesting turn.
"Fine, come in," he shouted over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around.
His door opened and then shut.
"So, this is what your room looks like when it hasn't been completely trashed," a familiar feminine voice observed softly.
Raphael leapt from his bed. "C-Catherine?!" he stammered in shock. "What are you doing in here?" he asked, his voice sounding strangled and an octave higher than it should have been.
"You told me to come in," Catherine pointed out reasonably as she curiously looked around his room.
Taking a quick look, he scanned his own room making sure there wasn't anything embarrassing lying around, not that she was staying, but still.
"Get out," he growled, anger replacing his surprise at Catherine walking into his bedroom.
"No. You'll have to throw me out," she told him firmly as she walked towards him. She looked like a woman on a mission, and to his horror, he found that he gave ground, taking a step back. In fact he took several, until his carapace hit up against his nightstand.
"I can arrange that," he snarled, stupidly still trying to back up even though there was nowhere else to go.
His room was small to begin with, the queen-sized bed taking up most of the far corner, with only enough room to put his night table beside the bed. His desk was jammed against the end of his bed and left only enough room for his door to open. His closet was on the wall opposite his bed and a pile of gear, clothing and a dresser took up the rest of the wall.
Raphael was just able to stretch out and do push ups upon the floor in the amount of floor space he had left, and Catherine was making his room feel even smaller; much, much, smaller.
He suddenly felt overly warm, his heart was beating frantically in his chest and his breath was coming out in strangled gasps. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he would say he was frightened, which was ridiculous. Sure, he got scared every now and then, but then he would squash down that feeling and charge headlong into whatever was ahead of him.
But here he was, cowering against his nightstand as if the tiny scrap of femininity standing before him somehow had the ability to hurt him. And she didn't. Narrowing his eyes he was about to snarl at her, but she stopped, pulling the burgundy hoodie she had been wearing up and over her head, revealing a skin tight pink t-shirt beneath that left nothing to the imagination, and his brain tripped over itself.
His heart began to race even faster and he swallowed roughly. She placed her hoodie on his desk and then approached him, her hand held out towards him. He didn't understand what she wanted, but the only possibility that entered his mind was that she wanted for him to take her hand, and draw her in close. Reaching out he realized that his hands were full of Catherine's cat statue, clutched to his chest like a shield.
He didn't even remember grabbing the damn thing off of his desk, but he must have snatched it when he had leapt up off his bed, and just before he had backed himself up against the nightstand.
Casting a quick glance at Catherine's hand he shoved the statue into it. Embarrassed that he had believed for even a second that Catherine was reaching out for him. And besides, it wasn't like he needed the damn statue anyway. The last few days he had barely slept a wink.
Catherine took the statue and patted it on the head. She then leaned close to him and he stopped breathing. His skin prickled with sweat and felt as if it was overly sensitive. Catherine's scent surrounded him as she set the cat down upon his nightstand, facing his pillow.
Stepping back and away from him, he could breathe again, for a moment, up until Catherine plopped herself on his bed, and all the oxygen left his lungs; and he was pretty sure that he made a pathetic whimpering sound in his throat.
"Get out," he warned lowly, because suddenly he felt as if she didn't leave, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.
"Raphael, we need to talk," Catherine said as she looked up at him.
"No, we don't," he snapped, forcing himself not to move even an inch closer to her.
She let out a sigh, giving her head a slight shake. She grabbed something from under where she sat, which was the comic book he had left upon his bed.
Lightning quick he reached out and snatched the comic from her hands, breaking his vow not to step even an inch closer to her. "This comic's too cool for you," he goaded her, hoping she would be insulted enough to take the hint and just leave him the hell alone.
Catherine gave him a mischievous half smile and Raphael swore his stomach actually did a flip-flop in his gut, as her eyes twinkled with amusement.
"You're probably right," she easily accepted his insult with a shrug. Looking down at where she was sitting, she brushed her fingers across his sheets. "How's your new bed?" she asked him curiously.
"Why, you wanna help me try it out?" he asked with a leer, the words tumbling from his mouth before he was able to check them. Not even wanting to think about what he had just said, he could only hope that she would just leave, but of course, she didn't.
Instead, she only lifted an eyebrow and gave a snort, apparently believing he was teasing her. "You wish," she blithely answered back and then looked at him, the smile falling from her lips, eyes widening slightly at whatever look he was giving her, and truthfully, he had no idea what his facial expression was and he probably didn't want to know. Gathering the tattered remains of his sanity he schooled his features into lines of irritated fury, trying to figure out how to get her out of his room without going near her.
"My point," Catherine began as she reached out and grabbed his lumpy pillow, clutching it to her chest and hugging it, "is that you aren't sleeping, even though you now have a bed that isn't jamming springs into you."
Blinking in shock he straightened, forgetting about his determination to stay away from her as he pulled himself away from his nightstand and loomed over her.
"Did you go blabbing to Leo, or did Leo put you up to this?" he asked furiously.
Catherine frowned in confusion. "This has nothing to do with Leonardo. He doesn't even know I'm here. I noticed that you-"
"I'm sleepin' just fine, not that it's any of your damn business," he interrupted her, frustrated and angry at her for having noticed that he wasn't sleeping when his brother's hadn't, and even angrier over the fact that she was right about it.
"It's my business because you are my friend and I'm worried about you."
"I ain't your friend, Catherine," he bit out angrily. "I don't even like you. I hate you. Now get the hell out of my room, " he ordered and she didn't move an inch, not even a bit. In fact she seemed completely unimpressed with everything he had just said.
Completely ignoring him, she plucked at the folds of his pillow before looking him straight in the eye. "I was trying to figure out why you haven't been sleeping, and eating, and you haven't been eating because Michelangelo said that all you do is push your food around on your plate, and that's only when you actually show up for meals."
He narrowed his eyes in fury, deciding he was going to have to kill his baby brother, very, very, slowly.
"But whether the not eating is part of the not sleeping, I'm not sure," she continued. "But what I do know, is that I recognize that look."
She searched his eyes and he pulled back, because her searching gaze was too prying and oddly intimate.
"Yeah, what look is that?" he asked crossing his arms over his chest defensively.
"The look of someone haunted by their past, who can't escape it, even in sleep, because the horror of it invades your dreams as nightmares that eat and tear away at you."
Furious, he leapt forward, pushing her back, and pinning her to his bed, his hand splayed against her chest just above the pillow she still had clutched to her chest. "You don't know what the HELL you're talkin' about," he bit out angrily. "And you know what, even if you were right, and you're NOT, with the shit me an' my brothers have gone through, I'd say I was entitled. You have no idea what me and my brothers have been through, and you have no idea what it's like bein' a freak."
"I never said I did," Catherine agreed with him, and this only made him more furious. She didn't appear frightened, a little surprised, but she was looking at him with understanding, and there wasn't any way she could understand. She could NEVER understand, not any of it.
With his beak only an inch from her face, he snarled, "You don't know what real violence is. You have no idea what it's like to look into the eyes of someone who is determined to kill you. You have no idea what it's like to watch your family dodge death by inches. Your little scuffle with Stuart, child's play compared to the shit we've had to deal with. So don't you dare come in here with your lily-white picket fence, fluffy-ass, unicorn, rainbow, and butterfly filled life and tell me that you know 'that look'."
Catherine's expression became shuttered and closed off, but she steadily replied, "You need help. You need to talk to someone."
"I don't need any fuckin' help," he replied dangerously, daring her to keep pushing him. But she was apparently insane and had a death wish of sorts because she didn't take the hint.
"Yes, you do!" she argued.
"NO I DON'T!" he yelled and she winced at the volume of his voice.
"Why do you have to be so stubborn?!" she huffed out.
"Why do you have to be so annoying?!" he asked with irritation.
"Because you're being difficult!" she snapped back.
"Cause there ain't nothin' the matter with me!"
"Those dark circles under your eyes are proof enough that you aren't sleeping."
"So what, you comin' in here, lyin on my bed, you gonna help me get some sleep, Catherine?" he asked curiously, his voice lowering and containing a hint of lust.
And that was when he realized that he was mere inches away from her, and that was dangerous because whenever he got this close to Catherine, she messed with his mind, and he wasn't able to think clearly anymore. He fell into a state where he wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss her or kill her, and true to form he had shifted from wanting to strangle her, to-
"Raphael-" she interrupted his thoughts and he gritted his teeth against the sound of his name upon her lips, because it sounded so damn good. He wanted to press his mouth against hers and allow her tongue invade his mouth, caressing his own and making him groan in need and want.
Oh my God, what is wrong with you?! his inner voice screamed at him even as he leaned in closer to her.
Catherine didn't finish whatever she had been about to say, her words caught in her throat as the air around them became heavy and crackled with heat and sexual tension.
His body was pressed against hers, the pillow trapped between them the only thing separating his body from molding completely to hers as he pressed her further into the comfortable mattress. He slid his beak past her face, brushing his scent upon her velvety cheek with his own as he buried his face into the mattress beside her neck. He could actually see her pulse beating in her throat, and the pulse was faster that it should have been; which only seemed to kick-start something primal and territorial within him.
He wanted to indulge his want and satisfy his need. He wanted to devour her lips with his own, and touch and lick every single inch of velvety pale skin. He wanted to awaken the creature that he knew burned beneath her proper and icy surface and he wanted to see her blaze for him, because then he may finally be able to purge her from his mind once and for all.
What the hell are you thinking! his inner voice screamed at him as warning bells he completely ignored went off in his head.
For the past two weeks he had been unable to get her out of his head. She was there when he was awake and when he was asleep and this combined with the sexually charged poster he had just seen of Catherine as the dark Queen of the Fairies, he wasn't able to think straight anymore. Not with her lying beneath him upon his bed, her scent mingling with his own, which was intoxicating, and too tempting to resist.
"You have a habit of ending up on my bed, Catherine," he observed. "Are you going to chase the nightmares away?" he asked pulling his face from her neck and looking into her eyes, which were wide with shock, and dark with some emotion he couldn't be certain of. He brushed his cheek along her other cheek before looking at her lips hungrily.
She licked her lips under the scrutiny that he was giving them and he leaned in closer, wanting to taste the wetness she had just deposited upon that silken surface.
Catherine's hair lay spread out around her head like a black and red halo, and he had to admit that in his dreams, he had seen this very thing so many times and he was fascinated by the reality of it. He pulled at a curl and wrapped it around his finger, wondering why it was still so red. At the very least it should have faded to pink, or been dyed to match the rest of her raven coloured locks, but they were still there, vibrant and taunting him with his colour.
But she's not yours, his inner voice reminded him fiercely, because for some reason he had forgotten that very fine, very important point.
And I don't want her to be mine, he argued with himself.
But for the sake of argument, if he did, and he wasn't saying he did, because he didn't, but if he did have an interest in Catherine, it didn't matter, because besides being totally messed up, he could never steal or seduce his brother's girlfriend, even for the sake of his own sanity, because he could never betray his brother like that.
And yet thinking this, he didn't move, because even though he knew he could never do such a thing to his brother, he was tempted; so very tempted to betray his brother, and this fact terrified him.
It didn't make sense that he would throw away everything, his relationship with his brother, with his family, just for one moment with Catherine. And that meant that she had somehow become dangerous, because she somehow had gained an amount of power over him that was frightening, and he needed to gather the strength of will needed to pull away.
Desperately he searched her face but found himself drinking in every beautiful delicate curved line of it, as if memorizing it in great detail. His finger traced her cheekbone, his scarred, calloused fingers brushing against the soft velvet of her alabaster cheek. He searched her eyes, looking for a hint of anger, of disgust, of horror, anything that would allow him to be able to pull away, and found nothing but darkened green orbs that seared their way into his very soul.
Pinned beneath his weight, her hands were placed upon his shoulders, not pushing him away, not pulling him in, not stopping him, just resting there, as if she was unsure what to do, or perhaps she wondered if she even could do anything to stop him if he decided to act on his carnal thoughts.
And it was then that he realized how very small, fragile and helpless she really was. She always gave the impression of strength and control, but under all of that, she was only human, and an untrained, defenceless one at that.
He had always thought of humans as being some-what breakable, which was ridiculous because he had tangled with more than enough with them to know that they were anything but, and yet at the same time, he and his brothers were able to take beatings that would kill most humans, because much of their body was protected by hard keratin. And this was the reason why his brothers feared for him now.
Stroking Catherine's cheek again he recognized the fact that Catherine was an innocent. She was the reason he and his brothers protected the city so ferociously, to keep people like her safe. She had never been part of the extreme violence and brutal struggle for survival that he and his brothers had been a part of and he wanted it to stay that way.
He wanted to protect her and keep her safe from the dangers of the world, of which he was one. He had to remind himself of this fact because Catherine had the ability to make him forget how fucked up he really was. If she knew, she wouldn't be able to get away fast enough, and as tempting as it was to let her see that, to push her away that completely, there was a small helpless part of him that never wanted her to see what he really was; a violent, dangerous monster whose very sanity hung by a thin, tenuous thread.
Gathering every tattered scrap of willpower he had to resist the temptation of her, he leaned in close and he was unsure what she saw, but she seemed to recognize that something had changed in his mood because she tried to push him away, but was unable to.
"Get the fuck out, and stay the hell away from me," he warned, pulling her up from his bed and tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
She yelped in protest. "You can't just-"
He didn't give her the chance to finish, he opened his door and tossed her out, slamming it shut before she even hit the ground. The only thing he could hope was that she wasn't hurt when she hit the hard stone floor.
He waited a moment, anticipating Catherine pounding upon his door in fury of his treatment of her, but it never came. Leaning his ear against the door he heard nothing but silence from the other side. Sudden fear filled him. Had he hurt her when he had thrown her out? Had she hit her head upon the floor and been knocked unconscious?
Catherine didn't strike him as the type who would take literally being thrown out of his room without some sort of verbal retaliation and protest. He stood a moment torn between worry and feigned indifference. Finally giving in he opened his door a crack before pulling it wider and finding the hallway empty.
Surprised but glad that Catherine had taken the hint and left him the hell alone, he closed his door again and paced around his room as best as he could. He was tempted to leave his bedroom, but he wasn't sure if Catherine would be lurking around the lair, waiting to pounce on him and he wasn't sure if he would survive another encounter with her without completely losing it on her, one way or the other.
The last thing he needed was Catherine reminding him that he was broken and poking her sanctimonious nose into his business. He didn't need her help, he didn't want her help and he resented the fact that she believed that he needed help in the first place.
And this was just one of the many reasons he disliked her to the point of hatred. But each and every time he said he hated her, and disliked her, the more and more hollow and meaningless the words seemed.
Feeling torn between helplessness and fury, he grabbed his pillow up from his bed and out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Catherine's hoodie, laying upon his desk. Snatching up this article of clothing he held it in one hand, the pillow in the other and stood for a moment before taking both and shoving them into his closet. And for good measure he grabbed his blanket and shoved it into the closet as well, pulling out the new blanket that April had given him.
He needed to get her scent as far away from him as possible because she had somehow weaseled her way so deeply into his conscious and unconscious, that he was truthfully terrified at what he would do the next time he encountered her.
He fell onto his bed, exhaustion pulling at him, tempting him into sleep. Eyes closing he drifted in the space between sleep and awareness before finally falling into sleep.
Catherine looked at Raphael's closed door and resisted the urged to kick it. Instead, she turned and headed back down to the main floor. She had opted not to chastise Raphael for literally throwing her out of his bedroom, for two reasons. The first was that she had managed to land in such a way that she hadn't hurt herself, and the second, was that she needed to put some distance between herself and Raphael so that she could think again.
She was furious, furious with him, and furious with her own traitorous body for becoming flushed, breathless and tingly when his voice had suddenly become low and gravelly, his eyes going molten with desire as he looked at her as if he was about to devour her. And then he had caressed her cheek, and she swore that his fingertips had a direct connection from her cheek to her lower belly where things had suddenly tightened and become overly warm.
Angrily striding through the main floor, she felt as if she needed to do something with her anger, because she had decided to ignore everything else and concentrate on that. Her anger she understood, whatever she feelings -if any- she had for Raphael were completely beyond her realm of understanding at the moment.
She could admit that there was some sort of...physical something between them, but so what? She was attracted to Raphael. She was also attracted to Leonardo. They were brothers and had similar personalities, but that is where it ended. She actually had things in common with Leonardo. They had conversations together as opposed to her and Raphael, who didn't converse at all. He only snapped, barked, insulted and pushed her away to the best of his ability, and this ability was a finely honed tool that he wielded like a master.
She found that she had wandered into the dojo/training area, and saw what used to be her heavy bag hanging in the corner.
Walking over to the heavy bag she gave it a quick punch and winced. It had been a while and she was out of practice. Seeing some athletic tape sitting on a table she walked over and used it to wrap up her hands, lessening the damage she was about to inflict upon them.
She realized she was being idiotic staying in the lair and beating the stuffing out of the bag, especially since there didn't appear to be anyone else home, and it greatly increased her chances of running into an incensed Raphael, and yet she stayed because she was not used to the anger that flowed through her and frankly, she didn't know what to do with it.
Raphael was the only one with the ability to get under her skin, and make all of the emotions that she so carefully controlled flow to the surface and spill over annoyingly.
Giving a spin kick she hit the bag, quickly turning she smashed her right fist and then her left into the surface of the plastic-like material.
Shoving all conflicting feelings she had about Raphael aside, she instead concentrated on what made sense to her. Raphael wasn't sleeping, he wasn't eating, and he had the haunted look in his eyes of someone who was ruthlessly being hunted.
But as far as she could tell, the eating thing was recent, as in the past couple weeks recent. Thinking back to when she had first met Raphael, personality wise, he seemed his same bad-tempered, cranky self, but he had laughed and joked with her sister. He had even flirted with Catherine when they had been at the batting cages and he had thought she was Elizabeth, so what had changed?
At the batting cages she had seen him almost lose it and after that things seemed to go downhill from there. Thinking back on it though, Raphael had always seemed a little on edge, and tired, but tired in the way a new mom or university student was tired. Long hours, little sleep, but something that they got used to because it was part of having to do what needed to be done.
Giving the bag another swift punch she felt a spike of pain enter her back. Ignoring it, she contemplated telling Leonardo that there was something wrong with Raphael, and that she was concerned that if Raphael didn't get help, that he was going to lose it, and hurt someone. She could see the signs, had seen them many times before in the institution where she had been. The youth, traumatized by horrible things that they had witnessed, became tense, angry, edgy and eventually would explode with violence.
But if she told Leonardo, she would only be throwing gasoline on a fire. Raphael would never acknowledge that he needed help, and therefore, would only see his brother's aid as both a weakness and condescending interference.
"If only you weren't such a stubborn ass," she mumbled under her breath as she hit the heavy bag with all her might, and sadly enough, the thing barely moved and she was pretty sure she had just hurt herself more than it. She rotated her right arm and winced as her shoulder blade gave a sharp protest of the movement.
"Not bad," Michelangelo's voice drifted in from the doorway and Catherine found herself blushing in embarrassment.
"I-I just..." she stammered out, quickly trying to unroll the athletic tape from her hands.
"Hey, don't stop on my account," Michelangelo said as he walked up to the heavy bag.
"I was just leaving," she told Michelangelo, because it was time for her to go. She was no further ahead on sorting out anything that concerned Raphael and staying here and hurting herself wasn't going to help.
"So what'd he do?" Michelangelo asked, distracting her, and she let him.
"Who?" she asked.
"I don't know, you tell me. Since Leo ain't here, I'm guessing you had a run-in with Raph."
She could try denying Michelangelo's observation, but she was a horrible liar, and besides, it wasn't like she could blame her anger on Leonardo, he hadn't done anything wrong and wasn't even there.
"Come on, hit it again, I want to see what you got," he said as he held onto the heavy bag motioning with his head for her to punch the bag. About to object, he gave her a charming smile. "Come on, you know you wan-na. Just pretend it's Raph's face."
That caused Catherine to laugh. "One day, Michelangelo, you will slay hearts with that smile, I would bet money on it," she said as Michelangelo snorted and shook his head in denial. She twisted and gave the bag another spin kick followed by a right left combo with her fists, and then regretted this.
Hiding her pain she turned away and took a steadying breath before glancing back at Michelangelo.
"Hey, you know what you're doing," Michelangelo accused, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"I know what I'm doing, I'm just not very good at it. I 'lack conviction'," she said using air quotes and unwrapping the athletic tape before she did herself any more harm.
"What's that mean?"
"It means that I thought it was a good idea, being only 5 foot nothing and weighing only one hundred pounds, to learn some self defence of some sort. I learned but, I don't have enough...emotional drive. It was a means to an end. I didn't dislike it, but I didn't like it either. In fact, I think today is the first time I have ever wanted to actually do damage to that damn bag," she grumbled. Which was the truth. Also, she found that the longer she hit the bag with her right fist, the more and more painful the action would become. Having a bullet tear through your scapula sucked and even after all these years, her arm still wasn't fully recovered. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that her shoulder would ache when it was cold out and when the weather changed. A small price to pay for being alive though. She had bought the bag to continue her training at home, hoping to strengthen the muscles that had been damaged so many years before, but she had soon discovered that she just hurt herself more, and so she had discontinued kickboxing. Elizabeth had never really asked why she had stopped, but she strongly believed her sister assumed she had gotten bored of the activity and she didn't disabuse her sister of this notion. The last thing she needed was her sister to know that her shoulder was messed up.
"Wait...this was your bag?" Michelangelo asked as he connected the dots much more quickly than she hoped. "And that means all the other stuff was yours too!"
She gave a bashful smile, "I plead the fifth, because I'm in America, and I can do that here," she said and Michelangelo only shook his head. "I'm sorry, you and Donatello are horrible liars, and I just wanted to help Raphael because he's been soooo...I have no idea," she said as she let out a puff of frustration.
"Yeah he's been pretty tense and cranky lately," Michelangelo agreed, staring at her speculatively before becoming very interested in the heavy bag.
Catherine decided not to touch that one with a fifty foot pole. Whatever was happening with Raphael had nothing to do with her.
Except for his apparent conflicting emotions regarding you, her inner voice whispered.
Ignoring her inner voice, she asked Michelangelo, "Where'd you come from?"
"Shower," he answered motioning with his head towards a hallway she had never been down.
"Ah," she said with a nod.
"So why are you here?" Michelangelo asked curiously. "If you're waiting for Leo, I have no idea when he's going to be back."
"No, I wasn't waiting for Leonardo," she began slowly and then decided to dive all the way in. "I wanted to ask Raphael why he's been so cranky," she hedged. It was true-ish.
"And did he tell you?" Michelangelo asked curiously following her as she made her way from the dojo.
"No," she admitted with a sigh. "He was not very forthcoming and he threw me out of his room; literally," she said with an irritated shake of her head.
"You confronted Raph in his room and he threw you out?" Michelangelo asked incredulously.
"Like a sack of potatoes," she admitted with a smile at Michelangelo's stunned expression which turned serious and Catherine stopped walking, confused by his reaction.
"Is that when you got hurt?" Michelangelo asked carefully.
"Hurt?" she wondered in confusion.
"I can tell that you were favouring your right shoulder when you were hitting the bag," Michelangelo said turning towards her and searching her face.
"No," she said shaking her head in denial. "I-" Michelangelo stood close to her cutting off her words as he gently placed his hands on her shoulders, his face worried and eyes searching.
"Catherine, you can tell me the truth," he said, voice containing a hint of danger.
"Michelangelo, you are seriously freaking me out with that serious face of yours. My shoulder has nothing to do with Raphael except for the fact that I was so angry that I wanted to punch the stupid bag. I'm fine, it's an old injury that never really healed properly."
Michelangelo gave a nod and stepped away. Catherine vaguely wondered if this is what it felt like to have an older brother and her heart warmed a little knowing that Michelangelo was so concerned about her.
It was then that she realized that her hoodie was still in Raphael's room. She stopped walking and contemplated her options. She could leave it, it wasn't like she didn't have others, but she liked that hoodie and if she left it in Raphael's room, she had a sneaking suspicion that she would never see it again, falling into the black hole that was Raphael's bedroom.
Shoulders slumping in defeat she told Michelangelo that she needed to get her hoodie before she left. Michelangelo nodded and headed towards the kitchen as Catherine made her way back up to Raphael's room.
She stood outside his door for a moment and quickly opened it, hoping to keep the element of surprise and get in and out before he realized what was going on.
Thankfully the door was unlocked and the door knob twisted easily in her hand. Opening the door she realized that Raphael's room was dark. Thinking that he had snuck out of the lair she carefully made her way into the room, but Raphael's steady breathing alerted her to the fact that he was in bed ssleep. She quickly tip-toed to his desk and didn't find her hoodie where she had left it.
Giving a grimace of frustration she scanned the room and couldn't find it, not that she could see much in the darkness anyway, but still.
Realizing she was going to have to collect the hoodie later she turned to leave and at just that moment Raphael gave a small whimper that twisted her heart and made her look back towards the bed.
Fighting with herself she found her feet slowly turning and walking towards the bed. Raphael was curled up on his side under a blanket, his pillow apparently missing.
She studied his sleeping face and argued with herself that it wasn't creepy at all that she was watching him sleep, though she couldn't actually come up with an excuse on how it wasn't creepy, she quickly shoved these thoughts aside as she resisted the urge to reach out and drag her fingers across his cheek, tracing one of many scars that graced his cheeks.
Finding she was about to put thought into action she chastised herself for wanting to do this. She acknowledged to herself that Raphael looked oddly vulnerable when he slept. All of the anger, sarcasm and insults he used to push people away were gone. All that was left were the beginnings of age lines etched into the corners of his eyes along with the dark circles below them.
Looking down at him something clenched in her chest. She wasn't sure what the emotion was, but it was something gentle, almost protective.
Raphael tossed, his face scrunching slightly with an emotion that didn't look pleasant before smoothing out.
Truthfully she was surprised that he had actually slept through her walking into his room. Raphael struck her as the light-sleeper type, which meant he was probably exhausted, and it looked as if the nightmares were slowly creeping in.
Walking back to Raphael's desk, she carefully pulled open a drawer and searched around for a piece of paper and a pen. Finding a scrap of paper and a pencil, she quickly wrote:
Raphael, the only one who can chase away your nightmares, is you. If you ever need to talk, I'm here,
Catherine
She didn't believe that Raphael would take her up on the offer, but she held onto the faint hope that he might, and at least she gave him the option if he needed it.
She left the note on the desk and exited Raphael's room and the lair, feeling a tumult of emotions passing through her as she made her way home.
oooooo, things are heating up and getting complicated! Hope everyone enjoyed, and I know I'm evil about Cat and Raph, so close but so far...
